In the mirror, a pair of amber eyes glow and tell me that I can.
I arch my back purposefully, curving my spine and spreading my legs. It draws another quick gasp from my mate, and I look down demurely. “I’m fit for use, alpha,” I say, voice that of a stranger, and also, that of my truest, deepest self.
“L-lucy,” he splutters. “No! No, I’d never do that. I’d never use yo—”
His eyes meet mine again, and he blinks. His jaw drops slightly. His lips form anO, and then press together. He takes my jaw in his hand and tilts my face upward, so he has an unobstructed view of it in the mirror. I let him see what I want. Who I am. Who I want to be for him. There’s a shift in the mood in the room. A slow drag followed by a simmering realization. “Unless…” His lips form the words with care. “Unless it’s what my omega wants.”
The way he saysmy omegamakes my spinal cord quake.
“It is,” I squeak, knees starting to knock.
It’s hard to explain why I want this. It certainly isn’t something I was consciously aware of wanting before Branson and I were mated. At the same time, there’s something strangely familiar about the notion, something I know from somewhere deep inside myself. From a time long ago. Something that’s been swimming under the surface since the beginning of me. Something that’s only recently begun to feel safe to come up for air.
Fortunately, my alpha doesn’t need a long-winded explanation. It’s enough for him that it’s what I want. He moves like lightning, kicking the towel at my feet out of the way and tossing his own to the side. He takes me by the back of the neck, fingers carding through the hair he finds there before clenching into a fist.
My scalp stings.
My dick jerks hard.
My hole throbs.
My heart races unbridled.
Branson’s expression is impassive, almost serene, as he reaches down and manhandles me. He parts my cheeks a little more roughly than strictly required. It makes a hot little squirt of slick slip out of me. He smiles down at the mess I’m making, scooping it up in his fingers and bringing it to his face to inhale. It’s a lewd gesture that shocks me and turns me on in equal measure.
“Mine,” he growls.
He pushes me forward and pulls my cheeks apart again, this time stepping back and tilting his head to the side to get a really, really good look at my hole. My cheeks burn in shame or arousal, I can’t tell which. I only know that I don’t move a muscle.
This is exactly, precisely what I want.
He examines me this way and that, checking my opening for signs of damage. He finds none. I knew he wouldn’t. I meant what I said. I’m fit for use. Ready for it. Gagging for it. Still, Branson is nothing if not thorough.
He fingers my rim methodically, pressing the pad of his fingers gently against my opening and pulling my cheeks open a little more. To say I feel observed is an understatement. I’m laid bare. Naked. Pried open.
Sweet Jesus, I’m into it.
He dips a finger into me without any fanfare, sending it so deep up my ass I’m left groaning helplessly as he swivels it around inside me. He’s still checking for damage, only now he’s causing carnage. Sharp spikes of pleasure sink their claws into me. Poking and probing as I step on the spot.
He adds another finger and stretches me gently. I don’t move. I keep my legs open. My head bowed, my eyes cast up so I can see everything he does to me in the mirror.
He moves slowly, casually almost. There’s a frighteningly attractive sense of certainty about him. A complete lack of hesitation. A sureness that turns me inside out.
He doesn’t speak. Not a single word. Not so much as a murmur. He preps me silently and positions me as he wants me without so much as a second’s pause. He scoops up a little of the slick that’s leaking from me and slathers it on his swollen cock, smiling fondly at my hole as he does it.
I brace myself with both hands on the sink and widen my stance a little more. I arch my back harder, feeling a dull strain in my lower spine and liking it a lot. Branson’s cockhead kisses my opening. A soft peck, a light tap of flesh against flesh, before a more persistent prod makes his intentions known. I bear down as he enters me, but still, I feel it. Dear God, do I feel it. I feel the impossible swell of his head, the ridge of his crown, the thick veins on his shaft, all of it.Allof it stamped into my memory for keeps.
My body gives way without so much as a hint of a struggle. The struggle is over. It’s been over for a while now. I’m his, and he’s mine. My body was made for him, and his was made for me. My muscle relaxes, and he thrusts into me. The stretch is unreal. A deep, hot wrench that spreads me thin and sends a million different sensations up my rectum.
All of them good. All of them perfect.
I keep still, not moving a muscle as he cleaves me open. I feel every inch of him. Every perfect, thick, hot inch. He slides into me deeply and my body accepts him gratefully. He holds on to my hips and drills into me, fucking me hard and deep.
As my body jolts forward and my head snaps up on impact, I’m dimly aware that I’ve never been fucked like this before—my truest self has been laid bare, and the person I’m with has witnessed it without flinching. The thought of that, the knowledge that I’m with the man who makes me feel safe enough to show them this side of myself, ratchets every thrust, every clench, every bolt of pleasure up until I’m full of it. Brimming with pleasure. Overflowing with it.
In the mirror, Branson’s face contorts with pleasure. His eyes roll and his lips snarl. He fucks into me over and over, dragging my hips back and forth, grazing my hole on his thick cock for his own gratification.
Every thrust raises me higher. Fills me deeper. Fills me hotter and harder until I finally understand why I want this, why I want to be used for his pleasure. It’s because his pleasure is mine. It travels through the bond and hits me rhythmically.
