Page 89 of The Florist and Her Alphas

“I’m going to bed,” I tell him, drying my hands on a dish towel.

He nods. “I’ll take the couch.”

There is a pause. I look at him in disbelief.

“You just literally fucked me on my kitchen counter,” I say.

His lips twitch. “I’m kidding. Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”

We walk to my small bedroom, and I pull the covers back on my unmade bed as we both climb in. He pulls me against his chest, one arm around my waist, his body warm and solid against my back.

We lie there for a long moment without moving. His breath is even against the back of my neck. His hand rests on my stomach, his thumb tracing slow circles on my skin. Slowly I’m breathing hard again.

I suddenly move onto my hands and knees in front of him, bend forward over my own pillow, and present.

He understands. He doesn’t need me to explain.

One hand runs slowly down the curve of my spine, from the base of my neck to the small of my back. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Constantly wet for me. Always ready. My perfect omega.”

He kneels behind me. Lines himself up. Slides into my pussy from behind in one smooth, deep stroke.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

He fucks me slowly this time as he grips my ass cheeks, spreading me. His thumb slides into the middle of my ass crack, rubbing my anus as he thrusts.

“Such a pretty ass,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Your pussy is so hungry, baby.”

“Hungry for you,” I whisper back as he makes love to me in the dark.

I drop my cheek to the pillow and let him take me. I am so tired and so warm and so safe that my body responds without me thinking about it. My pussy milks his cock with every stroke as he rubs my sphincter with his thumb, increasing the feeling rising inside of me.

He picks up his pace gradually. I am making small, soft sounds into my pillow. I’m letting out moans, whimpers, the kind of noises I would be embarrassed about if anyone else could hear them. Only he could hear my sounds right now.

His hand slides under me, finds my clit, circles it with his thumb, and the added pressure makes me gasp.

He leans forward and braces one hand beside my head. Uses his other hand under my hip to lift my ass higher, and the new angle changes everything—his cock hitting deeper into my channel.

“Julian,” I gasp into the sheets.

“Right there, baby,” he growls. “Come on my dick. Come for me.”

The sound of his balls slapping against my ass cheeks as he loses control turns me on like nothing else. He’s gone completely feral. He fucks me harder and harder, until I come with a high moan, my pussy pulsing, slick gushing around his cock, my whole body trembling. His cock swells fast, stretching my sore pussy wider and wider.

His hot liquid spurts into my womb in long streams. Suddenly, his teeth find my shoulder. He freezes there, his mouth hot against my skin, his breath ragged.

“I want to mark you,” he whispers.

My heart races. The old fear rises fast.

“No,” I whisper. “Please. Not yet.”

He kisses the spot instead. Gentle. Soft. His lips press against my shoulder where his teeth had been, and he murmurs against my skin. “I understand. Not until you’re ready. Don’t worry.”

He collapses onto his side and pulls me against his chest. He does not let go of me. His arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and I close my eyes, breathing hard.

He wanted to mark me.

Twenty-Three