He finally moves, planting one hand by my hip as he crawls forward, until he’s hovering over me. “I mean, if I were to sit down and choose all of the things that would make my perfect omega, I don’t think I would have come even close to the perfection that is Florence Karlin.”
My fingers scrub through his neatly trimmed beard, my lips quirked into a half smile. “I think we both know I’m not perfect. And neither are you.”
“Far from it,” he easily agrees.
“But that’s what makes us fit, Sythe. All our imperfect jagged edges snap together like puzzle pieces. Until we’re one beautiful cohesive picture.”
He nods slowly. “You’re right. Not perfect, but perfect for us.”
“Perfect for each other,” I correct, winding my legs around his hips to try to bring him flush against me. “Now, stop talking and complete our pack, alpha.”
He chuckles, low and filthy. “With pleasure, omega. Gonna fuck all that cum right back inside you.”
One of the other males in the room groans at his words, and I don’t try to hide the way they make my skin prickle with goosebumps and my nipples harden into tight points.
He drops his weight into my hips, the hard ridge of his cock slipping easily through my folds. The tip bumps my clit and I suck in a sharp breath at the contact. When he does it again, I moan and try to arch into him, get greater friction, but one of his hands clamps onto my hip and holds me still.
“Greedy little omega,” He murmurs.
“Forsythe, I swear to god-” My threat cuts off on a moan as he notches the head of his cock at my entrance and starts pushing in at a fucking snail’s pace.
“I was raised to believe duty came before everything,” he says quietly, sliding slowly into me. My heart stutters, even as I arch to get him to move faster, go deeper. “I was wrong. You come before everything.Our packcomes before everything.”
The words settle into me, heavy and real and reassuring.
His forehead presses to mine. “You are not something I hide,” he murmurs. “You never will be.”
My breath catches. My fingers curl into his shoulders, trying to get him closer, to pull him into me. But he doesn’t rush, doesn’t hurry us to the finish line.
No, he just continues to push into me slowly, filling me inch by torturous inch, watching every micro expression.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs when he’s fully seated in the cradle of my hips.
I’d halfway hoped that he’d picked up the pace once he’d reached this point. This is the man who delights in commanding our sexual encounters. Loves telling us how to fuck and when. So surely, surely he’ll lose control a little.
But instead, he only drags his hips back, and slides in again. His pace is steady and slow and grinding. Like he’s justenjoying the feeling of being inside me, like he wants to keep us both simmering right on the edge for as long as he can.
Like some kind of sadist and masochist all rolled into one person.
And I think I love it.
Sweat slicks our skin. Our breaths leave us in pants. Moans and sighs and groans fill the air.
And still his pace stays steady.
This is love making. Not fucking. Not something feral and wild. It's a promise. A gentle claim. His fingers lace through mine, pressing my hands into the pillow, as he grinds slowly into me, his amber eyes focused on mine.
“You are mine,” he vows softly. “And I am yours.”
“Yes,” I whisper, tears slipping free, pleasure growing from a spark to a flame at the base of my spine. “Yes, Forsythe.”
He ducks his head until his mouth is over mine, hovering, sharing breath. We stay like that, his cock dragging slowly in and out over me, his knot grinding against my clit in a way that makes my toes curl against his ass.
“You ready,cor mea?”
“So ready,” I tell him, feeling frantic with need. “Please, alpha. Please. Need your knot. Need to come. Need your bite.Please.”
A feral light bursts in his eyes for the first time. His lip pulls back in a snarl and he grinds his knot into me a little harder, the top of it pushing inside until he pulls back. “You beg so pretty for your alpha, omega. So fucking pretty.”
