Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 86: Mine [M]

Chapter 86: Mine [M]

I’m tied up. On a chair. Well, alright then. I’m not exactly opposed to it.

I test the ropes behind me, tugging a little to feel their hold. They’re tight—surprisingly tight. Noelle must’ve put some real effort into this. I could escape if I really wanted to, put my strength to it and break free, but... why would I want to? I can’t exactly deny how intrigued I am.

My eyes follow Noelle as he moves around the room, rummaging for something. I can’t quite see what he’s up to, but with the way he’s been acting, I’m getting a suspicion this might be heading into more... intimate territory. My body seems to agree, given the sudden heat building inside me. I shift in the chair, trying to ease the growing tension in my body. The lower half.

Noelle finally straightens up, his hand hidden behind his back, looking every bit the mischievous imp with that sly grin on his face.

"Found it," he announces with a note of triumph, stepping toward me with a dark red silk cloth in hand.

I raise an eyebrow at the sight, my curiosity deepening. "My beloved star, this is... curious," I say, my voice teasing but tinged with anticipation.

Noelle just smirks, eyes gleaming with that devilish glint that both excites and unnerves me.

"I’m still mad at you," he says sweetly, though his tone carries an edge. "So I’m giving you a punishment."

I swallow, heat curling in my gut. "Okay," I say, my voice lower, more hoarse than I intend.

He straddles me suddenly, his warmth pressed against me, and blindfolds me with the silk. Darkness floods my vision, and for a moment, a surge of panic hits me. It’s not the ropes, not even being tied up, but being completely blind, vulnerable. My heartbeat quickens, thudding loudly in my ears.

I start to say something, but then I feel him move, grinding against me, and all rational thought flies out of my mind. A groan escapes my lips before I can stop it. So much for panic.

This is new.

And I like this.

Noelle slips off me, and suddenly every sound becomes sharper, more defined—the soft padding of his feet on the floor, the rustle of his robe. I’m hyper-aware of everything, of the cool air on my skin, of the soft texture of the robe against my skin.

"You’re going to sit there," I hear him say, his voice velvety and full of promise, "and let me have all my fun. Won’t you?"

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the smirk in his words. He’s fully in control, and I’m at his mercy. My body is buzzing, every nerve on edge, waiting for what he’ll do next.

I open my mouth to answer, but before I can speak, he grabs my chin, tilting my head up sharply. The roughness of it makes me excited. That’s also new.

"Won’t you?" he repeats low and commanding.

"Yes, sir." I manage to say.

"Thorne, you’re mine," he says, his voice a quiet, possessive murmur.

"My alpha. I’m not gonna share you. Ever. I’d rather no one else could ever have you if I can’t," he whispers, but it feels more like he’s talking to himself than to me. The words are soft, almost tender, but the weight behind them is anything but gentle.

My heart pounds in my chest, a surge of adrenaline mixing with desire. Noelle’s affection for me has always been something fierce, something I’d never question, but this—this is darker, more possessive, and it sends a thrill through me I didn’t know I craved. I’m bound, blindfolded, at his mercy, and I’m loving every second of it.

I hear the soft padding of his feet against the floor as he comes closer. Then, he’s straddling my lap again, settling his weight against me. My body reacts instinctively, shifting under him to offer support, to make sure he’s comfortable. But in reality, it’s me who’s at his mercy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

"I’ve always known you’re popular," he starts, his voice dripping with something like irritation mixed with fondness. "Despite how scary you are, people still want you. You’re so tall, so handsome, with that blonde hair..." His fingers slide through my hair, and a shiver runs down my spine.

"And your eyes..." His fingertips brush the edge of the silk blindfold, tracing its edge, and I feel my breath catch. "It doesn’t help that you look so sinful," he continues, his voice a little huskier now, like he’s savoring every word. "You just had to be this domineering, powerful man."

His sigh is almost wistful, but then he adds, "Unfortunately, though, you’re mine. And I’m selfish."

I hear the rustle of fabric, feel the slight shift of his body, and then his lips press against mine in the softest of kisses. The gentleness of it almost startles me, especially after the possessive words that came before. But it’s short-lived. His scent surrounds me, his body pressing against mine, and I tug on the restraints instinctively, wanting—needing—to touch him. But the ropes don’t give. I’m helpless to do anything but take what he gives.

And then, without warning, his lips crash into mine with a force that steals the air from my lungs. It’s not soft anymore—it’s raw, desperate. His hands cup my face, fingers digging into my skin with just enough pressure to remind me who’s in control here. His mouth moves against mine in a way that’s demanding, like he’s trying to brand me with his kiss, and I can’t help but respond.

I part my lips, and he takes the invitation immediately, his tongue sliding into my mouth, exploring with a fervor that leaves me dizzy. The taste of him is intoxicating, sweet and overwhelming, and I groan into the kiss, the sound muffled by the force of his mouth on mine. It’s like he’s pouring all of his emotions into this one kiss—his love, his jealousy, his possessiveness, his desire—and I’m drowning in it.

The kiss deepens, becomes hungrier, more urgent. His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling slightly as he angles my head just the way he wants. Every brush of his lips, every slide of his tongue against mine is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through me that coil low in my belly. I’m breathing him in, tasting him, losing myself to him entirely.

Noelle bites down on my lower lip, hard enough to send a spike of pain through the haze of pleasure, and I gasp, but the sound turns into a moan as his tongue soothes the sting immediately after. He’s relentless, and I’m helpless under his assault, blind and bound, my senses focused entirely on him—on the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth.

I want more. I need more. But I’m at his mercy, and he knows it. He pulls back, just slightly, just enough to make me chase his lips, but he doesn’t give in. Instead, he whispers against my mouth, his breath hot and ra

gged, "You’re mine, Thorne. Only mine."

And I believe him.