Page 59 of Vallaverse: Twist
As if on cue, he lets out a low groan. “Brooks,” he hisses. “Please. I need—“
“Shh, baby,” I croon. “I know. You've done so well for me. You're so beautiful and perfect.” I turn my head to kiss the inside of his thigh. “Thank you. Do you need me to take you now?”
Words. Words are important. Laz needs to be fucked. I know it, and he knows it. He needs to be fucked as hard as I can possibly fuck him for as long as I can last. He needs me pounding into him almost violently. But I won't say those things. Even if he does, I won't. I might fuck every self-depreciating, self-destructive thought out of his head, but I won't say it. I will take him. I will claim him. I will give him every single thing he needs, always, but I will not say that I'm going to fuck him. He needs soft words. Even if the things I do are decadently vicious, the words I use will be soft and gentle.
“Brooks,” he pants. “I need you to—“
I wrap my hands around his thighs and reposition him so that his legs are spread wide, his heels resting on the edge of the desk. “You need me to make love to you, don't you, baby?” I stand up and push my boxers down my thighs and let my thick length rest beside his on his clenched stomach. I move my hips so that my cock is moving hotly against his. “Tell me what you need, angel.”
He lets out another sound that sounds suspiciously like a sob, but he manages to choke out the words. “I need you, Valla. I need you to t...take me. Please.”
“Anything you need, Laz,” I say softly, smiling down at him. “Anything you need.”
I gently press his knees back, spreading him wider for me. “Stay just like that, baby. I need to get you ready for me.”
He doesn't argue, but he does whine, long and keen.
Laz is as ready as he'll ever be, but I still take time away from our shared misery to make sure he won't feel any pain when I have him stretched around me. An Omega in the middle of a heat spike is already more than wet and primed to receive relief, but with him the intention is more important than anything else. His smart mouth might deny it, but his body, his soul, craves being cared for. He yearns to be treated like the precious thing he is; he just needs to be reminded that he is, in fact, precious. Part of that process is not shoving my aching cock into him as fast and as deep as I can to assuage my own intense need. I can and will overlook my own discomfort if that means making sure he feels his worth.
“Brooks,” he says, drawing out the s in a long, trembling hiss.
“Are you ready for me, Laz?”
“Yes. Fucking yes. Please, Brooks. It hurts.” He pulls his knees even wider, shifting his hips to create the perfect invitation.
“My poor Omega,” I say softly, and he moans in response. “I'll make you feel so much better.”
I grasp the back of one of his thighs to steady both of us as I guide myself to his weeping entrance. I hold my breath and start pushing inside of him. His body urges me deeper, and the pleasure of it is excruciating. “Fuck, Laz. You're so damn wet for me.”
And he is. There's so much slick. His thighs and my desk are shining with it.
“If I didn't need to be inside you as badly as I do, I would lick up every drop of you.”
He starts to chuckle, but it turns into another long whine.
I tilt my hips to adjust the angle as I press myself fully inside of him, only stopping when my already swelling knot makes itimpossible to go further. His fingers are digging into the backs of his thighs, the nails leaving angry marks as he pulls his knees up to his chest. Leaning forward, I pull his hands away and push them down until I can wrap his fingers over the edge of the desk.
“Hold on, beautiful,” I tell him.
He swallows and nods, his dark eyes lost in a fog of need.
I'm losing him to the spike. I'm surprised I've held onto him this long, if I'm honest. He's done shockingly well.
I might not tell him that I'm going to fuck him, but that's what I do. I surge forward, my hips making more of a thudding sound than a slap when they meet his ass. Then I do it again. I fuck Laz until the heavy desk starts moving across the floor with every thrust.
Praise and encouragement fall out of his mouth incoherently between his gasps and moans. “Oh God, Brooks. Valla... Fuck... Yes... Please... Oh, God... It's so fucking good... Please... Don't stop...”
“Never,” I growl, giving him another deep thrust. “I will always give you what you need. You're mine, Lazarus. Mine, and only mine.”
He cries out, his own hips raising to meet mine as much as I'll allow it, his nails digging into the desk. “Knot me.”
I pause mid-stroke. The enormity of his demand takes my breath every time. That closeness, the intensity of the connection, is my deepest need and my ultimate weakness. Subconsciously, I recognize that part of me is afraid that he'll break me again. I can hope that I will eventually lose that fear, but for now it's something I have to endure and push aside.
“Brooks?” he whimpers, straining to lift his head to meet my eyes.
I lean down to kiss him. I put everything I need and everything I want into the kiss, and when I pull away, he blinks up at me with heat-muddled, wet eyes. “Anything you need, Omega.”
The sounds Laz makes as I push my knot into him burn a path from my brain straight down to my balls. Usually, I can make it last just a bit longer, long enough to feel the release before it rushes out of me, but not this time. This time, the moment my knot is fully seated inside him, my orgasm explodes from me so violently that my vision blurs and I lose myself for a moment.
