Page 16 of His Problem Alpha

"I remember everything," I tell him, and it's the truth. "I remember how sensitive you are right... here."

I nip the junction of his neck and shoulder. He makes a choked sound, his body jerking under mine.

"And here," I continue, my free hand sliding under his shirt to find the spot just below his ribs. "And especially here."

I shift down, pushing his shirt up. My tongue traces the line of his hip bone, and he makes a sound that's half laugh, half moan.

"Ticklish?" I ask, smiling up at him.

"No," he lies, then yelps when I do it again. "Okay, maybe a little."

I chuckle against his skin, enjoying this. It’s not antagonism, not desperate need, not angry passion. This is new. Dangerous in its intimacy.

I map his body with my hands and mouth. I learn he’s sensitive along his ribs, likes when I use my teeth on his nipples, trembles when I kiss the inside of his thighs. Each discovery is a victory, a piece of knowledge I hoard like treasure.

By the time I pull his sweatpants down, he's a writhing, desperate mess. His cock is hard and leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. My mouth waters.

"Alex," he gasps, his voice strained. "Please."

"Please what?" I ask, my breath ghosting over his erection. "Tell me what you want, Devon."

"Your mouth," he says, the words rushing out. "I want your mouth on me."

I reward his honesty by taking him in one smooth motion, swallowing him until he hits the back of my throat. The sound he makes is inhuman, a high, keening wail that I feel in my bones. His hands strain against my grip, but I hold him firm.

"Oh god," he chokes out, his head thrashing on the pillow. "Alex, fuck, your mouth—"

I hum around him, the vibration making him buck up into my throat. I relax my jaw to take him deeper. He tastes addictive—salt, musk, and something that's just Devon. I could do this for hours, just to hear the sounds he makes, just to feel him fall apart.

But I want more. I want all of him.

I pull off with a wet pop, ignoring his whine of protest. "Turn over," I command, releasing his wrists. "On your hands and knees."

He complies immediately. The sight of him like this—ass in the air, face pressed into my pillow, waiting for me—sends a surge of possessive heat through my veins.

"So good for me," I murmur, running my hands over the curve of his ass. "So perfect."

He shivers at the praise. He responds to praise like he’s starving for it, like no one has ever told him how good he is.

I spread him open, my thumbs pulling his cheeks apart to expose his hole. It's glistening with slick, his omega biology responding to my alpha presence.

"Alex?" he questions, his voice muffled by the pillow. "What are you—oh fuck!"

The last word turns into a shout as I lean in and lick a long, slow stripe from his balls to his hole.

The taste explodes on my tongue—musky, sweet, complex.

It's the scent of him concentrated, a flavor I know I'll crave like a drug.

I dive in deeper, my tongue circling his entrance before pushing inside.

He's not just slick; he's hot and alive, and the sound he makes—a broken, desperate noise—is the only reward I need.

"Alex," he gasps, his voice wrecked. "Oh god, Alex, please—"

I pull back just enough to speak, my voice rough. "Please what, omega? Tell me what you need."

"You," he says, the word a sob. "Inside me. Please, Alpha, I need you inside me."

The title— Alpha —sends a bolt of primal satisfaction straight to my core. I growl, a low, possessive sound that makes him shiver. "Since you asked so nicely."

I reach for the lube in my nightstand and slick myself quickly. Even though he’s wet with his own slick, I want to make this good for him. I want to ruin him for anyone else.

I line myself up, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance. "Look at me," I command. He turns his head, his eyes finding mine over his shoulder. "I want to see your face when I fill you up."

His eyes are glazed, his pupils blown wide. His lips are parted, red and swollen from where he's been biting them. He looks wrecked.

I push in slowly, watching his face as I fill him inch by inch. His eyes flutter, his mouth falling open on a silent gasp. The tight heat of him is almost too much, a pleasure so intense it borders on pain. When I'm fully seated, I pause.

"You okay?" I ask, my voice strained.

He nods, his eyes glazed. "Yes. God, yes. Move, please move."

I obey, drawing back before pushing in again, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust is measured, controlled, hitting that spot inside him that makes his back arch and his breath catch.

"So good," I murmur, leaning down to press my chest against his back. The position lets me reach around and stroke his cock in time with my thrusts. "Taking me so well. My perfect omega."

He whimpers at the praise, his body clenching around me. "Alex," he gasps, his voice breaking. "I'm close, I'm so close—"

"Not yet," I growl, tightening my grip on the base of his cock. "Not until I say."

He makes a frustrated sound but doesn't protest. The submission in that silence is dangerously addictive.

I shift my angle, driving deeper, harder. My free hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. I bite down on the sensitive junction of his neck and shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

"Mine during heats," I growl against his skin, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust. "Mine when you need it." Another bite, another mark of possession. " Mine. "

The last word is a primal claim that tears from my throat without conscious thought. Devon responds with a broken moan, his body trembling.

"Please," he begs, his voice cracking. "Please let me come. I need—"

"Come for me," I command, releasing my grip on his cock and stroking him in time with my thrusts. "Show me how good I make you feel."

He comes with a shout, his body clenching around me in rhythmic pulses that push me over the edge. My orgasm tears through me. I bury myself deep inside him, filling him with hot pulses that feel like branding him from the inside out.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. We're locked together, breathing in ragged gasps. The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something deeper, something that feels like belonging.

Eventually, I pull out carefully and roll to the side.

Devon collapses onto his stomach, his face turned away.

I think he's going to leave—to follow our rule—and my chest aches.

I feel triumphant seeing him like this, wrecked because of me.

But underneath that is something softer, more terrifying—the need to take care of him, to keep him safe.

He turns his head, his eyes finding mine in the dim light. The vulnerability there makes my breath catch. Without thinking, I reach for him, pulling him against my chest. He comes willingly, his body fitting against mine like it was made to be there.

"This breaks rule number two," he murmurs against my skin, but makes no move to leave.

"Just for tonight," I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. I already know I'll want this tomorrow night. And the night after. I'll want to fall asleep with his heartbeat against mine every single night. "We'll do better tomorrow."

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Sure we will."

I know I need to insist on our boundaries. Instead, I press a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his hair. "Go to sleep, Devon."

He makes a small, contented sound and relaxes against me. Within minutes, his breathing evens out into sleep. I lie awake, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, feeling the warm weight of him against me.

For the first time since I stood at Ethan's grave, the constant, grinding noise of guilt is silent. In its place is a peace so profound it terrifies me. I know I should push him away, maintain the distance that keeps people safe from me. But I can't let go.

Instead, I pull him closer, burying my face in his hair. The scent of him fills my lungs. Something dangerous unfurls in my chest. Something that feels like hope.

I fall asleep with him in my arms, and for once, I don't dream of sirens or blood or the phone call that changed everything. I just sleep, deep and dreamless, holding him like he's something precious. Something worth keeping.

We wake up tangled in my sheets, his head on my chest, and for a split second before the panic hits, it feels like this is where he's always supposed to have been.