Page 18 of Broken By the Battleship

I want the cock bobbing underneath them, too.

A disjointed thought skitters across my mind: I don’t know this alpha’s name. I see every inch of his virile body, but I have no clue what to call him.

He unfolds the quilts and rubs them over his front before hanging them over his shoulder. My fingers itch to take them. He saunters closer but stops just out of arm’s reach.

“You have to earn these, kitten. Lie back and touch yourself. Show me how wet and needy that tight little pussy is for my cock.”

My surge of desire soaks the sheets, but obedience was never my strong suit.

I snarl and reach for the fabric.

He captures my wrist and pulls me toward him. With his fist wrapped around the massive knot at the base of his shaft, he rubs his cock over my face, painting me with the liquid seeping from his tip.

I push against his thighs, but he aligns himself with my mouth.

“Hissing and spitting, right, kitten? Open for me. No biting, unless you’d like me to return the favor.”

I nearly choke on my saliva, but I clamp my teeth together and sink my nails into his thighs.

His chuckle arrows straight to my core. Fresh seed spills onto my lips and drips off my chin to land on my breasts.

I mourn the waste but fight his hold.

The room is too big. The air too cold. Too open. Not safe.

I need a soft, warm nest to burrow into so this big, hard cock can sink between my legs. His grip tightens on my head.

I grab the corner of the quilts hanging from his shoulder and use both hands to smear them over my breasts, face, and neck before wrapping the cloth around his shaft, needing every fiber to smell like him. He hisses and presses his tip harder against my lips.

I nip him.

He jerks back.

I yank the quilts and add them to my collection, hastily stacking and scrunching them into place for the base of my nest.

They smell so good. I need more.

Another pile of fabric lands on my head, but despite the scent of sunlight and soap wafting from them, I hate the way they smell. With a furious snarl, I throw them back at my alpha.

In a bout of madness, I follow them through the air and find myself with my breasts plastered against his abdominals and both hands wrapped around his blanket-covered cock.

“I don’t even know your name.”

The voice is mine, but I hardly recognize it through the throaty, needy rumble.

“Why is it important to you, kitten? You want to know whose name to call out as you cum around my knot?”

I twist my wrists around his shaft, pulling a hiss from him.

“Or is it because you want to hear me say yours as I fill your pussy with my seed?”

When fragrant liquid soaks through the layers of cloth in my grip, I stumble back on wobbly legs and drop onto my hands and knees to continue building my nest.

“Both,” I admit.

His groan encourages a gush of fluid down my thighs. I slip between the layers of my nest, not satisfied but too stimulated to suffer through another moment out in the open.

Massive fingers close around my ankle, but the brutish male doesn’t yank me from my security.

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