Page 33 of Keep My Alpha

“Move,” he whispers. “Please.”

I move.

Pull back until just the head is stretching his hole, then slide in deep and steady, finding a rhythm that lets me feel every inch of him. His hands slide up to my shoulders, nails digging in as I find the angle that makes his voice break on my name. I keep it slow, grinding on every downstroke so my pelvis drags against his cock trapped between us. Every time I bottom out, more slick gushes around me, soaking into the nest beneath us.

It builds. Skin on skin, the obscene wet slide, his voice breaking, my own breathing ragged. He starts meeting my thrusts, rolling his hips up, and the angle shifts and he cries out, clenching so hard around me my rhythm stutters completely.

My knot starts to swell. The pressure at my base, thick and heavy, and I slow down. Press my forehead to his.

“It’s coming,” I say against his mouth. “My knot. Tell me if it’s too much.”

His legs wrap around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back, pulling me closer. “Don’t you dare stop. I want it. I want all of you, Wren—give it to me.”

I thrust deeper. The knot catches on his rim, fat and insistent, and he gasps, mouth falling open. I rock in tiny movements, working the widest part against his stretched hole while he pants and shakes. Each push drags the thickest part against his rim, not quite in, not quite out, and his face is a wreck. Mouth open, brows drawn, caught between the burn and the desperate need for more.

“Relax for me. Let me in.”

He whines, high and needy, and bears down. I push through in one long, steady press. The resistance builds, his rim stretching wide, and he sucks in a sharp breath, fingers scrabbling at my back. Then the knot pops past and swells instantly, locking us together, and the relief hits both of us. His whole body shudders. Mine goes boneless for a second before every nerve lights back up. The tight heat around my base is so good it borders on painful. We’re tied. My knot is so swollen I couldn’t pull out if I tried, and the way his body flutters and milks me around it draws my balls up tight.

“Don’t move,” he gasps. “Don’t—just—“

“I’m not.” I couldn’t. “I’m not going anywhere. Look where I am.”

He laughs, wet and cracked, and the laugh clenches him around my knot and turns into a moan halfway out, and I have to put my face in his neck and count. Ceiling. Grain of the headboard. The seven small shapes on the shelf, watching. I’m not coming yet. Not before him. Not before he’s ready for what I’m about to ask.

We breathe. That’s all it is for a minute, maybe two. His chest against mine, his heartbeat slowing from panicked to something deep and heavy, the two of us tied together in a nest of his friends’ blankets with my shirt bunched under his shoulder. Every so often, his body remembers what’s inside it and squeezes; every so often, I remember I’m a person and not a pulse, and neither of us says anything.

Nobody else gets this. Just me. Just us.

My mouth is already at his neck. I didn’t put it there on purpose. It’s where my mouth goes now, apparently, lips against the hot skin over his gland, his pulse hammering under my tongue, the scent of him so thick here I could drown in it and call it a good death.

“Wren.” His hand finds the back of my head. Holds it there. Doesn’t pull me closer, doesn’t push me away. Just holds. “You’re thinking.”

“Yeah.”

“Stop.” His voice shakes. “I said it already. I’m sure. I’m—“ He tips his head, baring the whole line of his throat, offering it. “Please. I want to be yours while you’re inside me. I want it to be right now.”

If I bite him, that’s it. No going back. Not for him, not for me.

I’m not doing this because my biology is screaming at me, though it is. I’m doing it because he’s the person I’d choose in any universe, fated or not, and he asked me in a full sentence with clear eyes, and I want my mark on his skin for the rest of our lives.

I grind into him. Small. The only movement the knot allows, my hips rolling so the swell of it drags against the place inside him that makes his voice break, and I keep doing it, slow, steady, my teeth resting on his gland, until his breath goes short and his hands clamp on my shoulders and I can feel it building in him. In him, not just around me. His whole body going rigid, every muscle locking, half panic, half something so far past pleasure it doesn’t have a name.

“Wren, I’m—it’s—“

“I know. I’ve got you.”

I bite.

He comes the second my teeth break skin. His hole spasms around the knot and his mouth opens on a wrecked sound and his cock jerks between us, untouched, the first thick pulse of cum hitting his chest, then his stomach, then spilling in messy, helpless spurts while his body clenches around my knot in a rhythm that drags me straight over the edge with him. His blood is hot and tastes like copper and salt, and underneath, something sweet that’s just him. The bond slams into place.

And it drags me under. My knot throbs, a deep, pulsing ache that crests and breaks, and I come so hard my arms give out. I catch myself on my elbows, teeth still set in his neck, buried, knotted, and the orgasm isn’t one wave. It’s a series, each pulse pumping into him while my knot throbs in time and his body milks every one out of me like it was made for this. I’m filling him. I can feel it, the wet heat of it, and through the bond I can feel him feeling it, and that loop nearly takes the top of my head off. My whole body shakes. I grind as much as the tie allows, wringing out every last aftershock until I’m empty and trembling and my jaw finally, finally unclenches.

My eyes sting. Hard.

When my jaw unclenches, I lick over the mark. Gentle. Slow. The wound is already closing, the edges neat. It’ll scar silver and permanent, visible above any collar he ever wears. Jude’s grin in the side mirror flashes through my head. Declan tipping his chin. They’ll see this mark, and they’ll know.

Mine.