22. Everything

Everything

Sinclair

"What?" He looks like I slapped him across the face.

"Make me your mate and they won't be able to hurt me again." Now, he looks like he actually might pass out.

"No, I-I can't do that," he stutters, walking backward and shaking his head.

The light in my chest sours. I knew it was too good to be true, that his words were lies. Even when given the chance, none of them would put me above each other.

Suddenly, I feel like a fool, standing naked in front of him, showing him the wounds that are more than skin deep.

I reach for my shirt, but my fingers lock up before I can pick it up, his alpha command still ruling my body. Always ruling my body. When will I learn . . . ?

My jaw grinds and I ask bitterly, "Can I put my shirt back on, Alpha?"

"It's not that I don't want to. But I can't." He sounds so hurt, disappointed even, disappointed with himself. It tugs on whatever remaining sympathy I have for these men. But I'm still standing here exposed with my bloody heart.

"My. Shirt," I repeat coldly.

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He waves his hand, looking away, then pinches the bridge of his nose while I tug my shirt over my head.

He roughly pulls up his shirt once more and gestures frustratedly at his impossibly healed side like he's lost for words and these rough motions are all he can manage.

"Bishop."

"What they gave me—" His fists clench and unclench. He breathes in deeply, then restarts, "They gave me these alpha hormones to speed up my healing and it has me so wired that if I went into rut, let alone tried to claim you, I'd . . ." He scoffs, shaking his head.

"You'd what?" I demand, that same disappointed look shadowing his hazel eyes.

"I-I'd—" Suddenly, he rushes me. His hand wraps around my throat. Gold flashes in his irises. My pulse hammers and my stomach swoops.

As he talks, he walks me back until my thighs hit the bed. "This is as gentle as I'll be able to be," he growls through bared teeth.

My body involuntarily hums at the threat and warmth pools between my thighs. My stomach cinches as he inhales, his eyes growing half-lidded. His fingers around my neck tighten. "Just smelling the way your pussy reacts to my hands wrapped around your throat makes me want to tie you to this bed and tear you a-fucking-part. I won't be able to stop myself from hurting you, breaking you. Do you understand?"

I place my hand over his. He loosens his grip, expecting me to try to pry it off. Instead, I squeeze. "You can't break what's already broken."

We are standing in front of what looks like a nondescript closet in the same wing as the Great Hall. I reach for the knob and Bishop's hand shoots over my shoulder and lands splayed on the door. His fingertips grip the wood. There's a stirring in my gut as I trace the path of the veins on the back of his hand.

His breath feathers on the back of my neck as he speaks. "This isn't a good idea. We can wait until the hormones are out of my system."

"We don't need to wait." I turn around, his arm caging me against the door. The stirring in my stomach turns into a rip current when his eyes drop to my mouth and his tongue swipes his bottom lip. "Do you trust me?"

"No," he breathes, taking a half step forward so our hips nearly kiss. My heart skips at his scent of leather and bergamot, yet I can't help but frown at his answer. My breath catches as he reaches out with this other hand to smooth the crease between my eyes with his thumb. "I don't trust who you turn me into, Omega."

I force a chuckle, but it's more of a husky exhale that makes his eyes flash. "I promise I can take it, Alpha."

I spin around and open the door before he chickens out. A dark staircase descends into an even darker basement, and without delaying any longer, I begin down the steps.

He follows me down, closing the door behind him and turning the space pitch black. I wave around above my head for the pull-chain light I saw last time I was here. It only illuminates the twenty or so steps to the bottom but not much farther.

At the base of the stairs is an unlit wall torch like the ones at the underground arena. A flint striker hangs on a hook next to it. After a few tries, the torch roars to life, unveiling cans of rust-colored paint.

"I was wondering how you knew about this place." I'm surprised by the hint of amusement in his voice given the outcome of my art project.

"Avoiding you three gave me a lot of time to explore." I grab the torch from the sconce and continue deeper into the basement, which opens up into what can only be called a dungeon.

Medieval-looking torture devices made of thick iron hang on the stone walls alongside rusty blades and sharp wooden spikes. The dungeon is circular, like it's at the base of one of the turrets, with a domed ceiling. I walk around, lighting the three other torches.

"Jesus." Bishop exhales, looking dumbstruck as he takes it all in.

In addition to the wall of horror, there are a few cells, some so small, I'd consider them cages. Sets of chains and shackles are bolted into the walls, and an old wooden table is stained by decades of spilled blood.

"This is what you're fighting so hard to be a part of," I say flatly.

His footsteps echo in the macabre chamber. "Is this why you brought me here? To show me this?"

I walk to the center of the room where a chair is bolted into the ground with cuffs dangling from its arms. "No, this is." I kick the hanging chain. "Should stop you from going too far."

He circles the chair, testing the chains and inspecting how they are secured to the floor. He stops in front of me. His eyes float between my wrists and where my shirt covers my chest carvings. I can feel his desire for me, but there's a sense of duty when he agrees. "Okay."1

It's not until he sits decidedly in the chair that I get my first wave of doubt.

You can't break a mate bond. It lasts forever.

But so is the Echelon.

I reach for the first pair of cuffs but stop. "Should you . . . you know." My eyes drop to his hips. Desire flares in my stomach, but it doesn't feel as quick burning as it has in the past. Knowing this is forever, I lean into this feeling of passion and hunger.

He clears his throat then lifts his hips and unzips his jeans, tugging them down to midthigh. His cock strains against his briefs and my mouth waters at the golden muscles of his quads. His eyes dart up to mine and my cheeks flame; I keep forgetting he can smell my every reaction.

"Your turn, Omega." He flicks his chin.

I exhale slowly as I bend over to reach under the skirt I put on before leaving our wing. He clicks his tongue and I freeze. "Turn around."

I'm not sure why I do it, it has nothing to do with my end goal, but part of me likes the idea that he wants to savor this. After all, you only claim your first mate once in your life.

"Bend over." His voice is distinctly deeper, rougher, and tingles run down my spine from knowing that means he's going into rut.

The cool dungeon air grazes the back of my thighs and bottom of my ass as I hinge at the hips. I inch my feet a little wider, my heart pounding.

"Now, you can take them off." The back of my neck prickles like he's whispering dirty orders against my skin, not from six feet away.

Reaching under my skirt, I slip my fingers under the waistband and begin sliding my panties down, sucking in a breath at the feel of my wet pussy meeting the air.

"Fuck," he says on a husky exhale. "You look fucking beautiful with your pussy on display. Once I claim you, I'm going to have you presenting morning, noon, and night. Fucking perfect." I'm glad I'm facing away with the way my cheeks burn.

I finish taking my panties off as he mutters drunkenly, "And you're going to look even better taking my cock."

Leaving my underwear on the floor, I stand up and turn back around. He cants his head, his eyes lusty and gold, tracking my movements as I walk back to the chair.

Nothing is actually attached to the chair. Instead, the chains are just long enough to cuff his hands at his sides, as if they were tied to the chair itself.

We are both silent while I secure the shackles. Even when my fingers dip into the waistband of his briefs, not a word is said.

Everything is drowned out by the sound of our heartbeats.

Lifting his hips for me, I pull his briefs down and his thick, hard cock juts between us as I climb onto his lap, still in my skirt and shirt. His chest rumbles and I swear I can feel the vibrations in my core.

He releases a rocky exhale when I tentatively circle his length. I put one hand on his shoulder and rise up, ready to position him at my entrance, but he stops me. "Wait, tell me again. Why me?"

"Because you seem to hate me the least."

A mix of emotions dance across his handsome features. "I don't hate you. I hate that I can't fucking breathe around you."

As I slowly slide down his cock, I seem to lose the ability to breathe too. My head rushes and my eyes burn as I slip into heat.

"Jesus Christ," he sputters, his face scrunched as if pained. "So fucking good. You feel so fucking good."

His eyes flash up to mine, and I'm immediately awed by the beautiful depth of gold in his. His tone becomes increasingly desperate. "Can you take more? All of me?" Then he growls in a way that sends shivers down my spine. "Sorry, that wasn't a question. Take all of me. I know you can. I want to feel every inch of your pussy around my cock."

My lungs are on fire. In fact, all of me is on fire. A disastrously beautiful blaze.

"I . . . more . . . I want . . . more." It's visceral. The desire to push against the stretch of his cock and seat myself further and further. Every inch is a reward worth the challenge.

"Is that a question, Omega? Because the answer is ‘fuck yes.' We need to get this perfect, tight cunt stretched if you're going to take my knot."

I moan at the idea of something even wider inside me. "God, those sounds," he rasps. "I'm not even all the way in and you're already driving me wild." His neck becomes corded and his arms twist in their restraints.

I grind up and down, testing. "I've never done this before."

"Done what?" His brows fret and his voice is tight and gruff like it's a challenge to focus on the question. To be fair, it's hard for me to focus on the answer.

"It's always been from behind," I murmur with a hint of insecurity.

"Are you asking me if you're doing a good job?" I quietly nod. A small, amused smile plays on his lips. "Just do what makes you feel good and trust me, it will be fucking amazing for me." I drop my gaze and he tilts his head to meet it again. "Relax and let me in. You were made for this."

There's something calming about the way he encourages me. It lacks the desperate, strained energy of just seconds ago. As if comforting me puts him at ease.

"Put your arms around my neck." The moment I do, he thrusts upward.

"Oh god." I gasp and fall forward. The unexpected deepness strikes my lungs like a dart to a balloon. My forehead tucks into the curve of his neck and shoulder as I gasp for air.

"You promised you could take it. Now's your chance to show me you can." He punches his hips up, and again, the fullness, the pleasure, it takes my breath away. "That's it. Let me fuck you, let me work my cock deep inside you."

I melt into him, and he nuzzles against the top of my head, whispering praise and adoration. It's the opposite of everything he was that night in the bathroom. It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that it's the same man.

I don't feel like the same person either.

I feel safe. And that, above all else, makes me even more confident in this decision. He's the one I want to claim me.

I lean back and cup his face. He stills at my touch. The way he looks at me is pleading, an anguish I don't quite understand. Like I'm the only one who can put air in his lungs.

The desperation in his eyes is fierce but not frightening and perhaps that is the greatest difference between now and the other times.

"Ride me, Omega." It's not an order. It's a prayer, a wish. A choice.

I give him one in return. "Will you kiss me while I do?"

Concern colors his expression. "If I get my lips on you, I won't be able to resist biting you. Are you ready for that?"

My heart pounds as I ask myself that same question.

I realize there's only one answer . . . kissing him.

Choice has never tasted so good.

What starts out as hesitant brushes of our lips turns into hungry exploration. He groans deliciously when I tug on his bottom lip, and my pussy flutters when he strokes my tongue with his. I am dizzy and lightheaded with every flick of his tongue, brush of his lips, and graze of his teeth.

My hips move like undulating waves, gliding up and down his shaft. I can't stop the whine from tumbling out. Not that I'd want to. Every time I moan, he growls, bucks up, and deepens the kiss.

My pussy clenches and my clit pulses, reveling in even the smallest amount of friction. I grind harder, more desperate as I selfishly chase my release.

I get higher and higher, and Bishop's lips trail down my neck and back up. My skin tingles, every nerve ending coming alight, waiting for his bite. He drags his teeth against my pulse and my body quakes in anticipation.

When I'm about to tumble over the cliff, he finally sinks his teeth into my skin. My cry echoes in the chamber as blinding pleasure radiates from his bite throughout my whole body.

His teeth break the skin, and with it, the dam that kept the heat from ravaging my mind like it did my body. Pools of euphoric white light pour into me, and I feel utterly weightless.

"Mine." He thunders and with one incredible tug, he breaks the chains. I gasp in shock as they clatter to the ground with a loud, metallic ring. He growls menacingly, his eyes glowing brighter than the torch flames. "Now, we're really gonna see how much you can take, little mate."

He rips my shirt over my head and tears his off in less than a breath. The very next second, I'm being slammed up against the wall, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist and his pants falling to his ankles. His face is wracked with emotion as he thrusts brutally into me, groaning, "I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry. I can't—"

"Don't stop. I'm okay. Please, don't stop," I beg, trailing my hands down the back of his head to grasp onto his neck. I'm somehow both incredibly satisfied and desperately ravenous for more. I realize I'm going to come again even though my first orgasm has yet to recede.

Wave after wave, a sea of pleasure, and I want nothing more than to drown in his ocean.

"I can't stop, not when you keep squeezing me like a goddamn vice." He growls. "And this tight, little pussy can't stop making a mess all over her alpha's cock."

"Alpha," I moan, the word creating a heady rush I've never felt before. It doesn't feel like a dirty word with him, it's one that gives me comfort and protection.

"Say it again," he demands, and the urge to please him is stronger than ever. It's so real, so honest. It's no longer an unwanted ache in my body, but an aligned desire in my mind too.

"Alpha. My alpha," I cry as I topple over another peak. I don't know how much more my body can take. Especially now that the bond allows me to feel his pleasure as well. It thrums through my veins, his passion, his desire.

"Yes, yes." He grunts with punctuating thrusts. "Yours."

"Mine," I echo, dragging my hands down his chest.

My palm hovers over his heart. "It beats for you now." And I feel it. Holy shit, do I feel it. Like it's beating in my own chest.

Suddenly, I'm struck with this deep, aching need. I gasp. "I need— I need—" I can't seem to catch my breath.

"Fuck, yes, Omega, tell me what you need." He sounds so fucking earnest and genuine, it makes me want to cry. I truly feel like he would go to the ends of the earth to get me what I need.

"Your knot—" I choke. "I need your knot." I feel feverish, desperate, out of my goddamn mind.

He makes a deep, guttural sound in response and rips us away from the wall. The next thing I know, he's no longer inside me and we're both kneeling on the ground, my back against his chest. One of his hands wraps around my stomach, fingers splayed wide, like he's trying to touch as much of me as possible. The other collars my throat. I moan at the feel of his dominating grip, the submissive omega in me preening. It's a possessive gesture that doesn't make me angry or resentful. Instead, I feel cherished and treasured.

"Please, Alpha." I breathe restlessly as his cock grinds against my ass. "I need it. I need it, please—I'm hurting so bad." I reuse his own wording, knowing that he'll understand my desperation.

"I love the sound of your sweet, needy begs." His nose drags up my cheek, and he tightens his grasp as he whispers in my ear, "I can feel how much you love my hand around your throat. You like being claimed, like giving up control?" Yes, god, yes.

"Only for you." I mewl as he glides his palm to the ticklish part of my lower stomach, right above my pussy.

"I'm going to tell you what's going to happen next," he murmurs into my sweaty skin. "You're going to show me what a good omega you can be and present that pretty pussy. Then, I'm going to stuff you full of my cock, and when it feels like you can't take anymore, I'm going to knot you." He finishes this delicious idea by flicking his tongue over his claiming bite. My skin in that spot is so tender that I whimper.

"So sensitive." Even the feel of his breath when he chuckles is like electricity. "How are you going to be able to take my knot when you can barely handle my mouth? Maybe I should just work you with my tongue, eat your pussy until I decide you're ready—"

"No," I cry. "I can't wait, please."

His hand around my throat moves to my shoulder and he pushes my chest to the floor. "Then present," he growls harshly. The rough, masculine sound sends me scrambling to obey, so eager to give him anything he wants.

I prop myself on my forearms and spread my knees, lifting my ass to show him everything he can have, everything he owns.

"That's a good fucking omega, a good fucking mate." He groans, pleased, his approval making my pussy weep. He slots his cock, already slick with my arousal, at my entrance, and I sob when he thrusts all the way in.

The rumbling in his chest continues as his cock thickens inside me, doubling the already too intense pleasure. "Oh my god," I cry. "It's too much!"

I try to push up to my hands, but he shoves me back down.

"Not for you, Sinclair. Not for you." My name. Woven into his praise, it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard. "You've taken everything I've given you, and now you're going to take my knot like the good mate I know you are."

Before his knot grows too big, he pulls out and flips me flat on my back. Instinctively, I lock my ankles around his waist, and he punches his hips into the cradle of mine. I feel every thick inch of him as he slides back inside me.

He wraps his strong arms around me until I feel like his body is mine and my body is his. He fucks me slow but no less hard until his breath becomes ragged. He spills into me with a groan, and I feel his knot swell inside me.

"It . . . feels . . . so . . . fucking good." I mewl as we lock together. "It feels like—"

"Everything." He presses his forehead against mine and mutters with heart-wrenching sincerity against my lips, "It feels like fucking everything."

1. Play "Skin and Bones" by David Kushner