Page 16 of His Problem Alpha
Eventually, after what could be hours or days, the heat begins to wane. The desperate edge dulls, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that makes my limbs feel like lead. Alex is still inside me, his knot locking us together one final time, his body curled protectively around mine. He smells of sex and sweat and something deeply comforting.
"Sleep," he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough from overuse. "I've got you."
I want to protest. Want to maintain some semblance of independence, of the person I was before this started. But my body has other ideas. The combination of heat exhaustion and physical exertion pulls me under, dragging me toward unconsciousness.
As darkness claims me, I'm aware of Alex's arms tightening around me, his scent wrapping around me like a blanket. It feels safe. It feels right.
My last coherent thought isn't about hatred or humiliation, but a terrifying, whispered question to a universe I no longer understand:What was that look in his eyes?
Alex
The only sound in the room is Devon’s breathing, and for the first time in years, the screaming in my head goes quiet.
He’s curled up on his side, sleeping with one hand tucked under his cheek like a kid. His face is still flushed pink, dark lashes against his skin. A dark bruise is already forming on his throat where my mouth was, where I’d marked him without a conscious thought. My thumb ghosts over the mark, not quite touching. Six years of guilt tells me to run for the door. But I don’t move. I’m taking in everything—the soft puff of his breath, his messy hair spread across the pillow, our scents tangled together in the sheets.
It smells right, and that’s what scares the shit out of me.
Devon shifts, a small whimper slipping past his lips. His brow furrows, and I can smell it before he even wakes—the sweet, honeyed scent of his heat rising again, cutting through the musky satisfaction that had settled in the room. The next wave is coming.
“Water,” I mutter. The word feels foreign in my dry throat. We’re both probably dehydrated as hell.
I ease off the bed, my own body aching in ways that are both deeply satisfying and deeply wrong. My legs are shaky, like I just ran a fucking marathon. I pad to the kitchen, fill a glass with cold water, and come back to find him stirring, his eyes fluttering open. They’re hazy, unfocused.
“Alex?” His voice is a raw scrape of sound.
“I’m here.” The words are too soft, too gentle. I don’t recognize myself. “Drink this.”
He tries to sit up, then falls back with a wince that twists my gut. Before I can think about it, my arm is behind his shoulders, lifting him just enough. I bring the glass to his lips and he drinks like a man dying of thirst, water spilling down his chin. My thumb moves on its own, wiping a stray drop away. The contact is electric.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his eyes a little clearer now but still heavy with sleep and heat.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, my arm still holding his weight.
A weak laugh escapes him. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck. A really… satisfying truck.”
I catch myself smiling. Even half-gone with heat, he’s still got that sharp edge. He’s still Devon.
“Next wave’s coming,” I say, my voice low. I can feel the heat rising off his skin, smell his scent sweetening in the air.
He shivers, his pupils blowing wide. “I know. I can feel it.” He looks away, and I can practically see the embarrassment warring with the need on his face. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For… all this. For needing it. For dragging you into my biological train wreck.”
I should agree. I should say,yeah, it’s a fucking mess, and put some distance back between us. Instead, my hand finds his hair,stroking it back from his forehead. The gesture feels so fucking natural it makes my chest ache.
“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” I say, my voice quiet. “I chose to stay.”
His eyes snap to mine, wide with a surprise that hits me harder than any of his insults ever have. Before he can say anything, another shiver wracks his body, a powerful tremor that makes him gasp. His scent floods the room, that sweet honey turning thick and intoxicating. It makes my mouth water and my cock twitch against my jeans.
“Alex,” he whispers, and my name on his lips is a fucking prayer.
His voice breaks something open inside me. The frantic, animal need from last night is gone. In its place is something slower, deeper, more dangerous. I want to learn every inch of him. Find what makes him gasp. Make him fall apart under my hands.
I ease him back against the pillows, my hands gentle but my grip firm. “I’ve got you,” I murmur, and the words feel like the truest thing I’ve said in years. “Let me take care of you.”
Devon’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t fight me as I move over him, caging his body with mine. This isn’t like before. This isn’t a frantic collision. This is intentional.
