As if his body had been waiting for Wade to reach the same edge, Alex’s orgasm crashed over him. His cock pulsed in their joined grip, painting the sheets with thick ropes of cum.
Wade drove into him three more times before stilling, cock buried deep. Wet heat flooded Alex’s insides as Wade bit down hard where neck met shoulder, teeth breaking skin this time.
Alex’s second orgasm hit without warning, his spent cock twitching out a few more drops as the bite sent aftershocks through his system.
They stayed frozen like that for a moment, Wade’s teeth still embedded in Alex’s shoulder, cock still buried in his ass. Then Wade released him, licking at the wound he'd created.
“My honey bunny,” Wade cooed against the broken skin.
Alex collapsed forward, Wade’s weight following him down. They lay there in a sweaty, sticky heap, both breathing hard.
“We need another shower,” Alex mumbled into the pillow.
Wade’s laugh rumbled against his back. “In a minute.”
“You’re crushing me.”
“You love it.”
Alex did, actually. The solid weight of his mate pressed against every inch of his back felt like the world's best weighted blanket. Safe and warm and exactly where he belonged.
Eventually Wade rolled off him, cock slipping free with a wet sound that made Alex wrinkle his nose. Cum leaked out of him, adding to the mess they'd made of the sheets.
“These need washing,” Alex observed.
“Tomorrow's problem.” Wade pulled him close, apparently unconcerned about the various bodily fluids decorating both of them.
Alex traced a finger along one of the lightning scars on Wade’s chest. The skin was already looking better, pink instead of purple. “You really should shift to heal these faster.”
“After you fall asleep,” Wade promised, pressing a kiss to Alex’s forehead.
“I'm not tired,” Alex lied, even as his eyes started to drift shut.
Wade’s hand stroked through his hair, gentle and repetitive. “Sure you’re not.”
Sleep pulled at Alex, warm and insistent. His last coherent thought was that freedom had never felt this good—not just from the collar but from the fear and running and loneliness that had defined his life for so long.
Here in Wade’s arms, sticky and sore and completely satisfied, Alex finally felt like he could stop running.
Chapter Eleven
Wade and Alex exited the truck, gravel crunching under their boots as they crossed the small parking lot toward the police station. Midday sun beat down, making the asphalt shimmer with heat waves that distorted the building's edges. Sweat prickled at Wade’s hairline despite the breeze carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding forest.
The station looked newer than most buildings in town, all clean lines and brick facade that hadn’t yet weathered into the mountain charm everything else wore like a badge. Glass doors reflected their approach, and Wade caught sight of himself and Alex side by side, one massive and the other small enough to fit under his arm.
Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that particular shade of institutional white that made Wade’s eyes ache. The place smelled like coffee and industrial cleaner, the kind that promised sterility without quite delivering. Four chairs lined the wall, upholstered in some stain-resistant fabric that probably had seen more ass than a proctologist's office.
Behind a curved reception desk sat a guy who looked barely old enough to drink, typing away at a computer with the focused intensity of someone trying to appear busy. His nametag read Deputy Sanchez in neat block letters.
“Help you?” Sanchez asked, fingers hovering over the keys.
Alex’s hand found Wade’s, fingers cold despite the warm day outside. The tremor running through his mate's grip made Wade want to scoop him up and carry him right back to the truck to forget this whole thing.
But they'd agreed. Getting ahead of this was smarter than waiting for it to catch up.
“Need to speak with Sheriff Owen,” Wade said, keeping his voice level and polite in a way that didn’t come naturally but seemed necessary when dealing with cops. “It's important.”
“What’s this in reference to?” Sanchez grabbed a pen, ready to take notes like this was some routine inquiry about a noise complaint or stolen lawn ornament.
