Page 8

Chapter 7

Touch

Sinclair

I land on the mattress with a soft bounce, but it still knocks the wind out of me. Or maybe that’s just Titus.

I sit back on my hands as he towers over me, standing at the foot of the bed. His gaze blatantly roves my body, slowly, methodically. Like he’s finally allowing himself to look without pretending he isn’t.

I listen to Bishop and Ecker join us in my room, but I can’t take my eyes off the alpha in front of me. 1 I feel as much like hunted prey as I do a waiting predator.

Titus rolls his head to the side, surveying me up and down. “Where do I even begin with you?” Everywhere.

Please. Please touch me. Everywhere.

The prospect seems too overwhelming, too all-consuming. So, instead, I say, “Let me start with you.”

I sit up, my legs dangling off the bed. I hook his waistband with my thumbs and pull him between my legs. Looking up at him, I slip my palms under his shirt. As I drag them up his torso, he pulls his shirt over his head. I let my hands explore in the same way his eyes did: decadently.

Every ridge of muscle, every rough scar. My fingertips learn what I already know. That his body is undoubtedly a weapon, a wielder of both pleasure and pain.

And for the first time, I get to choose which.

“Slap me.”

Confusion flashes on Titus’s face, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop try to stand from the settee, but Ecker stops him.

My heart races in excitement, and maybe a little fright. He steps back as I slide off the bed to my knees. “Now, slap me.”

I look up at him through my lashes. His throat bobs on a thick swallow, then my cheek is stinging. But it’s not enough. It doesn’t sate this clawing need brewing in my chest.

“Harder,” I order. His nostrils flare, but he does it.

This time, my head whips to the side. A thrill races down my spine and heat blooms in my core as I slowly turn back to his face with a dry laugh. “Oh, c’mon, I know you can do better than that.”

Understanding comes over his expression, and I’m certain he’s recalling the same memory I am right now. When he volunteered to punish me for speaking out of turn. He struck me so hard, I fell to the cold marble floor of the Great Hall.

But everything about this scene is different. Rather than eyes full of cold resentment, golden specks form a dazzling ring around his irises. And the men that refused to offer me a hand are now standing by, waiting, forever my protectors.

So, this time when I lift my chin, waiting for his strike, I’m not just enduring. I’m submitting— willingly.

And when it comes, the burn is so good. The spike of pain and pleasure and power makes me dizzy. My thighs slicken, my body slipping into heat.

Light fingers tilt my face up. “I feel like I should be the one on my knees.”

“That’s not what I need right now,” I answer, tugging his sweats down his hips and thighs.

His cock is so thick and hard, my pussy aches to be filled with it again. But I take my time, savoring this longing. I wrap one hand around the base of his shaft and lick the pearly pre-cum leaking from his tip.

“ G-god . . . ,” he sputters as if electrocuted, his hands balling into fists at his sides and his jaw clenching tight. “I thought every detail of how your sweet mouth felt wrapped around my cock was seared into my mind. I’ve replayed it a thousand times, but this . . .” He shakes his head. “No memory can compare to this.”

A pulse of lust hits me, but it’s not mine. I glance at my two mates across the room and both of them have glowing eyes.

“You always look so good on your knees, baby girl,” Ecker says adoringly.

“And with a mouth full of cock. Stop teasing us, Omega,” Bishop growls. His rut rattles through our bond. It’s restless being on the sidelines.

I smirk at them before turning back to Titus. “Is that what you want, Alpha? To see your cock fill my mouth?”

“I don’t want to just fill it,” he says coarsely, his expression darkening. “I want to own it, pound it, fuck your tight little throat until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but take it.”

His viciousness has always been a double-edged sword. It’s driven him to cruelty, and it’s driven me to new heights of pleasure.

“I want that too.” I gather my hair on top of my head and twist it into a rope. Holding my tongue out, I pass my hair to Titus, literally and figuratively handing him the reins.

His hips rock forward, and he drags the underside of his cock against my tongue. I hinge my jaw farther open as his thick head passes my lips.

“That’s it, Omega, give me that slutty little mouth.”

I watch his face flicker with ecstasy, my omega nature making me feel so turned on from pleasuring my alpha, I squeeze my thighs together with a whimper.

“Was that a plea for more, Omega?” he asks gruffly, and I nod the best I can.

Like the flip of a switch, he goes from slowly pushing forward to thrusting deep and hard. My hair can’t wrap more than once around his hand, but that doesn’t make his grip any less firm.

He uses me like a doll, fucking my throat with barely restrained brutality. The more he makes me choke, the rougher his sounds become and the more my pussy drips. His fist full of my hair tightens and my scalp stings. Zings of pleasure zap through my mate bond. I’m not surprised when I steal a glance through tear-filled eyes at Ecker and Bishop to find them dicks in hand, jerking off to Titus and me.

It’s all so much, my mates’ lust tripling mine, the rush of finally giving in with Titus. I feel like I could come just like this.

“As much as I like the idea of making you swallow every drop of my cum, I’m not coming anywhere but in your pussy tonight,” Titus says with a groan, forcing himself to pull out. I suck down a gulp of air.

He steps out of the sweats pooled at his ankles. He flicks his chin at me just like that night at Opulence. Your turn.

I plan to slowly strip, tease him the way we did at Opulence. But as soon as I stand, I can’t wait a second longer, flinging my clothes off as quickly as I can. “Fuck me like you still hate me.”

His brows pinch. “I don’t.”

There’s a hint of hurt on his face, and he searches mine for answers, but I don’t know if I have any.

How do I articulate that I crave his brutality, that I want it violent and bloody and questionably sane. I want everything he’s ever given—and taken—and more, not because we’re powerless slaves to our biology, despising every second of pleasure, but because it’s what I truly want.

“I know. That’s why it has to be this way,” I explain as best I can.

I don’t know if he understands, but it seems to be enough. His hand at the back of my neck delves into my hair and roughly yanks my head back. The movement makes my mouth fall open, and his focus zeros in on my lips.

Despite everything we’ve done, all the ways that we’ve seen and broken each other, it’s this that makes butterflies erupt in my stomach.

Inhaling, he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. His head lowers ever so slightly, and my heart skips a beat.

He’s never kissed me.

I don’t know why, but I say exactly what pops into my head. “You said you’d slit your own throat before ever kissing me.”

He releases my hair and steps back.

Then he reaches for his pants. And takes out a knife. 2

1. “See You Bleed” by Ramsey

2. Continue playing “See You Bleed” until end of Chapter 8