“Look at us,” I whisper, voice wrecked. In the mirror I watch his thick cock disappear inside my dripping cunt, my slick shining on his shaft every time I rise.
Our eyes find each other in the reflection. I hold his gaze. "Don't look away." He doesn’t.
“Can you see how you make me feel? How good we look together?”
He rocks his hips harder as we look into one another’s eyes. His hand moves from my hip to my clit. He hooks my thighs further apart and I watch in the mirror as my swollen core is put fully on display, stretched obscenely around his length.
“You’re so beautiful.” He rocks into me harder.
I throw my head back, and he nips my neck. The feel of his teeth causing me to clench tight around his hard length.
“Yes!” I yell.
He does it again and again. His bite, his fingers, his hard cock thrusting inside me. I’m so close, I just need a little more.
“Knot!” I beg. “Graham, please. I need—”
He snaps his hips up and his knot catches, stretching me wider, wider—then pops inside with a wet, audible sound. Then his mouth finds my shoulder. His teeth graze the skin there. Not a bite.Almost. All the while his deliciously wicked fingers continue their rhythm on my clit and nipple.
“Graham!” I yell.
I force myself to watch as I shatter in his arms and he follows only seconds later. I clench around his knot, greedily pulling every drop of his cum inside me.
We sit like that for minutes. Locked together. His arms wrapped around me. His mouth on my neck.
When our breathing softens, he catches my eye. “Was that—”
“No notes,” I say.
Then I turn as much as I can in our locked state and kiss him. Pouring every ounce of the affection I have for him into it.
He carefully scoots us back into the nest. Then grabs a blanket and pulls it over us.
We lie, locked together, until our breathing slows. His purr slows.
“I love you,” he whispers just before he drifts off to sleep.
I hide my smile. Of course Graham would say it first. And after only two days.
I’m not there yet, but strangely, it doesn’t scare me at all.
Saint
The Jeep rumbles into the garage, echoing off the concrete walls before I cut the engine. I don’t move. My hands stay on the wheel, fingers flexing once before going still. Then I see it.
Baby blue. Polished within an inch of its life. Lark’s ‘68 Corvette. She told me about it when we were texting. That it was her dad’s prized possession. He restored it to mint. Spent hours every weekend on it. Wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. And after he passed, she got it.
It wasn’t here this morning. Silas must have had someone bring it over. He’s been with his sister all day, and I know Graham didn’t leave her long enough to go get it. He’s completely whipped. He acted like she hung the fucking moon on day one.
My jaw tightens. I lean back against the seat, staring up at the garage ceiling. My shoulder is sore as hell. I had PT this morning. Three hours of controlled torture disguised as “rehabilitation.”
My therapist said she thinks I’ll be back on the truck soon. I don’t feel ready. My arm is still tender. But anything is better than riding a desk. That’s fucking brutal. There’s only so many reports a man can write before he starts to go a little crazy. Desk jockey is not a job I want. Never will.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. As much as the desk pisses me off, it’s not what’s got me sitting here. No. The pretty little omega is to blame for that.
This morning was a mistake. She walked into that kitchen like she belonged there. My alpha lost his damned mind. He’s as pathetic as Graham.
I close my eyes briefly. My alpha might be worse than Graham. All day, the bastard has pushed back at me. Growling. Insisting I come back here. Touch her. Kiss her. Knot her.
