Chapter 9: Whiskey

Chapter

Nine

WHISKEY

M y ass is falling asleep.

Not that I'm complaining about having our omega pressed up against me, but between her tiny frame and Wraith's massive bulk, I'm pinned in an awkward position. Plus, I need to check what's happening outside. Someone should keep watch now that the storm seems to be winding down.

I carefully extract myself from the cuddle pile, making sure not to jostle Ivy as I ease her weight onto Plague. She makes a soft sound but doesn't wake. Plague's hands automatically steady her, his pretty face more peaceful than usual.

I'm used to him looking like a smug asshole. Not sure I've ever seen him asleep.

The cold hits my bare chest as I duck through the cave entrance, but it doesn't bother me much. Being built like a brick shithouse has its advantages. The snow's still coming down hard, big fat flakes that catch the moonlight like falling stars. But it's not the snowpocalypse it was a few hours ago.

Then something moves in the darkness.

I freeze, every muscle tensing. Then I see him.

The Knight.

He's standing perfectly still about twenty yards from the cave entrance. In the moonlight, I can see him more clearly than before. The iron mask gleams dully, those blue eye-slits casting an eerie glow across the snow. His mechanical arm hangs motionless at his side, no longer sparking or twitching. The iron rods I didn't rip out of him are still jutting from his back, catching the moonlight, and the chains trailing behind him snake through the snow like metal serpents.

Plague's handiwork is holding up. The black blood has stopped flowing, and I can see fresh scars where the wounds were. Fucking impressive healing factor.

What’s he doing?

Staring at the moon?

I step back toward the cave and he turns to stare at me instead with a soft, low growl.

We watch each other for what feels like forever. His chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, each breath sending plumes of steam into the frigid air. He's even bigger than I remembered now that he's at full height.

He takes a thunderous step forward, snow crunching under his iron boots. A low growl builds in his chest, vibrating through the air between us.

"Don't do it, bro," I warn, though I keep my voice calm. Last thing we need is another throwdown. "Neither of us wants round two."

He tilts his head slightly, those blue eye-slits studying me.

Then, without another sound, he turns and starts walking into the forest. His gait is steady now, powerful. The chains drag through the snow behind him, leaving deep furrows that are quickly filling with fresh powder.

I watch until he disappears into the darkness between the trees. Have to admit, the guy's fucking metal.

Literally.

Wonder if we'll see him again.

The Knight's massive form melts into the darkness between the trees. I keep watching long after he disappears, snow collecting on my bare shoulders.

Something about him nags at me.

Can't put my finger on what exactly.

Maybe it's the way he moved. Not like a mindless beast, but with purpose. Like he knows exactly where he's going. Or maybe it's how gentle he was with Ivy, despite looking like something straight out of a nightmare. Reminds me of Wraith in a way, though I'd never say that shit out loud.

I should probably tell the others their new pet monster took off. But fuck it. Let them sleep. We all need the rest, and it's not like we could stop him anyway.

Besides, the Knight earned his freedom.

Same as any of us.

Still... I can't help wondering where he's headed. What's his endgame? Does he even have one, or is he just running on pure instinct like Wraith used to before Ivy worked her magic?

Guy needs an omega, that's for damn sure.

The snow's coming down harder now, already filling in the deep furrows left by his dragging chains. Soon there'll be no trace he was ever here. Just another ghost in the night.

But something tells me this isn't the last we'll see of him.

Call it a gut feeling.

Or maybe I'm just projecting. Wouldn't be the first time I got invested in a lost cause. That's how I ended up with this pack of assholes in the first place. Saw a bunch of broken toys nobody else wanted and thought, "Yeah, these are my kind of fuck-ups."

Look where that got me.

An omega who can tame monsters.

A feral beast who'd die for her.

A leader trying to fix a broken system.

Whatever the fuck Valek is.

And the goddamned pretty-faced doctor.

Guess we don't need another stray. And at least this one's heading away from Vrissia and toward the relative safety of Reinmich. Maybe he'll make it. I sure as fuck hope he does.

"Godspeed, big guy," I mutter into the wind.

Better head back inside before anyone notices I'm gone.

I turn away from the falling snow, ducking back into the cave entrance. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness. Then I damn near jump out of my skin.

Plague's standing there in the shadows like a fucking ghost, watching me. How long has he been there? Creepy bastard.

" Fuck ," I hiss under my breath, pressing a hand to my chest. My heart's racing like I just ran ten miles. "Wear a bell or something."

"You shouldn't go out alone," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flicks past me to the snow outside. "The Knight?"

"Gone." I shrug, trying to play it casual even though my pulse is still thundering. "Headed west, I think. Looks like your needlework held up."

Plague nods, but doesn't move from his spot in the shadows. The dim light filtering in catches on his high cheekbones, making him look even more ethereal than usual. Like some kind of avenging angel rather than the pain in my ass he usually is.

My eyes drift over to where the others are sleeping. Ivy's curled against Thane now, his huge arms wrapped protectively around her. Wraith's massive form is pressed against her other side, and Valek's still draped over her feet like a murderous evil cat.

"Should we wake them up?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

"No. Let them rest." Plague's eyes meet mine in the darkness. "We need to talk."

Fuck.

I know exactly what he wants to talk about, and I'm not ready for that conversation.

Not here.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

But he's already moving deeper into the cave, clearly expecting me to follow.

Like a dumbass, I do.

When we're far enough from the others that our voices won't carry, he turns to face me. Even in the dim light, I can see the tension in his shoulders.

"About what happened in the clinic—" he starts.

"Shut up," I growl, but there's no real heat behind it. My body remembers too. How his surgeon's hands felt wrapped around both of us, the way he knew exactly where to touch, how to make me?—

Nope.

Not going there.

"It won't happen again," I say firmly, even as my traitor cock starts to twitch at the memory. "We were just fucked up by Ivy's scent and needed release. That's all it was."

Plague takes another step closer, and my back hits the cave wall. When the fuck did I start backing up? His pale blue eyes gleam in the darkness as he studies me like I'm one of his specimens laid out on a surgical table.

"Is that what you need to believe?" he asks softly. His voice has that clinical edge that drives me fucking crazy. Like he's analyzing every micro-expression on my face.

"There's nothing to believe," I growl, but my voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. "It happened. It's done. We move on."

His lips curve into that infuriating half-smile. "Of course. Very logical." He leans in closer, and I catch his scent. Antiseptic and something sharper beneath, like ozone before a storm. "Just two alphas helping each other through a difficult situation."

My hands clench at my sides. I could grab him. Spin us around. Pin him against this wall and?—

No. Fuck no.

"Exactly," I say through gritted teeth. "Now back the fuck off before I make you."

He arches an eyebrow, completely unfazed by my threat. "Make me what, exactly?"

Images flash through my mind.

Images I don't fucking want.

"Fuck off," I snarl, shoving past him. My shoulder clips his, and the brief contact sends electricity down my spine.

"I didn't say anything," he murmurs, the ghost of laughter in his voice.

Smug bastard.

I whirl on him, crowding him back against the wall. He doesn't flinch, just tilts his head back to maintain eye contact. There isn't much of a difference in our height on flat ground, but the angle of the cave floor has me looming over him and the bastard still looks completely in control.

It's fucking maddening.

"You think this is funny?" I demand. "You think fucking with my head is some kind of game?"

"I think," he says carefully, each word precise as a scalpel, "that you're the one playing games with yourself."

My fist slams into the stone beside his head. He doesn't even blink. "I'm not playing anything."

"No?" His eyes flick down to where my body's pressed against his, betraying exactly how affected I am by his proximity. "Interesting reaction for someone so... uninterested ."

I should back off. Should walk away. But his scent is filling my head, making it hard to think straight. And the way he's looking at me, like he can see right through every defense I've built...

"Fuck you," I breathe, but there's no heat in it. Just resignation.

"You can if you want," he says flatly.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My fingers dig into the stone wall on either side of his head, trapping him between my arms. He's still looking up at me with that infuriating clinical detachment, like I'm just another one of his fucking experiments.

"What did you just say?" My voice comes out rough, dangerous.

"I said you can fuck me if you want to," he repeats calmly, precisely, like he's discussing the fucking weather. "The offer is simply to prove a point."

I growl low in my throat, pressing closer. His lean body is all hard muscle beneath his remaining clothes. "And what point is that, Doc ?"

"That you want this." His pale blue eyes gleam in the darkness. "That you've wanted it since that night in my clinic. You just won't admit it to yourself."

"You smug son of a?—"

"Am I wrong?" he asks, glancing pointedly at the growing bulge in my pants.

"Stop analyzing me," I growl, but Plague just stares back with those cold blue eyes, like he's dissecting my fucking soul.

"I'm not analyzing you." His voice stays clinical, detached. "I'm observing. There's a difference."

"A difference?" I snarl, my fingers digging harder into the stone. Flakes of rock crumble under my grip. "What fucking difference?"

"Analysis implies judgment." His voice stays infuriatingly steady even as my body pins his against the wall. "I'm merely making observations. Like how your pupils dilate when I get close. How your breath catches. How your cock?—"

I slam my other hand into the wall, caging him completely. "Shut. Up."

His lips curve into that maddening half-smile. "Make me."

The challenge in his voice snaps something inside me. With a growl, I crash my mouth against his. It's not gentle. Not romantic. Just raw need and pent-up frustration finally breaking free. His lips part instantly, letting me in. Letting me take.

And fuck, does he taste good.

Like mint and something sharper.

Clinical.

Clean.

Everything I'm not.

His hands slide up my bare chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Those surgeon's fingers map every scar, every imperfection, with terrifying precision. Like he's memorizing me. Studying me.

I bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Stop that," I growl against his mouth.

"Stop what?" His voice stays maddeningly calm even as his hips roll against mine.

"Treating me like one of your fucking specimens."

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. Those pale blue eyes pierce right through me. "Would you prefer I treat you like a patient?"

Before I can process what he means, his hand slides down my stomach and wraps around my cock through my pants.

His grip is perfect.

Clinical.

Precise.

"Fascinating response to stimulus," he murmurs, stroking me with maddening control. "Subject exhibits clear signs of arousal despite halfhearted verbal protests?—"

I grab his wrist, pinning it above his head. "I said stop."

"Why?" His free hand traces the outline of my cock, making me shudder. "Does it bother you that I can read you so easily? That I know exactly what you need?"

"You don't know shit," I snarl, but my hips buck into his touch.

"No?" His thumb circles the head of my cock through the fabric. "Then why are you so hard for me?"

I capture his other wrist, pinning both his hands above his head with one of mine. His lean body arches into the contact, but his face stays infuriatingly neutral.

"Maybe I just need to get off," I growl, grinding against him. "Maybe you're just convenient. Maybe I just wanna practice for Ivy."

He arches an eyebrow again. His favorite goddamn expression. "What are you going on about?"

"She knows what we did," I mutter. "And she wants to watch. Maybe I don't wanna make a fuckin' idiot out of myself when she does."

"Oh, she does, does she?" Amusement—and something darker I don't fucking like at all—glitters in Plague's eyes. "Don't worry, you'll make an idiot of yourself no matter what."

I growl at him. "Stop running your mouth."

"You do make a good point, though," he muses. "Perhaps we should practice. At least we'd be less likely to kill each other, no?"

I snort. "Nothing would make that less likely."

"Likewise," he says dryly. His voice finally cracks slightly as I bite down on his neck. "So… this is just about release and playing games to you. You don't dream about that night in the clinic."

"Shut up."

"You don't dream about my hands on your?—"

"I said shut up ."

I crush my mouth to his again, swallowing whatever else he was going to say. His tongue meets mine, and fuck, the way he kisses... It's like he's dissecting me from the inside out.

Learning all my secrets.

All my weaknesses.

I hate it.

I need it.

My free hand slides under his remaining shirt, mapping the lean muscle beneath. He's all sharp angles and precise strength.

Nothing soft about him.

Nothing gentle.

Perfect.

"Tell me to stop," I growl against his lips.

Give him an out.

Give myself an out.

"No." The word is barely a whisper.

"Tell me you're just fucking with me."

His eyes lock onto mine in the darkness. "I'm not."

Something in my chest cracks open at those two simple words. At the raw honesty in his voice. At the way his clinical mask finally slips, revealing something darker. Hungrier.

"Fuck," I breathe, resting my forehead against his.

My grip on his wrists loosens, but he doesn't pull away.

"Indeed," he murmurs, and I can hear the ghost of a smile in his voice.

"I hate you so fucking much."

"I know." His lips brush mine, feather-light. "Now are you going to keep talking, or are you going to let me shut you up with my cock?"

The words send lightning down my spine. My hands release his wrists to grip his hips instead. "Here?"

"Why not?" His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. "The others are asleep. I'm in a bad mood and could use the distraction. And I've always wanted to study the effects of cold stone against bare skin during?—"

I silence him with another bruising kiss.

Bastard can't help himself.

Always has to make everything into a goddamn scientific inquiry.

But as his clever hands work their way down my body, I find I don't really give a shit.

Not anymore.

His teeth catch my bottom lip as I try to pull back, sending a jolt straight to my cock. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, but I don't care. My hands grip his hips harder, probably leaving bruises.

Good.

Let him have something to study in the mirror later.

"Eager to start the experiment, Doc?" I growl against his mouth.

He pulls back just enough to fix me with that clinical stare that drives me fucking insane. "The preliminary data is quite promising." His long fingers trail down my chest, mapping every scar like he's cataloging evidence. "Though I'll need a larger sample size to draw any meaningful conclusions."

I slam him back against the wall, grinding my hips into his. "I'll give you a meaningful conclusion."

"Fascinating." His voice stays maddeningly steady even as his cock hardens against mine. "Subject displays typical alpha aggression patterns when preparing to suck?—"

I drop to my knees, yanking his pants down before he can finish that smartass observation. His cock springs free, already hard and leaking.

"Let's see how steady that goddamn voice stays now, Doctor ."

His fingers tangle in my hair as I swallow him down. Not gentle. Not careful. I want him to lose that fucking composure. Want to hear that controlled voice crack and break.

"Interesting… technique," he manages, though his breathing hitches. "Your oral fixation suggests?—"

Would he just shut the fuck up already?

I hollow my cheeks and suck harder, cutting him off mid-analysis. I have no idea what I'm fucking doing, but if he wants me to suck, I'll suck. His hips buck forward, cock hitting the back of my throat.

Finally, a reaction.

I glance up to see his head thrown back against the stone, that perfect mask of nonchalance starting to slip. His hands tighten in my hair, surgeon's fingers trembling just slightly. " Fuck ?—"

The curse sends a surge of triumph through me. I pull back, letting his cock slip from my mouth with an obscene pop. "What was that, Doc? Didn't quite catch your scientific observation."

He yanks my hair, forcing me to look up at him. Those pale blue eyes are dark with hunger now, clinical detachment giving way to something rawer. "Perhaps this would be more productive with less talking."

I bare my teeth in a feral grin. "Make me stop."

He does.

His cock shoves past my lips again, harder this time. Less controlled. I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as he fucks my mouth. His usual precise movements are getting sloppier, more desperate.

I reach down to palm myself through my pants, already achingly hard.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.

"Don't." His voice cracks slightly. "I didn't tell you you could touch yourself."

I pull off him with a growl. "You ain't my fucking boss."

His fingers tighten in my hair, hauling me back to my feet. Before I can react, he spins us around and slams me against the wall, pinning me there with his lean body. His mouth crashes into mine, all that clinical precision gone, replaced by raw hunger.

"You want to be in charge?" he growls against my lips. "Then fight me for it."

I surge forward, but he slams me back against the stone, surprisingly strong for someone so lean. His teeth sink into my neck, sending lightning through my veins.

"Fuck," I hiss, my hips bucking against him.

"That's the idea." His hand slides into my pants, wrapping around my cock. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just that perfect fucking grip that makes my knees weak.

I grab his wrist, trying to take control, but he twists out of my grip with fluid grace. His other hand locks around my throat, thumb pressing against my pulse point.

"Stay still," he orders, voice low and dangerous. "Or I stop."

"Make me," I snarl, but my body betrays me, going pliant under his touch.

His teeth graze my ear. "Good boy."

The words send a shiver down my spine. I want to punch him. Want to throw him down and fuck him raw. But his hand is moving on my cock with maddening precision, and I can't think straight.

He strips me with ruthless efficiency, shoving my pants down around my ankles. The cold cave air hits my skin, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is his hands on me, the heat of his body pressed against mine.

"Turn around."

"Fuck you."

His grip tightens on my throat. "Now."

I bare my teeth but comply, bracing my hands against the rough stone. His body molds against my back, cock pressing against my ass. One hand slides up my chest while the other wraps around my cock again.

"This isn't the way it's gonna go," I say through my teeth.

"Still want to fight me?" he purrs, giving me a slow stroke that makes my knees buckle.

"Always," I growl, but it comes out more like a moan.

His chuckle is dark, dangerous.

Nothing like his usual clinical detachment.

This is something else.

Something that makes my cock throb in his grip.

I surge back against him, twisting in his grip. He tries to maintain control but I use my bulk to my advantage, spinning us around and pinning him face-first against the cold stone again.

"Still think you're in charge, Doc?" I growl against his ear, grinding my cock against his ass. My hand wraps around his throat, mimicking his earlier hold on me.

He lets out a low laugh that makes me shudder. "I'm letting you think you are."

"That so?" I tighten my grip, not enough to cut off his air but enough to remind him who's bigger. Who's stronger. "Seems to me you're the one pinned against the wall now."

His lean muscles tense against me as he tests my hold. But he's not going anywhere unless I let him.

"I could break free if I wanted," he says, his lean body still pressed between me and the stone. "I'm letting you have control."

"Bullshit." I grind my body against his back and his ass, letting him feel how hard I am. My fingers dig into his throat just enough to make him gasp. "You like being manhandled. Admit it."

His only response is a low laugh that sends electricity down my spine. I release his throat to grab a fistful of his hair instead, yanking his head back. My teeth find his neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks.

" Fuck ," he hisses, his hips pushing back against me.

"What was that about being in control?" I growl against his skin.

His hand snakes between us, wrapping around my cock. Even at this awkward angle, his grip is perfect. I bite back a groan as he squeezes it and gives it a hard, strong, deliberate stroke.

"I am in control," he says, voice steady despite his ragged breathing. "I always am."

I slam his hand against the wall, pinning it there. "Not anymore."

He tries to twist free but I press closer, using my bulk to keep him trapped. My free hand slides down his tense, flat stomach and pushes down the crisp white pants he's still wearing. He's still rock hard, already leaking.

So much for that clinical detachment.

"Look who's eager now," I chuckle in his ear.

His only response is to push back against me, grinding his ass against my cock. The friction makes my vision blur. I release his hand to grab his hip instead, holding him still.

"Stay," I order, mimicking his earlier commanding tone.

To my shock, he does. His forehead rests against the stone as I explore his body, mapping lean muscle and old scars. Every inch of him is hard angles and coiled strength.

My hand finds his cock again, stroking him roughly. He tries to maintain that iron control but I can feel him trembling. His breath comes in sharp pants that echo off the cave walls.

"Tell me what you want," I demand.

He stays silent, stubborn bastard.

I twist my wrist on the upstroke, making him gasp.

"Say it."

"Make me," he challenges this time.

My teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard as I grind against him. He arches back with a strangled sound that's definitely not clinical or controlled.

"You were saying?" I growl, reaching around to stroke him again.

I stroke Plague's cock faster, keeping him pinned against the cold stone with my weight. His breath hitches, surgeon's hands flexing uselessly against the wall. He's trembling now, all that clinical detachment crumbling under my touch.

"What do you want?" I growl in his ear, twisting my wrist on each upstroke. "Tell me."

He stays stubbornly silent, but his hips buck into my hand. I can feel him fighting for control, trying to maintain that cool facade. But his cock is rock hard and leaking in my grip.

"Use your words," I taunt, slowing my strokes to a maddening pace. "Isn't that what you're always telling me to do?"

"Fuck you," he grits out, but there's no bite to it. His voice shakes as I squeeze him harder.

"Wrong answer." I stop moving my hand entirely, just holding him on the edge. "Try again."

He makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. His forehead presses against the stone, shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. The sight of him losing control sends fire through my veins.

"Please," he whispers, so quiet I almost miss it.

"Please what?" I press closer, grinding my cock against his ass. "Be specific, Doctor . You sure as hell don't struggle to run your mouth any other time."

His hands curl into fists against the wall. I can practically hear his teeth grinding as he fights with himself. Fights against letting go of that iron control.

"You're one to talk," he grits out."

"Say. It."

He curls his lip at me.

"Your mouth," he finally says, voice cracking.

My cock throbs almost painfully at the raw desperation in his voice. I don't know why the fuck I'm enjoying this, but I am. Enjoying shattering his smug defenses too. But I'm not done breaking him yet.

"Say it right." I start stroking him again, maddeningly slow. "Beg me for it."

"Please," he gasps, pushing back against me. "Please, I need you to suck my cock." He snarls. " Please . Is that enough?"

Fuck.

Hearing those words in his precise, fancy-ass voice nearly makes me come on the spot. I spin him around, dropping to my knees in front of him. His chest heaves as he stares down at me, those pale blue eyes dark with hunger beneath his damp, disheveled black hair plastered to his face.

"Since you asked so nicely," I purr, maintaining eye contact as I pin his hips in place. His cock springs up into my face and I take him into my mouth before I can change his mind.

Or before he starts bitching again and wakes everyone up.

His head falls back against the stone with a dull thud. One hand tangles in my hair while the other clamps over his own mouth, muffling the sounds I'm pulling from him. His hips twitch forward like he can't help himself.

I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, encouraged by the way his fingers tighten in my hair. His usual grace is gone, replaced by desperate little thrusts he can't quite control. Each muffled moan sends electricity straight to my cock.

"Fuck," he pants, voice wrecked. "You... the way you... fuck ..."

I hum around him, and his whole body shudders. The hand not covering his mouth scrabbles against the wall, looking for purchase. His composure is completely shattered now, replaced by raw need.

It's fucking hot.

I grab his hips, holding him still as I take him all the way down. His cock hits the back of my throat and I swallow around him, drinking in the choked sound he makes. His thighs tremble under my hands.

"Please," he begs again, the word muffled by his palm. "Please don't stop. I'm so close..."

I pull back just enough to look up at him, letting his cock slip from my mouth. "You gonna come for me, Doc?"

His eyes snap open, fixing on mine with desperate intensity. The sight of him like this—flushed, disheveled, completely wrecked—makes my cock throb painfully.

"Please," is all he manages before I swallow him down again.

His back arches off the wall as I work him over, one hand still gripping his hip while the other slides lower to cup his balls. His thighs shake harder, muscles coiling tight as he gets close to the edge.

I can tell he's fighting it, trying to maintain some semblance of control even now. But I want him completely undone. Want to hear him fall apart.

I pull back until just the head of his cock rests on my tongue, then take him deep again in one smooth motion. His fingers twist in my hair almost painfully as I set a brutal pace, alternating between quick, shallow sucks and taking him all the way down my throat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck ," he chants under his breath, voice cracking. "I'm gonna... I can't..."

I double down, working him faster, harder. His hips snap forward and I let him fuck my mouth, taking everything he gives me. The desperate sounds spilling from his lips echo off the cave walls, getting louder despite his attempts to stay quiet.

"Quiet," I try to growl around his cock, but he shoves it deeper into my mouth, muffling me.

I feel Plague's knot start to swell against my lips, hot and insistent. Fuck. Of course the smug bastard has a huge knot to match his ego. My jaw already aches, but I want more. Want to break him completely.

His fingers twist tighter in my hair as his cock pulses against my tongue. The first hot spurts of come flood my mouth, but I keep sucking, working him through it. He tries to pull back as his knot begins to swell against my lips and teeth, probably worried about getting his cock locked in my mouth. I dig my fingers into his hips, holding him in place. His hands tighten in my hair, torn between pushing me away and pulling me closer.

"W-wait," he gasps, voice raw and wrecked. "I'm going to?—"

I swallow him deeper in answer, working my throat around him. His knot pulses against my lips, getting bigger with each heartbeat.

The stretch burns, but I want it.

Need it.

"Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth. " Fuck . It's too much?—"

I hollow my cheeks and take him all the way down, forcing my jaw wider. His knot slips past my lips, locking us together, his shaft and crown stuffed in my throat. The sound he makes is pure animal—nothing clinical or controlled about it. His legs shake so hard I have to grab his thighs to keep him upright.

My own cock throbs painfully in my pants. I grind against nothing, desperate for friction. The sounds he's making are gonna haunt my fucking dreams. Never thought I'd hear those precise, controlled tones break into desperate whimpers and moans. His hips jerk erratically as I suck him dry, oversensitivity making him writhe against the cold stone wall.

His cock and knot pulse as he comes undone with a sharp growl, flooding my mouth. I swallow around him greedily, working my throat, milking every last drop from him. His knot throbs against my tongue, stretching my jaw to its limit. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes from the strain.

Worth it.

His fingers card through my hair, gentler now, his nails scraping against my scalp. Almost tender. The gesture catches me off guard.

"Look at me," he demands, voice hoarse.

I glance up, meeting his gaze even though my mouth's full of his cock. His pale blue eyes are dark with hunger, pupils blown wide.

"Good boy," he breathes, thumbs brushing at my cheeks. "So good for me."

The praise makes my cock throb almost painfully. His knot pulses against my tongue, filling my mouth completely. I can barely breathe around it, but I don't care. The stretch in my jaw borders on agony but even that just makes me harder.

I moan around him, rutting helplessly against nothing. My cock strains against my pants, leaking and desperate for attention. But I keep my hands on his thighs, holding him steady as his knot continues to pulse.

His thumb traces my stretched lips where they're sealed around his shaft. The touch is feather-light but it sends electricity down my spine.

"Look how well you're taking it," he breathes, something like awe creeping into his normally detached voice. "Who knew you could be so... obedient?"

I should bite him for that. Should remind him exactly who he's dealing with. But all I can do is groan as another wave of whatever the fuck this is crashes through me.

What the fuck is happening to me?

His knot throbs again, forcing another spurt of come down my throat. I swallow greedily, working my throat around him even though the sheer amount of come he's pumped down my throat is making my stomach cramp. The sound he makes—somewhere between a growl and a moan—goes straight to my aching cock.

"So greedy," he pants, his usual precise diction slipping. "So eager to please."

My face burns but my hips buck involuntarily. His words shouldn't affect me like this. None of this should affect me like this. But here I am, on my knees with his knot locked in my mouth, harder than I've ever been in my life.

His fingers tighten in my hair as another aftershock rocks through him. "Fuck... your mouth is so hot..."

I hum and growl around him, making him gasp. His knot pulses in response and my gut twists, but I don't want it to end.

"Touch yourself," he orders, his voice cracking slightly. "Let me see you come just from this. Just from taking my knot like a good boy."

A broken sound escapes me. My hands shake as I fumble with my belt and tug my pants down, finally freeing my aching cock. Just wrapping my hand around myself nearly makes me lose it.

"Slowly," he commands. "Make it last."

I groan but obey, stroking myself with agonizing slowness. His knot throbs against my tongue in approval.

"Good boy," he breathes. "Just like that."

My whole body shudders at his praise. Precome drips steadily from my cock as I work myself over, matching my pace to the steady pulse of his knot. Each swallow makes him gasp, his fingers tightening reflexively in my hair.

I'm close—so fucking close—but I wait.

Need his permission.

Need him to tell me...

"You're close," he murmurs, his fingers tightening in my hair. Not a question. He always has to sound so fucking clinical, even with his knot locked in my mouth. "I can tell by your breathing pattern. The way your pupils dilate. The pre-ejaculate leaking from your?—"

I growl around him and bite down a little, making his words cut off in a choked gasp. My hand moves faster on my cock, precome dripping onto the cave floor.

But I don't come.

Not yet.

Not until he tells me to.

What the fuck has he done to me?

"Look at me," he orders, voice rough, his fingers digging into my hair and tugging my head back as much as he can with his cock stuffed down my throat. "I want to see your face when you come."

I force my eyes up to meet his gaze with a low, agitated growl. His pale blue eyes are dark with hunger, clinical mask completely shattered. His usual perfect hair is a fucking mess. My cock throbs at the sight.

I did that.

I broke that iron control.

"Good boy," he breathes, and the praise hits me like a drug. "Now come for me. Show me how much you love taking my knot."

The words send me over the edge. My vision whites out as my orgasm tears through me, cock pulsing in my grip. Come splatters against the cave floor as I stroke myself through it, muffled groans vibrating around his knot.

His fingers dig into my scalp. "That's it," he purrs. "Give me everything."

I shudder through the aftershocks, my whole body trembling. His knot keeps throbbing against my tongue, filling my mouth and throat with more come until I feel like I'm going to get sick or fucking pass out or both. But I swallow it all, working my throat around him even though my body screams in protest.

My jaw aches like a motherfucker as Plague's knot pulses against my tongue, filling my mouth with another hot rush of come. I try to swallow it all down, but there's so fucking much. Some leaks past my stretched lips, dripping down my chin. My throat works desperately, muscles clenching as I try not to choke.

His fingers card through my hair, gentler than before. Almost tender. The contrast with his usual clinical detachment makes my spent cock twitch.

"So good," he murmurs, his voice raw and wrecked. Nothing like his usual precise tones. "Taking it so well."

I growl around his knot, the sound muffled and desperate. My jaw feels like it's on fire, stretched wider than I thought possible. The burn sends sparks of pleasure-pain through me that I don't want to fucking think about.

His hips jerk involuntarily, driving his cock deeper. I gag slightly, but force myself to relax my throat. His knot throbs in response, pumping another surge of come down my throat.

"Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth. " Fuck . The way you just... the way your throat..."

For once, the smug bastard seems lost for words. I hum around him, satisfaction coursing through me at reducing him to incoherent curses.

His thighs tremble under my hands as another aftershock rocks through him. The knot stretches my jaw impossibly wider, making my eyes water. But I don't pull back . Can't pull back. We're locked together until his knot goes down.

The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.

"Stay still," he orders, but his voice shakes. "Let me..."

He rolls his hips carefully, testing. The movement makes his cock shift in my throat, his knot tugging at my stretched lips. I moan helplessly, my hands tightening on his thighs.

"Good boy," he breathes. "So perfect. So..."

His words trail off into a strangled groan as his knot pulses again. I swallow reflexively, working my throat around him. My jaw screams in protest but I ignore it, focusing on the broken sounds I'm pulling from him.

Time loses all meaning as we stay locked together, his knot slowly pumping load after load down my throat. My world narrows down to the stretch of my jaw, his hot come filling my mouth and throat, the taste of him on my tongue.

His fingers keep stroking through my hair, an oddly soothing gesture. Like he's praising me. Rewarding me.

The thought should piss me off.

Instead, it makes my cock stir with renewed interest.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Finally, after what feels like hours, his knot starts to soften. He hisses through his teeth as it shrinks enough to slip free of my abused mouth. His cock follows, leaving me feeling strangely empty.

I collapse back against the cave wall, working my aching jaw. Come and spit drip down my chin. I should feel disgusted.

Instead, I feel...

Fuck .

I don't know what I feel.

Plague slides down the wall until he's sitting in front of me, his chest still heaving. For once, he looks as wrecked as I feel. His usual perfect hair is a mess and his skin is flushed, marked with bruises from my teeth.

"Well," he says finally, his voice hoarse. "That was... informative."

"Shut the fuck up," I rasp. "Before I punch you in your pretty face."

His lips curve into that infuriating half-smile. "You think my face is pretty?"

I lunge for him, but my legs are too shaky to stand and it feels like I just chugged a jug of cream. He catches me before I face-plant, steadying me with those surgeon's hands. The touch sends aftershocks through my oversensitive body.

"Careful," he murmurs. "You'll be off balance for several minutes post-orgasm."

"I hate you so fucking much."

"I know."

His hand wraps around my cock and I buck into his grip with a strangled groan.

Fuck .

After coming so fucking hard, his touch is almost too much. My head falls back against the stone as he works me over, chuckling darkly into my ear.

"My turn."