Page 36 of Impregnated By the Alpha

Her legs wrapped around tightly around him. She urged him on until finally, he came undone, head spinning as he filled her. Panting, he kissed her cheek, her neck, her lips. His heart raced in his chest, and he felt hers match the pace.

For a long time, they lay like that, listening to the storm rage outside the shelter of the lighthouse. Lightning struck so close that it shook the walls and the windows, but there, Jonah pressed close to Moira with the stove warming their sweat-slicked skin, and he felt at ease. Safe.

He didn’t want to break the moment by speaking, afraid she might regret what they’d done in a burst of passion. It was Moira who spoke first, her voice raw.

“Well, that’s one way to keep warm.”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, stammering. “I hope you know I didn’t plan this in any way when I asked you for help on this place.”

She shushed him. “It was my idea, Jonah. You don’t have to feel guilty over it. I enjoyed myself, if you couldn’t tell. I can be rather subtle.”

He laughed, remembering her moans and the way she threw her head back when the orgasm struck her, the way her nails and teeth sank into him. Reluctantly, he pulled out of her and fetched a towel to clean them both up, missing her warmth.

“Here,” he said, grabbing her shirt from its hook by the stove. It was dry and pleasantly hot. “Though I’m happy if you want to just go around like this.”

Jonah gestured at her naked body, still bared to him. His cock twitched in appreciation.

“I don’t need the ghosts seeing me naked,” she said, pulling her shirt and panties on. But she hung the overalls on the hook, leaving her legs bare.

Every inch of her soft curves deserved to be worshipped. Every inch cried out for his touch. But she wasn’t his, not really. Even after that, he knew better than to assume it meant something more than pleasure to her. They had an agreement, and now it had some benefits, but that’s all it was, no matter how badly he wanted it to be more. He’d held her body, but he’d never hold her heart.

He buttoned his jeans and drank his now cold coffee, a heavy feeling settling into his chest in the wake of their closeness. If he could just reach out and hold her again, he knew it would vanish. But he couldn’t.

“I can make us some dinner,” he said, getting to his feet, restless.

The longer he sat there, the deeper he’d sink into his melancholy. With a life as messy as his, it was hard to resist dwelling on all the wrong turns, all the missed chances, all the screwups.

“Oh right, you mentioned that you cook,” Moira replied, a wrinkle between her brows. “Did you bring anything?”

He opened the fridge to reveal a mix of vegetables and meats he’d brought along, unsure of how long they’d be working there. “I brought some things. It won’t be anything fancy, but it’ll get us through.”

She wandered over as he started to chop, seating herself on the edge of the counter to watch. “Do you have a recipe?”

“I don’t need one for this,” he responded, boiling a pot of water. “I bet you have some baking recipes memorized, too.”

Moira nodded, twisting her hair back up into the clip behind her head. He liked it both ways, wild and long around her face or pulled back to reveal the seashell curve of her ears.

“A few. When did you start cooking?” She leaned in to steal a piece of feta from the bowl.

“I dabbled a little before, but I really got into it when I moved to the White Winters,” he said, adding the pasta to the water once the bubbles began to roil across the surface. “It gave me a way to fit in there. Being Devon’s best friend gave me a pass in a lot of ways, but cooking gave me a purpose.”

“It’s hard to imagine you there.” Moira cocked her head to the side, examining him. “Maybe right after high school, that Jonah, I could see wanting a pack like that. But this Jonah? I can’t picture it.”

He wanted to tell her that even then, he had chafed against the expectations of the White Winter pack, the brutality expected of him. How he’d found ways to dodge it most of the time, whenever he could. That he’d always been too soft for it.

Something thumped against the outside wall. Moira jumped off the counter, whipping around to look out the window. “What was that?”

It was pitch black outside, the rain clouds blotting out the moon. He strained to listen, but all he heard now was the barrage of the storm. He’d heard something, though. Something moving outside.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, heading for the door. “Wait here.”

She scoffed and followed him to the front, grabbing a flashlight from one of the drawers. Jonah braced himself for whatever might be out there and threw the door open, putting himself between the outside and Moira.

Flicking the flashlight on, she shined it around the entrance of the lighthouse, over the sand and the walkway. Nothing. But the hair on the back of his neck rose in warning.

“Wait here, please?” He asked this time. “I’ll just check it out and come right back.”

Moira bit her lip but nodded. “Fine, but if you’re not back in two minutes, I’m coming after you.”

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