I pull her closer. Let myself breathe her in—honey and citrus and something that’s just her. Feel the warmth of her thighs bracketing mine, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers tighten in my hair when I press my lips to her jaw. My teeth graze her neck, right where a claiming mark would go, and she shivers.
“More than okay,” I murmur against her skin. “It’s perfect.”
We makeit to the couch eventually. I’m not entirely sure how—one minute we’re at the kitchen table, the next I’m carrying her across the room because walking seemed too far and I couldn’t stop kissing her long enough to let her use her own legs.
She pulls me down on top of her, and the full-body contact makes both of us groan. Her thighs wrap around my hips, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat of her through our clothes. Can smell how wet she is, slick and sweet and making me half-crazy with want.
“Theo.” She’s tugging at my shirt. “Off. I want to feel you.”
I lean back just long enough to yank it over my head. Her hands are on my chest immediately, tracing the muscles I’ve built from years of manual labor. When her nails scrape lightly over my nipples, I shudder.
“Your turn,” I manage, and she sits up just enough for me to pull her sweater off. She’s wearing a simple cotton bra underneath—nothing fancy—and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re staring,” she whispers.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for ten years.” I unhook her bra, slide it off her shoulders. Her breasts are perfect—soft and full, nipples already peaked. “Let me look.”
“Looking is not the same as touching.”
Permission granted.
I cup her breasts in my hands, feeling the weight of them, the softness. When I brush my thumbs across her nipples, she arches into my touch with a moan that goes straight to my cock.
“Sensitive?” I ask, doing it again.
“Very.” She’s panting now. “Theo, please?—”
I lower my mouth to her breast, sucking one nipple while my hand works the other. She cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair, holding me there. Her scent blooms thicker—honey and citrus and the unmistakable sweetness of omega slick.
“I can smell how wet you are,” I murmur against her skin. “Can I touch you?”
“God, yes. Please.”
My hand slides down her stomach, over the waistband of her jeans. I fumble with the button—my hands are shaking, I’m shaking—and she helps me, lifting her hips so I can tug them down. Her underwear follows, and then she’s bare beneath me, spread out on my couch like every fantasy I’ve ever had.
“Theo.” Her voice is strained. “Stop staring and touch me.”
I slide my hand between her thighs and nearly come in my pants.
She’s soaked. Slick coating her folds, dripping onto my fingers the moment I touch her. Hot and wet and swollen, her body desperately ready for an alpha even though she’s not in heat.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Cara, you’re so wet?—”
“It’s you.” She’s rocking against my hand, trying to get more friction. “It’s been like this since the greenhouse. Please, Theo, I need?—”
I slide one finger inside her and she clenches around me immediately, her whole body arching off the couch. She’s tight—so tight—and the way her inner walls grip my finger makes me imagine what she’d feel like around my cock, around my knot?—
“More,” she gasps. “I can take more.”
I add a second finger, stretching her slowly. She moans, long and low, and more slick gushes around my hand. I start to move, thrusting my fingers in and out while my thumb finds her clit.
“Oh god.” Her head falls back against the cushions. “Oh god, Theo, right there?—”
I curl my fingers inside her, searching for that spot, and when I find it she nearly screams. Her whole body goes taut, thighs clamping around my hand, and I can feel her pulse fluttering against my fingers.
“That’s it,” I murmur, working her harder. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me.”
“Theo—” She’s writhing now, hands fisting in the couch cushions. “I’m going to—I’m so close?—”
