My hips wouldn’t stop jerking. My body writhed, trying to ride out every last pulse of that pleasure. I was choking on it. Drowning in it. Gasping for air between whimpers.
And still…
Still…
It wasn’t enough.
Because it wasn’t him.
Not his voice.
Not his hands.
Not his c**k.
I let my fingers slip out of me.
Slow.
Sticky.
They glistened in the low light, slick smeared to the knuckles, soaked in every bit of proof that I was f*****g ruined.
And I whispered to the ceiling like a confession:
“I need you, Alpha.”
My hand fell limp beside me.
My chest rose and fell like I was dying.
And maybe I was.
Because I didn’t know how many more times I could c*m before something broke inside me.
And I wanted him to be the one who broke it.
+8 Powis
My breath went up and down, chest rising in uneven waves as I stared at the ceiling like it held the answers to every filthy, shameful thing I’d just done. f**k.
I just gave myself a mind-blowing orgasm..three, actually..and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.
Not even a little.
If anything, I felt… high.
I rolled over with a groan, legs sticking together from the mess between them. My p***y still twitched. Still clenched like it didn’t believe it was over. I could feel my slick cooling on the inside of my thighs, tacky and hot and humiliating. I needed to clean up. To sleep. To forget.
But I knew sleep wouldn’t come.
It never did.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and blinked at the screen.
What The Hell!! f**k. There was no point honestly.
There was no f*****g point in even checking the time again..
No point in grabbing my phone again or pretending I’d sleep. Sleep was a lie. A cruel f*****g fantasy I kept telling myself while my body throbbed, my cunt ached, and my skin burned like someone had set fire to it from the inside.
My limbs wouldn’t stay still.
My legs twitched.
My feet kept flexing.
My fingers? Still tingling.
Every time I closed my eyes, I didn’t see dreams.
I saw him.
Damon. Alpha. Daddy. The man whose voice had already broken me from the other side of a door. Who hadn’t even touched me and still left me shaking through three orgasms that barely scratched the itch he put in me.
I shifted on the bed, and my thighs stuck together..wet, raw, used. The slick was cold now, and it made everything sharper. I could feel it drying on the inside of my legs, between my folds, everywhere.
I should’ve gotten up.
I should’ve cleaned up.
But I didn’t want to.
I wanted to feel it.
I wanted the mess to remind me of what I’d done.
Of how filthy I’d been.
Of how loud I’d moaned for a man who wasn’t even in the room.
I swallowed hard.
My throat was sore.
Had I been crying?
No.
Moaning.
Whimpering. Begging. Gasping.
Like some f*****g heat-sick Omega in the middle of a rut.
And maybe I was.
Because nothing else explained this.
What The Hell!!
This need.
This deep, bone-level, spine-cracking ache that lived in my womb now. It wasn’t just arousal anymore. It was possession. Fever. It was a sickness with his name tattooed on it.
I pulled the pillow tighter around me and tried to breathe.
It didn’t work.
My n*****s still hurt. My p***y still pulsed. The air against my skin still made me clench like I was seconds from breaking again.
I rolled onto my side.
The robe slipped down my hip.
I didn’t fix it.
My skin was slicked in sweat, hair clinging to my face and neck, and I felt feral. Desperate. Like I’d crawl across the floor if it meant someone would fill this f*****g emptiness.
And not just someone.
Him.
“Do you know what this c**k would do to you?” f**k.
My hips bucked just thinking about it. I squeezed my thighs together and whimpered when that pulse hit me again. That sharp, sensitive throb that started in my clit and echoed up through my belly like lightning.
I could touch myself again.
I could.
But I knew it wouldn’t help.
Nothing would. Not unless it was him. Not unless he was pressing my face into the mattress while he stretched me open, whispering cruel things while I cried from how good it hurt.
I moaned.
Out loud.
No shame..
No one was awake.
Everyone was asleep.
The guards. The maids. Tasha.
Even him. Probably.
Or maybe not.
Maybe he was sitting in the dark somewhere.
Half-naked. c**k hard. Drink in hand. Thinking about how wet I’d been when he had me against the wall. Thinking about how I whimpered when he said I couldn’t take him.
What The Hall!
I could still hear it.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.