Page 150 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

Leaning closer despite the intimate positioning that already eliminates appropriate personal space, I whisper directly into his ear with breath that carries my arousal signature along with verbal communication.

"What does my Silent Judge seek from his Omega?"

The question emerges with careful emphasis on possessive designation, acknowledgment of pack hierarchy, and judicial authority despite my obvious capabilities and strategic intelligence. Not submission through weakness, but willingly yielding to superior positioning and analytical expertise.

His Adam's apple moves with visible effort as he swallows hard, the involuntary response betraying emotional impact despite enhanced discipline and judicial training.

Enhanced perception detects the acceleration of his pulse, the subtle increase in body temperature that speaks to mounting desire and biological response. Professional composure maintained through systematic effort rather than natural emotional equilibrium.

When his gaze drops to my lips with hunger that makes the air between us crackle with electric potential, sensation races through my system with intensity that threatens conscious control. The raw want in his expression strips away judicial detachment to reveal his Alpha's desire that has been carefully contained but never eliminated.

My breathing becomes shallow as arousal builds beyond comfortable parameters.

The combination of his scent, his heated gaze, and the knowledge that I'm affecting his legendary control creates a feedback loop that intensifies biological response with mathematical precision. Each moment of sustained contactbuilds upon previous stimulation until maintaining rational thought becomes increasingly difficult.

His response, when it finally comes, carries judicial authority despite intimate delivery.

"I want to take this nice and slow with you," he states with characteristic precision that acknowledges desire while establishing parameters and a systematic approach. "But I'm more curious... have you ever really touched yourself before?"

The question hits with unexpected force, personal inquiry that transcends simple sexual curiosity to encompass genuine interest in my experience and self-knowledge. Not accusation or assumption, but careful assessment designed to establish a baseline understanding before proceeding with systematic exploration.

Heat floods my cheeks as I consider the implications and my own limited experience.

"Sure..." I begin with reluctant honesty that acknowledges basic familiarity while recognizing significant gaps in comprehensive understanding. "But it's not like I know if I'm doing it properly or not."

The admission carries embarrassment despite rational recognition that experience limitations result from circumstances rather than personal failing.

Years spent in institutional captivity followed by external existence wearing someone else's identity provided minimal opportunity for intimate self-exploration or pleasure-focused discovery. Survival and tactical preparation took precedence over personal satisfaction or biological curiosity.

Understanding the mechanics through enhanced education doesn't translate to practical experience or systematic knowledge.

"I understand the mechanics," I continue with clinical precision that distances analysis from emotional content, "but Inever really took the time to explore my body like that. I know quick fixes, and that's really it. Nothing that dwells and expands pleasure beyond basic biological relief."

The confession reveals vulnerability that tactical training typically conceals—acknowledgment of inexperience despite enhanced capabilities and systematic conditioning.

His smile develops with gradual intensity as understanding crystallizes regarding the opportunity presented through my honest assessment. Not superiority or judgment, but satisfaction at the prospect of providing guidance and systematic instruction in intimate matters.

"Would you like to explore that?" he asks with judicial formality that transforms sexual proposition into educational opportunity and structured learning experience.

The question carries no pressure or expectation—a genuine offer that acknowledges choice while suggesting a systematic approach to pleasure discovery and enhanced understanding. His analytical mind applied to intimate education rather than clinical detachment or performance evaluation.

"Sure," I respond with carefully controlled enthusiasm that masks the excitement building at the prospect of systematic exploration guided by someone whose attention to detail rivals my own analytical capabilities. "But how will I know if I'm doing it right?"

His silver eyes gleam with satisfaction at my willingness to accept guidance and systematic instruction.

"I'll guide you," he promises with authority that speaks to comprehensive oversight and detailed instruction throughout the discovery process.

But then his gaze shifts past my shoulder toward Riot's sleeping form, and his smile deepens with additional implications that make my pulse spike with fresh anticipation.

"And Riot will watch."

My gaze shifts toward Riot with curiosity that transforms into something approaching shock as I register his current state of awareness. Far from the sleeping Alpha I'd assumed him to be, his dark eyes burn with focused intensity as they travel across my body with predatory appreciation that makes my breath catch in my throat.

He's been awake this entire time, listening to every whispered exchange and observing my responses with tactical precision that speaks to enhanced Alpha awareness.

The knowledge that he's been conscious throughout our intimate conversation sends fresh heat racing through my system, embarrassment and arousal combining into a volatile mixture that makes coherent thought increasingly difficult. His attention feels almost physical as it catalogues the flush spreading across my skin, the way my breathing has become shallow and uneven, the obvious evidence of mounting desire that no amount of enhanced control can conceal.

But it's the prominent bulge straining against his boxers that makes slick gush between my legs with renewed intensity.

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