Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 272: Scrapped knees [M]

Chapter 272 — Noelle POV

Oh, he’s angry.

Furious, even.

I can feel it in the way his hands grip my waist—tight, almost bruising. Not careless, never that, but with the kind of simmering restraint that speaks of a storm barely held at bay. He’s lost the game we were playing, and now I’m paying for it in the best possible way.

Each movement is precise. Controlled. Punishing.

His rhythm is relentless, like he’s chasing something he can’t name. Like every push, every pull, is meant to undo the smug little smile I gave him just moments ago.

I deserve it.

Maybe that’s why I arch into it. Why I press my palms harder into the floor and welcome the bite of cold stone against my knees.

The sting makes it real. Grounds me.

This isn’t softness. This is need. The kind that burns from the inside out and leaves nothing behind but ruined pride and trembling limbs.

My hair’s a mess now, sticking to my face and neck, clinging to sweat-damp skin. I gasp as he shifts, one arm sliding up my chest to pull me flush against him, forcing me to feel every inch of his fury—and his need.

His lips brush the shell of my ear, and when he speaks, it’s low and rough.

"You think you can turn the tables on me like that?" he growls, breath hot against my skin.

I whimper—shameless and wild—because Elaris help me, I love it when he gets like this. I love being the spark that lights the match.

"I warned you," he says, voice darker now. "But you never listen."

I want to reply. To goad him. To laugh.

But I can’t find the words.

***

Thorne POV

I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face, slick with sweat. My breathing is still uneven, shallow, my chest rising and falling in deep, deliberate movements.

I lean forward, eyes fixed on the most devastatingly beautiful sight I’ve ever laid eyes on—my husband, bare and trembling beneath me.

His back glistens in the low golden light of the room, marked with the red fingerprints and faint lines from where I’ve held him too tightly. And yet he’s still there, unmoving, breath catching, waiting for more.

My hand slides down the center of his spine—slow, reverent. I let my fingers linger at each vertebra, the curve of his back rising into my palm like he’s arching into it without even thinking.

His skin is hot beneath my touch, flushed from pleasure and marked by my hunger. Every inch of him begs to be worshipped and wrecked in equal measure.

And I intend to do both.

I reach the base of his neck and gather a handful of that long, raven-black hair that has always driven me to the edge. My fingers curl into it, gripping tight.

Then, I yank.

Hard.

The cry that rips from Noelle’s throat is guttural, raw and real—it’s not the usual moan or breathy gasp.

He screams. A sharp, high sound that echoes through the chamber, ricocheting off the stone walls and settling in my spine like lightning.

For a second I freeze, panic rushing up my throat.

But then he turns his head slightly, just enough for me to catch his expression—lips parted, eyes half-lidded, glazed with lust.

He’s shaking, but he isn’t in pain.

He’s burning.

Oh.

He liked it.

"You liked that?" I ask, my voice dark with wonder and desire.

He doesn’t respond—not with words. But he doesn’t need to.

His hips roll back against me, shameless, aching for friction. The sound he makes is sinful—half breath, half whimper.

I let out a breath that’s practically a curse and yank his hair again, pulling his body up so that his back arches into mine.

One of my hands tightly grips his waist, securing him in place, while the other grasps his jaw and turns his flushed face towards mine.

I make him look at me and kiss him passionately.

His pheromones are overwhelming; I can’t help but notice mine probably are too. I bite his lip, and he lets out a soft whimper.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

I push him back down roughly, not cruelly, but assertively. His palms hit the cold floor with a gentle slap, and he gasps at the chilling sensation.

His knees are already red from being pressed against the stone for too long, but he doesn’t complain.

Instead, he spreads his legs wider, offering himself to me like a prayer - and I’m a selfish god.

My hands grip his hips, thumbs digging into the bruises I left earlier. I rub my hips against him slowly and deliberately, just enough to tease the edge of madness we’re both teetering on.

I thrust into him smoothly, feeling his tight warmth envelop me. The sound of our bodies meeting is a symphony of wet slaps and low moans.

Each time I push deeper, he whimpers as if he’s barely holding on.

His tightness is exquisite. "Thorne-!" he gasps, "I’m about to-"

"Go on," I growl into his ear, gripping his jaw and forcing him to face me in the mirror across the room. His eyes meet mine, dazed and glassy.

"Look," I whisper. "Look how beautiful you are when you’re like this."

His cheeks flush, lips parting, and I can feel him starting to lose control again. I push harder into him, our bodies creating an overwhelming heat that fog the glass.

My control slips with every breathless sound he makes, every tremor of his thighs beneath me.

"You like this, don’t you?" I hiss, fisting his hair again and pulling him back until he’s almost upright, flush against my chest.

"Being owned. Being taken. Like you’re mine," he moans.

"I am yours," he breathes, and that breaks something deep within me. I pull him tighter against me, sinking my teeth into the soft skin of his shoulder, not enough to break the skin - but close.

Close enough to leave a mark that won’t fade for days.

Maybe longer.

I reach around him, grip his throat gently but firmly, tilting his head back so I can kiss the underside of his jaw.

He whimpers, body shaking under mine, and it only spurs me on.

"Say it," I whisper into his skin.

"Yours," he breathes.

"Louder."

"YOURS!" he screams, his voice echoing wildly around us.

And I can’t help but groan, biting down harder into his shoulder, teeth marking soft skin.

"Good," I hiss. "Now scream for me again."

And he does, his voice echoing loudly in time with our bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm of in and out. The sound of our flesh slapping together is the most beautiful music to my ears.