Page 122 of Rut Bar

“Do it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

I bite, pinching his gland between my teeth. Not hard enough to break the skin, but more than enough to leave him with a bruise. It’ll be the talk of Rut—our best bartender, the only one who’s never taken a customer home, showing up with a claiming mark. It’ll fuel the gossip mill for weeks. And I don’t care. Let them see it.

His thrusting jars me, making the bruise deeper. More painful. If Anthony cares how close my teeth are to puncturing skin, he doesn’t show it.

Something primal inside of me hates all of his movement. It wants him still underneath me. Tense and waiting. Doesn’t he know my teeth are in his throat? That I could rip a more permanent claim into him if he isn’t careful? But it’s Anthony. He’s reckless and scheming, and he doesn’t have a submissive bone in his body. Not even when he’s sucking cock.

“Harder,” he groans, the pace of his hips equal parts furious and careless. “Do it.”

Any harder and my dainty yet sharp canines will break the skin and—oh. Is that what he wants? A bite mark from me? The thought wipes my mind blank for a moment. Most packs don’t have omega bites. Omegas are generally too submissive to have that urge. A bite from me, though, would cement him in the pack without him having to submit to one of our alphas.

This isn’t the most romantic setting for something as momentous as a claiming bite… but it’s Anthony. He loves to watch and be watched. He likes it rough and dirty. And as I’m learning more about myself, so do I.

I bite harder, a fresh burst of cherries making my mouth water. I moan around my mouthful and my pussy squeezes him tight. His cock pulses inside me and his thrusts slow, deepening. He moans, his breath hissing through his teeth, as he comes inside me.

Each kick of his cock lashes another shot of cum against my walls. Each thrust he makes as he uses my pussy to milk his cock squelches.

On his next pulse, I bite him so hard my jaw aches.

“Oh, fuck,” Anthony groans. “That’s it, baby. Harder—I can take it.”

The metallic taste of blood mixes with his cherry pheromones. An awareness snaps between us like a plucked string as the bond kicks in. Aftershocks of pleasure—his, not mine—leave me sleepy. Content. There’s an edge of elation underneath the fog of bliss. It takes me a minute to parse his mood from mine and re-establish the boundaries of my personhood.

Anthony lets out a ragged groan and a string of mumbled profanities. “Fuck, Vee. I can sense you, like… inside me? God, that’s good. Weird, but good. Mmm. Yeah, you like this, baby?”

He strokes me, his hands rubbing up and down my back. Between the sore stretch of a well-used pussy and the intense satisfaction of finally claiming a packmate, I’m the most mellow I’ve been since that one time my college roommate convinced me to smoke pot.

The urge to lick his bite mark, to tend it, can’t be ignored. Purring, I lick his bite until I’m sure it’s clean. Neither of us is aware of the traffic jam clearing or the rest of our journey across town.

“What’s it like?” Brendan asks.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Anthony says. “Words aren’t good enough.”

“You good, babe?” Jamie asks.

“So good. So fucking good. It’s like… impressions. They’re faint, but maybe that’s ‘cause I’m a beta. But when I do this?—”

Anthony’s hands drift lower, cupping my ass, before reeling back and giving me a squeeze that makes my pussy tighten. His softening cock slips free and the mess he made between my legs drips a puddle in his lap.

His grin promises me a lifetime of shenanigans. “Oh, fuck yeah. This bond thing is great.”

I move to slide off him, but his arm locks around the small of my back and keeps me on his lap.

“Don’t go, baby. I want cuddles too.”

Anthony holds me close. After a minute or two, my limbs loosen and I lay my cheek on his shoulder. It’s the perfect position to breathe in his faint cherry scent. The effect this man has on me is unreal.

After a while of holding and stroking me, he says, “I love you, Vee.”

I can sense the truth of those words. The breadth of emotions that make up their foundation. It’s hard for me to say the words. I don’t think I’ve ever said them to him before, but I find the thread that connects us and push those feelings toward it.

When his breathing hitches, I know he received it. When he sniffs, the sound thick with congestion, I know the effect it has on him. Pulling back, I see his eyes are red and glassy from unshed tears. I push his unruly hair out of his face and give him a soft smile.

“I never thought… Never thought I’d be the first, you know?” His arms squeeze me tight. “Thank you. For making me the first.”

There’s a vulnerability in him I’ve never witnessed before. I cup his face in my palms and stare into his eyes, a wealth of information shared in our connection. He’s enough simply because he’s Anthony. He’s pack. And he’s not some beta consolation prize.

“I love you,” I tell him, my heart hammering in my chest and the words whispered. I kiss him.

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