Page 48 of Alpha's Rejected Warrior
I lower my head and drag my tongue — flat, broad, slow — from her entrance to her clit.
The sound Rhiannon makes is raw. A moan that punches out of her and echoes through the trees, making the silence that follows it feel electric. A hand flies to my hair and grips hard enough that my scalp burns.
The sharp pull sends a pulse of heat through my whole body and I groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration.
She definitely likes that, even if she tries to pretend she doesn’t.
I find my rhythm by varying the pressure, speed, and angle, reading her in real time, tracking every catch in her breath, every roll of her hips, every involuntary flex of her fingers. She’s responsive in subtle ways she’d probably hate knowing I’ve already internalized. I’m logging the way her breathing stops entirely for a moment before she exhales a moan, the way her thighs press in when I’m close to her and fall open when she wants more.
When I find the specific combination that makes her lose herself, I lock in.
I slide two fingers inside her.
Her back arches off the moss and she says something that might be my name and might be a curse. It’s probably acombination of both. I curl my fingers forward while my tongue works her clit in tight, relentless circles. I don’t care about the effort it takes, I would do this until every wolf in the fortress hears her.
Rhiannon is coming apart beneath me.
The armor she welds onto herself every morning before anyone else is awake is gone. She’s gasping, her body rolling in waves, her nails scraping my scalp, saying my name in fragments between breaths instead of with controlled, authoritative precision.
She’s letting herself be just herself.
And I, kneeling between the legs of a woman who could knock me into the ground six different ways even from this position, have never felt more powerful. Not Lycan-powerful or the kind of powerful that comes from brute force. There’s a specific power to be derived from doing this to someone — stripping away every defense with patience and attentiveness and the willingness to stay.
She comes with a cry that she muffles against her forearm, her back lifting off the ground, thighs clamping around my head. I work her through every aftershock, becoming gentler as the waves slow, pressing soft kisses into her inner thigh while her breaths stabilize.
When I lift my head, she’s staring at the canopy.
Her eyes are unfocused. She’s undone. Her hair spreads across the moss, the freckles on her collarbone rising and falling with her breaths.
I burn every detail into my brain.
She exhales a sound that’s half sigh, half laugh. The kind that means,come here.
I go to her.
She kisses me deeply, her tongue sliding against mine without hesitation. She doesn’t flinch at the taste of herself onmy mouth. She kisses me harder, her fingers curling behind my neck. The unapologetic directness of it makes me want her so intensely my vision narrows until all I see are the gold flecks in her eyes.
Her hand slides down my chest, my stomach, until it wraps around my cock.
I exhale hard and let my eyes close. Her grip is firm and confident. Her thumb glides across the head in a slow circle that draws a groan out of me. She strokes me with the same deliberate focus she brings to everything. She understands my responses, adjusts pressure, and finds the rhythm that causes me to fall apart.
My hand skims between her thighs, where she’s slick and swollen. I circle her clit with light, teasing pressure, and the sharp breath she exhales tells me exactly how tormenting patience can be for her, too.
We stay like that for a little while. Face to face. Breathing each other’s air. Hands working each other in a rhythm that joins us together without discussion. The intimacy borders on unbearable. I can see every flicker of sensation cross her face. She can see every expression on mine. There’s nowhere to hide.
But neither of us is trying to.
Rhiannon shifts beneath me. She reaches for my hip, then my shoulder, and pulls. She’s not flipping us or positioning herself for tactical advantage.
She’s pulling me down over her.
The significance of this registers in my mind like a flare shooting up into the dark sky. Last time, she was on top. She needed control then because everything else was in chaos. She rode me like she was proving something. And I let her, because she needed that.
Now she’s encouraging me to have dominion over her body. She’s wrapping her legs around me, settling beneath me with hergolden-brown eyes looking up into mine with an openness that could cost her more than any fight ever has.
She’s choosing to be mine.
For a woman like Rhiannon — a true warrior who holds the line when everyone else breaks — this isn’t surrender. This is the bravest thing she’s done since I’ve known her.
