Page 39 of Brutal Alpha Bully

I should just take this moment for what it is, finally getting Seraphina—Phina—back.

After years of forcing myself to stay away from this town and convincing myself that she would never accept an apology if I offered it, I’ve proven myself wrong.

She’s accepted my apology. She’s right back here in my arms, despite everything.

So I should just leave the moment alone. At least for right now, I should keep the other question in my mind at bay. I shouldn’t let it come forward, shouldn’t give in to the urge to ask her.

And yet, I do.

“Phina,” I say, pulling back from her as my knot continues to pulse, emptying inside her thoroughly, satisfyingly. Searching her face, I ask, “Who is Nora’s father?”

She goes stiff beneath me, her hand that was just running up and down my forearm pausing at my elbow before she pulls it away. When she looks at me, it’s like she’s searching my face for an answer I don’t have.

“I—” she swallows, looks away from me. “It’s nobody.”

“What do you mean?” I’m being stupid—I should have waited for another moment to ask her this, but I had to know. And now she’s flattening beneath me, trying to gain distance even as I’m stuck inside her. “Phina, you can tell me the truth—”

“He was just passing through town,” Phina says, turning her head back to me suddenly, those brown eyes flashing as she stares up at me. Something like amber, luminous and full of life,flickers with something I can’t place. “It was a temporary thing. He was never going to stay.”

“An alpha?” I ask, feeling jealous and possessive. “And you don’t even know his name?”

She works her jaw and bites her lip. “No.”

It doesn’t seem like her, to sleep with a man without knowing him. In high school, we came together on accident, getting stuck in a supply closet together for hours until someone came and unlocked the door. Talking and inching closer the whole time—that’s what led to the walls breaking down between us. I’d always been drawn to her, but after that, I knew I couldn’t stay away from her.

And after that, she started to look at me like someone she knew. Someone she understood.

Before the first time I took her, when we were alone in the middle of the woods, she asked me for my middle name. Like it was important that she got to hold on to a little piece of me before we touched each other in that way.

“It’s not a big deal,” Phina says, shifting beneath me and reaching up to brush some of the hair from her eyes. I watch a wave of pleasure flood through her in the flutter of her lashes, see how difficult it is for her to work out the rest of her sentence. “Nora and I have always been enough.”

My knot continues to pulse, and though the bulk of my pleasure is through, I know that some omegas can orgasm again from the pressure of it against them. Shifting, I watch as her face softens and tightens. Her eyes shut.

This conversation is important to me. And I get the sense that there’s something she’s not telling me.

But I want to chase the edge of that pleasure more. Want to watch her come around me once more, want to feel her body giving in to mine again.

Words drift away as I move against her—not pulling in and out, not thrusting, but moving gently from side to side so my hips press against hers and my knot moves inside her.

When she lets out a moan—hushed but still a little too loud—I cup my palm over her mouth. Her eyes flutter open, find mine, and I reach down with my other hand to find her clit, pressing it with my thumb.

This time, she moans into my hand, her eyes shutting again, and I feel her tightening around me, the crux of her pleasure coming closer and closer.

I want it—I want to taste it for myself. Not because it feels good for me—though the pressure on my knotdoesfeel good—but because it feels good for her. And I would go to the ends of the earth to make her feel good.

When she comes, she bites into the soft part of my hand, and it makes me want to mark her bad enough that I have to bite down on my own tongue, close my eyes, and imagine what it would be like—to leave my mark on her neck, to show everyone that she belongs to me.

But I can’t.

Can I?

I’ve already publicly turned down her claim, told everyone that we weren’t mates. Is it possible for me to go back on that declaration now?

When she’s done, the pressure of her orgasm has worked my knot along until it’s nearly gone, and I’m able to slide out of her.

“I’m going to go clean up,” she whispers, sliding up and off the couch, grabbing her torn underwear from the ground.

When she’s gone, I swear under my breath—I’ve never felt more confused than I do now. Was she telling the truth about Nora? Something tells me that’s not true.

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