Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Two
Oliver didn’t waste time.

He kept his eyes locked on Grey’s the entire way down as though looking away would give Grey the chance to change his mind. His knees hit the cold floor with a soft thud.

Grey’s fist was still tangled in silver hair, grip tight enough to sting, but he didn’t pull Oliver closer. Not yet. He simply held him there, suspended in the moment of decision, letting the anticipation coil tighter.

Oliver’s hands moved first, palms sliding up the backs of Grey’s thighs, thumbs tracing the deep grooves where muscle met tendon.

Grey’s abdominals flexed under the words. His cock—still thick, still slick from earlier—twitched against Oliver’s cheek. Oliver smiled into the skin. Then he opened his mouth and took Grey in. No teasing licks, no coy kitten flicks of tongue. He swallowed him down in one long, greedy glide until his lips kissed the base and his throat worked visibly around the intrusion. Grey’s knees nearly buckled; the hand in Oliver’s hair spasmed, yanking hard enough to make silver strands pull taut.

Oliver moaned around him, and the sound punched straight through Grey’s control.

“Fuck—”

The word tore out of him, raw and ragged.

Oliver pulled back just enough to speak, lips stretched and glistening, voice wrecked already. “That’s just a little portion of the idea.”

He dove back in, setting a rhythm that was anything but gentle—deep, wet, relentless. One hand wrapped around the base to stroke what his mouth couldn’t reach; the other slid between Grey’s thighs, cupping, rolling, pressing just enough to make Grey’s hips jerk forward involuntarily.

Grey’s head fell back. A muscle in his jaw jumped. He was breathing through his teeth now, every exhale a hiss.

Oliver pulled off with an obscene pop, strings of saliva connecting his swollen lips to the flushed head.

“Look at me,” he ordered—soft, but steel underneath.

Grey’s head snapped forward. Eyes black. Chest heaving.

Oliver held his gaze as he licked a slow, filthy stripe from balls to tip, then spoke against the sensitive underside.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Oliver’s tongue circled the slit once, twice. “And it’s fucking incredible.”

He sucked the head back into his mouth—hard—then released it again just to speak.

“Tell me you want this.”

Grey’s nostrils flared.

“Say it.” Oliver’s free hand slid up to press flat against Grey’s lower stomach, feeling the tension there, the fine tremor. “I want to hear you admit you want to be fucked.”

Grey stared down at him for one long, burning heartbeat.

The courtyard felt suddenly too small. Too hot. His pulse hammered in his ears, loud enough to drown out everything except the soft, wet sound of Oliver’s breathing against his skin.

He was an alpha.

Always the one who took. Always the one who pinned, who claimed, who fucked until the other broke apart beneath him.

Bottoming wasn’t—he didn’t—

The thought alone sent a cold spike of something dangerously close to pleasure and panic through his gut.

And Oliver—fuck, Oliver—was an Aethonix omega.

The kind whose body wept slick the second arousal hit, opening effortlessly, dripping and ready the instant desire curled in his belly. Grey had reveled in that luxury every time he buried himself inside, the way Oliver simply melted around his cock, slick coating him as if begging him to rut deeper.

Grey had never produced that.

Never would.

Alphas didn’t.

And right now the realization burned worse than shame—because without it, this was going to hurt. He could already feel the phantom ache, the resistance, the tear of unprepared muscle. His body wasn’t built to yield. Not like that.

He swallowed once. Hard.

The words Oliver wanted—the confession, the surrender—stuck in his throat like broken glass.

Instead, he made himself talk, tone coarse and quiet, simmering with an emotion that almost tipped into anger.

“Use lube.”

Oliver’s pupils blew so wide the blue nearly vanished.

“Good boy,” he whispered.

Grey snarled at the praise—but the sound lacked real heat. His hips canted forward, almost involuntarily, chasing the heat of Oliver’s mouth again.

Oliver obliged—took him deep one more time, hollowing his cheeks, throat relaxing until Grey bottomed out completely. He held there, nose pressed to Grey’s pelvis, swallowing around him until tears pricked the corners of his eyes and Grey’s thighs trembled. When he finally pulled off, gasping, strings of spit connecting them, he didn’t give Grey time to recover.

He rose in one fluid motion, crowding Grey backward until the backs of Grey’s knees struck the edge of the low stone bench. Grey went down, sprawling across the sun-warmed surface, breath unsteady from everything that had already passed between them.

Oliver followed, crawling over him like a predator who’d finally caught something worth keeping.

He straddled Grey’s hips but didn’t sit. Instead he leaned down, silver hair falling around them like a curtain, and kissed him—slow, deep, filthy. All tongue and teeth and the taste of Grey still on him.

When he broke the kiss, both of them were breathing hard.

“On your stomach,” Oliver said quietly. Not a request.

Grey’s eyes narrowed—instinctive resistance flickering—but then something shifted. Something surrendered.

He rolled over.

The sight of him—broad back, scarred, powerful, yet choosing to expose the vulnerable line of his spine, the dip of his waist, the swell of his ass—made Oliver’s breath catch. Oliver reached. The bottle of lube appeared exactly where his fingers expected it. He poured too much into his palm, let it drip between Grey’s shoulder blades just to watch it slide down the valley of his spine.

Oliver followed the trail with his mouth—licking, biting, soothing—until he reached the small of Grey’s back. Then lower.

He spread Grey open with careful, reverent hands.

And licked.

Grey’s entire body locked. A choked sound ripped from him—half-curse, half-plea.

Oliver didn’t stop. He worked him open with slow, thorough strokes of tongue—circling, pressing, dipping inside—until Grey was shaking beneath him, hips grinding uselessly into the sheets, cock leaking steadily against the fabric.

When Oliver finally pulled back, lips swollen and wet, he pressed two slick fingers inside without warning.

"That's it," Oliver murmured, his voice a husky command laced with satisfaction. He pumped his fingers slowly at first, letting Grey adjust to the intrusion, the slick lube easing the way as he scissored them apart. Grey's thighs quivered, his hips shifting forward in a futile attempt to escape the building pressure, but Oliver's grip held him steady. "Feel how your body opens for me? You're taking it so well, alpha. Beg for more."

Grey's breath came in sharp pants, his face flushed against the stone, silver hair tangled from earlier pulls. The shame burned hot in his chest—he was the one who pinned others down, who claimed and conquered—but here, with Oliver's fingers fucking into him, it twisted into something electric, raw, and painful. "Olie... fuck, I think....," he rasped, but his ass clenched around the intrusion, betraying him.

Oliver chuckled darkly, leaning down to nip at the nape of Grey's neck, his teeth grazing the skin there. He added a third finger, pushing past the tight ring of muscle with a steady thrust, the stretch burning just enough to make Grey hiss. Oliver's own arousal pressed hard against Grey's thigh, his cock throbbing as he watched Grey unravel. He twisted his wrist, thrusting deeper, faster now, the wet sounds of lube and flesh filling the dim chamber.

Satisfied with the looseness he felt, Oliver withdrew his fingers slowly, earning a sigh of relief from Grey. He slicked his cock with more lube, coating every inch until it glistened, then positioned himself behind Grey. The head nudged against Grey's entrance, hot and insistent. "Breathe," Oliver ordered, one hand stroking Grey's hip in a rare moment of gentleness.

Immediately after lining himself up with Grey’s entrance, ready to thrust in, Rowan’s voice cut sharply through Oliver’s mind via the mindlink.

“Alpha, I’m in your courtyard. Reporting in.”

The message was followed by slow, deliberate footsteps approaching the very area they were in.

Oliver froze.

Panic flickered across his face as he tried to stand, his erection instantly forgotten. Before he could move, Grey seized his wrist in a crushing grip. Oliver winced and looked down at him.

Grey was glaring.

His eyes shifted from grey to molten gold, the unmistakable sign of his alpha wolf pushing to the surface.

Oliver’s heart slammed against his ribs.

The mindlink still buzzed with Rowan’s calm, professional presence—oblivious, dutiful, seconds away from rounding the arched entrance and seeing… this.

Grey’s grip on his wrist was iron. Unyielding. The gold in his eyes flared brighter, pupils blown to thin slits, every line of his body radiating possession even as he lay sprawled and exposed beneath Oliver.

Grey’s free hand shot up, fingers wrapping around the back of Oliver’s neck, yanking him down until their foreheads nearly touched. The position forced Oliver to brace both hands on either side of Grey’s shoulders, caging him in reverse. Grey’s cock—still hard, still leaking—brushed the inside of Oliver’s thigh. A deliberate reminder.

“You think I’m going to let you scramble off me like some guilty pup?” Grey’s lips grazed Oliver’s ear. “You started this. You begged me to bend. You called me good boy.” Each syllable dripped venom and hunger in equal measure. “Now you’re going to finish it.”

Grey should’ve been fucking relieved.

Some asshole just crashed through the door right before the real pain started. Should’ve felt thankful.

He didn’t.

He felt sick.

Sick that Oliver gave a single shit what anyone in this room thought. Sick that the second his footsteps echoed more clearly, Oliver flinched—like a guilty husband caught balls-deep in the wrong bed. Shoulders tight, eyes darting, whole body screaming don’t look at us, please don’t look at us.

Like Grey was the dirty secret.

Like Oliver was ashamed to be his.

The wolf didn’t even hesitate.

It ripped straight through his skull, voice all teeth and blood:

Mine.

Oliver’s fucking mine.

Just a low, shaking growl that lived in his bones and wouldn’t shut up.

He hated how much he needed to hear it.

Hated even more that Oliver still looked ready to apologize for it.

Footsteps—slow, measured—grew louder. Rowan was close. Too close.

Oliver’s pulse roared in his ears. Slick still leaked steadily from between his own thighs; his cock ached where it pressed uselessly against Grey’s hip. Logic screamed at him to pull away, to throw on clothes, to bark some excuse through the mindlink. But Grey’s gaze pinned him worse than any hand ever could.

Note: Hello everyone,

I want to take a moment to explain why updates may have slowed down recently.

The past months have been extremely difficult for me. I lost my mom, and dealing with that kind of grief while trying to keep up with life and responsibilities has been incredibly hard. Even so, I still pushed myself to continue writing because this story and the support from readers mean a lot to me.

Unfortunately, I recently found out that I will not be receiving p@ym3nt from this pl@tf0rm due to low reader retention. Writing is currently my only source of inc0me as I am still a student, and it’s the only job that allows me to balance my studies. Because of this, things have become financially difficult for me.

I sincerely apologize if updates become slower or irregular. I am doing my best to keep going despite everything, and I truly appreciate every reader who has stayed with the story.

Thank you for your understanding and support.