Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 271: Turned tables [M]

271 – Noelle POV

True to his word, I feel mad.

Absolutely mad.

My legs are trembling, my chest sticky with evidence of just how thoroughly he ruined me without even laying a finger. My heart is thundering in my ears, my skin hypersensitive, lit with some dangerous combination of humiliation and bliss. And still, he watches me like he’s only just begun.

"Thorne," I whisper, or maybe it’s a plea—maybe it’s a curse. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I’m unraveling.

And he hasn’t even touched me yet.

How long has it been? I’m once again hard—my earlier release did nothing to cool the ache. The fire’s back with a vengeance, worse than before, licking up my spine with every breath he takes.

Now he’s teasing me. Tempting me. Stroking himself through his pants like a man with all the time in the world.

I get angry.

Like really angry.

And I’m frustrated. And it’s so hot. So aroused.

It’s driving me insane.

I look around the room, pulse pounding in my ears. Fucking bastard thinks he’s the only one with an ability?

Not today.

The plants are too far. If I call them now, he’ll notice—he’ll stop me.

I need something close.

Something clever.

My eyes scan the room and land on his chair.

Wood.

Chairs are made of wood.

Wood comes from trees.

Trees are plants.

I’ve never done this before. Never tried it.

But I swear to Elaris, if I don’t get fucked in the next thirty seconds, I’ll lose what little remains of my sanity.

I narrow my eyes at the leg of the chair Thorne is sitting on, looking unfairly hot, casually palming himself through his pants like I’m not about to commit a small act of divine wrath.

And then—there it is.

At the base of the chair leg, a small, tentative green bud begins to form.

I feel it—feel the stretch of mana threading through my fingertips, feel the pulse of life within the dead wood respond to me. My lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

It works.

I don’t look away from him.

He hasn’t noticed. Not yet. He’s too busy watching me squirm in this damn chair, with his heavy-lidded eyes and that maddening smirk that makes me want to kiss him and hit him in equal measure.

The bud swells.

A sprout curls, slow and serpentine, inching its way from the wood like it’s waking from sleep.

I make it grow.

Coax it. freewebnoveℓ.com

Shape it.

It slithers silently across the floor—just one thin, curious vine, reaching toward him with almost childlike mischief.

My heart pounds.

He finally notices.

His gaze flicks to the side, sees the movement—and his eyebrows lift just a little.

Then his smirk drops.

He looks at me, eyes sharp now, almost impressed.

"You cheeky little—"

The vine lunges.

And Thorne, my insufferably smug husband, jolts as the tendril wraps around his ankle, yanking with just enough force to make him stiffen.

Another vine forms at the base of the chair, curling around the opposite leg. Then another.

The wood gives. Responds to me. It lives again, reshaping, bending to my will.

And in those few precious seconds—his concentration flickers.

He falters.

It’s all I need.

With a gasp, I push myself upright, stumbling from my chair. My body feels like it’s vibrating from the inside out, every nerve buzzing with need. My hands shake as I reach for him, not even bothering with patience. I grab at his waistband, fingers fumbling with the fastenings, tugging him free with all the urgency of a man starved.

"Wait—" he starts, voice strangled, but I don’t wait.

I don’t even hear him, not really. My thighs close around him, I straddle him in one fluid motion, sinking down onto him so quickly it knocks the breath from both our lungs.

Finally.

The relief hits me like a crash of water over a fire. I almost sob at the sensation. My whole body trembles, shoulders sagging, nails biting into his shoulders as I hold onto him like a lifeline.

The pressure, the ache, the maddening emptiness—all of it is gone, replaced with the heat and fullness of him inside me.

And then—

He releases.

Instantly. Unexpectedly.

I feel the sharp pulse of it as he twitches inside me, and I pull back just enough to look at him, blinking in surprise.

Thorne—Thorne—has never been like this. The man is legendary for his control, for dragging out his pleasure like a cruel art form. There have been times where I thought he might outlast time itself just to see me fall apart again and again.

But now?

Now he looks wrecked.

His chest is heaving, shirt half-clinging to his body, his hands gripping my hips like they’re the only things tethering him to reality. His jaw is tight, and when our eyes lock, his expression is a storm.

Blue eyes dark with fury.

With pride.

With heat.

With something dangerously close to awe.

"...Thorne?" I ask, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

He stares at me like I’ve just flipped his entire world upside down.

"Since when could you do that? I thought you needed plants that were, you know... alive," he says, his fingers still gripping my waist, warm and firm, as if trying to remind himself I’m real—and really the one who just turned the tables on him.

I breathe in, still a little breathless, and shift my weight just enough to feel him twitch again inside me.

His jaw tightens. Good.

"I didn’t know I could," I admit, voice light but smug.

"Turns out desperation is a great motivator."

Thorne narrows his eyes, suspicion and admiration tangled in the furrow of his brows.

"You made furniture bloom, Noelle."

"Wood is plant matter," I say, lips twitching upward.

"Dead, dormant, sealed or shaped... it still listens to me. I just never thought to try it before."

"You bloomed the chair I was sitting on," he mutters.

"And look at the results." I gesture down between us, to where we’re still joined.

His eyes narrow.

"So," I add innocently, "do you need more time until you’re ready to go orrr...?"

Thorne scoffs—actually scoffs—his grip tightening on my hips. I can feel the twitch beneath me, that warning pulse.

He looks up at me like a man betrayed. "You ambushed me."

I smile sweetly. "You deserved it."

"I planned everything," he grumbles. "I had a whole setup. A mood. I was going to make you beg."

"You did," I say, fluttering my lashes. "And I meant every word. I just got tired of waiting."

He groans, low and deep, running a hand through his already-messy hair like he’s

resisting the urge to throw me down and rearrange the room.

Then his gaze darkens.

"Noelle," he says slowly, "you better hold on."

And just like that, the tide shifts again.