Page 12 of The Alpha Under My Bed (The Chosen #1)

Twelve

ELEANOR

The joint account was a slap in the face.

A glossy, well-dressed insult disguised as generosity.

I had spent the last hour sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the numbers on my phone screen, my heart pounding in my ears. The deposit was substantial—more than I made in two months at the boutique. Enough to tempt me into feeling grateful.

But I wasn’t grateful.

I was fucking furious.

This wasn’t a gift. It was a transaction. A silent way of saying: You’re mine now. You don’t need to worry about money. You don’t need to worry about anything—because I’ll take care of it for you.

I hated that part of me—the part that wanted to let him.

I swallowed down the sharp, bitter heat rising in my throat, my nails digging into my palm as I exhaled sharply through my nose. No. I refused to play along.

My fingers flew across the phone screen, transferring every single cent from the joint account to my personal one. It was childish. A petty, hollow act of rebellion. But it was something. Something that was mine.

And then I did something worse.

I tapped the unknown number—the one that had been taunting me since I woke up, lurking in the corner of my mind like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

My pulse hammered in my ears, deafening and erratic, as the cursor blinked mockingly in the empty text box. My thumbs hovered above the keys, frozen, torn. My mind screamed at me not to engage, not to let myself slip any further into this mess. But I couldn’t stop.

I couldn’t just… sit here.

Bound. Trapped.

I inhaled sharply, the chastity belt pressing firm and unrelenting against my waist, the dull weight deep inside me refusing to let me forget. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t just some fucked-up game.

This was real.

I started typing.

Me: Take it off.

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, my breath locked in my throat as I waited.

Seconds passed.

Then—

A buzz.

I flinched, my heart slamming against my ribs as the response lit up my screen.

Unknown Number: Not yet, baby.

A violent, frustrated tremor shot through me.

Me: You don’t get to decide that.

No read receipt. No immediate response. But I knew he had seen it.

I could feel it.

The seconds stretched, dragging, suffocating. My hands ached with how tightly I was gripping my phone. I wanted to throw it. Smash it. Rip this fucking belt off me with my bare hands.

And then?—

Buzz.

Unknown Number: I will, baby. But first, I need something from you.

My stomach turned.

Me: What.

Unknown Number: There’s a package on its way to your door. Drink the tea inside. Then I’ll take the belt off.

Cold, sick dread splintered through my ribs.

Me: No fucking way.

Unknown Number: It won’t hurt you.

Unknown Number: I just want to make sure you’re okay before you go without it.

I wanted to scream.

This was bullshit. All of it.

My fingers trembled, my pulse pounding, the weight of the belt against my waist suddenly so much heavier.

I knew—I knew—that if I drank the tea, I would regret it.

But I also knew that as long as I wore this belt, I wasn’t free.

And no matter how badly I wanted to fight back?—

I needed it off.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness, a sound so abrupt and unexpected that it sent my heart spiraling into wild, erratic chaos.

I stopped breathing.

Every muscle in my body froze, the tension in my limbs coiling so tightly I swore I could feel my bones creaking under the strain.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t come here.

Would he?

The knock came again, softer this time—measured, deliberate. Patient.

Not like someone trying to break in. Not like a stranger.

My lungs burned in protest. I hadn’t taken a single breath since the first knock. I forced in a shallow, trembling inhale, desperate to keep my thoughts from spiraling into madness, to keep my body from crumpling under the weight of something I couldn’t even name.

The soft vibration of my phone against my palm nearly sent it clattering to the floor.

My fingers clenched around it instinctively, heart hammering as I turned it over.

Unknown Number: It’s here.

A heavy, awful weight settled in my stomach, sinking deep, rooting itself in the space between panic and resignation.

My feet moved before my brain could catch up, like my body wasn’t mine anymore. Step by step, I crossed the apartment, my hand tightening around the doorknob like it might break apart in my grip.

I shouldn’t open it.

I knew I shouldn’t.

And yet?—

I twisted the lock.

A cold gust of hallway air kissed my skin as I pulled the door open just enough to see the package.

A simple, unmarked white box.

No delivery person.

No sender.

No evidence of how it got here.

Just the box.

My pulse pounded in my throat, hands trembling as I stooped down to grab it. The weight of it wasn’t much, but it felt heavy. Like lead. Like something irreversible.

I backed into my apartment, locking the door the second it was shut, my breath coming too fast, too shallow. My legs felt weak, my stomach twisting as I turned the box over in my hands.

I didn’t want to open it.

I had to.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled between soft folds of black silk, was a single glass bottle.

Amber liquid gleamed in the low light, the curved glass catching the warm glow of my bedside lamp. A handwritten label curled around the middle.

“Drink it, baby. It’s safe. I just need you to trust me.”

I shoved the lid back on, recoiling as if the words had reached up and burned me.

My whole body felt locked, frozen, like if I just held still long enough, this wouldn’t be real. Like I could press my hands over my eyes and when I opened them, it would all be gone.

It wouldn’t be.

Because this wasn’t a dream.

And he wasn’t a dream.

I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms, my breath shaking on the exhale.

This was a test. A final check to make sure I was still playing by his rules.

And if I drank it?—

He’d come.

I knew it as surely as I knew the lock at my waist, as surely as I knew the bond mark at my throat.

My throat tightened.

I pressed my tongue against my teeth, forcing the panic back down.

I needed the belt off.

Even if it meant this, even if it meant him.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the bottle, twisting the cap. A faint, herbal scent curled into the air—warm, slightly floral, something vaguely familiar.

I hesitated.

Then—I drank.

The first sip tasted normal. Warm, a little sweet, like chamomile and honey. But as it slid down my throat, something changed. Something thicker, heavier, coating my tongue like syrup, like sedative.

My heart skipped—then stuttered.

My limbs went heavy, the bottle slipping from my fingers and crashing to the floor, the last of the liquid spilling in dark amber streaks across the hardwood.

No.

No, no, no?—

A thick, syrupy heat rolled through me, my body swaying.

I took a step backward.

Then another.

The walls blurred.

My knees buckled.

I hit the floor.

The ceiling tilted, and suddenly I was on my back, my breath too thick, my tongue too heavy. My lashes fluttered, black spots swallowing the edges of my vision.

I tried to reach for my phone.

Tried to scream.

Tried to?—

I woke up in a haze, my head pounding, my body heavy and languid. My arms were stretched above my head, cuffed to something—a bedpost, maybe, or a headboard. I couldn’t tell through the fog in my brain. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, and realized I was surrounded by an elaborate nest. Pillows, blankets, sheets, stuffed animals—all soft, all perfect. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a warm, dreamlike glow over the space.

I was still trying to piece together how I’d ended up here when I felt it—a fullness, a pressure deep inside me. My eyes went wide. The chastity belt was still there, the plug snug inside me, holding his cum from my heat. But there was something else, something more.

An alpha.

My alpha.

He was inside me, his cock buried to the hilt in my ass. I could feel every inch of him, the stretch burning but not painful. It was intense, overwhelming, but there was a warmth to it, a rightness that made my body sing even as my mind reeled.

I tried to turn my head, to catch a glimpse of his face, but he was masked. The only thing I could see were his eyes—dark and intense, locked onto mine.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through me. “Just feel.”

And I did. I felt the slide of his cock as he moved inside me, the way my body opened to him, welcomed him. I felt the vibrator he’d pressed against the metal of the chastity belt, the pulsing rhythm sending shockwaves of pleasure through my core. It was too much, the sensations overwhelming, and yet I couldn’t get enough.

I was slick, so slick, my arousal coating the plug, making it easier for him to slide in and out of my ass. The vibrations against the metal, against my clit, were driving me wild. I could feel the orgasm building, a slow, inexorable wave that threatened to sweep me away.

“Please,” I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for. More? Harder? Just... more of him.

He groaned in response, the sound raw and desperate. “I’m sorry, baby,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “I can’t be gentle.”

Without another word, he moved, his hips snapping forward, his cock plunging into me with an unforgiving force that stole the air from my lungs. It was hard—almost brutal—but it was everything I craved. A strangled cry escaped me, my body arching, straining against the restraints, my muscles tightening around him with every thrust.

He drove into me relentlessly—mercilessly—each punishing thrust pushing me closer to the edge, teasing me with the unbearable friction. The vibrator hummed against me, a constant pulse that wound me tighter and tighter, the pleasure almost unbearable as I teetered on the brink of something explosive.

“Come for me, Ellie,” he growled, his voice a dark command, and the sound of my name on his lips shattered any remaining control. The tension snapped, and I was undone.

I came with a scream, my body convulsing, my vision whiting out as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. I could feel him following me, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled my ass with his cum, his knot pulsing between the cheeks of my ass.

His cock slipped out of me with a wet sound that seemed to echo in the room, and I felt the immediate loss of him. I heard him suck in a breath, a low curse slipping from his lips. “Such a waste,” he muttered, and I knew he was looking at his cum, dripping from my ass instead of where he’d intended it to go. “All my cum belongs deep in your perfect pussy.”

His words sent a shiver through me, stirring a deep, primal need. My slickness increased at the thought of him filling me there, claiming that intimate part of me as his own. But even as my body betrayed me, responding to him, my mind rebelled. He’d stripped away my choices, bound me to him without my consent, and the anger, the betrayal, simmered beneath the surface of my desire. A constant, gnawing reminder that this man—this alpha—had irrevocably changed my world.

I felt the air shift as he moved, the heat of his body leaving mine for a moment before returning, closer now, possessive. He knelt between my legs, his hands tracing the edge of my chastity belt. The soft click of the lock was like a promise, and then the cool metal slid across my heated skin as he removed it, dragging it off my thick hips and thighs. The plug followed, its slow, lingering pull from my pussy a pop that made me gasp, the emptiness both strange and intoxicating.

The air was cold against my exposed skin, my pussy throbbing with need despite the storm of conflicted emotions within me. I was laid bare before him—vulnerable, open—and I could feel his gaze on every inch of me. My body was primed and ready, slickness coating my thighs, my clit aching for his touch.

And then he blindfolded me. The fabric covered my eyes, plunging me into darkness, and for a moment, I was disoriented. My other senses sharpened—his presence loomed over me, his heat pressing against my skin. I felt the mattress dip as he moved, heard the rustle of his clothing, and then his breath—hot, insistent—swept across me.

He didn’t give me time to adjust, didn’t let me prepare. His tongue, hot and demanding, slid over me, lapping at my slickness with a hunger that felt insatiable. He explored every inch of me, his tongue dipping inside, teasing, before trailing upwards to circle my clit. He sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, and I couldn’t contain the cry that tore from my throat, my hands fisting in the sheets above my head.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my hips arching toward his mouth, desperate for more.

He growled, the sound vibrating through me, and the hum of his pleasure sent shockwaves of bliss through my core. He was relentless, his tongue flicking against my clit with precision, as though he knew me—knew exactly what would make me squirm, what would make me scream. His movements were calculated, intimate, each flick sending a jolt of electric pleasure straight to the heart of me.

I could feel it building, the pressure low in my belly, tightening, stretching. It was overwhelming, the edge of release so close I could almost taste it. He seemed to sense it too, his hands gripping my hips, locking me in place, his mouth never leaving my pussy. His hunger was insatiable, devouring me.

With a hoarse shout, I came, my body convulsing, waves of pleasure crashing over me in an unstoppable tide. It was all-consuming, a fire that burned through me, leaving nothing but the feel of his mouth on me, the sensation of his tongue drinking from me. I was lost in it, utterly at his mercy, my body shaking with the aftershocks of my release.

As the tremors subsided, he pulled away, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. I felt the wetness on my thighs, the evidence of his feast, and I knew, deep down, I’d never forget this moment. He’d taken something from me, yes—my autonomy, my control—but he’d also given me a pleasure so intense, so raw, it bordered on pain. And in that moment, I wasn’t sure whether it was worth the cost. But I knew I would always remember the fire of it, the way he had claimed me, body and soul.

I lay there, boneless and sated, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of my climax. I could feel the coolness of the air against my bare skin, the wetness between my legs. I was vaguely aware of movement, of the sound of water and the rustle of fabric. Then I felt the soft touch of a wet rag against my thigh, warm and gentle, and I realized what he was doing.

He was bathing me.

His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as he washed away the evidence of our union. He was thorough, his hand steady as he cleaned every inch of me. I could feel the rag sliding over my skin, the water trickling down my body in delicious rivulets. I should have felt exposed, vulnerable, but somehow, I didn’t. There was a tenderness to his movements that made me feel cherished, cared for in a way I hadn’t known I needed.

I felt the rasp of a razor against my skin, the gentle pressure as he shaved my pubic hair and my legs. It was intimate—more intimate than the act that had come before—and I found myself relaxing into his touch, trusting him to take care of me. He paused often, pressing kisses to the newly bared skin, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each kiss was a promise, each nip a silent vow.

“I’ve prepared a place for you,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that resonated in my very bones. “A nest, a sanctuary. This is the apartment next to yours. I’ve stocked it with everything you could ever need.”

I was only half-listening, lost in the sensation of his hands on my body. But his words penetrated the haze of pleasure, sparking a flicker of curiosity. He’d done all this for me? Why?

“The room next door is a library,” he continued, his voice a soft whisper against my skin. “Every book you’ve ever loved, every story that’s ever touched your heart—they’re all there, waiting for you. And there are others, rare editions, books I’ve collected over the years that reminded me of you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. It was too much—this overwhelming display of... of what? Affection? Possession? I didn’t know what to make of it, of him. But I couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through my chest at his words, the sense of wonder that filled me at the thought of a room filled with books, just for me.

I felt myself drifting, the combination of pleasure and exhaustion pulling me toward sleep. But then I felt something cool and metallic sliding into place between my legs—the chastity belt. My eyes snapped open, a protest forming on my lips, but before I could speak, he was pressing something against my clit—a small, smooth object that sent jolts of pleasure through my body as the chastity belt pressed it firmly in place.

I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily, and I heard the click of the lock as he secured the chastity belt. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks. I was overwhelmed, torn between anger and gratitude, between the desire to be free of this man and the temptation to give in to the pleasure he offered. I sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he gathered me into his arms.

He unbound my hands from above my head, only to bind them again behind my back. My heart raced, the realization of my helplessness sending a thrill of fear through me. But then he was holding me, his body a solid, comforting presence against mine. He took off the blindfold, and I blinked against the sudden light, my eyes meeting his—dark, intense, unreadable behind the mask.

He tucked my head into the crook of his neck, his hand stroking my hair as he murmured soothing words.

“Sleep, Ellie,” he whispered. “You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

And despite everything, I believed him. I closed my eyes, the beat of his heart a steady rhythm in my ears, and let sleep carry me away.