Page 64 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
When his fingers finally reach her breast, the touch is feather-light — a question, a request for permission that her body answers with an arch that presses her more firmly into his palm.
His thumb brushes over where her nipple pebbles beneath the fabric, a gentle circular motion that makes her inhale sharply. The white flowers printed on her dress seem to bend and sway with his movements as if even they are responding to his touch.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against her lips, the word warm and rich as honey.
His palm cups her breast more fully now, the heat of his hand burning through the thin cotton, searing her skin beneath. He kneads gently, testing the weight and fullness, learning her body with the same patient attention he gives to everything that matters to him.
Meadow pinches her nipple lightly through the dress, just enough pressure to make her gasp.
The sensation shoots straight to her core, igniting a pulse of need that makes her thighs clench. He watches her face as he does it again, slightly harder this time, clearly cataloging every minute response — the flutter of her eyelids, the parting of her lips, the pink flush spreading across her cheeks.
"Too much?" he asks, his voice gravel-rough with restraint.
Marigold shakes her head, unable to find words as he continues the exquisite torture, alternating between gentlesqueezes and sharp pinches that ride the perfect edge between pleasure and pain.
Her nipples become painfully sensitive, every touch sending jolts of electricity down her spine, pooling like liquid lightning between her legs.
She shifts in the passenger seat, her body restless with growing need.
The leather creaks beneath her as she wiggles, trying to find relief from the mounting pressure. The movement only seems to intensify the ache, drawing her attention to the slick heat gathering between her thighs.
Embarrassment flares through her as she realizes how wet she's becoming — how quickly her body is responding to his skilled touch.
His fingers work more deliberately now, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, tugging just enough to make her whimper. The sound seems to spur him on, his touch growing more insistent, more purposeful. Her dress, once crisp and proper, is becoming rumpled under his attention, the fabric pulled taut across her hardened peaks.
"Meadow," she breathes, his name half-plea, half-warning.
She doesn't know what she's asking for —for him to stop or for more.
Perhaps both…or neither.
She can barely think.
His mouth finds the sensitive spot just below her ear, teeth grazing the tender skin before his tongue soothes the sting.
"Tell me what you need,Little Sunshine," he murmurs, his breath hot against her neck. The nickname only heightens everything unfolding before her, as if another form of ownership in such a unique label that I’m sure he wouldn’t give to any other Omega.
Need.
The word seems inadequate for the hunger clawing at her insides.
What she needs is his hands everywhere, his mouth on her skin, his body pressed against hers without the barrier of clothes or propriety or the awkward confines of the car.
What she needs is to stop thinking, to surrender to the tide of sensation threatening to drown her.
Instead of answering, she presses her thighs together, mortified by the wetness she can feel soaking through her underwear. The movement doesn't escape Meadow's notice —nothing does.
His eyes darken, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of brown remains.
"Don't hide from me," he says, his voice gentle yet firm with Alpha authority that makes her Omega instincts quiver in response.
A horrible realization dawns on her then, crashing through the haze of desire like a bucket of ice water. Her daily routine has been so disrupted lately that she forgot —completely forgot—to put on her suppressant after showering.
The specialized fabric designed to contain Omega pheromones during arousal is sitting uselessly in her dresser drawer back at the ranch.
Making these just regular lacey panties she normally wears to sleep because they’re “breezy”.
Oh god…
