Page 13 of The Alpha Under My Bed (The Chosen #1)

Thirteen

ELEANOR

I woke slowly, the warmth of the nest cocooning me in a way that felt both foreign and instinctively right. The blankets were impossibly soft, layered thickly around me, scented with something deep and dark that made my pulse quicken. It wasn’t my scent. It wasn’t my home.

But it smelled like safety.

I shifted slightly, letting out a soft sigh as I nuzzled my cheek against the pillow, the scent of cedar and smoke seeping into my senses. My body ached in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, a dull, satisfying throb deep in my muscles. I stretched, letting the tension slip away—until my breath caught, sharp and erratic, at the sudden, impossible pressure between my thighs.

I was still wearing it.

Panic clawed at my chest as my fingers jerked toward the buckle, fumbling against the cold metal. It was locked—unyielding, steadfast. My heart slammed against my ribs, a rising wave of dread flooding my veins as I pressed my thighs together, the tightness unbearable. And then I felt it—a soft, insistent pressure—right there, against my clit. A small, silicone nub, nestled snugly beneath the unrelenting steel of the chastity belt.

What the fuck?

The air felt too thick as I sat up fully, the bed shifting beneath me. I wasn’t restrained anymore—no cuffs, no bindings—my hands were free, my body untethered. But the cage between my legs—the one keeping me claimed, keeping me his —was still there, suffocating in its cold, iron grip.

I swallowed hard, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. My hands trembled as I opened my messages, my fingers moving on autopilot as I typed:

Me: Why is it still on?

I barely had a second to breathe before my phone buzzed, the sharp trill of an incoming call shattering the silence.

He wasn’t texting me back.

He was calling me.

My stomach flipped as I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. My body was still sluggish with sleep, my mind a fog of confusion and something dangerous—something warm, pooling low in my belly despite the panic. I exhaled shakily and pressed “accept.”

“Hello?”

His voice came through the speaker, deep and slow. “Morning, baby.”

My breath hitched. “Why is it still on me?”

A soft chuckle, smooth as velvet. “Because you’re mine.”

The heat beneath my skin sharpened into something electric. “You?—”

“I will take care of you from now on.”

And then the vibrator turned on.

I gasped, my thighs snapping together as the soft, pulsing hum ignited against my clit. It wasn’t harsh—wasn’t painful—but it was relentless in its gentleness. Teasing, coaxing, just enough to make my breath hitch, to draw the most desperate noises from deep in my throat. My fingers fumbled at the belt again, uselessly tugging at the lock, panic rising in my chest.

“Take it off,” I gasped, my voice shaking with frustration and need. “Right now.”

He hummed, the sound deep and rich with amusement. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

I growled—actually growled—feeling the fire of irritation flare within me. My teeth clenched, my body tightening as I tried again, the muscles in my thighs straining. “I mean it?—”

The vibrator’s intensity increased, sending a wave of heat crashing through me, each pulse making my vision blur. It was as if the world outside had faded, leaving nothing but the thrum of pleasure and the maddening reality that I was his —completely under his control.

I choked on my next breath, my hips jerking involuntarily. “Oh… fuck… ”

“You’re so cute when you fight it,” he murmured. “Keep going.”

I snarled, gripping the buckle so hard my knuckles ached. “I’ll break it.”

“No, you won’t.”

I would. I had to. I shoved my fingers beneath the metal, trying to pry it away from my body, trying to force any kind of space—but the belt was custom. No gaps. No weaknesses. No escape.

“You’re struggling so hard, baby.” His voice was a slow, satisfied drawl. “Maybe I should make it easier for you.”

The setting changed.

I screamed, my entire body seizing as the pulsing turned into something relentless, something devastating. My free hand slapped against my mouth, muffling the sound, but I knew he heard it—knew he was listening to every gasping breath, every stuttered moan I couldn’t hold back.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured. “It feels good… doesn’t it?”

I couldn’t answer. I was too busy fighting my own body, my own traitorous heat, the pressure winding tighter and tighter in my core. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it away, willing him away?—

The vibrator increased again.

I whimpered, my thighs trembling as my grip on the belt slackened. I was so close, the pleasure spiraling out of control, my body burning under his control, his fucking voice holding me in place as effectively as any bond.

“Say it, sweetheart.” His voice was silk and steel. “Say you’re mine.”

I refused. I wouldn’t.

The pleasure swelled, cresting so high I couldn’t breathe. I bit my lip, choking on the sound that threatened to escape, my body trembling on the edge?—

And then I hung up.

The silence was deafening. My phone dropped onto the nest beside me, my entire body shuddering as I finally, finally tipped over the edge, pleasure rolling through me in waves—alone, unseen?—

My phone buzzed.

One message. One simple, devastating line.

Unknown Number: Such a tease.

The heat still hadn’t faded from my skin when I stumbled out of the nest, legs shaking, frustration crawling under my skin like something alive. I needed a shower. I needed to think.

But first, I needed to get my fucking slick off me.

By the time I left the apartment, the cool air felt like a slap to my overheated skin, cutting through the lingering remnants of my frustration. My body was still betraying me, my scent still running too rich, too warm, but I ignored it. I forced my feet forward, my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, and let the walk clear my head.

I didn’t know where I was going until I was already there.

The bookstore was quiet, but my heart wasn’t.

The moment I stepped inside, the scent of old paper and vanilla hit me, grounding me in a space that felt safe—at least safer than my own body at the moment. I had to focus. I had to find something, anything, that could tell me how to break a bond.

My fingers trailed over the spines of books, searching. Most were about traditional pair bonding, scent compatibility, and how to strengthen ties—not sever them.

I exhaled sharply, pulling a thick tome from the shelf: The Biology of Bonds.

Flipping through the pages, my eyes scanned for anything remotely useful. Breaking a bond is rare, often deemed impossible without extreme physical intervention. My stomach clenched. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. My fingers tightened on the page as I kept reading. Bond-severing attempts often result in permanent physiological distress, ranging from chronic pain to the complete loss of the ability to bond again.

My pulse skipped. There had to be something. A loophole. A way out.

I grabbed another book, flipping through its index, trying to ignore the persistent heat still simmering under my skin from earlier. I was so deep in my search, so desperate for information, that I almost didn’t hear my phone buzz. It hammered against my ribs as I skimmed the shelves, my fingertips tracing over the spines of old tomes and modern paperbacks, searching. The scent of old ink and dust curled in my nose, mixing with the warm undertone of polished wood and vanilla candles burning on the counter.

I grabbed a book, flipping through the pages too fast to make sense of the words. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I swallowed hard before pulling it out.

Unknown Number: I have a tab at that bookstore. Just tell the cashier it’s under Cross.

The name hit me like a cold slap.

Cross.

A memory surfaced, sharp and unwanted. Pack Cross. I had gone on a few dates with them before they told me I wasn’t the omega for them. It had stung at the time, but I had moved on.

But this… he… couldn’t be related. Could he?

A violent shudder tore through me, heat flooding my face, my stomach flipping in a mix of fury and something darker. My breathing shallowed, hands trembling as I tried to focus on the book in front of me.

Then the vibrator roared back to life.

Before I could even process what was happening, another text arrived.

Unknown Number: I hope you’re wearing the underwear I bought you, baby. Otherwise, I’ll have to track down every alpha who caught your scent and make sure they never breathe again.

I nearly dropped the book. My thighs clenched involuntarily, a strangled sound catching in my throat. My fingers dug into the book spine, my whole body going tense as I fought to keep my face neutral, my breaths steady.

Me: I swear to God, STOP IT.

Unknown Number: Not until you say please.

The vibration pulsed through me, deep and insistent. Every shift of my weight made it worse, the friction pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I glanced around wildly, praying no one could hear, no one could tell what was happening.

My vision blurred as I forced myself to keep moving, heart hammering as I made my way toward the register, desperate to escape.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: Poor thing. You’re close, aren’t you? I bet you’re trying so hard to keep quiet.

My hands clenched. My pulse roared in my ears.

And then?—

I came.

Right there in the middle of the bookstore.

The world swam, my knees threatening to buckle as I slammed my book onto the counter, avoiding the cashier’s gaze, praying they couldn’t see the way my whole body trembled.

I forced a breath through my nose, gripping the edge of the counter, and cleared my throat. “It’s under Cross.”

The cashier glanced at me, then at the register, nodding slightly as they typed something in. I barely heard their response over the blood roaring in my ears, my body still locked in a war between fury, humiliation, and something far more dangerous. My fingers gripped the edge of the counter like a lifeline, my breath coming in short, shallow pants as I willed myself to stay upright.

Unknown Number: Good girl. Now, did you pick up something useful? Or were you too busy trying not to make a scene?

I huffed and threw my phone in my pocket. He could go fuck himself.

There was nothing anyone could do for me—not really. The books had confirmed what I already suspected. A bond like this wasn’t something that could be severed with a simple act or a magic word. It was permanent, a lock with no key.

But the chastity belt? That was a whole different beast.

Mal worked with bikes. With cars. With metal. If anyone had a tool that could cut through this fucking thing, it was him.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my pulse still erratic, my mind spinning in a whirlwind of frustration. I grabbed the book, my fingers trembling as I stormed out of the bookstore, shoving the door open harder than necessary. The cool night air hit my flushed skin like a slap, the sharp contrast doing nothing to clear the fog of frustration and humiliation clouding my thoughts.

I needed to get home. I needed to get this belt off, the pressure and confinement unbearable. And for the first time in days, something else gnawed at me—a deeper, more urgent need.

I needed Mal.