The first touch sent a shiver racing up my spine so sharp I had to lock my abs to keep from bucking. She was so fucking hot like this:naked, flushed, heat radiating off her skin in waves that made the air between us shimmer.Confident in a way that rewrote every preconception I’d ever held about who got to lead in a bedroom.
I’d never thought I’d develop a kink for a woman who looked at me like she already owned the scoreboard.Clearly I did.
She moved lower, settling between my thighs on her knees with the same deliberate poise she probably used to center a spin. Her tongue flicked out, teasing the head of my cock in one slow, wet circle that dragged a groan from deep in my chest.
The sensation was electric—hot mouth, cooler air, the faint scrape of teeth she kept just on the right side of too much. Then she took me in, inch by deliberate inch, lips stretching around my girth until the wet heat of her throat closed around me and my vision blurred at the edges.
Luka was standing behind her now, one hand rubbing slow circles along the elegant line of her back—encouraging, grounding, the touch of a man who knew exactly how to keep an Omega in heat from tipping over the edge too soon. His palm traced the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the curve of her ass like he was reminding her body it was safe to let go. It was strangely intimate to witness. Not just sex. Not just heat-driven fucking. This was Luka taking control in the quiet way that let her stay in charge—knowing she needed this release to tame the fire raging through her system, yet also sensing the microscopic hesitation that came from me still being, technically, a stranger.
This would break the ice.
And I was the lucky bastard getting to enjoy her mouth before I’d earned a single second of it.
She worked me like she’d been studying my body for years instead of minutes. Tongue swirling on the upstroke, throat relaxing on the down, one hand stroking what hermouth couldn’t reach while the other braced on my thigh for leverage.
The suction was perfect—tight, rhythmic, pulling me deeper with every bob of her head. I fought to keep my breathing steady, but the sounds she made around me—soft, wet, hungry—were unraveling every thread of composure I’d ever possessed.
Luka’s voice cut through the haze, low and velvet-rough.
“Keep going, Diamond. Show him how an Omega delights her Alphas. You want a pack that appreciates flawless work, yes?”
She hummed around my cock in answer.
The vibration shot straight through me like a slap shot to the chest. My hips jerked involuntarily; I bit my bottom lip hard enough to taste copper. Fuck. That mouth was sinful. Precision-engineered. The same control she used to land throw quads translated into the way she took me—measured, relentless, never once losing the rhythm even as her own body trembled with need.
Luka smirked behind her.
His free hand slid lower, fingers teasing through the slick coating her thighs before he parted her folds and circled her clit with deliberate slowness. The moan she let out around my length was muffled but devastating. Her hips lifted, chasing his touch, presenting herself like an offering while she kept sucking me with single-minded focus.
Just the mental image—Luka sliding into her from behind while she kept working me—was enough to push me right to the edge. My balls drew tight. My abs locked. I was breathing hard through my nose, fighting the climax barreling toward me like a breakaway with no defense left.
Luka noticed, of course, the man read trajectories for a living.
He didn’t delay.
One smooth thrust and he was inside her—deep, steady, the wet sound of it cutting through the room like a blade on fresh ice. Octavia’s moan vibrated around my cock again, louder this time, her rhythm faltering for half a second before she found it again. Luka set a pace that matched hers exactly—hard, fast, the slap of his hips against her ass syncing with the bob of her head until the three of us moved like one machine built for mutual destruction.
I couldn’t hold back.
The climax hit me hard and fast—white-hot, blinding, ripping a guttural grunt from my throat as I spilled into her waiting mouth. Hot pulses against the back of her throat, one after another, until my vision whited out and my fingers fisted the sheets like they were the only thing keeping me on the planet.
She took every drop.
When she finally slid off with a wet pop, she tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and showed me—tongue coated, my release pooling there like liquid proof of surrender. Then she swallowed. Deliberate. Slow. Eyes locked on mine the entire time.
Fucking hell. I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life.
Luka’s smirk deepened, the sharp cut of it almost cruel as he planted his palm against the base of her skull, guiding Octavia’s gaze—her entire focus—back to my face. The way he did it made it clear this wasn’t about humiliation or showboating. It was about letting her know that she was seen, anchored, and that neither of us was going to look away when she came apart.
His other hand—long, goalie-strong, but preternaturally gentle—slid up her neck with a possessiveness that read as both a claim and a cradle. I could see her pulse beating wild against the flat of his thumb as he pressed, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind her that she could let go, that someone else was taking the wheel. Behind her, Luka’s hips snapped forward with the same relentless force he brought to the penalty kill: controlled violence, all that Scandinavian discipline weaponized into pure, feral drive.
The rhythm changed. Harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing around us in staccato bursts. Each collision sent a ripple through Octavia’s body, her back arching, her nails digging crescent moons into my thigh where she’d braced herself for leverage. She never broke eye contact with me, not even when her vision started to go glassy and her lips parted around an unformed, hungry moan.
Luka’s control was absolute, but his focus never left her. I watched the way his jaw flexed, the way his eyes—storm-dark, almost black in the low light—refused to blink as he fucked her through whatever new, overwhelming sensation he was chasing. It was astonishing, the care and the ferocity somehow coexisting; not a hair out of place, but also like he’d destroy the world to keep her pinned right there.
The sound of it—the wet, obscene pulse of her pussy milking his cock, the involuntary grunt Luka let loose every time he bottomed out, the high, urgent whimper Octavia made as she worked her mouth and tongue on me—built a pressure in my chest that had nothing to do with the remnants of my own orgasm and everything to do with the raw, animal beauty of what they were doing together.
I’d never felt more wanted. Or more fucking powerless.
