Page 57 of Impregnated By the Alpha

She bucked against his face and it was all he could do to hold on, to keep driving his tongue against her. He caught her when her legs trembled and threatened to give out, rising to kiss her. Her lips parted for him, eager for the taste of herself.

Her hands were on him, rubbing the swell of his cock over his pants. Precum soaked the fabric in a telltale splotch, widening as her fingers worked up and down his length. But he didn’t want her fingers. Didn’t want the fabric between them. He wanted her skin against his.

“Impatient today,” she murmured, catching him when his hands went to his belt to remove it himself. “Maybe I want to make you wait.”

He groaned and dropped his hands, twisting them in her hair to keep himself from doing more. But it wouldn’t last for long. She teased him, dragging her finger slowly up his cock with the lightest pressure. Pressure coiled at the base of his spine.

“Moira,” he groaned. “I can’t wait. Don’t make me wait.”

But he caught the smirk on her face, the flush of power in her eyes. She was enjoying this, enjoying tormenting him. Her fingers worked the belt buckle open with painful slowness.

She slipped her hand inside his pants and now there was only one layer between them, between her nimble fingers and his aching cock. Her touch was bolder now, firmer, and she wrapped her hand over the top of his dick to stroke it . It was so hard the head of it pushed above the waistband of his briefs. When her thumb touched it, he growled.

“Take them off,” she ordered, nodding at his pants. He leapt to obey, kicking them off so they slid across the floor and landed against the wall. “And those.”

He shed his briefs and his cock sprang free. Still, she did not touch him.

“Stroke it for me,” she demanded, perching on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed, denying him his view of what he wanted most. “Slowly.”

He fisted his cock and stroked the length of it from base to tip with agonizing slowness. Moira’s lips were flushed red with arousal, the peaks of her nipples begging for his mouth, but she lifted one foot to push him away when he tried to draw closer.

“No touching.” But she spread her legs a little now and brought her fingers down to touch herself, her eyes fixed on his hand as he stroked faster.

He couldn’t peel his eyes away from the scene between her legs. It should be his hand there. His body rebelled against the space between them and she was loving every second of it, every moment of his agony.

“Poor thing,” she said, around her panting. She was close now. He could see it in the desperate way she touched herself. “But you’re not allowed to cum. Not until you’re inside of me.”

Her words nearly pushed him over the edge and when she came, head thrown back to expose her pale, vulnerable throat, he had to bite his cheek to keep from following her.

“Please, Moira,” he begged, a bead of precum dripping from the head of his cock. “I need you.”

“Come show me how much,” she breathed.

Jonah lunged for her. He couldn’t be gentle, or slow, couldn’t take his time. He needed her. She’d driven him mad and now she’d get what she wanted.

Jonah pushed her back onto the bed and freed his cock from his pants. He wasted no time lining himself up and pressing inside, all at once. She gripped him, tight and hot and wet and unbearably good. His hips moved of their own accord, thrusting into her with a force that slammed the bed against the wall and drew a moan from her lips.

He drove into her relentlessly, and she welcomed him. She urged him onward with her hands, mouth, and gasps. Begging for more with one breath than telling him it was too much with another. But it wasn’t too much for her. She took all of him. When she came again, clenching around him, he was swift to follow.

Spent, he lay over her. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, too winded to speak, with damp strands of hair clinging to her face.

Something thumped upstairs. It was a distinct sound, too solid to brush off as a trick of the wind. Jonah leaped from the bed and pulled on his clothes. Moira followed, pulling her dress back over her head.

“Stay here,” he said, climbing the stairs.

She followed. Upstairs, the lighthouse split in two, with the nursery on one half and an office on the other. It was lit periodically by the light above, spinning and illuminating the windows in turn. Jonah stepped into the dark nursery, scanning the shadows of the crib and the rocking chair.

Empty. He climbed the iron ladder to the next level, where the light housed. It was open to the elements with just a low railing between Jonah and the ocean far, far below. But the threat was closer. It detached itself from the wall beside the door and slammed into Jonah, knocking him backward into Moira. She kept her feet and skirted to the side as Jonah hit the ground with the other man on top of him.

Evans.

He kicked Evans in the stomach and sent him tumbling into the office. This time, he wasn’t going to let him go. The rage Jonah had kept bridled reared its head, and he let it free and let it consume him. Evans was slumped against the metal housing the light, head to one side as if he’d cracked it on his way down. Blood seeped onto the ground.

Jonah yanked him to his feet, and the man sprang back to life, hands wrapping around Jonah’s neck. He caught Evans by the wrists, tightening his grip until he felt bones creak beneath his fingers. Together, they fell against the railing.

Moira screamed and reached for him. Jonah cracked his head forward, slamming his brow into Evans’s nose with a ferocity that made him see white. Evans lost his hold on Jonah’s neck. He whipped backward, reeling, and the weight of his body tipped out, over the railing.

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