Turning Page
You work at the library Simon and his daughter frequent.
Single dad! Simon Riley x librarian! Reader
tags | alpha! Simon Riley, Omega! Reader, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of mating bonds, scenting, fluff, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, knotting, creampie
18+, mdni
Final | masterlist | ao3
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Behaved.
Simon’s been nothing but behaved. Hasn’t touched you below the belt even though his fingers have been trembling with desire for weeks.
Patient.
If he were younger he would’ve ripped your overalls off, bent you over your library desk, and taken you the same night he met you: barred teeth and all.
He hadn’t.
Even now, you sit on the edge of his bed, staring at him with coy eyes from the doorway, and he keeps his hands at his sides. Nothing but the lacy bra and underwear he’s sure you wore just for this. It hugs your breasts perfectly, plump flesh spilling from the material.
Sitting there, waiting, on his bed. All parts divine perched on a silver platter for him to feast on, dig his claws and teeth in.
Still, he’s hesitant, tensing his jaw so his canines don’t scare you as he approaches. He’s not sure how he got here, not sure how you got there—some miracle of sorts.
His hand swallows your neck, thumb tickling your scent gland when he pushes his way between your thighs. He sees your chest constrict with a deep breath, watches the way your eyes become lidded from one swipe. The bite’s still there, not quite faded. His alpha snarls, he still hasn’t grown accustomed to the sight of it, especially when you’re naked and about to be tangled in his sheets, wrapped around his knot.
You’ve already told him it’s been forever, warned him about triggering your heat. It’s at the back of his mind, tucked right next to the trauma of your previous mate. It’s part of why he’s behaved, Clementine aside. Afraid his alpha might act too brazen, decide to devour you whole like your previous mate, like who he used to be.
It’s why he’s given in small doses.
He ignores the fact that it feels as if his claws are sprouting from his fingertips, ignores the way his jaw feels so fucking heavy and the only way it’ll lighten is if he buries his teeth in your neck. Make you bleed red as his.
It’s not your heat, but by god does the room smell like it is. Your jasmine is so thick he’s not sure how he’s managed to keep his alpha on a leash thus far. It’s raw from the source, straight from the tap, unconfined by your omega.
He smells the slick in your panties, heady jasmine, and creamy vanilla. So much more enticing than before. There’s still apprehension, sweet smell burnt around the edges. The aggressive alpha in him likes it that much more, mouth watering just to get one fucking taste.
“Pretty omega.”
He says it without a curl to his words, soft and tender, because he fucking means it. You take a sharp breath, hand coiling around his wrist on your neck.
He presses a peck to your lips, just wants a small taste before his main course, licks his lips when you chase after him with a soft noise. He hovers, thumb tracing against the jut of your jaw, your cheek, knuckles down your neck, like he’s memorizing each curve. Staring at you with something in his eyes you can’t quite pinpoint.
He can hear your heartbeat in your chest, feels it patter under the pad of his thumb.
“You nervous?”
That breaks a small smile across your lips. “You can smell me.”
This time you mean it.
And fuck— do you smell good.
He nudges your head gently with his nose until he finds the source of your sweet scent and inhales deep, smothering himself in your smell, mind hazy with nothing but you. Rubbing his own scent on it, claiming, like he’s hypnotized by the fusing of the two scents, hopes to stain it to the back of his throat, so he’ll never fucking forget it.
“Tell me, Miss. Librarian,” His lips brush your scent gland, laves his tongue against the sensitive skin between words because he can’t resist, “Why are you so nervous?”
“Well— I know you,” You pause, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s from the way he sucks your scent gland between his teeth or the needy sound you make between breaths. “Probably um.”
When he pulls back, you gesture to his pelvis.
He tries his best to hide his smirk, “Have a big dick?”
You nod quickly, struggling to hold his gaze when there’s embarrassment burning your neck and chest, tongue heavy in your mouth because you don’t quite have the strength to speak. You gasp when he lifts you easily by your hips, resting you against the pillows, adjusting himself between your thighs, trapped under his weight, mouth at your ear.
“I do, baby.”
His voice, low and smooth, rolls chills down your spine, settles thick in your core when he grinds against your cunt for emphasis, presses a wet stamp to the back of your ear, greedy hands exploring the expanse of your body, squeezing and kneading any supple flesh he can find purchase on.
“But that’s okay, isn’t it?”
A wet stamp to the curve of your neck, scraping his teeth ever so lightly against your gland, makes you arch, scratching at his back because you fucking want it just as much as he does.
“Just gotta make sure to stretch ya reallll nice f’me.” He drags the end of his words, popping your breasts free from your bra.
A wet stamp on your sternum, sucking each nipple in his mouth so there’s a shiny ring of saliva around them, makes you mewl quietly as the cold air stings them.
“Make it fit.”
His eyes flicker to yours from between your legs, he’s sure he looks like a predator hunched over its prey, eyes dark and hooded. He’s sure it makes your omega turn with delight, begging to roll over and present to your alpha, show him how good a prized prey you could be. It makes his alpha rumble, watching you fidget nervously because of him, because of what he could do to you. Rip you to shreds.
He won’t. Though, the primal urges of his alpha want to make you submit to him, scruff your nape so you bend for his will, mount you and just fucking claim you with his fat knot.
He doesn’t have to do any of that, your instincts handed your acquiescence over to him long ago, bared your neck for him to bite, batted your pretty lashes as you stared up at him, begging him for more.
“It’s just been a long time.” You breathe it out like it’s strained, throat collapsed with nerves.
He peels your underwear off, ignoring the way your slick gobs a thick string when the material is pulled away, so he can focus on your words. Ignores the way your poor pussy looks like it’s weeping for him, hole winking, swollen and drenched, hasn’t ever been properly touched, especially not by your old mate.
He’ll show you. Show you how an omega should be treated. How he treats his omega.
He spreads your glistening pussy open, swipes his thumb through your folds, slowly, before he can even think about responding, collecting your slick and popping it in his mouth, sucking the sweet flavor right off.
You fist the sheets in anticipation, silently watching him with parted lips as he tastes you for the first time like he might not like it. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth, the man growls possessively around his digit, teeth pinching the pad of his thumb like it might draw more of your flavor.
When he finally opens his eyes, he looks like a completely different person, eyes dilated and wild, gone. Alpha in control.
“Don’t worry.” It’s vibrated from his chest, tone unfamiliar. “I take care of what’s mine.”
You have one second to take a breath before his tongue is in your cunt. One full swoop to flood his mouth with your essence, nose snug against your clit as he laps at your entrance. His alpha demands more, a hunger so insatiable that it orders him to feast.
The whine you make causes a scalding heat to spindle through his back, makes him hunch deeper into your pussy like a man starved, meaty paws pushing your knees to your chest, so your pussy is on display for him. He licks between your folds like it’s a delicacy, shifting between enjoying the moment, eyes closed, and letting your taste melt between his teeth and down his throat, groaning beastly from the pleasure of finally tasting you, to ripping his eyes open to watch your pretty face.
His mouth maps shapes against your clit, sucking and working you open with a intense fervor. The aphrodisiac to his pain the slick that gushes out of you, the frantic keens that spill from your lips. It fuels his hunger, deeper so.
He’s not entirely sure how you’ve managed to keep your glasses on thus far but they hang on the edge of your nose, foggy from your pants. He likes it, a little too much, laps against your clit that much more eagerly, smoothing his tongue drenched. The look you wear is precious, like he’s being unfair, cruel even, when he suctions your clit between his lips something fierce.
You weakly push at his shoulders, fingers clawing at his scalp as you squirm, stuttering how it’s too much, but it’s gone straight to his head, a little too greedy to stop now.
Your arousal’s dripping down his chin, smeared on his nose and lips, but he keeps diving in for more. Like it isn’t enough to be covered in your slick, your scent staining his skin, your taste permanent on his tongue. So everyone can smell your cum on his face, know he had his face encased in your thighs, know he had his pretty omega finishing on his tongue.
You kick your legs out when he replaces his mouth with his finger, whining a protest at the sudden stretch. A brawny arm holds you down, biting the inside of your thigh in retaliation, a deep growl spilling from his throat.
He won’t let you get away that easily. His alpha likes the chase.
There are teeth indents on your thigh when he pulls away, something possessive roars in his chest at the sight— his mark on your flesh.
“Be sweet f’me now okay, baby?” A second finger pushes through your walls. “Don’t you want my knot?”
You stare down at him wide-eyed, a high-pitched whine coming from your lips as you frantically nod.
The moment goes by in a bit of a blur, fucking his thick fingers into your pussy expertly, noises so obscene for such a sweet librarian. Especially when he curls them, thumb circling your clit in tandem, and you mewl, rocking your hips back against his palm. Your a mess, but he’s anything but uncoordinated, deliberate and controlled strokes.
He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing it to your chest, so he can crash his lips to yours. It’s sloppy, tongues smearing together, pressed to the roofs of mouths, and lips bitten swollen all while he’s got his fingers buried in your cunt, working the fire thumping in your core.
“D’ya taste that?”
When he pulls away theres a wet pop, lips glistening with his saliva. It’s a bit lewd, swapping the remnants of your slick from his mouth.
You bob your head, “Yeah.”
“That’s all you. All my omega.”
Your pussy flutters around his fingers.
He smirks, face hovering so close he takes all your air and makes it his own. “Oh? You like how you taste, sweetheart?”
You shake your head, ashamed, as he watches the embarrassment he’s teased form on your face.
He huffs a laugh, scissors his fingers, spreading your spongy walls, a bit impatient as his cock aches in his boxers. You take it so well until you can’t anymore, overwhelmed by the sensation of everything and not enough at the same time, pushing at the wrist against your mound.
“Want your knot, Simon.” Your voice sends a throb straight to the head of his cock, soft and broken, pleading so sweetly.
He has to grit his teeth, keep from filling you in one go. He was never a patient man to begin with.
When he frees his cock, slapping against your abdomen, tip reddened and angry, your eyes widen. He almost feels bad, it’s not like he didn’t tell you he was big, but he knows the sight of it makes you tense, wondering if you’ll be able to fit it all.
You will, he’ll make you.
He smears it along the ridges of your pussy, rutting his hips ever so slightly between your wet folds to cover himself in your warm slick. It doesn’t take long, you’re drenched, but you whine impatiently the whole time, pleasure jolting through your veins every time he brushes your clit.
When he finally, finally, slides his head in, you tense, mouth gaping, leg clamping at his shoulder.
“Jus’ the tip, sweetheart.”
His fingers are meant to soothe you, trace shapes into your sides, but it’s not his fault you’re a ticklish thing. You look at him like he’s the culprit when you squirm lower on his cock by accident, garbling a shocked moan.
The sound of your pussy popping over the head of his cock, the squelch of the slide almost sends him into overdrive. Stores it as one of his new favorite sounds, right up there next to his name on your lips.
It’s a lot— he knows it is, but you take it so well, mewling quietly into his ear with each new inch. The stretch wears you thin, head curled in the pillow at the agonizing pace he’s filling you at, breaths tight in your chest. You think it might be done, but he keeps pushing more and more in, deeper into your walls and you’re sure there’s no more room for him. He’s there, in your throat, kissing against your soft flesh, when he finally stops.
All his strength shatters into insignificant crumbs once he bottoms out, cock buried to the hilt. His breaths are shallow, holding on to any resemblance of control he had because you’re squeezing him so fucking tight. You look at him a little scared, squirming because he hasn’t even moved and it’s already too much, you already feel your chest collapse, choking on your breaths.
“Fuckin’ doin’ so well f’me, baby.” He surprises himself, didn’t think his voice would sound so steady wrapped around you. “Breathe f’me, sweetheart. Gotta relax”
If he wasn’t a strong man, he would’ve finished in you by now. Fill you with his spend and then fuck it back into you over and over again.
But he is a strong man, so all he does is grit his teeth and rut his hips, humming when he feels your chest fill with air and the warm breath cascade over his shoulders. Slowly grinding into your tight walls until all that’s left are his slurred praises pressed to your skin.
His fingers encase yours, tangling his hold into yours, held skintight at the side of your head, palm pressed to palm. It’s tender, all of it, right up to the fact that it seems as if your walls mold to him, like there was a Simon shaped outline.
Simon doesn’t believe in fate. Maybe in another life you and him would’ve had Clementine together, maybe he had to have Clementine to find you. Maybe in another life he would’ve been your mate, maybe you had to be betrayed to fall in love with him.
You’re his mate, there’s never been anyone else. He sees it in the pages of Fancy Nancy, reads it between the words of Corduroy. All the sweetest words bloom to life for you.
It’s slow, a steady grind that he gradually builds, pulls more of his cock out bit by bit before he fucks it back into you. And you stare at him like he’s got your heart in the palm of his hand, but it’s the complete opposite. You’ve netted your string around his heart weeks ago, pulled the lock of his alpha free.
A love he tried to deny himself. Told himself his heart was only big enough for Clementine. But there you are, peering up at him with your pretty eyes, curled in the shape of his heart. Told himself he was only soft for his mint, but there his hand rests, tangled in yours, squeezing your palm between every roll of his hips.
But there you were. Strung your way into his chest, made a home for yourself there, so it would ache when you weren’t there.
By the time he’s really thrusting into you, fat of his cock head bullying your cervix with precision because he can’t take it anymore, there’s a white ring around the base of his cock. It only gets thicker, you only clamp tighter around him with each new thrust, your thighs trembling either side of his hips, crying out everytime he angles his hips deeper.
“There we—fuck.” His head falls against your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to fight his forming knot.
Each time he opens his mouth with some new praise he wants to mumble, your pussy flutters around him, you moan a plea into his ear, and he stutters over his words like some virgin.
The drag of his hips feels delicious, the clench of your walls, silently begging for more, taking all that he has to offer is hypnotic.
He fucking loves it.
Plunging into your walls like he knows exactly how you like it.
He almost groans in agony because he can’t see the way your toes curl at his shoulder, or the way your brows tinge as the warmth of your impending orgasm turns fire hot, scorching a pain that burns so well you can’t take it anymore. His teeth at your scent gland sends you over the edge, biting hard enough it’ll leave a mark, but shallow enough it won’t form a bond. Reminiscent of what’s to come, not now, but soon.
Alpha.
You call him alpha in your daze, all soft and needy, eyes foggy and desperate.
It’s as if he sees red, bites his knuckle so hard it bleeds, so he won’t bury his canines in your neck. His knot pushes through your spongy walls as you arch your back, crying alpha like it’s the only word you know.
The coil in his core ruptures, vision practically blurring as he pumps his knot as deep as it’ll go before he growls around the copper blood of his knuckle, releasing his spend. His hips involuntarily jut forward with each spurt, finally filling you as his girl.
It’s a beat before he pulls his head from your neck, walls pulsing around his knot, daggers of pleasure clawing against his skin in the afterglow. You look a proper mess, hair disheveled, sweat down your cheeks, chest rising with deep breaths, looking all parts his omega.
He presses a peck to your temple, an action that has your chest coming alive, vibrating a deep contented purr. He smiles against your temple, nose brushing along your face as he purrs back, his sweet omega happy.
In the morning, when the both of you go to Uncle Johnny’s to pick up Clementine from her sleepover, she runs into your arms first, a painting in her hands.
She holds it up to the both of you, eagerly pulling both of your attention to the white paper.
“This one’s daddy.” She says, and it’s the same as her other painting, stick figure and all, black tattoos on his arms.
“This one’s Mint.” Her dress is purple this time, with a flower in her hair.
“And this one’s mommy!” She points to a third stick figure.
His chest tightens, saliva thickens in his mouth. There are tears in your eyes, a smile so wide he’s surprised they haven’t spilled over your cheeks. Johnny just sends the both of you a knowing smile.
He tacks it up over the old painting of just him and Mint. Complete.
note- Hi everyone! I just wanted to leave a little note to thank everyone for being so patient and understanding with the delay of this chapter. I fear most of you have lost interest in it, but I still wanted to complete it. Thank you for all support mwuahhhh!!! 🍊🤍
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