Page 29 of Break Me Knot

“Can I taste you, Baby Girl? Can I put my tongue and my mouth on your body?” I ask.

Her pupils dilate instantly and sugared lilac bursts around us.

“Words, Omega,” Adrian whispers.

Her gaze slides from Adrian and back to me. She parts her perfect pink lips and the tip of her tongue darts out to wet them. “Yes.”

I don’t hesitate. I lean down, taking her perfect little nipple between my lips, sucking gently. I’m rewarded when her back arches slightly off the floor. It's a tiny movement, but it’s a victory.

“That's it, Little One. Let Zane help you,” Adrian murmurs as she makes another soft sound. “Does he do that for you? Is he helping you to relax?”

Her fingers clench in the blankets and a shudder works through her body. “Yes.”

The word sends a jolt of satisfaction from my heart to my cock. The taste of her skin is addictive. Each careful swipe of my tongue across her sensitive flesh draws tiny sounds from her throat that Adrian swallows in gentle kisses. Her scent grows headier with each touch, but there's still an undercurrent of tension that shouldn't be there, a rigidity that speaks of fear rather than surrender.

I look up to see her eyes dark with arousal, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of green remains, but her body is rigid despite our careful attention, her muscles tight with a control that must be exhausting to maintain. She's accepting our touch, but not surrendering to it.

Not trusting it completely.

Not trustinguscompletely.

“She needs more,” Adrian murmurs against her lips, his voice rough with restraint. His eyes meet mine meaningfully over her shoulder. “Show her how good it can be, Zane. Show her what pleasure should be like.”

My cock throbs painfully at the thought of tasting her properly, of bringing her pleasure with my mouth. The scent of her arousal makes my alpha nature howl, but I force myself to remain gentle, controlled. Sweet venom floods my mouth, an instinctive response I ruthlessly suppress, swallowing it back despite my alpha's protests. The bond can wait. Will wait. I won't claim her until she begs for it, until she's as desperate for the connection as I am.

“I have to remove these,” I murmur, fingers playing with the waistband of her borrowed shorts. “Is that okay?” The thought of her naked while we remain clothed should make her vulnerable, but somehow it seems to give her the security of our control while we focus solely on her pleasure.

Another cramp wracks her frame, making her curl forward with a gasp. My heart twists, seeing her pain, but I keep my movements slow despite my growing desperation.

“Will you let me touch your clit, Baby Girl? Will you let me stroke it and bring you pleasure to take the pain away?” I stroke her through the fabric, barely grazing my finger along the seam of the shorts she wears.

She utters a strangled sound.

“Words, Baby Girl. Tell me.” Adrian prompts her again.

I want the day to come where we won’t need to remind her to tell us to do something she’s going to enjoy. I want the day where she’ll demand it. Her inability to ask for simple things means she doesn’t expect to have a choice. That no matter what she says, she won’t be heard. That she expects others to have more rights over her body than she does, and that is completely unacceptable. I dream of the moment when she’ll scream at me to put my hands on her perfect body. My hands, my lips, my teeth.

She thinks she doesn’t own her own body when she owns everything of mine. I hand it all to her served up on a silver platter.

“Yes. O…okay.”

Her words are barely there, but it’s enough. When my thumb finds that sensitive bundle of nerves, her body jerks. “That's it, Baby Girl. Feel how good this is for you.”

My fingers trace the damp fabric, marveling at how much slick her body has produced. The shorts are saturated, clinging to her intimately. I'll never wash them after this. They'll always carry the scent of her arousal, the proof of her need, forever.

She whimpers as I stroke her gently, her hips twitching slightly into my touch. It's a subconscious movement, her body seeking more even as her mind fights it. I keep my caress light, teasing, letting her grow accustomed to the sensation.

When I find her clit through the barrier of fabric, a choked gasp escapes her throat. Adrian swallows the sound with a tender kiss. I circle that sensitive bud with my thumb, keeping the pressure gentle but consistent.

“That's it,” I encourage softly. “Let go, Omega.”

Her scent shifts, the bitter notes of fear and pain fading beneath the growing sweetness of pleasure. I keep up the careful attention, letting her body's responses guide me. She's so responsive, so sensitive. Every tiny circle of my thumb across her clit draws another gasp, another twitch of her hips.

“You're doing so well,” Adrian praises against her lips. “Our good girl.”

The words break something free in her. With a soft cry, her body goes rigid, then shudders apart. The scent of her orgasm blooms around us, and I have to grit my teeth against the urge to rip the shorts away, to taste her properly.

But this is about her, not us.

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