Page 26 of Keep My Alpha

“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

I curl it, searching, and when I find the soft swell of his prostate, his whole spine locks.

“There, there, right there—“

His voice cracks at the end. I work that spot slow, watching his cock jump every time I press in. He’s so wet around me, slick squelching with every thrust, dripping down my knuckle. I bring my mouth back to his rim, licking around my own finger, tasting him and the heat of his body all at once.

He can take more. His body is pulling me in, his hole loose and hungry around my finger. I pull back, press two fingers to his rim, and push in. There’s more resistance, a stretch that makes him gasp and grab the blanket. I go slow, let him open up, and when he pushes down and takes both fingers to the knuckle, the sound he makes is filthy.

“Good.” My voice is wrecked. “Look at you. Look at you take that.”

I scissor my fingers, stretching him while my tongue works his rim. Slick is all over my chin, dripping down my wrist, soaking the blanket under him. The wet, filthy sounds should embarrass me, but they just make me want more.

I pull my fingers out just long enough to suck them clean, tasting him thick on my tongue. His eyes go huge watching me.

“Jesus, Wren—“

“You taste incredible.” I push them back in and press harder against that spot. “I could do this for hours. That a problem?”

He laughs. It turns into a moan halfway through, which might be my new favorite sound in the world. “Not—ah—not a problem. Definitely not a—oh fuck—“

I seal my mouth over his hole and suck around my fingers, crooking them on every pass, and his whole body shudders. His purring fractures into desperate little sounds.

His hand fists tighter in my hair, hips stuttering.

“Wren, I’m going to—I’m close, I—“

His other hand finds my jaw. Tilts my face up. His eyes are wet, chest heaving, and the way he’s looking at me right now isn’t about what I’m doing with my fingers. It’s about me.

“Yeah.” My voice barely works. I crook my fingers harder, press my tongue flat and firm against his rim. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Go.

He comes with my name in his mouth, soft and broken. His hole clenches hard around my fingers, rhythmic and desperate, and his cock jerks untouched against his stomach, thick ropes of cum shooting up his chest, the last one landing just below his collarbone. His thighs shake around my head and his purr splinters into whimpers that wreck me completely. I keep working him through it, gentling the pressure by degrees, reading every tremor, until his hand shoves weakly at my shoulder.

“Too much, too much—“

I ease my fingers out, careful. Kiss the inside of each shaking thigh one last time. I sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. My chin’s still wet, slick drying sticky on my jaw. I’m so hard it actually hurts, my cock straining against my jeans, but whatever. That wasn’t the point.

It’s never about that. I give because it’s the only thing I know I’m good at.

I know that’s messed up. Aaron would have a field day.

Soren is limp. Boneless. Sprawled in his nest like something poured out. His eyes are closed and he’s still purring, softer now, one hand reaching for me blindly.

I find a cloth in the bathroom: warm water, soft towel. When I come back, he hasn’t moved. I clean him up carefully: the cum from his chest first, then the mess pooled in his navel, then between his legs where he’s swollen and oversensitive. He flinches once when the cloth passes over his hole, and I go lighter, barely touching. He watches me through half-closed eyes with an expression that’s beyond grateful. Something that looks so much like love; I have to look away.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he says quietly, voice rough at the edges. “Nobody’s ever...” He trails off on a shaky laugh. “Nobody’s ever done anything like that. Not even close.”

That pisses me off, deep down. The idea that nobody ever took their time with him, figured out what makes him shake, put him first. Makes me want to go back and have a few words with every asshole alpha who ever touched him.

“Get used to it,” I say, and it comes out more growl than voice.

His eyes go soft. His smile is devastating.

“You didn’t...” He glances at my jeans, at the obvious ridge. “Let me—“

“No.” I toss the cloth toward his laundry basket and tug his boxers back up his hips, then his joggers. “That was for you.”

“Wren.”