“I won’t hurt you,” he says in a more soothing tone, a whisper on my skin. “Not you.” His teeth nip at my shoulder, and I can feel his fingers tucking under my dress to slide over my thigh. “Because you’re a good omega, aren’t you?” My breath catches when I feel him pressing against my underwear, teasing the wet slit beneath them. “You can take it, can’t you?”
I feel a shiver pass through me, his crooning words speaking to some part of me that feels almost tight with disuse. Like I’ve never actually touched it before. I feel some sensation like a stretch inside me, like waking up from a very long nap—an all-over pleasure from his praise that I’ve never felt.
And maybe that’s biology, too, most likely is, actually . . . but I’m too far gone now to care.
“I can,” I promise. “I can take it.”
I whimper in protest when he pulls away from me—pushing up on his hands to look down at me with glazed eyes. I notice they’re a dark, stormy blue now that is nothing like their usual clear color, and Noah’s lips are parted as shallow breath escapes between them.
“I don’t—” His jaw clenches. “I don’t feel like myself.” His eyes rake down the front of me with something that only can be described as hunger. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”
Something inside begins to whine, a steady chant of no no no in the back of my head as panic seeps into me at the idea of losing whatever he’s about to give me. Suddenly, the idea of Noah not touching me feels almost painful.
“Don’t stop,” I manage, tugging at his shirt with too much force until I hear the last remaining buttons tear away. “Please?”
There’s a rumble in his chest when my hand finds the front of his jeans, palming him through the denim. “Mackenzie,” he warns, “I’m having a hard time being gentle with you. I don’t—” He groans as I squeeze him through his pants. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The way you smell right now. It’s driving me insane.”
I lean up on my elbows, turning up my face until I can flick my tongue against his throat, where I know he’s sensitive, where his scent is strong. “Then be rough,” I purr. “You can be rough with me.” The word is on my tongue, one I’ve never used before but that somehow feels exactly right at this moment. I reach to pop open the button on his jeans, pulling at the denim until I can reach inside to feel the shape of him through the cotton beneath. “I want you, Alpha.”
“Fuck.”
His mouth is on my skin—lips and teeth tasting every inch he can reach as his hands tug at the hem of my dress. I’m not sure it will survive the night, with the way he’s wrenching it up my body, but I can’t find it in me to care when I feel the heat of his wide palms on my bare skin. I lift my arms so he can tear the dress off, and he tosses it somewhere on the floor before sitting up and wrenching off his own shirt to add it to the pile.
Every inch of Noah seems to have been carved or manufactured, my eyes greedily drinking in every ridge and line of him as the urge to touch and taste threatens to consume me. I notice him working on his zipper next, and I curl my body to bat his hands away so I can do it myself. Even through his underwear the shape of him is daunting—the fabric stretched and straining as the thick length of him presses against it. My hands still at his thighs, fingers curled into the waistband of his jeans as I’m momentarily struck with just how much he is.
He’s always been larger than life, even when I barely knew him, but looking at him like this—with his impossibly wide shoulders and his too-thick arms and his cock that looks like it might be a health hazard—now I’m finding it hard to believe that he was able to hide his alpha status for so long. Everything about him screams it.
I tug his jeans a little farther down his thighs. “Did you know we learned alpha anatomy in med school?”
“Mm.” His lips press together as he watches me shuck down his pants. “I did.”
I let my nails scrape lightly up his thick thighs when his jeans become trapped at his knees, which are pressed against the mattress, allowing me to feel him shiver. “Did you learn about me?”
“I—” His lashes flutter as my fingers tease at the waistband of his boxer briefs. “I—we did.”
“So, we both know how this works. Technically.”
“Mackenzie,” he huffs as I peel the fabric away, the flushed head of his cock slipping out and glistening at the tip. “I can smell you. Jesus, Mackenzie, you’re so wet.”