"Tell me to stop," he says, his arms braced on either side of my head, his jaw tight with the effort of holding still. His eyes search mine, the Alpha giving me an out, and the fact that he's offering it while every muscle in his body is shaking with restraint makes me melt just a little more.
"If you stop I'll kill you," I tell him, Easton chuckling before he pushes inside me in one long, slow thrust that steals every word I've ever known.
The stretch is overwhelming, my muscles clenching and releasing around him as slick eases the way, and by the time he bottoms out I'm gripping the sheets, my mouth open on a silent moan. I can feel him everywhere, pressing against places inside me that make my thighs shake.
He moves and the first thrust draws a whine from the depths of my soul. The second makes my back arch off the bed. By the third I've stopped pretending this is punishment or revenge or anything other than exactly what it is, which is the best thing I've ever felt in my life, and I'm meeting him thrust for thrust with my hips rolling up to take him deeper while my nails rake lines down his back.
Easton fucks like he plays basketball, all power and precision and an instinct for exactly where to push. His hand finds my hair and pulls my head back, his mouth on my throat, his teeth marking skin that everyone is going to see tomorrow, and I let him because I am so far past caring about tomorrow that the concept has lost all meaning.
His other hand grips my hip, angling me up, and the new position hits something inside me that makes me cry out loud enough that his hand clamps over my mouth.
"Walls are thin," he murmurs against my ear, and I bite his palm in response, tasting salt and skin. He laughs, the sound of Easton laughing while he's inside me breaking down the walls I tried so hard to build.
He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against mine with a force that shoves me up the mattress until his hand braces against the headboard to keep me in place. I'm making sounds I've never heard from myself, broken and desperate and completely out of my control, and my Omega is singing beneath my skin, flooding my system with a warmth that makes everything sharper, every nerve ending amplified until the drag of his cock inside me is the only thing that exists.
"Kit." His voice has dropped into a lower register, coated with intimacy, and my body clenches around him so hard he groans. "Look at me."
I open my eyes to see his face above mine, flushed and wrecked, his glasses skewed on his face, his eyes dark and focused entirely on me. "God, you’re such a good boy, aren’t you?" he breathes.
Something rewires in my head as I glare at him, words I have no control over spilling out before I can stop them. “Say it again,” I plead. “Again,please.”
His rhythm falters and then picks back up, a wild smile spreading across his face as his voice deepens a little. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you, Kit?”
I open my mouth to say something else, only for a low whimper to morph into a full-bellied moan as I shatter. The orgasm tears through me without warning, my whole body seizing around him, my back arching so hard only my shoulders touch the mattress. The sound I make is the one I've beenholding back all night, raw and wrecked and pulled from the same deep place where I keep every secret I've ever been ashamed of. Easton fucks me through it, his rhythm stuttering as I clench around him, the base of his cock starting to swell.
The knot catches at my rim and my body opens for it before my brain has time to panic. He pushes in with a groan that rumbles through both of us, locking us together, his hips flush against mine, his cock buried so deep I can feel my own pulse around it.
He comes with his face pressed into my neck, the heat of his release flooding inside me triggering a second orgasm that I wasn't prepared for. It rolls through me quieter than the first, a slow, devastating wave that leaves me boneless and trembling beneath him, my arms wrapped around his back, my face pressed against his shoulder, my body holding him inside me because biology has decided that this Alpha isn't going anywhere for the next thirty minutes and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Easton slowly rolls us until his back is against the mattress, making it easier for me to relax while we’re still tied together. Drowsiness washes over me as I try to form words, making it very clear what just happened here even if I don’t believe it myself.
"This doesn't change anything," I tell the dark room, my voice coming out wobbly, pleasure still rushing through me. "When this is over I'm leaving and we go back to normal."
EASTON
Kithasn'tsaidaword in four minutes and I've been counting because four minutes of Kit voluntarily not speaking is more alarming than anything that happened against the wall or in the bed or in the moment where his whole body came apart under two words I didn't plan to say.
The knot released a few minutes ago and he rolled off me immediately, putting exactly enough distance between us to make a point while staying close enough that his knee still touches my thigh. He's on his back staring at the ceiling with the sheet pulled up to his chest, his arms crossed over it like he's guarding something, and his face has gone carefully blank in a way that I recognize from every hallway encounter we've ever had. Kit's armor is rebuilding, while his body still smells like sex and surrender and my sheets are soaked with his scent.
I get up slowly and fill a glass of water from the mini fridge, grab the washcloth from the hook by my sink, and run it underwarm water. Kit's eyes track me across the room but he doesn't say anything. I sit on the edge of the bed and hold out the washcloth and he stares at it, then at me, his jaw tightening.
"I can clean myself up."
"I know you can."
He takes it after a beat, his fingers careful not to touch mine, and I pretend I don't notice the avoidance because pointing it out would give him something to fight about, and fighting is how Kit exits conversations he doesn't want to have.
He cleans up quickly, his gaze fixed on the far wall, then drops the washcloth on the nightstand and pulls the sheet tighter around himself. I set the water glass beside him but he doesn't reach for it.
"That was a mistake," he tells the ceiling.
"Was it?"
"Yes. A biological one. Proximity and pheromones and the auction adrenaline, that's all this was. My body reacted to an Alpha in close quarters. It's chemistry, not a choice." His voice comes out steady, like he rehearsed this speech while the knot was still tying us together. But his scent tells a different story, still curling toward me every time he exhales despite the rigid set of his shoulders.
"Okay," I tell him as his eyes snap to mine.
"Stop saying okay. You keep saying okay like you're humoring me and it's condescending."
