Page 45 of The Alpha Under My Bed

I came with a scream, my body convulsing, my vision whiting out as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. I could feel him following me, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled my ass with his cum, his knot pulsing between the cheeks of my ass.

His cock slipped out of me with a wet sound that seemed to echo in the room, and I felt the immediate loss of him. I heard him suck in a breath, a low curse slipping from his lips. “Such a waste,” he muttered, and I knew he was looking at his cum, dripping from my ass instead of where he’d intended it to go. “All my cum belongs deep in your perfect pussy.”

His words sent a shiver through me, stirring a deep, primal need. My slickness increased at the thought of him filling methere, claiming that intimate part of me as his own. But even as my body betrayed me, responding to him, my mind rebelled. He’d stripped away my choices, bound me to him without my consent, and the anger, the betrayal, simmered beneath the surface of my desire. A constant, gnawing reminder that this man—this alpha—had irrevocably changed my world.

I felt the air shift as he moved, the heat of his body leaving mine for a moment before returning, closer now, possessive. He knelt between my legs, his hands tracing the edge of my chastity belt. The soft click of the lock was like a promise, and then the cool metal slid across my heated skin as he removed it, dragging it off my thick hips and thighs. The plug followed, its slow, lingering pull from my pussy a pop that made me gasp, the emptiness both strange and intoxicating.

The air was cold against my exposed skin, my pussy throbbing with need despite the storm of conflicted emotions within me. I was laid bare before him—vulnerable, open—and I could feel his gaze on every inch of me. My body was primed and ready, slickness coating my thighs, my clit aching for his touch.

And then he blindfolded me. The fabric covered my eyes, plunging me into darkness, and for a moment, I was disoriented. My other senses sharpened—his presence loomed over me, his heat pressing against my skin. I felt the mattress dip as he moved, heard the rustle of his clothing, and then his breath—hot, insistent—swept across me.

He didn’t give me time to adjust, didn’t let me prepare. His tongue, hot and demanding, slid over me, lapping at my slickness with a hunger that felt insatiable. He explored every inch of me, his tongue dipping inside, teasing, before trailing upwards to circle my clit. He sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, and I couldn’t contain the cry that tore from my throat, my hands fisting in the sheets above my head.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my hips arching toward his mouth, desperate for more.

He growled, the sound vibrating through me, and the hum of his pleasure sent shockwaves of bliss through my core. He was relentless, his tongue flicking against my clit with precision, as though he knew me—knew exactly what would make me squirm, what would make me scream. His movements were calculated, intimate, each flick sending a jolt of electric pleasure straight to the heart of me.

I could feel it building, the pressure low in my belly, tightening, stretching. It was overwhelming, the edge of release so close I could almost taste it. He seemed to sense it too, his hands gripping my hips, locking me in place, his mouth never leaving my pussy. His hunger was insatiable, devouring me.

With a hoarse shout, I came, my body convulsing, waves of pleasure crashing over me in an unstoppable tide. It was all-consuming, a fire that burned through me, leaving nothing but the feel of his mouth on me, the sensation of his tongue drinking from me. I was lost in it, utterly at his mercy, my body shaking with the aftershocks of my release.

As the tremors subsided, he pulled away, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. I felt the wetness on my thighs, the evidence of his feast, and I knew, deep down, I’d never forget this moment. He’d taken something from me, yes—my autonomy, my control—but he’d also given me a pleasure so intense, so raw, it bordered on pain. And in that moment, I wasn’t sure whether it was worth the cost. But I knew I would always remember the fire of it, the way he had claimed me, body and soul.

I lay there, boneless and sated, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of my climax. I could feel the coolness of the air against my bare skin, the wetness between my legs. I was vaguely aware of movement, of the sound of water and the rustleof fabric. Then I felt the soft touch of a wet rag against my thigh, warm and gentle, and I realized what he was doing.

He was bathing me.

His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as he washed away the evidence of our union. He was thorough, his hand steady as he cleaned every inch of me. I could feel the rag sliding over my skin, the water trickling down my body in delicious rivulets. I should have felt exposed, vulnerable, but somehow, I didn’t. There was a tenderness to his movements that made me feel cherished, cared for in a way I hadn’t known I needed.

I felt the rasp of a razor against my skin, the gentle pressure as he shaved my pubic hair and my legs. It was intimate—more intimate than the act that had come before—and I found myself relaxing into his touch, trusting him to take care of me. He paused often, pressing kisses to the newly bared skin, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each kiss was a promise, each nip a silent vow.

“I’ve prepared a place for you,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that resonated in my very bones. “A nest, a sanctuary. This is the apartment next to yours. I’ve stocked it with everything you could ever need.”

I was only half-listening, lost in the sensation of his hands on my body. But his words penetrated the haze of pleasure, sparking a flicker of curiosity. He’d done all this for me? Why?

“The room next door is a library,” he continued, his voice a soft whisper against my skin. “Every book you’ve ever loved, every story that’s ever touched your heart—they’re all there, waiting for you. And there are others, rare editions, books I’ve collected over the years that reminded me of you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. It was too much—this overwhelming display of... of what? Affection? Possession? I didn’t know what to make of it, of him. But I couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through my chest at his words, the sense ofwonder that filled me at the thought of a room filled with books, just for me.

I felt myself drifting, the combination of pleasure and exhaustion pulling me toward sleep. But then I felt something cool and metallic sliding into place between my legs—the chastity belt. My eyes snapped open, a protest forming on my lips, but before I could speak, he was pressing something against my clit—a small, smooth object that sent jolts of pleasure through my body as the chastity belt pressed it firmly in place.

I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily, and I heard the click of the lock as he secured the chastity belt. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks. I was overwhelmed, torn between anger and gratitude, between the desire to be free of this man and the temptation to give in to the pleasure he offered. I sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he gathered me into his arms.

He unbound my hands from above my head, only to bind them again behind my back. My heart raced, the realization of my helplessness sending a thrill of fear through me. But then he was holding me, his body a solid, comforting presence against mine. He took off the blindfold, and I blinked against the sudden light, my eyes meeting his—dark, intense, unreadable behind the mask.

He tucked my head into the crook of his neck, his hand stroking my hair as he murmured soothing words.

“Sleep, Ellie,” he whispered. “You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

And despite everything, I believed him. I closed my eyes, the beat of his heart a steady rhythm in my ears, and let sleep carry me away.

Thirteen

ELEANOR

I woke slowly,the warmth of the nest cocooning me in a way that felt both foreign and instinctively right. The blankets were impossibly soft, layered thickly around me, scented with something deep and dark that made my pulse quicken. It wasn’t my scent. It wasn’t my home.

But it smelled like safety.

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