Page 26 of His Problem Alpha
"Because you're being dramatic," he says, but there's a crack in his composure. His knuckles are white around the coffee mug. "It was just a heat. People help each other through heats all the time. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"Bullshit." I step closer, invading his space. "If it didn't mean anything, you wouldn't be avoiding me like I'm carrying the plague. You wouldn't be leaving your shit in the middle of the floor just to piss me off."
"Maybe I'm avoiding you because you're acting like a clingy omega who can't separate sex from feelings," he snaps, and I see the exact moment he regrets the words. His pupils blow wide for a fraction of a second, but it's too late.
"Fuck you," I spit, shoving him hard. He barely moves, the solid wall of his chest unyielding under my hands. "You think that's what this is? That I'm some stereotype who fell in lovewith the first knot I took? Newsflash, asshole—I've had plenty of alphas. None of them left me feeling like this."
"Like what?" He steps closer, looming over me, his scent sharpening with something dangerous. "Tell me, Devon. How do I make you feel?"
His voice drops to that low alpha register that makes my skin prickle with awareness. We're standing too close. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the pulse jumping in his throat. My eyes drop to his mouth before I can stop myself.
"Like I'm losing my mind," I admit, the words scraping my throat raw. "I can't work. I can't sleep. All I can think about is the way your voice dropped when you told me I was perfect, the way your hands felt when you—"
"When I what?" He's even closer now, backing me against the counter. His eyes are dark, predatory.
"When you looked at me like I mattered," I whisper.
Something breaks in his expression. "You think I want to remember how you begged for me?" he growls, his voice a low, vicious snarl. "How you fell apart and screamed my name?"
He means to hurt me with those words. Instead, they send a jolt of heat straight through me, settling low in my gut. I shove him back, landing a surprisingly solid blow to his chest. His eyes widen in shock.
"Oh, I'm sorry, is that what this is about?" I snap, my eyes blazing. "You think I want to spend every second remembering how fuckinggentleyou were? How you held me like I was something precious when you think I'm just an annoying bastard you're stuck with?"
When I say "gentle," something in him breaks. His pupils blow wide, leaving just a thin ring of green. For a moment, he looks wrecked, exposed in a way I've never seen before. Then his control snaps.
He surges forward, slamming me back against the counter. His mouth crashes down on mine, and it's not a kiss—it's a battle. It's all teeth and tongue and desperate need. I bite his lower lip hard enough to taste blood. He growls, and I feel the sound rumble against me.
His hand comes up to grip my throat. Not choking me, but a possessive hold that tilts my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. The message is clear:You're not looking away this time.
"Is this what you want?" he growls against my mouth. "You want me to be rough? To show you how much I've been losing my fucking mind thinking about you?"
"Yes," I gasp, my hands fisting in his shirt. "Show me. Make me believe it."
He lifts me effortlessly onto the counter. A bowl of fruit crashes to the floor, apples thumping and rolling across the tile. Neither of us cares. His hand fists in my hair, angling my head for a better angle as his other hand grips my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I'll have marks tomorrow. The thought makes me moan. The cold granite of the counter seeps through my jeans, a stark contrast to the heat building between us.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with want. "So desperate for it. For me."
"Shut up," I hiss, yanking him closer by his belt loops. "Less talking, more fucking."
He laughs, a rough, broken sound. "So demanding." His hands go to the button of my jeans, practically ripping it open in his haste. "Lift up."
I arch my hips, letting him drag my jeans and underwear down in one swift motion. The cool air hits my overheated skin, making me shiver. I'm already hard and leaking. My body responds to him with embarrassing eagerness.
"Fuck, Devon," he breathes, his eyes raking over me. "Look at you."
I could feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful. Wanted. I spread my legs wider, a deliberate invitation. "Are you going to do something about it, or just stare?"
His eyes darken. "Mouthy little omega," he growls, his hands working at his own jeans. "Always have a comeback, don't you?"
The sight of him, hard and flushed and ready for me, makes my mouth water. "Not always," I admit, reaching for him. "Not when you're inside me."
He groans, the sound dragged from deep in his chest. "Is that what you want? Me inside you?"
"Yes," I hiss, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer. "Now, Alex. I swear to god, if you make me wait—"
He cuts me off with another bruising kiss, his fingers finding my entrance. I'm already slick, my body producing enough natural lubrication that his fingers slide in easily. The stretch burns in the best way, my body remembering him, welcoming him back.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" he growls, crooking his fingers to hit that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. "To be used by the alpha you hate?"
