Page 80 of Nursing the Alpha
Then he was between my thighs, dragging my legs apart like he owned them.
“No, don’t. Please.”
I tried to squirm away, but the heat was burning hotter now, a fever in my blood. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only feel.
The masked man grunted and unzipped his pants.
The sound alone made my body clench in need.
With one thrust, he was inside me.
Thick. Relentless.
I screamed into his palm he’d slapped over my mouth as he bottomed out in a brutal thrust.
The pain, the stretch, the fucking fullness?—
It broke me.
My body arched off the forest floor, my chest heaving, milk leaking through my thin shirt.
He set a brutal rhythm, fucking me like an animal, each thrust jarring my tied hands, leaves and dirt sticking to my sweat-slick skin.
My body responded shamelessly despite my mind screaming to resist, spiraling into an abyss of pleasure I didn’t want to welcome but was powerless to deny. I bucked my hips against his, matching his rhythm instinctively, and heat surged through my veins.
The mask never looked away.
This wasn’t Seth. This was a beast. A mercenary alien from space, rutting his captive omega open on the cold forest floor.
I sobbed against his palm. “Stop—please, stop?—”
He growled low, pace snapping faster. My hole quivered helplessly around him, sucking him in deeper, as though my body couldn’t get enough.
The milk letdown hit hard. My pecs ached, and then his mouth—hot and hungry—latched onto my nipple, sucking deep.
“God, oh God—” I sobbed, my toes curling as pleasure racked my heat-hazed body.
My orgasm hit me like a truck, cock jerking uselessly between us as I came hard.
With a grunt, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his erection and pumping hard. His seed spilled hot over my stomach, thick and potent, while my body convulsed beneath him, utterly spent.
Yet still craving more.
24
SETH
His chest heaved as I pulled out of him, my cock dragging slowly from his spent, twitching hole with a wet, obscene sound.
I wrapped my fist around myself and stroked hard. Once. Twice. The sight of him—spread out beneath me, legs still shaking, arms bound tight—sent fire licking up my spine.
One more stroke and I came with a guttural groan.
Thick ropes painted his belly, his pecs, even the curve of his throat. Hot, sticky splatter streaked across milk-slick skin, mixing with the tears and sweat already pearling there.
God.
My perfect, ruined little omega.
