"You're never going back to him," I cut him off sharply, the words coming from somewhere deep and primal. I cross the room in three strides despite my injured leg, reaching the bed and gripping his chin roughly, forcing him to look at me. "You're mine, do you hear that?Mine."
The realization is startling even as the words leave my mouth, but they feel right in a way nothing else has in years. I've been denying myself this, denying what I want, what I need, and it's been fucking with my head for months. All the justifications about professionalism and duty and protecting him from myself... they're all just excuses. Fear dressed up as responsibility.
I've been telling myself that keeping distance was the right thing to do, that maintaining professional boundaries was protecting Ashton from getting hurt. But the truth is I was protecting myself. From wanting something I didn't think I could have, from hoping for a future that seemed impossible given our circumstances.
Ashton just sags at the declaration, his whole body going limp with relief like I've removed some massive weight he's been carrying. "Fuck me, please. Please, I won't ask you for anything else again. Just this once, I need—"
I crash my lips against his, cutting off his desperate pleading. The kiss is fierce, a claiming of sorts, my tongue pushing into his mouth and tasting him properly for the first time. He tastes like salt and desperation and something uniquely him, something I want to drown in. His lips are soft despite being chapped from fever, yielding immediately to the pressure of mine.
Ashton fumbles with my clothes, his hands shaking as he tries to work my shirt open. His coordination is shot, fingers slipping on buttons and fabric. I help him, popping buttons with more force than necessary and shoving fabric aside. My pants get pushed down just enough to free my cock, no time or patience for getting fully undressed.
I'm still partially clothed, my shirt hanging open and exposing my chest, pants undone and pushed down to mid-thigh, cock jutting out hard and leaking. The urgency of the moment doesn't allow for the niceties of fully undressing, of taking our time. This is raw need, biological imperative that won't be denied any longer.
I climb onto the bed and position myself behind him, gripping his hips and pulling him back into position. His ass is still raised, presenting perfectly, and I can see how wet he is. Slick coats his entrance and inner thighs, his body preparing itself for exactly this.
Then I plunge right in, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal thrust that makes both of us cry out.
Ashton's whole body shudders as I fill him, his back arching and his fingers fisting in the sheets. "Yes, fuck, yes—"
He's so wet, so ready, his body opening for me like it was made for this. The feeling is incredible, overwhelming, everything I've been denying myself for months condensed into this single moment. The tight heat of him surrounds my cock, clenching and fluttering as his body adjusts to the intrusion.
I don't start slow, don't give him time to adjust beyond that first moment. I set a brutal pace immediately, taking what's mine and giving him what he needs. My fingers dig into his hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place as I pound into him with abandon.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with our harsh breathing and the wet sounds of slick. Ashton's moans are constant now, no longer muffled by the pillow, just raw vocalizations of pleasure and relief.
Ashton reaches back blindly and drags me into another kiss, the angle awkward but he makes it work. Our mouths crash together, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in something that's more battle than kiss. It's messy and desperate and perfect.
The kiss breaks and I start working my way down his jaw, kissing and biting along the sensitive skin. He tastes like salt and heat, his pulse hammering beneath my lips. I move to his neck, that vulnerable stretch of skin that's calling to me like a siren song.
The urge to bite down and claim him permanently is overwhelming but I resist, just barely. It's too soon, too much, even in the midst of this claiming. A bite mark is permanent, irrevocable, and neither of us is thinking clearly enough to make that decision right now.
Instead I lick across his throat, tasting salt and Omega and something else underneath that makes my brain short-circuit. Solana's scent. Faint but present, clinging to Ashton's skin from where they must have been in proximity earlier. The vanilla and orchid mixing with his lavender creates something that makes my head spin and my cock pulse inside him.
This is so fucking wrong. Both of them, this attraction to two Omegas when only one should be mine to want. Solana belongs to Kade and Dustin, not me. I have no claim to her, no right to respond to her scent mixing with Ashton's like it's the most perfect combination I've ever encountered.
But then it hits me, what Kade said earlier... that Ashton's scent was fucking with his head. That this goes both ways. That whatever is happening here isn't one-sided, isn't just me losing control and wanting things I shouldn't.
The realization crashes over me with the force of a tsunami. This new fucked up little pack forming isn't just Stefan and Ashton wanting things we shouldn't want. It's also Kade, responding to Ashton's scent even while locked in the nest with his own Omega. And no doubt Dustin, who's always been more open to unconventional pack structures than most Alphas.
Solana definitely wants this too, though she probably doesn't even understand what's happening yet. By not throwing us out when we showed up bleeding and desperate, by caring about us during her heat when she should only care about her own Alphas, by asking Kade to check on us—some part of her has already accepted our presence. Accepted us as pack, even if she can't articulate it yet.
I wish life wasn't so complicated, wish I could just enjoy this moment without all the implications weighing on me. But my mind won't shut off, won't stop cataloging all the ways this could go wrong. Charles is still out there, still a threat. Harmony House wants Ashton for reasons I don't understand. Morrison's shipment needs to go perfectly or we're all fucked.
Ashton rolls us over suddenly, taking charge despite his heat-addled state. He pushes me onto my back with surprising strength and straddles my hips, sinking back down on my cock with a groan that sounds like relief and pleasure mixed together.
Then he starts bouncing hard, taking what he needs without apology or hesitation. His thighs flex with each movement, muscles working as he lifts and drops with increasing speed. One hand braces on my chest for balance, his nails digging into my skin and probably leaving marks.
The sight of him like this is breathtaking. His pale skin flushed with arousal, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach, slick running down his thighs and coating my cock with each movement. His head tips back, exposing the long line of his throat as he rides me with complete abandon.
Sweat drips down his chest and stomach, his whole body glistening in the dim light. The stitches in his side pull with each movement but he doesn't seem to care, too focused on chasing his pleasure to worry about pain or injury.
Ashton takes one of my hands and pulls it up to his neck, placing it there deliberately. His eyes lock with mine, demanding me to obey. "Squeeze," he orders, his voice rough.
I do so, applying pressure carefully. Not enough to actually restrict his breathing but enough to give him that edge he's chasing, that hint of danger that makes everything sharper. His pace picks up immediately, his movements becoming more frantic as he chases his orgasm with single-minded determination.
My other hand grips his waist, helping guide his movements and holding him steady. The position lets me thrust up into him, meeting each of his downward movements and going deeper than before. The angle is perfect, hitting something inside him that makes him gasp and shudder.
Ashton's rhythm becomes erratic, his thighs trembling with effort and exhaustion. His movements lose coordination as pleasure overwhelms everything else. Then he slams down one final time, taking my knot as it swells and locks us together with brutal finality.
