Mylo has such a death grip on my hair that I couldn’t break the kiss if I wanted, so I paw my way through the suite, falling over the bed as my shins hit the mattress.
Mylo gasps against my mouth, loosening his grip on me to pull at my clothes.
I shift my kisses across his lips, nipping at the edge of his jaw and sending his back arching. His violent shudder gives me an opening to yank my top and bra off, freeing my breasts.
Mylo’s hot hands wrap them, and he squeezes hard.
I lick his neck, then suck at that sweet citrus scent. It blossoms into honeyed florals as I shove down the waistband of my sweatpants and thong, then kick them aside.
My hand slides up the inside of Mylo’s thigh, earning shudders and hisses. When my palm finds his throbbing cock over his shorts, he lets out the sweetest, most desperate cry.
A familiar, deep tingle spreads through my fingers as my nails turn to claws. I’ve always experienced shifting in parts: an extension of whatever instinct guides me in that moment.
I grip the waistband of Mylo’s shorts and boxers, starting a tear with a razor-sharp claw and finishing it with raw strength. His cock springs free, already glistening with wetness. As I gently pull his foreskin back, accumulated pre-cum slides down over my fingers.
I lift my hand, dragging a claw along Mylo’s chin.
His hazy, fractured gaze collects, finding mine.
I hold his eyes as I lick his arousal from my palm. It tastes like candied oranges, and my mouth waters, drool sliding from my hand to join his slick.
“Fuck, you taste good.”
Mylo whimpers, stricken, trembling as his cock leaks again.
“You need it bad, don’t you?”
Mylo moans incoherently: the only answer I need.
Tempting as it is to take that cute little cock all the way down my throat, to suck that candied orange taste from him until he’s dry, that’ll have to wait for later.
I know what my omega needs.
I straddle him, gently guiding his cock to the center of my ache.
Mylo cries out with relief, arching back.
Pleasure ripples from the place we meet, winding through my body, made brighter by his every noise, everywhere his hot skin presses against mine.
I need more.
My claws find the hem of his tank top, and I yank it off over his head, using it to pin his hands there.
His eyes roll back, body going taut as a drawn bow in my grasp. I cradle his cheek with my free hand as Mylo gasps through the first of many climaxes to come.
My hips rock, steady and firm, already pulling him toward the next peak.
Andfuck, it feels good. Everything about him sends my arousal boiling: his dark, sweat-damp hair falling across his face; his expression of sheer overwhelm; those sounds of sweet desperation; that honeyed citrus scent.
My inner muscles coil tighter and tighter, seeking a lock.
It’s the kind of thing that’s not possible with a beta, that can only be poorly imitated with toys. I’m not even exactly sure what it’s supposed to feel like.
And there it is: the throb of Mylo’s cock as it swells, forming a subtle knot, much smaller than an alpha’s.
It fits perfectly.
“Fuck,Mylo…” The sensation is utter ecstasy, and I pull against it, shuddering. My hair hangs between us, except for the strands sticking to my damp neck and chest.
