I am an impatient person. I am not built to wait and be devoured. Yet, in that moment, his pheromones held me numb, a willing captive to his hunger. How could any Alpha's pheromones be more dangerous than this? I love him. I love him deeply. But… will he always feel the same forever? I can lie to myself that he loves me now, but not for the rest of my life.
Knox's POV:
A low growl of satisfaction rumbled in my chest. I saw it—that raw, needy look she shot me, her eyes glazed with a plea she'd never voice. My little bunny was coming undone, and I was the only one who could piece her back together.
My gloved finger trailed a dangerous, deliberate path up her inner thigh, stopping a breath away from her core. I felt the shudder that wracked her frame, a tremor of pure anticipation. Gods, I live for this. I love pushing her to the edge, watching the conflict between her stubborn will and her body's desperate surrender. She was the most beautiful paradox I had ever known, and she was all mine.
"Remove them, bunny."
My voice is a low command, rough with a need I can barely leash. I tug on the waistband of her underwear, a silent, insistent motion. A sharp, possessive thrill shoots through me as she obeys, shifting to slide them off with trembling hands. The sight of her compliance is a drug.
I know the battle raging within her. Half of this surrender is the intoxicating cloud of my pheromones, lowering her inhibitions, heightening every sensation. But the other half… the other half is her. Her own mind. Her own treacherous, wanting heart.
And that is everything.
I would never use my pheromones as a weapon against my sweet bunny. Not truly. They are a blanket, a catalyst, but they are not the chain that binds her to me. I want her will, her fire, her choice. Her obedience now is a gift, and it is the most potent aphrodisiac I have ever known.
"Good girl."
The praise is a low rumble against her skin, a reward for her obedience that feels as intimate as a caress. I seal it with my lips, kissing the mark I'd left on her neck before trailing my mouth lower, leaving a constellation of darkening hickeys across the delicate slope of her shoulder. Each one is a brand, a visible claim.
My past is a parade of faceless omegas, encounters of fleeting heat and empty release. But her… she is the first to shatter that cold cycle. She is the first whose trembling surrender feels like a victory, whose quiet gasps are a symphony. This isn't just pleasure; it is a fundamental realignment of my very soul.
The thought is primal, absolute, a truth that eclipses all others.
Mine. My mate.
My thumb finds her clit, moving in a slow, deliberate circle. I feel the tension coiling tight within her,
a spring being wound to its breaking point. Her head falls back against my shoulder with a soft thud, a complete surrender to the sensation.
A flicker of concern makes me gentle. lift my hand for a moment, my fingers softly caressing the
spot on her head that met my shoulder, ensuring she isn't hurt. The gesture is a stark contrast to the torment I'm inflicting elsewhere.
My fingers trail through her slick heat, a teasing, maddening pass over her slit that makes her buck against me. Her moans are a broken, breathless symphony, the most exquisite music I have ever heard. Each one is a testament to my control, her pleasure, and the undeniable power she holds over me in this fragile, perfect moment. The instinct is a tidal wave, crashing over me with a force that steals my breath. My head dips, my lips brushing the incredibly sensitive skin of her scent gland. I can almost taste her unique essence on my tongue, sweet and maddening. My fangs descend, sharp and ready, a biological imperative screaming at me to claim, to bind, to make her irrevocably mine.
But my eyes widen.
I snap back to reality as if doused in ice water.
No. Not like this. Not in this heated, hazy moment where her will is softened by pheromones and overwhelming sensation. A true mating bite, the bond it would forge, is forever. It must be given with a clear mind and a willing heart, not taken in a frenzy of passion.
I force my head up, my breath coming in ragged pants, fighting the most profound instinct I have ever known. For her. I do this for her.
ignore the primal scream in my blood to claim her and, Instead, shove two fingers into her entrance. The sound she makes is a raw, loud moan that goes straight to my crotch. I go slow at first, a torturous, gentle pace, feeling her clench around me. She squirms, a frantic, beautiful movement, but I hold her hips firm, pinning her in place with a grip she cannot break.
Her moans grow louder, more desperate, as I fasten my movements, curling my fingers to find that spot that makes her back arch off the bed. Gods, she's so responsive, so perfectly sensitive.
A dark, proud satisfaction surges through me. She hasn't even tasted the real deal yet, and she's already coming apart on my fingers. My Alpha pride roars, not just at her pleasure, but at the knowledge that I am the only one who can make her feel this way, so completely and utterly undone.
The sight of her is my undoing. Her toes curl against the sheets, a perfect, helpless arc of pleasure. Her fingers fist in my hair, pulling sharply, and the sting is a spark on the kindling of my control. A possessive growl rips from my throat, raw and unfiltered.
I shove my fingers deep inside her, stilling completely, a solid, unyielding anchor in the storm of her climax. I watch, mesmerized, as she comes apart around me, her entire body seizing, a broken cry tearing from her lips. I don't move a muscle, letting her feel every devastating wave, letting her drown in the sensation I've given her. This is mine. This shattered, beautiful release is all because of me. And I will never get enough of her.
The tension shatters, leaving her boneless and trembling. With a gentleness that feels foreign even to me, I pull out and ease her down onto the sheets. Her chest heaves, each breath a soft, broken sound. I lower myself, placing a trail of soft, reverent kisses from the hollow of her throat, down the quivering plane of her stomach, calming the aftershocks that ripple through her.
I brush the damp hair from her forehead, my voice a low, rough murmur, utterly stripped of its earlier command.
"Bella, darling… you good?"
My thumb strokes her cheek, checking, always checking. The beast is sated, caged once more, and all that remains is a staggering, terrifying need to ensure she is whole, that I haven't taken too much.
I wait.
The silence stretches, thick with the scent of us and the echo of her climax. My world narrows to the space between her lips. Every ragged breath she takes is a lifetime. My thumb stills on her cheek, my entire being suspended in the quiet, desperate for her voice, for the reassurance that I haven't shattered the most precious thing I've ever held.
My voice is softer now, a rough whisper in the quiet room.
"Bella?"
I search her face, my thumb stroking her cheek. The primal energy has faded, leaving a quiet intensity in its wake. The world has shrunk to this space between us, to the sound of her breathing and the feel of her skin beneath my touch.
I need to hear her. I need to know she's still here with me, that I haven't pushed too far, that the trust she gives me is still intact. Everything rests on her next breath, her next word.
The single, breathy
"yes~"
that escapes her lips is my undoing. It's a sound of pure, satiated surrender, and it hits me with more force than any blow ever could. A wave of something fierce and tender cracks open inside my chest. The sight of her, utterly undone and pliant beneath me, is a perfection I never knew existed.
Driven by a need that is now more about worship than possession, I lower my head and press a soft, lingering kiss to the delicate skin of her inner thigh. It's a promise. A thank you. A silent vow breathed against her flesh.
The world has softened at its edges. The frantic, sharp energy has melted into something warm and heavy. I gather her into my arms, her body limp and trusting against my chest, and carry her to the bathroom. Sitting her gently on the cool counter top, I watch her for a moment—cheeks flushed, eyes still dazed. She is a beautiful ruin, and I am the one who reduced her to this state.
I turn to start the water, testing it until it runs warm, a steady, soothing stream. When I turn back to her, my intent is to help her out of her sweatshirt, but her hands are already there. Her fingers, still trembling slightly, fumble with the buttons of my shirt.
I go perfectly still.
My gaze locks on her, and I feel the shift instantly. My vision darkens at the edges, my pupils swallowing the purple of my irises until my eyes are pure, endless black. I see her own eyes widen in the mirror, a flicker of understanding there. She knows. She sees the beast straining at its leash, desperate to answer her timid invitation with a raw, primal claim.
I take a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the darkness to recede. Not yet. She is a delicate flower, her petals still unfurling. My role is to protect her, to let her bloom in her own time, not to overwhelm her with the storm of my true nature.
I finish stripping off my clothes as she completes her task, then lift her once more and step into the huge tub, settling into the warm water with her cradled on my lap. She sinks back against my chest with a sigh, her body finally, completely relaxing. And in this quiet warmth, with her heart beating against mine, the beast is finally, truly, at peace.
Her hair is a silken cascade against my skin, long and beautiful. I run my fingers through the strands, gently working out the tiny tangles, my touch a world away from the claiming grip of before. Each slow, soothing stroke is an apology and a promise. It's a silent language, telling her that the storm has passed, that she is safe here in the calm of its aftermath. I feel the last of the tension leave her body as she melts back against me, and the sheer rightness of this moment, of holding her like this, is a peace I never knew I needed.