Page 4 of Obsession
I stop.
I take my hand off his cock and put both hands on his hips, just holding him there, pressed back against me. His whole body goes rigid. His cock is out, hard and wet and untouched, and hiships are still trying to thrust into nothing. The sound he makes is close to a sob.
"What the fuck," he says, and his voice is shaking. "What thefuckare you doing."
"Showing you what happens when you tell me to get on my knees." I tighten my grip on his hips and hold him still, and he squirms against me and my cock is so hard it hurts where it's pressed against his ass. I want to fuck him so badly I can taste it, but I wait. "Ask me nicely and I'll make you come."
"Go to hell."
"Not what I asked."
He's trembling all over and his scent has gone desperate, heavy and sweet and begging in a way his mouth refuses to. Slick is running down his thighs. I can see it glistening in the purple light below the hem of his pushed-down jeans, and my mouth is watering. He's the most stubborn omega I've ever touched, the wettest, the hardest, still straining and twitching in the air. I want him underneath me more than I've wanted anything in recent memory.
He's quiet for a long time. His chest is heaving against mine and his hands are gripping my forearms hard enough to bruise. Then, so quiet I barely hear it over the bass:
"Please."
I get my hand back on his cock and stroke him fast and tight and he comes in about four seconds, spilling hot over my fingers while his body jerks against mine. A sound rips out of him that's louder than I'm sure he'd ever allow if he were thinking straight. I work him through it, feeling his cock pulse in my hand. His ass grinds in a way that has me imagining his hole clenching against my dick, and I growl low in my throat.
He's still shaking when I turn him around to face me. His jeans are open and his cock is softening against his belly, wet with come. His hands are braced against my chest and his breathinghasn't slowed down at all. The scent rolling off him has shifted, still aroused, still in heat, but layered now with something almost dazed, like he wasn't expecting to be here, like his own orgasm surprised him.
I look at him and can feel the first wave of his peak heat building, pushing his scent higher and sweeter and more desperate by the second, and I know — we both know — that what just happened was the warmup.
"Still want me on my knees?" I ask.
His hands land on my arms and pull me toward one of the private rooms, and he doesn't answer, and he doesn't need to.
Kieran
The private room is small and dark. The second the door closes behind us, Everett's scent fills the space like someone poured it in from the ceiling. There's nowhere for it to go. No other alphas to dilute it, no crowd noise, no bass heavy enough to cover up what just happened; which is that I am alone in a room with the man I came here to destroy and I just came in his hand on the floor and saidpleaseto get there. I need to get my shit together immediately.
I'm fine. He caught me off guard with the edging, that's all. I let him have one round because I wasn't expecting him to pull that move. Now I know what I'm up against. I'm twenty-six, a JD, an omega with a plan. I'm not going to lose it just because some alpha got me off before I was ready. Bodies do what they do. It doesn't mean a damn thing.
The room has a bed, wide and low, dark sheets pulled tight. There's a side table with water and supplies. Not much else. The walls are padded, soundproofed. No audience. Just me and him. I need to stop thinking about his hand on my cock.
Everett is watching me from just inside the door. He hasn't grabbed me, hasn't pushed me toward the bed, hasn't done any of the things I expected an alpha to do once he got an omega alone in a room. He's just standing there with his sleeves still rolled up and his mask still on and his jeans visibly tented and he's waiting to see what I do. Reading me. Like I'm a witness he hasn't decided how to cross-examine yet.
Fine. If he wants to watch, I'll give him something to watch.
I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. His scent sharpens. He liked that. I walk to the bed, sit on the edge, and look at him. My jeans are still unbuttoned from what he did on the floor and I'm hard again. Or still. My heat is turning everything into one long ache. Slick is already pooling under me on the sheets. I don't hide it. I want him to see how wet I am, and I want him to know it doesn't mean he wins.
"Are you coming over here," I say, "or do you need an invitation?"
Up close and personal like this, alpha pheromones roll off his bare skin, make my mouth water, make my hole clench. I press my thighs together and keep my face blank.
He comes to the bed and stands over me. I grab his belt and pull him closer. His cock is thick and hard. I palm him and watch his jaw tighten under the mask. Good. Not as controlled as he wants to be. I unzip him, get my hand inside, wrap my fingers around him. He's big. Bigger than I pictured. Hot in my hand. The sound he makes when I squeeze is low and rough. I want to hear it again. That's not revenge. That's just greed.
"Sit down," I tell him.
He doesn't move for a second, and I can feel him deciding whether to let me run this. Then he sits on the edge of the bed and I push him back and climb on top of him. His hands land on my thighs and for a second we're just looking at each other,breathing hard, his cock pressed up against my ass through the last layers of fabric between us.
I reach back and shove my jeans down far enough to get them out of the way and the air hits the slick on my skin and I shiver. Everett's hands slide up my thighs to my hips and his thumbs dig into the crease where my legs meet my body. The touch is so close to where I need it that a whine slips out of me before I can catch it.
"Take yours off," I say, pulling at his pants, and he lifts his hips and helps me shove them down and then his cock is out, flushed and hard and curving up toward his stomach, and the base is thick where the knot will swell later. Just looking at it makes my body clench so hard a fresh rush of slick drips down onto his thighs.
"Jesus," he says, looking down at the mess I'm making on him. "You're dripping on me."
"Deal with it."
