Page 11 of Training the Alpha

“Holy fuck, Marcus,” I stutter, spreading my legs even wider to give him better access, and trembling when he uses it to press right against the sensitive spot inside me. “You’re—this is—”

He pulls off my cock wetly, his lips glistening. “If I’d known this is all it took to make you speechless, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“Fuck off,” I huff. “Fuck, no, don’t. Don’t fucking stop,god.”

He swirls his tongue around my aching tip, plunging his fingers in and out of me, letting me grind my hips against his palm.

“I’m gonna give you a choice, because I’m kind like that,” he says.

I grit out a choked “hmmmph”, my mouth falling open.

“You can either come like this, with my fingers in your ass and your cock down my throat,” he says, and my ass clenches his fingers involuntarily. “Or you can come on my cock.”

I don’t even have to think about it. The primal urge to have his huge frame all around me, driving us both over the edge, completely fries every synapse in my brain.

“Your cock,” I groan, the words ragged and desperate as I teeter dangerously close to the edge. “Marcus, please. Put it inside me.”

A dark, intensely satisfied smile tugs at his lips, his eyes flashing with the alpha dominance that turns my blood to fire. His fingers pull out of me, leaving me aching and empty, and he hauls himself up until he’s hovering over me like a solid wall of muscle. He pulls lube from under the pile of our towels, slicking himself up quickly, and then he’s lining himself up, his shoulders gleaming with sweat and his massive erection twitching hungrily between us.

He doesn’t make me beg a second time.

His lips meet mine in a feverish kiss as he drives into me, burying himself in my heat in one brutal, dizzying thrust. He fucks me like he’s trying to leave his mark on me,in me, and by the time he locks his fingers with mine, pins my hands to the mat, and growls for me tocomeas he starts to spill inside me in hot pulses,that’s all it takes for me to unravel.

As we get dressed, my limbs feel like lead, a deep exhaustion settling in my bones and bringing me down onto the bench bonelessly. The clock says it’s a quarter past midnight, and I rub my hands over my face, already dreading having to drag myself out of bed at 6.30 am tomorrow for an early class.

Between classes, rehearsals, training at the gym, andextra-curriculars with Marcus eating up my recovery time, I’ve been running on fumes lately. And I’ve been putting off doinganything about it, but my artistic director made a comment about my form during rehearsals today, and I know I can’t put it off any longer.

“So, nights aren’t going to work for me anymore,” I say, focusing on tying my shoelaces. “Rehearsals are ramping up in the lead-up to opening night, and I know from experience that I’ll be needing to stay late more often than not, and I need all the sleep I can get at the moment.”

The way Marcus’ face drops when I dare a glance over at him makes my stomach twist. I try not to focus too hard on what that might imply. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense. Recovery is important.”

“So I was thinking,” I continue, trying to keep my tone casual, even though my heart is suddenly hammering against my ribcage, because there’s a good chance that what I’m about to say next might scare him off. I know from experience that as soon as you try to bring a closeted alpha out of their comfort zone, shit can hit the fan real fast. “We could meet outside of the gym.”

I’m not looking at Marcus, but I can detect the change in his scent almost immediately. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to, but we’ve been intimate enough times that I’ve become more and more attuned to him. And rather than the fear I expected, I swear I can actually detecthappinessin his scent. “Yeah,” he says, sounding a touch too breathless to be normal. “Where were you thinking?”

“Well, we both have apartments, right?” I say, more confidently now.

“I have a house, actually, but yeah.”

“Okay, Mr Bigshot. So, we’ll meet at your fancy ass house.” And shit.There it is. The jolt of panic in his eyes, the deepening of the crease between his brows that says ‘this is my line, and you’ve just crossed it’. So he doesn’t want me in his house—I candeal with that. Nothing I haven’t handled before, even if it does make me feel like a dirty little secret. “Or my apartment,” I tag on breezily, forcing any tightness out of my voice. “Which is not fancy, contrary to what you might have been led to believe by my glamorous persona.”

The crease smooths out, the fear in his eyes receding just a fraction. Just enough.

“You got a bed, at least?” he asks gruffly.

“You bet,” I say, leaning into him so our shoulders brush. “And a shower. And a sofa. And a kitchen floor.”

I can practically see the images of me spread out in various positions across my apartment flashing across his eyes.

“Okay, text me your address,” he says, and I’m alarmed by how sharp the flood of relief I feel is. How terrified I was of this being too much for him. “I can be pretty flexible most days, so we can work around your schedule.”

“I don’t think ‘flexible’is a word I’d ever use to describe you,” I quip back. “You should let me stretch you out sometime. I think I could do a good job of loosening you up.”

Marcus snorts, shaking his head, his teeth teasing his plump bottom lip. For a second, I can see it all right there in his expression: the weight of moving this, whateverthisis, out of the safe, dark confines of The Foundry and out into the real world. But then Marcus reaches out, his massive, warm hand cupping my neck and dragging me into a soft, slow kiss that makes me want all sorts of things I know I can’t have.

He pulls away just far enough to murmur against my lips, “Just give me the time and the place, dancer, and you can try.”

Marcus