Page 21 of The Raven's Alpha
Eddy pops my cock free from his lips just long enough to say, “I need you to come, Darcy. Now, my little bird, give me everything you’ve got.”
My back arches as I hold my alphas head, pushing myself further into his mouth as I flood his throat, while my slick gushes out of my ass. I manage to open my eyes long enough to see the fountain of liquid spraying all over Eddy’s chest.
When Eddy pulls from my body, I’m shaking, I crane my neck to watch him wrap both hands around his own erection. The bulging appendage almost purple in colour as a steady stream of precum trickles from the tip.
With my chest heaving and body shaking, I quickly turn around and shuffle down his body. I reach for my ass, using my fingers to pull my cheeks apart. I twist my neck and tell him, “My hole, alpha. Soak my hole in your seed,” I beg, knowing it wouldn’t take much for Eddy to shove his cock inside, but for now, having his come on me will calm my mind enough.
Eddy’s body bows as he works his meaty hands over his cock, only a second later does his head snap back and he shoots his load all over my waiting hole. The cords of his neck are pulled tight as his body shakes through his orgasm.
The last thought in my mind before everything goes dark, is how wonderful my alpha is.
Chapter Eight
Eddy Elwood
As Darcy's eyes flutter closed, his body still shudders from lingering tremors. I gently readjust our positions so he’s lying next to me. His skin is flushed with a warm, rosy glow, and a fine sheen of sweat glistens on his skin. The combined effect is undeniably stunning.
While he's always stunning, there's something captivating about Darcy's serene tranquillity in this moment. His face, a picture of calm and relaxation, is a gentle reminder of his vulnerability. The soft hum of his snores is a soothing serenade, a symphony of slumber that fills me with a deep sense of peace.
When our time together was drawing to a close, I noticed a subtle shift in his demeanour. Our bond is still in its early stages, and I can't quite read his thoughts yet. But I could sense the change in his scent - the sugary-sweet aroma of arousal had given way to a faint uncertainty. It was as if he was wondering what I might do next.
When I leaned in, my mouth inches from his neck, It was like he was worried I'd sink my teeth into his skin? The thought of marking him sent a thrill through me, but I knew I had to respect his boundaries. As much as the idea excited me, I would never do it without his explicit consent.
The tension between us was barely noticeable, but I refused to pull us out of the moment. Instead, I pulled back, giving him space to process his emotions. It was a delicate dance, one that required finesse and trust.
When my body begins to cool, I feel the warmth of our passion slowly dissipate. I gaze down at him, his chest rising and falling with gentle snores. I deliberately slow my movements, not wanting to disturb him from his peaceful slumber. I slide off the bed, trying not to jostle him or disrupt the tender intimacy of the moment.
I make my way to the bathroom, the soft glow of the moon through the window casting a gentle ambiance over the room. I take a deep breath, letting the calm wash over me as I begin to clean up the aftermath of our encounter. The water is soothing as I wash away the remnants of our passion, and I feel my body start to relax further.
As I dry off, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and my eyes are drawn to the faint red scratches on my chest. They're a testament to the intensity of our love-making, and I can't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction at having given myself to him – albeit not fully, but close enough.
As a larger individual, I've learned to navigate my body's sensitivity with care. Despite my size, I've discovered that my pain threshold is surprisingly low, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I craved the gentle roughness Darcy brought to our encounter. His nails scraping against my nipples was a sensation that sparked pleasure, rather than pain. Perhaps it's because I've spent years exploring my own desires, learning what makes me tick, but I've never been one for masochism.
I find myself curious about what Darcy likes in the bedroom, though. His petite omega build belies his toned physique and surprising strength. Does he prefer tender, gentle loving, or does he crave the intensity of rougher play? As I ponder this question, I'm struck by the realisation that I'm not just curious about his preferences – I'm eager to explore and discover what makes him tick, too
One thing is clear: I'm willing to explore whatever he desires. My dedication to his happiness is unwavering, and I'll do whateverit takes to ensure he feels seen and loved. Whether he craves gentle whispers or rougher play, I'm committed to being his partner in every sense of the word.
When I hear shuffling coming from the bedroom, I instinctively rush to prepare a comforting presence. I turn the tap on and warm up a soft flannel to bring to my mate. When I return to Darcy, I'm met with a worried expression, his eyes darting anxiously as he sits up in the bed. The air is heavy with the scent of rain, and I can sense the storm brewing within him. He's clearly distressed.
When he catches sight of me, his face lights up with a warm smile, and he stretches out his arms, beckoning me closer. “I thought you'd left me,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of relief and longing, his expression is filled with a deep affection, making my heart skip a beat.
I hasten my pace to the bed, feeling a sense of urgency as I approach Darcy. I sink down beside him, the soft creak of the mattress a gentle accompaniment to the beating of my heart. “No, not at all,” I reply, trying to reassure him with a gentle tone. “I was just getting cleaned up.”
I hold up the warm flannel, its soft folds a comfort against the chill of the air. “May I?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, as I seek permission to offer him some measure of comfort.