Heat arcs between us like a struck match. My breath catches, and his does too.
The tension snaps tight like a bowstring drawn to breaking. My omega surges forward, clawing for control, and as much as I try to keep her in check, heat floods through me like wildfire. Everything feels like it’s melting. My panties are soaked, slick pooling in my underwear, and I can’t help but squeeze my thighs together, desperate for friction—any friction.
Corbin sees the movement, and his face goes absolutely feral—pupils blown wide, teeth bared, breath heavy. A muscle ticks in his jaw. Then his hand is at the back of my neck, cupping the heat there, grounding me in a way that only makes it worse.
“Winnie, Sweetheart, can you hear me?” he rasps.
All I can do is let out a high, helpless, omega whine. His answering alpha growl is low and possessive, vibrating through my skin and straight into my pulsing, oversensitive core. I gasp, my perfume thick and cloying in the air.
“Winnie,” he says again, jaw tight, every inch of him trembling with restraint. But I don’t want his restraint. I want his hands and mouth and cock. I want him to take me until I break and beg and forget every reason I was mad.
“This doesn’t mean you forgive me. I know that. Know this is just your omega’s response to being near a scent-sensitive alpha. But can I help you? Is it okay if I ease you? Can you hear me, Sweetheart?”
His words echo through the haze, muffled by want. I feel like I’m drowning in heat. He asks again, more slowly this time, and it finally cuts through.
He needs permission. He’s trying to be careful.
“Yes, please, Corbin.” I barely manage. The words break from me in a breathy plea, soaked in desperation. I should be embarrassed, but all I can think about is how badly I need him taking me apart.
He crashes into me like a man starved, kissing me deep and open-mouthed, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. He eases me back onto the couch, laying me flat on my back, and my whole body arches for him.
My sundress rides up, bunching at my waist. A cramp tightens deep inside my belly, heat blooming so sharp I gasp. My pussy clenches around nothing, aching to be filled. I feel empty and swollen and wrecked already, and he hasn’t even touched me properly.
Corbin’s hands slide up my thighs with reverence and command, parting my legs. His eyes darken as they lock onto my soaked-through panties.
“Oh, Sweetheart…” he murmurs, voice gone to gravel. “You’re fucking dripping for me.”
He leans in, burying his face between my thighs. His breath ghosts over the cloth and I jerk, hips twitching. Then his hot mouth presses to my pussy through the fabric—one kiss, then another—until he’s tonguing my clit through my panties, licking me like he needs to memorize the shape of me with his mouth.
I gasp, already falling apart. I stare down my body, and his eyes meet mine.
Then his fingers hook into my waistband and he slides my panties down slowly, exposing my slick folds to the cool air. I should be nervous, but all I feel is the heat and the tension and the hunger.
He spreads me wide and groans like a dying man.
“You look like sin,” he growls. “Sweet, messy sin.”
And then he dives in.
His tongue flattens and drags from my dripping hole all the way up to my clit, before circling and sucking like he wants to taste every last drop of my slick. He fucks me with his tongue, deep and filthy, before replacing it with two thick fingers that stretch me wide, filling the ache.
He crooks them, hitting the spot that makes me keen, while his tongue and thumb alternate over my clit in slick, practiced strokes. I writhe against him, hips rocking shamelessly into his mouth.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, guiding him with touch since words are long gone. His other hand slips up under my dress and cups my ass, squeezing until I cry out.
“Corbin—oh my god—I’m close—”
“Good,” he growls into me, his voice wrecked and soaked with arousal. “Come for me. Show me how this perfect little pussy is going to take my knot next time.”
The filth in his voice shatters me. I break apart with a cry, clamping around his fingers as pleasure crashes over me like a goddamn tidal wave. He keeps working me through it, coaxing every last tremor with his mouth and hand and whispered praise.
When I finally collapse, boneless, he pulls back—panting, flushed, his mouth shiny with slick. He tucks my dress back down with surprising care… then pockets my ruined panties with a satisfied smirk.
I blink at him, dazed. “You’re keeping those?”
“Oh, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling me into his lap and wrapping me up like I’m breakable. "You don’t get those back.”
He arranges me gently, tucking a blanket over us, cradling me against his chest like I’m something to be protected even after he’s devoured me.
