Page 23 of Alpha’s Wife

“Breathe,” I tell her, brushing the hair off her face and closing my own eyes against the unbearably good sensation of her velvety channel clamping down on my cock. She breathes, she adjusts, and when I feel the roll of her hips, I push forward, her body taking me whole, and I gasp as I bottom out. I want this to last, but she’s too tight, too good.

It has never felt like this.

I set a gentle rhythm to start, but soon realize she’s tilting her hips, wanting more, her heels digging into the back of my thighs, urging me on, and I take her deeper, earning every cry and gasp. Her nails are scraping my back, and I love it, my body dwarfing hers as she tries to find purchase in my hair, the sheets, anything she can hold on to as I pick up the pace and claim her tight body. My wolf is drunk on the sounds she’s making, and when I feel her channel tighten, I can barely move as she begins to come again, milking my cock as I choke out her name, half in wonder, and half in an almost painful level of pleasure.

I reach my hand up and lightly hold her neck, knowing my wolf is in my eyes. I briefly wonder if it will scare her, but when I look, I see she’s too far gone, head tipped back in ecstasy. I hold her there as I begin to slam into her, and it’s the best sex I’ve ever had—thrusting in and out, the sound filling the room until white-hot pleasure rushes down my spine and I begin to come, hot seed filling her as I growl out her name, grinding into her.

I remain braced over her, breathing heavily and just staring down at her. This was supposed to be the moment the bond clicked into place, the moment I won, the whole reason I took her—but it’s not there. I don’t know what I was expecting, but all my wolf wants is her. It wants her again; in fact, he feels insatiable. I want to hear her make those sounds again.

She opens her eyes and looks at me, and I see it there shining in her eyes; she wants more, too. My cock is still hard. I’ve heard all about what happens when a wolf wants to rut, but I’ve always been satisfied with a quick, meaningless fuck. This feels like the opposite. He wants to mark her, breed her, make her his.

Bond magic forgotten, my wolf just wants her. And he’s going to have her. Repeatedly.

Chapter 11 - Selene

I wake up sore, but warm—too warm. I’m tangled in sheets that smell of him, and it takes a few moments of blinking up at an unfamiliar ceiling to work out where I am and why my body hurts.

It all comes back to me at once, and I groan and drag the blanket up over my face as if I can somehow undo it all by not looking at the world.

Overheating, I push the blanket off again and find reality hasn’t changed at all. Last night happened. The chess game happened, and the way he looked at me across the board happened, and then he got up and walked towards me, and instead of running…I kissed him.

Everything that happened after that happened because I kissed him. And a lot happened after that, repeatedly. And he didn’t have to talk me into any of it; in fact, I begged him for more.

I reach out and find his side of the bed is cold and long empty. He’s let me sleep and gone off to do whatever it is that alphas of rogue settlements do before the sun is even properly up. Maybe it’s a wolf thing; witches like their sleep. I’m just grateful I don’t have to face him straight away.

I sit up slowly because my muscles protest and take stock. I ache in places I’d never given much thought to until yesterday. I should be appalled with myself, and part of me is. But underneath that, there’s a low hum of residual pleasure that would quite happily see him walk back in and start all over again. And that is what gives me the most pause, far more than the ache between my legs.

There’s no point pretending, at least not in the privacy of my own head. I wanted him, I still do. Which is so much worse. He didn’t have to coerce me in the end; curiosity got the better of me. My coven spent my whole life teaching me to be careful of men, alphas like him, and what do I do? I kiss him. I let him take my virginity and use my body so thoroughly that I barely knew my own name. It was everything I was supposed to resist, and yet, after a few weeks in his company, the inside jokes that built, his annoyingly attractive face, and frankly mesmerizing body, I folded.

I didn’t just fold; I instigated. And now I’m sitting in this enormous bed feeling every single ramification.

Except one.

I was willing, and yet I don’t think the magic did anything. There was no blinding moment where his wolf pulled the magic from me, or whatever is supposed to happen—the actual mechanics of it were never really taught. Just that sex activates the bond magic. But I’d know if it happened, surely?

I didn’t want him to have it, so perhaps I kept it locked down.

I search within myself for some kind of change in my bond magic, but all I feel is that satisfied warm glow that intermingles with the soreness. I don’t want to examine that too closely, so I don’t examine anything.

I drag myself out of bed and peer out into the hall; it’s empty, as is the house. I go to my room and dress in the most comfortable pants and sweater I can find, splash water on my face, and run through my routine to try and cover the fact that I look like I’ve been thoroughly ravaged. By the time Tom knocks at the door, I think I’ve almost put my dignity back together.

I wait for him to unlock the door, as I’m still not trusted with the keys—understandable, given the circumstances, but for some reason, it grates a little more this morning in a way it hasn’t before. Tom greets me with a smile and something else behind his eyes. I know enough about wolves to know they can scent all sorts of things, and I hope he’s not scenting Ronan all over me. I brush the thought away; his scent must be all over the house. I’m just being paranoid.

If he does notice anything, he’s far too nice to say anything about it.

“Morning,” he says. “I saw Emma on the way up; she says she has a busy day for you.”

“Then we’d better not keep her,” I say, and step out into the cold, grateful just to have something to do today so I don’t have to keep replaying last night in my head and wondering why he ran off this morning.

Did he regret it? I’m the one who’s supposed to regret it.

One thing I’ve realized I can rely on Tom for is his ability to deliver an undemanding stream of conversation that requires very little input from me. He keeps it up the entire way to the clinic with topics ranging from the weather turning, local gossip about a bad batch of buns from the bakery that caused a stir, and a long, fond digression about his wife’s cooking and his obvious adoration for her memory that makes a lump form in my throat. By the time we reach the clinic, I almost feel normal, or whatever that means.

The clinic is warm and busy as we walk in, and the smell of antiseptic and herbs hits me immediately. Emma puts me to work right away while Tom makes himself busy in the small staff kitchen as usual, making coffee. I suspect he’s grown to quite like this assignment as he spends most of the day chatting with the patients, and he’s so personable that it makes me wonder if he wouldn’t be better off exploring a different career than that of a guard. I like being busy, and it’s just what I need today.

I notice Emma watching me, but she doesn’t say anything for a while, just leaves me be. I know she misses nothing, and eventually, as I’m stacking shelves with a new influx of supplies, she comes over, and I know she’s watching me carefully.

“How’s it going at the alpha’s house?” she asks, nonchalant, but I feel like she already knows the answer.