Fallen General's Omega (BL)

Chapter 273 – Noelle POV

No.

My body is still shaking. Every muscle sings with the aftermath of pleasure, and yet—it’s not enough. It’s never enough with him.

I barely register the moment he pulls out until the air hits my skin and I gasp. My legs twitch, thighs aching, and I try—truly try—to crawl away from him, driven by a desperate instinct to regroup, to breathe, to survive the next round.

Key word: try.

A sharp tug on my ankle ruins that plan instantly.

He drags me back across the silken sheets, smooth and fast, like I’m nothing but a star he’s claimed from the sky and refuses to let go. I yelp—half protest, half arousal—as the grip tightens.

Before I can turn to look at him, Thorne flips me onto my back with a speed that knocks the breath from my lungs.

And then I see him.

Eyes dark. Chest heaving. Blond hair a halo of chaos and sweat around his face. His pupils are blown wide, blue nearly swallowed by black. There’s something wild in his expression—possessive, desperate, unrelenting.

Like he’s lost to instinct and I’m the only thing keeping him tethered.

A shiver ripples down my spine.

I barely have time to brace before he grabs me again—strong hands gripping my thighs, dragging them up and around his waist with a single, commanding motion.

The position makes me burn. It’s too much. Too intimate. I feel everything.

Then his hands move to my waist.

His fingers dig in—not cruelly, but with intent. A bruising grip. He pulls me flush against him, like he can’t stand even an inch of space between us.

My breath hitches.

"Thorne—" I whisper, but the sound dies in my throat when I see the look on his face.

Like a man possessed. Like someone who’s already decided that sleep is out of the question.

That I’m not getting away from him tonight. Or maybe ever.

He leans over me, shadowing my body with his, one hand braced beside my head. His scent—deep and familiar, heady with pheromones—wraps around me like a second skin.

His other hand slides behind my neck, cradling me there as his lips brush the shell of my ear.

"You’re not going anywhere," he murmurs, voice hoarse and low, rough with desire.

"You started this."

I swallow.

And he thrusts in hard and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

The floor is cold against my heated skin.

My husband is not a small man, so each painful hard thrusts, in and out are ruining me, my back scrapes against the floor I try to hold onto something anything.

Feeling uncomfortable, on the floor.

"Thorne.... Let’s move from the floor." I say and still inside me he carries, me and walks to the bed.

He holds my back and I hug him, as he thrusts, the friction of my arousal caught between my body and his and triggers my release.

So ruthless, he doesn’t let me go, just thrusting in and out through my release prolonging it.

Then he holds me down, thrusting deeper, grinding me against him, and release deep inside me, and I roll my eyes back.

I just hug him, and run my fingers through his hair.

"I want to knot you." He says against my shoulder finally releasing his painful grip.

I laugh a little.

"Did I hurt you?" He says, sounding concerned.

"Do I seem hurt?" I ask.

He chuckles—low and wicked—and before I can catch my breath, he shifts us both, twisting his body with that smooth, practiced strength that never fails to make me feel small in the best way.

I find myself on my back again, legs still wrapped around his waist, staring up at him as the shadows from the moonlight pool across the bed.

He looks down at me, breathless and wild-eyed, strands of blond hair falling over his forehead in a mess that only makes him look more dangerous.

"They say," he says, voice rough and edged with something darker, "that sometimes a knot pops out even when it’s not heat."

My stomach flips.

"Want to experiment?"

There’s mischief in his eyes, but also a burning question behind them, a dare. He’s already halfway gone, fraying at the edges from everything we’ve done tonight—and he wants to go further.

I grin, teeth flashing. "You already know the answer."

His smile is slow and full of satisfaction, like a wolf who’s just been given permission to hunt again.

He leans in and kisses me—slower now, deeper, like he’s savoring me. Like he knows I’m his and he’s reminding me that I’ll never stop being his.

My fingers sink into his hair, tugging slightly, and he growls low in his throat. The vibration runs through my chest.

"Don’t say I didn’t warn you," he murmurs.

His hands slide down my body, fingers tracing the curve of my waist, the bruise he left earlier on my hip. He touches like he’s mapping me, like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.

And then—he’s inside again.

I cry out, arching under him, hands flying to grip his arms, his shoulders, anything. He’s thick, hot, relentless—and it’s so much. Every nerve is already overworked, every muscle strained from hours of teasing, of being made to beg.

He starts slow, grinding his hips deep with every stroke, his breath harsh against my throat. He’s whispering now, filthy promises against my skin, praising me in that deep, reverent way only he knows how to do.

"Look at you," he growls. "Still so tight. Still so greedy for me."

His hands grip my thighs again, spreading me wider, and I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can only feel.

And then it happens.

I feel the stretch. The pressure.

My eyes widen. THAT’S not supposed to happen at all, I’m not on my heat.

He bites his lip, hard, and his arms tremble slightly. "That... wasn’t on purpose."

But the way he rolls his hips again, deeper—closer—I know he isn’t sorry either.

"Come out Thorne!!! My body can’t handle it right now!!!!!" I slap his shoulder hard.

He laughs—hoarse and completely undone—and lowers his body over mine. His forehead presses to mine.

"You know I can’t do that, my star."

And I do. I don’t care though.

He thrusts again, and I feel it, locking in place, stretching me wide, keeping him impossibly deep. The sensation sends a shockwave through me. It’s too much—too full—and yet not enough. I cling to him, nails digging into his back as he shudders above me.

"I can’t," I gasp. "I can’t take more—"

"Yes, you can," he growls. "You always do."

Another roll of his hips and I cry out. I don’t know how many times I’ve come tonight. I don’t even know if I’m still capable of thought. All I know is the burn, the pressure, the overwhelming fullness.

His knot swells again, and his whole body locks tight above me. A strangled moan rips from his throat as he buries himself fully, and I feel him twitch—deep, hard, and final.

We both shake.

The air between us goes still for a long second, save for the sound of our breathing. His hand moves to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with surprising gentleness.

"I love you," he whispers.

"Not now," I breathe, half-delirious.

He laughs softly, warm breath against my neck. It’s breathless and smug and entirely too satisfied with himself.

I feel him shift behind me, careful, and then he rolls us to the side—slowly, methodically, as if he’s moving delicate glass. But no, it’s just him being considerate of his own handiwork.

Because of course the knot popped.

And of course it’s still lodged deep inside me.

"Careful what you wish for," they say. And they are right.

The knot is too much. Overwhelming. Everything inside me feels full and sore and still—somehow—aching.

And yet, I asked for this. Begged, even.

I close my eyes. My body’s trembling, my legs feel like jelly, and my hips are throbbing with every pulse from him inside me. I’m sweating, flushed, and the bed is a mess. But gods, I’m warm. So warm.

Thorne exhales behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, possessive and lazy.

"...You okay?" he murmurs.

"No," I say flatly.

Another laugh. Bastard.

"I’m going to kill you when this knot goes down."

His hand rubs gentle circles over my lower stomach, humming contentedly. I don’t trust him. I think he’s trying to distract me with affection so I forget the actual assault he just committed on my body via knot.

"You’re handling it so well, though," he says, smug and tender.

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

I sigh. I really don’t.