Page 8 of His Problem Alpha

Devon

" A lpha," I gasp, the word a betrayal torn from my throat. It’s a foreign sound, something I don't recognize as my own. "Please, I can't—"

The rest of my plea dissolves into a whimper as another wave of heat crashes through me.

It's not warm—I'm burning from the inside out, my skin so tight it feels like it might split open.

My clothes are an unbearable torture against hypersensitive nerves.

The slick between my thighs is humiliating, soaking through my sweatpants, the sweet scent of it thick and cloying in the room.

My brain—usually buzzing with comebacks and analysis—is just static now. There's only need. Raw, animal need that claws at my insides, hollowing me out.

Alex stands at the edge of the bed, his expression a war between determination and terror. His scent—coffee and leather and something electric, like ozone after a storm—is the only thing keeping me anchored. Without it, I'd float away on this sea of desperate want, drown in it completely.

"Devon," he says, my name rough in his mouth. "Are you sure? We can still—"

"Don't," I choke out, the word sharp with panic. "Don't you dare leave me like this."

He takes a step closer, and I whine—a sound I didn't know I could make.

His scent intensifies, wrapping around me like a physical touch.

I can smell his arousal now, sharp and musky beneath his usual scent.

It makes my empty hole clench around nothing, and a fresh gush of slick soaks the fabric beneath me.

"I won't leave," he promises, his voice dropping to that low alpha register that vibrates straight through my bones. "I'm going to help you."

But he's still hesitating, still standing too far away, and I can't—I physically cannot—wait another second. I don't decide to move; my body just does. I lunge forward, my hands grabbing the front of his shirt with desperate strength, and pull him down toward me.

"Now," I growl, the word barely human. "Need you now."

Something snaps in Alex's eyes—the last thread of his restraint breaking. A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against my hands where they clutch his shirt. His pupils dilate until there's only a thin ring of green around endless, hungry black.

"Fuck," he breathes, and then his mouth is on mine.

We don't kiss—we crash together, all teeth and tongue and desperation.

He tastes like coffee and something darker—like smoke or whiskey—and I drink him in like I'm dying of thirst. My hands scrabble at his clothes, pulling, tearing at fabric.

I need skin. I need contact. I need him inside me before I shatter into a million pieces.

Alex pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing a lean torso that under any other circumstance I would take a moment to appreciate. Now, I just reach for him, my fingers digging into the warm skin of his shoulders, pulling him back down to me.

"Too many clothes," I pant against his mouth. "Off. Get them off."

His hands find the hem of my sweat-soaked t-shirt, peeling it from my overheated skin. The cool air hits me for just a second before Alex's bare chest presses against mine, skin to skin, and I nearly sob with relief. It's not enough, nowhere near enough, but it's something.

"Your pants," he mutters, his hands already working at the waistband of my sweatpants. "Lift your hips."

I arch up, letting him pull the soaked fabric down my legs. For a second I’m mortified by how wet I am, then the feeling is gone, burned away by need. I can't care. I can't think about anything except the emptiness inside me that demands to be filled.

"Jesus, Devon," Alex breathes, his gaze dropping to where my slick coats my inner thighs, glistening in the dim light. "You're soaked."

I should have a comeback for that. Something sharp and cutting. But all I can do is whimper and spread my legs wider, an invitation so blatant I'd die of shame if I had any capacity for it right now.

"Please," I beg, my voice cracking, all pride gone. "Please, Alex. Alpha. Need you."

He fumbles with the button of his jeans, his hands shaking as he shoves them down along with his boxers.

His cock springs free, hard and flushed and intimidatingly large.

In my heat-addled state, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

My hole clenches at the sight of it, more slick gushing out, my body preparing itself without my permission.

"Devon," Alex says, his voice strained. "I don't have—protection—"

"Don't care," I cut him off, reaching for him, my fingers brushing against the hot, rigid length of him. "Clean. On suppressants. Just need you inside. Now."

He hesitates for one more excruciating second, then positions himself between my spread thighs. The head of his cock nudges against my entrance, slick and hot, and I nearly come from that contact alone. My body is so ready, so desperate, that the first press of him inside me feels like salvation.

"Fuck," Alex groans, pushing forward slowly. "You're so tight. So wet."

The stretch burns, but it feels good against the heat eating me alive.

He's big, bigger than I expected, and my body struggles to adjust. But the pain is nothing compared to the relief of finally, finally being filled.

I grab at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach, trying to pull him deeper.

"More," I demand, my voice cracking. "Harder, Alpha, please."

Alex's control snaps. He thrusts forward in one smooth, powerful motion, burying himself to the hilt inside me. I cry out, the sound echoing in the small room, a mixture of pain and desperate pleasure. He freezes instantly, concern flashing across his face.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice tight, already starting to pull back.

"Don't you dare stop," I hiss, wrapping my legs around his waist to keep him in place, locking him to me. "Move. Fuck me. Please."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His hips draw back and slam forward again, setting a brutal, punishing pace that matches the desperate need clawing at my insides.

Each thrust hits something deep inside me—my slick spot, my prostate, I don't know—that sends sparks shooting up my spine.

Sounds I've never made before tear from my throat—high, desperate whines and broken moans.

"So good," Alex growls, his voice dropping to that deep alpha register that makes me shiver. "Taking my cock so well, omega."

The praise hits me like a physical blow, making my own dick twitch and leak against my stomach. I've never been called omega like that before—like it's a benediction instead of a biological classification. I should be infuriated. Instead, I arch harder against him, seeking more.

My cries get louder with each thrust, uninhibited sounds that would mortify me if I had any capacity for shame left. Alex's hand suddenly covers my mouth, muffling the noise. The dominant gesture sends a fresh wave of arousal through me, and I bite down on his palm without thinking.

Alex hisses, but doesn't pull away. Instead, his eyes darken further, a growl building in his chest. "That's it," he says, his voice a rough rumble against my ear. "Bite me. Mark me. Show me how much you need this."

I bite harder, tasting salt and skin, anchoring myself to him as the pleasure builds to unbearable heights.

His free hand slides between our slick bodies, wrapping around my neglected cock, and I nearly scream against his palm.

His touch is a shock of pure pleasure, his thumb stroking over the sensitive tip.

"Going to fill you up," Alex promises, his rhythm growing faster, more erratic. "Going to knot you. Make you take all of me."

I should be disgusted. I should want to push him away.

Instead, they're exactly what I need to hear.

My body responds to the primal promise, clenching around him, drawing him deeper.

His scent is everywhere, thick in the air, on my skin—coffee and alpha and something that smells like victory. I breathe it in, and it fuels the fire.

"That's it, omega," he continues, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Take my knot. You're going to be so full of me."

I feel it then—the base of his cock beginning to swell, catching on my rim with each thrust. The alpha's knot, designed by biology to lock us together, to ensure his seed stays deep inside me.

Some tiny part of me, the part that used to read heat safety pamphlets and roll my eyes, remembers this is dangerous.

Remembers this crosses a line we can't uncross.

But my body—the part of me I've suppressed with pills for years—is screaming yes . It howls in triumph. This is what I need. What I've always needed without knowing it.

"Do it," I gasp when he pulls his hand away from my mouth. "Knot me. Please, Alpha."

Alex's eyes lock with mine, searching for any hesitation.

Finding none, he gives one final, powerful thrust and holds himself deep inside me as his knot swells to its full size, locking us together.

The pressure against my insides is almost too much—a burning, stretching fullness that feels both like being split apart and being made whole for the first time.

It's a brand, a claim, a biological lock I can feel deep in my bones.

My orgasm hits without warning, tearing through me with such force that my vision whites out. I'm vaguely aware of screaming his name, of my nails raking down Alex's back hard enough to draw blood. My body clamps down on his knot, milking it, demanding everything he has to give.

Alex follows a moment later, his head thrown back, a guttural sound ripped from his throat as he pulses inside me, hot and thick. The sensation of being filled, of being claimed so completely, triggers another smaller orgasm that leaves me trembling and gasping beneath him.