Page 20 of His Problem Alpha
For a moment, he just looks at me, and I can see the war raging behind his eyes. Then something shifts, resolves, and he's moving, rolling me onto my back, his body covering mine.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
I arch up against him, my hands sliding into his hair. "Don't stop," I breathe. "Please, Alex."
That's all it takes. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding. It's different from before—no frantic heat-driven need, just pure, deliberate want. His hands map my body with a reverence that makes my chest ache, like he's memorizing every inch of me.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my skin. "So fucking perfect."
The praise makes me gasp. Why does it affect me so much? I should hate it, should bristle at the cliché, but instead I arch into it, craving more.
Alex notices, because of course he does. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. "You like that," he says, not a question. "You like being told how good you are."
I turn my face away, embarrassment burning in my cheeks, but he catches my chin, turning me back to face him.
"Don't hide from me," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "Not now. Not after everything."
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I can't breathe. There's something in his gaze—something raw and open and terrifying—that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
"I'm not hiding," I whisper.
His smile softens, turning into something that makes my chest ache. "Good," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Because I want to see you. All of you."
His hands slide down my body, tracing the curve of my hip, the inside of my thigh. I'm still slick from the fading heat, still open and ready for him. When his fingers brush against my entrance, I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
"Alex," I breathe, my voice breaking on his name.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his fingers sliding inside me with a gentle pressure that makes me whimper. "Just let me make you feel good."
He takes his time, opening me up with a patience that borders on torture. He finds the slick, sensitive skin just inside my hole and circles it with his thumb, making me writhe. By the time he finally positions himself between my legs, I'm a trembling, desperate mess, but not from heat—from want. Pure, human want.
"Look at me," he commands, and I do, my eyes locking with his as he pushes inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust.
Oh.
It's different without the heat driving me crazy. I feel everything—the stretch, the burn, how full he makes me. Hemoves with a slow, grinding rhythm that hits something deep inside me, my prostate, making sparks dance behind my eyes.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "Take all of me."
I try to look away—the intensity in his gaze is too much—but he catches my face between his hands, holding me still.
"Don't," he says, his voice rough. "I want to see you. I want to watch you come apart for me."
The words send a shiver down my spine. I've never felt so exposed, so seen. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
"Alex," I gasp, my hands clutching at his shoulders. "I can't—it's too much—"
"You can take it," he says, his hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. "You're doing so well, omega. So perfect for me."
The praise pushes me higher, closer to the edge. My body is tightening around him, drawing him deeper. And then I feel it—the first hint of his knot beginning to swell, the thick ridge of it catching on my rim with each thrust.
My thoughts short-circuit. Every instinct I have screamstrap. My body, which has been begging for this, suddenly rebels. I try to buck him off, a strangled sound of pure, animal terror escaping me. I’m pinned. He’s inside me, changing, growing, locking me to him.
"No—wait—" I gasp, the words nonsensical as I struggle against him.
"Shh," Alex's voice is a low growl, his hands clamping down on my hips, stilling my struggles. He doesn't let go. He holds me through it. "Breathe for me, Devon. Look at me. Don't pull away. I've got you."
His command cuts through the red haze of fear. I force my eyes to his, and the raw possession there is terrifying, but it's steady. He’s not letting me go. And as he keeps speaking, hisvoice a low anchor in the storm, the panic recedes, replaced by a wave of something else: absolute surrender.
