Page 48 of Psycho Alphas: Part One

That word still sent the world spinning, and my hindbrain took over. I tried to picture her reaching down, fists circling my cock as she dropped to her knees. Her dainty hands around it.

She was small.

Far too small for me.

I could cling to that. There was a groan in my chest as I pictured her lips struggling to wrap around it.

It was hard, imagining her like this—all…intome and happy, when all I’d seen was fear.

Don’t. Think. About. That.

Just…

I was close, speeding up, feeling the soap lather and my blood get hot. But the imaginings kept tumbling away like a tapestry with no support.

Come on.

Comefuckingon.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying again to focus on her tiny frame, dragging up image after image, but none were right.

Knox’s picture flashed in my mind… The way her cheeks were flushed, lips drawn back, teeth clenched as he’d pressed the gun into her, and it was so fucking covered in slick. There had been a strain in her neck as if she was fighting her own climax…

No… No, no, no.

Back to sunlight and smiles and shit.

Instead, my foul mind dragged up the image again—I growled as the most vicious orgasm I’d ever felt crashed in, and ropes of cum painted the wall as I panted, blood roaring in my ears.

And it had barely fucking worked, a scratch on the surface of the brewing storm of fury I had to find a way to manage.

But if I didn’t, I would put her in danger.

I slammed my forehead (and muzzle) into my forearm, pressing it to the shower wall as disgust swallowed me whole.

Her scent match was supposed to protect her, but instead of storming up there, putting a bullet in Knox’s skull, and wiping away her tears, I was jerking off to them instead.

Just… brilliant.

When I got out, I dried my hair and wrapped a towel around myself, then turned on the copper taps and splashed cold water over my face as if that would help.

I straightened, staring into the blurred reflection of myself in the huge, foggy mirror.

The bathroom was more outdated than the rest of the mansion, but it was still a luxury—if only because nothing (except the cell next door) wasn’t.

There was a massive jet bathtub I never used, tarnished brass fixtures, and marble counters with small cracks running through them. The siding was made of tiling that had, in places, been smashed during my violent outbursts. It was why the shower had been stripped to a concrete box.

I glanced at my phone that rested on the counter as it lit up with a text.

I picked it up and stepped into my bedroom, about to toss it onto the bed.

It was cooler out here, and I took a breath, trying to steady myself. The room had a bland, half-hearted attempt at a ‘stylish industrial’ theme, though the design had more to do with practicality—since the basement’s original purpose had a lot more to do with the Alpha cage next door than it did style points. This was one of the only rooms down here with hardwoodflooring laid over the concrete, but the walls were still dusty, exposed brickwork.

I sat down on the bed, turning my phone over in my hand, fighting a losing battle against my impulses.

If I thought nothing could make this worse, I was sorely wrong.

Knox: Want to see her right now?

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