Page 54
“Tell me.” He pauses on the precipice of sinking in.
I know what he needs to hear because I know him. “I want you to fuck me.” But I don’t stop there. “Don’t hold back. I can take it. I want all of you.”
His eyes darken, then he surges forward, pushing past my rim like there’s no resistance, like my hole isn’t spasming around him, like I’m not folding in on myself like a black hole. And he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look away.
It’s so intense. I’m so full. The stretch. It feels so fucking good and terrifying at the same time. I’m pretty sure if my body wasn’t full of rut-induced adrenaline, this would hurt. But all I feel is an immense stretch as the widest part of him, that knot at his base, sinks in.
Alden’s eyes flare wide. He releases the sexiest moan. “Fuck, Ty.”
His angle shifts as he lowers his head and kisses me, then starts to move. There’s something wild in him right now. The truest form of himself, like he said. He tries to be gentle. His muscles tense to the point of snapping as he tries to hold back.
“Give into it. Fuck me. Rut into me. Breed me.”
That does it. Alden draws back and drives himself into me, rolling his hips with a fluidity that makes me feel adrift. He fucks me all the way up the bed, bunching the destroyed sheets beneath us, not even stopping when my skull touches the headboard. It’s like I’m living in the space just before an orgasm, when it feels so good you don’t want it to start, because then it will end.
His knot swells wider, battering my tight rim into submission before growing even bigger, catching on the tight ring of muscle until my hole submits again. The sounds he’s making are nothing like I’ve heard him make with any other omega. It’s auditory proof of how right this is, how much I mean to him. No one can give him what I’m giving him.
He wraps his palms over the top of my head, protecting me as he pounds into me, rhythm turning erratic, unpredictable, punching more and more pleasure into me, more of that near-orgasm feeling. He looks so fucking sexy, muscles in his abs and chest flexing, biceps tensing. He’s nothing but animalistic need, like I’m his drug, and he’s high on my scent alone. He can’t speak, and neither can I. We’re lost in our ruts together.
He takes my mouth in a claiming kiss, and I explode, wracked with pleasure so intense I’d worry it would kill me if I weren’t so willing to die to feel like this. To be his.
“That’s it, Ty. Milk my cock with your sweet hole like an omega, like you’re my omega.”
His knot stretches me wider and wider, and I’m still coming, pumping cum out between us, and a calm lucidity falls over me. I’m still deep in my rut, but I’m me, the real me. I break the kiss and lunge forward, then sink my teeth into his neck, making him my mate, making him mine.
Then something happens. It feels like magic and makes me wonder if science is just bullshit humans use to explain whatever this is.
I feel everything. I hear everything. His thoughts. His soul. It’s like we’re sharing the same body. I know what he’s thinking. My mate. Mine. It’s like a chant. It’s the truth, the most honest version of it, the truth I’ve been denying. I chant the same words back to him through the bond.
His eyes widen. Surprise fills him. I can actually feel it. He didn’t realize I was in here with him.
I love you, I say through our bond. I choose you. You’re my mate.
And he repeats the same.
We disappear inside this secret place where only we live, and ride out our orgasms together, multiplying our pleasure to something that feels like magic too, something mere mortals don’t know exists.
And when our climax ends, we stay there inside our heads. I feel his gratitude, and relief. Now he can see my heart, and he shows me what he sees. That this isn’t biology. It’s fate. And I see it too.
I won’t change my mind, I tell him inside my head. I want you to bite me too.
Not a single word spoken aloud, but he hears me.
He doesn’t hesitate. He dives down, and bites over my scent gland, and holy shit. Is that what it felt like for him?
Yes, I feel him say, and I’m so glad I get to share this pleasure with him. It’s like an out-of-body experience. We’re holding hands like when the ocean swept us off our feet and waves tumbled over our heads, except this time we’re flying.
21 ELLIOTT
THREE MONTHS LATER
Wet leaves stick to the pavement on the path to the Cardot Center for Innovation and Research. I readjust my scarf to guard more of my neck from the biting chill. I just need to get through this interview, then I can hide under the covers at my dorm.
My article about Alden and the Heat Seekers app came out two months ago and went viral. I’m not sure what it was about my writing or the story that drew so much attention—good and bad. I’ll never unsee the things said about me in the comment section of my article. But it wasn’t all bad. My dream literary agent reached out to me with an offer of representation, and we’ve already sold rights to my first novel, based on my article.
I just have to finish it. I’m not sure how I want to end it because the true ending is a bit of a downer. Instead of celebrating my achievements, and planning for the future, I’ve been walking through a fog of exhaustion and functional depression. I caught a cold that’s lingered in my chest for weeks.
Food doesn’t taste good anymore. I can barely write. My brain is just too foggy to find the words. Noel is worried, but I’m not. The only people I worry about are Alden and Tyler.
