Page 18 of The Alpha's Gamble
Mine.
Those sounds were coming from me. My skin had shrunk too tight. My cock ached. MacKenna twisted his finger and pressed down, hard enough to make me cry out.
And then he yanked his finger out, tugging on everything he’d touched, and I moaned again, louder, claws itching at my fingertips and starting to prick holes in the duvet cover.
His hand came down on my ass, a vicious, full-strength blow, sudden burning pain transmuting into a shock that went straight inside me, right to where he’d been working me over.
Every muscle in my body went rigid. My cock pulsed, my back bowed, and I screamed my orgasm into the bed as I shot into it, rubbing frantically against the duvet.
I collapsed, limp and shaking, claws sheathed in the bedding.
MacKenna leaned down over me, not quite touching, his heat making my sweat-slick skin break out in goosebumps. His breath brushed over my ear. “I’ll add the quilt to your tab, Castelli.”
Gods, I hated him so much. Ihatedhim. So he’d lost his job ten years ago when I complained about him, big fucking whoop. That didn’t justify doing this to me, making me come when he spanked my ass and fingered me. I’d never felt less like an alpha.
Never felt less, period.
“It’s a duvet, you ignoramus,” I whispered into the item in question. “Not a quilt. Or can you only pronounce ‘quilt’? Fuck you.”
“Christ,” he rumbled, and straightened back up again. “You’re unfuckingbelievable. Fine. Duvet,” and he said it with an exaggerated French accent that made me cringe. Asshole. “Either way, you’re paying for it. And you’re doing it now.”
Chapter 6
You Can Tell Me How It Feels
MacKenna didn’t bother telling me what to do next. Maybe he realized I had all the coordination and motivation of a wet noodle.
I didn’t resist as he put his big hands on my inner thighs and shoved my legs up and apart, splaying me open with my upper body and my face still mashed into the now-ruined duvet and my ass in the air.
When he touched my ass, I flinched involuntarily—expecting another hit, no matter what he’d said about counting to eight.
“Fair’s fair,” he said, reading my fucking mind again, the bastard. Was I that transparent? Not that I’d ever put much effort into hiding how I felt. I just carefully felt only things I could show. Those weren’t exactly the same thing. And MacKenna had me so off-balance that I couldn’t curate my emotions anymore. They were coming faster than I could handle, and not controlled at all. “No more spanking. Unless you ask me nicely.”
I bit my lip and kept any words that wanted to escape safely inside. I might’ve started begging if my mouth had opened. Not for more spanking, obviously. But for him to stop. He’d knelt behind me on the bed, his legs touching mine, the heat of his skin soaking into me, nearly burning.
And I knew what came next.
MacKenna would be coming next.
I’d come first, and fuck my life for that.
But the fucking came next. And a finger wouldn’t compare. Panic started to seep in around the edges of my orgasm- and anger-numbed inability to think clearly.
Not that MacKenna gave me time to freak out properly, or to try to think, for that matter.
He wrapped one hand around my hip, and with the other he pushed my ass cheeks apart, his cock nudging in between. The slick tip—and at least he’d bothered to add more lube—pressed against my hole.
It felt a whole hell of a lot bigger than the opening it meant to breach. Like a battering ram with more girth than the width of the castle gates.
Panic won over inertia and my attempt not to sound, well, like his cock panicked me.
“That’s not going to fit!” How cliché could I be? Would I be clutching my pearls and lamenting my lost virginity next? Accusing him of ravishing me?
Or possibly crying.
That was a lot likelier, given the hot prickle in my eyelids.
Fuck.
