Page 19 of His Problem Alpha
The memories hit me all at once, each one more mortifying than the last. Me, begging. Whimpering. Clawing at him like a feral animal. Spreading my legs and pleading for his knot.
Fuck.
I squeeze my eyes shut. God, I wish I could just disappear right now. Eighteen months of being the sarcastic, untouchableroommate. Of acting unimpressed by everything Alex does. And I blew it all in two days.
He’s seen me at my absolute weakest. My neediest. He’s had his hands and mouth on every inch of me, has been inside my ass more times than I can count. And Ilikedit. Not just the relief from the heat—I likedhim. The way he held me. The way he whispered praise against my skin. The way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of just a convenient omega hole.
"Stop it," I mutter to myself, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "It was biology. Instinct. It didn't mean anything."
"What didn't mean anything?"
My hands drop. Alex is awake, watching me with those intense green eyes. His voice is rough with sleep, his dark hair a chaotic mess. A dark, purplish bite mark stands out on his shoulder—my bite mark—and a traitorous jolt of possessive satisfaction shoots through me before I can squash it down.
"Nothing," I say quickly. "Just talking to myself. Bad habit."
Alex shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. The sheet slides down, revealing his bare chest, and my eyes follow it before I can stop myself. He's all lean muscle and sharp angles, nothing like the soft, pretty alphas I usually go for. Angry red scratches run down his chest and back—evidence of my desperation—and the sight makes heat rise in my cheeks.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, his eyes scanning my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.
"Fine," I say automatically. "Better. I think it's... passing."
Something flickers across his face—disappointment? Relief? I can't tell. He reaches out, his hand hovering over my forehead like he wants to check for a fever, but stops just short of touching me.
I flinch at his hesitation. It shouldn't hurt this much, but it does. Two minutes ago, he was buried inside me. Now he can't even bring himself to touch my face.
"Good," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "That's... good."
Neither of us speaks. The longer we stay quiet, the harder it gets to say anything at all. In a few hours, maybe less, my heat will be completely gone. The biological imperative that brought us together will disappear. And then what? Back to being enemies? Awkward roommates who can't look at each other? My chest aches thinking about it, and I refuse to examine why.
Alex clears his throat. "I should probably—"
"Don't," I blurt out, my hand shooting out to grab his wrist before he can leave. "Not yet."
He freezes, his eyes dropping to where my fingers circle his wrist. I need to let go. Make a joke. Say something cutting. Put some distance between us. That's what I always do. But I can't think of a single fucking thing to say.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean forward and press my lips to his.
It's nothing like our previous kisses. Those were frantic, desperate, driven by heat and need. This is... a question. Soft. Uncertain. Terrifying.
For one heart-stopping moment, Alex doesn't move. He's completely still, not even breathing, and I'm about to pull back, mortified, when his hand comes up to cup the back of my neck. A low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest, and then he's kissing me back with an intensity that steals my breath.
His tongue slides against mine, and I forget how to breathe. It's not gentle anymore. It's hungry and demanding, and I melt into it, a soft sound escaping my throat.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His pupils are blown wide, just a thin ring of green around endlessblack. His scent has changed—sharper, headier, with that distinctive musk of aroused alpha.
"Devon," he says, my name a rough scrape in his throat. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know," I admit, the honesty startling us both. "I just... I wanted to."
His eyes search mine, looking for something I'm not sure I can give him. "Your heat is almost over," he says carefully. "You don't need this anymore."
"Maybe I want it anyway."
I can't believe I just said that out loud. I feel naked, exposed.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice dropping to that low alpha register that makes me shiver. "Because once your heat is gone, you can't blame biology anymore. This would be a choice."
"I know," I whisper.
