Page 13 of Omega's Fever
“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 fallsback, 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 whitestripes. 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.