Page 13 of His Problem Alpha
His face relaxes with relief, his body sagging. "Thank you," he whispers.
I nod, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. Then I move with a purpose that isn't my own. Each action is deliberate, a step in a ritual I didn't know I knew.
I go to the bathroom first, grabbing a stack of clean, soft towels from the linen closet—one for his forehead, others for… later. I find a washcloth, run it under cool water until it’s perfectly damp.
In the kitchen, I fill a large glass with ice water, the cubes clinking in the sudden silence of the apartment. I place it on his nightstand, exactly where he can reach it without moving too much.
Next, the bed. I strip the heavy comforter, the one he's probably had since college, and fold it with a precision that feels insane. I pull the fitted sheet tight, smoothing out every wrinkle. Then I take the clean top sheet and spread it over him,a thin, breathable barrier. This isn't just cleaning; it's preparing a battlefield. Or a sanctuary. I can't tell which.
All the while, Devon watches me with heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing shallow, his scent growing thicker, headier with each passing minute. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, tracking my movements as I prepare for what's coming.
This is happening. We're doing this. There's no going back.
I finish my preparations, the towels stacked neatly on the dresser, the water within reach. My movements have been methodical, precise—the actions of someone preparing for a long night. The part of me that is still screaming in panic is drowned out by the part that needs to take care of this.
"Alex?" Devon's voice is small, uncertain.
I turn to him, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Yeah?"
"Are you sure? About this?" The question surprises me—him checking on me, when he's the one in crisis.
Am I sure? I want to laugh. I've never been less sure of anything. My hands are shaking with how unsure I am. But watching him suffer when I could help? That's the one thing I'm sure I can't do.
"I'm sure," I lie, because it's what he needs to hear.
He nods, relaxing slightly. "Okay. Good."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. This is a line we can't uncross. A boundary that, once broken, will change everything between us. No more comfortable hatred. No more safe distance. After tonight, we'll know each other in ways that can't be undone.
The thought terrifies me. But not as much as the thought of walking away.
I close Devon's bedroom door, the soft click shutting out the rest of the world. I turn the lock. Then I turn to face the man who is about to change everything.
Devon
"Alpha," I gasp, the word a betrayal torn from my throat. It’s a foreign sound, something I don't recognize as my own. "Please, I can't—"
The rest of my plea dissolves into a whimper as another wave of heat crashes through me. It's not warm—I'm burning from the inside out, my skin so tight it feels like it might split open. My clothes are an unbearable torture against hypersensitive nerves. The slick between my thighs is humiliating, soaking through my sweatpants, the sweet scent of it thick and cloying in the room.
My brain—usually buzzing with comebacks and analysis—is just static now. There's only need. Raw, animal need that claws at my insides, hollowing me out.
Alex stands at the edge of the bed, his expression a war between determination and terror. His scent—coffee and leather and something electric, like ozone after a storm—is the only thing keeping me anchored. Without it, I'd float away on this sea of desperate want, drown in it completely.
"Devon," he says, my name rough in his mouth. "Are you sure? We can still—"
"Don't," I choke out, the word sharp with panic. "Don't you dare leave me like this."
He takes a step closer, and I whine—a sound I didn't know I could make. His scent intensifies, wrapping around me like a physical touch. I can smell his arousal now, sharp and musky beneath his usual scent. It makes my empty hole clench around nothing, and a fresh gush of slick soaks the fabric beneath me.
"I won't leave," he promises, his voice dropping to that low alpha register that vibrates straight through my bones. "I'm going to help you."
But he's still hesitating, still standing too far away, and I can't—I physically cannot—wait another second. I don't decide to move; my body just does. I lunge forward, my hands grabbing the front of his shirt with desperate strength, and pull him down toward me.
"Now," I growl, the word barely human. "Need you now."
Something snaps in Alex's eyes—the last thread of his restraint breaking. A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against my hands where they clutch his shirt. His pupils dilate until there's only a thin ring of green around endless, hungry black.
"Fuck," he breathes, and then his mouth is on mine.
