Chapter 25: Fingering Heat!
Faye POV
Fuck, I’m going to regret this by morning, but I couldn’t control myself. From the moment she carried me, her scent was like a tempting magnet, and I just had to get close to her. If I could enter inside her body, I swear would.
We kept kissing as the shower kept running. There were no words to explain this. She tasted like caramel. I’m melting. I can’t stop it. My fingers clutched at her shoulders. My chest rose and fell against hers. Water ran down my back, but I barely felt it. All I felt was her mouth.
Princess pulled away from my lips as we both tried to control our breathing. Her forehead almost touched mine. Our breaths mixed. Hot. Uneven.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"
Her voice was rough. Not loud. Not soft. Just strained.
"Fuck it. I know we agreed it will never happen. I don’t even want it to happen, but right now I can’t stop until I get to taste you," I muttered as I held her face, staring at her lips, wishing they would touch mine again. Again, fuck, why can’t I control myself? "Just this time. After that, we will pretend it never happened. Let’s..."
My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. My breathing shook. I hated how desperate I sounded.
Before I could finish, she kissed me deeply. Hard. No hesitation. Her tongue tasted like burnt cinnamon. I wanted to suck it, but instead she beat me to it. She sucked my tongue, slow at first, then firm. My knees weakened. She pulled away again.
Fuck, why is she doing this? Is she teasing me or what? I am already embarrassed that I am at her mercy, begging for her to...
"Just know I won’t stop until I am done."
Her eyes locked on mine when she said it. Dark. Certain.
"Just fucking begin already and don’t fucking stop. You are pissing me off..."
The words came out breathless. My hands slid down her waist without permission.
Fuck. Did she just rip off all my clothes? Fucking hell. Fabric tore. I felt it fall. Cold air hit my skin before her body pressed against mine again.
I let out a small moan the moment she sucked my neck. My body hit the acrylic wall panel for support. My palm flattened against it. The surface was slick. I felt her whole hand cover my boobs. Fuck, she squeezed tight and hard. No mercy. My head tilted back on its own.
A sharp breath escaped me.
I don’t know which one is hotter, the steam around us or the fucking heat I’m feeling right now. My skin felt like it was burning from inside.
She had no mercy. I felt her fingers inside me. Not one or two. She started with three. I moaned loud enough to bury my shame, letting her fuck me. My legs trembled. My nails scratched against the wall. She paced faster and faster, nonstop. My whole body went stiff. I felt like I was being paralyzed again. I couldn’t move a limb.
Water kept running over us. My breathing turned broken. Short. Quick.
I couldn’t even control my own voice. It betrayed me. Every sound that left my mouth was soft and weak. I was being submissive to the bitch.
Again, why am I so submissive? Fuck me.
My thighs tightened around her hand without thinking. I hated it. Hated how my body reacted before my pride could speak.
I tried to take her hand away. I wanted a bit of a break, just a second to breathe, but she removed my hand and pinned it above my head. Her grip tightened. She increased her speed. Was she punishing me for trying to stop?
My back arched. My lips parted. I could not even form a full sentence.
"Fucking hell..." I hissed. Fuck, I’m about to cum.
The words barely came out. My chest heaved. My legs shook harder.
I held my breath. My stomach tightened. I felt weak and powerless at the same time. Every nerve in my body focused on where her fingers moved.
The moment I peaked, my body jerked. My vision blurred. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from crying out too loud. My hand clenched around hers.
She finally stared at me and made a cruel smile, like she knew what she had accomplished. I couldn’t say a word even if I wanted to. I was just trying to catch my breath. My chest kept rising and falling. Fast.
Her fingers were still inside, slowed and playing. Small movements. Slow circles.
I flinched. My body was too sensitive.
"No matter how tough you act... you are still a fucking omega... always submissive..."
Her voice was low near my ear. Calm. Certain.
I hated that she was right. I hated how my body had melted in her hands. She was mocking me, and I was letting her. I could not even push her away. My legs were still weak.
My breathing had not returned to normal. My heart would not slow down.
I swear this is never going to happen again. I will not let her have me next time. I may be carrying her pup, but I will never be hers. I won’t be submissive next time. Dear goddess, please let this never happen again. Let this be the last time.
She began to speed up again.
My breath caught. My fingers tightened against her wrist.
Fuck. Was she just warming up?
...
Third Person POV
Inside a mansion, in a room with a single bed, the walls were made of stone. Every space on the walls was covered with scratch marks. Standing in the middle of the room was a ginger-haired lady, holding a bowl of mixed herbs. She searched around, looking for something. No, she was looking for someone. Her son.
Her eyes moved slowly across the walls. The chains clinked softly above her head. She lifted her chin.
She looked up at the stone ceiling and saw her young teenage son crawling, chained. His fingers gripped the rough surface. His movements were uneven, restless. The metal around his wrists dragged with every shift.
She smiled the moment she saw him. The joy of a mother seeing her child. To her, it felt like the first time, every time she saw him. Her lips trembled before settling into that familiar soft curve.
"Henry, my little baby boy, it’s time for your medicine," she sang out.
Her voice echoed lightly in the stone room.
He refused to come down. He just kept crawling as if he were playing. His head tilted slightly, almost curious, then he moved again. The chains tightened, scraped, loosened.
"Sweetie, I also brought your favorite drink, and if you take your medicine, I promise to give it to you. My little baby boy."
Her fingers tightened around the bowl. The scent of crushed herbs rose faintly.
Still, he did not come down.
Her smile faltered. Her throat tightened. For a second, her vision blurred, but she blinked it away. She wanted to cry, but she held back her tears. She did not want to show weakness. She needed to be strong for him, for her son.
But time was running out. He needed to take his medicine on time.
Her breathing changed. Slower. Sharper.
"Henry, come down now!" she barked.
The sound cut through the room.
Immediately, he jumped down and hugged his mother. The chains rattled as his feet hit the ground. His arms wrapped around her tightly, almost too tightly. She winced but held him anyway. Her free hand moved to his hair, smoothing it gently.
"It’s okay... it’s okay," she whispered under her breath.
After giving her son the concoction, he sat down on the bed, calm. The calm never lasted long, but she took what she could get. Henry had many burn scars all over his body, even on his face. Some dark. Some red. Some thick and uneven.
She brought out a small bottle of blood, exactly 50ml. She measured it carefully every time. It was the amount needed to help ease his pain and heal some of the burn scars that had disfigured his entire body.
Her hands were steady as she opened it.
The concoction was necessary, but the blood made it work faster. Without the concoction, the blood would not work. Without the blood, the concoction would not work. Only omega blood worked. Many types of blood had been tested, but none worked as effectively as omega blood.
She lifted the bottle to his lips.
"Slowly," she murmured.
The moment she fed him the blood, a minute later, he started grunting as if he were in pain. His body stiffened. His fingers curled into the thin mattress. This had never happened before. He was supposed to remain still.
"Henry, what is happening? My baby!" she cried, trying to hold him.
He pushed her away. Hard.
She hit the ground, her elbow scraping against the stone floor. The bowl rolled from her hand, herbs scattering. The sound barely registered. That pain was nothing compared to the pain of seeing her only child suffering.
He kept grunting and growling. The sound was low at first, then louder. His back arched. The chains attached to him pulled tight, restraining him. Metal strained against metal.
"Henry!"
She crawled toward him. Her hands hovered, unsure where to touch without hurting him more.
His breathing turned ragged. His body trembled. Muscles tensed beneath scarred skin. His nails scratched against the bed frame. The chains shook violently.
Then, slowly, the tension eased.
The growling faded. His chest still rose and fell heavily, but he stopped fighting the restraints.
Finally, he calmed down.
The woman rushed to her son. She did not care about the ache in her arm or the sting in her palm.
"Henry, are you okay? Please be okay," she muttered, holding him from behind.
Her cheek pressed lightly against his shoulder. She listened to his breathing. Counted each inhale. Each exhale.
Then she noticed something.
Her eyes narrowed. She leaned back slightly. Some parts of his back had healed.
She froze.
Her fingers hovered over his skin before finally touching it. Carefully. Slowly. The raised scars she had memorized for years were not as thick. The skin beneath her fingertips felt smoother.
Her breath caught.
This had never happened in years. She had never seen such rapid healing. Not this fast. Not this visible.
She moved her hand across another scar. It was lighter. Fading at the edges.
She swallowed hard.
Her heart began to pound, but not from fear this time.
Her son’s healing felt like a miracle.
She turned her head slowly and looked at the empty bottle of blood lying on the floor. A few drops still clung to the bottom. Dark. Thick.
She picked it up with trembling fingers.
She stared at it, trying to understand. Her mind raced through every batch she had collected. Every failure. Every disappointment.
"This is no ordinary omega blood..." she muttered.
Her voice was low. Almost reverent.
In the were world, there was only one type of blood that surpassed all others. It was said that they were extinct. Stories told in whispers. Legends dismissed as myths.
Her grip tightened around the bottle.
"That omega is no ordinary omega," she said with a slow smile.
