Page 20 of Healing the Alpha

“No,” I say firmly. “You’re not. I don’t need an omega, I need you. Do you think an omega would have been able to pin me down and ride me like a demon so I didn’t break my fucking arm all over again?”

He smiles slightly, water dripping off the end of his nose. “No, probably not. Luckily I’ve got experience beating you in a fight. And at pool. And at—”

“Shut up,” I chuckle. “And do you think an omega could have anticipated every single thing I need before I even know it?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Probably not.”

“Definitely not. You’re an alpha. We’re the same. No omega’s ever taken care of me the way you have. I wouldn’t want them even if they could; they wouldn’t be you.”

The corners of Max’s eyes crease, and then he’s kissing me with a mumbled, “dumbass” against my lips, hard and soft all at once. I think back on the last time we were in this shower; looking at him glistening and gorgeous among the steam and feeling his hand wrapped tightly around me. The way my body had reacted to him more strongly than it had to any omega I can ever remember being with.

It’s hard to remember how conflicted it had made me feel, because he’s fucking Max. Best friend forever, only person alive who’s seen me cry, been his wingman more times than I can count Max.

I don’t feel conflicted now. I can’t really even remember why I ever did, because it seems so fucking obvious now that nobody else could ever compare to him.

Max cleans me thoroughly, washing all the sweat and dried fluids off my body with gentle hands, and letting me do the same to him even though I’ve only got one hand to do it with. My alpha is pissed at cleaning the evidence of my rut off him, but if it has to be done, somehow it feels better that I’m the one doing it.

I take my time soaping him up, moving my hands over his body indulgently. I take extra care around his rim, spending longer than is probably necessary to make sure he’s completely clean, my cock throbbing painfully as I push my fingers inside slowly and watch his eyes roll back.

I’m about to turn off the water when he drops to his knees.

“You don’t have to do that, Maxie,” I say, running my fingers through his short, wet strands. “I can take care of it.”

“I kinda want to,” he mutters, a little bashfully. Cute is not a word I’d ever use to describe Max, but looking down at him blushing and on his knees for me, it sort of fits. “You know when I sucked you off yesterday, it was the first time I’d ever done that, right?”

A satisfied growl rumbles from within my chest. “Damn right.”

He grins. “Yeah, well. I, uh—I think, maybe—”

He hesitates, looking uncharacteristically shy again.

“What?” I encourage.

“I think maybe I don’t have a gag reflex.”

My eyes go wide, my cock visibly throbbing right in front of his face. “What?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t feel it. Didn’t matter how deep you were in my throat, I think I could have just… kept going. You didn’t give me much of a chance to test the theory, though.”

“Oh fuck off,” I balk. “I’m in rut, I came quickly, you would have done the same.”

“Sure,” he says sardonically, and I grunt as he takes my cock in his hand. “But I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

Damn. The idea of him thinking about blowing me, wanting to do it, affects me way beyond simple lust. “So you’re saying you love sucking my dick.”

“I’m saying that I think I’m going to be exceptionally good at it. As expected. Significantly better than you.”

“I’ve never wanted someone to be so right and so wrong at the same time,” I laugh, but it turns into a groan when he wraps his lips around the fat head of my cock, swirling his tongue experimentally. “Okay, I think I want you to be right more.”

He hums a laugh around my length and the vibration travels all the way to my soul. Then he starts to move, sinking down a little further on every downstroke, his tongue flat against the vein that runs up the underside of my shaft.

And holy shit. When my crown nudges his throat, he doesn’t even flinch. He just swallows around me like he’s been doing this forever, and sinks all the way to the fucking balls, until his nose is buried in the coarse thatch of hair right at the base. His throat is impossibly tight, and hot, and wet, and I cannot come as quickly as I did the first time. I can’t give him the satisfaction, but even more than that, I need to make this fucking insane feeling last.

He slides back off me until just the tip is resting against his tongue, and then his hands slide around to grip my ass and he’s fucking pulling me in, digging his fingers into the meat of my cheeks so I’ll drive my cock back into his bottomless pit of a mouth.

I don’t need much encouragement. I plunge back into that scalding wet vacuum, tipping my head back against the tiles as he engulfs me all the way to the root like it’s nothing, his throat contracting around my shaft like it was crafted to my exact specifications. A hoarse groan rips out of me and echoes around the small space, steam rising all around us as my grip tightens in Max’s hair.

The only way to describe what happens next is that I brutally, relentlessly fuck his throat. The shower is filled with the filthy sounds of my cock driving wetly into his mouth and back out again on repeat, my heavy balls slapping against his chin. The hot water cascades down my back, soothing my sore, overworked muscles, and Max’s throat works tirelessly to catapult me toward what might be the most intense orgasm of my rut, if not my entire goddamn life.