An irresistible urge prompts me to lick his neck, the traditional place for mating bites, something I gave up ever having way back when—but now, new possibilities open. As a beta, my bite won’t do anything unless an alpha or omega bites me first. I can only accept and seal a mate bond, not initiate, but I can taste his skin: sweet apple cider with no trace of alcohol.
I could get drunk on him regardless.
“Johanna!” The half-complaint, half-demand, combined with the tension in his muscles, makes clear his ability to resist taking command is ebbing.
Much as I’m enjoying my exploration of his back, I want some time to admire his front.
“Oh, very well,” I pretend to pout as I shift off him and kneel to the side. “Roll over”
“So generous.” He does, cock now fully engorged, a glistening drop at its tip. There’s a small wet patch where he’d lain, but he has no trouble arranging himself in the same general spot. His head tilts to his right, my left, as before.
“That’s me: the soul of generosity.” I swing back over him and arrange myself in the same general position, right over his thighs. Now his cock presses against my slit. It’s not particularly long, but nicely thick.
While no thicker than some of the toys in my bedside table drawer, it’s been awhile since I indulged. Since before we knew Max was sick.
“Do you have any lube?” I ask.
“Bedside table.”
There’s nothing atop the table save the alarm clock and lamp, but I spy a small drawer with a brass handle. I raise up long enough to lean over, yank the drawer open, and grab a lube bottle laying atop interestingly shaped items in soft cloth bags—something to check out another time—then toss the lube on the bed within easy reach.
As I turn back, I catch him glancing at the clock. He’s marking time, counting down minutes!
“Ah, ah, ah.” Shaking a finger, I pivot the clock face away from him. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
He doesn’t say anything, but glares at me from his prone position—though the curve to his lips suggests amusement.
Both vanish, and his neck arches as I move to sit just above his groin, careful to keep my full weight from resting on him. Now, his cock bobs against my buttocks, leaving the whole of his chest at my disposal.
A mix of gray and black hairs grow thickly across his upper chest then narrow into the trail leading down. They’re soft when stroked with the grain, prickly against, so no matter which way I rub, it’s a mix—just like him.
He’s growling or purring, his chest vibrating under my hands. The reverberations should be confined to the area immediately around his lungs, but somehow, extend down his torso to where my clit presses against him.
My pleasure in exploring him remains, my desire to touch and kiss in no way diminishing, but the pulsing in my clit reminds me I haven’t come in a long time.
And I want it.
Competing desires pull me in different directions. As before, I lay down atop him. This time, my aching breasts rub against hair-covered pecs, and my head nestles against the crook of chin to collarbone.
As I lick the spot right over Corin’s collarbone, pure, sweet apples burst on my tongue.
“One minute left.” He warns, flexing in a way that makes my toes curl in anticipation.
My turn to growl.
I slide down, grabbing the bottle of lube as I go, only to abandon it a second later in favor of sucking his cock for a few wonderful seconds—just long enough to lap up his savory sweetness.
Although he growls with satisfaction, he grabs me and, somehow, suddenly, he’s poised on top.
“Not a good idea, darling.” He’s panting, eyes dark. “Even when I was a young man, it took me a long time to recoup after coming. This is the only erection I’m getting tonight, and lovely as I’m sure your mouth is, I’m not ending there.”
“One is fine—it’s all we need.” I lean up to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth, whispering against his lips. “Make it count.”
“After you come.” Despite his earlier agreement to prize the journey over the destination, he settles his fingers around my clit and his mouth on mine. Kisses above match strokes below.
My body’s already primed for pleasure after all the teasing, but his initial press of fingers against my clit is too strong and direct.
“No, like this.” I slip a hand between us, over his, and guide him in the circular movements I prefer—mostly clockwise, with a few counter to mix thing up—and a lighter touch.
