Page 38 of Keep My Alpha

I wrap both arms around his neck and hold on. His cock is locked inside me, our mess cooling on my skin, and the bite on my neck pulses like a second heart.

“Don’t disappear,” I whisper. The words are out before I can stop them.

He goes still. Not pulling away; Wren never pulls away- but still. Alert. His hand moves to the back of my neck, cradling.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I press my mouth to his pulse. “It’s nothing. I’m being—“

“Soren.”

“Ridiculous.” I laugh, too brightly. It’s the laugh I use when I’m performing for everyone else. “Forget it. Just stay.”

But Wren doesn’t forget things. He stays exactly where he is, locked inside me, hand warm on my nape. Waiting.

And I break.

My chin trembles. My grip goes from holding to clinging.

“The birds stopped,” I say.

His hand on my neck doesn’t move. I can tell he’s listening intently.

“Six weeks.” My voice is small and wet, and I hate it. “Since Keats. There was always a rhythm, you know? Not exact, but I could feel it. Like someone out there was thinking about me. And then I got the bite and they just—stopped.”

I swallow hard. His cum is warm inside me, and I’m crying into his collarbone about another man’s gifts.

“I think he saw.” I press my forehead to Wren’s shoulder. “The bite. He saw it and—why would he keep going? I’m claimed. I’m yours. That’s how it works, right? You see the mark, and you know it’s done.”

Wren’s thumb traces a slow circle on the back of my neck. He hasn’t said a word.

“And the worst part is,” my voice cracks, but I keep going. “I wanted both. Not instead of you. You’re everything. You’re the whole thing. But the birds were mine too, and I never got to find out who, and I think wanting both is what jinxed it. Like the universe saw me being greedy and decided to teach me a lesson.”

Tears running faster now, soaking into his skin.

“I wanted it too much,” I whisper. “I always want things too much. And it jinxes it. It always jinxes it.”

Silence. His body warm and heavy around mine.

His hand slides from my neck to my jaw. He tilts my face up, gentle, impossible to resist. I can barely see him through the blur.

“Soren.” His voice is rough. Lower than I’ve ever heard it. “The birds didn’t stop because you wanted too much.”

“You don’t know that.”

Something enormous moves behind his eyes. Barely contained, pressing outward like water behind a dam.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

He holds my gaze. The room is so still I can hear the AC unit and my ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed frame.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. His jaw works, and I watch him fight something.

Then he presses his lips to my forehead, long, firm, a kiss that feels like a promise and an apology braided into one, and pulls me tight against his chest.

“They’re mine. The birds are mine.”

Soren