Page 22 of His Problem Alpha
Alex
The first coherent thought I have is that he smells like home—a clean, sharp citrus layered over the musky, undeniable scent ofus—and the thought is so terrifying I almost stop breathing.
Devon is curled against me, his body a warm weight in my arms. His head rests on my chest, dark hair tickling my chin. One of his legs is thrown over mine, his arm draped across my stomach. We're tangled together like we've been sleeping this way for years.
The last three days blur together—heat, need, desperation. Now, in the quiet morning light filtering through his blinds, I feel something new in my chest. A warm, humming connection. Peace.
I haven't felt peace since before Ethan.
The truth slams into me, a physical blow that tightens my chest and closes my throat.No. No no no.This wasn't supposed to happen. This was just biology. A heat. An emergency. Not...this. Not this warm, living thing between us that makes me want to bury my face in his hair and never let go.
I need to get out. Now.
I try to slip away without waking him, carefully lifting his arm, sliding my leg from under his. He stirs, making a small sound of protest that twists something sharp in my gut.
His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then clearing as they find mine. For one unguarded moment, we just look at each other. Everything we've done, everything we've shared, hangs in the air between us. I see recognition in his eyes, vulnerability. Then we both look away, the silence thick enough to choke on.
"Morning," he finally says, his voice a rough rasp from sleep and overuse.
"Morning," I reply, the word feeling inadequate, ridiculous.
He shifts, stretching beside me like a cat, and the movement releases a fresh, potent wave of his scent—citrus and sweat andme. It’s a drug. My mind screams at me to pull back, to get away, but my body moves on pure instinct, a traitor to my resolve. I’m leaning in before I can stop myself, burying my face in the curve of his neck.
I inhale deeply, my lungs filling with him. He smells of sleep and sex, a rich, complex scent that shorts out my brain. My nose runs along the column of his throat to the soft spot just below his ear where his scent is strongest, where his pulse beats a frantic, vulnerable rhythm against my lips. I can taste the salt on his skin, feel the warmth of his blood just beneath the surface. He’s so alive.
He makes a small, questioning sound, but I can’t stop. The instinct is too strong, a primal command that drowns out everything else. My teeth scrape lightly against his skin, and a shudder runs through him. The sound he makes is a choked gasp, a surrender, and it’s the only permission I need. I press my teeth against his skin—not to break the surface, but to applyfirm, possessive pressure. A claim. A brand. The tiny, frantic hammer of his pulse against my incisors is a victory chant.
For a split second, a feeling of pure, absoluterightnessfloods me. It’s a primal satisfaction so profound it feels like coming home after a lifetime in exile.
Devon’s breath hitches. His body goes rigid for a moment, then melts, a soft whimper escaping his throat as his head falls to the side, giving me better access. He’s submitting to it. To me.
The realization snaps me back to reality like a whip crack. Horror washes over me, cold and sickening. What the fuck am I doing? I’m marking him. Unconsciously, like some feral animal.
I jerk away as if I've been burned, scrambling back until my shoulders hit the headboard. The space between us feels like a canyon.
"Sorry," I mutter, my voice raw. My heart is pounding, a frantic drum against my ribs. "I didn't—"
"It's fine," Devon cuts me off, his voice tight. He sits up too, pulling the sheet around his waist, but not before I see the faint red impression my teeth left on his skin. He touches the spot gingerly, his expression unreadable. "It's just... biology. Leftover instincts from the heat."
I latch onto the excuse like a drowning man. "Right. Just biology."
The air between us is thick with everything we're not saying. I can't look at him. If I do, I’ll see that mark and I might do something stupid. Something dangerous. Like do it again.
"So," Devon says after a long, excruciating silence. His attempt at casualness is a spectacular failure. "That was..."
"Just the heat," I finish for him. The words feel like I’m swallowing glass.
"Right." He nods too quickly, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall over my shoulder. "A one-time thing. An emergency."
"Exactly." Each word is a lie that burns my throat. "We go back to how it was. Roommates."
He tries for a smile. It’s brittle, a pathetic crack in his composure. "Who still can't stand each other."
"Right."
My alpha instincts are howling, a primal rage clawing at my insides.Mine. Liar. Protect him. Keep him.But the guilt is stronger. The memory of sirens, of blood, of a phone call I should never have made. I destroy everything I touch. Everyone I care about. Before Devon, I would have welcomed the self-destruction. Now, the thought of doing that to him makes me physically ill.
"I should..." I gesture vaguely toward the door, already reaching for my jeans on the floor. I need to get dressed. Get out.
