Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
He holds his hand out. I pass the jug. He unscrews the top and drinks before he answers me, gaze averted, totally serious. “You know me better than anyone else.”
I can’t begin to wrap my woozy brain around that. It can’t be true.
But he’s not a liar. I don’t think he’d bother.
I can’t unravel that now, not in this state, so I tuck it away and scan the spot of woods where we’ve stopped. The deer trail has become more of a runoff gutter for rain, and up ahead, the river curves to the west and the trees and the undergrowth thicken. To our left, though, there’s a small meadow, not much bigger than the footprint of a house.
The grass is green and high, sprinkled with sweet violets and snowdrops. My wolf rumbles her grudging approval.
It’ll have to do.
I wander off to explore, sniffing for snakes. Miss Nola says they don’t have a scent, but they do. They smell slithery.
Alec follows at my heel, and he knows enough to be quiet. I keep my ear on him through the bond as I check the angle of the sun and the slope of the ground. It’s not a den, not even close, but time is running out, and at least the grass is cool on my bare feet.
I need blankets.
I turn, and Alec’s squatting over the pack, unpacking quickly but neatly. Like he’s reading my mind, he brings me the quilt and a small stack of my clothes. It’s not nearly enough.
“We need more,” I tell him. This stack is paltry. Insulting.
“This is all we have,” he says gently, with great regret. He understands, and that’s not the same as blankets, but for a moment, it smooths the edges of my agitation.
I take the stack and consider the open meadow, a fresh wave of panic welling. “I’m not sure how to do this.”
No one ever tells you how this works. They say that a female just knows. Her instincts take over. Her body will know what to do.
Well, I need to make a nest, and I have one quilt and a couple shirts and pairs of pants, and we’re in broad daylight, fully exposed, and nothing’s the way it’s supposed to be. My eyes burn.
“Here.” Alec eases the quilt from the bottom of the stack, shakes it out so that it snaps, lays it carefully on the grass, and looks to me. “How is this?”
I sniffle. “It’s upside down.”
He nods, and without batting an eyelash, he picks it up and lays it down again, rotating it one hundred and eighty degrees. “How about now?”
“This is crazy,” I say, a hot tear dribbling down my cheek.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” he says, smiling as he casually brushes a black lock out of his face.
My heart catches. He’s the most handsome male I’ve ever seen, and still, even now, after everything, he stops my breath, and I can’t believe I’m here with him.
His smile fades. “What? What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “You’re too beautiful.”
The smile peeks out again, but just at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah? Does that mean you’ll come over here then?” He lowers himself to kneel on the edge of the quilt and sits on his heels.
I make my way over, slowly, cautiously. It feels right and wrong at the same time. Dangerous and safe.
I kneel opposite him on the other side of the quilt and set to arranging my nest, piling clothes and sorting them and piling them again. I can’t get it right. There’s just not enough.
I can’t stop fussing, and part of me is painfully aware of how my breasts dangle when I lean forward and how the meat of my thighs spreads wide, my skin puckering on the insides, when I rest my butt on my heels. I can’t do anything to hide or present myself in a better angle. I’m too compelled to build this ridiculous thing.
Alec waits, patient and watchful, his stiff cock flush against his chiseled abs. He wears his usual cool expression, but the bond and this strange, heightened state gives me superpowers, and I can see past his mask now.
He’s scared shitless. I’m not sure of what, and it’s not an imminent physical danger kind of fear, but he’s terrified. He’s also angry that he’s not in control. His emotions are a mess, but still, his attention is one hundred percent locked in on me. Not on my breasts or my pussy, but on my every move. He’s tracking me like he wants to note every single thing I do. Like it’s important to him.
A shiver races down my spine, tingling the tip of my tailbone.
He’s not disgusted, but he’s never been disgusted by me when he’s about to get off. He’s always asked me to show him.
Cup your tits. Higher. Put your finger in your pussy and show me. I want to see how wet you are.
He’s not bossing me around now.
I wish he was. That’d make it easier. Something inside me loves to do what he says, replays his demands on an endless loop at night when I sneak my hand down my pajama bottoms and again, just before I go to sleep, when I imagine him demanding other things.
Don’t leave. Say you’re mine.
This respectful Alec makes me itchy. He irritates my wolf.
How do I make him be the way he usually is?
My wolf rumbles, rattling my ribs. She doesn’t like the idea of making him do anything. He should be doing what she wants without asking.
Alec’s wolf howls in reply. Alec grimaces, pounds his chest a few times, and his wolf settles. His hand drifts to wrap around his straining cock, and he begins to stroke it.
My pussy throbs, my juices rolling in beads down my creases and crevices, dripping to the quilt under me, making a damp spot. I shuffle my knees wider so he can see and cant my hips so my slick folds open for him.
He groans, his burning, black gaze roaming my body, resting on my face, falling to the slick pinkish-brown flesh I’m fingering, skimming my swollen breasts, my hard, nubby, aching nipples.
I see the moment his carefulness breaks. His eyes blaze, and with a growl, he prowls forward, grips me by the scruff of the neck, and holds me in place while he searches my face. He’s so close now that his scent fills my nose and lungs. It’s on my tongue, that warm summer kitchen smell—blueberry cobbler and raspberry preserves, a prism hanging in the window casting rainbows on the faded floral wallpaper, a breeze fluttering the crisp white curtains.
A profound feeling of safety and belonging sweeps away my lingering fear and unease.
“You’re gonna do what I say?” he growls, and I whine, suddenly, perfectly happy, floating off on a rush of excitement and anticipation. “You’re gonna take my knot?”
I reach behind me, tugging at his wrist. I want him to let me go so I can present. It’s time. I want it now.
Instead of letting go, he tightens his grip on the nape of my neck, and my pussy gushes. I can hear the patter on the cotton.
“I asked you something, Flora,” he says.
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Right.” He puts pressure on my neck, guiding me onto all fours, and positions himself behind me. His heavy palm rests on the base of my spine.
I lower my chest to the ground, expecting him to drive inside me at any second, but instead, I feel him prodding at my entrance. Then, oh no, he slips, and he’s prodding at another entrance, further back. I yelp and readjust my hips until he’s back where I want him.
“You feel so soft, Flora.” His voice is so deep, it’s shredded. “Can you feel me?”
I whimper.
Crack. He slaps my ass, hard, and I squeal. It stings so bad that my nose tingles. I clench my butt cheeks and try to wriggle forward, but he’s got me by the waist, his unforgiving fingers digging into my squishy middle.
“Can you feel me?” he repeats.
“Yes,” I gasp.
He’s pushing forward now, stretching me. It burns. He’s big, and I’ve only done this once, and it was a long time ago.
I moan, tilting my pelvis to make it easier, and he slides deeper, filling me, and the fullness does something, flips a switch, and where I’d been presenting, now I’m working, rocking my hips, arching my spine. It feels so good, so right. I want it to feel even better.
“Where is my cock?” Alec growls.
“In my pussy.”
“That’s right,” he rumbles, and warmth blooms in my chest. “It’s in your wet pussy. Can you hear it, Flora?”
I can. It’s a slurpy sound, and it makes my face flame, and my thighs weaken and wobble. He drives into me, over and over, so hard, and I’m meeting him, taking him, bucking so he goes as deep as he can go, so his hard thigh muscles slam into my bottom.
“You feel me, Flora?”
“Yes.”