Page 66 of Psycho Pack

"That's it," I encourage her, drinking in every micro-expression that crosses her face. "Show him what you need. Use him."

She rocks her hips, grinding down against his mouth. The movement is hesitant at first, but grows bolder as Whiskey'stongue delves deeper. His cock hardens fully, already recovered and leaking.

I lean in close to Ivy's ear, still maintaining my iron grip on Whiskey's wrists. "Look how hard you make him just by using his mouth," I murmur.

A whimper escapes her as Whiskey redoubles his efforts, clearly spurred on by my words. His muscles strain beneath me and I can feel his pulse racing through his wrists beneath my thumbs, his heart working overtime to compensate for the lack of oxygen. His boots scrabble for purchase on the cave ground as he lets out a muffled growl. But he doesn't try to break free even though I can tell he's having trouble not passing out.

Good. He's learning.

A soft moan from Ivy draws my attention. She's exploring Whiskey's cock with careful curiosity, tracing the prominent veins and ridges. Her small hand wraps around the base, unable to fully encircle his girth. The contrast of her pale fingers against his flushed skin is striking.

"Do you see his knot swelling at your touch?" I encourage, keeping my voice steady despite the sight sending heat and hunger rushing through my body.

Ivy's fingertips brush over his knot. Whiskey's cock twitches and come dribbles from his crown at her touch as he lets out a muffled groan against her pussy. She gasps and squirms in response, grinding against his face. As her hands drift back down his stomach toward his throbbing cock, he arches his back and bucks as much as he can in his precarious position.

"Easy," I murmur, more to Whiskey than to Ivy. "Relax."

Another groan. Whiskey's hips twitch, seeking more contact. Ivy's fingers trail lower, tracing the prominent vein along the underside of Whiskey's cock. Her touch is light, curious. Experimental.

My breath catches as I watch Ivy's delicate fingers explore Whiskey's thick shaft with such innocent curiosity. The way she traces each vein and ridge, mapping his anatomy like she's conducting her own experiment… it stirs something primal and possessive in my chest.

And also something darker.

A thought takes root in my mind as I observe her careful exploration. The way she instinctively knows how to touch him, how to draw those desperate growls from his throat. My cock throbs as I imagine what it would be like to share her. To feel her stretched around both of us at once.

The image sends a fresh wave of heat through my veins. I've always prided myself on control, on cold calculation. But watching her like this makes me want to lose that control completely.

My hands tighten around Whiskey's wrists as Ivy's fingers drift lower, tracing patterns on his inner thighs before returning her attention to his leaking crown. His hips buck desperately, seeking more contact. I can feel his pulse thundering beneath my thumbs.

"Careful," I murmur, keeping my voice steady despite the hunger coursing through me. "He's sensitive there."

She glances back at me, those ocean eyes dark with curiosity. The sight makes my cock throb painfully. I want to tell her exactly what I'm imagining. Want to see if she'd be willing to try it.

But not yet.

I want to enjoy this sight first.

Whiskey lets out a muffled groan as Ivy's hand wraps around him again and she drives down harder against his face. His thighs tremble with the effort of holding still. I can feel the tension coiled in his massive frame, the way he fights against his instincts to thrust up into her grip.

"Good boy," I praise him, knowing how it drives him crazy. "You're learning control."

His growl vibrates against Ivy's core, making her gasp and arch again. The movement draws my eyes to the elegant curve of her spine, the way her borrowed shirts—our shirts—slip off one shoulder to reveal more of her skin.

"Experiment with pressure," I instruct her, my clinical tone belying the heat pooling in my core. "See how he responds to different stimuli."

She obliges, alternating between feather-light touches and firmer strokes. Each variation draws new sounds from Whiskey. Desperate growls and whimpers muffled by her pussy. His hands flex in my grip but he doesn't try to break free.

The power dynamics at play fascinate me. The way our proud, aggressive alpha submits so beautifully when properly motivated. The way our fierce little omega takes such natural control.

It would be so easy to guide her. To show her exactly how to take us both. My cock twitches at the thought of stretching her slowly, carefully, until she's ready.

Until she's begging for more.

"You're doing so well," I tell her, my voice rougher than intended.

Ivy shivers at the praise, her fingers tightening around Whiskey's shaft. Precome beads at his tip, dripping onto his stomach.

My fingers dig into Whiskey's wrists as I watch Ivy explore him with such delicate curiosity. Her small hands map every inch of him, drawing increasingly desperate sounds from his throat. The raw need in those muffled groans as he eats her pussy like his last meal…

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