Page 57 of Excess

“Omega…” Blake rasped, arching back and bucking his hips as I took him deeper, moaning at the taste of his precum on my tongue.

He wasn’t mine, but he tasted like he was.

“Up,” Blake snarled, all impatient alpha as he tugged my head up, easily lifting me up his body and sitting me on his cock. I sunk down with a half moan, half gasp of surprise, my eyes rolling back into my head.

Oh, how I was going to miss this.

Between the mirror show and the blow job, I’d pushed Blake to breaking point. There was no dirty talk now, just ragged sounds of pleasure as he moved my body, using me exactly the way I wanted to be used.

Like I was just an omega fucktoy, there for his pleasure.

I came almost instantly, clenching around him as Blake continued to bounce me on his cock. My nails dug into his chest, desperately attempting to keep myself upright, though nothing had ever felt harder.

“Fuck, princess,” Blake rasped, veins and tendons standing out in stark relief as he held back his own orgasm. “Tell me this pussy is mine.”

This was a dangerous game. And yet…

“It’s yours. This pussy is yours.”

I didn’t think it was possible for me to get any wetter, but that did it. Blake’s hands were possessive everywhere they touched me, his fingertips feeling like brands against my skin.

As much as I wanted to drag this moment out—because we couldn’t keep doing this, we couldn’t—my body wasn’t cooperating with my demands to make this last.

This time, I took him over the edge with me. My wobbly arms gave out, but Blake caught me before I could collapse, guiding me down so that I was laying on his chest, my nose at his throat.

It was such a position of trust, and combined with the fact that we were in my nest—a space I’d never shared with anyone—it sort of made me want to cry.

What an unsexy impulse. I deliberately clenched around Blake’s knot, the ripple of sensation setting off another wave of orgasms that distracted me from everything else that was going on. Everything I couldn’t have, everything I needed to do, everything that was out of my control.

There was no problem that an orgasm couldn’t fix. At least for a few minutes.

Blake’s fingers found the base of my spine, but instead of stroking it like he usually did, he began probing gently at the muscle.

“You’re so tense,” he murmured, rubbing a spot that I hadn’t even realised was stiff until he’d started massaging it.

My eyes drifted shut, and I all but melted against him as he worked his way up my back, the occasional rumble of a purr breaking free before he quickly got it under control again.

Had this been a terrible idea? My nest reeked of him—of us—in the best possible way, but it was going to be torture to sleep in it tonight. I’d never be able to look at the tiles in my shower again without remembering how it felt to be pushed up against them, with Blake’s tongue buried in my pussy from behind.

I might genuinely have to burn both the mirror and the blue dildo currently suctioned on to it.

What was it about Blake? I couldn’t seem to stop making bad decisions where he was concerned. The last time I’d been this willing to make questionable life choices where an alpha was concerned was when I’d fallen in love with a Spanish waiter on a whirlwind holiday when I was nineteen, only to be ghosted the day after I’d flown home.

Mama had been quite adamant afterwards that I hadn’t been in love with him—that I’d imagined the whole thing—but I’d never been so sure about that. Love wasn’t a finite resource. It may not always be logical, and it may not always be forever, but there was plenty of it to go around.

In my own incredibly immature and naive way, I’d loved Marco.

But I was in love with Blake, and that was a far more terrifying prospect.

I was in love with the way he treated me. The way he treated Freya. I was in love with his integrity, his drive, his discipline.

I was in love with Blake, and it was probably going to ruin my life.

I dived into the shower the moment Blake’s knot had gone down, and by the time I emerged wrapped in a towel, he’d left. Which wasn’t surprising, and wasn’t even a bad thing because what would I have done if he was still there?

And yet, it stung a little, regardless.

Shaking it off, I pulled out a plum-coloured loungewear set, fully intent on spending the evening in my inconveniently perfect-smelling nest, watching the most mindless movie I could find. Maybe I’d order a greasy pizza. It was my favourite indulgence, especially right before and right after my heat.

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