Page 23 of First (After the End #1)

“You’re going to spend on me,” I say.

His hand halts in a brief stutter. Then resumes, faster, grip tighter.

“And then I’ll smell like you. Lennart, and his parents—everyone will assume that you took me.”

“Close your eyes,” he says again. Not evenly.

I tilt my head. “Because you’d rather I not watch?” I let out a startled, though genuinely amused, laugh. The flex of his forearms is impossible to look away from. The sheer strength of him. “That’s a little hypocritical, no?”

“Is that what it is?”

“You’re fine with performing sexual acts upon my body without my permission, yet set boundaries for my participation.”

He huffs, but sounds sincere as he says, “I wish I’d found you under other circumstances.

” Muscles seize in his throat. He has a steady rhythm going now.

His eyes drift closed, head tips back, and I wonder if this is a sight anyone has ever experienced—a warrior of his caliber lowering his defenses, deliberately leaving himself at my mercy.

I could reach for his sword and use it on him.

I could have hidden my own weapon to escape.

There are any number of things I could do to him when he’s this vulnerable.

I’m interested in none. Or almost none.

The heat between my legs begins to pulsate. It’s new and wonderful, and since this is the most aroused I’ve ever been, I’d rather take as much control of it as I possibly can.

“Gabriel,” I say softly.

His eyes open. There is a ruddy flush high on his cheekbones that almost matches the darkening blunt head of his cock. His grip tightens, and while his movements don’t stop, they slow and become stiffer. One hand travels down to squeeze his balls, as if to shore up against something.

“Where?” I ask.

A thick swallow. His expression is at once angry, spellbound, and determined.

“Where on me are you planning to spend?”

The softest grunt. It’s born deep in Gabriel’s throat and dies there, too, but his lips don’t part, nor does he make any real sound. It’s more like a vibration, a purr that travels through his flesh and mine.

“On my belly? Is that why you had me pull up my shirt?”

He’s close. I’ve never seen anyone orgasm, but the stymied breaths and the tightening of his shoulders seem to be Gabriel’s tells, and he’s clearly on the precipice of something.

He’s enjoying this. Touching himself as he stares at my mostly covered body. Filling his lungs with my scent. I’m the one driving his pleasure, and it makes me bold enough to ask, “Wouldn’t you rather come on my breasts?”

The motion of his hand breaks. A low, strangled growl rises from somewhere, and I gasp at the beauty of it. His eagerness and impatience. The power I have over him, even as he seeks to ruin me. Our combined scents spiking.

I bite the inside of my mouth. “I noticed the way you look at them. Yesterday, in the dress. Today too.”

I can almost taste the strain that my words cause, but he continues pumping. His only response is licking his lips, but I begin to undo the buttons of the shirt.

“Sofia,” he whispers. But he doesn’t, really. It’s more like he’s tracing my name on his lips, an awestruck word that edges toward a plea.

“You do like them, don’t you?” I ask when a burst of insecurity shoots through me. “I didn’t misinterpret?”

He says nothing, but I’ve come too far to stop. Underneath, I’m wearing the bralette that came with my mating dress. When I lower both cups, my nipples are erect and puffy, surrounded by a pink flush.

“Would you like to touch them?” I ask, voice low, and instantly regret trying to sound sultry because what I should have said is I’d like for you to touch them, Gabriel, I would die if you—

The first hot spurt lands across my left nipple.

Gabriel’s groans are harsh, at once muted and feral; they fill the room as he continues fucking his closed fist. Rope after rope of white liquid paints across my skin.

I watch him—strong neck thrown back, muscles clenched—and think that if the pleasure he’s feeling is a tenth as strong as the one I’m experiencing just looking at him…

Well. I’m happy for him, even if my abdomen is stretched tauter than a bow.

“How does this work?” I ask him when he stops, once his hand has stilled and deep breaths are rolling again out of his chest. “Do I clean up before putting myself back together, or does it defeat the purpose?”

“You—don’t wipe it.” His voice is rough. Shaken.

“Of course.” Slowly, quietly, my trembling hand redoes the buttons of the shirt, the army blue hiding the wetness as it seeps through the fabric.

The scent, though… Every single Alpha and Omega will know.

“I hope you enjoyed it,” I say, adjusting on the bed. Between my legs, I am wetter than I ever remember being. I can feel my underwear slide across my cunt as I squirm to find a comfortable spot, slick and downright filthy.

It’s nice, being swollen and tender. The heat feels good and new, something to be cherished and explored. According to other healers I’ve talked to, it’s not uncommon for cold Omegas to have issues with lubrication. I accepted it as the nature of my body, but I did look into alternatives.

I might not need them after all.

“Did you?” The words stumble out of my mouth.

“Hm?” He sounds distracted. Dizzy and hushed. Still staring at my now-covered chest.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Gabriel’s exhale seems full of disbelief, but his lips twitch. “Don’t you have physical proof of it?”

“I’m sure not all orgasms are created equal.” I glance away. “And I hear that you have a lot of experience.”

A pause. “I do.”

“Was this good, then?”

“It was…” He runs a hand through his hair. Seems to look for words. Settles on “yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad. I liked it, too.”

Again, his Adam’s apple bobs. “I can smell you, Sofia.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I can smell that you liked it.” It takes me a second to realize what he meant, and when I do, my cheeks heat. I’m no prude, but this is not a random anatomical process we’re talking about. It’s my anatomical process.

“Oh.” I bite my lower lip again, coming to a decision.

After what I just witnessed about his desires, I have no reason to be ashamed of mine.

And if I’m going back home tomorrow…this may very well be the last time I smell Gabriel up close.

Once I’m out of his sight, he may never think of me again.

I doubt he’ll decide to visit me in the Larsen wing.

So I go for it. “Do you mind if I touch myself? I’ve never… This has never happened to me before. And it might not happen again.”

His laughter is stupefied, lips parted, breath still coming hard, but he says nothing. After a beat, I realize that I don’t need his permission. I slide my hand down, past the elastic of my underwear, and what I find is…

Oh.

My breath hitches, and my eyes flutter closed. I have experimented before, but with little success. Now every touch feels slippery, makes me shiver and arch a little. Every little caress is good, and—

The mattress dips beside me. “Let me help you,” he breathes.

A request. I wonder when the last time was that he made one of those instead of issuing an order.

“With what? Oh.” I’m a little busy with trial and error, figuring out what feels nice and what feels nicer. But the more Gabriel’s scent envelops me, the hotter my blood burns. “I guess you know what to do, right?”

When I open my eyes to look at him, his cheekbones are red and his pupils blown. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

He’s not very delicate in how he shoves my pants down.

Takes them off. Buries his nose into my hip bone and inhales deeply.

I let him shift my legs open. “Fuck, you smell perfect.” He grunts.

His hand is large and calloused—so much so, I almost expect it to hurt me as it travels up my leg.

The hardened patches of skin nearly catch against mine, but the scratch is pleasant, grounding.

A testament to the perfection of this moment.

It’s me and him surrounded by the almost-silent buzzing of the air converters and life support systems. Back when I still couldn’t read or write, my dad taught me how to distinguish a healthy hum from a near-catastrophic failure.

Right now, everything is alright.

But before touching me, hand hovering above my cunt, he finds my eyes and says, “You may have no way of knowing this, but none of this is normal. None of this has precedents. Not for me.” He waits for my uncertain, fitful nod and then runs his finger against my entrance.

I arch my back, fingers scraping against the blankets.

“Good?” he asks, mouth sliding across my abdomen. “Like this?”

“F-fuck,” I whimper as my bones liquefy. It’s his hands on me. His warmth. His Alpha scent. It’s strong, aggressive, but also right and pretty and aching in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“This is just a taste,” he says, “of what I’ll do to you. When you come back to me.”

“I w-won’t. You should give me all of it now—” My breath rushes out in a gasp as he takes his hand away. I nearly beg him to put it back, but when my eyes spring open, I catch him in the act of licking my wetness off his fingers. His pupils shrink smaller than the eye of a needle.

“Good?” I ask, raspy.

He doesn’t nod or agree, and I experience a moment of fear that I might not be to his liking. But as I’m about to ask, he takes off his shirt. I blink wistfully at the knots of scars on his chest, the wounds that I wish I had been there to treat for him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

I nod, waiting for him to climb over me—and then melt into the bed when I realize that he didn’t mean my mouth. His aimless, assured, leisurely licks quickly turn into something greedy and violent. His guttural “fuck” followed by a groan, tells me that yes.

This is good.

“You will come back to me,” he whispers against my skin. “And I’ll punish you for making me wait. And I’ll keep you underneath me for weeks. And you will admit that I was right all along.”

I can’t let myself believe a word of it. So I sink back into the pillow when I feel a shiver run down my spine, and the pleasure crashes into me.