Page 20 of His Problem Alpha

But underneath the relief is a hollow ache that feels suspiciously like disappointment. Like loss. For something I never even knew I wanted until an hour ago.

The door finally opens. Devon stands there, his face unreadable, the plastic test stick clutched in his hand.

“Well?” I can barely get the word out, my voice a raw whisper.

He holds up the test. A single line in the window. “Negative.”

I collapse onto the bed, relief making my legs weak. “Negative,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Yeah.” He sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. “False alarm.”

I should be happy. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? No complications. No lifetime commitment. No tiny, fragile life depending on me not to fuck up.

So why does my chest feel so hollow? So empty?

“That’s… good,” I say, the words feeling like a lie. “Right?”

Devon nods, but his eyes are fixed on the test in his hand. “Right. Good. We’re not… ready for that.”

“No,” I agree, my voice flat. “We’re not.”

We sit in silence, the negative test between us like a verdict.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice small. “For freaking you out.”

“Don’t.” I take his hand, my fingers wrapping around his. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looks up at me, his eyes searching mine. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, looking away again. “For thinking I was… for making you worry.”

“Devon.” I cup his face with my free hand, turning him back to me. His skin is soft under my calloused palm. “We’re in this together. Whatever ‘this’ is.”

His eyes soften, something vulnerable and raw flickering in their depths. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I lean in, pressing my forehead to his. His scent fills my lungs—citrus and sunshine, with that new, richer note I still can’t identify. It calls to something deep inside me, something primal and protective that wants to keep him safe forever.

I kiss him, a gentle press of lips that quickly deepens into something more urgent. He makes a small, broken sound against my mouth, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders.

“Alex,” he breathes, the word a plea.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, laying him back on the bed, following him down. “Let me take care of you.”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine as I undress him slowly, deliberately.

Each inch of skin I reveal is a gift, a privilege.

I take my time, memorizing him with my hands and my mouth.

The sharp line of his collarbone. The sensitive spot just below his ribs that makes him squirm.

The soft, pale skin of his inner thighs.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I tell him, and I mean it. He is—all lean lines and graceful curves, his body a perfect complement to mine.

He flushes, a dark blush spreading down his neck to his chest. “Stop talking and touch me.”

I smile against his skin. Even now, he can’t help but be demanding. I love that about him.

“So impatient,” I tease, but I give him what he wants, trailing my mouth down the hard plane of his stomach.

When I take his cock in my mouth, he gasps, his back arching off the bed.

I go slow, savoring him, using my tongue and lips to drive him to the edge and back again.

He tastes of salt and need and something like grief.

His hands fist in my hair, not pulling, just holding on like I’m his anchor in a storm.

“Alex,” he moans, his voice breaking. “Please. I need—”

“I know what you need.” I move up his body, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. “I’ll give you everything.”

I prepare him carefully, my fingers slick with lube, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. But he’s open and eager, his body welcoming me, his eyes locked on mine with a trust that humbles me to my core.

When I finally push inside him, we both gasp.

The tight heat of him is a revelation every time, a homecoming I didn’t know I was seeking.

We’re not fucking—not like before. This is different.

Every touch feels like a promise. Every kiss like a confession neither of us can say out loud.

I move slowly, deliberately, each thrust deep and measured.

“So good,” I murmur against his throat, my voice a low growl. “So perfect for me. My omega.”

He whimpers, the sound vulnerable and raw. His hands clutch at my back, his nails digging in just enough to sting. “Yours,” he agrees, the word a surrender that sends a bolt of possessive heat straight through me.

We move together, finding a rhythm that builds slowly, inexorably, toward release.

“Look at me,” I command softly when I feel him getting close. His eyes flutter open, dark and dazed. “Stay with me.”

He nods, his gaze never leaving mine as I reach between us to stroke his dick in time with my thrusts. The intimacy is almost unbearable—seeing every flicker of pleasure cross his face, feeling every tremor of his body wrapped around my cock.

“Alex,” he gasps, his voice breaking. “I’m going to—"

“Yes,” I encourage, my own release building, coiling tight in my gut. “Come for me, Devon. Let me see you.”

He does, his body arching, his eyes wide and vulnerable as pleasure overtakes him. Watching him come apart in my arms, I lose control, my own orgasm crashing through me in waves.

I feel my knot beginning to swell, pushing deeper, locking us together in the most intimate way possible. Devon’s breath hitches, a small sob escaping him as he feels it, the undeniable proof of my claim.

“Shhh,” I soothe, gathering him close, my arms wrapping around him. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

We stay like that, locked together, breathing each other’s air. I stroke his back, his hair, murmuring reassurances against his skin. He trembles in my arms, not from cold but from emotion.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, though I’m not sure what I’m reassuring him about. The negative test? The intensity between us? The fact that I’m falling for him so hard I can barely breathe with it?

Eventually, my knot subsides enough for me to slip free. I brace for him to pull away like he usually does after. Instead, he curls against me, his head on my chest, his arm draped across my stomach.

“Stay,” he murmurs, already half-asleep.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

I hold him as his breathing evens out, as his body goes slack with sleep. Only then do I let myself examine the chaos of emotions swirling inside me.

Relief. Disappointment. Fear. Hope. All tangled together in a knot I can’t unravel.

The negative test sits on the bathroom counter, a reprieve we both needed but neither of us seems entirely happy about. It was just a scare. We’re being careful. It’s just physical.

The lies slide easily between us as we lay tangled in my sheets, the phantom grief of a life we hadn’t made still clinging to the air.

But as I smooth my thumb over the fresh, faint bite mark on Devon’s shoulder, a mark I’d left without thinking, I know we’re both lying. And I have no idea how to stop.