by Jayce Carter
He shifted his hips up to pull his sweats down far enough to free his hard dick. It was thick, surrounded by dark, neatly trimmed public hair that followed up in a line to disappear beneath his shirt. “Do you have a bit of a medical kink?” The question didn’t make her uncomfortable, not with the heat in his voice. “Tell me more. What did I do?”
Tiffany pressed her thighs together as she recalled the dream. “You were examining me, running your hands over me. Your fingers kept brushing over my breasts, and you asked me how it felt.” As she spoke, her hands followed the path his had in the dream. Her nipples peaked against the fabric.
“And what did you say?” He held his hand out to her, and she did what she knew he wanted. She licked up his palm, giving him the lubrication he needed before he wrapped his hand around his cock in a tight grasp.
“I said it was fine. I didn’t want to admit it felt good.”
His groan had her slipping one of her hands down her stomach, his scent strong from being so close. “And what did I do about that?”
“You moved your hand between my legs. You fingered me while you leaned in, whispering that you knew it felt good, that you knew my body better than I did. You said I needed to come, and that you’d make sure I did.”
A low growl filled the living room, something she didn’t expect from him. Kane and Kieran growled at everything, but not Marshall. He held himself to a higher standard, always careful, always thoughtful. To see him lose control because of her had her thighs drenched.
Even better? His cock, the way he stroked it so near her that she could have stretched her tongue out to steal a taste of the wet head. Somehow, not doing so was better, the denial, what she wanted so close but out of reach tantalizing her.
“You need to come now, too, don’t you? Go on, I want you to slip your fingers into you. I want you to ride those fingers, to do what you dreamt I did.”
She followed his rumbled demands, her hands like an extension of his. She dipped beneath the hem of her shirt, her gaze on his hands and the way his fingers struggled to wrap around his cock.
“Lift your shirt, omega. I want to see.”
Cold air hit her ass as she stripped it off. It left her bare, but the lust in his voice made it worth it. Hell, she wasn’t someone worried about how she looked. His lust-soaked gaze, his husky voice, and his straining erection left little room for doubt.
“You listen so well,” he praised. “Go on, now. Let me see those fingers disappear into you.”
His words weren’t as filthy as others, not as vulgar, but it was the restraint in them that did her in. He spoke clearly, carefully, and that thought made her feel needy and out of control.
Tiffany spread her thighs and stroked her fingers against her clit, her entire slit wet. She twisted her wrist to seat two fingers inside her, then fucked herself in rhythm with his strokes.
“Are you thinking about the dream?”
She shook her head.
His laugh was breathless, showing how affected he was already. “Are you thinking about my dick? Imagining your fingers are it?”
She dropped her head back as she moaned, lifting her hips as she thrust her fingers into herself, moving as though she rode him. “Yes.”
“Do you want to taste me? Do you want to wrap your lips around me?”
Tiffany opened her eyes, locking on his length as she leaned forward, drawn by the offer. Yes, she wanted to taste him, needed to. She wanted to feel his hard shaft stretching her lips wide, wanted to feel him throb against her tongue, feel him inching back toward her throat.
Except, when she came closer, he pulled his cock flat against his stomach, keeping her from it. “I don’t think so, omega. This has all been fantasy, right? Oh, don’t look at me like that—I’m not as soft-hearted as you think.” He huffed a rough laugh before reaching his other hand forward and pressing his thumb past her lips. “I can’t resist that pouting. Here, see if this won’t keep you busy.”
Tiffany latched her lips around his thumb and sucked, doing her best to pretend. The thumb was far too thin, but then again, she’d never sucked cock before. The taste was wrong, but she did the best she could to make do. She pulled back, then slid forward, her fingers in her cunt never stopping. She added a third finger, moaning around his thumb at the stretch, thinking about how it would feel if it was his cock instead.
The cords of Marshall’s neck stood out from the tension running through him. He hooked his thumb down to pull open her mouth. “You’ve done so well, Tiffany, so I think you’ve earned something. Keep your mouth open and don’t swallow until I say so.”
She kept it open, and however stupid she might have looked, she didn’t care, especially when he rose to his feet in front of her. He stroked his cock, now pointed at her open mouth.
His towering body made her feel small kneeling before him, yet it didn’t bother her. She didn’t feel afraid, didn’t feel like she wanted to struggle against the position. Instead, it felt safe, protected, cared about.
She kept her mouth open, her gaze up at him, at the way he stroked his cock, at the lust swimming in those dark eyes.
His guttural sounds never let up, his strokes quick, erratic, desperate, even his hips straining forward. The first drop of cum to land on her tongue was hot, searing her to her core. The first drop was followed by more, but she didn’t swallow, just held it as it pooled on her waiting tongue.
The submission in the action and the taste of him had her coming, her body twitching as she tried to remain still, shuddering through her own orgasm. Her breath panted through her open mouth, and remaining still made her so much more aware of how her body tensed and shook.
When he finished, when he’d milked every last drop of cum, he stroked the hot head of his cock against her lips, the only actual contact she’d had with it.
“Swallow,” he said, voice so deep, so different, she nearly didn’t recognize it.
Tiffany closed her lips and drank down the cum he’d given her, her omega side rejoicing in it, in the scent of him, in the way his pheromones would cling to her afterward.
His lips pressed to her forehead, and she opened her eyes to find him crouched in front of her. The intensity he’d had during, the way he’d looked at her with a wild side she’d never seen before had drifted away.
Or had he chained it again?
She felt like she’d gotten a glimpse of the real him, of something she’d felt from the start but that he’d kept hidden.
The only thing she knew absolutely was that she already wanted more.
Chapter Ten
Tiffany woke to someone pressing a hand over her mouth. She shoved, digging her nails into the hand to get free.
Marshall’s whispered voice calmed her. “It’s me. Someone’s in the house.”
That slung off any remaining sleepiness, especially with the tension through Marshall’s body. He removed his hand from her mouth, and they both rose from his bed, which they’d crawled into after what had happened in the living room.
He grabbed his phone and tucked it into his pocket.
“Aren’t you going to call the police?”
“Security system has already alerted them. They’re on their way, but it’s going to take ten minutes for them to get here.”
Tiffany cursed that her clothing sat in the dryer, leaving her still wearing only Marshall’s shirt. She didn’t even have her shoes. “Should we go out of the window?”
He shook his head. “We’re on the second floor. There’s a good chance, if we tried that, one or both of us would sprain an ankle.”
“Do you have a gun?”
“I hate guns. Patch up as many bullet holes as I have, and they don’t seem so wonderful.”
She worked her bottom lip between her teeth, searching for a weapon. “So, what do we do?”
He grasped her arm and pulled her toward the closet door. “We do nothing. You get in that closet, back behind my suits, and don’t move until either I tell you, or you hear Kieran
’s voice.” He pushed her into the closet.
Tiffany caught his wrist when he tried to pull away. “There’s no way I’m staying in the closet.”
The argument went no further, not when the door to the room opened. From her spot, Tiffany couldn’t see the intruder, couldn’t see anything.
Marshall pulled back, gaze toward the door, his face hard in a way she’d never seen before, his lip pulled up to bare his teeth. “Whatever you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find it here. I’m sure you already grabbed anything that looked like you could get a few dollars from it, so take that and go. Cops will be here in a few minutes.”
The voice that answered was male, but Marshall’s body kept her from leaving the closet or from seeing him. “Where is she?”
Tiffany’s breath stilled, but Marshall’s answering snarl frightened her more.
“Leave, now.”
“Not until I have what I came for.”
“If it’s her, then you’re leaving empty-handed.” His gaze dropped, but no fear showed in his face. “That doesn’t change my answer.”
Marshall moved forward, but he didn’t fully leave the closet door before he stopped, shoved backward then went forward again.
Tiffany sprang from the closet, finally able to see the fight. A single man sat wrestled with Marshall, a beta from the scent. They moved too fast for her to identify any specifics, but she didn’t think she knew him.
Dark hair hung over his forehead, and he wore an all-black outfit. A gun sat on the ground, and when he tried to reach for it, Marshall yanked them clear.
Still, neither gained ground, neither seemed closer to wining the fight. The man again went for the gun, but Marshall rolled them the other way.
Tiffany tried to edge around them. If she could reach the gun, she could at least remove that from the equation. No gun would reduce the chance anyone might get killed. As she moved around them, something caught her ankle.
She tripped forward, her hand catching the gun and shoving it as she tried to catch her fall. Her shoulder screamed when the action aggravated the healing injury. She rolled to find the man’s hand wrapped around her ankle in a bruising grip. He yanked, and she slid along the hardwood floors, the shirt she wore providing no friction to keep her still.
She lifted her foot and drove it forward, a crunch as it slammed into his nose. Her foot came free, and she reached beneath the low bed, feeling for the where the gun had slid.
Marshall still fought with the man, but a lucky elbow to Marshall’s face meant the man pulled free while Marshall shook off the hard blow.
The man grabbed Tiffany’s leg as she squirmed partway beneath the bed, reaching for the gun, her fingers brushing something metal and heavy. He pulled, and her shirt rode up to drag her hip against the floor. She released a hiss at the way it scraped her skin, but even as she swung her foot again, she couldn’t make contact.
He pulled her enough that she rolled onto her back as she struggled. He moved up, crawling over her, his hands pinning her beneath him. He didn’t grope, didn’t try to touch her. Even as his body surrounded her, his thigh falling between hers, hips holding her down, he didn’t do anything sexual.
He moved his hands from her arms to her neck, but she lifted her hips to try to throw him. It knocked him forward, but he caught himself with his hand on the ground. Again, he sat back and wrapped a hand around her throat.
A crack ricocheted in the room, loud and sickening. The man’s hand fell from her throat and he collapsed forward. His body, still and lax in a way bodies should never be, had her squirming to get out from under it.
She shoved the heavy body off, then stumbled to her feet. Marshall stood beside her as they both stared down at the man who had broken in, who had come for her.
What now?
* * * *
The frosted glass hid the details of Tiffany’s body, but Kane recognized her. It was in the blurry curves and the scent that filled the room. Even above the soap and shampoo, he could pinpoint that uniquely her scent.
He’d gotten to the house, the big fucking house Marshall owned, with all the cops outside and Kieran going a mile a minute. The asshole had been talking to Sam, going over the details, probably. Marshall stood with them, pointing as he explained.
Kane had caught a bit of it, but they could deal with it later. A subtle nod from Marshall, then he’d gestured upstairs.
Fucking weird. He’d expected the doctor to be as possessive as Kieran, but who the fuck knew.
Kane had taken the stairs, avoiding the cops, avoiding the other alphas, wanting only to see Tiffany, to ensure that she was fine.
The call he’d gotten had made his chest ache. Someone had broken in. When he’d heard that, he’d assumed they’d been after Marshall, or maybe hoped for a lucky score. Only they hadn’t been. They’d asked about ‘her’ and the only her they could have meant was Tiffany.
Was it connected to the warehouse? To Randy? Did she have other secrets she wasn’t sharing? Kane had a million questions but no desire to ask them.
Hell, once he’d crept into the bathroom, once he’d gotten the first whiff of her, he’d known all he needed to about his plan.
His pants hit the floor, not caring if they ended up wet. Once he’d stripped down, he slid into the large glass enclosed shower behind her.
Tiffany stood with her front to him, her head back and eyes closed, water pouring down her hair. He hadn’t seen it free before, hadn’t realized how long it was. His mouth watered at the way her tits pressed forward, pale skin pink from the heat and steam that filled the small enclosed space. The necklace hung down her, nestled in the valley between her breasts. She never seemed to take it off since she’d found it, like some talisman. Funny, since it didn’t seem to have helped the last omega too much.
Was it some vigil? Fuck if he knew.
The lust in him sizzled until his gaze found a new scrape over her right hip.
“Aren’t you supposed to knock?” she asked with her eyes still closed.
“Don’t care for knocking. I need the element of surprise on my side.”
“When dealing with enemies, sure.”
“You’re one of the most dangerous things I’ve chased, so I think I’ll keep the odds stacked my way best I can.” He moved closer, then stroked beside the scrape. “What happened here?”
“Slid on the floor.”
Kane crouched down to survey the shallow wound. Not too deep, but large enough it’d be fucking sore as it healed. Sometimes scrapes were the worst, the large area of damage enough to make healing a bitch. He pressed a kiss above it, then another to the inside edge. He followed that, lining the entire wound with those kisses until his lips pressed to the top of her mound, beside the inner crease of her hip. Water splashed down on him, kept the chill of the room away.
He was surrounded by her scent, so close that a hard press of his tongue between where her legs hid her pussy and he could taste her.
He bracketed his hands on her hips. “Look at me, doll.” Staring up at her, seeing every inch of her luscious body on display had his cock hard and heavy between his legs.
She tipped her head down and opened those pretty eyes. So much hidden there, or at least so much she tried to hide. Worry. Fear. Fuck people for asking too much of her, for expecting her to be fine with shit, for not realizing how much she wanted to be fine.
“You did good.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Right now? Lean back against that wall and let go. You’re thinking too hard, worrying too much, and I don’t much like it.”
“I’ve got to figure this out.” She scooted back at the urging of his hands.
Once her back hit the tile, he tapped her ankles so she spread them wide. “You think people ain’t already working on that? You’re gonna walk out of this shower in twenty minutes, and you’re going to have to deal with whatever’s going on. Tha
t ain’t changing. You won’t know shit more than you do now, but you’ll be worked up, and you’ll be tense and you won’t be thinking straight. So, knock it off.”
“I don’t know how.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her slit before using his thumbs to tilt her hips forward, to give him access to her cunt, to let him have everything he’d been thinking about. “Give me a few fucking minutes, and I swear you won’t be thinking about shit.”
He waited, gaze on hers, asking. He wanted her to trust him, to give in to him, to know that he’d help her and afterward? Well, afterward they’d fucking end whoever had dared to target her. The reasons didn’t matter, because they’d picked the wrong girl to fuck with. With my girl.
Her fingers, still in his hair, loosened. Kane had his tongue on her before she’d finished her nod.
How could Kane distract her? The worries swirled in her mind, and even after the blood from the man had washed down the drain, even after she’d used water so hot she feared a burn, she came no closer to an answer.
Who was after her? Why? What was she supposed to do about any of it?
She thought Kane would have no chance of what he’d claimed until the first swipe of his tongue made her thoughts blank. His tongue, hot and firm and relentless, licked across her clit in a hard and sure stroke. It wasn’t like his finger, wasn’t like her own or a vibrator. It didn’t feel like anything she could compare it to.
The touch was soft, slippery, and made her cunt grow wet. It probed her clit, tracing along the sides, moving over her in a way she couldn’t predict. He explored her, finding every secret, every fold, every tiny crevice of her pussy.
Her hips came forward to meet him, to ask for more. She couldn’t think, couldn’t worry, couldn’t do anything but feel. On a hard stroke upward, she rose to her tiptoes, but his hands kept her in place and spread out.
He tilted his head, using the new angle to get his lips involved. He took her hardened clit between his firm lips and sucked, the sensation causing her to cry out.
