It’s sadness that I’m alone in my body, I guess.
I sit alone in my sadness until the now-familiar burn of heat ignites. I hold still as it travels up my legs, feeling the distinct shift as the wave crests and shoots up my spine. I bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying out because Branson looks so peaceful when he sleeps.
He’s tired, and I want him to sleep for as long as he can.
I ride that wave out, and the next one. Heat hollows me out, hurting as it rises. Hurting more and more until, by the third wave, I can’t take it. It’s too much.
“Alpha,” I whisper, crouching over Branson. His eyelids flutter, opening a crack before sliding shut again. “I need you.”
“You need me?” His eyes fly open, wide and completely focused on me. Wide and focused as if I’m the only thing that exists. He puts his hand on my chest, and tiny gold striations narrow. “Lucy! You’re burning. Why didn’t you wake me?” His expression is one of such pure panic and empathy that if I weren’t burning as hot as I am, I’d probably smile at it.
“I wanted to let you sleep,” I whimper.
“But, baby, I told you I wouldn’t let you suffer.”
He speaks kindly and quietly, and as he does, he lifts me by the hips, bundling my legs so they’re curled over his forearms, spread wide, and impales me firmly on his cock. I come the second his head breaches me. Before the sensationof fullness has time to take hold. Before the relief of being fucked has even registered. My body knows his now. It knows the pleasure he brings me. Trusts it. Anticipates it. Reacts to it before it’s even happened.
I come loudly, messing all over Branson’s chest and convulsing on his cock as if I’m receiving a strong electrical current up my ass.
He rocks his hips gently as I come down, fucking just enough sensation into me to keep me floating for a while. I look down at him, sated and stuffed beyond recognition, yet the ache is still there.
I want more.
“Branson,” I say, leaning in and dusting my lips against his. He moans into the kiss, pulling himself up by the core to chase my lips for more when I retreat. “I want your knot.”
He drops back onto the sofa and looks at me. What’s happening in his eyes is hard to describe. Every striation lights up at once and sparks. I see it happen, but more than that, I feel it happen. Under my skin and my bones. I feel it in a place I thought was mine only.
“Are you sure?” His voice is thick and stripped bare, and there’s a flare of something unreadable in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“You know I can’t stop it once it starts. I can’t make it go away if it’s too much for you.” He looks sincere, kind, and good, and that provokes me.
“Oh, I can handle it, alpha man,” I say with the confidence of a man who has no idea what he’s talking about.
He bites back a smile, still sincere as all get out. “You know it could make you delirious, don’t you?”
“Please.” I wave him off. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about it makingyoudelirious.”
He chuckles at that, and fuck, he has a nice laugh. A rough, scratchy sound. One that’s round at the edges and feels so good on my skin. “Trust me, I’m plenty worried about that.”
We both laugh. It’s funny because while omegas often become delirious when they’re knotted, it’s not at all common for alphas. It only happens in rare cases, where the alpha and the omega are extremely compatible. And even then, it usually only happens when the couple has been mated for years.
“I’ll take my chances,” I tell him.
With that, he swings his feet onto the floor and gets up with me still skewered on him. It takes a bit of wrangling to get my feet around his waist and my arms around his neck, but it’s a logistic issue that has more to do with me not remembering how to use my limbs than anythingelse. It certainly has nothing to do with Branson struggling to bear my weight. He lugs me to the bedroom without breaking a sweat, his alpha dong pummeling my prostate a little more with each step.
It’s one hell of a turn-on.
“You’re so strong, alpha,” I hear myself say. “I bet you could throw me across the room if you wanted.”
He huffs at that but doesn’t answer.
“Oh my God.” I’m only joking, but his reaction stokes my line of questioning. “You could actually do it, couldn’t you? You could toss me against the wall like a ball if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”
“Not like a ball,” he says reasonably. “More like a wet noodle.”
It shouldn’t be hot in the slightest, but sadly, it is.
