Page 33 of Brutal Surrender

“Must be a combination of these headaches and rutting,” I sigh.

Ming looks concerned.

“Just make sure you get a hold of Aaliyah,” I tell him.

After Ming departs, I consider jacking myself off but decide I can wait.

Aaliyah lives in Norbrook, an upscale neighborhood home to Kingston’s elite—business leaders, politicians, and celebrities—and characterized by large, gated properties, often with expansive gardens and swimming pools.

When I enter the luxury apartment I rent for Aaliyah, the Jamaican beauty—a voluptuous female beta—awaits me with two glasses of champagne.

“Darling Vincent, it’s been so long!” she croons. “How have you been?”

I’m not interested in the champagne or conversation. I came for sex. I know Aaliyah won’t mind. She’s not my girlfriend. She has someone else she regards as her boyfriend, and he’s fully aware of my relationship with Aaliyah. He’s on Kingston’s police force, and his boss is on my payroll, so he knows not to mess with me.

I take the glass of champagne from Aaliyah, but instead of savoring the expensive bubbly, I set it aside on the marble countertop. Aaliyah’s deep brown eyes hold a mischievous glint as she steps closer, the scent of her floral perfume enveloping me. Her hand reaches out to trace the outline of my jaw, her touch light and teasing.

Her voice is low and sultry as she asks, “Did you miss me?”

I catch her wrist in my hand, pulling her body flush against mine. The warmth of her curves presses against me. Aaliyah tilts her head back, offering me her lips. I claim them.

Our mouths move together with a fierce urgency, tongues tangling as desire courses through us both. She has the plumpest, most sumptuous lips I’ve ever kissed, but I can’t enjoy them as usual because she pops into my head.

That damn little omega.

As Aaliyah undoes the buttons of my shirt, I attempt to push away thoughts of Ramona.

Aaliyah’s hands trace over the hard planes of my chest, her nails grazing lightly over my skin. With a growl, I deepen our kiss, needing to lose myself in the sensation of her body against mine.

She unbuckles my belt and slides it off, dropping it to the floor with a clatter. She pushes my shirt off next.

I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the plush sofa in the center of the room. I set her down, the hunger in her eyes matching my own as she reaches for me, unbuttoning my pants and pushing them down.

The cool air of the room hits my heated skin as I stand over her, my erection at full attention. Looking down, she smiles at my cock.

“How I’ve missed this,” she murmurs as she runs her manicured fingers along its length.

I let her rub my cock for a bit before cupping her chin and forcing her head back so I can kiss her again. My other hand cups a breast, squeezing it hard through her diaphanous dress as she gasps into my mouth.

“You up for quick and hard?” I ask.

Her eyes gleam with lust. She replies, “Anything for you, Vincent.”

I pull a throw pillow beneath Aaliyah to lift her hips. She pulls up her dress, revealing no underwear, and spreads her legs. Anticipation crackles between us.

With one swift thrust, I enter her, making her cry out. I look into her eyes to see them sparkling with desire. Bracing myself against the back of the sofa, I slam into her again and again, each time deeper than the last. She moans beneath me, her nails digging into my back as her hips buck to meet my thrusts.

“Yes, Vincent, yes,” she breathes.

But it’s Ramona’s voice that I hear. Ramona’s pussy I imagine plunging into, branding her insides with my cock.

Ramona—Aaliyah, that is—mews as our bodies rock and slam together in carnal unity.

“Lawd, lawd,” Aaliyah cries in Patois.

Still seeing Ramona in my mind, I sweep an arm under her knee to lift her leg, opening her to more of my thrusts. I pound harder.

“Ahhheee,” she cries as she grasps my arm with one hand. One of her acrylic nails snaps off.

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