Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 218: Not enough [M]

Not enough.

No matter how close I pull him, no matter how deep I push inside, it’s never enough.

I growl against the back of his neck, the spot where my bite is still fresh, still red and raw. I lap at it, mine, mine, mine, savoring the way his body trembles beneath me, the way his skin tastes like us, like something irrevocably changed. He gasps—a sound that sends heat surging through me like a wildfire—and squirms, caught between pressing closer or escaping the intensity of my hold.

He can’t escape.

I won’t let him.

I wrap an arm around his neck, pressing my chest flush against his sweat-dampened back, licking the mark again, tasting him, claiming him all over again. My other hand roams, mapping the heated planes of his chest, fingers catching on sensitive skin, pinching, rolling, teasing. I feel him shudder beneath me, feel the sharp intake of his breath when my fingers find his peaked nipples. Too sensitive. Perfect.

I want more. I need more. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

He writhes against me, his moans only fueling the fire in my blood, turning the hunger in my gut into something all-consuming. His scent is thick in the air, swirling in intoxicating waves, and I breathe it in greedily, letting it settle into my lungs, my bones. It drowns me. The slick warmth between his thighs soaks into my skin, his arousal mine, mine, mine to take, to worship. I stroke him once, twice—his body jerks, the tension in his stomach coiling tight, and then he comes, sudden and sharp, spilling in my palm.

Beautiful.

I could watch him like this for eternity—helpless, wrecked, lost to me.

But it’s not enough.

I pull out, frustrated, my mind hazy with the need to see him—to take in the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest rises and falls, the tears beading at the corners of those luminous green eyes. I flip him onto his back, and there it is. The sight that undoes me.

My omega. Open. Needy. Mine.

His thighs fall apart without hesitation, inviting me in, his breath ragged, his lips swollen from kisses neither of us remember initiating. His pretty little cock, flushed and twitching, is already hard again, leaking onto his stomach. So desperate. So perfect. So mine.

I lean in, running my tongue along the corner of his eye, tasting salt and heat and him. My star. My mate.

He whimpers, shifting his hips impatiently, seeking friction against my stomach. I growl, low and possessive, and bite his lip. Punishment.

I pull back, barely restraining myself from slamming back inside him. My hands find his waist, bruising my fingerprints into his soft skin. He looks up at me, begging, his breath hitching as I line myself up but don’t push in. Not yet. I let my cock drag against his entrance, teasing, rubbing slow, shallow circles.

"Mine," I murmur, my voice hoarse, raw with want.

He’s desperate, trembling, a beautiful mess beneath me.

"Thorne, please," he gasps, tears spilling over, his hands grasping at my shoulders, my hair, anything he can reach. His need is unbearable, his body slick and inviting, urging me to ruin him.

I smirk, though my own restraint is razor-thin. "Please what, my beloved star?" I tease, even as my instincts scream at me to claim him, take him, fill him.

His sob catches in his throat. "Inside me, now," he pleads, begs, his voice cracking, his body arching so beautifully beneath me.

My vision goes white. Control shatters.

I don’t think. I can’t.

I slam into him with a single, forceful thrust, swallowing his scream as his walls tighten around me, squeezing me like a vice. Heat. Wet. Home.

His nails rake down my back, sending sharp, delicious pain through my spine. I don’t care. I thrive on it. I grab his hips, dragging him down onto me as I thrust again, harder, burying myself so deep it feels like I’m breaking apart, burning up, becoming something primal.

The world narrows to this. To him. To me. To the pleasure so overwhelming, I forget where I end and he begins.

I move. Again. And again. Faster. Rougher. Deeper.

I need to be inside. All the way.

I find it again—that tiny opening inside him, the one I shouldn’t be able to reach, but Noelle’s body welcomes me so perfectly.

I grind against it, fighting the urge to push through. But Noelle’s legs lock around me, forcing me deeper, his voice wrecked as he moans my name.

"Thorne—more, please—"

His body trembles, guiding me there, urging me to give in.

I pull back, just enough to watch him, my breath heavy, my body aching with frustration, need, love.

His tears spill freely now, his lips kiss-swollen, his body begging me to ruin him.

The last of my restraint snaps, I grab his waist and yank him up, forcing his body flush against mine. He gasps, his arms instinctively wrapping around my shoulders.

And finally, finally I push in.

Past that last barrier. Past reason. Past sanity.

***

Noelle’s POV

Too much. Too good. Too perfect.

I can’t think—I can barely breathe, barely move. My body is stretched to its limit, filled to the brim, so full, so completely taken over.

My alpha. My mate.

Relief crashes over me in waves, drowning me in overwhelming pleasure, heat, delirium. But even as my body shudders in ecstasy, he doesn’t stop—doesn’t ease up, doesn’t let me process, doesn’t give me a single second to breathe. He’s still moving, still grinding deeper, deeper, deeper, as if he refuses to leave even the smallest part of me untouched.

I whimper, squirm, trying to shift away—just for a second, just for some reprieve, because I don’t know if I can take any more. But there is no escape. Thorne’s hands find my waist and pin me down, his strength effortlessly keeping me exactly where he wants me.

Yes. Possessive.

The thought should terrify me. It doesn’t. I love it. I need it.

I claw at his back, nails digging into sweat-dampened skin, scratching desperate marks into his flesh that he will feel even after this—bruises, reminders, proof that we were here, like this, together.

His body swells inside me, stretching me even further, and a sharp cry leaves my lips as I feel his knot growing, locking, trapping me against him.

Too much. Too much. I can’t handle it. I can’t—

I gasp, pushing weakly against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. Won’t budge. He is unshakable, like an unmovable force, something larger than life itself. His grip tightens, strong fingers cupping my chin, forcing my gaze to his.

My breath catches at the feral, unrelenting hunger in his blue eyes.

"You can take it," he growls, his voice low, dangerous, vibrating through my bones.

I shake my head, trembling, trying to look away—but he won’t let me.

"Look at me." His command is ironclad, and my instincts betray me, my head turning back toward him on its own. My pupils are blown wide, vision blurry, lost in the haze of submission, of need, of desperation.

"Take it," he orders.

And I do.

I go limp, every muscle melting beneath his will, my body completely surrendering to his. I let him claim me, take me, own me, because that’s what he was always meant to do.

His knot grows fully, stretching me past what should be possible, sealing him inside me, locking us together as one.

Then, in the next moment—warmth.

Thick, scalding heat fills me so deeply, so fully, my entire body shuddering with the overwhelming sensation of being bred, claimed, marked as his forever.

I sob.

I don’t even know why—whether it’s from relief or joy or mindless pleasure—but I sob, tears spilling down my cheeks, my body trembling as I let myself drown in it, in him, in this moment where we are bound together as one.

And Thorne—my mate, my alpha, my everything—leans down, grunting softly as he presses his lips against my damp cheeks, kissing away my tears, kissing me like I’m the most precious thing in existence.

My hands weakly reach for him, finding the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer, clinging to him like he’s the only thing tethering me to reality—because he is.

His lips move against mine, slow and deep, a stark contrast to the feral desperation from before. He licks into my mouth, tasting me, devouring me, until I am completely undone, a mess of warmth and submission and belonging.

I never want to leave this place. I never want to leave his arms.

His knot pulses, sending another wave of his release into me, and I shudder again, feeling it pool inside me, filling me to the absolute limit.

I can barely think, can barely do anything except hold onto him as his body rocks against mine in slow, lazy thrusts, pushing it all deeper, deeper, deeper, making sure not a drop is wasted.

I whimper, overwhelmed, and his voice rumbles against my skin, warm and possessive and entirely mine.

"You’re perfect, Noelle," he whispers, breath hot against my ear. "Made for me."

That I am. That I am.