Page 11 of Claimed By the Psychos
The first touch of his tongue makes me scream. He licks into me like a man starving, like I'm the only thing keeping him alive. His tongue finds my clit, circling, flicking, driving me higher with every stroke. My thighs shake around his head, and when his tongue enters me, I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me like lightning, but it's not enough. It's never enough during heat. I'm already buckingagainst his face, fucking myself on his tongue, needing more, more, more.
"Please," I beg, my own fingers delving into the space his tongue just occupied when he comes up for air, desperate and shameless. "Put something inside me. Anything. I need—fuck, I need?—"
His eyes flash dangerously as he watches me fuck myself on my own fingers. "That'smypussy,” he growls, pushing my hand away and replacing my fingers with his own, arching them into me as punishment that feels like the sweetest reward. "Mypretty omega's pussy, and I'm going to fucking ruin it."
The words make me shudder hard, filthy and perfect and exactly what I need. I scream as another orgasm crashes over me in response, but it only makes the hunger worse. Each peak pushes me further into the madness of heat, until I'm nothing but raw, frayed nerve endings and need.
"Look at you," he continues, his voice rough with want. "So desperate for it. So fucking wet. You'd take anything right now, wouldn't you? Let anyone fill this greedy little hole."
"No," I gasp, clawing at his shoulders. "Only you. Always you."
"That's right." He withdraws his fingers, and I nearly sob at the loss. "Only me. Because you're mine, Juniper. Every inch of you belongs to me."
I watch through hazy eyes as he finally, finally strips off his sweatpants. His cock springs free, hard and thick and perfect. He's big—as big as most alphas, bigger than most omegas could take—but I'm not most omegas. I'm his, made for him, hungry for him.
The prosthetic knot sheath he's already slipped over the base of his shaft catches my attention, sleek black silicone that will inflate when he's ready. When I'm ready. When we're both so lost in each other that nothing else exists.
"Let me," I beg, scrambling to my knees as slick gushes down my inner thighs and I’m throbbing with need so intense it's agonizing. But I don't just want to be fucked, I want to taste him. I want him in every hole, fucking me, tearing me apart, digging in deep until I lose track of where I end and he begins. "Please, let me taste you first, Felix," I whine.
He groans like the pitch affects him as intensely as any alpha, but doesn't stop me as I take him in my mouth, worshipping every inch with lips and tongue. He tastes like skin and salt and home, and I moan around him, taking him deeper, showing him with my mouth what my words can never quite capture.
"Fuck, Juney." His hand tangles in my hair, not forcing, just holding. "That mouth. That perfect fucking mouth."
I look up at him through my lashes, hollowing my cheeks, and his control visibly cracks. He pulls me off gently, and I whine at the loss, my nails digging into his hips viciously enough to leave little red crescents.
"On your back," he commands. "Spread for me. Show me what's mine."
I fall back onto the blankets eagerly, spreading my legs wide. My fingers find my pussy, dripping wet from his silver tongue and his filthy words, pulling myself open for his hungry gaze. I'm so wet it's obscene.
"Good girl," he praises, and those two words make me clench around nothing. "My good fucking girl, showing me that pretty pussy.”
He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance. We both groan as he pushes in, stretching me, filling me, completing me. The prosthetic knot bumps against my entrance, not yet inflated, just a promise of what's to come.
"Yes," I hiss, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Fuck me. Use me. Make me yours, Felix."
He does. God, he does.
He fucks into me with long, deep strokes that hit every perfect spot. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, and I hope they do. I want his marks on me, evidence that this is real, that we're real, that nothing else matters but this.
"You take me so well," he growls, picking up the pace. "Made for my cock. Made to be filled."
Another orgasm builds, coiling tight in my belly. He must feel it because he shifts the angle, hitting that spot that makes me see into the aether, and I come screaming his name.
"That's it," he encourages, fucking me through it. "Come on my cock, Juney. Show me how much you need it."
He starts working the knot against my entrance, the pressure intense and perfect and not quite enough. I'm so wet, so open, but it's still a stretch. He rocks it against me, teasing, testing, driving me insane.
"Please," I beg, barely coherent. "I need it. Need your knot. Need all of you."
"Turn over," he commands, pulling out despite my protests. "Hands and knees. Let me see that perfect ass in the air."
I scramble to obey, presenting myself shamelessly. He groans at the sight, hands spreading my cheeks, thumb pressing against my entrance.
"So fucking perfect," he mutters, then he's pushing back in, the angle different, deeper.
The knot presses insistently, and I push back against him, grinding, needing it inside me more than I need air. He works it slowly, carefully, until finally, finally, it pops past the rim.
