Page 102 of The Alpha Under My Bed

Ellie was the only thing that mattered.

And now?

I was taking her back.

Twenty-Five

MALCOLM

The secondI had Ellie in my arms, the bond snapped tight—so tight I could barely think through the haze of possession roaring through my skull. Her scent was wrecked, spiked with leftover fear and the sharp tang of Claudia’s chemicals, but underneath it all, there it was.

Heat.

Fucking hell.

The injection had done its job. It had forced her into heat, slamming her body into a biological need so overwhelming that she was dripping for me. Her thighs were slick, her pupils blown, her skin flushed with the unbearable torment of being unclaimed while burning.

I should have come faster. Should have torn this place apart sooner. Should have gutted Claudia and her men before Ellie reached this point.

A ragged sound tore from her throat as her fingers clawed at my shirt—weak, trembling, desperate. Her legs locked around my waist, her mouth parted on a silent whimper as she rubbedagainst me—mindless, seeking, grinding against the hard length that had been hers from the beginning.

“Mal,” she gasped, her voice wrecked, broken. “It hurts.”

A shudder tore through me, my alpha instincts raging, feral, demanding I fix it.

I tilted her face up, my fingers pressing into her jaw, forcing her dazed, glassy eyes to lock onto mine. "I know, sweetheart," I murmured, my voice low, rough—raw—the words scraping from deep in my chest. It was the only thing keeping me from throwing her down right here on the cold, blood-smeared floor. "I’m going to make it better. I’m going to take care of you."

The promise hung between us, heavy and suffocating.

I walked us out of the warehouse, my boots crunching over debris, past Claudia’s lifeless body, past the blood still drying under my nails. None of it mattered now. Not with her.

Barely making it onto the bike, Ellie shifted against me again, her soaked thighs rubbing along my waist, chasing the friction. Her breath was hot, her body trembling with need. She whined—soft, desperate.

“Mal—”

I kissed her before she could finish the sentence.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was everything.

Possession. Hunger. Claiming.

Her mouth opened to me, desperate, and she moaned against my lips, arching into me, pressing her body closer, like she was starved for something only I could give. She gave herself to me without hesitation, without resistance, her hands tangling in my hair, her nails scraping against my scalp as she matched my hunger, taking as much as I did.

I groaned, barely holding myself together as I pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

And then I tore through the city.

I kicked the apartment door open without breaking stride, my focus tunneled down to one singular, undeniable goal—Ellie.

She was trembling in my arms, slick already soaking through my jeans, her breath coming in short, gasping little pants as she fought the unbearable torment of her heat. Every fiber of my being demanded I put her out of her misery, tear away the last remaining barriers between us, and fill her the way she was meant to be filled.

But I forced myself to wait.

Just for a second.

I set her down on the bed, stepping back, my chest heaving as I watched her. She was a mess—wrecked by her body’s needs, her skin flushed, her pupils so wide and dark they nearly swallowed the color of her irises.

She shifted against the mattress, rubbing her thighs together, whimpering softly, as if she couldn’t bear the emptiness inside her for a second longer. Her fingers curled into the sheets, her body straining toward me, silently begging.

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