Page 29 of His Problem Alpha
I didn't mean to admit that. It’s too honest. The words hang in the air between us.
A quick flash of pride and pleasure crosses his face before he schools it back into careful neutrality. "So my scent calms you down? That's... interesting."
"It's just biology," I repeat. We both know it's a lie.
"Right. Biology." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more. "So those are the rules? Exclusive but not romantic, no sleepovers, no scent marking outside of sex?"
"Yeah. Those work for you?"
He hesitates, then nods. "Sure. Why not? It's practical, like you said."
"Good. That's... good." We're standing in our kitchen, the air still thick with the smell of sex, negotiating a fuck-buddy arrangement like it's a business contract.
"Well," Devon finally says. "I should probably shower. And you should probably clean up the..." He gestures to the floor where the bowl of fruit still lies scattered.
"Yeah. I'll take care of it."
He nods and turns to leave. I watch him go, my eyes tracking the slight hitch in his step, the way he touches the marks on his neck. My marks. I feel a purr of satisfaction deep in my chest.
Mine, it whispers.Mine mine mine.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. He's not mine. This is an arrangement. Practical. Simple. Safe.
I repeat the words like a mantra as I clean up, as I shower, as I try and fail to work on my thesis. They feel hollow, a flimsy shield against the truth I'm desperately trying to ignore.
I want him. Not just his body. All of him. And that terrifies me more than anything.
***
The apartment is quiet that night. Too quiet. The hum of the refrigerator sounds like a jet engine. The tick of the clock on the wall sounds like a hammer. I need to work. My thesis deadline is looming, and I've barely made any progress. But I can't focus. All I can see is the kitchen counter, the sounds Devon made, the way his body felt wrapped around mine.
A soft knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. My heart spikes.
"Yeah?" My voice comes out rough.
The door opens slowly. Devon stands there, a silhouette against the dim hallway light. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair is still damp from his shower, curling at the ends. He looks uncertain, vulnerable, and my chest aches. Relief floods through me at the sight of him, followed immediately by panic. I want him here so badly it scares me.
"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "I was just... I thought maybe..."
He trails off, nervous. Devon Garcia, all razor-sharp wit, is standing in my doorway looking unsure of himself. Protective instinct surges through me.
"Come here," I say, the words escaping before I can think.
He hesitates, then steps into my room. The door clicks shut. We've crossed a line.
"This doesn't break the rules, right?" he asks, hovering near the door. "Since we're not... sleeping."
"Right," I agree, even though we both know this is bullshit. "Not sleeping."
He nods and takes another step closer. I breathe in his scent—clean soap, a hint of citrus, and underneath it all, that unique Devon smell. My mouth waters. My body responds instantly.
"So," he says, gesturing between us. "How does this work? Do we just... start?"
His awkwardness is endearing, a stark contrast to the omega who challenged me in the kitchen. This is Devon without hisarmor. He trusts me enough to show me this side of himself. Something fierce and protective unfurls in my chest.
"Come here," I repeat, softer this time.
He approaches the bed where I'm sitting and stops just out of reach. I hold out my hand, an invitation. After a moment, he takes it. I pull him closer until he's standing between my legs.
