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Both of them had their secrets.
Evgenia’s was quite benign, and more open than she wished. It is this: she really, really, really doesn’t like Alina Zagitova.
It’s not quite hate. Just a strong dislike. Unfortuantely for Zhenya, they’re two of the most prominent writers for the campus newspaper, and so they had to spend way too much time together. This was Zhenya’s senior year, and she wanted to spend it enjoying her tenure as editor-in-chief of one of the better college papers in the country, relaxing and having fun writing and editing her little articles before she found a real adult job at The Times or The Post or somewhere like that. Instead, she was stuck with Zagitova, an upstart sophomore, as her deputy editor, and the younger girl is a constant thorn in her side.
Zagitova takes her job…extremely seriously. She’s a pain to work with because she doesn’t understand why no one else takes it as seriously as she does. And she has an awful sense of humor, and blows up Zhenya’s phone twenty-four hours of the day, and is completely unaware of the fact that some people had lives outside of school and the paper.
However, Zhenya does have to admit that Alina is a damn good journalist. Determined, resilient, unable to let things go, insanely curious, and extremely intense, even if those are the same traits that make her so grating to Zhenya.
But it’s fine. Tonight, Zhenya had turned her phone off, put any thoughts of the newspaper, or her classes, or her senior thesis, or her deputy editor, and found a party to hit with her friends. She had a beer placed in her hand the second she entered the house it was being held in, and she knew that there would be good weed, and whoever was in charge of the aux had great taste.
…
Alina’s secret was different.
The only people who know are her, and her parents.
It’s this: when she was fourteen, she became the first person in generations of her family to present as anything but an alpha, and, to make it worse, she presented as an omega.
This would not stand. Her family were important people, and having their oldest daughter turn out as an omega was a humiliation that they could not suffer. So, the day after her presentation, she started a rigorous routine of scent-blockers and heat-suppressants, and she lived her life as a beta. It still wasn’t what her parents wanted, but it was better than the alternative.
She was lucky that she was born with a talent for being a bitch, in defiance of every stereotype about omegas out there. On first meeting, most people thought that she was an alpha, because she has a tendency to clash with authority figures (like her bitch of an alpha editor-in-chief) and to threaten to die before she’d compromise on something. She didn’t have the alpha ferocity, but she was stubborn to a fault, even if she knew that it didn’t make her very popular.
That was fine by her. She had exactly one close friend, her sweet darling Anna, who clicked with her immediately and wasn’t bothered by Alina’s tendencies towards making awful jokes or floundering in conversations.
Tonight, Anna had declared that they were going to a party. Alina tried her very best to decline the invitation, but Anna forced her, shoving Alina into a chair and doing her makeup—mascara, glittery eyeshadow, and highlighter on the tops of her tall cheekbones—and then dragging her across campus to some shady house party.
From the outside, Alina could already hear the obnoxiously loud bass, and she felt the urge to cover her ears before she got a migraine.
“Ugh, god, Anka, could you have not found a slightly less seedy place??”
“Alinkaaa,” Anna pouted, “I’ve barely seen you this year because you’re always doing shit for your damn classes or that damn newspaper. You never do anything fun. And this’ll be fun!! Sasha’s going to be there, too.”
She added the last part as if it were an afterthought, but Alina caught how she blushed. Hm.
After some more lighthearted bickering about how Alina’s journalism major and work for the college paper were actually the most fun things in the world, and Alina threatening to walk back to their shared dorm to get her noise-cancelling headphones, Anna finally coaxed Alina to enter, hand looped around her list. She took Alina on a bee line for the kitchen, which had been turned into an open bar, and grabbed them both beers.
“Dude, we’re getting drunk tonight,” Anna informed her.
“Why? You need some liquid courage before you talk to Sasha?”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Anna narrowed her eyes and finished the beer she had been holding for all of thirty seconds. She grabbed another one, in a glass bottle rather than a can this time, and snatched the bottle opener from Alina’s hands with a huff.
Her first attempt trying to pry the cap off of this bottle was unsuccessful. …As was the second one. And the third.
“It’s like, stuck or something.”
“Give it here, Aneshka. You’re doing it wrong.”
Anna rolled her eyes, put passed both the bottle and bottle opener over. Alina fit the cap in the opening of the tool, and pressed down.
Nothing happened.
“Weird,” she said. “It worked fine on my bottle?”
She tried again, this time more attempting to pry the cap up. Again, it didn’t work. Anna gave it another shot, still to no luck, and it was starting to get embarrassing for both of them.
Right in the nick of time came a familiar amused drawl. “Y’all need some help?”
“Sashaaa!!” Anna exclaimed, turning to throw her arms around the girl.
Sasha hugged her back with one arm, the other holding a blunt at a safe distance from Anna. She caught Alina’s eye and raised her chin in greeting, stretching her arm a bit further to offer her the blunt. Alina took it with an eyeroll at the egregious display in front of her—Anna twirling a strand of Sasha’s insanely long dyed red hair, rambling about how Sasha’s smeary eye makeup made her look like an “evil mermaid”—and cherished a long, deep inhale.
She had just started to exhale when she noticed who was standing next to Sasha. Evgenia. Of course. She had forgotten that she and Sasha were friends, and the shock of seeing the person she had quite literally come here to stop being mad at made her start coughing like she’d never smoked before. In between hacking up a lung, she tried to fix Evgenia with her steeliest glare, but the alpha just ignored her, turning to greet Anna.
Evgenia’s hair was dark, shoulder-length, melting into the black of her jacket. What kind of asshole wears a leather jacket, inside, at a house party? Alina thought, though she felt herself all of a sudden become self-conscious about how ratty she looked in her favorite over-sized hoodie that was immensely incongruous with the party makeup Anna had applied on her. Whatever.
“Aneshka, let me get that bottle open for you,” Evgenia was saying, and Anna smiled at her around the joint that had passed to her lips.
How dare she call my Anna such a familiar term?? What right has she?
In a single, smooth motion, Evgenia popped the cap off the bottle, passing it to Anna. Anna took it with one hand while Sasha snatched the joint from her, her hit leaving a smear of Anna’s lipstick that had transferred to the rolling paper to her own lips. Praise for Zhenya poured from Anna’s mouth, and at some point, Evgenia’s eyes had met Alina’s, staring back at her, smug and taunting.
The first time Alina met Evgenia, she had been so impressed by the alpha, and a huge part of it was because of those eyes: widely set and cat-like, sparkling with friendly curiosity, until they turned cold as the two began to butt heads about every single decision. They clashed at editorial board meetings, they clashed in their classes, they fought over text and email and the phone (when Evgenia wasn’t pointedly ignoring her). Alina had decided this was for the better. Mainly because Evgenia was awful, and absolutely incapable of treating the paper seriously. She would’ve run it into the ground without Alina there to micromanage her.
And if, maybe, hypothetically, the first time she met Evgenia, Alina’s long-dormant inner omega had raised its head a little, as if to say oh, this is a very captivating alpha, that was completely besides the point.
…
There was not enough beer in the world to be able to deal with sitting on a couch with Evgenia and the world’s clingiest definitely-not-a-couple.
The three others were having some nice conversation about Evgenia’s thesis, and Alina was sitting silently, trying to explode Evgenia with her mind. She was feeling strange. It was like all of her emotions had been dialed up to one hundred, and they were vibrating within her like a pot about to boil over. Usually, getting crossfaded chilled her out—the weed slowed her constantly racing thoughts, and the alcohol made her more socially competent—but tonight it was like it was having the opposite effect. Even Anna and Sasha were getting on her nerves with their incessant flirting, while she normally had patience for the betas because of Anna’s privileged position as her best friend.
Most of all, she was pissed with Evgenia. Her attention kept looping back around and around to the alpha, with her stupid perfect hair and that gaudy leather jacket (poser alert!) and her stupid eyes. And her scent, which Alina had, of course, noticed before, but tonight it was impossible to escape.
She smells like pine trees and burnt sugar. It’s a weird combination and it shouldn’t work but, god, it does, and Alina has never felt more like an omega, like she’s ready to fall to her knees and bare her neck to catch a drop of Zhenya’s attention.
Wait, what? she thinks, Where did that thought come from?
Alina feels, all of a sudden, feverish. A red flush has erupted on her forehead, nose, and cheeks, and travels down her neck to spread across her chest beneath her hoodie.
Her senses are flooded with the smell of pine and she opens her eyes—when had she closed them?—to see Zhenya kneeling before her. Sasha and Anna have stopped talking and are staring at her too.
“She looks like she’s about to puke,” Zhenya says. “I’m going to get her to a bathroom.”
“I’ll come with,” Anna says, detangling from Sasha and starting to stand up with urgency.
“No,” Zhenya snaps, and its a command, forcing Anna back onto the couch. “I’ve got this.”
Zhenya hooks an arm around Alina’s shoulder and for the second time tonight, Alina is being dragged through this labyrinthine house, which is too loud and too smoky, both cigarettes and marijuana, and its stinging Alina’s eyes and her ears hurt. She whimpers and buries her face in Zhenya’s shoulder. At some point, probably back on the couch, Zhenya had shed her jacket and now she’s just wearing a flannel that’s so, so soft, and it smells like her like freshly snapped pine needles and caramel and a hint of forest floor.
Alina smells something else, too. A sweet, milky, floral smell, like melted vanilla ice cream and lavender, completely foreign and—oh. It’s her own scent. This is what she smells like, beneath the six years of suppressants and anti-scent patches hidden just beneath the collar of her shirt. It pours out from her, and it starts to mingle with Zhenya’s in a way that makes her heart race even faster.
“Zhenya,” she moans, voice thankfully muffled against the fabric, but Zhenya still hears her.
“You’ve never called me that before,” she replies. Her voice is, on the surface, calm, but Alina’s spent enough time around her to hear the strain beneath it. “You’ve only ever called me Evgenia. It took you three months to get to that from ‘Evgenia Armanova.’”
The words enter Alina’s head, but she barely processes them. She’s too focused on how strong Zhenya is, and how the alpha is basically hauling her through the house, supporting her full weight as Alina stumbles drunkenly.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She’s never felt this kind of consuming need before, and a string of whines pours from her hot mouth into the flannel that’s, mortifyingly, wet, and she can’t tell if its from her tears (already embarrassing) or drool (much, much worse). Zhenya’s scent gland is too close to her nose for comfort—and also way too far, and her hindbrain is telling her to move her head up and nuzzle into the spot when it rests beneath Zhenya’s neck, but she’s still alert enough to fight that urge—and it’s releasing waves of the sharp, heavy, earthy smell of the forest. The scent is slightly different from her usual one, and Alina can’t tell if it’s deepened from anger or arousal. She hopes it’s the latter.
They’re moving down a hallway on the third floor that seems endless, lined with doors on each side, and Zhenya is testing each one. Alina has completely melted into her side, the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the floor being the arm wrapped around her chest.
“When were you planning on telling me that you’re an omega?” Zhenya asks, like they’re talking about the weather.
A choked “never” is all Alina can muster in reply.
“Anna doesn’t know?”
“No. No one. My parents.”
Zhenya is nodding her head in understanding, saying she figured, and all Alina can think is so patient. So gentle. Such a good, responsible alpha. She can take care of you. You need her to take care of you. She tries to shake the thoughts from her head, but it’s like trying bail out a sinking ship with a red solo cup.
Finally, they find a door that’s unlocked, and Zhenya pulls Alina inside what must be someone’s bedroom, pushing away from her towards the bed, as if burned. Alina collapses back into it, and in a split second Zhenya has put fifteen feet of distance between them, plastering herself against the door, on the complete opposite side of the room from her.
Waves of sugar-coated pine crash over her. She can see, even from so far away, how Zhenya’s pants have tented and how Zhenya is trying to ignore it, trying to be respectful and not give into what her own alpha brain is surely telling her to, but the darkness in her eyes betrays her.
“Do you—” —her voice cracks— “need anything, Alina Ilnazovna? Water maybe?”
I need you to come her and fuck me, is what she wants to say, but if Evgenia is going to try to be normal about this, she’ll try too.
“I want…I want you to tell me what you were telling Anna and Sasha earlier. About your thesis. I didn’t pay attention. I think distraction will help until this passes.”
She says ‘until this passes’ because some part of her thinks it’s a fluke, like a bout of vertigo, and that in five minutes she’ll be fine. She can’t accept that she is, actually and for real, going into heat, and at now of all times, for the first time in her life, at this horrible house party where the music’s bass is still jackhammering into her skull, with Evgenia Medvedeva standing before her radiating pure alpha.
Zhenya’s face pinched in something that could have been irritation, but she indulged Alina and began explaining that she had finished her journalism capstone last year, and now, for her second major of comparative literature, she was writing a thesis on how different English translations of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina impact reader perceptions of if the titular character’s affair with Count Vronsky is love or not. Alina’s goal in asking Zhenya to talk about her thesis was to be bored out the current state she was in, or to return to her usual hatred of how pretentious Zhenya is and how she thinks she’s better than anyone else; but as she watches the excitement in Zhenya’s expression as she talks about verb tense and loaded adjectives, intertextuality and leitmotifs, she just gets warmer and warmer until it feels like the alpha’s smooth voice was gasoline pouring straight into her soul.
“I’ve only read Anna Karenina once, and it was so long ago,” is all she can manage for an intelligent reply.
“In Russian or English?” Zhenya asks, and she’s actually curious.
“English. The translation was…um…the controversial one.”
“Peavar and Volokhonsky?”
“That sounds familiar…all I can remember is this one phrase.”
“Which was it?”
“Come closer,” Alina says, and Evgenia takes cautious steps forward, as if approaching a feral animal.
When Zhenya is close enough that Alina can detect the reciprocal need in her scent, she lifts up a hand—weak, and trembling—and holds it a centimeter away from Zhenya’s cheek.
“‘There were no other eyes like those in the world,’” she quotes.
Zhenya’s throat bobs once as she swallows. Alina lets her hand drift closer so that it brushes against the bone of her cheek, and the reunion of contact feels so right.
“Is that your idea of a pickup line?”
It’s an attempted joke, but said so thickly that it makes Alina whimper.
“Please,” she says, and in a flash, Zhenya is on the bed with her, legs straddling Alina’s lap and arms coming to rest on either side of her head, boxing her in against the pillow.
“You need this?”
“Stupid question,” Alina replies. Zhenya’s eyes narrow, and it makes Alina remember how irritable the alpha is.
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me ever again.”
“Sorry, alpha.”
Something like an actual growl tears out from Zhenya’s throat. Alina needs her—not just any alpha, or any dick to help her through her heat, but Zhenya—so badly that it’s making her cry again.
Zhenya kisses her. Finally. They skip any preamble and she forces Alina’s lips open, licking into her mouth like she’s starving, and Alina’s hands fly up to hold Zhenya’s broad back, pulling the alpha closer to her.
There have been a handful of people who Alina has kissed in her life—an awkward boy in high school who made her realize she was gay, and some nice girls in freshman year—and they were all sweet, kind, normal betas. Zhenya kisses nothing like them. She’s greedy and everywhere, bearing down with her full weight on Alina’s prone body, nipping at her lips, almost hard enough to bruise. Alina loves the heat of it, the taste of Zhenya’s saliva in her mouth, how every movement of their lips is etched with barely constrained destructive lust.
Alina bunches her hands in the flannel on Zhenya’s back, pulling up so that the shirt comes untucked and she can slip her touch under the fabric and feel her skin. Zhenya is hot to the touch, feverish, mirroring Alina’s heat-drunk state, and the strong cords of muscle that Alina rakes her nails down reminds her of how often she knows Zhenya hits the gym. It’s unfathomable that just yesterday Alina found that so irritating, how Zhenya was always talking about going to or coming from a work out, how she was effortlessly smart and a jock and a damn good journalist, because now Alina finds that those same traits are filling her with so much desire that if she doesn’t have Zhenya inside her as soon as humanly possible she might die.
The heat in her core is so overwhelming that it’s all she can feel. Zhenya has moved down to kiss her neck, sucking posessive hickeys into the skin. She grazes her teeth over Alina’s scent gland, and it sends a bolt of electricity straight down through her. Desparate, Alina tries to up the ante, shifting her hips up so that she can grind against Zhenya’s dick, which is hard beneath the denim.
Zhenya bites down, hard. Alina rolls her hips again, and she feels embarrassingly close already, moaning at the contact and how Zhenya is on the verge of breaking her skin.
“You’re such a fucking slut,” Zhenya says against her neck, nose pressed against Alina’s scent gland. She presses a soothing kiss over the bite.
“Can you please fuck me already?” Alina whines.
“Beg me for it.”
“Please, alpha, I need you.” She’s grinding up frantically, each movement twisting the coil inside of her tighter and tighter until it feels about to snap. “I need you so bad. It—it hurts so bad. Pleasepleaseplease—”
She’s cut off by Zhenya crushing her with another searing kiss, and the alpha’s big hands move to pin Alina’s hips to the mattress. Zhenya is shifting and lifting herself off the bed, and Alina feels crushed by the loss of contact against her core. She can’t even find some level of friction against the seam of her own leggings, because she’s being held perfectly still.
“Stay,” Zhenya commands, and Alina obeys out of instinct, no matter how badly she want to keep seeking her climax.
Her reward comes in the sound of Zhenya unbuckling her belt and unzipping her jeans, pulling them off so that she’s just in her boxers and shirt.
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” Zhenya coos, and she starts to work on the buttons of her shirt. “Strip for me.”
For the first time in her life, Alina feels like a good omega. Like this is what she was born for: submitting to her alpha, executing Zhenya’s orders, baring her neck to be bitten and presenting herself to be claimed. She takes off her hoodie, then Zhenya helps her out of her leggings.
When Zhenya reaches around her back to undo her bra, Alina feels a sudden spike of insecurity. What if she sees you and decides you aren’t enough? What if she goes back to hating you and she leaves you here all alone? She makes a distressed noise and tries to pull away from Zhenya, covering her chest with her arms.
The ferocious hunger melts off of Zhenya’s face, replaced by a kind of fondness that Alina’s never been looked at with before.
“My sweet girl, you’re so gorgeous, can I see you?”
She gives a tiny nod and removes her arms. Zhenya responds with a toothy smile and slides her bra off, tossing it off to the side somewhere. Immediately, she slides a hand up to palm at Alina’s tits. It’s the first time that Alina has been touched like this—her secret had been an insurmountable barrier to intimacy, and she’d made peace with being a 20-year-old virgin, probably even a virgin forever—but now she can’t imagine a life before, or without, Zhenya’s touch.
When Zhenya pinches a nipple between her thumb and forefinger, Alina’s vision turns white and she thinks she might come just from this. Her heat has made every nerve on her body a million times more sensitive than usual, and a string of moans tumbles out of her mouth. On any other day she’d happily let Zhenya do this for hours, but right now her need is so strong that she’s pressing her core back up against Zhenya’s boxers.
“Please, please, alpha, I need you right now. I need you to fuck me, alpha, ohmygod, please.”
“I’m here, baby, I’ll make you feel better.”
Zhenya strips out of her boxers, tossing them onto the growing pile of their clothes on the floor by the bed, and the first sight of her dick drags another moan out of Alina. She’s so big, bigger than anything Alina has seen in the porn she’s tried to touch herself to, and the idea of it fitting inside her, filling her up, is maddening. She’s begging incoherently, a jumble of ‘please’ and ‘alpha’ and little needy sounds, and Zhenya hooks her fingers into her panties, dragging them down with agonizing, intentional slowness.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” she says.
Once she finally pulls Alina’s panties completely off, she holds them up with a wordless so that Alina can see how big the damp spot on them is. The bolt of shame, coupled with the mix of condescension and desire in Zhenya’s eyes, only makes her more wet. The insides of her thighs are shiny with slick. She presses them together under the alpha’s searing gaze, and it feels good but it’s not enough. She needs Zhenya and her gorgeous dick inside.
With a tap against her thigh, Zhenya growls an order: “open.” Like an unlocked box, she falls apart, thighs spreading apart. Zhenya settles between them, and suddenly she feels it. The tip of Zhenya’s cock, tracing through her folds, pressing against her entrance but not penetrating—yet.
It’s driving her insane with pleasure that is both so much and not enough. She’s overwhelmed, tears streaming down her face already, but she also needs more.
“Inside, please, I need it,” she begs.
“Such a greedy little slut, you’re lucky you’re so pretty” Zhenya says, threading the fingers of one hand through Alina’s hair to give it a sharp tug. The pain makes her whine, and she arches her back so that her chest is pressing against Zhenya’s.
She feels the press against her entrance again, and this time Zhenya keeps on pressing. The first thing Alina feels is a sharp, overwhelming pain, and she digs her nails into Zhenya’s back, gritting her teeth to keep from screaming. Zhenya is just so big, and even the tip is stretching her to the point of feeling like she’s about to split in half.
“Good girl, such a good girl, so fucking good for me,” Zhenya is muttering, offering a constant stream of praise as Alina adjusts to the stretch.
Zhenya is brushing a gentle hand through her hair, peppering Alina’s face with kisses all over, and the affection makes Alina relax, and Zhenya starts to move again. She sinks a little deeper, and suddenly, it’s pure pleasure, better than anything Alina has ever felt before in her life.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” she cries on repeat, and Zhenya is shushing her, pressing a kiss to her lips to calm her.
“I’ve got you,” she says against Alina’s lips, and with a sharp jerk of her hips she’s buried to the hilt.
Alina actually, full on, screams. She’s lost all inhibitions, and when Zhenya pulls back and slams back in, she feels like she’s losing herself too. Anything that she thought she was before crumbles away, evaporated in the face of the sheer perfection of this moment, this feeling, Zhenya fucking into her in huge, powerful thrusts. She stops being anything besides an omega, Zhenya’s omega, being cared for and cherished.
Her orgasm hits her like a train, blindsiding her and filling her vision with sparks.
“Jesus, I’ve never seen someone come that quickly,” Zhenya says. “You’re the most desparate bitch I’ve ever seen, so fucking needy, so fucking good for me.”
Alina can’t process the words, because Zhenya is fucking her with doubled vigor and speed, deadset on making her come again, and chasing her own orgasm. All she can focus on is the inferno in her belly, and the beads of sweat on Zhenya’s brow, which is pinched in an expression of pure dedication to giving Alina as much pleasure as possible. It’s so, so hot, and Alina suddenly regains the ability to speak, a flood of words pouring out of her.
“Oh my god, my god, my Zhenya, you feel so fucking good, you’re so big, you’re so perfect, you’re my alpha, my alpha, my alpha,” she babbles, words leaving her mouth the second they pop into her brain as she’s been fucked too stupid to have a filter.
“Your alpha,” Zhenya repeats. “Yours. And you’re my omega. Mine.”
She’s growling and snapping her hips frantically, and Alina can feel that they’re both nearing their peak.
“Yours, put a baby in me, breed me, I need you, please, pleasepleaseplease please—”
That puts a look into Zhenya’s eyes, and all of a sudden she’s even wilder, like something has broken inside her too. She grabs Alina’s hips with both hands, holding her hard enough to leave ten finger-shaped bruises, and fucking her like she’s trying to kill her.
It’s so rough, too much, and Alina suddenly sees herself from the outside, being manhandled and used like a fucktoy by this feral alpha, and begging for it like a broken slut, and it’s so fucking shameful that it makes her explode in a second, even more powerful orgasm. Her mouth hangs open, a string of drool dragging down her chin. Zhenya licks it up, and then buries herself deep inside of Alina.
The orgasm is still coursing through her, making her walls squeeze around Zhenya’s cock, but she has enough self-posession to look down and see the bulge in her belly where Zhenya is.
Zhenya’s eyes flutter shut—her eyelashes are so pretty, long and dark, Alina thinks to herself—and then she’s coming too. There’s so much come that it’s obscene. She shoots rope after rope right into Alina, and she briefly wonders if maybe they should’ve used a condom, but the idea of Zhenya breeding her, claiming her in that specific way, feels right like nothing has before.
They both ride the waves of their respective orgasms for a long moment, and then its over. Zhenya slumps against Alina, soft and exhausted, pulling her into an embrace. Her dick is still inside Alina, but she seems to not even be conscious of that as she pets Alina’s hair, twirling a strand around her fingers.
“That was perfect,” she whispers, looking longingly into Alina’s eyes.
“Sap.”
“The first time we met I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”
“Same.”
“That was so, so perfect,” she repeats, kissing Alina with such tenderness that it almost makes her start crying again.
The scents of pine trees and cream, caramel and lavender intertwine in the air around them. Zhenya moves her hand down to cup Alina’s face, kissing her soft, and then deep.
Alina remembers, all of a sudden, the heats generally last for at least twenty-four hours. The fire in her belly is dimmed, but still present, and Zhenya is making it worse.
A tiny whine slips through her lips again, and she unintentionally starts to grind her hips.
Zhenya stills, and then breaks the kiss, pulling back. Alina can feel her starting to get hard again, still inside her. Her eyes flicker with a silent question: again?
Alina nods.
Smirking, Zhenya’s hold on Alina’s face turns into two fingers tracing along her lips. Alina knows what this means. She parts her lips, and Zhenya’s fingers press in, slipping past her teeth.
Her fingers are big, and feel bigger in Alina’s mouth. They press down on her tongue. Alina closes her lips, swirling her tongue around the intrusion, sucking them deeper.
“Open,” Zhenya says.
Alina complies, and when Zhenya pulls her fingers out, she starts to close her mouth again.
“Open,” Zhenya repeats, and so Alina, desperate to be good, opens up again.
Zhenya leans in, hovering over her face. Her own lips part a little, and a drop of spit forms between them. It dangles in the air for a second, and then falls squarely on Alina’s tongue.
Two fingers nudge her jaw closed.
“Swallow.”
Alina makes a show of holding Zhenya’s eye contact and swallowing. She loves how she can see every effect of her actions on the alpha’s face: how her big doe eyes are met with blown pupils, narrowed in arousal; how the act of her swallowing Zhenya’s spit makes the cock still inside of her turn rock hard again.
“Let’s take this to my place,” Zhenya says, and Alina has never wanted something more in her life.
…