God, I could do this forever.
Eating Ainsley out was the best fucking thing I’d ever done in my life. Better than any win, better than any touchdown, better than anything. Nothing—nothing—had ever come close to this.
He tasted like heaven. No, scratch that. Heaven couldn’t compare. Heaven didn’t have this—sweet and salty and so fucking perfect, slick pouring out of him like his body knew I was the only one who could have him. Like it was for me. Like he was for me.
And I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t fucking stop. Every flick of my tongue, every drop of slick I licked up, was like gasoline on a fire I couldn’t control. I was addicted. Officially hooked on him—on the way he tasted, the way he trembled under me, the way his thighs clenched around my head as if he wanted me to stay forever.
Mine.
The word roared through my head, drowning out everything else. Ainsley was mine—his taste, his scent, his perfect, trembling body spread out under me. I needed all of him. Every gasp, every cry, every drop of slick.
He was dripping for me, soaking my face, my chin, the sheets beneath him, and I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. I needed to drown in him, to taste him until there was nothing left, to feel him fall apart on my tongue over and over again.
My hands tightened on his thighs, holding him open, steady, as I licked and lapped and groaned like a man possessed. Every sound he made went straight to my cock—those little high-pitched gasps, the way his breath hitched when my tongue dragged over just the right spot, the broken sobs that tore from his throat as he writhed beneath me, trying to squirm away and failing miserably.
And when he came—fuck, when he came—it wrecked me.
His thighs clenched tight around my head, his back arching off the bed, his hands fisting in the sheets as he screamed my name like he couldn’t help it. His slick gushed out in thick, hot waves, and I licked up every drop, groaning low in my chest as I held him steady, keeping him spread open for me.
“God, baby,” I muttered, my voice muffled against his slick-drenched skin. “You’re so sweet. So fucking sweet. I could do this all day.”
He whimpered, his voice trembling, his hands shooting down to tug weakly at my hair as his body shook beneath me. “Max, I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I growled, my hands sliding higher, brushing over the curve of his hips, his waist, the sharp jut of his ribs.
I kissed my way up his stomach, dragging the hem of his oversized sweater higher, exposing more of his pale, flushed skin. My lips pressed against every inch of him I could reach—his stomach, his chest, the curve of his hip—and every kiss made him tremble harder, made his breath come in sharp, shaky bursts.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured, my voice rough, reverent, as I pushed the sweater higher. “So fucking beautiful, baby.”
When I finally looked up at him, I swear my chest ached. He was sprawled out beneath me, a trembling, wrecked mess. His glasses were askew on his flushed face, his hair a wild, damp tangle, and his thighs were still slick and quivering, spread wide, his slick dripping onto the ruined sheets beneath him.
He was everything.
I reached up, my fingers trembling as I slid his glasses off his nose, folding them carefully and setting them on the bedside table. His breath hitched, his lips parting in a soft, shaky whimper, and I couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss him.
It started soft—gentle, just a brush of my lips against his—but the second he whimpered again, high and needy, I was gone. My tongue slid into his mouth, tangling with his, hot and desperate and messy, and his hands shot up to clutch at my shoulders, his nails scratching lightly over my skin.
“Max,” he gasped against my lips, his voice cracking. “Please—please, I need—”
“I know, baby,” I reassured him, dragging my lips down the curve of his jaw, grazing my teeth over the sensitive skin of his neck. “I know. I’ll take care of you.”
My hands slid under his sweater, brushing against the soft, warm skin of his stomach, and I groaned, leaning down to press my lips to the newly exposed skin. His back arched, another whimper slipping out of him, and I couldn’t stop myself from running my tongue over the curve of his hip, tasting the faint salt of sweat and slick and him.
“Max,” he whimpered again, his hands tangling in my hair, tugging at the messy strands. “Please—please, I need—”
“I know what you need,” I growled, my voice wrecked as I sat back on my knees, dragging his sweater the rest of the way off. I tossed it to the side, my eyes raking over his bare chest, his flushed skin, the faint sheen of sweat glistening under the dim light.
“Please,” he gasped, his nails digging into my shoulders, his hips bucking against me. “Please, Max—knot me. Breed me. I need it—I need you—”
The begging hit me like a punch to the chest, hot and sharp and impossible to ignore. My brain blanked, every thought wiped clean except for one:
He needed my knot.
Not gonna lie, I totally fell asleep during A/O 101. I knew that omegas had two holes and a dick and I knew that I had a knot, but I didn’t know the mechanics of giving my knot to him. I’d figure it out, though, if that was what he needed. I’d give him anything. Hell, if he’d asked me to stand on my head and sing Yankee fucking Doodle, I would’ve.
I’d never yanked my clothes off so fast in my life. My hoodie got tossed to the floor, followed by my undershirt and jeans and boxers, the cool air hitting my naked, overheated skin like a jolt. But again, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except him.
The second my cock sprang free, I heard him gasp. His eyes darted down, his lips parting, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts, and I couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled out of me. I could tell that even in his heat-addled state, he was appreciating my size, what I looked like under my clothes.
“You’re gonna take it,” I murmured, my voice low and rough as I leaned back over him, pressing my lips to his ear. “Every inch, baby. You’re gonna take all of me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he gasped, his hands clutching at my shoulders. “Yes, please, Max—please, I need it—I need—”
I kissed him hard, swallowing his pleas as my hands slid down his legs, hooking under the waistband of his leggings and tugging them the rest of the way off. He whined softly, his hips lifting to help me, and I groaned as I dragged them over his feet, tossing them to the floor.
He was bare now, completely exposed, and the sight of him—flushed and trembling, his thighs spread wide, his slick dripping down onto the sheets—made my chest tighten, my breath hitching in my throat.
I rocked against him, my cock grinding against the wet, slick heat between his legs, and my brain was nothing but static. White noise. Heat. Him.
“Fuck,” I muttered, my voice low and trembling, my hands flexing against his thighs. “You want my knot, baby? Huh? You want me to fill you up?”
“Yes,” he gasped, his body arching into mine, slick coating both of us, his thighs trembling as they clenched around me. His hands scrabbled at my shoulders, desperate and frantic, like he couldn’t stand the thought of me stopping. “Please—please, Max, I—oh God—”
My lips crashed into his, messy and hot and completely unrestrained, swallowing his cries as my hands slid down to grip his hips, dragging him closer, tighter against me. His scent was everywhere, thick and sweet and all-consuming, drowning me as I lined myself up, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I pushed forward, slow and steady, my hands tightening on his hips as his body opened for me, hot and slick and perfect, pulling me in like he was made for me. I knew instantly that I was completely ruined—for him. Forever. Nothing had ever felt so good in my entire life. I wanted to shove all the way in and never leave, to make my home in his tight heat.
“Fuck,” I hissed, my forehead pressing against his shoulder, my breath ragged as I slid deeper, inch by inch. “You’re so tight.”
He sobbed softly, his nails digging into my back as his thighs shook against my sides, his body arching up into mine. His slick poured out, easing the slide, making it smoother, easier, and I couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled out of me, deep and possessive as I bottomed out, my hips flush against his.
He whimpered, his body trembling beneath me, his hands gripping me like he didn’t know what else to do, like he needed me to keep him together.
“Max,” he gasped, his voice thin and broken, his head tipping back against the pillows. “Oh my God—oh God—”
“That’s it,” I growled, my voice low and growly as I drew back, just enough to thrust into him, slow and deep. “Take it, baby. Take all of me. You’re so good for me. So fucking good.”
His body clenched around me, hot and tight and perfect, and I set a rhythm—slow and steady at first, giving him time to adjust to my size, then snapping my hips forward, driving into him harder, deeper. Every thrust had him gasping, every cry and moan pushing me closer to the edge even though I’d barely been inside him for a minute.
I pulled out almost entirely, just the swollen tip of my cock nudging against his entrance, slick and hot and so fucking perfect. Then I slammed back into him, slow at first, making sure he felt every inch, savoring the way his body stretched and clenched around me. His gasp turned into a wail, his head tossing back against the pillow, his hands scrabbling for purchase on my shoulders, his nails biting into my skin like he was trying to anchor himself.
“Yes,” he babbled, his voice cracking. “Oh my God—yes—so good—so deep—I can’t—I can’t—”
“You can,” I growled, driving into him again, harder this time, my hips rolling forward in a steady, punishing rhythm. “Look at how perfect you are, baby. So tight. So fucking perfect.”
His thighs trembled against me, his body arching up into mine, every thrust sending a fresh gush of slick pouring out of him, coating us both. He was drenched, shaking, his hair wild and damp and sticking to his forehead. His lips were swollen from my kisses, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning down, biting and sucking at the delicate skin of his neck, leaving marks I didn’t even realize I was making until I saw the bruises bloom. Oops.
His cries turned into something higher, thinner, desperate. He wasn’t even saying words anymore—just broken, stuttering sounds that tore out of him with every thrust. “Ah—ah—Max—please—please—oh God—oh God—”
I pressed my forehead to his, my breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants. My hands slid to his hips, gripping him tighter, lifting him just enough so I could angle myself deeper, harder. He screamed—actually screamed—his body locking tight around me, his slick gushing out. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
“God, baby,” I panted, my hand moving without thinking, covering his mouth, muffling the sound. “So fucking loud. Do you want the whole building to hear you? Huh?”
I growled again, my hand flexing against his jaw, holding him steady as I leaned down to press my lips to his ear. He whimpered against my palm, his breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck you like this. You’re mine.”
I pulled my hand away, unleashing his barely audible voice. “Yes,” he was gasping. “Yes—yours—yours—oh God, Max—so good—so big—so—”
His garbled words broke off into another scream as I slammed into him again. I was losing it—completely fucking losing it. Every snap of my hips sent a jolt of heat down my spine, the tight, slick heat of Ainsley’s body squeezing me like he never wanted to let go. My brain was static, white noise and instinct, nothing else. Just him—just this—just the raw, mindless need to fill him up, to claim him, to keep him.
“More,” I grunted out. I was babbling just like him, barely making sense. “I need—fuck—I need more. I need you, baby. I need all of you.”
I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. Every thrust was harder, deeper, shaking the bed, shaking both of us, the sound of our bodies colliding drowning out everything else. His cries turned into sobs, his nails dragging down my back, his thighs shaking against my hips as he clenched around me.
“I won’t. I won’t stop, baby. I’ll never stop. I’ll fuck you forever. I’ll fill you up.”
Forever. The word echoed in my head, in my chest, in every fucking cell in my body.
He sobbed, his voice breaking again, his body shaking beneath me, his slick soaking the sheets, soaking me. “You’re close, baby,” I growled, my hands gripping his hips tight enough to bruise. “I can feel it. Let go for me. Come for me. Let me feel you, Ainsley. Let me feel you come all over me.”
“I can’t, I need—”
Just as I was about to ask him what he needed, my thrusts started to slow—not because I wanted to, but because… fuck. I couldn’t move as easily. There was pressure building at the base of my cock, swelling, stretching, catching against him.
“Shit,” I muttered, the word low and shaky as I tried to pull back. I couldn’t. Not all the way. Something was… something was—
Ainsley didn’t share my concern at all. He whimpered, his thighs tightening around my hips, his nails dragging down my back. “That’s it, don’t stop,” he babbled, his voice thin and high and desperate. “Please—please, Max, keep going—keep—oh God—”
I looked down between us, panting hard, my chest heaving as I tried to understand what the fuck was happening. The base of my cock was bigger—thicker—and it wasn’t just catching on him. It was stretching him wider, holding us tighter, keeping me buried inside him.
Oh, fuck—this is it. This is happening. My knot—it’s… what the hell? It’s huge—wait, is this supposed to feel this good? Jesus Christ, it’s like I’m made for this.
“Fuck,” I groaned, my voice breaking. “What the hell—”
“You’re knotting,” Ainsley gasped, his words slurring into a moan as he rocked his hips against me. “Max—you’re—you’re knotting me—oh my God—yes—don’t stop—don’t stop—”
My brain barely had time to latch onto the word before Ainsley clenched around me, his body tightening. His slick oozed out to ease the stretch, and my instincts took over. My hips jerked forward, grinding my knot against him, pushing it deeper, forcing him to take it.
Jesus, but his back arched so sharply it was like he was trying to pull himself closer to me, every trembling inch of him begging to be filled, stretched, claimed. “Do it,” he gasped, his voice high and trembling.
His hands clutched at me, his nails scraping down my back, his thighs quivering uncontrollably as they spread wider, giving me everything. And I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t fucking stop. My body moved on its own, my hips grinding, pushing, working my knot deeper, stretching him wider, locking us tighter.
“You’re perfect,” I gritted out, the words spilling out without thought, my lips brushing over his ear, his cheek, his mouth. “Fuck, Ainsley—you’re so perfect—look at you—look at what you’re doing to me—”
He sobbed, his voice breaking, his body trembling beneath me, and I felt it—the moment my knot locked us completely. The pressure at the base of my cock swelled one last time, holding me so deep inside him I could feel every trembling clench of his body, every ripple of his slick, every fucking inch of him.
I’d never felt anything like it before.
I couldn’t move. Not just physically—mentally, too. It wasn’t just swelling—it was fusing us, tethering me to him, the pressure so intense it blurred the edges of my vision. I was locked in him, and it wasn’t just my body holding us together. It was him. His scent. His warmth. His fucking trust. The thought of him pulling away—or worse, regretting this—knifed through me, and I growled low, pressing closer, needing to keep him, needing to know this was right.
“Oh my God,” Ainsley cried out, his voice raw and uncontrollable as his body arched off the bed. “Max—oh God—so full—so good—I can’t—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I growled, my voice rough and primal as my knot throbbed, pulsing inside him, holding us together. “You can take it, baby. Take it for me.”
And then it hit me.
My climax tore through me, hard and fast, leaving me wrecked and gasping. My cock pulsed, thick and heavy, flooding his insides with hot jets of come, and my head dropped to his shoulder, my breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants. Christ, but it felt endless. How did I have so much come? Didn’t matter, I decided. He could have it all. Every drop.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” I groaned out, my voice trembling, my hands gripping his hips tight enough to bruise.
His body snapped tight beneath me, his thighs locking around my hips, his cries turning into screams as he came, hard and violent, his slick gushing out, soaking us both. It was too much—his cries, his body, the way he clenched around me like he never wanted to let go.
“Shh,” I muttered, my hand coming up to cover his mouth. He sounded like he was being murdered. “Shh, baby—I’ve got you—I’ve got you—”
But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His muffled cries vibrated against my hand, his body shaking, trembling, breaking, and I groaned for the millionth time as I held him down, held him still, held him together.
He whimpered softly, his hands clutching at me, his body trembling as his climax faded, leaving him wrecked and boneless beneath me. My knot throbbed inside him, keeping us locked together, and I pressed gentle, tender kisses all over his face, huffing out shaky breaths.
“I’ve got you,” I rasped hoarsely. And I did. I’d have him forever.
Not just for now, not just while I was buried inside him, but always. Forever. His body, his scent, his fucking soul—they all belonged to me now. No one else could touch him. No one else could even look at him without knowing. Without smelling me on his skin, in his hair, in every fucking breath he took. I’d made sure of it.
The thought sent a low, satisfied growl rumbling through my chest. He was lying there, wrecked and boneless beneath me, his chest rising and falling in shallow, shaky breaths, his skin flushed, his lips swollen from my kisses. And he wasn’t just beautiful—he was marked. Ruined. My teeth marks were on his neck, my scent was all over him, and my knot was still locked inside him, holding him open, holding him mine.
Mine.
The word thundered through my brain, drowning out everything else. I didn’t care if it was too much, too soon, too fucking possessive. None of that mattered.
He was mine. I’d claimed him, and nothing—no one—could change that.