Page 210 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

I take the opening before she can make another smart remark and kiss her hard. Halley makes a small sound and grabs at my jacket. One hand slides from her hip to the back of her thigh, and I hitch it up onto my hip, hauling her against me until she feels exactly what she has done to me.

I'm hard, absolutely throbbing in my trousers. There is a dull ache where my cock is pressing against the zipper, begging to be released into something hot and warm and wet.

She breaks the kiss first, breathing erratically now, her eyes bright and unfocused, and it goes straight to my cock. Halley aroused is a sight to behold.

"I was thinking," I say with a dark grin, "about putting you over this desk and fucking that bratty attitude out of you."

Her whole body jolts.

That reaction gives me a vicious pulse of satisfaction.

"Is that what you wanted when you came to my office with this naughty attitude today?" I ask. "To stand there looking pretty and competent during the meeting while I pictured how fast I could make you come if I knotted you the second the room cleared?"

Halley’s hands fist in my jacket. Her pupils are blown wide, black swallowing the purple, eyelashes fluttering. "Maybe."

I grip the back of her thigh harder and lift until she has no choice but to wrap a leg around my hip for balance. I want her to be an active participant in her own undoing.

"Use your words, Omega."

"Yes," she sighs.

I lean in until my mouth brushes her ear and growl, "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," she breathes, her voice shaky and eyes wide.

I lean down and whisper against her lips, "Shall I show you what happens when my subordinate is disrespectful and behaves like a little slut?"

A small moan slips from her, unbidden and from the back of her throat while pink flushes her cheeks.

I shove a memory down the bond, transporting us back to the training camp and the first day we met. I picture myself standing over her in her ill-fitting uniform, demanding she call me sir. Suddenly, we're those two people again, strangers but somehow enemies from the second we met. I let her see our first meeting from my perspective.

I let her see just how fixated I was on the petulant little pout of her full lips, and how achingly hard I was at the first hint of her scent. I also let her feel just how angry I was that a single moment in her presence made me want to break protocol and fuck my subordinate. Years of carefully curated control, shattered by her pretty eyes and sinful body.

Halley's body goes lax, her mouth falling open as she experiences my recollection.

"There you go." I bite lightly at the hinge of her jaw, then suck at the skin beneath it until she shivers against me. "That's much better. My pretty, submissive Omega."

She turns her face toward mine, chasing another kiss, but I catch her chin before she can take what she wants.

"You don’t get anything else yet," I say.

She whines and tries to push closer to me.

"Ah, ah. I know I'm being mean," I hold her gaze and let her see there will be no apology for it. "But you've always seemed to like that a little more than you wanted to, didn't you?"

She averts her eyes and a pink dusting appears high on the apples of her cheeks.

She might call me Prime Asshole, but when she does, there is always a hint of arousal in her scent. Her mouth might lie, but her body can't.

She told our Pack how she used to watch me at Barkrood Base whenever I stepped in as a drill instructor, long before we met and before she knew who I was. The role encouraged me to be the biggest asshole, and apparently, that version of me got her off. I always sensed someone watching, but I never guessed it was a horny little Omega with a filthy mind who would one day belong to me, and now I want to play with every fantasy she had.

I hook a hand under her thighs and effortlessly lift her onto the desk in one clean movement. Paper reports and datapads get shoved aside with my free hand, sacrificed to a better use of the space. Halley lands with a soft gasp as I step in between her knees.

I force the memory again, picturing myself standing in front of her in my tent, my voice cold as I warned her not to put her hands on anything. Back then, it was about establishing control and drawing a line between us to remind myself of our roles as much as I intended to remind her.

"Don’t touch anything," I tell her, echoing my voice from the memory, cold and harsh.

Her breath catches.