Page 95 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“Good girl,” he croons, rewarding me with two thick fingers. He finds that spot inside me, and stars flicker across my vision as he strokes at it. “Tell me what was better, little Omega? Your fantasy?” He thrusts his fingers in hard, reminding me how powerful and strong he is. “Or the real thing?”
“The real thing. Oh God, the real thing.”
He leans his hips closer, his hot cock sliding through my folds, hitting my clit and sending those stars sparking across my eyes again.
“You want the real thing now?”
I angle up my hips, tilting them towards him, offering myself up. “Yes, Alpha.”
He’s inside me again in a crash of hips and nothing, nothing compares to this.
All the thoughts in my head are silenced. It’s just him. Only him. The grip of his fingers, the huff of his breath, the slide of his cock. In and out. In and out. The rhythm and the power whisking me away. To another plane, to another existence. Where it’s just the two of us, moving together. The slap of our skin punctuated by my soft moans and his deep groans makes a kind of music of its own. A song that will play around and around in my head forever.
Because I never want to forget this. This moment where I’m captured entirely by him. A slave to his body and his power. A master to his melody.
* * *
Later I stirin my little bed, stretched out on top of his body as the sun sets and red ribbons of light stream in around the edges of the curtain.
The pain stirs in my gut and I’m itching for more of him. But I’m lucid; for the time being anyway. A temporary reprieve before the fever sucks me back down below the surface. I take the moment to peer up and soak up his sleeping face. His eyelashes are darker than his beard and his hair, but lighter at the ends and almost white like snow. And the bristles of his beard are not one homogeneous color but a multitude of golds and bronzes. A scar nips the skin above his right eyebrow and one of his front teeth is slightly crooked. I could stare up at him all day, soaking up every detail of him. Is it strange to love someone’s face as much as I do? To love his silly little frowns as much as I do his dazzling smiles? Is it strange that my heart flips every time I drag a hard-won laugh from his lips? Flips even more violently when that face melts in pleasure? When all his cares and worries disappear from his face and he’s captured in the moment? By me?
It’s addictive.
Under my gaze he stirs. His brow flickers and his lips part on an inhale.
His eyelids open and his sky-blue eyes meet mine.
“Omega?”
“Hmmm.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Perfect,” I murmur, enjoying the way his cock hardens against my stomach.
His hands brush down my spine, a shiver of desire following in their wake, and land on my ass. He squeezes the globes and I squirm against him.
“How did I get so fucking lucky?” he whispers as I roll up to sit. “Look at you, Isabella. You’re perfect.” His gaze hovers at my chest as I reach up on my knees and he guides me down onto his cock.
I want to ride him until he cries out my name. But I’m too heat-dazed. I have no rhythm or control. Sitting on his cock, I wriggle and squirm, unable to do anything but wallow in the satisfying sensation of being filled.
He takes hold of my waist, and finds the rhythm for us, lifting me up and along his cock before slamming me back down, thrusting up to meet me and causing fireworks to explode between my legs.
I let him use me, let him conduct the beat.
He fucks me straight through my first orgasm, sparking a second from the dying embers of the first.
And the whole time he’s telling me how beautiful I am, how special, how perfect for him.
I’m a mess of flesh and bones and feelings when he finally comes too, knotting tight inside me so that another orgasm spirals through my dizzy body.
Then I collapse down onto that solid chest of his and fall asleep as he whispers more sweet nothings into my ear.
23
Hunter
I’ve ruttedomegas through heats before. Not as many as I’d like – omegas are rare these days – but enough to know that this time is different. I’m consumed and obsessed. A man on a mission. A mission to devote every part of me, every ounce of my energy, focus and attention on making Isabella feel divine. I want this to be so good for her that she’ll never want to let me go.
