Page 105 of Freeing My Alpha

Noah’s words before he pleasured me repeat in my mind: I just know what it’s like, he said.

“It” could’ve been referring to PTSD, yes. But I know my mate. Was that “it” loaded heavier than it seemed?

I won’t confirm my assumptions until Noah tells me the full truth, but I feel it in my gut. I think Noah has sexual trauma too.

I cup Noah’s cheeks, unsure of what to do with the heartache in my chest as I’m blasted with pain for him at my revelation. If it’s true, that makes Noah’s willingness to trust me sexually just as major as my trust in him. Just as challenging, just as painful.

Which makes his pleasure even more of a miracle to witness. How many times has he allowed me to see him so vulnerable? I knew it was a gift to witness, but it feels even larger than a mere gift now. It feels like I’m healing his soul just as much as he’s healing mine.

Noah’s expression warps as I verge on heavy tears. My lip shudders with my hard, skipping breath and contorting expression.

“Fuck—” He gasps, his grip firm on my shoulders. “Oh, shit. Was it not okay? Did I trigger you somehow?”

I shake my head. “It’s not that, it’s—”

My lip quivers as I run my hands all over him, unsure how someone so kind exists.

How heartless could someone be to hurt him?

“I’m just so grateful for you,” I rasp.

As I lose myself to heavy tears, Noah soothes me with slow, sweet kisses and reminders that he’s right here. I’m not sure he realizes I’m crying for his silenced heart.

24

Ican’t believe my kids are graduating preschool today. I hope they’ll feel special at their mini graduation ceremony after their final recess with me. To look the part, I'm wearing a vibrant, color-splashed button up shirt tucked into my black slacks, and desperately trying not to let my adoring, yet grieving emotions heighten too far.

My students still don’t know I won’t be teaching at this school next year.

Seated at the snack tables outside, I’m surrounded by my preschoolers and their loving grown-ups. The Lycan grown-ups invited their “Uncle” Noah to the graduation. He stands behind all the grown-ups, taller than everyone here.

Even though I’m constantly aware it’s my last day as a teacher here, I can’t stop smiling. My kids are happy, their grown-ups are excited, and my mate beams every time I meet his eyes.

I bite my lip, stifling the giddy, teenagerish laughter in my chest as Noah winks. But with one glance at my watch, I gasp.

I cup my hands around my mouth to amplify my voice. “Alright, class! Let’s line up for your graduation ceremony!”

With some help from the grown-ups, we manage to shuffle the kids into a formation somewhat resembling a line. They lean past each other to look at me as I address their grown-ups.

“Welcome, grown-ups! Thank you for joining our class for a very special day today: Class 34’s Preschool Graduation!”

The kids all scream louder than I expect, and I burst into laughter with most of the grown-ups.

“One, two, three, eyes on me!”

They’re all silent in a second, and I allow myself a bright giggle.

“Okay, Class 34. When I call your name, come get your certificate!”

I call Cory's name first. His shy smile grips my heart as he makes his way over to me. Cory waves to his mom, and his pride in his accomplishment is apparent in every step when she claps for him extra loudly.

“Great job, baby!”

I bite the inside of my cheek. The way they just looked at each other was so sweet—like they’re each other’s favorite people in the universe. Just thinking of Noah and I sharing the same bond with our future kids makes my eyes hot.

No, I’m refusing to cry. Which means I definitely can’t look at Noah.

His wolf has the zoomies in our bond, nudging my wolf over and over again between spinning in circles. Despite trying my hardest, I can’t help myself, sneaking a glance at Noah just before I hand Cory a certificate.

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