It’s too much and not enough all at once. The delicious ache of being stretched beyond my limits, the way my body instinctively clenches around him, greedy for every inch. My nerves feel raw, electrified, sparking under my skin with each tiny shift of his hips. The stretch borders on unbearable, riding that perfect edge.
Somewhere in the back of my hazy mind, I register the way his grip tightens in my hair, the possessive growl rumbling against my spine—but right now, all I can focus on is the way he’sruiningme, reshaping me around him, and god, I love every second of it.
“Fuck, fuck,fuck—” The words tumble out of me, half-moan and half-laugh, because this is it. This is exactly what I’ve been chasing for months. Years, maybe. The knot keeps growing, locking us together, and I clench down around it instinctively, my body greedy for every inch.
Suha’s teeth sink into the junction of my neck and shoulder at the exact moment the knot reaches its full size. The bite sends lightning straight down my spine, sharp and claiming, and I feel him coming inside me in hot pulses that seem to go on forever. My cock jerks against my stomach, untouched, and I’m coming too, the orgasm ripping through me so hard my vision goes completely white.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything except shake and moan as wave after wave crashes over me, my body clenching rhythmically around his knot.
Suha’s weight presses me into the mattress, his chest heaving against my back. His hand is still fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough that I know there will be perfect finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. His teeth are still buried in my shoulder, blood trickling down my skin in warm rivulets. I canfeel his heartbeat thundering against my spine, can feel the way his whole body is trembling with the aftershocks.
I slump forward as much as I can with him still locked inside me, my face pressing into the sheets. My arms feel like jelly, my legs barely functional. Every muscle in my body aches, my throat burns from being choked, my face stings from the slaps, and I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding from at least three different bite wounds. The borrowed shirt is completely destroyed, hanging off me in tatters, and I think there might be glass embedded in my back from when he slammed me through the coffee table.
I’ve never felt better in my entire life.
Iwake up sometime in the afternoon the following day feeling like I’ve been hit by a freight train, then backed over for good measure. Every muscle in my body screams in protest when I try to move, and my throat feels like someone took sandpaper to it. Which, considering the amount of screaming I did last night, isn’t far from the truth.
I blink slowly at the ceiling, taking stock. My mouth is dry as hell, my head is pounding, and I’m pretty sure there isn’t a single inch of my body that doesn’t hurt. But underneath all that pain is this deep, bone-deep satisfaction that makes me want to purr like a cat.
I fucking did it.
The warm weight of an arm draped over my waist reminds me I’m not alone. I turn my head carefully—even that small movement makes my neck twinge—and find Suha dead to the world beside me, sprawled on his stomach with his face half-buried in a pillow. His sleek black hair is a complete mess,sticking up in all directions, and without that severe expression he usually wears, he looks almost peaceful.
Almost.
The massive tattoo covering his back catches my attention now that I can actually appreciate it without being bent over and railed into the mattress. It’s traditional Korean artwork, a tiger and dragon locked in battle amid storm clouds, all done in bright, colorful strokes. The detail is insane, must have taken dozens of sessions to complete. I want to trace the lines with my fingers, but I’m pretty sure if I wake him up right now, we’ll end up going another round, and I honestly don’t think my body can take it.
His rut finally seems to be over, thank fuck. I lost count of how many times we went at it throughout the night and into the morning. At some point, it all blurred together into a haze of pain and pleasure and those overwhelming pheromones that made my brain short-circuit every time he released them.
I carefully extract myself from under his arm, biting back a groan as my body protests the movement. My ass feels like someone took a battering ram to it. Multiple battering rams. I’m pretty sure I’m never going to walk normally again. But looking down at the evidence scattered across my skin—deep bite marks on my shoulders and neck, bruises in the shape of fingers around my throat and wrists, my lips split and swollen—I find it completely worth it.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and immediately regret it when my muscles scream at me. Standing up is even worse. I have to grab onto the nightstand for support, my legs shaking like a newborn deer. Yeah, I’m definitely walking with a limp today.
My clothes are scattered across the suite like a tornado hit. I find my jeans crumpled near the door, one of my boots by the window, my shirt torn completely in half and discarded on thecouch. I piece together what I can salvage, pulling on my jeans with some difficulty and finding my other boot kicked under the bed.
The bathroom mirror is not kind when I finally make it there. I look absolutely wrecked. My hair is sticking up in every direction, there are dark circles under my eyes, and my neck looks like I got mauled by a wild animal. The bite marks are deep and angry-looking, some of them still oozing a little blood. There’s no way I’m hiding these. I’m going to have to wear a turtleneck for the next week, and even that might not be enough.
My throat is ringed with bruises in the distinct shape of handprints. I touch them gently and wince. Yeah, those are going to be there for a while. My wrists have matching marks, along with my hips.
I splash some water on my face and try to make myself look somewhat presentable, but it’s a losing battle. I look like exactly what I am—someone who just spent the night getting absolutely destroyed by a dominant alpha in rut.
But the grin that spreads across my face is completely unrepentant.
Before I leave, I grab a notepad from the desk in the suite and scrawl out a message with the hotel pen:See you again next rut. Don’t worry, I know how to find you.
I leave it on the bedside table where Suha will see it when he wakes up, then gather what’s left of my dignity and my clothes and limp my way to the door.
The bell above Wooil’s pawn shop door chimes as I push through, and I’m barely three steps inside before he looks up from behind the counter and immediately starts slow clapping,a shit-eating grin spreading across his face like he just won the lottery.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, setting down whatever he was tinkering with and coming around the counter to get a better look at me. “Look who finally got the beating he wanted so badly.”
I flip him off but I can’t help the smug grin that tugs at my split lip. Yeah, I look like absolute hell and I know it. The turtleneck I dug out of my closet is doing exactly nothing to hide the damage. The bruises creep up past the collar, dark purple fingerprints visible on my throat. My face isn’t much better—there’s a cut on my cheekbone, my bottom lip is swollen, and I’m pretty sure I have a black eye forming.
“Holy shit,” Wooil says, circling me like I’m some kind of exotic animal at the zoo. He lets out a low whistle. “You look like you went ten rounds with a meat grinder and lost spectacularly.”
“You should see the other guy,” I say automatically, then snort because that’s a complete lie. Suha probably woke up with barely a scratch on him while I look like I got ran over.
Wooil gestures at my neck, my face, probably the limp I’m trying very hard to hide as I make my way to the back room. “So? Did the mystery alpha live up to expectations or what?”
