Page 80 of The Alpha Under My Bed

I gritted my teeth, my nails digging into my palms so hard I nearly broke the skin.

“Take it off.”

His fingers flexed against the belt, like he was considering it, like he was drawing out the moment just to punish me.

“You sure, sweetheart?” His voice was unbearably soft, coaxing, laced with something that made my stomach twist violently.

My vision blurred with frustration, my thighs clenching in a desperate, useless attempt to relieve even a fraction of the ache consuming me.

“Mal, I swear to God?—”

Click.

The sound of the lock releasing was the single most beautiful fucking thing I had ever heard.

I gasped, the relief so sharp it made my legs tremble. But Mal? He wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Because instead of yanking the belt off— instead of giving me the freedom I had been begging for—he dragged it away from my body so slowly it was unbearable. A sob tore from my throat, my body surging forward, chasing the relief, chasing him, but he caught me by the waist, holding me in place, forcing me to feel every second of it.

“Easy,” he murmured, dragging the belt down my thighs, over my knees, until it finally clattered to the floor.

The cool air hit my slick, soaked skin, and I shuddered—humiliated, furious, so fucking needy I thought I might lose my mind.

Mal groaned, and his scent was everywhere.

Thick. Intoxicating. Dark and rich and so much stronger than it had ever been before.

Because now, he wasn’t holding back.

Now, he didn’t have to.

My breath caught, my stomach twisting, because I could finally taste it. The raw power of it. The weight of his claim. The sheer dominance rolling off him in suffocating waves.

And I wanted more.

My fingers curled into his shirt, my body arching against his on instinct, my lips parting as his scent flooded my lungs, my entire world narrowing to him.

His grip tightened on my waist, his voice wrecked with need. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

I snapped.

I yanked at his shirt, fisting the fabric like I could pull him inside me, like I could take all of him—every inch, every drop, every fucking thing he had been denying me.

“I need your knot.”

Mal growled. A real, guttural alpha growl—raw and primal and so fucking possessive it sent a fresh rush of slick between my thighs.

His hands slammed against my hips, gripping me like he wanted to break me apart, like he was seconds away from losing control.

“You want my knot, sweetheart?” His voice was a threat, a promise, a fucking death sentence.

I clenched my thighs, desperate, but his grip was already forcing them apart.

“I need it,” I gasped—shameless, wrecked, completely gone for him. “I need you to fill me. I need your knot.”

His breath hitched, his whole body shaking with restraint.

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