Page 18 of Promised to the Alpha Prince

So.

We didn’t talk.

5

aurelie

IT WASN’T THAT I didn’t masturbate. I was an omega, and I had needs, and I had to do something about them. So, I did.

I’d tried bells and whistles, various multi-colored vibrators with various speeds and patterns and shapes, but I didn’t tend to use them much.

I didn’t tend to do much except, sort of, get it over with.

Before I’d presented, I’d masturbated a lot, but it had always been about Corentin. It was pretty much always the same fantasy, and it wasn’t even that exciting or interesting. I’d always imagine that I was in my room, getting undressed to get in the shower or something and that he’d come into the room and catch me.

He’d be embarrassed, apologetic, saying that he’d been looking for something in the house and that he’d gotten turned around. Which didn’t even make sense.

Corentin, as cliche and horrible as it might sound, had been our pool boy.

I used to lounge by the pool while he cleaned and skimmed it, and we’d talk. We talked about everything.

Well, he wasn’t the pool boy before that. I’d known him since we were kids, actually. He was the son of our housekeeper, and when we were little, he’d been around a lot. The housekeeper had been going through a divorce and she hadn’t had anyone to watch Corentin, so she’d talked to my parents and said she was going to have to quit and they’d said to just bring her son along, that it was no real problem, and so Corentin was around a lot.

When he got older, that’s when he got the job cleaning pools and he used to clean ours.

Anyway, so it didn’t make sense for him to be looking for pool cleaning supplies in the house, but this was a fantasy, so it didn’t matter, because I just needed an excuse for him to see me half naked.

In my fantasy, he would stare at me slack-jawed, unable to take his eyes off my bare skin, and tell me he was leaving the room, that he knew he shouldn’t be looking at me. But he wouldn’t be able to look away.

He’d usually say something like that, fantasy Corentin. I know I shouldn’t look at you, but I can’t seem to stop. You’re so pretty, Aurelie.

I’d pointedly not cover myself up, preening for him, showing him my breasts and my bare legs. I’d usually be only wearing underwear in the fantasy.

He’d come closer, saying he couldn’t help himself, that he was sorry, but he needed to touch me, and would I let him?

I would let him.

Fantasy Corentin would suckle my nipples and tease me between my legs and then show me how hard he was. I know I shouldn’t, but I want you so bad. Let me show you how bad I want you, he’d say and display his penis to me.

In my fantasy, I never even touched it. I just sighed and submitted and he lay me down and when we had sex, it felt good, so good, but—of course—at this point, I was rubbing my own clit in little circles until I burst and came all over my fingers, alone in my bedroom.

Then…

The heat.

The actual sex, me begging, him soft and unable to perform after his first climax, me writhing and sobbing and shaking and—

Anyway, then, after all that, I sometimes got the urge to masturbate, but I didn’t know what to fantasize about. I didn’t want to think about Corentin, and it seemed like betrayal to think about anyone else.

So, usually, I closed my eyes, touched myself, and made my mind blank.

I’d see images while I ascended the heights of my pleasure, usually things from nature, like fields of waving flowers or the ocean crashing or a waterfall or the stars or something.

Then, eventually, I’d come.

But just now, my alpha—not my alpha, an alpha, I corrected—had ordered me to touch myself and think about him and think about Nikolai.

I had never seriously considered the idea of two men in bed together, but as I sank into the bed in this luxurious hotel room, I realized it was a very sexy thing to think about.

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