I cry out sharply at the sudden fullness, my back arching off the couch, hands scrambling for purchase on his broad shoulders.
“Fuck,” he growls. “So tight. Even after everything, you’re still gripping me like a vise.”
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. Doesn’t ease me into it gently. He pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, setting a brutal pace that has me gasping and moaning with each powerful thrust.
The couch is sturdy, but it’s still shifting slightly with the force of his movements. He’s not holding back anymore. Not being careful. Just taking what he wants with primal intensity.
“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” His voice is rough, commanding. “To be fucked properly. To be reminded that you’re mine.”
“God, yes.”
His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, possessive and dominant.
“I’m yours,” I moan, desperate to tell him. “All yours.”
“That’s my good girl.”
He shifts the angle, hitting something deep inside me that has stars exploding behind my eyes. I’m climbing impossibly fast, my body wound so tight I think I might come again.
He doesn’t stop or slow. Just keeps driving into me relentlessly, chasing his own release now with single-minded focus. He follows immediately, shouting my name, and I feel him pulsing inside me, filling me completely with his seed.
There’s no pause in how much he spills into me, his chest rumbling with a growl, his eyes locked on me, so intense, so dark, so obsessed.
And then his knot starts to swell, stretching me impossibly wider, pushing at my insides, forcing itself in place, and panic and excitement war inside me.
“Slater, I?—”
“Take it,” he growls. “We were made for this.”
The knot locks us together completely, and the sensation is so overwhelming, so intensely foreign and perfect, that I come again just as fast.
Both of us breathing hard, sweating, bound together.
Even if all of this scares me senseless and it’s happening way too fast, he’s mine, and I’m his now.
And there’s absolutely no going back from this.
Not that I want to.
25
ANITA
Ispent the morning moving my stuff into their mansion, which honestly wasn’t that much. A suitcase of clothes, my laptop, some books, radio equipment. But now I’m standing in what’s apparently my room for now, and I’m completely overwhelmed. Once I work out what I’m really doing and if I’m staying, then I’ll figure out what to do with my stuff back home in my apartment in the city.
This is the same room where Mason, Dylan, and I ended up on that wild night together. The massive bed with the nest-like quality. But now it’s been completely transformed into something that has me almost purring with satisfaction.
There are pillows everywhere. Like, an absurd number of pillows in different sizes and textures. Soft throws and blankets are draped artfully across the bed and a beautiful velvet couch they’ve added against one wall. The couch faces a huge flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall.
“All the streaming channels,” Dylan had said proudly when showing me. “For all your movie-watching needs.”
There’s a tall cupboard stocked with snacks. Chocolate-covered almonds, sea salt caramels, fancy crackers, dried fruit. A small wine fridge in the corner filled with drinks and more chocolates and cheese.
The bed itself is piled with the fluffiest blankets I’ve ever seen, in soft creams and grays and a gorgeous dusty-rose color.
I may never leave this room.
I never really thought seriously about nesting before. My previous pack discouraged it, said it was giving in to base instincts and that modern Omegas should be above such primitive behaviors.
