Chapter 16 LINES I SHOULDN'T DRAW
SEBASTIAN’S POV
My dreams feel a little too surreal to me. One minute I'm alone, the next Alpha Ragnar is ravishing me with his head between my legs making me cry out in agony.
“Ahhh– yes, yes! Fuck, Ragnar, yes…!”
My voice cracks and dies out at the end, hitting high notes I didn't know I could hit.
My body squirmed and arched wanting and feeling it even more.
His left hand holds me in place with his other holding my right thigh firmly.
He licks, nips and even teases me with his teeth with a grin on his face.
I was begging pathetically for release at this point.
“Please– Ahhh! Yess! Please let me finish!”
And yet whenever I'm about to, he stops and starts again.
At this point, I'll truly go crazy.
“Ohhh my… yes,” I mumbled, unsure if I was actually saying words. “There, yes. Fuck!”
My hands clutch at his head holding him firmly in place. His head bobbed repeatedly as if finally allowing me and I actually weep in anticipation.
My sheets twist from behind me with precum staining my inner thighs as I anticipate for my release.
.
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.
.
.
.
.
I wake up hard.
There’s no gentle way to put it.
“Fuck!”
No polite phrasing or way to say it.
My body betrays me the moment my consciousness returns with heat pooling low in my belly.
My breath is coming out in short pants.
My sheets are tangled around my legs, still damp with sweat and my mind is still reeling from my dream.
Ragnar’s mouth.
Ragnar’s tongue.
The rough scrape of it against my skin, the possessive way his hands held me down.
I groan and roll onto my back, throwing an arm over my eyes.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
Alisander stirs lazily inside me sounding warm and smug.
“You enjoyed it.”
“It was just a dream,” I say weakly.
“It is a memory.”
That shuts me up. I remember Alpha Ragnar licking me earlier on.
My body pulses with sweat dripping from my face.
My body is aching and demanding release. I consider ignoring it.
I'm ashamed of myself.
Alpha Ragnar was just trying to look out for me and heal me but here I am considering pleasuring myself to him.
Then Ragnar’s growl echoes in my head again, low and commanding and I lose that battle spectacularly.
I take care of it quickly and quietly, face burning even though I’m alone.
I lay face down in my bed with one hand holding my member as I moan his name out slowly.
“Oh Ragnar… fuck.” I cry out.
I continue and almost immediately I see stars.
The aftermath leaves me limp and breathless, staring at the ceiling with equal parts of satisfaction and shame knotting in my chest.
If the Moon Goddess is watching, she’s definitely laughing at me.
I clean myself scrubbing my hands and face harder than necessary.
By the time I make it to the communal mess hall, the smells hit me all at once causing me to inhale greedily.
My stomach growls despite my mood. Wolves fill the long tables, their voices loud and overlapping.
And then they notice me.
The volume shifts. Not silence. Just… awareness and the stares.
Oh goddess the staring.
Whispers follow me as I move through the room with a tray in hand.
“That’s him.”
“The Omega.”
“Alpha’s personal guard ‘pparently.”
“Must be nice.”
I keep my eyes forward. I’ve learned that reacting only feeds them.
I load my plate methodically as I have to ensure I don't need to come back here today.
Stew, bread, fruit and water.
“Bet he sleeps outside the Alpha’s door,” someone mutters.
“Probably warms his bed,” another adds with a snort.
I don’t rise to it. I don’t even flinch.
I finish serving myself and leave without a word, their disappointment almost palpable.
They wanted a reaction. Wanted a reason to attack me.
The laws our Alpha put in place years ago protects Omegas from harm and oppression as long as they don't provoke or start a fight first.
I won’t give them that opportunity.
Still, the weight of it follows me down the corridor.
By the time I reach Ragnar’s quarters for my shift, my earlier confidence has drained away, leaving behind that familiar hollow ache of sadness.
Standing guard is boring.
This ‘glorified job’ that everyone is envious of is boring.
They are no assassins, no dramatic confrontations. Just me, the walls and my tired thoughts.
Which is dangerous.
I pace for a while.
Sit.
I stand again.
I sigh.
Eventually, I gave in.
I pull my sketchbook from my bag along with my charcoal and pencils, settling into the corner where I have a clear view of the door for security.
I tell myself it’s harmless, you know. Just something to pass the time.
I don’t plan the subject.
My hand does.
The first lines come easily.
Familiar.
After years and hours of practice , I can actually draw him in my sleep.
The sharp angle of Ragnar’s jaw. The slope of his nose. His eyes, always intense, always watching.
I draw from memory, from obsession and from my years of quiet stalking.
This version of him is relaxed with his shirt open at the throat.
His muscles appear defined but not tense. His hair, I recall , is rather very soft.
Then my hand drifts lower.
I hesitate.
I shouldn’t.
I really shouldn't.
I do anyway.
I darken shadows along his chest imagining tracing it with my tongue.
I define the line of his abdomen, imagine the heat of his skin beneath my fingers.
The drawing grows bolder, more intimate. His posture shifts in my mind, hips angled, gaze heavy-lidded and knowing.
My breath quickens.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.
Alisander hums approvingly.
“It’s accurate.”
My face burns, but I don’t stop. I add details I remember from that night I pleasured him.
Even down to his member growing feverish as I imagine and reenact scenes from my dreams.
I’m so focused I don’t hear the door open.
I don’t hear the footsteps behind me.
I don’t sense him or even get a warning until his scent washes over me. A mix of pine and smoke.
“Interesting choice of subject,” a voice says mildly.
I freeze.
Every muscle locks. My heart slams into my ribs so hard it hurts.
The organ was threatening to run away.
Slowly and painfully, I turn my head.
Ragnar stands behind me.
His arms crossed with one brow lifted. Amusement flickering in his eyes as he looks from me to the sketchbook.
“That’s a very nice rendition of me,” he says.
I want the floor to swallow me whole.