Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
My breasts are crushed against his hard chest, and our arms tangle in the narrow space between our bellies. Our legs are a jumble. I struggle for the pillow, but for some reason, my muscles are the kind of weak you get from laughing.
“Give it back,” I pant.
He wrangles the hand holding the pillow free and raises it high over his head. “What will you trade me for it?” he asks. His brown eyes sparkle.
I climb full on top of him, bracing one knee on each thigh, and rise up until we’re face to face. My bare forearm presses against his as I strain to reach. My skin is soft against his hard muscle. Our wrists touch, pulse to pulse.
His pupils blow, and I can make out my reflection in the shine of the black.
“Ask me for it,” he teases, smirking, testing me. He’s not in charge here. This is my nest. I allow him here.
I let my hand fall and turn my head away.
He snarls. He doesn’t like that.
I drop back so I’m sitting on the pallet, lift my chin, and fold my arms. His wolf rumbles unhappily. He shouldn’t have let his man mess with my nest.
He dips his head and looks up at me from his lowered eyes, a wolf playing at a lamb. “I’m sorry, Annie. Here it is.”
He holds the pillow out.
It’s a trap.
Of course it’s a trap. I reach for it anyway. As soon as I grab the pillow, he yanks and falls to his back, dragging me with him. I tumble on top of him. He quickly nips the pillow from my grasp, tucks it behind his head, and grins up at me.
I push up on his chest, struggling upright until I’m straddling his waist. He crosses his arms behind his head.
I lean forward and try to pull the pillow free, but his head is too heavy.
“Just ask nicely, Annie.” There’s a new note in his voice, a gravelly depth that has nothing to do with his wolf.
I prop myself on his folded biceps. They’re hard and velvet and flexing under my palms. He’s doing that on purpose.
I stare down into his face. He winks.
I curl my fingers around the bunched muscle. They’re at least twice, maybe three times, too big for me to wrap my hands around. All of him is huge. My thighs are stretched to aching from sitting on top of him.
He could crush you.
But I’m on top, and he’s lying so patiently underneath me, even as his cock throbs against the seam of my pants. He’s huge there, too. And insistent.
I sit tall and gaze down at the smirk half-hidden by his beard and the need swirling in his dark eyes.
I squeeze my thighs together, just a bit. The need swirls brighter. My lips are curving now.
“Annie,” he groans.
“Ask nicely,” I whisper. I don’t know where my boldness is coming from, but it somehow feels familiar, like this is who I am, too, underneath it all.
“Please, Annie.” He cranes his neck to stare at where I’m straddling him.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.
This time, when he groans, there is plenty of wolf in it. “Come here. Lie back down.”
He takes my forearms and draws me forward. I lean over until we’re nose to nose. My hair falls in his face. His palms smooth down my sides to rest at my waist.
“Does this feel good?” he asks as he flexes his hips.
I gasp. My eyelids drift closed as all my attention refocuses on the pressure and heat between my legs.
He does it again.
I whimper.
“It feels so good to me,” he says quietly, his lips brushing mine as he speaks.
He pulses his hips, and every time, it feels better and better, until I feel my own hips rocking to meet his thrusts. His grip on my waist tightens, his fingertips pressing into the swell of my bottom. My toes curl.
“Open your eyes,” he whispers.
I don’t hesitate to do what he asks. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s on my side. He wants this, too. I blink, meeting his smoldering gaze. He wants it as badly as I do.
I grind harder, but what I need is just out of reach. “What do I do?” I pant. If I were alone in my bedroom, I’d touch myself to get there, but he’s here, and my brain is fuzzy as hell, but I’m not so far gone that I’d shove my hands down my pants with him watching.
“Trust me?” He’s panting too.
“Yes,” I gasp.
He slides a hand between us so he’s cupping my butt with his thumb pressing right over my clit. The fabric dulls the sensation, but it’s still exactly right. My gaze darts from his fingers to his face and back again while my lungs constrict and a knot coils tighter and tighter in my belly.
“Come now,” he growls, and I shatter, throwing my head back, a wolfish howl ripped from my throat.
I’m bathed in the absolute best feeling on earth—better than a warm bath, an electric fan on sweaty skin on a summer night, a mixing bowl with lots of batter left to lick.
I gaze down at Justus in wonder. I’ve made myself come before, but that was nothing like this. This is magic.
“All right, Scout?” His eyes twinkle.
I smile. “Yes. All right.”
He tugs me to his chest again and holds me close, stroking my spine as his wolf rumbles and my heat comes over me again as gently as a blanket.
I am so hot. Why am I still wearing clothes?
I wrestle free from Justus’s hold, peel off my shift, and kick off my pants, toeing them out of the nest.
Yes. I can breathe better now. I stretch my arms over my head and roll out my shoulders.
Justus growls. He’s on his knees, and his pants are gone. Good. I’m ready. It’s time.
He strokes his thick cock as he stares at my breasts.
I cup them and squeeze as my nipples tighten. It aches so, so good.
“Are you showing me your beautiful tits, Annie?” he asks, his voice gruff and scratchy.
I hum, hefting them in my palms so he can see them better. Of course he wants to admire me. I’m his mate.
“I want your mouth,” I whine. What is he waiting for?
He shuffles forward and lowers his head to suckle me, his tongue winding around the aching tip, his beard and sharp teeth scratching and nipping my exquisitely sensitive skin. I whine louder, arching my back. I want more.
He switches his attention to my other breast, and I glance down, admiring the red rash he’s left and the glistening, swollen nub. I thread my fingers through his wild hair, holding him close to the place where our bond flows between us like an electrical current.
This male was made for me. The pressure of his hands, the temperature of his breath, the tension and tremble of his muscles against my skin—it’s all exactly right.
I want him inside me.
I want him to ease this gnawing ache, but also, I want him to come back to me. We belong together. Like thread through a needle. I’m delicate, and he’s sharp, and that’s how we’re made. Exactly how we’re supposed to be. Built for purpose.
“Justus,” I sigh, longing, demanding.
“Yes, Annie. Yes,” he murmurs, low and rough, as he hoists me onto his lap, urging my legs around his waist.