Page 5 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Kellen

I shouldn’t have said that. This pretty boy omega is clearly way over his head. I shouldn’t be in here with him at all. Except it’s not like I’ve been given any choice in the matter.

Besides, saying I want to fuck him is not exactly a lie.

The words hang between us like a live wire. His pupils blow wide, black swallowing blue until there’s nothing left but naked want. The air thickens. My chest feels too tight, like my ribs might crack from the pressure building inside.

“Say it again.” His voice cracks on the last word.

I lean forward as far as the chains allow. Metal bites into my wrists but I don’t care. “I want to fuck you.”

He shudders. His breathing goes ragged, chest rising and falling like he’s run miles. The scent of his arousal spikes so sharp it makes my teeth ache.

“This is insane.” He’s panting now, quick shallow breaths that make his chest rise and fall. “I don’t even know you.”

“Your body knows me.”

It’s the truth. Every cell in my body recognizes him and is screaming for him. The vanilla scent of him fills my lungs until I’m drowning in it. My cock strains against the fabric of the prison jumpsuit, obvious and obscene. The material does nothing to hide how desperately I want him.

He stands abruptly. The plastic chair scrapes against the floor, loud in the small room. For a second I think he’s going to bolt and run back to his safe corporate world where the alphas are pretty and polished and wear expensive suits.

Instead, he walks around the table.

My heart slams against my ribs. Each step brings him closer, and with it, stronger waves of that intoxicating scent. He’s close enough now that I can see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat. Close enough to catch the sharper notes in his scent. Fear. Arousal. He smells desperate and wild.

“We can’t.” Even as he says it, he’s reaching for me. His fingers hover inches from my face, trembling. “This is... I could lose my license.”

“Then leave.”

“I can’t.” His hand finally makes contact, fingertips ghosting along my jaw. The touch burns through me like lightning. “God help me, I can’t.”

I turn my head, press my lips to his palm. He makes a sound like I’ve punched him. His knees buckle. Suddenly he’s in my lap, slipping his legs between the chains, my hands behind him. Then his legs are straddling my thighs, and we’re kissing like the world is ending.

His tongue slides against mine and I groan into his mouth.

The handcuffs rattle as I strain against them, needing to touch him, hold him, claim him properly.

The metal cuts deeper into my wrists but I don’t care.

All that matters is the warm weight of him in my lap, the way he whimpers when I nip at his bottom lip.

“Please.” He breaks the kiss to gasp against my neck. His lips find my pulse point and I nearly come undone. “I need... I can’t...”

“I know.” I do know. The need is eating me alive from the inside out. Every instinct screams at me to take, claim, possess. But these fucking restraints. “The cuffs. Can you...”

He pulls back enough to look at the restraints. His glasses are fogged, hanging crooked on his nose. His hands shake as he examines where they’re threaded through the table ring. The chain is short, designed to keep violent criminals from having any real range of motion.

“There’s no key. Only guards can remove them.”

Fuck. Of course.

“I’ll make it work.” I shift my position, spreading my legs wider. The movement makes him gasp as he feels me hard beneath him.

He hesitates for a heartbeat. I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. Chemistry wins.

His hands fumble with my jumpsuit zipper. Cool air hits my overheated skin. He makes a strangled sound at the sight of me, thick and hard and leaking already. A bead of precum glistens at the tip and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Milo.” His name comes out of me rough, desperate. “You don’t have to...”

“Shut up.” He’s working at his own belt now, movements jerky and desperate. “Just... shut up and let me...”

The expensive leather slides free. His suit pants, probably worth more than I’ve ever owned, puddle on the grimy floor. He doesn’t seem to care. All that matters is skin on skin, the desperate need to connect.

The scent of his arousal hits me full force and I have to close my eyes, breathe through it before I completely lose control. Slick coats his thighs, glistening in the harsh fluorescent light. He is as desperate as I am.

“Look at me.” I need to see his face. “Look at me.”

His eyes meet mine as he positions himself. There is nothing in there but pure need. The first press of him against me pulls a whimper from his throat. He’s so wet, so ready. My omega, taking what he needs.

“That’s it.” The chains rattle as I shift, trying to give him a better angle. My wrists are definitely bleeding now but I don’t give a fuck. “Take your time. I’ve got you.”

He sinks down slowly, inch by torturous inch. His head falls back, throat exposed, and I lean forward as far as I can to press my lips to that pale column. I can’t bite, can’t mark him the way every instinct demands, but I can taste his skin. He tastes of salt and vanilla.

“Oh god.” He bottoms out with a gasp, taking all of me. His inner muscles flutter and clench, adjusting to the stretch. “You’re so... I can’t...”

“Breathe.” My voice comes out gentler than I expect. “Just breathe for me.”

He does, pulling in shaky lungfuls of air. I can feel him relaxing incrementally, body accepting the intrusion. Accepting me. His hands grip my shoulders hard enough to bruise through the jumpsuit.

“I’ve never...” He stops, flushing even deeper. “Not like this.”

The confession undoes something in my chest. This perfect, polished beautiful omega coming apart in my lap, taking me like he was made for it. Which he was. We both know it, even if neither of us wants to admit it out loud.

“Move.” It comes out as more growl than word. “Need you to move.”

He does. Slow at first, finding his rhythm. A careful rise and fall that has us both panting. The angle isn’t ideal with my hands trapped, but he makes it work. He uses his grip on my shoulders for leverage, his thighs gripping me.

“Fuck.” The profanity sounds strange in his cultured voice. “Why does it feel so good?”

I know why. We are made for each other in the most literal sense. But I don’t say that. Can’t say that. Not when we both know this is the only time we’ll have.

Instead, I thrust up as much as the restraints allow. The movement changes the angle and he cries out, loud enough that anyone passing in the hallway would hear. I don’t care.

“There.” His nails dig into my shoulders. “Right there. Please.”

He picks up the pace, chasing his pleasure with single-minded determination. The same focus he probably applies to legal briefs and case law, now entirely centered on riding my cock. The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

The chair creaks ominously under us. It wasn’t designed for this kind of stress. The metal legs scrape against the floor with each movement. The handcuffs bite deeper into my wrists with each thrust. I can feel blood running down my hands now, warm and sticky.

“Touch yourself.” I can’t do it for him, can’t give him what he needs with my hands bound. “Let me see you.”

His hand slides between us, wrapping around his own length. The first stroke has him gasping, clenching around me. I watch, mesmerized, as he pleasures himself. His cock is smaller than mine, perfectly proportioned to his body, flushed dark and leaking.

“Beautiful.” The word escapes without permission. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

He whimpers, movements becoming erratic. Close. He’s so close. I can feel it in the way his thighs tremble, the desperate little sounds spilling from his lips. His scent sharpens, peaks, that vanilla sweetness taking on an edge that means he’s about to fall apart.

“Kellen.” My name on his lips undoes me. “I’m... I can’t... It’s too much...”

“Come for me.” I thrust up as much as the restraints allow, hitting that spot that makes him cry out. The chains rattle violently, metal scraping against metal. “Let go. I’ve got you. Come on my cock like you were made for it.”

He breaks apart beautifully. His whole body goes rigid, back arching in a perfect bow.

Internal muscles clamp down around me as he comes, painting both our chests with thick white stripes.

The sight, the feel, the scent of it triggers my own release.

I bury my face against his chest, muffling my roar as pleasure whites out everything else.

Wave after wave of it, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. My vision goes dark at the edges. Every muscle locks up as I empty myself inside him, claiming him in the only way I can. Mine, mine, mine, pulses through my head with each throb of release.

He collapses against me when it’s over, boneless and panting. I can feel his heart racing against my chest. His scent is softer now, sated and sweet, with that particular note that says thoroughly fucked omega. It makes something primitive in me purr with satisfaction.

For a moment, we just breathe. His face is hidden in my neck, lips pressed to my pulse point. I can feel him mouthing something against my skin but can’t make out the words. Maybe it’s better that way.

My arms ache. My wrists throb where the cuffs cut into them. There’s definitely blood soaking into the orange fabric of my jumpsuit. But I don’t want to move. Don’t want to break whatever spell is keeping him in my lap, soft and pliant and mine.

Reality creeps back in stages. The uncomfortable angle of my arms. The cold metal of the cuffs. The fluorescent buzz overhead. The cooling mess between us. The fact that I just fucked my lawyer in a courthouse interview room.

He pulls back first. Won’t meet my eyes as he carefully extracts himself.

His legs shake as he stands, and I have to clench my jaw against the urge to steady him.

I can’t touch him with my hands bound. I can only watch as my release slides down his thighs, marking him in a way that satisfies something deep inside me.

“Fuck.” He stares down at himself, looking lost. Then he shakes his head and grabs his underwear from where it has been discarded on the floor.

He uses it to clean himself with shaking hands, then looks around to work out what to do with it.

It ends up in the pocket of his suit pants.

He’s going home commando. The thought pleases me more than I care to admit.

I watch him try to put himself back together, piece by piece but he can’t wipe away the scent of what we did. He can’t hide the beard burn on his throat or the swollen redness of his lips.

“Don’t,” I say when he opens his mouth. I can see the regret building in his eyes, the horror of what we just did starting to sink in. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”

He nods once and focuses on fixing his clothes. He looks thoroughly debauched despite his best efforts.

I can’t fix myself properly with the cuffs on. The jumpsuit still hangs open. My cock is still half-hard, glistening with our combined fluids. He reaches over and gently tucks it away, then zips up the jumpsuit.

The silence stretches between us, thick and awkward. He gathers his papers, shoving them into his briefcase. He still won’t look at me.

A sharp knock makes us both freeze.

“Hello,” a muffled voice calls through the door. “Bureau representative here for blood tests”

Milo’s face drains of color. He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see panic rising in those blue eyes.

“I...” He stops. Swallows hard. Adjusts his glasses with trembling fingers. “I’ll see you Tuesday. For jury selection. If you need anything in the mean time, just get a call through to my office.”

“Milo...”

“Don’t.” He echoes my earlier words back at me, voice raw. “Just... don’t.”

He opens the door and steps out and I hear him exchanging muffled words with the government stooge on the other side. Then he’s gone and I’m left wondering what the fuck just happened for the second time today.