Page 29 of Alpha's Heir

His breath hitched as my hand found him, and I felt a surge of power knowing I could draw this reaction from him. It was a craving, a desperation to feel something real, something lasting and unchangeable.

"Shit, Cora," he groaned, his body tensing, a clear sign of his growing arousal. It was a sound that sent a thrill down my spine, and I reveled in it.

In my mind, it wasn't just the physical yearning that pulled me to him; it was the recognition of something far deeper. Our union was the one irrevocable thing in this rapidly shifting world. The pack, the forest, our very lives might be in danger, but this connection between us, this was unyielding.

Our marriage wasn’t just a simple vow, it was a testament to the force that bound us, beyond the tangible, beyond the constraints of our world. I could feel that bond in the press of his lips, in the desperate clasp of his hands, and in the way my name sounded different when he said it—it was a word made only for his lips.

Our souls, they were intertwined, knotted in a way that went beyond the physical mating bond our kind revered. He was mine in a way that fate could not dictate, in a way that choice had consecrated.

I gazed up into his eyes, those deep pools that held storms and tranquility in equal measure, and I knew. If Weston weren't my mate by the laws of nature, I’d still choose him, over and over, in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality.

He was my constant, my chosen, my inevitable.

I could feel Weston's calloused fingers trembling as they skated along the hem of my shirt, rough and tender all at once. I kept my touch steady on him, feeling his cock swell further beneath my palm. His breaths came heavier, each exhale brushing hot against my neck as he peeled my clothing away inch by inch.

"Damn, Cora," he murmured, his voice strained with want. He worshipped my skin with his lips, leaving a trail of fire that only served to heighten my arousal. I was already wet, desire pooling between my legs, each of his kisses drawing a deeper moan from within me.

He kissed down my chest, his hands expert in their mission to undress me, to reveal me to him, to the cool air of the room, which only seemed to stoke the heat that flared between us.

My fingers gripped him harder, eliciting a groan that vibrated through me. "You like that?" I teased, a half-whisper, half-challenge.

"Fuck, yes," he admitted without a shred of hesitation, his own hand finding the bare skin of my waist, traveling upwards. His thumb brushed over the sensitive peak of my breast, and I shuddered, my back arching instinctively into his touch.

The roughness of his hand created a delicious contrast to the smoothness of my skin, his urgency matching my own. His touch was a language all its own, telling me of his need, his hunger for me, and it was a language I answered with my own eager movements.

My hand worked him slowly, a dance of fingers, of palm, the way I knew drove him wild. He was hard, so incredibly hard, and I could feel him throb against the circle of my grip. His hips bucked slightly, seeking more, and I gave it to him, tightening my hold, increasing the pace.

Weston’s hands were everywhere, his touch igniting sparks on my skin. He was deliberate, every motion calculated to draw out the moment, to stoke the flames until they were nearly unbearable.

I was lost in the sensation, in the push and pull of our desire. His cock twitched in my hand, a silent plea for more, for release. But this was about savoring, about taking and giving in equal measure, about the build that would make the climax all the more shattering.

Our breathing was ragged, a symphony of pants and gasps that filled the room, mixing with the sounds of our movements. I could feel his need pulsing against my fingers, and I knew he could feel the wetness that coated mine.

"Cora," he breathed out, almost a prayer, and I knew we were close, teetering on the edge of something intense, something consuming.

But we held back, letting the tension build, letting the need twist and turn within us. We were both seeking that edge, that precipice where we could plunge into oblivion together. But not yet, not until we were both ready to let go and fall into that sweet abyss.

This was intimacy in its rawest form—no words needed, just the language of touch and breath and heat. And as we continued, as I felt Weston tremble beneath my hands, I knew that what we shared was unbreakable, that this connection, this moment, was ours and ours alone.

As Weston's mouth traced a path down my body, the warmth of his breath against my skin sent shivers down my spine. Each kiss, each flick of his tongue, was a testament to the depth of our bond. Lying there, under the careful ministrations of his lips, I was overwhelmed by the fierce love I had for this man.

He buried his face in the wetness I’d gushed all over my thighs. He stopped for a moment just to admire me, then leaned forward to press his face into my folds, his tongue finding my clit with ease and beginning to tease and toy with the throbbing bud.

"God, Weston," I gasped as he found those intimate places that only he knew how to awaken. There was a skill in his touch, a familiarity born of many nights spent learning each other's bodies. His mouth was insistent, his tongue swirling patterns that had me clenching the sheets in a mix of pleasure and a deep, deep need.

He always knew exactly the way to swirl and flick and change direction, to start and stop at just the right places and times. He waited just long enough before putting one finger inside of me, then another. He applied pressure in the perfect spot as he continued to eat at me, and I quickly felt the pressure building between my legs and in my lower belly.

“Oh, god…” I moaned.

I was scared, terrified even, of what was to come. The forest, our pack, the future—it all teetered on a knife's edge, uncertain and shadowed. But as Weston's hands roamed over me, as his mouth worshiped me, I found a certainty that grounded me. With him by my side, I believed we could face anything.

"Weston," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair, "I... I love you so much." It was a declaration, one that was as much about the pleasure he was giving me as it was about the steadfast support he provided.

As the waves of pleasure built, rising higher with each movement of his mouth, I clung to these thoughts. In the chaos that awaited us, in the uncertainty of our fate, this was our anchor, our unwavering constant.

The world beyond our room, with all its darkness and danger, faded into obscurity as Weston brought me to the brink. My body tensed, my breath caught, and I surrendered to the sensations, to the love that was so much more than physical pleasure.

It was in these moments, with Weston's name on my lips and his touch guiding me to ecstasy, that I knew we were invincible. No matter what lay ahead, we had this connection, this love, and it was stronger than any darkness that could come our way.

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