My legs and arms wrap around him, holding him close, trying to gain some level of friction against my core. But he knows what I am up to and pins me to the table, holding his body frustratingly apart.
I growl. A small fake sound that is nothing like his.
His head lifts. His eyes are so dark that the blue has almost been swallowed.
His hand slides to my throat, and he kisses me, lingering and deeply.
For all he is a fierce warrior, it is not his skills with a sword, nor his fathering, nor the gentle side, but rather the attentive lover that I linger upon now. One who turns me inside out with a touch, with a look, his hands upon me… his lips. They are all forms of carnal devastation.
They are a necessary sustenance, one I cannot live without.
He breaks the kiss, lifts his head slowly, and his hands go to my skirts, lifting them. Pushing them right up to my waist.
He makes a tutting sound and shakes his head in mock outrage as he realizes I wear no underwear… that I was anticipating this.
“It is a good job our boy has not roused,” he says.
I grin. We are in agreement on this.
“My perfect mate,” he says.
“And you are my perfect husband.”
He growls lowly. “Mate,” he corrects. “Just as you are my mate. One who is laid out ready to receive. Now put your hand over your mouth. It will help you to be quiet.”
I do as he tells me. It is not always very effective.
“We wouldn’t want to wake the hellion up now, would we? Before your mate has had his fill.” His fingers find my slick folds, pulling me open, exposing me to his intimate perusal. “Aye. Look at this poor pussy. All pink and puffy.”
He slides two fingers inside me slowly. His eyes flash to meet mine, watching my expression change as he pumps them in and out. They make the most filthy, sticky noises, and I groan into my balled fist.
“You have loosened up nicely,” he says.
Those words ought to disgust me. No beta lass should want her pussy ruined on her alpha mate’s knot. And yet I have long since passed the stage of decorum. I know only that I love every filthy word that leaves his lips. And every filthy thing he does to me is a thousand times better even than his words.
He scissors his fingers inside me. “My alpha knot stretched you out. But that’s for the best, given how sore you will be this time.” Then he quickens the pumping motion, reaching extra deep, his palm clamping wetly against my clit. I hear a distinct splat against the wooden floor as the evidence of our combined pleasure drips out.
He chuckles. “Naughty girl, wasting your alpha seed. Best I fill you all up again. Get my seed deep where it needs to go.”
His other hand goes to his belt, and he loosens it slowly. Next come the buttons on his pants and another faint clatter as they slide past his hips.
I swear neither of us breathes, and both our eyes go to the bedroom door, behind which our baby boy yet lies sleeping. He’s noisy and rambunctious, and I’m grateful for that now since his shout will provide a warning, which is usually a demand of “Mama” or “Papa” before his feet are on the floor.
As it is for every parent, one becomes very adept at swift cover-ups and the occasional painful denial of pleasure.
But still, that makes these stolen moments all the sweeter, doesn’t it? It lends urgency to these cherished interludes of intimacy.
Our eyes flash to meet one another.
His fingers withdraw, and he spreads some of my slick over his cock, his expression one of intense satisfaction as he smears it over himself. I jolt as the head of his cock makes contact with my slick folds. He slides it up and down, catching my clit, making all the little nerves sing before he finds my entrance and pauses there.
His arms go under my knees.
I whimper a little as he bends me right back into the table, and a wicked glint enters his eyes, his lips curving up in a familiar smirk before they lower to my throat, brushing against my ear. “This is gonna be hot and fast. Be a good girl. And hold your pleasure noises in.”
He pushes a small way, just enough to bring the stretch. I moan behind my hand. It will never be an easy feat, taking him and keeping my sounds smothered. But how I relish the challenge, and Goddess, how I crave him going deeper, and the sensation of him filling me all up. How I love the soreness afterward that reminds me that he has been inside me.
He pushes in, sliding into me slowly. And he watches me carefully, just in case there is distress written upon my face. Just in case the scent of my arousal changes and he needs to stop.
