Chapter 70 The Night She Became Mine

Chapter 70 The Night She Became Mine
Alexander’s POV

The second the door shuts behind us, I lock it. Not because I think someone’s coming in.

But because the part of me that’s still fucking feral from almost losing her—

wants the whole goddamn world out.

She turns to me, all soft silk and flushed cheeks, and my body aches. My knuckles flex like they’re ready to break something if I don’t touch her soon.

I reach behind me, pull my tie loose, and toss it to the floor. “Strip,” I say, voice low.

Her breath catches. I watch her eyes dilate. Pupils blown wide with heat.

She licks her lips. “Right here?” she whispers.

I close the distance between us in two steps, grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger.

“Where else, Mrs. Wolfe?” I murmur. “You belong to me now. That dress is just in my fucking way.”

She shivers. And then— slowly, like she wants to drive me insane— she peels the straps off her shoulders, one at a time. The white silk pools around her feet, leaving her in nothing but heels and the thin lace I bought to go under it.

My cock twitches.

Fuck.

I don’t move. I let her feel the weight of my stare. Let her squirm under it. Let her remember what being owned means.

She starts to say something—something smug, something bratty, probably—but I step forward and press a single finger to her lips.

“Shh,” I rasp. “You’ll speak when I say you can.”

Her breath trembles. Her legs squeeze together.

Yeah.

She fucking remembers.

I lean down, dragging my knuckles up the inside of her thigh. “You’re wet already,” I growl. “That fast, Baby Girl?”

She swallows hard.

“Did you wear this tiny thing,” I tug at the lace covering her slit, “knowing it’d be the first thing I’d tear off tonight?”

She doesn’t answer because I don’t let her.

I press her back until she hits the wall, my hands flat on either side of her head. “You think being my wife changes the rules?” I whisper, nipping at her jaw. “It doesn’t.”

“I still own you.”

Her breath stutters.

“I still collar you.”

Her eyes go wide—and I see the flicker of it: arousal. Dark. Deep. Drenched in submission.

She’s not scared. She aches for it.

I pull the small black velvet box from my drawer and open it in front of her.

Inside is the collar. The one I had remade just for tonight. Black leather. A single gold ring at the throat.

No diamonds. No pearls. Just ownership.

Her fingers tremble when she reaches for it.

“Can I—”

“No,” I cut her off gently, voice velvet and steel. “I’ll put it on you.”

She nods, slowly, lips parted. When I wrap the collar around her throat and buckle it at the back, she shudders like I’ve slipped a hand between her thighs.

“There,” I murmur. “Now you’re home.”

The moment the collar clicks shut around her throat, something shifts.

In the both of us. The air thickens. Heavy. Electric. Like the charge right before lightning rips the sky apart.

I take one step back and just look at her.

My wife. My submissive. The fucking light I’d burn cities for.

And right now? She’s trembling. But not from fear.

It’s need. Raw. Desperate. Dripping from her thighs.

"On your knees," I command, voice like gravel dipped in lust.

She obeys instantly. Not just because I told her to, but because she wants to. Her eyes lock on mine as she sinks, the softness of her body folding down like she was made to worship.

I reach out and thread my fingers through her hair, gripping tight, tilting her chin up.

"Look at you," I murmur, eyes dragging down the line of her bare shoulders. "Fucking perfect. My filthy little bride. My obedient, desperate mess."

She moans—just from the words. Just from the tone.

I stroke her cheek with my thumb, soft… then cruelly grip her jaw.

"Open that pretty mouth."

She does.

My cock strains against my slacks, hard and heavy, aching to be buried in that hot, wet throat. But not yet.

Not. Yet.

She thinks I’ll use her mouth first?

Wrong.

I pull her up roughly by the hair, spin her toward the bed, and throw her onto it. She gasps, a moan breaking through when her back hits the mattress.

"Hands above your head," I growl. "Don’t move."

Her arms stretch up, and the position arches her breasts just the way I want. I peel off my shirt slowly, watching her squirm. My belt follows, then my pants. Her eyes are locked on my body—like she’s starving.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about since the second I saw you in that dress?”

She shakes her head, breath shallow.

I crawl over her, mouth grazing the swell of her breast. “Tasting your pussy. Right through this ruined little lace.”

I don’t wait. I tear the panties down her thighs, her gasp turning to a guttural moan when my mouth lands between her legs.

And fuck—

She’s soaked. Sweet. Velvety. Already shaking.

I devour her like I’ve been starving. Tongue flat, then flicking. Then deep. She cries out, hips arching, but I grab her thighs and pin her down.

"No," I growl against her slit. "You're not in charge here."

Her hands fist the sheets. Her hips writhe. I slide two fingers inside her and curl them just right—and when I suck on her clit, hard—

She screams.

"Alexander—fuck—please—"

"Say it right."

“D-Daddy, please—oh God—”

I lift my head, chin slick with her.

“Good girl,” I rasp, voice thick with lust. “Now stay right there. I’m not done with you.”

She whimpers, trembling, her whole body soaked with heat and need.

But this?

This was just the fucking appetizer.

To Be Continued...