Page 33 of The Alpha Under My Bed

The plug.

The sudden movement had pressed it deeper, shifting against a spot that sent a slow, rolling heat curling low in mystomach. My thighs clenched instinctively—a pitiful attempt to still my body, to ignore the slow, insistent throb between my legs. But the damage had already been done. My pulse spiked, my skin flushed as the chastity belt locked it all in place, trapping me in my own unbearable frustration.

Not here. Not now. Not in Mal’s car.

I forced myself to breathe, sucking in air through my nose in slow, deliberate pulls, willing my body to behave.

Then we hit the first pothole.

The jolt sent a searing ripple through me, a friction-laced shock that tightened every nerve in my body. The unrelenting pressure against my core was unbearable—deep, insistent, merciless. A sharp, strangled gasp caught in my throat as my fingers clenched against my lap, nails pressing hard into my skin. The belt only added to the torment, pinning me down, trapping me in place, making me feel every unforgiving bump in the road with devastating clarity.

Mal’s fingers hesitated on the gear shift.

“You okay?” His voice was steady—too steady. That measured calm, that dangerous, knowing calm, the one that sent heat curling low in my stomach and turned breath into something fickle and unreliable.

I forced out a thin, breathless laugh, shifting minutely—and instantly regretting it. A fresh, aching pulse of sensation rocketed through me as the plug pressed against something devastatingly sensitive. My breath hitched hard before I could stop it. “Yeah. Just—wasn’t expecting that.”

Mal made a low, contemplative sound, deep in his throat, a noise that was all instinct and consideration, all knowing restraint. He didn’t push. He didn’t have to. His fingers flexed lazily against the wheel, slow, absentminded, like he wasn’t paying me any attention at all.

Which only made it worse.

I exhaled sharply, forcing my hands into fists, nails biting deep into my palms.

We were close. Just a little longer.

Then the car slowed.

My pulse stuttered. My breath came faster, too shallow, the space inside the vehicle closing in as Mal’s grip shifted. Up ahead, the street was blocked—bright orange cones stretched across the road, a detour sign flickering beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp. An arrow pointed toward a rougher, narrower path.

“Road work,” Mal muttered, clicking his tongue. “They’ve been fucking with this street for weeks.”

I swallowed hard.

The detour.

The long way home.

The road was uneven, covered in patchy asphalt and deep dips in the pavement. I barely had time to brace before the first hard jolt sent a slow, unbearable wave of friction through me. The plug pressed against that spot again, dragging a sinful pulse of pressure with it, my core tightening in response.

I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep still, to keep from reacting. But my thighs twitched, my fingers curled into my lap, my body betraying me with every cruel bounce of the car.

Then I smelled it.

My scent.

Thick, warm,ruined.

Panic curled up my spine, thick and suffocating. I clenched my thighs, pressing my hands into my lap, trying to suppress it, to will it away, but it was too late. It was already there, spilling into the car, perfuming the air, wrapping around both of us like a thick, damning fog.

It was bad enough that I could smell it—rich, heady, dripping in need—but the real problem sat just inches away, one handresting on the wheel, the other flexing against the leather gear shift.

Mal.

Even as my perfume filled every inch of space between us, even as my body betrayed me in the most humiliating way possible, Mal didn’t react. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

Another bump.

A sharp, involuntary gasp.

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