Part 2-Chapter 52

Part 2-Chapter 52
Slowly, he lifted his head, his hands hovering at my waist like he was still asking without words, fingers flexing once before going still, as if holding himself in place cost him something.

“Say it,” I breathed, my voice barely steady.

His brow furrowed slightly. His gaze searched my face, not my body. “Say what?”

“That this isn’t Alpha instinct,” I breathed.

His jaw tightened, muscle ticking beneath his skin as his hand brushed the curve of my hip, barely touching, like even that contact strained his control. “This,” he said quietly, voice lower now, roughened by weeks of restraint, “is not instinct.” His thumb pressed a little firmer against my hip. “Instinct would have taken you the first night you challenged me and didn’t back down.” The heat in his tone slid down my spine, pooling low and heavy.

“This is me,” he continued, stepping closer until the heat of him surrounded me, “wanting you.” His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Choosing you.”

“And if I stop you?” I asked, my fingers curling lightly into the fabric at his waist, needing to hear the answer fully.

His response came without hesitation. “I stop.”

No pride wounded, no dominance bristling…just truth. That certainty burned the last thread of fear out of me, and I reached for him. My fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, dragging it up slowly. My knuckles skimmed warm skin, and his breath deepened immediately, chest expanding under my palms as fabric lifted away.

He didn’t rush me, just let me look, allowed me to trace the lines of muscle beneath my fingers.

When the shirt fell to the floor, his hands finally settled on my hips properly, thumbs pressing into bone like he was savoring the feel of me.

“Careful,” he murmured, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly.

“Why?” I whispered, stepping closer until my thigh brushed his.

His mouth hovered just above mine. “Because if you keep touching me like that,” he breathed, his restraint thinning in the roughness of his voice, “I won’t move slow anymore.”

The warning wasn’t threat, it was promise, and I whispered, “Then don’t move slow.”

Something in him broke open, as jerking me firmly against him, he buried my mouth beneath his. The kiss wasn’t  tentative, nor testing, it was a claiming with heat that had been banked for too long. His teeth grazed my lower lip before his tongue soothed the sting, and my fingers slid into his hair, holding him there.

Hands moving up my sides, he slid them beneath my shirt, palms hot against bare skin. I inhaled sharply when his thumbs brushed the underside of my ribs, when his fingers splayed across my back like he was mapping territory he had denied himself. “I’ve wanted this,” he admitted against my mouth, breath uneven now. “Every time you looked at me and didn’t look away.”

My nails dragged slowly down his spine, as I murmured, “So have I.”

We began undressing each other without urgency, but without restraint either. Each layer peeled away felt deliberate, his hands lingering everywhere they could, memorizing the curve of my waist, the line of my spine, the rise of my hips. My fingers traced his shoulders, the hard planes of his chest, learning him by touch.

When his mouth moved down my throat, I arched into him instinctively, my pulse fluttering wildly under his tongue as he began gently moving me backward. When we reached the bed, he followed me down, his body covering mine.

Forehead to forehead, our breaths tangling, his thumb brushed along my jaw as he whispered, “Last chance.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer, heels pressing into his back. “Stay,” I urged softly, my voice carrying everything I was feeling.

His control shifted, lessening, as positioning himself between my thighs, he paused, watching my face carefully, scanning for doubt. Seeing none, he entered me slowly, gently and I moaned softly, feeling every inch of him. As he began moving deeply within me, I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders as sensation overwhelmed me.

His jaw clenched as he felt the way I tightened around him. “Still with me?” he asked, breath rough against my cheek.

“Yes,” I breathed, lifting my hips instinctively. “Don’t stop.”

He moved carefully, each thrust deliberate, like he was learning the rhythm of my body. Weeks of restraint unraveled as my movements matched his. Hand sliding into my hair, his rhythm deepening, heat built between us steadily, coiling tight in my stomach.

“Do you know,” he rasped against my mouth, voice strained thin, “how hard it’s been not to mark you.”

The words sent a sharp pulse through me and I tilted my head slightly, exposing the curve of my throat without thinking. “Then stop holding back.”

His breath shuddered. The pace changed, no longer cautious, possession given permission to exist.

The bond flared bright and hungry, and every thrust pulled sound from me I didn’t try to silence. My nails dragged down his back, and when my body clenched around him, he groaned low, almost broken.

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice darker now, fingers tightening in my hair.

“Yes,” I gasped, my back arching. “I feel it.”

His hand slid down my spine, pressing into the small of my back as he angled deeper. Sensation sharpened violently. The edge came fast, bright, overwhelming.

My body arched under him and his control slipped. His mouth found my neck at the exact moment his rhythm lost its last restraint.

“Alex,” I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders. His teeth pressed into the curve where pulse met skin just as pleasure detonated through me. Pain and heat fused so sharply I could not separate them. The bond roared, not flaring but locking, something ancient recognizing the moment.

Mine. The word tore through my mind like thunder. My orgasam ripped through me in waves, and I clung to him as he drove through the climax with a low, shattered sound against my throat, his grip tightening as he followed over the edge.

The claiming was not separate from the pleasure, it was woven into it. His mouth, softening against the mark he’d made, his tongue brushed the place gently, sealing what he had taken and what I had given.

The bond didn’t just flare, it fused, and when we finally stilled, he stayed over me, breathing hard, forehead pressed to the mark at my neck.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice unsteady in a way I’d never heard.

“That I felt it?” I whispered, my fingers sliding through his hair.

“Yes,” he growled.

I lifted my hand to the back of his head, holding him there. “You claimed me,” I said softly. “And I let you.”

His breath shuddered against my skin. “Mine,” he said again, but this time it was not dominance, it was with devotion.