I grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Her laugh turns into a gasp when I slip my hand under the waistband of her panties. The heat there is unreal. She’s slick already, so much it soaks my fingers instantly.
I slide one finger over her clit and she jerks, back arching, mouth open. Her hands clench the blanket. She bites her lip so hard I’m afraid she’ll bleed.
“Easy,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“Don’t want easy,” she says. “I want you.”
I kiss her again, slow this time, while my hand works between her legs. The taste of Emery is summer and sugar, salt and tears, and it completely undoes me. She trembles beneath my hands, so delicate it feels like she might collapse if I don’t keep her together.
She’s soaked, more than I expected, slick pooling so fast it feels like some physical law is breaking in her body. My thumb finds her clit again and I circle it, gentle at first, the way you’d stroke the petal of a rare flower—but Emery is not delicate, not right now. She’s all raw need, the edges of her personality blurred by it, so when her hips buck against my hand I let her set the tempo and press a little harder.
The moan she lets out is nothing like her usual voice. It’s deeper, hungry, edged with something wild. She bites my lower lip and pulls, hard enough to sting, and I smile against her mouth because I want to see how far she’ll push me. I flick my wrist and she gasps as two of my fingers enter her. She bucks again, and then she’s grinding against my fingers like she wants to climb inside me. Her hands fly to my hair, pulling, and I let her because it grounds me.
Emery cums once, suddenly, her body bowing up in the air. She’s so loud I’m positive the entire floor hears her, but I don’t care if the whole world does. The sound tears through mestraight to my cock which throbs in my jeans. I have to pause, grit my teeth, and remember this is all for her. Only when the tremors subside do I move again, and when I do, it’s not a slow build—she’s already perched on the edge, so this time she shudders and cums again, seconds after the first, her thighs compressing around my hand to keep it there.
I want to stop, to ask if she’s okay, but the look on her face is pure desperation. She’s crying now, silent at first, but then I see the tears streak down her cheeks and my heart lurches sideways. I freeze, terrified I’ve hurt her, and start to pull back, but she clamps both hands around my wrist and holds it flush to her body.
Her eyes are wide and wet with tears, but her mouth is soft—no, not just soft. There’s a plea in it, something I’m not sure I’ve ever seen on her before, even in our worst or best moments.
I ease my hand, lighten up, but she drags my fingers in deeper, her own hips working against me.
She cums a third time, and this one nearly breaks her. Her breath catches, her body goes rigid, and she sobs into my shirt. I think to stop again, but then her grip turns desperate and she shakes her head, mouthing words against my skin.
She still wants more. She needs it. I can’t fucking believe it.
I kiss the side of her head, my free hand cradling her skull. I whisper, “You’re okay. I’ve got you,” and she nods, gasping, the tears coming freely now.
Emery’s voice is nearly hoarse. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I keep going, and she shatters again, softer now, limbs limp, breath coming in gasps.
When I finally take my hand away, she’s boneless, draped over the nest like a discarded rag doll. Her face is red, eyes puffy, hair wild and gorgeous.
She laughs, broken and full of joy. “Wyatt Whitlock, I think I love you.”
It’s a joke, I think, but it goes straight to the part of me that’s still a kid, the part that once thought “love” was a thing you could win or lose.
I smile. “You say that to all the alphas who finger you until you lose consciousness?”
Emery shakes her head, but doesn’t answer. She just tugs me closer until I’m lying with her, skin to skin.
Her tank top is soaked. I pull it off, slow, and she lets me. Her body is soft and small, but her bones are strong under my hands. Her chest rises and falls, marked by the echo of her heat.
She peels off her underwear. The fabric is ruined, sticky and see-through. She laughs when I stare.
“You’ve never seen a naked omega before?” she teases.
I grin. “Not one like you.”
Emery grabs my hand and places it back between her legs. “Keep going,” she says. “Please.”
I do. This time I use three fingers, slow at first, then faster as she gets slicker. She’s so open, so wet, it’s almost obscene. I find the spot she likes and circle it, watching her body come apart in slow motion.
Her hands reach for my belt. She fumbles with it, desperate, and I help her out of pity and self-preservation. My own cock is so hard it aches, pressing against the zipper.
Emery gasps when she sees it, eyes wide. “Oh,” she says.
