Page 43 of Omega's Faith

This time he complies, lifting his hips so I can pull the pants down and off. His cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking. The sight makes my mouth water, makes the ache inside me intensify.

"Your turn," he says, reaching for my shorts.

I catch his hands again. "Did I say you could touch?"

His eyes go wide. "You can't be serious."

"Do you want to find out?"

We stare at each other for a long moment, the air between us electric. Then, slowly, he relaxes back against the bed, hands fisting in the sheets instead of reaching for me.

"Good alpha," I purr, and his cock twitches visibly.

I take my time removing my shorts, watching his face as I reveal myself to him. His gaze is hungry, consuming, taking in every inch of newly exposed skin. When he sees how wet I am, how ready, he makes a sound like he's been punched.

"Please," he says, and I've never heard him beg before. It's intoxicating.

"Please what?"

"Let me touch you. Let me taste you. Let me—"

I silence him with another kiss, finally letting our bodies fully connect. Skin to skin, nothing between us, and it's like coming home and being set on fire at the same time. Every point of contact sparks with electricity.

"God, you feel—" He cuts himself off with a groan as I rock against him, my slick making everything smooth and easy.

"Tell me," I demand, even as another wave of heat crashes over me, making me desperate. "Tell me how I feel."

"Perfect," he gasps. "Hot and wet and perfect. Like you were made for me."

"Maybe I was," I say, and then I'm sinking down onto him, taking him inside me in one smooth motion that has both of us crying out.

The stretch burns in the best way, filling that aching emptiness that's been driving me mad. He's bigger than my fingers, bigger than anything I've ever had, and for a moment I can't move, can't breathe, can only feel.

"Jonah," Alex says, voice wrecked. "Fuck, you're so tight."

I start to move, slow at first, learning the rhythm, the angle. His hands come up to my hips and this time I let him, need the anchor as I ride him. Each movement sends sparks through me, each slide of him inside me better than the last.

"That's it," he encourages, but there's something desperate in his voice, like he's barely holding on. "Take what you need."

"Shut up," I gasp, picking up the pace.

"Make me," he challenges again, and I lean down to shut him up with my mouth.

The kiss is all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate. His hands tighten on my hips, trying to control the rhythm, but I won't let him. This is mine, my heat, my choice. I'm the one in control.

Except then he hits something inside me that makes me see stars, and suddenly I'm not in control of anything. My body takes over, chasing that feeling, that perfect angle that has me gasping his name.

"There," he says, smug now. "Right there."

He plants his feet on the bed, thrusting up to meet me, hittingthat spot over and over until I'm shaking, until I'm begging, until I'm—

"Please," I gasp, not even sure what I'm asking for.

"Tell me what you need," he demands, and now who's in control?

"Your knot," I admit, the words torn from me. "Need your knot, need—"

He flips us. Suddenly I'm on my back, legs wrapped around his waist, and he's driving into me with purpose. The change in angle has me crying out, clutching at his shoulders.