Page 29 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

She should feel embarrassed, exposed like this in the front seat of his truck, but the hunger in his eyes transforms vulnerability into power.

His gaze rakes over her, taking in every detail of her most intimate self with a thoroughness that makes her squirm. No one has ever looked at her with such raw appreciation before.

His fingers return to her thighs, stroking upward with maddening slowness.

When they finally reach her center, gliding through the slickness there, Marigold's head falls back against the seat, a moan escaping her throat. Meadow makes a sound in response — s omething between a groan and a growl — that vibrates through her bones.

"You're so wet," he says, the words thick with desire. "So ready for your Alpha, yes?"

“Y-Yes. Please.”

She’s so desperate, trembling in wait for him to make the next move.

One finger circles her entrance, teasing but not entering, gathering her moisture to spread it higher, finding the swollen bud of her clit. The first touch there makes her jerk, the sensation almost too intense.

Meadow immediately eases the pressure, his movements becoming gentler, learning her body's language with the instinctive understanding of an Alpha attuned to his Omega's needs.

"Is this good?" he asks, his voice a rough whisper against her ear.

"Yes," she manages, the word broken by her ragged breath. "Please don't stop."

He establishes a rhythm, slow circles that gradually increase in pressure as her body adjusts to his touch. Each circuit sends sparks shooting up her spine, building a tension in her lower belly that coils tighter with every pass.

Her hips begin to move unconsciously, seeking more, chasing the friction his fingers provide.

Meadow watches her face with rapt attention, cataloging every gasp, every flutter of her eyelids, every parting of her lips.

He's learning her, memorizing the map of her pleasure, adjusting his touch according to the silent feedback her body provides. When her breathing quickens, he slows down, drawing out the sensations, keeping her balanced on the knife-edge of building pleasure.

"Meadow," she pleads, not entirely sure what she's asking for.

"I've got you," he assures her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Trust me."

Without warning, he shifts in his seat, leaning down, his intention clear.

Before Marigold can process what's happening, he's maneuvering himself awkwardly in the confined space, his broad shoulders wedging between her spread thighs. The first touch of his breath against her core sends a violent shudder through her entire body.

"What are you—" she begins, but the question dies on her lips as his tongue replaces his fingers, dragging a long, slow stroke through her folds.

The sensation is so overwhelming that her mind goes momentarily blank, all thoughts scattering like autumn leaves in a gust of wind.

His beard tickles her sensitive skin, adding another layer of sensation to the hot, slick pressure of his mouth. Marigold's hands fly to his hair, whether to push him away or pull him closer, she isn't sure.

Meadow looks up at her from between her thighs, his eyes dark with desire, seeking confirmation.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice vibrating against her most sensitive flesh.

"Yes," she gasps, her fingers tightening in his hair. "God, yes."

Permission granted, he returns to his task with a single-minded focus.

His tongue flattens against her, applying broad pressure that makes her thighs tremble.

Then he narrows his attention, the tip of his tongue circling her clit with a precision that suggests he's done this before, many times.

The thought flares jealousy in her chest, but it's quickly drowned by the building pressure of pleasure.

His hands grip her thighs, holding them apart as he works.

The strength in his fingers, how easily he could bruise her if he weren't so careful, sends a thrill of excitement coursing through her. The power differential between them — Alpha and Omega — has never been so apparent, nor has his restraint in wielding that power.

Meadow's tongue becomes more insistent, his movements more purposeful.

He's found a rhythm that makes her breath catch, that causes her internal muscles to clench around nothing, seeking fullness. As if reading her mind, he slides one hand higher, a finger teasing at her entrance again, but still not entering.

The promise of penetration hangs between them, adding another layer to the building tension.

Marigold's hands leave his hair to grip the seat beneath her, needing something solid to anchor her as the pleasure builds to nearly unbearable heights.

Her hips move of their own accord, rocking against his mouth in tiny, desperate movements.

Meadow responds by increasing the pressure, his tongue flicking faster, more precisely.

"Meadow," she gasps, the tension coiling tighter, her body trembling on the precipice. "I'm going to?—"

He hums against her in acknowledgment, the vibration sending a new wave of pleasure crashing through her. His eyes remain open, fixed on her face, watching her come undone.

The intimacy of that gaze — of being so completely seen in this most vulnerable momen t — pushes her over the edge.

The orgasm catches her by surprise, not a gradual crest but a sudden, violent breaking. Her back arches off the seat, her thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure pulse through her core.

Meadow doesn't let up, his tongue continuing its relentless rhythm, drawing out her climax until she's shaking with overstimulation.

Just as the sensation borders on too much, when she thinks he'll finally relent, Marigold feels a new pressure — his finger, finally breaching her entrance.

The penetration is so unexpected that she cries out, the sound loud in the confined space of the car. Meadow slides one thick finger inside her, then a second, stretching her in a way that walks the exquisite line between pleasure and pain.

"You're so tight," he groans against her thigh, his breath hot on her sensitive skin. "So perfect around my fingers."

He begins to thrust, slowly at first, his fingers curling to find that spot inside her that makes stars explode behind her eyelids.

His mouth returns to her clit, gentler now but still persistent, building her toward another peak she didn't know was possible. The dual sensations — his fingers stretching her, filling her, while his tongue continues its skilled attention to her swollen bundle of nerves — overwhelm her completely.

"I can't," she gasps, though her body contradicts her words, already climbing toward another release. "It's too much."

"You can," Meadow counters, his voice rough with desire. "Give me another, Marigold. I want to feel you come around my fingers."

His pace increases, the thrust of his fingers more insistent now, stretching her, claiming her.

The sound is obscene — the wet slide of his fingers moving in and out of her — but instead of embarrassment, Marigold feels only a primal satisfaction at the evidence of her arousal.

Her inner walls clench around his fingers, drawing him deeper, seeking more.

Meadow's rhythm becomes almost punishing, his fingers driving into her with an intensity that steals her breath.

The careful restraint he's shown until now fractures, giving her a glimpse of the raw Alpha beneath—the one who wants to claim, to possess, to mark.

His eyes, when they meet hers, burn with a hunger that makes her inner Omega whimper in recognition.

"That's it," he encourages as her body begins to tighten around him again. "Let go for me."

The second orgasm builds differently than the first — not a sudden breaking but a slow, inexorable tide rising within her.

When it finally crests, it consumes her entirely, radiating outward from her core to the very tips of her fingers and toes. She cries out Meadow's name, her voice cracking with the force of her release.

Her inner muscles clamp down on his fingers in rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever, drawing out pleasure in endless waves.

Sensational.

An out-of-body experience she’s never had with anyone else before him.

It’s mindboggling and yet absolutely amazing.

Making her realize how dangerous addicting these “favors” could become.

As she slowly comes back to herself, her body still trembling with aftershocks, Marigold becomes aware of Meadow watching her with an expression of awe and reverence.

He's pulled back slightly, giving her space to breathe, but his fingers remain inside her, feeling the final flutters of her climax.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to her inner thigh. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Slowly, careful not to hurt her oversensitive flesh, he withdraws his fingers. The loss of fullness makes her whimper, her body reluctant to let him go.

Meadow sits up, adjusting himself in the driver's seat, his own breathing ragged. His fingers glisten in the fading light, wet with evidence of her pleasure.

A wild curiosity seizes Marigold then, an impulse so primal and unexpected that she acts before she can second-guess herself. She reaches for his hand, bringing his fingers to her lips.

Meadow's eyes widen, his breath catching as she opens her mouth and draws his fingers inside.

The taste is strange — tangy and salt-sweet, earthy in a way that should be off-putting but somehow isn't. It's the taste of her own desire, her own pleasure, captured on his skin. She runs her tongue between his fingers, cleaning them thoroughly, watching his face as she does.

His expression is a study of restraint being pushed to its limits, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts.

When she releases his hand, Meadow groans, a sound of pure, undiluted need.

He lunges forward, capturing her mouth in a kiss that borders on desperation. His tongue pushes past her lips, tangling with hers, sharing the taste of her between them.