[minific] alt ending to ch38
i just finished writing ch38 yesterday and i wanted to give you guys a lil smth smth, like what if max broke his vow? canonically, he wouldn't (our boy has integrity), but.... what if?
so this is that. enjoy!
Pretty soon, Ainsley was halfway in my lap—hands clutching my shirt, knees hooked on either side of mine, pressed so close I could barely think. And then he moved. Just a tiny shift. His hips dragged forward—like he was chasing the pressure—and I felt it.
I felt how wet he was.
Against my thigh. Soaked.
I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t. My whole body just froze, every nerve lighting up at once. His slick had bled right through, hot and messy, everywhere, and now I could feel it soaking through my sweats like he’d marked me.
My cock throbbed so hard it hurt.
He whimpered, barely a sound, but his hips kept moving like it wasn’t even a decision. Like his body was just doing it. Like he needed it. Slick smeared hot and sweet across my leg and I swear to God, I almost came just from that.
From him using me like that. So instinctive. So desperate.
And I still didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Just let it happen. Let him rub his leaking, scent-high little body against me and pretended I could survive it.
Jesus fuck.
He was soaked, still grinding and clutching at me like I was the only thing holding him upright. My thigh was slick with it now—hot and wet and so fucking real—and I couldn’t stop shaking from how hard I was.
And then he leaned in, real slow and deliberate, pressing his nose right up to the side of my neck—breathing me in.
My heart stopped.
Because that was when I realized—I wasn’t wearing a scent patch anymore.
I didn’t even remember taking it off. I must’ve done it without thinking? Maybe in the bedroom? Or sometime between the kiss and the kitchen and the way he moaned when I said he tasted like trust. But now it was off. And he was smelling me. Like... really smelling me.
His whole body shivered against mine.
Then he murmured it. Barely a sound. Just one word.
“Max.”
Right against my mouth, soft and whimpering, like he was begging and hated himself for it. He rolled his hips again, slower this time, slick dragging hard over my thigh.
And then his hand grabbed mine and shoved it down. Not subtly. Not like an invitation. He pressed it between his thighs, right up against his crotch, where he was soaked through and hot, and I could feel it: heat and wet and the soft curve of him under my palm. Soaked hole. Soaked for me.
My breath punched out of my lungs.
I couldn’t even think. My body locked up like it was short-circuiting on instinct and pheromones—because it was. Every part of me was screaming take him. Right there. On the couch. On the floor. Hell, on the ceiling if necessary. It didn’t matter. I needed to touch him. I needed to get his clothes off. I needed to taste him.
“Sunshine,” I rasped, barely able to speak. “You’re—fuck, you’re not playing fair.”
But he just blinked at me, all flushed and glowing and evil-pretty, like this was totally fair, like he was the victim and I was the one seducing him.
And he didn’t say a word. He just rocked against my hand again.
I knew what he was doing.
I knew it in my bones, in my blood, in the deep, echoing part of my brain that still remembered how to run plays and read defenses—he was baiting me. This wasn’t a meltdown. It wasn’t heat haze or confusion. This was intentional. Calculated. Cold-blooded omega war tactics.
He was slick all over my thigh, whimpering into my mouth, pressing my hand against his pussy like I was some kind of wind-up toy he just had to activate. And he was gonna look me in the eye after I lost control, after I fucked him stupid, after I came with my face buried in his neck—and say something like:
“I never said I wanted it. You did that all on your own.”
I could already hear it, already see it—his stupid smug smirk, all flushed and glowing and superior, like he’d just defended a paper on how easy it was to make me snap. Like I was his little science project, and this was just another data point to file away under Max Vaughn is pathetically weak when wet omega pussy is involved.
I should’ve walked away.
Should’ve pulled back. Put on my patch. Made a protein shake. Read a fucking ethics article and clung to my GPA vow like a life raft.
But instead, I groaned. Loud and raw. Helpless.
And I yanked his sweatpants down. They dropped off his hips like they had never mattered and there he was—slick and pink under my palm, dripping and swollen.
Jesus Christ. I almost blacked out.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t gloat. Not yet. Just bit his lip and watched me, that smug little glint already in his eyes, probably already planning his victory speech.
I was breathing too hard. My hands were shaking. I knew he wanted me to break.
So I did.
I slid two fingers through the mess between his thighs and felt him pulse around nothing. So fucking wet. So hot. He gasped—sharp, needy—and I didn’t even try to stop the sound I made back.
I was already gone and so was he.
If I was gonna lose, I was gonna fucking lose spectacularly on purpose, with my whole chest. Let him smirk. Let him say the line. I’d take it. Hell, I’d earn it.
Because my sunshine was worth the fallout.
I slid my fingers through his slick again, slower this time, just to feel it. Just to hear the soft, wet sound it made as it coated my skin. He let out a high, stuttering breath like he wanted to stop himself—but couldn’t. His thighs twitched around my wrist. His hips tilted up. Still no words.
I rubbed the pad of my thumb just barely over his sweet spot and watched his whole body seize.
God, he was so sensitive. His thighs jerked and he gritted his teeth, fingers curling into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. My cock was throbbing, straining against my own sweats like it was trying to get closer without permission.
I didn’t even realize I was lowering him until he was on his back across the couch, legs over my lap, pants gone, flushed all over and wet like he’d been thinking about this all day. Maybe he had. Probably had. He was evil like that.
His eyes fluttered open—just barely.
“Max,” he whispered again, real quiet. Real ruined.
I didn’t answer.
I just dropped to my knees.
The scent hit me like a drug. Sweet and slick and omega, all tangled up with mine now that my patch was off, buzzing so loud in my chest it felt like a second heartbeat. I shoved the coffee table back with one hand and pulled his legs over my shoulders, hauling him closer until my face was right up against him, until I could see it—how soaked he was, how pink, how badly he was twitching for attention.
“God, your—fuck, your pussy—I mean, your hole, sorry, whatever, it’s just—Jesus, it’s perfect.”
“Not a pussy, you ape,” Ainsley snapped out, flushed. He was already dripping onto the cushion. Already open for me.
I looked up once, just to check—half-expecting him to say stop, to pull the rug out from under me, to remind me this was all one big bratty trap.
But he didn’t. He just looked down at me with that glassy, blown-out stare and tilted his hips forward like a fucking challenge.
So I dove in.
Tongue flat, mouth open—one long, slow lick through all that slick until he shuddered and moaned like he hated himself for it. I buried my face between his thighs and ate, greedy and reverent and fucking starving for him.
Every time he gasped, I pushed deeper. Every time he rocked against my mouth, I grabbed his hips and held him still so I could keep going. He was already trembling. Already leaking so much slick it dripped down my chin.
He came once—hard—legs shaking, thighs clenched around my ears like a vice. His fingers twisted in my hair, breath broken, back arching. His whole body was pulsing. But I didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. Just kept licking through it like I was trying to memorize the taste of him.
And then I heard it another soft, choked, “Max—”
Not a protest. Not a warning. A plea.
That was it. That was the moment.
My vow? Dead. In the ground. Buried with honors. I think I even groaned against him, because some part of me knew—knew—this was the point of no return. That I was choosing this, choosing him. Choosing to lose.
And I didn’t fucking care.
I dragged him down the cushions, hands rough on his thighs now, kneeling up over the couch as I shoved my sweats off with one hand, cock already leaking and desperate. Slick was smeared everywhere. My fingers, my mouth, the inside of my thighs. The couch. Him. Me.
“Max,” he whispered again, dazed.
I didn’t ask. I just pressed the tip of my cock against his slick, flushed entrance, shuddering from how fucking ready he was.
I paused. One second. Two. And then I pushed in.
Slow. Deep. All the way, until I bottomed out and he gasped under me, his back arching, hands fisting in the cushions. He was tight, wet as hell, clenching around me like he’d been waiting for this longer than I had.
My vow shattered.
It didn’t even matter anymore. I was inside him. I was fucking him. And he was taking it like he’d planned it from the start. I looked down at him, chest heaving, breath catching in my throat—and that was when he did it. That little fucking smirk.
Barely there. Just the edge of it. Just enough to let me know.
“I never said I wanted it,” he whispered, voice all breathless and smug and evil. “You did that all on your own.”
And I swear to God, I came just from hearing it, so hard it felt like punishment.
Like judgment. Like my own body had finally snapped the leash and said you failed, but at least you failed spectacularly. I was barely inside him before I was groaning, teeth grit, cock pulsing helplessly while he clenched around me and moaned like he was soaking it in on purpose.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. He’d said the line—he said it, all smug and breathless, that bratty little whisper, and it broke me.
I pulled out just enough to thrust back in—slow at first, still shaking, still overloaded—but the second I felt him flutter around me again, all hot and soaked and full, I snapped. My hands found his hips, mouth dropping to his shoulder, and I started fucking him for real, finding a rhythm that was hard and deep.
Like I had something to prove and he knew it. Like this was a test I was already failing and couldn’t stop taking. My hips slammed into him, and he took every thrust like it was a gift—tilted his head back, lips parted, eyelids fluttering. His legs wrapped around me again, slick sticking to my abs and thighs and balls, coating everything.
“God—fuck—Ainsley,” I gasped, rutting harder, driving into him like I could still earn something if I just went deep enough. “You—fuck—you’re gonna kill me.”
He let out a high little laugh. Laughed. Evil omega bastard. On a breath, he muttered, all soft and mocking, “I didn’t ask you to do this.” And he squeezed around me, clamping his walls down like a vice.
I growled fully, the sound rattling chest-deep. Couldn’t help it. There was another orgasm building in me just from the way he gripped me, like his body was trying to wring every drop out of me.
“You wanted it,” I bit out, pushing deeper, forcing his knees higher, “you fucking wanted it—”
“I never said that,” he gasped back, but he was breathless, cock dripping against his stomach, toes curling. “You’re—ugh—so desperate—”
I snapped my hips forward, slamming into him deep and grinding there. He cried out, high and choked, hand flying to his mouth like he didn’t mean to make the sound. His eyes were glassy, body trembling again.
So I did it again.
Over and over. Deep. Brutal. Worshipful. Slick everywhere. The room smelled like us—raw heat and sweat and bond. I didn’t care about grades. I didn’t care about vows. I just needed to fuck him until he couldn’t smirk anymore.
“Say it,” I groaned, biting at his neck. “Say you wanted it.”
“No,” he whispered.
But his legs were shaking, mouth open, his hole taking everything.
I kissed him. Sloppy, deep, claiming his mouth while I rutted into him, grinding through another orgasm, losing track of time, of sound, of everything but the way he cried out for me the second time he came—his body seizing up around my cock, clenching so tight I nearly blacked out.
He didn’t say a word after.
Just smirked like a man who knew he’d won, and I just laid there, still inside him, still panting, body wrecked and brain melting, knowing he was gonna hold this over me for the rest of my life, knowing I’d do it all over again. On my own. Every time. And then I woke up. Rock hard, soaked in sweat, and absolutely fucked in the head.