12. Alpha-Omega

Chapter 12

Alpha-Omega

Bishop

I spread a quilt out on the grass next to a large oak tree. 1 Its sprawling canopy hides us in the dark, but we can still look out and see the stars.

Stilted and awkward, I hold my hand out toward the blanket. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Sinclair says softly.

She looks almost nervous as she sits down, tucking her knees under her dress. She still has her swimsuit on, the straps of her bikini top showing through the neckline. I join her, sitting a weird distance apart.

It feels like the time she took me down to the dungeon to first claim her. We were practically strangers, that often felt like enemies, and yet we committed ourselves to each other in the most intimate way.

Are we still strangers? Without her omega nature and our mate bond, is what we have even real?

It’s real for me. But is it for her?

Does she even like me?

The thought is a dagger in my gut. She wanted me to claim her for protection first and foremost. I’m not under any disillusions on how we started. I guess I thought we had become more— are more.

But the way she’s acting, like she’s scared of her own shadow, uncomfortable around me . . . it makes me doubt myself, my feelings.

All I want to do is push the hair out of her face and kiss each bruise and bump with the promise to never let that happen again. But my mouth is dry and wordless as all these thoughts run through my head.

With or without the bond, she’s still mine to protect, to hold. And that’s all I want to do.

To my surprise, she’s the first one to speak. “What happened to your parents?”

Her question is the last thing I expected, and her face is lined with an unreadable emotion. It’s not quite pity and not quite curiosity. Maybe somewhere between genuine interest and guilt for asking.

I’m not sure why she’s asking now, but I will tell her everything. There are only two other living people who know that full story, and I want her to be the third.

And maybe with it, we can build a new bond, one where we aren’t just an alpha and an omega.

When I first start telling her our story, I fix my gaze on the sky, counting shooting stars and connecting constellations. I need to focus on something far away to be able to talk about something so close. Even though our parents were taken by the Echelon and killed in an “accident” a decade ago, the wound it caused is as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

It is uncomfortable, and my throat constricts around my words more than a few times. But the more raw and vulnerable I feel, the less I need the stars and the more I need her.

Somewhere along the way, she spun on the blanket to face me and my hand found her knee. 2 As I speak, my thumb traces circles on her skin, the connection all I need and purely human.

She doesn’t say anything until I finish talking. There’s obviously more; how could I condense a lifetime of memories into one night?

I find I’m nervous waiting for her to speak. Did she finally see that we all have more damage than could possibly be fixed? Does she think less of me now that she knows my many scars and few triumphs? Will she question how I can ever keep her safe when I couldn’t keep my own mother safe?

She looks at me and her eyes remind me of the moon, silvery and bright. I swallow dryly, waiting.

“You have a lot more of your mom in you than your father.”

She states it so simply, like it’s a fact. She must not have been listening.

I remove my hand from her leg and rub the back of my neck. “You don’t know that.”

She gets that same stubborn, brave look in her eyes, the one I’ve seen so many times. Its fire is a familiar and comforting burn. “You may not see it, but I do.”

I can’t help but laugh because some part of me is relieved more by her signature willfulness than the words themselves.

She crosses her arms obstinately. “Believe me or don’t, but it’s true.”

I tongue my molars at her cocky response, and before I know it, my hand cups her cheek and my fingers thread into her hair. Without thinking, I tilt her face up as I dip down.

I stop myself. My breath hitches right before our noses meet. I can feel the soft feathering of hers on my lips. Her cheek warms under my palm. My heart feels like a bass drum in my chest.

“Can I kiss you?” I breathe quietly, pleadingly. I feel her swallow where my pinky rests along her jaw and my lungs freeze.

“Do you want to?” she answers in an equally soft tone, though so full of doubt that it pains me.

My lungs release. “So fucking bad.”

I say it with my whole damn heart, and I hope she can hear it. But just in case, I cover her mouth with mine and kiss her with everything I have, so if she can’t, at least she can feel it.

I clutch her face with both hands and deepen the kiss, teasing the seam of her lips with my tongue, holding back as much as I can. She relaxes and yields to me, letting me in, and fuck . . .

“You still taste like mine,” I whisper against her lips.

As if that were all she needed to hear, the hands resting in her lap dive to my waist, and she pulls herself closer to me. I wrap one arm around her back while my mouth remembers what it’s like to get lost in her.

Her palms slide down my sides and her fingers dip under my shirt. They’re cold and the chill is like a live wire. Or maybe that’s just what it’s like being touched by her. Her hands roam up my ribs, and those butterflies batter to break free.

My shirt rides up, and I let her pull it over my head before laying her on her back. My body hovers above her, and there’s no doubt in my mind this is how it’s meant to be: me and her, breathless and together.

I lower my head and press my lips to her rising and falling chest, kissing a path along the loose neckline of her dress. She arches into me, and I continue down her sternum and belly over her dress while pushing it up her legs.

My fingers hook in the ties of her bikini bottoms, and she stills.

“I think I’m still supp—”

I stop her. “That doesn’t change a damn thing. I want you, Sin. You .”

She bites her lip, and maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight, but it looks like her eyes get misty. “Me?”

I sit up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, you. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I want to—I want you, but . . .” She swallows, her lips quirking. “. . . what if I can’t?”

I fight a smile. “Your omega nature may be suppressed, but I’m still an alpha. I can smell how wet your pussy is for me.”

She bashfully looks away, and I tilt her chin back to meet my gaze. “So, I’ll ask again: do you want me? Because I sure as fuck want you, just as you are.”

She gives me these small, excited nods, fighting back a smile, then pulls my face to hers and kisses me like she’s never wanted anything more.

I feel at home between her palms; bond or no bond, she’s where I’m meant to be.

My hand travels down her body and slips inside her bikini bottoms. She mewls softly into my mouth as I slide two fingers between her folds. The wetness waiting for me pulls a hungry groan from my chest, making her bite my lip with a tug.

I drag my fingers up and down her slit and either side of her clit. I can feel her breathing deepen.

“ Bishop ,” she pleads.

I think my name on her lips, dripping with desire, is a sound I will never get over hearing.

“Let me show you how badly I want you.”

She groans in protest as I pull my hand away to slide my body down hers and settle my shoulders between her legs, pushing her knees out. I trail my fingertips lightly over her thighs and untie the strings of her bikini. Cupping her ass in my hands, I pull the swimsuit out from under her and toss it on the blanket.

She gives a small gasp as I drag my nose up the crease between her thigh and pussy. The sound sends goose bumps down my back. “You’re so fucking perfect, Sin.” I trail my nose up the other side and revel in the way her legs twitch.

She begs, “ Please . . . ”

I press my tongue against her core, and she moans with relief, yet somehow the sound is still fraught with anticipation. “Is this what you want? Your pretty pussy licked until you’re a soaking, trembling mess, so desperate for my cock it won’t matter that it has a knot?”

“ Yes ,” she mewls. “I want your knot—”

“Shh.” I kiss her writhing hips. “I’m not gonna risk hurting you.”

She pushes onto her elbows and tries to close her legs. “But—”

“This isn’t a discussion. Now, lie back and let me worship you.”

She flops back with a stubborn sigh that quickly turns into a sharp cry when I sink two fingers into her cunt. I savor her taste, savor the slickness under my tongue and the clutching noises she makes every time I stroke her just right.

As intoxicating as being with her in rut is, being in this moment, clearheaded, is equally addicting. There isn’t blinding passion and ferocious desire, but there’s something just as powerful: bare, raw connection between souls, not just biology.

She’s my girl before she’s my omega, and I don’t ever want to lose that.

“Bishop—oh god, that feels so . . . good .” She bucks into my mouth, and I palm her ass cheeks, clutching her to me and letting her ride my tongue just like Ecker taught me. I moan into her heated flesh, encouraging her to use me unapologetically.

“Fuck, fuck!” Her thighs quake and her back arches. Her fingers knit in my hair, clawing and pulling as she shatters on my tongue.

Her cries cease, and she exhales heartily. I’m tempted to stay right where I am and wring another orgasm from her. And another and another, until her body’s so exhausted she will fall asleep in my arms.

She looks down at me with a sly smile, and I already know that isn’t going to happen.

“You have that look,” I accuse teasingly.

“What look?” She purses her lips and mischief flares in her eyes.

I grin and slide up her body, kissing her uninjured temple, then brush my lips against hers and whisper tauntingly, “Like you can’t wait to ruin all my plans.”

Proving my point, her hand winds between us and palms my cock over my shorts.

“If you get to want me just as I am, why can’t I want you too?” She lifts up to kiss the corner of my mouth then up my jaw, her hand lightly— torturously —gliding over my bulge.

“Because— fuhh . . . ” My brain goes blank the second her hand slips into my waistband and strokes my hard cock with nothing in between us.

My hips instinctively push into her touch, and my jaw clenches with poor restraint. I can’t help but groan when her thumb circles my tip, spreading pre-cum over my crown.

“You were saying?” she teases, and I bury my face in her neck as she continues to work her fist up and down my throbbing length.

“What if I hurt you?” I grind out through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to sink them into her soft skin just to make her lightest touches bearable.

But when she tries to push down my shorts, I don’t stop her.

No, I help her, shoving them down my legs like they’re on fire.

She rocks her hips up and guides my cock over the slit of her sloppy pussy. “Look how wet you made me.” Her breath catches on a sharp inhale as she grinds her clit against me. “Just like you promised.”

Now it’s my turn to stutter. “But—”

“Do you want me to beg, Bishop?” she asks boldly, turning my face to look her in the eyes. They’re just as beautiful icy blue as they are striking gold. “Because I will.”

“No,” I say decidedly, sliding the head of my cock inside her pussy. “You don’t need to beg when you make me fold so damn easily.”

She doesn’t have time to say anything smart in response because I thrust home, burying myself as deep as she’ll take me.

“ Fuck , Sin, ” I growl in a desperate, husky rumble. “This . . . this . . . ” I rock my hips back then punch forward again. “This is still fucking everything.”

“More . . . More please, more .” She clutches my back, her fingers digging into my shoulders, and her legs wrap around my waist.

I couldn’t deny her if I wanted, fucking her into the blanket as if there’s some way to get closer, deeper, more one than we already are. I take each thrust slow but sure, working my cock into her pussy.

She moans each time I bottom out. I make sure my knot, not inflated but still pronounced, grinds against her clit with each stroke until her inner walls are fluttering around me. The sensation is my final straw, crippling pleasure tightening my groin and balls.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” I groan harshly. “Tell me you want me to come inside you.”

“Bishop, please .” Her hips pitch forward, and she cries, “Please, come with me, in me, just . . . please .”

A tide of heated bliss wracks through me and into her as she clenches my cock while moaning my name.

It’s euphoria.

And it’s real.

Without a fucking shadow of a doubt, this— what we have —is real.

1. Continue playing “Beautiful Things” by Benson Boone

2. Continue playing “Beautiful Things” by Benson Boone