Page 126 of Broken Bonds
Is this a mate bond?
I don’t know, but I damned sure hope we get enough time together to find out, because if it’s not, I’m going to cry, and I don’t mean happy tears, either.
His lips crash over mine, hungry, wordless grunts and growls and even bellowing from him piercing through the haze of pleasure that’s shrunk my world down to a bubble that only includes him and me and his precariously creaking bed.
Our tongues duel, and I suck his breath into my lungs. I want him to fill me from both ends. I want to be possessed, owned, absorbed by him.
Another wave of pleasure slams into me—my balls must be close to empty by now—and it’s sharper, focused, and as my ass clamps down on him, he lets out a long, loud bellow and pounds me even harder and faster than he already was. I hold on, my nails raking down his back, and I can feel him coming. That massive cock throbs, hot and hard and completely bottoming out inside me. When he falls still his lips still own mine, we’re both covered with sweat, and shudders of pleasure continue rippling through me as my ass spasms around his cock. Which, to be honest, doesn’t feel like it’s going very soft.
He’s breathing heavy, kissing me, and that’s when I process that he’s moving again. Slower this time, but with a strong thrust at the bottom of each stroke, and it takes me half a breath to realize he’s completely hard and that this ride has not yet come to a complete stop.
In fact, it appears to be ramping up again.
Yay!
I grip his head, my fingers buried in his hair, holding on and not letting him sit up and end this kiss. I don’t want to let go of him. I’m terrified I’ll wake up and it’ll be just another dream, a fantasy.
He chuckles. “You’re not dreaming. Neither am I. Not this time.”
Okay, yeah, mental communication very convenient.
Me likey.
Means he doesn’t have to stop kissing me to speak to each other.
Multi-tasking, for the win.
He laughs, memorizing the topography of my lips and mouth and tongue even as he starts plowing me hard again.
It feels fantastic, but I’m thinking I’m likely not going to come again like this, until he pauses, adjusts position, and then?—
Oh, shit!
“Got your number, baby. Just lie there and enjoy it. Gonna give you the ride of your life.”
He ain’t kidding, either. Who needs a fucking machine when they’ve got a well-hung elk hunk to do the job quite nicely, thank you very much.
I’ll be lucky if I can even walk by the time he finishes with me.
Not a complaint, mind you, just an observation.
Did I think I had been fucked before?
Ha! Man, was I ever wrong!
The comparisons of my past experiences to this Nirvana-level pleasure are like comparing a kid shoplifting a candy bar to the Vikings pillaging Britain.
In other words, there is no comparison.
I’ve never wished I wasn’t born an omega. I never had the desire to kick ass and take names, never wanted to lead a pack. Just wanted to lead my life and find happiness. Even as much as I knew my father hated male omegas.
I had no idea being an omega would have such unexpected benefits, especially when I never learned about them growing up.
“Oh, baby, I’m going to teach you sooo much, you have no idea,” he rumbles in my mind.
Now that I realize how deeply we’re connected, I can’t seem to stop broadcasting every thought in my head to him. That kind of scares me because I’ve never experienced this level of intimacy before, physically, mentally, or emotionally.
Another wave of pleasure slams into me, and that trips him over the edge again. This time, when he falls still, he starts to soften, and I know we’re both a mess.
