I slide down the table to my knees.
“What are you doing?” he groans the question.
“I promised you a reward…”
I lick his tip. Sliding the blunt head into my mouth. He buries his hand in my hair. Loosening the last of my curls from the elastic band and scraping my scalp. I know the shape of him inside me, but tasting him is a fresh kind of ruin.
I grip his ass and try to work my way down his shaft. Try to force him deeper, but it’s not possible. And every time I gag, he retreats with a fierce shake of his head.He won’t hurt me. I stare into his beautiful eyes.
“Looks like I’ll need to practice,” I say with a teasing pout.
His eyes explode, pupils blown wide.
“Lots of practice,” he agrees.
I stand up and my slick drenches my thighs, the table, and drips onto the floor. Tomorrow, the cleaning crew is going to hate us. I cannot make myself care.
“Inside me,” I say.
I don’t have to ask him twice. I expect him to put me back on the table. But he picks me up. Seats me in his palms as if I’m a single flower and not a whole bouquet. A rough groan leaves him as my pussy searches for his cock, lining us up.
“I need the words,” he pants.
I freeze. Because the thing between us matters too much for guessing. Because he wants me wild and certain, not swept along. The heat in my chest turns tender. Awful. Inconvenient. Perfect.
“I want your cock,” I say. “I want your knot. I want you losing control because I need my alpha, not the polite office version.”
His breath stops. I slide my hand lower and wrap my hand around his cock. Hard. Thick. Mine enough to send a dangerous, possessive thrill running through me.
“And if you call me your wife while you fuck me,” I whisper against his ear, making sure my lips tease the shell, “I will not complain.”
His cock jumps, heavy and ridged already, the base thickening in promise. My body clenches in response. Alien-human compatibility requires slick, so much slick. Good thing he’s wrung it out of me. He pulls back and positions himself.
Then he stops.
Again.
I almost bite him.
“What now?” I demand.
“There is my wife. My omega princess. My good girl.”
“My alpha,” I say.
He enters me on a groan. Slow at first. He has to be. My body stretches around him, slick and still sensitive from his mouth. The ridges along his shaft drag against me inch by inch, too much and exactly enough. I grip his shoulders and breathe through the fullness.
He watches every flicker of my face, jaw locked, hands supporting my hips.
“Still with me?”
I can only nod and cross my ankles at his waist. The movement clenches me around him.
His control slips. He slams into me. And I’m here for it. Totally here. He starts rutting. His hips drive deep, then deeper, each stroke dragging over places still sparking from his mouth. I hold on to him, to his shoulders, to the hot impossible fact of us. He is still careful where it counts, but nothing about himfeels tame. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise. His mouth returns to my mark. His teeth scrape over it, and my body answers with a wet, helpless pulse around him.
“Mine,” he says against my throat.
The word should annoy me.
