Page 19 of Fighting the Alpha

My heart stutters. “Why would you do that?”

He lets out a long, labored sigh. “Because I think if you get fucked more, maybe you will be less serious. And you have a very comfortable bed.”

I smile, my heart still hammering, but the icy grip around my gut is beginning to loosen. Levi’s grip on my thigh tightens fractionally.

“You are not wrong, Dylan,” he says softly. “You are a strong alpha. A terrible boxer, yes, but a strong alpha.”

I swallow thickly, and lean in to kiss him before I talk myself out of it. He kisses me back, slow and deep, his arm slipping around my waist to pull me closer.

“And I like fucking you,” he adds when we break apart, with one of those grins that used to make me want to hit him, but now makes me want something completely different. “So go to sleep, and I will fuck you again in the morning when you are less sad,oui?”

“Yeah,” I say, twisting in his grip so his lean chest is flush with my back. “Okay.”

He buries his nose in the nape of my neck with a tired sigh, and when he pushes out a thick wave of calming pheromones, scenting me just like I need but couldn’t ask for, I don’t fight it.

It shouldn’t quiet my racing thoughts, or slow my heart rate, or ease the squeeze of uncertainty in my chest. Another alpha shouldn’t be able to do that for me.

But he does.

Levi

It’s so warm when I wake up that, for one delirious second, I think I’m back home.

I half-expect to open my eyes to my childhood bedroom, maybe hear the sound of sheep bleating somewhere out the window, or our neighbor revving the Citro?n he bought in the early nineties and is inexplicably still alive and kicking.

But when I stretch, my elbow brushes lightly against the warm skin of Dylan’s shoulder, and I remember where I am. I remember Dylan calling me yesterday, and coming over here without a second thought, and fucking him until the primal haze in his eyes cleared enough for us to fall asleep twisted in his irritatingly comfortable sheets.

I lie in Dylan’s bed and wonder what he’d make of Saint-Breignac, the village I grew up in. I imagine him walking through the streets, towering over everyone and understanding absolutely nothing anyone says, and the image makes me laugh.

Dylan stirs in his sleep, a human furnace next to me, his thick, dark hair stuck to his forehead in clumps that should be ugly but look stupidly alluring against his strong features.

This fucking guy.

“Why’re you laughing?” he huffs, not opening his eyes.

“Your hair looks stupid,” I lie, pushing it off his forehead and laughing again when he frowns deeply, eyes still closed.

“Yourhair looks stupid,” he sighs.

“Your eyes are closed, Dylan.”

He twists onto his back, and when he finally blinks his eyes open, I can see that his rut is back in full force. His eyes have that fierce, drunken quality to them that makes me feel half-insane, even though he’s still half asleep. And his scent is fucking everywhere, like the walls are dripping with caramel syrup.

It’s a far cry from the sober vulnerability I saw from him in the middle of the night, a rare glimpse past his usually locked-up exterior. I could almost forget that conversation happened at all, if I wanted to. But I don’t want to.

“You want coffee?” I ask, even though I know he doesn’t. I make a move to get out of bed, but one of his strong arms hooks around my waist and pulls me back down into the sheets, pinning me to the mattress. “Oh, now you are awake?”

The hum he makes in response is more of a growl, his voice gravelly from sleep, his teeth suddenly scraping against my neck as he tries to roll on top of me. It’s a thrill to see the hesitation and embarrassment from when I first arrived has well and truly fallen by the wayside, but my alpha’s not about to let him pin me down and nose at my neck without a fight.

“Hey—” I push him onto his back, nestling my weight between his legs and nudging them apart, grabbing both his wrists and pinning them above his head.

Dylan and I are fairly evenly matched, although I’d never admit he probably has the edge in pure strength. He’s huge, after all, all muscle and impossible stubbornness. But I always come out on top in these power struggles, ending up with him panting and flushed underneath me.

Funny.

“If you want something, Dylan, you can ask for it,” I smirk, dragging one hand down to circle his neck, and my god, he’ssomething. His head falls to the side, baring his neck to me like it’s nothing. It drives me wild, this penchant for submission he has. I’m still surprised by it every time, shocked and electrified and delighted in equal measure. “If I am going to delay my morning coffee for you, you can at least be polite about it.”

He’s still nude from last night, we both are, and his cock is leaking and gorgeous against his stomach. I push his wrists harder into the mattress when he doesn’t respond right away, my thumb pressing against the hollow of his throat, and his eyes flutter in response. “Fuck me,” he murmurs hoarsely. “Please, Levi.”