Page 22 of The Careless Alpha

The door opened slowly, and Marshall stepped into my room. The sight of him made my breath catch. He was still dressed for the party in dark jeans and a deep blue shirt, but his hair was disheveled and his eyes were unfocused with alcohol.He'd been drinking heavily, more than I'd ever seen him drink before.

"Marshall? Are you alright?"

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, swaying slightly. When he looked at me, his amber eyes were bright with something I couldn't identify.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his words slurring together. "My beautiful mate."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Marshall, you're drunk. Maybe you should—"

"Four months," he interrupted, pushing off from the door and moving toward me with unsteady steps. "Four months until you're mine. Really mine."

He reached the bed and sat down heavily on the edge, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with his familiar pine and leather scent.

"I've been thinking about you," he said, reaching out to touch my face with fingers that trembled slightly. "About us. About what it will be like."

"Marshall..." I breathed, hardly daring to believe he was here talking to me like this.

"You're so perfect," he whispered, his thumb brushing across my cheek. "So pure, so good. I don't deserve you."

"You do," I said fiercely. "You deserve to be loved."

Something shifted in his expression, and suddenly his lips were on mine. The kiss was desperate, hungry, tasting of whiskey and something that felt like years of suppressed longing. I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I kissed him back.

"Annalise," he murmured against my lips.

His hands tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss, and I felt like I was flying and falling at the same time. This waswhat I'd dreamed of for years, what I'd hoped and prayed for. Marshall is finally seeing me, finally wanting me.

But then he pulled back, running a shaking hand through his dark hair. He reached for the bottle of whiskey he'd brought with him, pouring another measure into the glass that sat on my dresser. His movements were unsteady, his usual iron control frayed by alcohol and whatever had driven him to my room tonight.

He moved to stand by the window, a silhouette against the moon-drenched night, the half-empty glass dangling from his fingers. The scent of whiskey, sharp and warm, mingled with his earthy fragrance of pine and wild earth.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers pleating the soft cotton of my pajama bottoms while I waited for him to speak, to move, to do something other than stare out at the darkness. They were my favorite pajamas—worn thin and soft, patterned with tiny blue forget-me-nots. They felt childish and absurdly out of place in the face of the monumental feeling humming between us. Sapphire was a restless storm beneath my skin, pacing and whining with a need so profound it was a physical ache.

Finally, Marshall turned from the window, and his eyes found mine. They were dark amber pools, hazy with drink and a desire so potent it stole the air from my lungs. He set the glass down on the windowsill with a soft thud.

"Annalise," he rasped, his voice rougher than usual.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden quiet. He took a step, then another, closing the distance between us until he was standing right before me. He was so large, a mountain of warmth and strength, and I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

“I can’t,” he started, his voice cracking. He swallowed, his gaze dropping to my mouth before rising to meet my eyes again. “I can’t wait anymore.”

The words, a raw confession torn from the depths of his soul, were the only permission I needed. In that moment, the world dissolved. There were no doubts, no fears, only him. Alpha. Mate. Marshall. Every hope I’d ever harbored, every secret dream I’d whispered to the moon, converged on the man standing before me. I knew, with a certainty that shook me to my core, that my expression held it all. Sapphire rose within me, not with aggression, but with pure, triumphant adoration.Mine.The single, possessive thought was a prayer and a promise. I was looking at my future, my forever, my everything.Our future, our forever, our everything, Sapphire said softly.

A soft, shuddering whine escaped Marshall, although I didn’t know if it was him or Ranger. “That look,” he whispered, his voice thick with wonder. “Goddess, Annalise.”

He knelt before me, his large, calloused hands coming up to frame my face. His touch was electric, a brand of heat that seared through my skin and straight to my soul. He didn't kiss me again, not yet. He just looked at me, his gaze tracing every feature as if memorizing me for eternity.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. “Even in these… flowers.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips, a flash of the Marshall I knew, before the raw need took over again.

He leaned in, and his mouth finally claimed mine. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, hungry, and tasting of whiskey. It was his wolf, Ranger, staking his claim. I met them both, man and wolf, with equal fervor, my hands tangling in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer. A soft moan escaped my throat, swallowed by his mouth.

His hands slid from my face, down my neck, over the thin cotton of my pajama top. He fumbled with the buttons, his fingers clumsy with drink and haste. I helped him, my hands trembling as we worked them free. He pushed the fabric aside, his gaze falling to my bare skin, and he groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure possession that made Saphire preen.

He pushed me back gently onto the bed, following me down, his weight a comforting, intoxicating pressure. The world narrowed to the space between our bodies, to the slide of cotton against skin as he stripped away my pajamas, to the glorious, friction-filled glide of his bare chest against mine. Every touch was a discovery, every kiss a revelation. He mapped my body with his hands and mouth, learning the curve of my waist, the slope of my hip, the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He worshipped me, and I felt not vulnerable, but powerful under his adoration.

When he finally positioned himself between my legs, I was more than ready. I was aching, empty, waiting for the one person who could make me whole. He paused, propped up on his elbows, his face inches from mine. His eyes, though clouded with passion, were startlingly clear as he looked at me.

“Annalise,” he breathed, his voice breaking with the weight of his next words. “Are you sure? I can wait if you want to.”