Page 184 of Captive Omega

“An order.” Typical alpha.

“A request,” he corrects me as he puts his hands on my hips and drags my body toward him.

The sound that one act draws from me is… not me. Can’t be me. Hungry and needy. I wrap my legs around his hips, my thighs cradling his cock.

“Garrison…” I moan.

I’d be begging for his knot if he wasn’t so insistently rubbing the ridge of his cock over my aching pussy. As if telling me—showing me, even—that it’s there. That it’s mine.

My panties are soaked, slick spilling from me. I need an alpha to put out this fire sweeping through my veins. My stomach cramps, and I know I can’t hold back any longer.

Instinct, memory, or maybe it’s just plain self-preservation kicks in.

I pull back. “You won’t bite.”

“No biting.” He strokes his hands up and down my hips. “Just what you need, Resa. Only what you need. Take.”

Chapter 52

Resa

His fingers grip the hem of my hospital gown as I lean in, dragging in that delicious scent of potent alpha pheromones.

I run the tip of my nose along his jaw, inhaling as I rock my hips up and down, slowly riding the hard ridge of his cock. But I keep my hands to myself for now. One touch and I know I’m gone. Completely.

Garrison’s eyes are wild, hazel and flecked gold holding me hostage. His hands shake as he gently eases my gown up, exposing my heated thighs and soaked panties to the cool air.

He’s on the edge of control, needy for me, and he waits.

For me.

I touch my lips to his, keeping my eyes open as every inch of my body ignites at that first touch. My nipples pebble and my body softens against hard muscle. And that taste. His scent…

Fuck. I need more. I draw his bottom lip into my mouth. Suck it.

His fingers tighten in my gown a split second before he hauls me close. We slam together as my tongue tangles with his and he growls in my mouth.

Material tears and my back thumps on the mattress. And my gown? I’m no longer wearing it.

Garrison breaks the kiss, breathing hard, eyes not just hungry but starving. “Sorry. I can’t?—”

Don’t care. I drag him down for more, twisting under him, arching my hips when it’s not enough. Needing his clothes gone. Wishing my panties away so it’s bare skin on bare.

He pulls away.

I whimper in complaint, arching my back as I reach to drag him close. But he’s not gone far. He’s shrugging out of his shirt, buttons popping as he shoves the offending material away, and then he’s back again.

I sigh, needing more touch. More kisses. More everything.

I suck it up.

My breasts are swollen, aching. My skin burns, and as I slide my legs around his hips, slick drips from my core. I’m ready for him, so ready. Why isn’t he taking me?

Begging spills from my lips as I try to impale myself on his cock.

The way it’s always gone before.

Flashbacks slam into me and I shove away memories I wish I could forget.

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