I want to move but my body feels too heavy.
A ripple of need pierces my core.
I want to taste him. Want to lap up the seed that drips from him and rub it all over myself.
I can almost feel that slithery moisture trickling over me. The sensations twist my insides. My thighs clench and a low, keening need rocks my belly.
His gaze narrows and those blue eyes seem to lighten into colorless mirrors that amplify my own desires before throwing them back at me.
My skin chafes with the need to go to him, to throw myself at him and rub my skin over his.
He holds his arms loosely at his sides, then widens his stance. I can see every last nook and hollow of that beautiful, delectable, hateful body.
The cords of his strong throat flex, the planes of his chest rippling as if there is an unseen force unfurling inside him.
The brute is preening for me, making sure I know exactly who is going to possess me. A powerful dominant alpha male who will take without mercy.
I should back away, scream, try to plot on how to get out of there. But that omega core of me insists I am exactly where I should be. The need to draw into myself, and make myself smaller is overwhelming. I will not do that. To do that will only give him an advantage. I jut out my chin and stay where I am.
His jaw firms. Then, he angles his head and studies me. His gaze is brooding, calculating, stained with lust and a strange cruelty.
My throat closes. My fingers tingle and the hair on my nape hardens. Why doesn't he do something? Say something? Anything to break the silence that fills the room and presses down on my shoulders. Sweat beads my palms.
The chiseled planes of his chest tense, tightening his skin that is the color of honey. I want to run my lips over the demarcation of those powerful pecs, to lick and suck my way down to those thighs shaped from sheer muscle and tendons and covered with a smattering of light hair. The chafing of his rougher skin on mine would set off delightful trails of friction over my belly, leaving tracks of redness where they’d scrape the insides of my thighs.
Sparks of heat jolt through my chest.
The tension in the room ratchets up, and my nerves feel like they are being strained to the breaking point. Every part of me feels like it is on fire, yearning for his touch, yet he stays unmoving. He could be a sculpture or an obscene dedication to everything that is lethal.
My eyelids feel too heavy, and I lower my gaze back to where that massive shaft throbs. In the last few seconds, his shaft has grown bigger, harder.
My breath stutters. He’s too large, too massive. Every part of him screams that he is bent on dominating me, that he will not stop until he gets what he wants, and not even then. Not until every single inch of my skin bears his imprint.
Something very much like anticipation grips me. The still rational part of my brain screams out a warning.
I need to get out of here.
Out of these clothes which feel too tight on me. Out of these barriers which I have imposed on myself. Tear through the walls and expose that giving, needing omega inside me.
The yearning is so primal that my womb cramps and slick gushes down my inner thighs. I wrap my arms around my waist and groan.
The sound seems to turn him on even more, and his already engorged shaft thickens further.
He takes a step forward, and I have no doubt that he is going to close the distance between us. He is going to lick up the sweat from between my breasts, then thrust his tongue inside my pussy and absorb my essence, and the awful thing, the beautiful thing is that I can’t wait. I need him to take the choice out of my hands and put me out of this misery.
The image cuts through the haze that the heat cycle has brought on. I straighten my shoulders and tear my gaze from the part of him that promises me the ultimate freedom.
He stalks toward me to stand at the foot of the bed.
This close, the dominance of his presence weighs down on my chest, presses down on my shoulders. The fine hairs on the nape of my neck rise. A plume of heat spools off his chest and slams into me, a moan whines out of me.
His gaze widens, those cruel lips curl in a smirk.
My sex quivers in response. Every pore on my skin pops open tuned into him, waiting for him… waiting.
He leans forward on the balls of his feet. His scent crashes over me, sinks into my blood and tugs at my nerve endings. My skin puckers.
Closer, I need him to come closer, why has he stopped? No, what am I thinking? What’s happening to me? My throat closes. “Don’t you dare,” I gulp.
7
Zeus
“Don’t challenge me.” I keep my voice casual when every part of me aches to cover her body with mine.
Waves of fear roll from her. Yet she holds up her fists in front of her. The skin stretches white over her knuckles.
Standing on the bed that is on a raised platform, she is still not at eye level with me.
I frown. “You are tiny.”
Her chest rises and falls; her thick hair curls over her face and around her neck. Red highlights gleam in it. How will it feel to have those locks wrapped around my palm as I yank back her head and close my mouth around those delectable lips?
“My looks are deceptive.” She raises her head and meets my gaze.
“I said tiny…not fragile,” I smirk. “Your will is strong enough that you walked into my turf and took me on, not to mention facing down a crowd of alphas. Clearly, you are also stupid.”
“Stupid?” She blinks as if she can’t quite believe that I said that to her face.
Hey, I did compliment her first, didn’t I? Backhanded as it was, I was still appreciative of her fearlessness…or should I call it recklessness?
“Not as much as you are.” She thrusts out her chin.
“Oh?” I angle my head. “Pray, tell me what you mean by that?” My voice is casual…and while my men would have given me a clear berth on hearing the threat in my voice, it seems to have the opposite effect on her.
“I’ll go one better,” Her shoulders tighten. The muscles of her arms bunch, and I know she is preparing to attack me.
I brace myself for the inevitable when she snaps her shoulders back, and her breasts strain against her jumpsuit. Those nipples outlined through the material tease me, call to me, begging me to cup them, massage them, curve my tongue around the hard nubs and pull on them.
All other thought goes out of my head.
Everything except that I am an alpha and this luscious omega, ripe for the plucking, going into her heat cycle, is here, in my room, in my bed. On my turf.
Fuck everything else.
My thighs go rock-hard.
Her gaze slides back down to my dick. Her little pink tongue slides out to lick her lips, and I feel the ripples of need all the way to my groin.
I have to have her now.
I growl my intention, drawing that harsh purr out, all the way from the depths of my being, up through my ribcage, pouring it out, unfurling the notes over her, lassoing her with it and pulling her closer, closer.
She groans and stutters mid-step. Her gaze widens; the black pupils in those forest-green eyes bleed out. “That’s not helping.”
“On the contrary. I’m making sure you are wet enough to ease my penetration.”
I breathe out a low purr. And am rewarded when the sugary scent of her arousal grows deeper.
Her cheeks flush. “Thanks for painting—or should I say panting—that for me in graphic detail.”