Page 68 of The CEO Alpha’s Substitute Mate

A calm smile curves his mouth. There is nothing soft in it. “They all know I took you to my bed.” His thumb strokes once along my jaw. “Do you know what they are calling you now?”

His free hand is already moving, sliding down the slope of my ribs, over the thin fabric of my pajamas. I am so focused on the conversation, on the terrifying implication of his words, that I barely register the path of his fingers until they dip beneath the waistband.

“Young madam.”

My eyes widen. “What? Why would they—”

He cuts me off, voice low and almost amused. “Perhaps I should call you that, since you like to give me so many orders.”

As he says it, his hand finds me. Two long fingers part me with unerring accuracy and settle against my clit. My back arches hard off the bed. A broken sound escapes my throat. He circles once, deliberately, and the sensation is so sharp I forget how to breathe.

He leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Are you aware that no woman has ever dared to order me around like you do? I am the alpha, one of the most ruthless ones.”

I try to speak, to say something, anything, but the words dissolve when he presses two thick fingers inside me in one slow, relentless push. I whimper his name, the sound high and helpless. He fills me so completely that my body has to stretch around the intrusion, and the stretch itself is a kind of madness.

“How would you like me to do this, young madam?” His voice is pure sin. “Hard or slow?”

I cannot answer. The moment he touches me like this, thought scatters. All that remains is heat and pressure and the unbearable awareness of his fingers buried deep. He begins to move them in steady, purposeful strokes that drag over every sensitive place inside me. I twist and writhe in the cage of his body, hips lifting to meet him even as I try to process the embarrassment of what he just told me. My hands fist in the sheets. My thighs tremble.

He fucks me on his fingers with ruthless precision, curling them on every withdrawal so that bright sparks detonate behind my eyes. When the first orgasm rips through me, it is sudden and violent. I come hard around his hand, clenching, gasping, my entire body locking. Callum does not slow. He fucks me through it, harder, deeper, until the pleasure edges into something almost painful and I am begging, actual broken pleas for his cock, for more, for him.

He moves with shifter speed. In the next heartbeat, I am flipped onto my stomach. One powerful arm snakes around my throat, not crushing but firm, possessive, the heavy muscle of his forearm resting against my windpipe. The pressure is deliberate and controlled, just enough to make every breath a conscious effort. With his free hand, he tears my pajamas open down the back. The fabric rips like paper. Cool air kisses my spine a second before the heat of his body covers me.

He murmurs against the nape of my neck, voice dark with satisfaction, “Whatever the young madam wishes.”

Then he thrusts into me from behind in one long, devastating stroke.

The stretch is enormous. Even after his fingers, I feel every thick inch of him forcing me open, claiming space that already belongs to him. The arm around my throat tightens fractionally as he seats himself to the hilt. I can feel the heavy beat of his pulse against my skin, the controlled strength in that hold. It should frighten me. Instead, it anchors me, heightening everything. Every nerve ending lights up. The pressure at my throat makes the pleasure sharper, more concentrated. Every thrust drives the air from my lungs in short, helpless gasps.

He fucks me with deep, measured power, the slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet room. One of his hands braces beside my head. The other stays locked around my throat, thumb stroking almost gently beneath my jaw even as he takes me. I can feel him everywhere. The heavy weight of his chest against my back, the iron grip of his arm, the thick, relentless stretch of his cock filling me so completely that I can barely think. Each stroke drags against the swollen place inside me that makes my vision blur.

The second orgasm builds fast and crashes harder than the first. I come with a choked cry, body seizing around him. He growls low in his chest and keeps going, hips snapping, driving me through the aftershocks until a third climax rips free almost immediately afterward. Tears of overwhelm sting my eyes. My arms give out. I collapse face-down into the mattress, boneless, while he continues to use my body with devastating control.

Only when I am shaking and oversensitive does his rhythm finally fracture. He buries himself to the root with a guttural sound and comes hard, pulsing deep inside me. The heat of it is startling. For a long moment he stays there, covering me completely, the arm around my throat loosening only enough to let me drag in full breaths again.

Then, carefully, he withdraws. I make a soft, involuntary sound at the sudden emptiness. He turns me onto my back with surprising gentleness, brushing sweat-damp hair away from my face with the same hand that had held my throat. His expression is unreadable, but his touch is almost tender as he gathers me up.

He carries me into the adjoining bathroom as if I weigh nothing. Steam still lingers from his earlier shower. He steps under the spray with me in his arms, letting the hot water cascade over both of us. I rest my forehead against his shoulder, too wrecked to speak, too aware of the ache between my legs and the lingering phantom pressure of his arm at my throat.

As the water washes away the evidence of what we just did, one clear, devastating thought settles in my mind.

I am well and truly fucked.

❦ ❦ ❦

I’m grumbling under my breath as I pull on a pair of slacks that are many sizes too big. “Why do you have to tear my clothes? Do you know how many pairs of pajamas I have? Three. I had three pairs, Callum. Do you know how many I have left?”

Callum is leaning against the bathroom door, water dripping off him, a new towel wrapped around his waist. He looks faintly amused at my angry muttering.

“I have two left!”

“I will buy you more,” he offers, his lips curving slightly.

I glower at him. “This is not going to happen again.”

He just nods, and I can smell the stench of insincerity from across the room. Before I can say anything, somebody knocks.

“Miss Reyes.” It’s Reid through the door. “May I come in?”