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He asked me questions, and he made sure of things, but he took charge of me, which I liked, which made me wet and it made me whine.

He wasn’t a jackass about it or anything. He held me and his voice was quiet and so, so deep. He cupped my cheek and said, “Omega, take off your shirt,” and “You want me to suck your nipples, don’t you, omega,” and “Good omega, so wet for me.”

He made me present for him, I remember that, but I wanted to. I didn’t even know what it was, not really, I was that innocent, but when he said it, my body knew, my omeganess knew.

I remember the way my body took over, the way I went down on my elbows on the bed, my bare ass in the air, my legs spread, and there were both of my holes on display for him, and he liked that, and I liked him liking it.

That was the point where it got all intense and red and everything flowed into each other. The whole world seemed swollen and sweet and so bright, and I remember feeling as if there was a pulse that was going through both of us, and each pulse made everything feel better.

I was gasping, and he was groaning, and the first press of the head of his condomed cock against my opening was like some kind of revelation from the heavens. Bliss.

I was begging him so intensely that my words were all garbled, barely understandable, but he knew I wanted him to please fuck me, and he heard me call him alpha, and he was doing it.

I remember that everything stretched real tight as he pushed his way inside, and I remember that it hurt, but the hurt part wasn’t, um, a bad hurt, it was just more sensation, more sensory information, and all of it felt amazing. My wolf was at the back of my skull, running with her tongue hanging out like she was chasing the perfect prey, like she was leaping over obstacles, soaring through the forest, landing perfectly on her feet. I felt exactly right in that moment.

I’ve never felt as right as I did when I surrendered to Damian for the first time, when he breached me and claimed me and made me his. It was like the fulfillment of every desire I’ve ever had—not just the sweet and nice ones, the nasty, dark ones, too, the ones I usually felt a little ashamed of—but there was no shame in this moment, only the swollen swell of sweet surrender.

I remember he had his hands on my hips as he sank into me, and he informed me I was going to take his knot. His voice was strained, but he was so sure of it that I was sure of it, too. “You can take my knot, omega,” he said, so soothing, so smooth, so sure.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, alpha, want your knot.”

“I know you do,” he said. “Very much.”

“So much,” I agreed. “So, so much. Please.”

But it didn’t go in easy, and I remember that. I remember he soothed me through all of it, though, in that sure, sure voice of his, so very deep. “Just a little bit more, omega. You’re almost there. I know it’s a lot, but you’re made to take me like this. You’re going to let my knot right in and we’ll be nice and stuck together. Almost there. Almost. Just breathe, hmm? Breathe through it, you’re okay.”

I don’t even remember if it hurt, just that it took him a while to work it in, that he rocked and rocked and squirted lube on me and reached around to rub my clit, and then he was snugly seated right in me, all the way in, deeper in that I could have imagined, and the knot—oh, the knot—it was rubbing up against all the inner parts of my clitoris, and he was touching the outer parts of my clitoris, and that I started to come straightaway.

The orgasm was like being stuck in the darkest part of the forest, running deep down some little path between the trees, and then coming out into a bright moon-filled clearing, where I could caper and prance in waves and waves of brilliant white light that cut through me and through me and through me.

And he came pretty much immediately, too.

Then, we lay down on the bed. He was attached behind me, so he was stuck in me there. I was under him, and he lay himself so that he wasn’t lying entirely on top of me but mostly on the bed and on some pillows. We both turned our heads to face each other. The weight of his pelvis against mine was nice, and his knot was all inflated and filling me all the way up and it felt so good.

His eyes were half-lidded. He was smiling at me, and his expression was tinged with awe and gratefulness and pleasure. “I didn’t know something could feel that good.”

“Me either,” I whispered. “I love having you in me. You’re like this whole missing part of me that I didn’t know I wanted, but now that you’re here, I don’t want to be without you.”

“I want you to swallow me up,” he said. “I want pieces of me to dissolve into you. I want to leave them in you, forever.”

“When we’re together, we’re whole,” I said.

“Yes,” he groaned.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NOW, I SCRATCHED the back of my head and made a face as I settled back down on the couch next to him. “Maybe it was sort of, um, co-dependent? Maybe someone might have said we were unhealthily attached to each other.”

“You think it was unhealthy?” he said.

I wasn’t looking at him. “She wrote that you told her that you made me bleed. I don’t, uh, remember that, exactly?” I remember he was knotted in for about two hours. I remember that he came in me—in the condom—three times. I remember that he turned me on his knot—carefully, and it took a while—to have me missionary style. I remember we tried that bullet vibrator and it wouldn’t stay in place, and we giggled about it, and his big, swollen wonderful knot was making me come anyway, and I didn’t care.

He dragged a hand over his face. “That was messed up. But it’s like this with us a lot, I think. I noticed it when I was knotting you, that I’d torn you, and I, uh, didn’t care.”

I bit down on my lip.

“It was like you didn’t even feel it,” he said, lifting a shoulder. “And I fucked you a long time after that, and it was like it didn’t matter. To either of us. It was as if it was more important that we were joined to each other than anything else, so anything that might have stopped it, it became unimportant, even that I was hurting you.”