Page 20 of The Alpha's Gamble
“Hold still, and I won’t hurt you,” he said. I huffed a laugh with the last of my oxygen. A little late for a promise like that. “I need to move us onto our sides. I can’t lie on top of you or kneel here for half an hour. Just let me turn you.”
Fine. His show. I went limp again and bit my lip and winced as he lowered himself down on top of me, a heavy, hot weight that blanketed me from my neck to my feet. Would this have been comforting if he’d been someone I liked and trusted? Maybe. But as he’d told me, I’d never find out, so it didn’t matter.
His muscular arm wrapped under me and clamped around my waist—and was that the faintest hesitation, as he discovered the wet spot?—and held me against his chest as he carefully rolled us both onto our sides.
My claws had retracted at last somewhere along the way. I stretched out my cramping arms with a sigh of relief. He slid his other arm under my head, giving me no choice but to pillow it on his bicep or break my neck trying to hold it up.
Which left me cradled in MacKenna’s strong arms, our legs tangled together, his breath ruffling my hair.
And, of course, his knot stuffed in my ass.
Wouldn’t do to forget that little detail.
Not so little detail. Huge detail, in fact.
I shifted uncomfortably, and he hissed and yanked me even tighter to his chest. Moving around didn’t feel great for me, either, so I subsided with poor grace.
Silence, except for the faint hush of the air conditioner and, annoyingly, an occasional drip from the direction of the bathroom. Either MacKenna needed a better maintenance guy in this place, or he was one of those assholes who always left the faucet on a tiny bit. That drove me nuts.
He microwaved lobster bisque, so nothing would surprise me at this point.
That and the blackmail, obviously.
But the almost total quiet gave me time to regroup, finally, and to run through the last few minutes in my mind.
Wait a second.
“What do you mean, ‘for half an hour’? Your knot went down in five minutes last night.”
He shrugged, and I dipped up and down with it like a boat floating on an ocean it couldn’t begin to control. Gods, this was too intimate to bear. His chest hair tickled my back. His hand rested against my sternum, splayed there and holding me close. Even without enhanced senses, I’d have been surrounded by his heartbeat, his warmth, his rich, spicy scent, the texture of his skin. With my enhanced senses, it all overwhelmed me.
“I didn’t have my knot inside a very tight, virgin ass last night,” he said. And then he paused. “Was that actually your first time getting fucked?”
“Of course it was,” I snapped. “I’m not exactly crazy about the idea either!”
Another pause, this time much longer. His arm tensed around my waist, stealing a little more of my breath.
“That wasn’t the impression I had,” he said finally, his tone carefully, insultingly neutral.
I realized this was the first time he’d commented on how much my body had responded to him, to his touch and his rough handling and his dominance. And I’d have much preferred it if he’d mocked me for it rather than acting as if he didn’t even care enough to sneer at me. As if my reaction to him was beneath his attention, even as he held me in his bed with his cock still in my body.
“I didn’t think you noticed anything past your own knot.” He went even tenser, and I added, “Bodies respond to physical stimulus. That doesn’t mean I liked it.”
“Do you want me to prove you wrong, or do you want to admit you’re wrong right now and save us both the trouble?” Heat rushed to my cheeks and I went stiff in his arms. Admit I was— But he cut off my gathering tirade by saying, “You know what, never mind. I don’t care if you liked it or not. I didn’t injure you, and you agreed to do this. Beyond that, I don’t give a fuck about your feelings or your virginity or anything else about you.”
Something about that pinged my radar, and I tried to figure out what. Protesting too much? Why would he even bother to say that about proving me wrong in the first place if he didn’t give a fuck?
But the hormones flooding an alpha after he knotted were so powerful, maybe he couldn’t follow his own train of thought any more than I could.
After a moment, he added, “I’m glad you didn’t like it, actually. That makes this easy. You’re just a fuck toy. And that’s all I want from you.”
If I’d been able to get up and walk away, maybe I could’ve kept my stupid mouth shut. But I was stuck there, and biting my tongue when I wanted to say something insulting had never been my strong suit. Just ask my brother. Brook would’ve told anyone who asked, and probably a lot of people who didn’t ask, what an asshole I was.
Also stupid.
Although he was wrong about that, I thought. I wasn’t stupid. I simply had the bad habit of acting like it, see exhibit A: my mouth running when it shouldn’t.
“If you wanted me so much, why didn’t you just suck my cock when you had the chance ten years ago? Then none of this would’ve been a problem.”
