Page 25 of Come for Me
Needy little thing.
Her inner walls contract around my fingers as she teeters on the edge of orgasm.
“Who did you say your alpha was?”
Softly, she whispers, “You.”
I pull my fingers away, and she groans. Her hand starts traveling down her body to remedy her starvation.
Growling, I snatch it before she can serve her needy center without my say-so, my one and only warning.
She whimpers and continues rolling those fucking hips to hold on to the build inside her.
I scoff in amusement as her body begs for my attention.My personal little whore.
“You what?” I ask innocently.
I want her like this all the time, panting while her pussy pulses for me.
She whines, sounding like she’s about to cry when she isn’t sure what answer I’m looking for. Then she’s silent, realizing her pleas aren’t wearing me down like it would on some pathetic omega.
Although pleas from her filthy mouth have probably made even the strongest of alphas bend to her will in the past.
But that won’t be me, darling. I own you.You’ll get used to that.I’ll have that defiant mouth begging to please me.
Her lips tremble as she tries to figure out how to greet me. Her lips part, yet no words come out. Even her silence is music to my ears.
Her uncertainty is adorable.
Part of the devil inside me wants to see what she’ll come up with and laugh at all the flattering names she showers me with. Her cheeks would get red as she refers to me in high regards, and I’d pinch her clit when she’d get it wrong.Would she cry pretty tears for me? Goddess, I’d fucking hope so.
But my wolf urges me to throw her a bone this time.
“In public, it’s Dax.” I reach between her thighs, gathering her juices to stroke my cock at her entrance. “In private, you’ll refer to me as my king.” The tip of my cock strokes her slit, sliding down to tease her bud before returning to her entrance.
“Yeah, I’m not calling you that,” she scoffs.
Her laughter rolls through her curves beneath me.
I grab her throat. “What was that?”
Her breath is ragged, but her eyes dance at my force.
My mate likes it rough.
Squeezing her delicate neck, I dare her to push me further, to give me reason to punish her bratty mouth.
For a moment, I think she’s going to, but instead...
“My king,” she says, and I moan.
Those words have never been sweeter. If her moans were music, her proclamation of my honorific was a drug. It’s scorchingly hot, hearing her submission, her declaration of what I am to her, of who she is to me.
Mine.
I lean into her ear and rasp, “That’s right.” I rub my coated hand over her face sloppily.
She shakes her head and grunts in disgust, and I laugh.
