Page 17 of His Problem Alpha
I start at his neck, nuzzling the spot behind his ear where his scent is a drug. It’s citrus and honey, but underneath is something darker—coffee and ink and that sharp, clever scent that’s purely Devon, even through the heat. I breathe him in, letting the scent fill my lungs, letting it quiet the ghosts for just a minute.
“You smell so fucking good,” I growl against his skin, feeling the tremor that runs through him. “Like something I could get addicted to.”
“Alex,” he gasps, his hands fisting in the sheets.
I lick a slow path down his throat, tasting the salt of his sweat, lingering on the pulse hammering there. I map his collarbones with my tongue, find the surprisingly sensitive spot just below his ribs that makes him jerk and cry out.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice a strained whisper.
I look up, my mouth hovering over his stomach. “Learning you,” I say, the honesty of it raw in the air between us. “Finding what makes you feel good.”
A dark flush spreads down his neck, disappearing under the marks I’ve already left on him. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” The words are a surprise, even to me. “I want to taste every last inch of you.”
I don’t give him a chance to argue. I move lower, my hands spreading his thighs. The scent of his slick hits me like a drug—sweet and musky and so rich it makes my mouth water and my fangs ache. I just stare for a second, taking in the sight of him. Flushed and hard, his hole already glistening, weeping slick for me.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Look at you. So ready.”
He makes a choked sound, half shame and half need, and tries to close his legs. I hold them open, my thumbs pressing into the soft skin of his inner thighs.
“Don’t you dare hide from me,” I tell him, my voice dropping into a low alpha command that makes him shiver. “Let me see you. Let me taste you.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I lower my head and lick a long, slow stripe from his hole to the base of his cock. His taste explodes in my mouth—not just sweet, but complex. The sharp tang of citrus, the salt from his skin, and a deep, musky flavor that’s all his own. It’s the taste of his life force, raw and unfiltered, and I can’t get enough.
“Oh god,” Devon chokes out, his back arching off the bed. “Alex—fuck—what are you—?”
I hum against him, a pleased, possessive sound. “That’s it, omega,” I murmur, and the word feels right, like it belongs to him. “Let me hear how good it feels.”
I dive back in, my tongue circling his entrance before dipping inside. His slick is hot and silky, and I lap it up like a man starved. My tongue finds a ridge just inside him, and when I press, his entire body seizes, a high, thin whine tearing from his throat. I press again, memorizing the spot.His spot.
He writhes under me, a stream of broken sounds spilling from his lips. His hands find my hair, fingers tangling, pulling just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain down my spine.
“Please,” he gasps, his voice wrecked. “Please, Alex, I need—”
I know what he needs. I can smell it in the fresh gush of slick that floods my mouth, feel it in the way his body is trembling on a knife’s edge.
I pull back and move up his body, our eyes locking. His are wild, desperate. All the sarcasm, all the walls, are gone. There’s only raw, open need.
“What do you need, Devon?” I ask, my voice rough. “Tell me.”
“You,” he whispers, the word stripped bare. “Inside me. Please.”
I could push him. Make him beg more. But the pure vulnerability in his eyes undoes me. This isn’t just heat. This is Devon.
“You’re so good,” I tell him, the praise falling from my lips before I can think. “So perfect for me.”
His reaction is like a lightning strike. His whole body shudders, pupils blowing wide, a soft whimper escaping his throat. He arches up, pressing against me, seeking more contact.
Holy shit. He responds to praise. Devon Garcia—prickly, sarcastic, take-no-shit Devon—melts when you tell him he’s good.
“You like that,” I murmur, the discovery a hot, thrilling secret. “Being told how good you are.”
He turns his face away, a flush of embarrassment on his cheeks, but I cup his chin, making him look at me.
“Don’t hide,” I tell him, my voice gentle but firm. “Not from me.”
His eyes meet mine, uncertain and exposed. “It’s stupid,” he mutters.
