Page 78 of The Alpha Under My Bed

Hated how safe I felt in them.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t shush me. Didn’t murmur empty reassurances.

He just held me.

Like he knew exactly what was happening inside of me—knew I was falling apart in ways I didn’t even know how to stop.

Like he’d known it was coming all along.

I shoved at him, but it was weak. I was weak.

Mal didn’t let go.

His fingers tightened around the fabric of my shirt, his head dipping slightly. I could feel his breath on my hair, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I was always yours, Ellie.” His voice was low, steady, unshakable.

I sucked in a sharp breath, but the bond inside me burned, slamming down on the scream I tried to choke out.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to push him away, scream at him until my voice broke. But the bond—god, the bond wouldn’t let me. No matter how hard I fought, no matter how much I wanted to tear myself away from him, the pull sank deeper, wrapping around me like chains forged for me and me alone.

And Mal?

He just stood there, watching me struggle.

Waiting. Patient. Unmoved. Like he had all the time in the world.

Because he knew exactly how this would end.

That knowledge burned, searing through me, but it was nothing compared to the fire licking through my veins. I tried to push away from him, to create some space between us. But the second my fingers curled into his shirt, a shock of pleasure jolted through me—sharp, sudden—making me pull back, as if I’d been burned.

My breath hitched. My thighs clenched.

And I nearly collapsed from the weight of the sensation.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

Heat flooded my body, starting at the base of my spine, sinking low in my stomach, pulsing through my core. I staggeredback, panting, every part of me screaming to run, but my traitorous legs refused to move.

Every instinct I had warred against itself—fighting, struggling, trying to escape, but no matter how much I tried?—

There was no escape.

The bond wouldn’t let me.

Mal stepped forward, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate intent. But I pressed myself harder against the wall, shaking my head so violently my vision blurred.

“No,” I whispered, my voice ragged, barely a sound past my frantic breathing.

He stopped, his gaze never leaving me, sharp and knowing.

“You’re fighting it,” he murmured, his voice deep and steady.

I swallowed hard, throat tight with anger, grief, and the gut-wrenching knowledge that he was right. I was fighting it—fighting the way every inch of my body screamed for him, fighting the unbearable ache, the slickness between my legs I knew he could smell. My scent filled the room, thick, sweet, undeniable.

I clenched my thighs tighter, but the chastity belt stopped me.

---