Page 22 of Alpha Unbound

Another beat. Longer this time. The air between us goes electric.

“You’re infuriating,” he growls.

“Right back at you, Sheriff.”

Then he’s on me.

My breath catches, a flicker of instinct laced with something hotter—need, defiance, maybe both. My body tenses, anticipation strung taut, but I don’t move. Not yet. Not when everything in me is sparking like dry pine, ready to catch fire.

One step. Two. He’s heat and muscle, looming and relentless—and then his hands are on my waist, big and rough and claiming. His mouth crashes into mine like he’s starving for it. For me. Like he’s been holding back, and he’s done waiting. His lips are bruising, his tongue greedy, and it sends a bolt of need through me so sharply, I gasp into the kiss, fisting the front of his shirt like I could pull him closer to me.

And the way he groans? Like I just gave him oxygen.

The first kiss is fire and fury—raw and untamed. All teeth and heat, mouths clashing, breath stolen like he’s trying to inhale me, consume me.

I push against him, defiant for a heartbeat, then pull him closer, needing more, needing him. My fingers curl into his shirt, then slip beneath it, seeking skin. Heat radiates off him like a live wire. Hard muscle flexes under my hands, the kind you earn from violence, from discipline, from survival.

My body arches into his, helpless to do anything but answer every demand he makes with one of my own.

He lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion, like I weigh nothing, like the distance between restraint and possession never existed.

My legs wrap around his hips without hesitation, muscle to muscle, fire to fire. His body settles against mine with the kind of pressure that steals breath, the kind that makes you forget where you end and he begins. It’s wild and consuming and terrifyingly right.

Like I’ve waited not just days—but lifetimes—to do this. And I’m done waiting.

And I'm not the only one. He's just as desperate, just as wrecked with want. Our hands are everywhere at once, grasping, fumbling, pulling. Clothes peel away fast—torn from skin like they’re in the way of something inevitable. Fingers are frantic and greedy, clawing at buttons, zippers, whatever’s keeping us apart. His jacket hits the floor with a thud, then my shirt, and his belt clatters a second later.

The air between us disappears with the last shred of fabric. Then everything else is gone too—just heat, skin, and the electric tension of a fuse burning too fast. It's the wildfire moment, the one that devours hesitation and leaves nothing but raw want in its wake. We are ash and spark, crashing together in the kind of hunger that could tear the roof off this place and still not be enough.

The sensation of him against me—of his solidity and power, sculpted like stone and barely contained by his own fervent desires—is almost too overpowering to endure. I can barely breathe as if the sheer force of him will crush me into pieces.

His form radiates heat and need, pressing in close enough to drown me in it. He's a storm front of sensation, searing every inch of skin he touches until I forget how to breathe. His mouth explores every curve and hollow of my body with intent—lips igniting my skin, tongue tracing heat along every sensitive spot, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers down my spine. Each kiss lands like a brand, leaving fire in its wake. My worldtilts under the weight of it, vision blurred by sensation as he consumes me with a fever that is both ruthless and reverent.

As he continues the fervent trail of kisses down my torso and spreads my legs, the heat of his breath on my inner thighs sends electric shivers of anticipation through my body. With a feverish touch, his lips meet my labia, leaving me trembling and desperate for more.

When the tip of his tongue expertly grazes my clit, a sharp, involuntary gasp escapes from my lips. Arousal drenches my body, and its potent scent seems to drive him into a frenzy, filling the air with an intoxicating allure.

He savors every tantalizing second, devouring me as if I were an irresistible feast laid out before him. His tongue delves deeper into my folds, exploring each sensitive crevice with relentless desire. Every stroke intensifies the sweet slickness that coats his tongue, leaving me writhing beneath him, consumed by the fiery passion of the moment.

I moan his name, a blend of fear and yearning. It slips from my lips with a shuddering breath and hangs thick in the air like both a bold challenge and a fervent plea for more, a declaration and a surrender. He steps closer and thrusts into me, the broad head of his cock almost splitting me in two.

As he begins to pound into me, he takes control m, asserting a primal dominance over my trembling form in a way that is raw, urgent, and profoundly fulfilling. I am his prisoner and his willing captive, and I respond with a fervor that shocks me, meeting his demands with my own mounting need.

Every movement inside me is deliberate—a seamless fusion of intensity and precision. His strength is overwhelming, and I feel myself unraveling under his expert assault. He commands my entire being with each calculated penetration. I respond eagerly to this dance of passion, matching his rhythm as though we are two perfectly attuned lovers. My fingers dig into his broadshoulders, holding on to him as if I might be swallowed by the force of our shared desire. I urge him to delve even deeper as if nothing will satisfy this boundless craving.

The guttural groan that escapes him sends thrilling tremors down my spine as if he is ripping me apart with pleasure. His mouth descends upon mine in an all-consuming kiss as if he will devour me whole.

I lose track of where he ends, and I begin. There is nothing but this reckless abandon... and then I feel it—his teeth at the base of my throat. Right where an alpha would inflict and leave his mark, claiming his mate once and for all time.

And I freeze.

“Hudson—”

He doesn’t stop. His mouth lingers near the hollow of my throat, breath burning, teeth too close to that sacred place. That claiming place.

Panic tears through the haze of heat and need, and I shove at his shoulders. He doesn’t budge—too big, too strong, too caught in the edge of whatever he’s about to do.

I twist and bring my knee up fast, catching him in the side hard enough to make him stumble back.

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