He made it as far as the porch.
That was where Phoebe stopped sucking on the lobe of his ear just long enough to whisper, "Dear God, Roman, why do you feel so good?"—and Roman was lost. No force on earth could propel him another step.
Instead, he reached for the hem of her dress and, with her frantically urging him on, pulled the garment up and over her head. Underneath, she was wearing a buttercup yellow bra and matching tiny panties, the sight of which made him groan, his cock was so hard and aching.
"Yes," Phoebe cried as he cupped her ass in his hands and lifted her against him. She tried to wriggle out of her panties, but Roman simply yanked them off, ripping the lacy yellow fabric. He'd buy more—hell, he'd buy her a tanker truck full of lacy underwear if she wanted.
She barely seemed to notice, wrapping her legs around his waist and beginning to grind against him. Slick coursed freely like a damned waterfall, as she tightened her grip on him. Her breathing grew ragged, matching his, as she molded her hot, wet, softness to the outline of his aching cock.
"I don't understand," she cried, almost beseechingly. "Why do I need you so bad?"
But Roman had no answer for her—not in words, which seemed pointless in this haze of lust that held them both. But he could give her what she needed—what he needed—and that would be all the answer either of them required.
Because it was exactly what nature intended for them.
Roman knelt on the porch, laying Phoebe gently down on her back. He briefly wished he had a blanket for her, but that thought was forgotten when she arched her hips up, begging for his touch, his cock.
This omega didn't need a blanket. She needed to fuck.
Before, Roman would never have pegged Phoebe as the sexually ravenous creature in his arms. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his head down her body, releasing her grip only when he tore off her bra and ran his tongue over her nipples and their rock-hard little nubs. He swept his tongue in circles, each stroke releasing more of her honeysuckle slick until he couldn't resist its maddening, intoxicating scent any longer.
Phoebe didn't protest as he moved down her body. He kissed her stomach, the little hollows of her hipbones—but when he teased her inner thighs, she began to pound on his back with her fists as she made unintelligible pleas.
Waiting was as exquisitely painful for Roman as it was for her. Still, he forced himself to hold off until she was bucking wildly against him. Only then did he swipe his tongue along the length of her pussy until it rested for a fraction of a shattering second on her clit.
Phoebe screamed. She thrashed from side to side and pulled his hair and ground her hips against his jaw until finally, he relented, and his lips and tongue found her clit. She called his name again and again as he slid first one finger inside her and then another.
By the time she cried out in release, her whole body seizing powerfully as the first powerful wave of her orgasm wracked her body, Roman was in danger of drowning in the slick that soaked his face and pooled beneath them on the porch.
He pulled back after the longest orgasm he'd ever seen a woman have and found Phoebe gazing at him with eyes that were bleary with pleasure and passion. She was beyond speaking, beyond conscious thought, completely overwhelmed by the parade of emotions that held her in their grip, every one hot and fiery and desperate.
Roman expected Phoebe to need to rest before he took her again. He wasn't sure how he'd survive waiting, with his cock feeling like it was on the verge of combustion, but he would find a way. Gingerly, he adjusted himself so that he could cradle her in his arms.
But as his cock brushed against Phoebe's thigh, it was as though that small contact flipped her power switch all over again. She wriggled out of his arms and dove for the fly of his pants, tugging impatiently at his zipper, making little mewling sounds of frustration.
Roman gripped the waist of his pants and tore the fabric free, watching his omega's eyes widen at her first sight of his cock. Once freed, it swelled even more, and the soft, cool touch of her hand trying to wrap itself around his full girth drove him even higher.
Phoebe's lips parted, and the pink tip of her tongue darted out as she gazed at his cock in astonishment. Roman was so hard and rigid at this point that he feared he might go off if the wind switched directions, but Phoebe gave him a cat-like grin and knelt down to give the tip of his cock an experimental lick.
Roman groaned as she lapped up a pearly drop of pre-cum.
"So big," she sighed as she suckled on the very tip of the head—the only part she could manage to fit into that sweet, delicate mouth of hers. She gave a frustrated moan as she tried to swallow more.
Roman knew that she would have to learn to live with this limit. Phoebe could stroke him with her hands, lave him with her tongue, but she was right—he was far too big to ever fit in her mouth.
Luckily, he had a plan for that. He picked her up and turned her in his arms. Knowing she was too liquid with sensation to stand by herself at the moment, he bent her carefully over the smooth planed porch rail.
He'd barely gotten her arranged to his satisfaction when she started wriggling her ass invitingly at him. When Roman caught sight of her pink little pussy glistening, wet and ready, he knew it was time.
God, it had been so long since he'd felt that kind of heat surrounding him. He was practically mad with want.
He grabbed her hips without bothering to ease into position, but his roughness only made her purr and wiggle, urging him on. So she liked it rough—Roman was somehow as unsurprised as he was turned on by the notion. He gave her ass a slap—just a small one, to let her know he was in full control of the situation, and she shuddered with pleasure.
"Now," she panted. "Get inside me now. Fuck me, Roman."
Without another word, he positioned the tip of his cock against her hot, wet opening. Slick coursed over him, welcoming him. He pushed himself against her with increasing insistence until finally, he felt her ease to accommodate him.
They were both so ready…even if Phoebe didn't fully realize it.
"It'll never fit," she gasped, as she arched her back to leverage her backside more fully against him.
"Oh, yes, it will," he growled.
And then he proved it.
He went slowly at first, easing forward…not far, just enough to get the whole head of his cock inside her. Phoebe cried out at the sensation, making the sweetest sound Roman had ever heard as her body eased around him.
Fuck, she was tight, her muscles sheathing him perfectly that it was easy to believe that she'd been made for him and him alone. It was almost impossible to resist the urge to plunge all the way inside her, to feel her body take every last inch.
But Roman wasn't about to settle for a quick fuck. Before today, he thought he was done with women forever, but he'd been wrong—so wrong—and now he wanted this moment to be perfect. He wanted to savor every second of it.
In the end, it was Phoebe who couldn't wait. As Roman eased millimeter by fevered millimeter, she grew increasingly impatient, and her moans became insistent demands. Roman seized her hips in his hands and gripped tightly as he gradually pulled back out again. Every breath he took was heavy with the scent of Phoebe's need.
"Faster," she begged. "Harder!"
And then she simply keened, giving up words altogether. She urged him on with bucking hips, the walls of her pussy clenching unbearably tight around his shaft and pulsing with pleasure.
Her first orgasm had only stoked the fires within Roman, but this one shook him to his core. His alpha nature met hers until there was nothing left inside him but instinct and need.
Another man in Roman's position would have tried to hold back so as not to hurt her. He might have tried to be tender, to engage Phoebe's intellect as well as her senses.
Roman did not do these things. He plunged and rammed and seized and reveled in his omega's cries and her slick and her thundering heartbeat. Phoebe's body absorbed every thrust, and when her cunt tightened around him a third
time, muscles spasming harder than ever before, he lost control.
A roar ripped from his throat and echoed through the trees as sublime pressure built in the base of his cock. He felt himself swell, felt her pussy strain to accept his growing bulge. Then in one glorious moment of ecstasy, he felt their bodies lock together right before he filled her with his come. Wave after hot, crashing wave filled her all the way.
When Phoebe shuddered one final time and went limp, still laid out over the rail, Roman wrapped his arms around her to support her until he'd spent his last drop inside her.
Then—still sealed together by his knot—he cradled her close and carried her inside.
Chapter Ten
Lolling.
The word drifted up from somewhere deep in Phoebe's memory, a spelling word from fifth grade that she had found so pretty that she memorized the definition—to sit, lie, or stand in a lazy, relaxed way.
She didn't care what anyone else thought—it was nice to know exactly the right word to describe what she was feeling. Lolling was exactly what she'd been doing since she woke up from a post-sex nap. Not resting or dozing or relaxing, none of which captured the blissful feeling in her body despite the soreness in places that weren't accustomed to so much vigorous friction, or the pleasurable laziness of knowing there were probably chores she could be doing and simply not caring, wanting to drift along on the soft, sensual post-coital glow just a little longer.
Of course, not everyone appreciated a big vocabulary. When Phoebe had tried out her new word at home, accusing Holden of lolling on the couch, he threw a pillow at her, and her father accused her of spending too much time with her nose in her books.
Only her mother had smiled and told her that she was proud of her. Phoebe's mother had saved every one of her spelling tests. Later, they'd been lost in one move or another, but it didn't matter. Like the locket Phoebe never took off, she cherished every memory that brought her mother back, even for a moment.
Her mother had taken every opportunity to urge Phoebe to follow her dreams. Even when she was on her deathbed, she'd begged Phoebe not to throw her life away taking care of other people. The wish had made Phoebe so sad that she hadn't been able to resist asking her mother point-blank if she regretted marrying Ed Whitefield and having his kids.
To her surprise, her mother had laughed, wincing with the pain, and said she wouldn't change a thing. Phoebe would never understand it, but her parents had loved each other, and her mother didn't seem to mind their hardscrabble life and her husband's frequent fuckups. How strange that Phoebe had resigned herself to never experiencing that kind of peaceful contentment—only to discover it for the first time in the arms of an alpha.
Of course, it might have something to do with those earth-shattering orgasms. They'd been like nothing Phoebe had ever felt before, so powerful that she momentarily lost all control as every pleasure point in her body lit up at once.
The first one had astonished her. The second had blown her mind. After that, they'd raged through Phoebe with the strength of a wildfire, reducing her to ash before reforming her completely.
Yes, that was what she felt like—a phoenix, new and liberated, and rising up.
Of course, right under all that legendary pleasure was the knowledge that Phoebe was anything but free. Roman's touch may have transformed her, but she wasn't naïve enough to imagine that it changed what she was doing here in his house. She was still his hostage. His prisoner.
And now she was his omega, too. Which meant that she was now shackled to him by invisible bonds far more powerful than any physical chains.
The truth was she would never be free again.
Phoebe knew the realization should cause her to despair. After all, being an omega meant a lifetime of servitude—night and day. No chance of escape. No hope for freedom. But as the afterglow fog slowly lifted and delivered Phoebe back to reality, panic stubbornly refused to set in.
She wasn't sure why.
She was pretty sure that even a day ago, the prospect of being stuck in these woods with no creature comforts, without her friends or family, and without even her dreams to look forward to would have sent her into a deep depression.
But that wasn't happening.
Sure, a part of Phoebe was mourning the life that she'd planned for herself—the move to the city, the exciting nights out in trendy restaurants and nightclubs, the excitement of meeting people her own age who shared her ambitions and goals.
That dream was gone now. But strangely, so was her desire for it.
Those were beta ambitions…and she wasn't a beta anymore. Her nature had changed in the blink of an eye, and everything about her life had changed with it.
Did that mean she didn't fit into her family anymore, either?
For the first time, a sharp stab of sadness shot through her. The thought of having nothing to do with her dad and brother for the rest of her life was enough to bring Phoebe crashing down from her cloud.
Sure, she had always been different from Holden and her father, so different that some people might think suspect that she was a changeling. But con artist or model citizen, beta or omega, Phoebe was still a Whitfield.
A shadow blocked out the light from the window, and Phoebe was shaken from her thoughts. She looked up to find Roman looming over the bed.
"You should rest," he told her, his deep voice stirring her insides.
Phoebe lifted her head just far enough off the pillow to take in the sight of him. Still completely naked…still perfect in every possible way. She didn't bother to mask her smile as she let her head fall back down. "I am resting. Isn't it obvious?"
Roman sat on the edge of the mattress and placed a glass of water on the bedside table. In his other hand, he held a steaming, aromatic cup of coffee from which he took a sip, closing his eyes to savor it.
Well, that hardly seemed fair.
"Is there any more of that coffee?" she asked hopefully.
"No," he said. "Not for you. It'll only keep you up, and you should get some more sleep."
Phoebe's brows knit together. Why in the world would she want to do that?
"But I'm not tired," she protested. "And I've had plenty of sleep. I was actually hoping you might come join me under these covers."
There, she'd said it—though she could feel a blush stealing over her face. Never in her paltry sexual experiences had she been an aggressor, and it felt a little strange, like a sweater put on backward.
But the moment Roman had entered the room, her body had responded, her blood heating at the thought of round two. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Had the girl who always kept to herself, who people sometimes mistook for stuck-up, actually become a—a temptress?
The rumble emanating from deep within Roman's chest, making the bed quiver, suggested that maybe she had. Phoebe's fear that she'd annoyed him with her clumsy attempt to be sultry vanished when she saw how his cock was quickly hardening.
He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.
But he still shook his head.
"That's not a good idea. You'll be going into your heat soon, and it'll be easier on you if you're well-rested."
Wait—what?
"I 'will be' going into my heat?" she echoed, struggling to sit upright in the nest of bedcovers. She had to have misunderstood. "You mean I'm not already in it?"
Roman stifled a grin. "You thought that was your heat? A couple of rounds against a porch railing?"`
"Well, yeah. That was a lot of orgasms." Phoebe swallowed, not used to talking about this sort of thing. Not that she'd ever experienced anything like what had just happened. She'd lost control the moment they kissed—no, even before that, when she'd felt compelled to touch him, desperate to feel him. "Well then…what was it?"
"That," he said, no longer bothering to hide his amusement, "was just sex."
For the first time, Phoebe felt like snapping at Roman, smacking that smile right off his face. He'd been so adamant about her telling the t
ruth at all times—yet here he was lying to her.
Because there was no way in hell that what she'd just experienced was 'just sex.'
Phoebe had experienced sex before. At least a dozen times, with three different men. Four, if she counted the one who had blown his load before they'd even started.
None of those experiences had been anything like what she and Roman had just done. She'd enjoyed it…sometimes. At best, sex was a lot like the little creek that ran through the middle of town—refreshing but pretty tame.
What happened on the porch, on the other hand? That had been a damn tidal wave, a flood of emotion and need that made her forget about everything but taking each other higher and higher until she crashed into an explosion of sensation that obliterated every other memory of pleasure that had come before.
"You're lying," she whispered hoarsely.
She knew the accusation would anger Roman. She didn't care. She felt like the ground was rushing out from under her, and she was desperate to find something to hold onto. Because if what he was telling her was true, that meant…
"You know I'm not lying," Roman rumbled—and then he reached out a hand and traced his fingertip slowly down her body, starting with her lips, her chin, her neck, circling her nipples lazily, dipping down to her stomach. By the time he lightly caressed the outer lips of her pussy, it was soaking.
Phoebe felt the blood drain from her face as she realized that he was telling the truth. Her hips were already moving of their own accord, trying to make contact with his fingers—but he pulled them away with a look of wicked satisfaction.
"Oh, God," she gasped. The need in her wasn't like before—it was even stronger, more urgent. She felt like her blood was starting to simmer in her veins. "What the hell is my heat going to be like then?"
Roman chuckled, even as his cock grew harder right before her eyes.
"I'm serious," Phoebe said, starting to panic. Another session like the last one would probably take a week to recover from. She couldn't even imagine it getting more intense—it would probably put her in a coma. "I'm not like you. I've only been an omega for a few hours. I can't—I can't do that. How am I even going to survive?"
Roman: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Page 8