Weaving Fate - Nora Ash Page 0,19

over, I fell between her legs, wrapped my arms around her thighs so she couldn’t deny me access, and buried my mouth in her core.

The onslaught of sensation that closed in around me took my breath away. I gasped, inhaling her scent deep into my lungs, dragging it in as if my life depended on it.

And right then? It fucking did. I knew with every ounce of my being that if I didn’t drink my fill of her honeyed cunt right goddamn then, I’d die.

She mewled when I dragged my tongue up through her cleft, splitting her open and tasting the juices I’d manipulated from her with my fingers. It was maddening.

Blind with need to feel her gush for me again, I found her clit and wrapped my lips tightly around it, sucking it with a hunger I’d never known the likes of.

“Bjarni! No, no!” she hollered, trying to wriggle her hips out of my grasp. Too soon—she was too sensitive after her first orgasm for such direct stimulation.

Tough shit, sweetie.

I held her tight, forcing her to experience every deep draw on her throbbing clit, making my entire body hum to the same tune. I’d never forcefully penetrate her, but I was still an alpha. Every instinct I had screamed for dominance, and so I sucked her clit while she cried for me to stop, thrashing against my grip, sucked it as she sobbed and her body slowly softened, sucked it until she finally surrendered to the pleasure and began to grind against my face.

She barely registered when I released her left thigh to slip a finger up inside of her, but she sure did notice when I hooked it, finding her G-spot.

“Bjarni!” she gasped, then went rigid, jerking once, twice…

Her hands in my hair tugged harshly, and then warm liquid spilled against my chin, wetting my beard as the sweetest moan rang in my ears.

I’d never been this hard in my entire life.

I rose to my knees between her thighs, her hands falling limply from my head to her sides as she looked up at me through hooded lids. We didn’t speak—we didn’t need to. She kept her gaze locked on mine while I freed my throbbing cock from the confines of my leather pants, never breaking eye contact as I fell on top of her, catching my weight on one elbow.

And then I brought my cock to her slick, open pussy.

The first brush of her lips over my throbbing cockhead sent shivers up my spine. It turned to a full-body shudder when I pressed in farther and she spread open like a flower, her folds wrapping around me as I speared her opening.

“Shit!” she mewled, hands flying to my stomach the second her tunnel stretched in preparation to finally take me.

I’d fucked enough women to recognize the worry in her eyes as she stared up at me, a plea to stop moments from spilling from her lips. I was bigger than even my brothers, and it had taken a lot of coaxing of the beta girls I’d bedded while living in exile in Midgard before they enjoyed this part.

But Annabel was an omega. She was built for me.

I grabbed her protesting hands, trapping them above her head by her wrists. And then I pushed in.

Fully.

Hot. Tight. Perfect.

“Fuck! Anna! Annabel!” I was barely aware of my own roar, my senses full of nothing but the tight, wet grip she had on my dick. Every nerve in my body sang out of tune, my blood thundering like Thor himself had taken up residence in my veins.

This was it. This was what I’d waited for all my life. Her and her perfect little cunt.

The second I released her wrists, she was beating at my shoulders, her mouth forming angry words I couldn’t comprehend while her cunt sucked on me, but I read her true feelings plain as day.

She fucking loved how I felt inside of her. Loved the stretch, loved the submission.

“Omega,” I growled, because right then, that was what she was. She was also Annabel, she was Fate’s weapon, she was a little human lost in a world unknown. But in that moment, all that mattered was that she was an omega. My omega.

She whimpered, stilling her hands and flattening her palms against me. I bent my head for hers and she met me in a searing kiss.

She took my first thrust with a rough groan, her face still screwed up in pain sharply contradicted by the rhythmic pulses from