Page 28 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I spun her around suddenly, bending her over the wide windowsill. Her palms slapped against the glass as she braced herself, looking back at me over her shoulder with flushed cheeks and parted lips. All I saw was her—ass raised, back arched, silently begging. The anger boiled higher. I'd resisted this bond for so long. I shoved her skirt up around her waist and yanked her panties down in one rough motion, exposing her completely. She was already wet, glistening, her body betraying how long she'd waited for this too.

"Damn you," I muttered, voice thick. My hand came down in a sharp smack against her ass, the sound echoing. She jerked, a silent cry shaping her mouth, but her hips pushed back toward me almost immediately, seeking more. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, shimmering in the low light, and something twisted in my chest. Even lost in the haze, I paused for half a second, rubbing the reddened skin gently, watching her face. Her expression softened into raw need, and she nodded—small, urgent movements—her hand reaching back to tug at my belt.

That silent plea undid me further. I freed myself, my cock springing heavy and aching. Without another thought, I positioned at her entrance and thrust in deep, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. She was tight, so fucking tight, clenching around me like velvet heat. A choked, voiceless moan escaped her throat as her body stretched to take me. I groaned, the sensation hitting like a drug on top of the drug, pleasure and rage twisting together. I didn't give her time to adjust. I pulled back and slammed in again, setting a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward with barely controlled fury.

Each thrust drove the anger deeper into her willing body. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" I rasped, one hand fisting her hair while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. She nodded frantically, pushing back to meet every stroke, her walls fluttering around me in eager spasms. Her silence only heightened everything—the wet sounds of our bodies, her ragged breathing, the way her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the glass.

I reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight, demanding circles. Her whole body seized, inner muscles clamping down so perfectly it dragged a guttural curse from my throat. I fucked her harder, bending over her back, teeth grazing her shoulder as I pounded into her. Anger at my own weakness fueled the pace—how easily I'd crumbled, how desperately I needed this release. Yet every time a fresh tear tracked down her face, I'd slow just enough to kiss it away, murmuring rough apologies against her ear while my hips kept moving in deep, grinding circles.

She came first, suddenly and violently. Her body went rigid, then convulsed around me in powerful waves, mouth open in a silent scream that I felt in the way she squeezed me. It was too much. I snarled, pulling out only to lay her onto her back on the nearby bed. I needed to see her face. Climbing over her, I hooked her legs over my shoulders and drove back inside, deeper now, the new angle making her eyes roll back. She clutched at my arms, nails raking down my skin, urging me on with every silent pant and arch of her body.

I was relentless, chasing the edge while fighting the storm inside. My thrusts grew erratic. She kept responding—legs tightening around me, hips lifting to take every inch, her expression one of pure, trembling joy mixed with overwhelm. I buried myself deep and came with a roar, spilling hot and endless inside her, hips jerking as pleasure ripped through me in shattering waves.

We were tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, my body draped over hers. I'd given in completely. And deep down, I knew I'd do it again.

Chapter Seven

Mia

I woke up with Zane's arm wrapped around my waist.

Morning light slipped through the curtain gap, casting a golden stripe across the sheets. His breathing was steady and deep, his chest pressed against my back, every rise and fall letting me feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. That warmth, that solidity, that feeling of being held—it gave me a ridiculous illusion. Maybe everything would be okay.

I carefully turned my head to look at his sleeping face.

No mask, no cold expression, no condescending scrutiny. He just lay there with his eyes closed, lashes casting a small shadow on his cheekbones, lips slightly parted, looking almost... harmless. Like a normal person. Like the man who danced with me at the Howling Ceremony.

My fingers twitched, reaching out, almost touching his face.

Then Zane opened his eyes.

Those gray-blue eyes met mine. After a moment of confusion, they sharpened. He looked at me, I looked at him, and the air was frozen for maybe two seconds. Then his expression changed—like a window being slammed shut, all the warmth sucked out in an instant.

He sat up, the blanket sliding off him, exposing his defined shoulders and back. He didn't look at me, his voice hoarse and cold. "What happened last night?"

My hand froze mid-air, not yet pulled back.

I gestured. "You came to me. You—"

But before I could finish, he had already turned his head, fixing me with a look that chilled my spine.

"What did you do to me?"

My fingers went rigid.

What?

I shook my head frantically, hands flying through the air. "Nothing! I didn't do anything! You came on your own!"

But he couldn't understand. He stared at my flying fingers, his frown deepening, his expression shifting from suspicion to certainty. He threw off the blanket and stood, grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it on roughly, even buttoning it wrong.

"Someone get in here!"

The door swung open. Two guards appeared.

"Check everything." Zane's voice was cold as a winter blade. "Every piece of food and drink that came to me yesterday. Including the kitchen scraps. I want to know if someone slipped something in my food."

My blood froze in that instant.