Page 27 of The Princess and the Pack

Cillian’s voice is rough gravel and sensual promises as it cuts through the lifting fog of deep slumber. Were it not for him trailing gentle, teasing kisses up from the base of my spine, I dare say it could lull me back to sleep.

Having an alpha in my bed, eager to take me again after a long evening of lovemaking, is a treat I’ll gorge myself on—gladly. If the press of Cillian’s stiff cock against my lower back is any sign, I’d wager we’re on the same page. Though I’m sore, a delicious sort of pleasure-pain radiates between my legs.

“Averygood morning, it seems, husband,” I giggle as he curls his massive body around mine.

When I attempt to roll to my other side so I can face him, Cillian halts my movement with a firm hand on my hip.

“Stay there, omega,” he purrs. “Be good for your alpha and he’ll take care of you in return.”

Gods. One minute he’s never taken someone to bed, and the next he’s lust incarnate, maneuvering me as he wishes for our shared pleasure. The shift is welcome, if it means I get to wake up to these tender yet thrilling ministrations each morning.

Satisfied I have followed his directions, Cillian hums into the lingering kisses he places along my neck. The heady rapture that accompanies his touch reverberates across my skin in brilliant waves of bliss.

“I want to take your wet, little cunt while I drive myself mad on your scent,” he pants, running his nose along my pulse point to seek out where my scent is strongest. My mate loses himself then, groaning and gripping my leg to hook it over his hip. “How does that sound, little terror? Do you want your alpha to slide his cock in and make you scream?”

Heat wraps its scorching hands around my throat, dragging me willingly toward the flames. I can hardly breathe—can hardly think—as the fire beneath my skin burns so desperately bright.

This fever is a constant whenever he is near, and with his body against mine, I stand no chance at overcoming the affliction.

Only by giving in to the pull of his presence am I afforded any glimpse at relief. But Cillian offers me no reprieve when his cock slides through my wetness to rest at my entrance.

“Please,”I beg.

Soft laughter, melodic as it is mocking, rings in my ears. “Please?” he teases, as though he isn’t similarly affected. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”

The hollow ache between my legs, paired with the pounding in my chest, confirms I’m desperate for the gratification he’s dangling just out of reach.

“Yes.Alpha. Please,” I whine as his canines drag gently against my throat. Visions of him sinking his teeth into my skin as he presses into the warmth of my sex call to some primal part in my mind—a desperate imperative he and I should become one in all the ways that matter.

“Very well then, darling,” he whispers.

The taunting tickle of his warm breath at my ear is a brief distraction until the thick slide of his cock steals the air from my lungs. Dizzying dots dance across my vision as I acclimate to the formidable stretch of him.

“Your cunt isdivine. I could die right now, having known such sweet perfection,” Cillian rasps.

The way this alpha speaks, how he grinds his hips to press against a breathtaking place inside me and doesn’t relent—it’s all a perfect storm I’m not certain I’ll survive. How can I be expected to, when every second of his deep, unhurried fucking ignites some new need in me?

“You feel so good, Ivy. So lush and lovely for me. I could fuck you for days on end,” he groans.

Yes—I too could spend countless hours tangled up with him, drowning in pleasure and the scent of his windswept wonder. “Please!” I cry out, lost for a better sentiment. It seems I’m no poet when getting the very soul fucked from me. But I can’t imagine the king cares for pretty words when his mate is soaking his cock.

Each drugging drag of him within me throttles me closer and closer to an earth-shattering end. Every moan, every labored breath against my ear is further fodder for my bliss. As his fingers slide to my sex to trace slow circles around my clit, I fall apart for him. Powerful bursts of pleasure radiate from my toes to the tips of my fingers, and I melt into the sweet satisfaction that comes from being well handled.

“I want to bite you,” my alpha growls as my cunt tightens around him. His measured thrusting takes on new life as he ruts me harder, fucking me even deeper than I knew possible. “Want to mark you so everyone can see the permanence of my devotion to you.”

Floating, fuzzy-headed, and frenzied for more, the omega within me preens at the potential of her mate’s claim. But despite the swell of pheromones telling me to bare my neck and let him, I know the moment isn’t yet right for our inevitable bonding.

“Knot me,” I offer instead, aware that it’s no hardship for either of us. After last night, I’m well and truly addicted to the fullness of being locked together.

“Ivy,” Cillian moans, “I can’t believe you’re real.”

My alpha doesn’t cease his stroking until I’m shaking and on the verge of bliss once more. Only then does he tease his swelling knot against the seam of me. I brace myself against the exquisite pressure of him until a loud, persistent knocking disrupts the crescendo of our coupling.

“Cillian,” a muffled voice calls—one that sounds too similar to my husband’s.

“Fuck!” Cillian cries against my neck, the abject agony clear in his voice. With great reluctance, he eases his knot back but refuses to quit plunging into me.

“Knot. Please, please,please,” I whine. Whatever message awaits outside the door surely can’t be so pressing as sating this need the king and I share.

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