Page 15 of The Alpha Under My Bed (The Chosen #1)

Fifteen

ELEANOR

I woke slowly, the warm, heavy weight of blankets cocooning me in a sense of strange comfort. The scent of cedar and smoke lingered in the fabric, wrapping around me like an invisible embrace. My eyes blinked open, struggling to adjust to the soft, filtered light creeping through unfamiliar curtains. It took me a moment to process where I was—Mal’s apartment. His bed.

My stomach clenched.

The events of last night came rushing back in a brutal flood—the bookstore, the frustration, the raw humiliation of breaking apart in his arms. The way he had held me, the way he had soothed me, made me feel... safe. And now, here I was, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him, the chastity belt still locked around my hips, a constant reminder of everything I couldn’t escape.

I groaned, shifting onto my side, only to freeze when I heard the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Mal was awake.

Of course he was.

Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I sat up, the familiar, uncomfortable weight of the belt pressing into my lower stomach. My body felt sore, overstimulated, yet still... I needed to leave. I couldn’t stay here, not like this. But a small part of me hesitated—not just because of the belt still locked in place, but because of Mal. What if my alpha—whoever he was—saw Mal as a threat? What if he decided Mal needed to be removed from the equation? The thought made ice run through my veins, the chill sharp and unforgiving.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I hesitated before standing. My fingers absently smoothed down the borrowed shirt I didn’t remember putting on. A fresh pair of folded leggings rested on the nightstand beside me. They weren’t mine. I frowned, running my fingers over the soft fabric, the tag still attached.

Did he… buy these for me?

A strange tightness gripped my chest, a mixture of confusion and something else I couldn’t quite name. I was too exhausted to unravel it.

Barefoot, I padded toward the kitchen, my steps muffled by the soft carpet beneath me. I paused at the threshold, taking in the sight before me—Mal at the stove, the sound of sizzling eggs mingling with the rich, comforting scent of coffee and something buttery. The air was thick with the scent of warmth, a stark contrast to the tension swirling in my chest.

“You’re cooking?” I murmured, my voice still rough from sleep.

Mal turned slightly, his gaze flicking over me with that slow, deliberate once-over of his, before his lips curved into a smirk. “You sound surprised.”

“I—” I crossed my arms, shifting my weight awkwardly. “Just didn’t expect it.”

He nodded toward the counter. “Figured you could use some food after last night. You slept like the dead.”

Heat crawled up my neck at the reminder, and I looked away, embarrassed. “I should go?—”

“No, you shouldn’t.” His voice was easy, the words casual, as if we were discussing the weather. But there was an undertone to it—a quiet finality that made my heart skip. “Stay. Just for the weekend.”

My head snapped up, disbelief threading through my voice. “Mal?—”

“I mean it.” He plated the food with effortless precision before turning fully to face me, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Let me take care of you, Ellie.”

The words hit me harder than I expected, my chest tightening painfully. This wasn’t fair. He wasn’t fair.

He looked so sincere, so certain—just like he always did when he fixed something in my apartment, when he checked in on me, when he made me feel like I was the most important thing in his world. And maybe I was.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I can’t. I just... I don’t want you to get involved in this, Mal. What if he—what if something happens to you?”

“You don’t have to do it alone.” His voice softened, the teasing edge fading, replaced by something more vulnerable, more raw. “You never did.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into the hem of my borrowed shirt. I wanted to say no. I wanted to walk out that door, forget about the mess I’d gotten myself tangled in, pretend last night hadn’t happened.

But I was exhausted. And Mal—Mal was right there, offering me something I wasn’t sure I could refuse.

“…Fine,” I muttered, barely above a whisper. “Just for the weekend.”

His smile was slow, satisfied, like he’d won some quiet victory. “Good girl.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver through me, a tightness coiling low in my belly. I told myself it was just the exhaustion, the strain of everything finally hitting me. But I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was something more.

My stomach flipped, but I ignored it, ignored everything except the quiet clink of plates as he slid breakfast in front of me, the faint smell of eggs and coffee pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.

I could survive a weekend.

Couldn’t I?

Before I could second-guess myself, I reached for my phone on the table. The screen was dark, notifications waiting just beneath the surface, unseen but inevitable. My fingers hovered over the power button, but I didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want to feel my stomach drop at another message I couldn’t respond to. Not now.

With a deep breath, I powered it off and slid it face down on the table.

Mal’s eyes flickered to it, just for a second, before his smirk returned, knowing and teasing. “Trying to live in the moment?”

“Trying not to ruin my morning,” I muttered, reaching for my coffee.

His smirk deepened. Mal slid into the seat across from me, his expression deceptively relaxed as he dug into his food. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

I stabbed a piece of egg with my fork, avoiding his gaze. “I just—this is weird, okay? You cooking for me, me waking up here?—”

“Me taking care of you?” he finished smoothly, his eyes never leaving mine as he sipped from his coffee cup, the edges of his mouth curling in amusement.

I bristled, a flush creeping up my neck. “That’s not what I said.”

He smirked, setting the cup down with deliberate slowness. “Didn’t have to.”

I huffed, biting into the food just to silence myself. It was too good—way too good. The warmth of the butter, the rich seasoning, it all wrapped around me like a soft, familiar blanket. I hated how effortlessly comforting it was.

Mal watched me, clearly enjoying my internal struggle. “Not bad, right?”

I swallowed, forcing the words out. “It’s edible.”

He laughed, a low sound full of satisfaction, shaking his head. “High praise coming from you.”

I narrowed my eyes, barely resisting the urge to roll them. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” He leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “Besides, I like knowing I can take care of you better than you can take care of yourself.”

The words hung in the air, thick with challenge, and something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I scoffed, shoveling another bite of food into my mouth to avoid responding. “Oh, please. I manage just fine.”

He arched a brow, his gaze sharp, piercing through me. “Right. Because that’s why you had a broken faucet for two weeks before I fixed it. And why you keep forgetting to buy groceries until you’re living off instant ramen and stolen sugar packets from work.”

I scowled, raising my fork in accusation. “That’s called resourcefulness.”

“That’s called barely functioning.”

The challenge in his tone made my heart stutter. There was something about the way he said it—like he knew me too well, like he could see through every little act of independence I put on. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to punch him for it or kiss him. Instead, I just shoved another bite into my mouth, fighting the heat building in my chest.

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “And yet, here I am. Still alive.”

Mal’s smirk didn’t waver. “Because I keep you that way.”

I rolled my eyes, but I could feel the corners of my lips twitching. I hated that he always made me feel like this—safe, even when everything else in my life was spiraling out of control.

His gaze flicked to the leggings still folded beside me. “You gonna put those on, or are you planning to lounge around in just my shirt all day?”

Heat flared up my neck. “I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t exactly... prepared.”

His smirk deepened. “That’s funny. I was.”

I scowled at him, but the warmth of the food was already spreading through me, making my limbs feel heavier, more reluctant to move.

Mal didn’t rush me. He let me eat, kept the conversation light, never once mentioning last night again. It was almost easy to pretend things were normal.

Almost.

When I finished, he took my plate without a word, rinsing it in the sink before turning back to me. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting up.”

I tensed, but before I could argue, he was already stepping behind me, large hands settling on my shoulders.

“Relax, Ellie. Just let me help.”

I stiffened at first, but then his fingers pressed in, kneading slow circles into my muscles, and my brain short-circuited. A groan slipped past my lips before I could stop it.

Mal chuckled, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “That’s what I thought.”

I wanted to argue, but the tension in my shoulders was already melting under his touch, his fingers working out knots I hadn’t even realized were there. I sagged forward slightly, resting my elbows on the table.

“You’re too good at this.”

“Yeah? Maybe I should charge you for it.” His voice was teasing, but the way his thumbs dug in just right made my eyes flutter shut.

“I’m broke.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to owe me,” he murmured, his hands sliding lower, pressing into the curve of my back.

I hummed, too relaxed to fight him. Too warm, too comfortable, too... safe. My eyelids felt heavy, my body sinking into the chair like I could melt right into it.

“I should... I should probably get up...”

His hands stilled, but he didn’t move away.

“Or you could let me take care of you, just a little longer.”

I swallowed, my heart thudding in my chest. The worst part? I wanted to say yes.

His hands moved again, slower this time, like he was memorizing every inch of me beneath his fingertips. I barely registered the way he guided me upright, his grip firm but careful.

“Come on,” he murmured softly, his fingers brushing a few stray strands of hair from my face, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words caught in my throat as he guided me effortlessly toward the couch. There was no fight left in me, no resistance as he nudged me down onto the cushions. I didn’t argue when he draped the throw blanket over my lap, the fabric warm and soothing against my skin.

The weight of exhaustion hit me all at once, dragging me into the plush softness of the couch, my body sinking into the comfort like it had nowhere else to go. I closed my eyes for just a moment, grateful for the stillness.

Mal crouched beside me, his presence steady, close. I could feel his gaze on me, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

“You never take care of yourself properly,” he murmured, reaching up to brush his fingers through my hair. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

I let out a breathy laugh, too tired to put up much of a fight. “You act like I’m helpless.”

“Not helpless,” he corrected, his fingers still trailing through my hair in slow, lazy strokes. “Just stubborn.”

My lashes fluttered, my body melting even further into the warmth of the couch.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckled. “And yet, you’re letting me take care of you.”

I wanted to argue, but sleep was already pulling me under, the soft motion of his fingers through my hair lulling me faster than I wanted to admit. The last thing I felt before slipping into unconsciousness was the gentle weight of his hand resting on my head, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.