Page 165 of Specter Bred

She’d never called me Nolan. Not once. I was her superior officer, her instructor. To her, I was always sir or Graves, usually delivered with enough attitude to remind me exactly how she felt about taking orders.

But this was different.

I’d heard her call Hayes, Sammy, in those softer, unguarded moments between them. Never Hayes and never anything that put rank or distance between them. Just his name, intimate in a way I hadn’t realized I envied until now.

I wanted that too.

I wanted to hear Nolan on her lips and know that, for once, she wasn’t talking to her captain or her instructor. She was talking to me.

Not that I’d ever complain about the way she said, sir.

Fuck, I liked that too.

At first, she only whispered it, as though saying my name instead of sir crossed some invisible line neither of us had dared touch before.

Then louder she cried, “Nolan!”

Hearing it nearly shattered what little control I had left.

I lowered my mouth back to her clit, lapping at it while my fingers rammed her deep, hard, and fast. My mouth and fingers drove her higher as her grip tightened around the headboard. A low growl rumbled from my chest, vibrating her sensitive little bud, and her entire body reacted, another broken sound escaping her lips.

“Nolan!”

There it was again, louder this time.

Then again.

My name became the only word she seemed capable of remembering, threaded between moans and breathless little cries as the tension inside her built. Each time she said it, something possessive and deeply satisfied unfurled inside my chest.

“Nolan. Nolan—fuck—”

Her body went taut.

“Fuck, Nolan!”

She came apart beneath me, trembling through the force of it while I stayed with her through every wave. My mouth dipped and I didn’t stop lapping at her wet core until the tension finally drained from her body and she collapsed back against the mattress, breathless and boneless, her hands at last falling away from the headboard.

I lifted my head and looked at her.

I could get used to hearing her scream my fucking name.

“Good, Teacup. Now part your legs. Nice and wide.”

She shot me a look that clearly showed how she felt about being ordered around, but her climax seemed to stall any smart-ass response she might have given me. She lay boneless against the mattress, still catching her breath, and after a moment her thighs slowly parted.

The defiance never left her eyes. Even thoroughly spent, Maeve Archer still looked at me like following a single order was a personal fucking insult. Eventually, though, her thighs parted wide, revealing her pink, glistening core to me again.

“Now that your muscles are more relaxed, I’m going to knot you.” My voice stayed measured despite the anticipation tightening through me. “But we have to time this right. I need to make sure your anchor doesn’t engage until my knot locks in deep.”

I slid my three fingers back inside her, working them in and out a few times before spreading them carefully, checking that her pussy was stretched fully and ready to take me.

"That's it, Teacup, just like that. Relax and let me stretch you."

I added another finger for good measure, and a low moan slipped from her as she adjusted to the additional stretch.

“Now, let’s practice what we were working on at the old lookout. Beg me for my cock.”

“Fuck no,” she gasped.