Page 62 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

“This cock is mine,” he says, his voice deep.

“Yes.”

He strokes me up and down, squeezing my sensitive flesh. “You’re mine. I don’t have to pretend that this is no strings attached or that I don’t love you. I get to have you, don’t I? Forever.” He looks up at me with a ferocity that takes my breath away.

I nod.

He takes me in his mouth all the way to the root. It’s like he’s claiming my cock the way he wants to claim my soul. I thought being claimed by Slade would be different. I assumed he’d be fucking me, his teeth on the crook of my neck. It’s the way he’s made love to me before. But Slade closes his eyes, savoring me, and takes me deeper still, like there’s nothing he wants more. He isn’t even touching his own dick. I don’t think this is about his pleasure.

It's about tasting and smelling me—experiencing me. Owning me.

He bobs his head up and down in a way that makes me wonder if he’s ever done this before. He’s a little awkward, which I kind of like. There’s something earnest about how he has tolearn the rhythm of oral sex. He pops off my cock and nuzzles my balls, inhaling through his nose again.

“Who else have you been with?” I ask. I have no right to. It’s probably the wrong time and the wrong way to bring it up. For all I know, there were guys who forced him to do stuff at Sciff.

He presses a kiss to my inner thigh. “Two other omegas. One junior year, one sophomore year. It was only a casual thing for them. Just a little frotting with the one and anal sex with the other.”

I can read between the lines. Just a casual thing “for them” meant it probably wasn’t casual for him. I remember how emotional he was when he found out I put my paws on him—how he thanked me for choosing him.

I don’t think a lot of people have chosen Slade. At least not in the way he needed.

“That means your mouth is mine, right?” I say.

It seems a little silly to say it like that. I’m sure he’s kissed plenty of other people. But Slade locks eyes with me and takes me in his mouth again. For him it isn’t silly at all.

He wants to be claimed.

The heat of his tongue and the pressure of his mouth as he sucks is wild. This has never been a part of my fantasies before. I always imagine being fucked. But the way Slade stares into my eyes as he takes me down his throat, as his tongue runs down my shaft and he cups my balls, is everything. I feel not only owned by him, but cherished by him. I am special to Slade. I’ve never been more certain of anything.

He gets into a rhythm, eager each time I hitch my breath or tense my body. He feeds off my pleasure, chasing it the way I would expect him to chase his own orgasm. It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s generous. He gave six years of his life to keep his brother safe. But this generosity is more than a tit for tat. As mybody crests, and I arch against him, shooting into his mouth, he groans and closes his eyes.

My body is heavy and sleepy as he crawls on top of me and holds me close.

“I’ll suck you off too?” I murmur against his chest.

“Next time, baby. I wanted to come with you in my mouth.”

He wanted that. Every other time, he’s always asked what I wanted, and that was good, too. But I like knowing that Slade asked for what he wanted—that I was able to give him what he truly desired.

I don’t think that’s happened often for him ,either.

30

SLADE

Quin tastes of salt and man. The flavor of his pleasure remains on my tongue after he rolls out of bed and tells me he has to get back to the bread dough. I stay in his bed for a few minutes, reliving every moment: the weight of his cock in my mouth, the scent of his pubic hair, the tension in his face when he came.

And then he left me in his room, as if I belonged here. The pillows smell like him, and the mattress is wonderfully soft. I want to sleep here with him tonight instead of going back to Jake’s house. Now that I’ve let myself claim him, I don’t want to pretend that we aren’t mates anymore.

I clean myself up in his bathroom and wander out into the living room. Pictures of Quin and Chime are everywhere. Some are from when she was younger. She was such a cute toddler. It’s bittersweet to see those pictures of her. I wish I could have been there when she was that young. I’ll never get those years back.

The front door opens. Chime scampers inside and an older woman follows behind her. The woman has just as manyearrings and bangles as Quin’s omega mom. She has the same big brown eyes and smile lines, too.

“Ah, there you are. I’m Emerald, Quin’s Aunt.”

I hold out my hand to her. “I’m Slade.”

She ignores my hand and brings me in for a hug. “It is wonderful to finally meet you.”

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