Page 44 of Omega's Faith
"Bossy little omega," he says against my throat. "Thought you were in charge?"
"Shut up and knot me," I snap, but it comes out more desperate than demanding.
I feel it starting, the swell at the base of his cock. My body responds instantly, clenching around him, trying to keep him inside. The stretch is intense, overwhelming, but exactly what I need.
"Relax," he murmurs, surprisingly gentle. "I've got you."
"I hate you," I gasp, even as I pull him closer.
"I know," he says, and then his knot locks inside me and I'm coming so hard I can’t think.
The orgasm seems to go on forever, waves of pleasure that leave me gasping and shaking. I'm dimly aware of Alex following me over, of the heat of his release inside me, of his weight settling over me like a blanket.
When I finally come back to myself, we're locked together, his knot still swollen inside me. He's pressing lazy kisses to my neck, my shoulder, anywhere he can reach.
"Don't," I say weakly.
"Don't what?" He nips at my earlobe. "Don't kiss my omega while we're literally locked together?"
"Don't act like this changes anything."
He pulls back enough to look at me. His hair is wrecked, lips swollen, a purple mark blooming on his throat where I bit him.
"Doesn't it?" he asks.
Before I can answer, another wave of heat crashes over me. My body clenches around his knot, making us both groan.
"Still hate me?" he asks, rolling his hips in a way that makes me see stars.
"Yes," I gasp, but I'm pulling him down for another kiss.
"Good," he says against my mouth. "Hold onto that."
The next two days blur together in a haze of heat and need and desperate coupling. We fuck on every surface in his room—the bed, the floor, against the wall, in the shower when we attempt to clean up.
Sometimes I'm in control, riding him while he begs, making him wait until I'm ready. Sometimes he takes over, fucking me through the mattress while I curse his name and plead for more. The push and pull never stops, even when we're locked together, even when we're both too exhausted to do more than rock against each other.
He brings me water, makes me eat when the heat breaks long enough. He's unexpectedly tender in those moments, washing my fevered skin with cool cloths, feeding me bites of fruit when my hands shake too much to manage it myself.
"Why are you being nice to me?" I ask during one of these lulls, suspicious.
"Because you're my omega," he says simply. "And you're in heat."
"I'm not yours," I protest, even though his mark throbs on my neck, even though I know I'll never be able to wash his scent off my skin.
"Aren't you?" He traces the bite mark with one finger, making me shiver. "Could have fooled me when you were screaming my name an hour ago."
"That was the heat."
"Right. Just the heat." His hand slides lower, finding me already getting wet again.
"Exactly," I gasp as his fingers slip inside me.
"Nothing to do with actually wanting me," he agrees, curling his fingers to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
I want to argue, but then the heat takes over again and all I can do is pull him down and let my body have what it needs.
By the time the heat finally breaks, truly breaks, we're both exhausted. I'm covered in bruises and bite marks, evidence of three days of desperate passion written all over my skin. Alex doesn't look much better—scratches down his back, marks on his throat and chest where I claimed him again and again.