Page 107 of Roulette Rodeo
I feel the shift at the base of my cock, the hot pulse as my knot starts to swell. She stiffens under me, eyes going wide, but instead of pulling away she braces, waiting for it. Wanting it.
“Tell me if it hurts,” I say, voice shredded.
She shakes her head, not trusting herself to talk, and just bites her lip until it goes white.
I slow my pace, grinding the head of my cock against the sweet spot inside her, trying to keep the pressure manageable, but I’m losing the battle fast. The closer I get to coming, the more the animal side takes over, desperate to tie her down, claimher, mark her as mine even if it’s just for these few minutes before the world gets complicated again.
Her hands cup my jaw, bringing my face level with hers, and she looks at me like she can see right through every lie and story I’ve ever told. There’s sweat beading on her lip, and when she licks it off with a shaky tongue, I nearly blow right there.
“Please,” she whispers.
Just that. Nothing else. Like I’d ever need more.
The knot’s halfway there, swelling with every pulse, and it’s exquisite torture—hot and electric, a pain that feels like pleasure if you just tilt your head the right way. I want to give it to her, the whole experience, the full mess of what it means to mate an alpha. But I also want her to know she’s not a receptacle, not some living sex toy to be knotted and discarded.
I want her to know she’s the reason I feel so damn alive, the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted.
She wraps her arms around my neck, hauling me down until we’re chest to chest, heart to heart.
“Don’t stop,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
I don’t.
I drive into her, harder now, the slap of skin loud enough to wake the dead, and she moans for me—music, a symphony, better than the first shot of whiskey after a deployment. Her walls clench around me, milking, and I know she’s close. I hold out, just long enough, until her nails dig bloody trenches down my back and her mouth opens in a silent scream.
She cums. Fucking hell,she cums marvelously, and the whole world narrows to that perfect moment when she clenches and shakes and nearly sobs against my throat. I let go, losing the war and loving the surrender. I don’t remember pulling out, but I must, because the next thing I know I’m gripping my cock at the base, knot bulging in my hand, and I’m coming all over her—thick white ropes splattering her belly, her thighs, painting her in a way that’s primitive and stupidly satisfying.
The pressure is almost unbearable, like a fire hydrant with nowhere to go, but I grip down hard, stroking myself until the agonizing ache dims ever so slightly so I can feel a hint of pleasure again.
Red blinks up at me, dazed and smiling, and then—without warning—her hand slides down to wrap around my knot.
I don’t know what I expect when her hand wraps around my knot, but I sure as hell don’t expect her to use both palms and squeeze with the kind of pressure that’s half mercy, half domination. The shock of it hits me like a fucking flashbang—my whole body seizes, my vision whites out at the edges, and for a horrifying second I think I might actually pass out right on top of her. My hips jerk, helpless, and an obscene groan rips out of my chest, deeper and more desperate than anything I’ve ever made in front of another person.
Her fingers stroke slow, coaxing, somehow knowing exactly how hard to grip and when to release, and the relief is so raw and perfect I have to bite down on my own wrist to keep from snarling like a wild animal. Holy shit. No one has ever done this for me. Every Omega I’ve been with has flinched at the sight of a fully knotted cock, or made a face, or tried to push me away before the damn thing even finished swelling. I always thought it was just biology—that we were the monsters and they were the escape artists. But here she is, stroking and squeezing my knot with a kind of fascinated reverence, like she wants to know what it feels like for me, like she wants to own every part of what I am.
The pressure that’s been building at the base of my cock starts to fade, a slow melting that leaves me shaking and weak. It’s not just the physical high—it’s the shock, the delight, the way her touch anchors me here and now in this bed, in this hour, in this world. I look down and see her face—flushed, grinning,a little bit wicked—and I can’t believe how lucky I am that she’s mine, even if it’s just for today.
The last of my orgasm pulses out, slick and easy, and her hand keeps working me until I’m whining with oversensitivity, flattened by the aftershocks. I must look like a complete wreck, sweat-damp and red-eared and trembling, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s worth every second just to see the smug, proud gleam in her eyes as she wipes her hand on my thigh, then trails her palm up to my chest like she’s petting a beast that finally wore itself out.
“Thank fucking heavens,” I gasp, collapsing beside her, my knot still throbbing but less angry now. “Don’t ever stop doing that.”
She laughs, breathless and wild, and wipes some of my come off her belly with a fingertip. “Did that actually help?” she asks, wicked and sweet.
“Helped more than you know,” I groan, still catching my breath. “That thing would’ve taken ten minutes to tame otherwise.”
“Noted,” she says, all business, and then leans over to kiss me with her come-slicked mouth. “You’re not half-bad at this, soldier.”
“High praise coming from a woman who just milked my soul out through my cock,” I shoot back, unable to stop the shit-eating grin on my face.
She snorts, rolling her eyes, and then settles her head on my chest like she’s always belonged there.
We stay like that for a few minutes, letting the world return to normal speed.
The air in the room is thick with sweat and sex, the combination almost sacred in nature.
Eventually, I break the silence.
“Five minutes,” I say. “Then I’ll help you clean up.”
