God, why does that firm determination light me up?
“You want me to sort out your little problem?” His eyes lower to my pussy, the one that is sopping wet, that I’m shamelessly grinding against him. “Want me to clean you all up and make you feel good?”
I can’t answer. What the hell is wrong with me? Just say yes.
He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”
My laugh is a little nervous. His kisses feel nice, though, so I’ll play his game. “Vanilla.”
He raises a brow.
“What?” I feel defensive now. “I can’t like vanilla?”
He shrugs. His hand leaves my throat. I miss the contact instantly. But when both his hands go to the buckle of his belt, fresh heat pools in my belly.
I watch him work it undone, lost in the movements of his big, capable hands as they work the buckle loose, and then there’s a whisper, as in one long, smooth pull he draws the belt out. His cock strains the zipper of his serviceable military fatigues. He sets the belt beside him on the couch and pops the top button of his pants.
“Favorite book?”
“Book?” The word escapes my lips in a breathless rush. I’m busy staring at the way his zipper has parted slightly now that the button is undone. He’s doing something with the belt again, creating two smaller loops with such practiced ease it takes my brain a while to catch up, and by the time I do, he’s already gathering my wrists at my lower back and with a tug, secures them in place.
My chest heaves, my nipples peak, and a trickle of slick leaks onto his pants.
He makes a tutting sound. His left hand returns to collar my throat, bringing a stutter to my heartbeat.
“Books? Or do you prefer movies?”
“I like books,” I stammer out.
“Yeah? How about you tell me some of your favorites? I’ve heard omegas have a weakness for books about knotting and breeding.” He leans in again, trailing unhurried kisses down the side of my throat.
I’m panting.
There is a possibility I might climax.
“Do you like that kind of book, Esme? Like to read about being knotted, claimed, and bred?”
A needy whimper escapes my lips. “H-how do you know my name w-when I don’t know yours?”
“Zeb.”
“Just Zeb?”
“Yeah, just Zeb.” With slow, almost detached calm, he tugs my healer dress up and tucks it under my trapped arms.
“Do you like the thought of being knotted, Esme?” He brushes his knuckles over my right nipple, and I suck a sharp breath in at the exquisite pleasure from even so slight a touch.
The words are trapped in my throat. I’m having difficulty focusing on anything but the maddening brush of his knuckles as they trail down to stroke the underside of my breast.
“It’s a straightforward question. All you have to do is tell me yes or no.”
He brushes back and forth under the swell of my breast. I arch into the touch.
“Answer me, Esme.”
His touch and my name upon his lips are weapons of intimate destruction. “Yes.”
His palm splays over my belly and my pussy performs a slow, lazy clench. “Good girl.” He settles both hands on my upper thighs, where his thumbs draw circles. He exhales slowly, his head bowed as he stares at the juncture of my thighs. Then his thumbs slide up to hold my pussy lips open, exposing me, exposing how wet I am.
