Chapter 60 Patrick
Her praise fuels my confidence, and I take her deeper, until the head of her dick brushes the back of my throat. I gag slightly but don't pull back, determined to give her everything she wants. As I work her, her pheromones spike again, the pine scent so strong I can almost taste it.
Lottie's breathing becomes ragged, her thrusts more deliberate. "I'm close," she warns, giving me the chance to pull away if I want.
Instead, I double down, working her with renewed enthusiasm. I want this—want to taste her, to pleasure her completely, to show her with my actions what I can't yet fully articulate with words.
When she cums, it's with a guttural cry, her body tensing as she spills down my throat. I swallow reflexively, some of her release escaping to dribble down my chin. The taste is unlike anything I've experienced—salty, slightly bitter, but undeniably hers.
As she recovers, Lottie pulls out carefully, then leans down to kiss me deeply, unconcerned by the mess. Her tongue explores my mouth, tasting herself on me, and the intimacy of the moment makes me ache with a different kind of need. As we kiss, she slides her wrist along my chest, neck, and jaw—scent marking me with her snowy pine forest aroma, claiming me as hers.
When we separate, she studies my face, her expression softening. "You okay?" she asks, wiping my chin with her thumb.
I nod, unable to form words. My body is thrumming with need, my own erection neglected and aching. More slick continues to leak from my entrance, the scent of our combined arousal filling the room.
Lottie seems to notice, her eyes darkening with renewed interest. "Someone's still needy," she observes, her hand sliding down to circle my dick.
I arch into her touch with a desperate whine. "Please," I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for.
"Don't worry," she promises, shifting to kneel between my spread legs. "I'll take care of you."
But she doesn’t start fucking me, she slides down my body until her face is level with my stomach. She pauses there, pressing her lips softly against my abdomen in a gesture so tender it steals my breath. My heart clenches painfully in my chest—this isn't just lust, not for either of us. This moment feels impossibly intimate, more vulnerable than any sexual act. I'm thirty years old, a professor, and this twenty-year-old alpha is looking at me with such reverence that it makes me feel simultaneously powerful and completely undone.
She slides further down my body until her face is level with my straining erection. Her warm breath ghosts over the sensitive skin, making me shudder with anticipation. She takes me into her mouth, and I cry out at the sudden, wet heat enveloping me.
Her technique is practiced and confident, her tongue swirling around the head before taking me deeper. One of her hands cups my balls, rolling them gently as she bobs her head. The other slides lower, tracing the sensitive skin behind them before moving to my entrance.
I'm so lost in the pleasure of her mouth that I almost don't notice when she presses a finger against my slick-covered hole. The pressure sends a jolt through me, and my hips buck involuntarily. She takes me deeper, swallowing around my length as she slowly works her finger inside.
She pulls off of me long enough for her words of praise to reach my ears. “You’re so fucking wet for me, Patrick. So fucking hot, and tight.”
Then her head dives back in, taking me deep in her mouth. The dual stimulation is overwhelming—her mouth on my dick, her finger exploring my entrance. She adds a second finger, scissoring them gently to stretch me open. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure through me, and I'm babbling now, incoherent praises spilling from my lips as she works me open for her.
When she finally pulls away, I'm trembling with need, my body slick with sweat and more of my own fluids. "Lottie, please," I beg, not caring how desperate I sound.
She smiles, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she positions herself between my legs. "I've got you," she murmurs, lining up with my entrance. Before pushing inside, she slides her wrist along my inner thighs, leaving another trail of her pine scent on my skin.
She enters me slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust to her size. The stretch burns at first, but the generous slick I've produced eases the way, and soon she's fully seated inside me. The feeling of fullness is overwhelming, a perfect completion that I didn't know I was missing.
As she begins to move, establishing a rhythm that builds from gentle to demanding, I lose myself completely to sensation. Each thrust hits that spot deep inside me that sends sparks of pleasure through my entire body. I'm babbling again, pleas spilling from my lips in indecipherable phrases as she drives me toward the edge.
Just as I'm getting close, she suddenly flips me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up as she re-enters me from behind. The new angle allows her to hit that sensitive spot even deeper, and I cry out into the sofa cushions. Her hands grip my hips, holding me steady as she pounds into me with renewed intensity. As she moves, she leans down to drag her wrist across my shoulders and back, leaving more of her scent on me.
Our pheromones spike again—my grapefruit and honey mixing with her pine forest until the air is thick with our combined scents. I can feel another orgasm building, coiling deep in my belly.
Before I can reach my peak, she flips me again, this time onto my back with my legs draped over her shoulders. The new position allows her to hit me at a different angle, and I gasp at the intensity of the sensation. Her hand wraps around my dick, stroking in time with her thrusts, and it doesn't take long before I'm cumming with a cry, spilling across my stomach as my inner muscles clench around her.
In the throes of my orgasm, my instincts take over. I reach up, dragging my wrist across her neck and shoulders, leaving my own grapefruit and honey scent on her skin. The moment I do it, uncertainty floods me—have I overstepped? Is it okay for me to mark her like this?
Lottie follows me over the edge with a final, deep thrust, her body shuddering as she fills me with her release. As she cums, I feel something new—an intense pressure as the base of her dick swells, locking us together. The sensation sends another wave of pleasure through me, and I gasp at the completeness of our connection.
For a moment, we stay connected, panting and trembling in the aftermath. The swelling ensures we remain joined, our bodies locked in intimate embrace. My uncertainty about scent marking her must show on my face, because she shifts slightly, her expression softening as she brushes damp hair from my forehead.
"Hey," she murmurs, her voice gentle despite the ragged edge of her breathing. "What's wrong?"
"I... I marked you," I admit quietly, unable to meet her eyes. "I didn't mean to... it just happened."
A slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Patrick," she says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "I want you to mark me. I want everyone to know you're mine."
Relief floods through me so intensely that it almost brings tears to my eyes. "Really? Even though that could spell trouble for us?" I ask, looking up at her finally.
"Really," she confirms, then shifts to drag her wrist across my neck again, reinforcing her scent on me. "We're equals in this. Partners. You can mark me anytime you want. I want my scent on you just the same. Fuck the rules, fuck the consequences. You are MINE."
She kisses me then, slow and deep, her tongue exploring my mouth with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl. When we separate, she settles more comfortably against me, her weight reassuring as we wait for her knot to go down.
"God, Patrick," she breathes against my neck, her lips finding the sensitive skin there. "You feel incredible."
I can only moan in response, my body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. Her pheromones continue to wash over me, and I know with certainty that I never want to be away from her again.
"I love you," she whispers against my hair, and I know she means it.
"I love you too," I reply, and for the first time, the words feel completely right. I reach up to stroke her back, my fingers tracing patterns on her sweat-slicked skin as we lie together, our scents mingling in the air around us—pine forest and grapefruit honey, creating a fragrance that's uniquely ours.
A while later, when her knot finally begins to subside, she shifts carefully, sliding out of me with a soft groan. I feel empty for a moment, but she's immediately pulling me into her arms, settling me against her chest with my head tucked under her chin.
"I want to stay with you tonight," she murmurs against my hair. "And every night after."
I nod, my arms tightening around her waist. "Always," I promise, and as I drift off to sleep in her arms, my mind begins to wander despite my exhaustion. How in the world were we going to navigate this? I was her professor, ten years her senior, in a position of authority. The power dynamic between us was already complicated enough without adding fated mates, pregnancy, and this overwhelming connection. The university would have policies—strict ones about relationships between faculty and students. Even though she was of age, and this was consensual, even if fate had literally thrown us together... how could I possibly make this work without jeopardizing my career, her education, everything we'd both worked so hard for?
As sleep finally claims me, these questions remain unanswered, hanging in the air between us like the mingling scents of our bodies—a problem for tomorrow, but one that wouldn't be solved by ignoring it.