Chapter 341

Daphne

I guess the key is to concentrate on her.

Because if I think about it—if I let my mind wander to what’s actually happening, to the anatomy of it—I’ll lose my mind. So I focus on Vivienne. On the way her hair falls across her shoulders.

On the way she looks up at me through her lashes like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

And it’s working.

Until it isn’t.

Because there it is. Standing upright. Very, very upright.

Dicks are seriously so weird, man.

One minute they’re this sad, deflated party balloon you’re trying to hide under your waistband, the next they’re a flagpole demanding to be saluted. It’s a whole mood swing made of flesh.

I don’t have time to process this revelation before Vivienne leans in and swallows the whole thing to the hilt, her nose pressing against my stomach. My mouth drops open.

Is this humanely possible?

I feel like I just witnessed a magic trick. A very, very wet magic trick.

I watch in a mixture of horror and pleasure and sheer, unadulterated disbelief. Because what the hell.

All of it. How? Where is it going? Is she—is she breathing?

That’s genuinely, literally like ten inches? I wouldn’t know, I haven’t measured, but it’s certainly not small.And she just... inhaled it.

I shift in my seat, leaning forward to watch in awe.I need to see this from multiple angles.

Well damn.

My hands fly to her hair, not to guide, not to push, but just to hold on. To anchor myself to this planet because I’m pretty sure I’m about to float away.

She pulls back, slowly, and my brain short-circuits. Her tongue does this... this thing.

A flick, a swirl, a little corkscrew motion around the head that has my toes curling so hard I think they might actually break. And then she goes back down.

All the way. No hesitation. Just a committed, full-throated descent into madness.

***

Vivienne

Her grip in my hair is painful, but she hasn’t noticed. I like all omegas, love to be treated this way, but an alpha?

An alpha holding me down, taking what she wants without even realizing she’s doing it? It’s a heady, dangerous rush.

Every sharp pull on my scalp sends a jolt straight down my spine, a primal signal that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be: on my knees, pleasing my mate.

I’ve never even done this for Damien. Not once.The thought of him in this position makes my skin crawl. I’ve never wanted to, I thought maybe it just wasn’t for me, I was wrong.

The illegal marriage preparation classes my mother insisted on, the ones that taught an omega how to be a perfect little mate. Omega instruction, they call it, like we’re appliances to be programmed—but they still happen. Behind closed doors.

In the homes of old families who remember when Omegas knew their place.

I hated every minute of it. The cold rooms. The clinical instructions. The way they talked about Alphas like they were gods to be appeased.

Right now though, she might as well be my god and I’m happy to worship her.

Never thought I would be grateful. I wouldn’t know how to do this without those lessons. Wouldn’t know how to take her apart like this, piece by piece, until she’s nothing but sound and movement and want.

Well I did end up, putting my skills to good use, just not on the Alpha everyone thinks I would have.

My other hand goes into my shorts, into my underwear, while I take Daphne.

The first touch against my own slick heat is a relief, a pressure I didn’t realize I was desperate for.

I match the rhythm of my mouth with the circles of my fingers, a syncopated beat of pure need.

It’s so hot, the way she’s moaning, and moving her hips.

Those little helpless thrusts, the way her body arches off the couch as if she’s trying to get even deeper, to lose herself completely.

I’m the one making her sound like that.

Me.

The thought alone is almost enough to send me over the edge.

I press my fingers harder, circling my clit with a frantic need that mirrors the pace I’m setting with my mouth.

I can feel my own release building, a tight, coiling spring in my stomach, but I hold it back.

Not yet.

I want to feel her fall apart first. I want to be the one to shatter her completely.

Her grip tightens in my hair, her hips bucking wildly, and I know she’s close. I hollow my cheeks, take her as deep as I can one last time, and that’s all it takes.

I swallow. It’s overwhelming—the taste of her, the weight of her, the way her whole body trembles under my hands. I close my eyes, let myself feel it.

Moaning around her, because that triggers mg own release.

I don’t stop moving my fingers until the last tremor subsides, until I’m completely spent,until there’s nothing left of me but aftershocks and the taste of her on my tongue.

I pull back slowly. My jaw aches. My throat is raw. I wipe my chin with the back of my hand, feeling saliva and something else, and look up at her.

She’s still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling, her hair plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed.

"1905."

I blink. "What?"

She doesn’t open her eyes. "My pin. Bank account. Safe." A breath. "Everything."

I just stare at her.

My jaw, which was already aching, officially drops open. I blink. I blink again. My brain, which is currently floating in a post-orgasmic haze of bliss and pride, screeches to a halt like a car hitting a brick wall.

Then I start to laugh.

I can’t help it. I throw my head back and laugh, a real, deep, belly-shaking laugh that echoes through the quiet villa.

When I get home, I really should get mum those limited edition tickets to that opera she loves.