Page 50 of The Alpha Under My Bed

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to stay still, stay normal, but the vibrations kept building, each pulse sinking deeper, drawing me closer to the edge. My slick was dripping through the cold metal, my thighs trembling as I tried to keep still.

His grip tightened on my thigh. “I told you to hold still.”

I whined before I could stop myself, the sound muffled behind clenched teeth. Mal exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing. “Almost there, baby,” he murmured.

He wasn’t talking about the belt.

A fresh wave of humiliation crashed over me as another roll of pleasure clenched low in my belly, unbearable, unstoppable.

“Mal—” My voice broke, breathy and desperate, my body betraying me completely.

He didn’t say a word.

He just held me still.

And let me break in his arms.

And then, I broke in a different way.

A sob tore from my throat, sharp and unexpected. The humiliation, the frustration, the overwhelming sensation—it allcrashed over me at once, too much, too fast. My vision blurred as the tears came, hot and unrelenting.

Mal’s hands were on me in an instant, the wrench clattering onto the workbench as he pulled me into his arms. “Hey, hey—Ellie?—”

I pressed my face into his chest, gripping onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. “I—I hate this,” I choked out. “I hate this so much.”

His arms tightened around me, his warmth seeping into my skin. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

His voice was softer now—no teasing, no smugness—just quiet concern. He rocked me gently, one hand stroking slow circles on my back, the other cradling my head. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low, careful.

I shook my head, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “No.”

“Are you scared?”

I hesitated, fingers tightening in his shirt. “I don’t know.”

His exhale was slow, measured. “I hate seeing you like this.”

That only made me cry harder. Because Mal wasn’t supposed to see me like this. He was my best friend, my person—the one I’d spent years pretending not to love—and now he was holding me like I was something fragile, something precious.

And I hated how much I needed it.

Mal didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just held me—quiet, steady—his arms strong around me, rocking me ever so slightly, the gentle rhythm grounding me, anchoring me to something real. His hand moved slowly over my back, each stroke deliberate, as if he were trying to piece me together, to tether me back to something solid in the chaos swirling inside me.

His scent wrapped around me—dark cedar, the burn of smoke, the rich leather that clung to him like a secondskin. It was comforting, familiar, something I’d always known. Something safe. And in that moment, it was the only thing that felt like it made sense—his presence, his warmth—everything else slipping away as I allowed myself to sink into the sense of being protected, even when everything else felt so damn uncertain.

“Breathe for me,” he murmured against my hair. “Nice and slow.”

I tried. My breaths were still shaky, still uneven, but with every pass of his hand down my spine, they evened out little by little. My fingers loosened in his shirt, my body going from rigid to something softer, something more pliant.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice warm. “Good girl.”

A fresh wave of emotion surged up my throat, but I swallowed it down, forcing myself to focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked, voice low, careful.

I shook my head against him. “No.”

Mal sighed but didn’t push. “Alright. Then we’ll just stay like this for a little while, okay?”

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