Page 57 of Delta (Alpha #12)

"God, I love your cock," she whispers, nuzzling it affectionately.

“It loves you," I answer.

"Does it love this?" she asks, licking up the underside of it with the flat of her tongue.

" Fuck yes."

"How about this?" She wraps her lips around me, groaning softly as I fill her mouth—without preamble, she takes all of me, until her nose touches my belly.

"Ahh fuck, fuck, darling, yes. Yes. Fucking love that." I pull at her. "But that's not what I need.”

She wipes at her mouth with the back of her wrist, and then crawls up onto the chair with me, straddling me. Her thighs wedge outside mine as she hovers over me, pressing me back into the chair, lining herself up against me.

"Rush?" she breathes.

"Yeah, Gorgeous?" I grip her ass, every part of me throbbing with anticipation of being inside her at long, long last.

"Say it." Her forehead touches mine. "Say it."

"I love you, Bryn Harris."

My tongue has barely touched the roof of my mouth to form the L sound before she sinks down onto me, a long, raw groan scraping out of her throat as I fill her.

It's a long, delicious slide, my cock entering her to the hilt.

Her ass meets my thighs, and her hands go to my face, clutching at me with desperation, shaking and shuddering as she lets herself stretch around me, panting quietly, each breath a soft whimper.

"Rush, I—"

I touch her lips. “Not yet, babe."

She looks at me in confusion. I just grin up at her, thrusting into her.

Her eyes roll back in her head, and she claws her hands into my shoulders, lifting up, drawing me out through the stretched-thin lips of her pussy.

Her mouth crashes against mine, and she slams down, hard.

I grunt into her mouth, gasp as she smashes herself lower, grinding on me, taking me as deep as I can physically go. "RUSH!"

I nip her lower lip. “Not yet, babe."

I thrust.

She cries out, head tossed back, her whole body spasming. I dig a hand into her hair, tug her head back, kiss her throat. Fuck into her again, hard.

“Touch yourself, my love," I order.

Her fingers go immediately to her pussy, one hand spreading her folds apart, the other pressing circling fingers her to her clit. Her eyes roll back in her head, fluttering as another climax ripples through her.

“Open your eyes, Bryn," I say. "Watch us. Watch me fuck you."

Her eyes fly wide, fix on our union—she swipes at her clit with increasing speed as we watch my cock slide through her, fill her, withdraw glistening wetly, plunge back in.

"Rush," she whimpers. "I'm—oh god, oh god, I'm coming, Rush. Oh my fucking god I'm coming so hard."

"Now, Bryn. Now say it."

"Come with me, Rush. Come first. Come with me first."

That's all it takes—her wish is my command. I drive into her and let go, pulling her down onto me as I give in to my orgasm. "Bryn!" It's all I can manage, my breath gone, dizziness washing through as my release empties me utterly.

She leans forward, hunching over me with her hips flying, grinding, taking me and taking me and taking me, hands clawed into the back of my head as she comes around me. "I love you, Rush," she whispers as we come together in perfect synchronization. "Oh god, I love you. I love you so fucking much."

She rocks on me until I start to go soft, and then finally sits back on my thighs, brown eyes liquid with pleasure, hot with passion, delirious with love.

Which is when she notices that I'm…well, somewhat less than able to breathe properly.

"Ohmigod, Rush!" She leans over the side of the chair, snags the cannula, and fits it onto me, and then starts the flow. I groan in relief as the cool oxygen rushes into my system.

"Leave it on, next time, Macho Man,” she says, caressing my cheek. She starts to move off me. "I must be crushing you."

I hold her in place. "You're perfect."

"Why didn't you say you couldn't breathe?"

"Felt too good to stop."

"Your lips were blue!"

"Worth it."

She laughs, shakes her head. "You're incorrigible. Next time, the cannula stays on."

"As you wish, my love."

We stay like that for a while, her on my lap in the chair, salt breeze fluttering her hair, my hands trailing over her silky brown skin, her lips pressing kisses to my shoulder, my throat, my cheek, my lips.

At some point, that turns to kissing. Kissing turns to making out. And then I’m hard and she's welcoming me inside her once again, and this time it's slow and soft, and there are no commands, just love made in the soft light of sunrise, her gasps and my growls a song without words.

Later, after we've showered, Cuddy and Kyrie bring Eliza and Ren over, and the kids play in the water.

It feels like a lifetime ago that I was fielding a call from Pugli and heading to Berlin.

Just goes to show you that your life can change in an instant. Take a job you know is wrong, and somehow, you end up here—loved, accepted, understood, seen.

Forgiven.

Changed.

Definitely changed.

A couple of days later, Bryn, Eliza, and I are lounging in the main house with Layla Harris—and I see where Bryn got a lot of her personality from, now—when Layla's phone rings.

"Nicky?" she answers, voice shaky—every call could be the call saying they’ve found them. She listens for a few moments, her expression unreadable. “Okay, got it. Love you too.”

She hangs up, tosses the phone aside, rakes her fingers through her long, curly black hair, so much like Bryn's.

"Mom?" Bryn asks. "What is it? What'd he say?"

She looks at Bryn. "They found a car abandoned in a parking lot at an airport in Belgium. Lear was able to find security footage showing that Killy and Story were alive, together, and in that car as of forty-eight hours ago."

"Belgium?" Bryn asks. "And…Killian and Story are together ? I thought Story was in Minnesota, doing her residency at Abbot?”

"Well, we know she disappeared around the same time as the boys, but whoever it was that took them covered their tracks well.

Assuming the boys were taken, that is. If someone went after them, it wouldn't shock me if they went off-grid.

I don't know. I just think that there's direct evidence that Killy is alive. "

"And Cal?" Bryn asks.

She shakes her head. "Nothing yet. Nothing new, at least. We know he was still in Zermatt with Killy two and a half weeks ago. Which about when Story vanished."

"How are Anselm and Selah?" Bryn asks.

Layla shrugs. "Selah is out of her mind with worry. But Anselm is out there looking. Everyone is. And you have to remember, Story was raised by Anselm. She's no helpless little lamb."

This gets a laugh out of me. "No one in this great big group of nutters is a helpless little lamb," I say. "You'd think those assholes would learn."

Layla shrugs. “You'd think. But I have a feeling this is almost over. With our guys and those Broken Arrows involved, it's only a matter of time before both Pugli and Mercado are found and killed."

Bryn huffs. "Can't be soon enough." She glances at her mother. "Do you think Killy and Story are…?"

Layla snickers. "I mean, if you look at our track record, it'd be weird if they weren't."

"I guess you're right," Bryn says. "I just worry about Killian."

Layla sighs. "I do too, sweetie. But your brother has steel in him. More than I think you give him credit for. And if there's a beautiful girl to protect?"

Bryn chuckles. "Well, Story is certainly beautiful, that's for sure. She's just so damned…regal . I feel like a putzy commoner in the presence of a queen whenever we hang out."

Layla sighs again. "I know Killy can take care of himself. So can Cal. So can Story, for that matter. But he's my son. I can't help worrying."

"If he's anything like you, Bryn, or Harris, he'll be just fine," I say. "He'll come out on top."