by V T Bonds
My body needs to move. Even with memories of the terrible things done to me floating through my head, my instincts demand I get closer. The link connecting our hearts thrums in anticipation, and with a clear mind I marvel at my lifemate’s restraint.
When that internal balloon popped and I lost control, he’d managed to deny the temptation of our bond and treat me gently.
I’ve dealt with the urges for less than five minutes and am struggling to refuse them.
I need to move. Instead of giving in and grinding my pelvis against his stomach, I stroke his chest with one finger. After a while, I realize I’m tracing a design embedded over his heart.
A tattoo? My Alpha has a tattoo?
My angle won’t allow me to make out the exact design, but the dark ink contrasts with his light skin.
I find the idea of him having a tattoo arousing, even though I’ve never considered them appealing before.
Maybe it was because I’d only ever seen them on Betas, the effect always a little laughable to me. Not that all tattoos were ugly, but most just seemed dull on the average Beta body. Imagining my Alpha sitting still and allowing someone to pierce his skin over and over again…
I fight off ridiculous tears. I’m jealous he’d trust someone enough to tattoo him and envious of the cause of such devotion, but my insides heat at the mental image. Huge, hot Alpha, staying stoic as this design was inked into his skin.
I want to know what the symbol is but choose to stay quiet. I don’t want to destroy the peaceful moment.
Before long, the movement of my finger isn’t enough diversion. Tension builds in my lower back as I fight the urge to rub against him.
His strangled noise yanks my concentration from my finger, and I realize my hips move in little thrusts.
“Time to get up.”
He unhooks the netting, coiling it back into its compartment.
“Can you manage?” he asks, but I’ve already hopped out of the bed, pulling my shirt down against my knees.
I hurry to the port, snatching it off the wall before I freeze.
The full repercussions of my next act come barreling at me all at once. Can I pee in his presence? He might see me if I’m not careful with the shirt. What if I gross him out?
I look over my shoulder, afraid to voice my concerns.
His rippled body rises from the bed, the form-fitting boxer briefs not covering much of his contours. The heat in my belly bursts into flames, his nakedness more appealing than I can say.
I didn’t get a chance to see him with my eyes before, not with so little clothing on. His bare chest reveals muscles galore, more sculpted than the statues within the Museum of History in Baseon, where Alphas are portrayed as monstrous brutes.
His shirt hid too much earlier. He needs to always be without one. Strength like his should never be concealed.
Standing to his full height, he senses my attention and meets my eyes.
“Do you need help?”
His deep voice feeds the flames in my core, but not as much as the sincerity in his tone. He’d do anything for me.
Yet still I squirm in place, embarrassed to speak my mind.
He steps in my direction, so I force the words out before his proximity prohibits my brain from forming words.
“Will you turn your back?”
Silence.
His expression never darkens or falters, concern most obvious in his eyes, but I sense his resolve.
“You have nothing to hide from me, ever. Not even this, Little One, but you need to eat. I’ll prepare food while you take care of business.”
I sigh in shaky relief, a mix of emotions churning in me. With the port in place, I listen to his movements, making sure he’s still by the food station before pressing the buttons.
After I finish, I hang the port back in place and move to the sink. It isn’t until I’m drying my hands that I realize this is the second every-day, normal process I’ve done on my own since the accident. The first was changing the shower settings. This was using the relief port and washing my hands.
Reality weighs down on me, and I stare at the vent, my arms outstretched as the warm air blasts across my skin.
Enormous hands caress my shoulders, and I peel my eyes away from the slats.
Without the ability to name the emotions flowing through me, annoyance blooms when I see my reflection’s eyes full of tears.
His warm finger urges my chin up until I lock eyes with his.
“One step at a time. Breathe,” he soothes, and I lean back on him.
He scoops me up, cradling me to his chest, so I snuggle close, needing his comfort.
My eyes dry as his long strides carry us across the room, the raw power in his body filling my senses.
Sitting in the chair, he keeps me in his arms.
The smell of food makes my mouth water and stomach growl. I twist to look at the plate, but his fingers already offer me a bite.
The pleasure of his care soars through me, and I eagerly take the food from him, relaxing when he starts purring his happiness. At first, I’m careful to touch only the food, but when multifaceted hunger punches my gut, I forget about being careful.
My lips brush against his warm fingers, and a shiver races down my spine. His purr deepens, and my stomach drops, making it hard to swallow. The link pulls in my chest, begging for our union, and I wriggle in torment.
“Shya.”
There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. I heed his warning and stop moving, my heart skyrocketing as my stomach plunges further.
“You’re too damn sweet. Keep eating,” he growls, and I force myself to swallow the food. He brings another bite to my mouth and I can’t help but sneak a taste of his skin.
He tastes better than the food but worry sneaks into my brain as I grind myself against his lap.
Why? Why can’t we join as Alpha and Omega were meant to, without all this drama? He coaxed me back from the brink of death, has been my beacon in dark times, and saved me from further horribleness. Why can’t I give him what we both yearn for?
He’s already shown such magnificent restraint. Surely, I can do the same?
I suck in a deep breath and lock my muscles, trying to be as strong as he needs me to be.
When I can’t eat another bite, I grab his wrist and pinch the morsel from him.
It looked so tiny between his fingers. In mine, it looks normal.
I feel his eyes focus on my nose, and I know its scrunching as I stare at the offending food. Mirth flows through our bond, and a bit of embarrassment creases the area between my eyes. I’ve been studying the bite for too long.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I twist and snag more food from the plate. Before he can form a word, I raise my hand to his mouth and stick the food between his teeth.
I watch, torn between arousal and shock as his canines extend the tiniest bit. Not drastically, but enough to catch my attention. A responding ache rises in my gums and lower abdomen, and I wish I weren’t so damaged.
He closes his lips around my fingers and growls, the sound arrowing straight to my core. Despite his obvious arousal pressing against my hip, he lets me pull my fingers free.
Wetness seeps between my legs, causing a flush to heat my cheeks, but a large part of me feels pride.
Never before have I slicked, even during my previous heats. My mother said it was because I’d never been exposed to Alpha pheromones, but I’d always worried I was broken. When I’d help her clean up after her heats, I was always secretly envious.
As his growl tapers to a tight purr I mourn the loss but produce more slick despite the change.
Something has transformed in me. The throbbing fire in my core will no longer be ignored, too desperate for relief, despite the panic beginning in my thoughts.
My body undulates, seeking satisfaction, the movement highlighting how sensitized my intimate places have become. My nipples ache for his touch, the light brushing of the shirt not enoug
h.
His massive palm engulfs my knee, causing glorious sensations to steamroll through me. I long for him to touch every inch of me, but even with his delicious purr rumbling my insides, my mind screams as his palm moves up my thigh.
“Wait! Dirk!” I moan, the weird balloon from earlier back in working order. It thickens, making its presence known by pushing against my thoughts.
He curses, my world going wonky as he shifts me on his lap. With my back pressed against his chest, my thighs have no choice but to part over his, stretched uncomfortably wide even though his knees clench together. A long, hot, hard ridge runs up beside my spine, and I fight the chaos of emotions as I realize it’s his cock.
Slick pours from me now, pooling in his lap, and through the roaring in my ears I hear a wet splatter below us. Lava eats away my insides, the noise lewd yet enticing. On a delay, I realize it’s my slick smacking the floor, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
“Shya. Touch yourself,” Dirk says, the deep sound mumbled through clamped teeth.
The force of his desire punches me in the stomach, my heart aching at the incomplete bond between us. His words hold a plea, not a command, and my frazzled mind latches on to his needs.
My body’s response seems much more manageable when I focus on his devotion.
I slide one hand where his just was, my fingers fitting within the palm of the warm handprint he left behind. The other spreads along my collarbone, the area less imposing than my breasts. My soft fingers cause goosebumps as they brush near where I hope his teeth will puncture, the large shirt pulled tight over one shoulder, exposing the other.
The emptiness in my lower lips calls for a filler, the hand on my knee answering the plea. It slides up my thigh, my Alpha’s deep, rough purr edging into a growl, his heaving chest moving my entire body. My hand slides under the shirt, hidden from view and centimeters away from my desperate intimates.
The balloon stays noticeable but doesn’t inflate.
I slide my other hand downward, slipping under the neckline and enjoying the upper slope of my breast. Flicking my finger over my nipple to both ease the need for touch and test my mental state, I gasp as my womb tightens and slick audibly gushes against my Alpha’s lap.
“Fu-uck, Little One. You’re killing me,” his breath wafts over my temple, and I know he’s looking down, watching everything I do despite the barrier of my clothes.
My fingers glide in my wetness, the touch electric but lacking. I lose a bit of enthusiasm, even as I find the most sensitive part of my womanhood.
My legs twitch and insides constrict, but I find myself disappointed.
After a few swipes, tears stream down my face, my hands turning frantic but futile.
“It’s getting worse!” I sob, still cognizant enough to know I’ll never find the release I seek on my own. I decide to quit worrying and trust him. He’s stopped every time I’ve had an issue, and I instinctively know he’s the key to my ailment.
“It’s supposed to, baby girl. Keep going,”
“No! I need you!”
Yet my hands keep moving.
His colossal digits wrap around my waist, urging me to rotate my hips into my hand. I do as he instructs, following his unspoken commands, climbing higher into ecstasy, but reach a plateau and can’t find the peak.
My broken whine fills the room, contrasting with his deep growl.
His fingers inch towards my hands, but as they get closer to my intimates, that dreaded balloon inflates, mashing my thoughts into each other.
“Dirk! No!” my voice, as broken and torn as my whine, sounds like someone else.
“Take my hands, Shya. Use them as your own,” his breath brushes against my temple as his low rumble wreaks havoc on my senses.
“You have nothing to fear from them. They are yours. You own them. You’ve always owned them. Show me how you like to be loved, Little One,” his rocky voice lowers into a whisper, but the permission is there.
I didn’t know I needed it, but he did. He deflated the balloon, bypassing the already trapped air and opening the valve.
I rip my hands from their distraught stroking and latch on to the back of his. With more restraint than I could ever hope to possess, he resists my tugging and smooths his palms across my form, helping me enjoy the monumental moment.
The fabric between my flesh and his touch annoys me, but he moves with slow care, testing our link after each advancement, keeping a close eye on the balloon.
My new hands know exactly what I need. They know where to go, but I guide them anyway, the illusion keeping me focused on now.
The past doesn’t matter.
Today matters. These moments with him matter.
This matters.
Every second with him matters tenfold what my previous life did. He is my future.
He is mine.
Chapter Twelve
Dirk
My sweet little innocent Shya wrecks me worse than any torture ever has. Time and time again she tests my control, and this moment is no exception.
Except this moment may be the moment she shatters me to pieces.
Her high-pitched cry is the loveliest sound in all existence. The way her pert breast fits in the palm of my hand makes me want to taste it with my tongue and tease it with my teeth.
Best of all is the way she tightens around my fingers, fluttering and squeezing so beautifully I lose myself in the sensation.
Her slick eased my way into her entrance, but it still took effort to get two fingers inside her swollen channel. She pressed at my hand, her urgency driving her demand, and I hadn’t been able to resist.
I still can’t resist.
With her orgasm clamping her pussy onto my fingers, all I can think about is rutting into her, but my cock remains trapped between our bodies. The fresh wave of her slick produces a scent more potent than the last, her sweetness too pure to ignore.
Her exposed nape fills my mouth before I can pull my head away, and I can’t.
I can’t wait any longer. I can’t stand this partial bond anymore. I can’t go one more second without all of her.
My jaw tightens and I pierce her flesh, the coppery fluid filling my mouth causing my muscles to spasm. My precum soaks my boxer briefs.
A book snaps open in my mind, and each page reveals my lifemate’s upbringing.
A beautiful mother, gaunt and stressed. Sadness for a man Shya had no recollection of, yet the pain kept fresh by the dim light of her mother’s eyes. In spite of her pain, or maybe because of it, her mother doted on her only child, always quick to comfort and soothe.
A tiny girl, clinging to her mother’s hand as they scurried through a market, few patrons around to jostle them. A delicate young head full of golden locks being scooped up off the ground, her mother cooing and kissing her scraped knee. A scrawny thing, sitting timid in a classroom full of people different from her.
Always an outcast, except for at home. Never allowed to break protocol, forever a second-rate citizen. Denied the ability to flourish and grow. Living on breadcrumbs and expected to be grateful.
She had been grateful. She’d clung to her mother and focused on the good in life.
She doesn’t have to settle anymore. I’ll give her everything.
Her own life. Her own mate.
Babies.
Everything.
I’ll fulfill every yearning she’s ever possessed, even the ones she’s hidden from herself.
I consume more than I should, too caught up in the magnitude of her flavor to stop after just one taste. Panic claws at my insides when I snap back to myself, worry gripping my guts as I force myself to stop.
My perfect Little One still writhes on my fingers, head thrown back in ecstasy, nipple firm under my palm and muscles contracting with her release.
I extract my teeth and lick her wound, noting how much damage my loss of control has caused. A purple bruise already forms around my mark, my eagerness making me bite and suck too hard. My teeth m
arks circle from her collarbone to shoulder blade, highlighting our size difference.
Worrying I may lose control again, I pull my fingers out of her tight sheath, the wet glide making my cock jerk and leak more. Unable to help myself, I bring my soaked hand to my face and use the flat of my tongue to clean it.
Her two essences mingle on my tongue, bursting in my head and short-circuiting my brain. I attack my own hand, licking and sucking, angry when her flavor fades. The next closest smell is her wound, and before I can hold myself back, my mouth changes targets and latches on to her shoulder.
No teeth required, since she already bleeds, and for that I am grateful, for when her sounds register, self-hatred fills my chest.
Years of training, claiming to be one of the most adept Alpha’s in the world, but I can’t protect my Omega from myself?
Her shrieks carry pain, and at first I panic, rearing back so hard I almost topple the chair, but as I regain my balance, the full weight of her screams settle in my bones.
Yes, there is pain, but ecstasy and joy supersede all else.
Astonishment and reverence ping through my heart, cracking apart every doubt I held involving my actions.
She was made for this.
A true Omega with a soul of gold.
My brain supplies a memory—the aftermath of my last Rut. Torn blankets, ruined pillows, everything soaked in my cum. I’ll never have to feel such despair again. She’s eager to take everything I have to give.
My chest vibrates with my pleasure, an uncontrollable smirk pulling at my lips, and I run my hands over her arms and legs, too enticed to keep them off her. As she eases down from rapture, I murmur words of praise and love in her ear.
Our bond is thicker, more pronounced in my soul, her heart beating in my chest, but it isn’t complete.
I need her teeth in me, marking me for all the world to see, claiming me as her protector and lifemate. I need her to take my cock, capture my knot, and accept my seed.
First she needs to replenish what she’s used—I can feel through our link her body beginning to dehydrate, her health not fully regained from the accident.
