"You were saying?" His voice is low enough that I feel it vibrate through his chest.
"Fuck you."
"That's not what you were saying."
I grab the front of his shirt and pull him down into another kiss because it's the only way to shut us both up. This one is harder, all teeth and the sharp bite of anger that hasn't dissolved into whatever is replacing it. Easton growls against my mouth as his hand slides from my neck into my hair and pulls.
My head tips back and the sound that comes out of me is obscene, loud enough to bounce off his walls, desperate enough that any other night I'd want to die of embarrassment. Easton's mouth finds my throat, his teeth scraping along my jaw and I arch into him so hard my spine leaves the wall, my hips pressing forward against his thigh before I can stop them.
"Still punishment?" he murmurs against my skin.
"Shut up." I yank him back up and kiss him again, biting his bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. He retaliates by pressing his full weight against me, pinning me flat with his hips, and the size difference becomes something I experience with my entire body. His chest against mine, his thigh between my legs, his hands in my hair and on my hip. Every time I think I've found the floor of what I can feel, he shifts against me and there's another level beneath it.
I shove at his chest because fighting is the only language we speak. He catches both of my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head. My wrists look small in his grip and the sight of his fingers wrapped around them does something to the locked box inside my chest where I keep every fantasy I've ever been too proud to admit to.
"Let go," I push out but I don't mean it. My hips roll forward against his thigh, a whimper of need falling from my lips.
"Make me," he says, throwing my words back.
He kisses me again, slower this time, my brain short-circuiting a little. His free hand on my hip starts massaging the bare skin just beneath my shirt. My struggling slows and I start to relax, the fight draining out of me until I’m melting for this Alpha I hate.
A soft sound of surrender falls from my lips as Easton pulls back to look at my face. His grip on my wrists gentles, thumb stroking my pulse point.
"Good boy," he says.
Everything stops. My body locks, a crack running through every defense I've built since the first time an Alpha called me "just an Omega" and my body responded with arousal instead of anger. I don't know if I want to scream or dissolve and my throat closes around a sound I refuse to release, my whole body trembling against the wall as Easton watches it happen.
His expression shifts from heat to concern, his brow furrowing. "Kit?" Softer than I've ever heard him.
I answer with my mouth, grabbing the front of his shirt and dragging him back down into a kiss so hard our teeth click. If I'm kissing him I'm not crying. If I'm biting his lip until he groans I'm not thinking about the way I should be still hating this Alpha.
Easton's hands drop to my waist, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise through the fabric, and I arch into the pain because pain is easier than whatever just happened between us.
"This doesn't mean anything," I say against his mouth, already pulling at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons.
He lifts me, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs as my legs wrap around his waist, and carries me from the wall to the bed in three strides. My back hits the mattress and he's over me before I can breathe, his weight pressing me into the sheets. The feeling of being covered by someone this much bigger than me, surrounded by his scent and his warmth and the solid mass of his body, makes my Omega purr so loudly that the sound vibrates through my chest and into his.
I hate that sound. I hate what it means and I hate that Easton can feel it and I hate that his breath stutters when he does, his hips grinding down against mine in a slow roll that drags a moan out of me before I can stop it.
Another gush of slick soaks through my underwear, and when Easton's hand slides down my stomach and past my waistbandhis fingers find the evidence of how badly I want this and his whole body goes taut above me.
He slowly drags down my pants and then my briefs, his fingers sliding then moving between my cheeks.
"Fuck, Kit." His voice comes out in a growl full of desire, his forehead dropping against mine as his fingers slide through the slick and press against me with a confidence that makes my spine bow off the mattress. "You're so wet."
"Don't talk about it." I tug at his shirt, yanking it over his head because if I have to look at his face right now I'm going to fall apart again and I've already fallen apart once tonight, which is one time more than I've allowed myself in two years.
His chest is broad and the tattoo I've glimpsed at his collar extends further than I expected, curling over his shoulder and down across his pec, and I dig my nails into it because tenderness is terrifying and violence is safe.
Easton hisses and retaliates by pulling my sweater over my head in one motion, the pearl necklace catching briefly before settling back against my bare skin. His mouth finds my collarbone, his teeth scraping along it as his hand works between my legs, fingers pressing inside me with a slow push that makes me gasp and grab his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents in his skin. He curls his fingers and my vision shorts out, my hips bucking up into his hand.
"More," I demand, because demanding is safer than asking. "Stop being gentle."
His fingers thrust harder and deeper, the Alpha adding a third with a stretch that burns exactly the way I need it to, the edge of pain grounding me in my body and away from whatever is happening in my chest.
I'm panting against his throat, my legs spread around his hips, slick running down the inside of my thighs and soaking into his sheets, and some distant part of my brain registers that his roomis going to smell like me for days and the possessive satisfaction I feel about that is deeply concerning.
Easton pulls his hand away and I make a sound of protest that I will deny to my grave. He strips the rest of our clothes with a speed that tells me he's as desperate as I am, and when I feel his cock press against my hole, my Omega keens with a hunger that bypasses every rational thought I have left.
