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There’s no use even trying to pretend I don’t like that idea. My scent brightens, and he groans quietly, dropping his forehead to my shoulder while his touch glides further down my body.
Instead of giving him a verbal reply, I tilt my neck to the side, exposing his bite. He moans again, diving for it. Latching on like it’s the only way for him to survive his next breath.
His thick, hot tongue swirls over the silvery scars. Another grumbling groan skitters across my sensitized skin. My nipples pebble against the fabric grazing them, and I stab another whine before it escapes.
Tristan must feel it, though, because while one of his hands skates lower, the other slips up to graze the underside of my breast. He pauses there, blue eyes snapping back to mine in the mirror.
Asking permission.
Later, I can blame my hormones. My Omega. My upcoming heat.
Because it can’t be me wanting this. Craving the touch of this alpha who has never wanted me.
Never liked me. Never thought I was good enough but bit me anyway.
Bonded me anyway, and now—now?—
I nod.
Heat strikes his gaze. Lightning on a storm-tossed sea. He palms my right breast but doesn’t touch the hardened point. The hand hovering on the lower curve of my belly stretches just a bit—until his middle fingertip brushes the very top of my slit.
I’m appallingly wet. So soaked that one slight flick of his wrist, rubbing one of my pussy lips into the other, makes an obscene sound. He covers it by sucking on my neck.
I start to moan, but his fingertips clamp around my nipple at the same second his teeth scrape my skin. “Hush, baby,” he whispers. “They’re not allowed to hear you come. Only me.”
I choke on a squeal, and he rumbles his approval, a growly purr roaring to life against my bare spine. “The others might like flaunting you. Showing that you’re theirs with your screams and your marks. But not me, omega.”
Before his words can sink in enough to hurt, he groans again, slipping his soaked finger between my folds. “You’re going to possess me. Everywhere I go, I’ll smell like your sweet slick. And everyone will know that I belong to you.”
Pain and pleasure squeeze my lungs, vaporizing my voice. “Tristan…”
His eyes fall shut while he strokes up to my clit, rolling his fingertip around it in a firm circle. When I buck and fight another cry, he exhales shakily. “God, there you are. So fucking perfect, aren’t you, sweet baby girl?”
I whimper, instinctually nuzzling my face against the side of his. He catches the motion and releases his bond mark, turning to put his lips in my reach.
“Kiss me.”
It only just manages not to register as a bark. The command is there, but so is pure, raw pleading.
My eyes fly to our reflection, seeing the way his have closed. The way his chest heaves. And I realize—I have power over him now.
“No,” I breathe. “You can’t kiss me.”
Yet.
Those fierce eyes snap open, pinning me. “Then I’ll just make you come all over my fingers.”
Tristan Thorne keeps his word. By the time I’m done gushing all over his hand, I’m sure the fact that he bit me every time I even squeaked is meaningless.
I have no doubt all those smug bitches heard us.
Good.
Without an ounce of shame, Tristan takes his slick fingers and dabs them at the base of his throat like he’s applying cologne. When he sees my gape, he flashes a cocky smile.
“I warned you.”
He did, but it doesn’t make me any less dazed. What is happening? Does he just want me because he’s tired of resisting my scent and my body? Or is there something else, blooming between us?
