Page 98 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
Her mouth parts with a broken sound—half gasp, half moan—as I sink inside her inch by inch. Gods, she’s tight. Hot. Wet. Perfect.
I grip her hips and keep going until I’m buried to the hilt, pressed against her, her legs trembling around me. She shudders in my arms, eyes fluttering closed.
“Fiona…” I groan her name, trying not to lose it. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Move,” she whispers. “Please…I want to feel it.”
I draw back, almost all the way out, then thrust forward again—deeper this time. Her head hits the wall behind her with a soft thud, and she gasps my name like it’s the only word she knows.
I fuck her slowly at first, hips rolling into her with deep, claiming strokes. The dresser creaks under us, and her nails dig into my shoulders with every thrust.
“You like that?” I murmur against her throat. “You like being filled like this?”
“Yes—yes—” she moans, her voice cracking as I angle my hips and thrust just right.
Her back arches, and I snap my hips harder, driving into her like I can’t get deep enough. Her arms wrap tight around myneck, holding on for dear life, and I swear I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want her in this moment.
She’s mine. Every gasping breath, every squeeze of her around my cock, every stuttering cry of my name. She’s giving me everything—and gods, I want to give her more.
I slide one hand between us to rub her clit again, circling it in time with each thrust. Her breath catches.
“Come for me again, Fiona,” I growl. “While I’m inside you. Show me.”
She tries to hold on, but she can’t. She unravels in my arms with a cry so raw it punches straight into my chest. Her walls clamp around me, fluttering, pulling me deeper as she shatters.
I don’t last.
One more thrust, and I spill into her with a curse and a growl, hips jerking as the release crashes through me—hot, relentless, fucking perfect.
We stay locked together like this—sweating, panting, tangled limbs and trembling breaths. I bury my face in her neck, holding her like I’ll never let go.
Because I won’t.
Not now.
Not ever.
I wake slowly, pulled from deep sleep by the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, I’m disoriented. This isn’t my hotel room; this isn’t the narrow bed I’ve grown accustomed to. Suddenly, awareness floods back, along with the intoxicating scent surrounding me.
Fiona.
She’s curled against my side, her dark hair spilling across my chest, one arm draped over my ribs. Her breathing is steady and even, her face peaceful in sleep. I study her features in the early morning light—the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes, the slight parting of her lips.
Last night comes rushing back in vivid detail. The way she responded to my touch, the sounds she made, how she opened herself to me completely. We went at it for hours—on her bed, against the wall, with her bent over the dresser while I took her from behind. Each time more desperate than the last, as if we were trying to make up for all the time we’d lost.
I’m surprised she let things go that far. Something fundamental shifted between us, though I can’t pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it was seeing me wounded, or the adrenaline from killing Michael, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, I’m not about to question it.
But her words about the poison pill still haunt me. The casual way she talked about ending her own life rather than face captivity again. My chest tightens at the thought. I need to convince her to remove it, but knowing Fiona, she won’t listen to reason easily.
And what does last night mean for us? Are we together now? Mates in more than just the biological sense? Or was this merely a moment of weakness, of need overwhelming judgment?
I trace my fingers through her hair, careful not to wake her. She deserves rest after everything that happened. The way she handled herself with Michael—steady, decisive, lethal when necessary—proves she’s not the fragile creature I once thought she was. She’s a survivor, a fighter.
She’s magnificent.
Her breathing changes slightly, and I freeze, but she just burrows deeper against my side with a small sound ofcontentment. My heart clenches at the unconscious gesture of trust.
Carefully extracting myself from her embrace, I slip out of bed and pull on my jeans. She stirs briefly but doesn’t wake, rolling onto her stomach and hugging the pillow where my head had been. The sight makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
