Page 174 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
His fingers curled around my thigh, his pinkie brushing the seam of my crotch.
“A few screaming orgasms and you’ll be out,” he murmured.
Honestly?
That didn’t sound too bad.
Chapter 12
Alistair
Her scent still lingered on my sheets. My tongue remembered her taste, and the image of my come leaking out of her—glistening, dripping—seared itself into my brain like a brand. I tried to work. Failed. Every few minutes, my eyes cut to the clock on my monitor, not to check the time, but to calculate when I could have her again. When I could be buried inside her, stretching her open, filling her up. The moment I came inside her rewired something in me, and now I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
I pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and unbuckled my belt with a snap. Before she could move, I reached over and popped hers too. Her laughter spilled out—soft, playful, trusting—and it scraped against something feral in me. She still thought this was a game.
I never wanted children. Never saw the point. They were messy, loud, unpredictable little creatures. But Callie changed that. She was still young—barely out of university—but everything about her was sharp and sweet. Clean lines, focused chaos. Just like me. We fit.
Now when I looked at her, I didn’t just see her lips or the arch of her back—I saw her fertile womb. The soft curve of her belly. What it would look like swollen with my child. It wasn’t fantasy anymore. It was a biological urge that had become a primal need.
She’d laugh if I said it out loud, but something ancient in me wanted to mark her, breed her, claim her. Not just with my come, but with my blood. Callie was made to be worshipped—made to be filled—and she’d understand that eventually.
I reached into the back, grabbed her bag, and slung it over my shoulder. She’d be too sore to sit straight by the time I was finished with her
Too spent to argue and too fucked-out to leave.
Yes. My girl will feel me inside her even when I’m not there. She won’t give those immature little students a second glance. Not when she knows what it feels like to be owned by a real man.
Once she was unconscious in my bed—wrapped in my sheets, my scent, my come—I’d catch up on work, then feed her, hydrate her, and bend her back over something to start again. She didn’t realise it yet, but she’d already been claimed.
And I wasn’t letting go.
Ever.
I whipped my sunglasses off and tossed them onto the dashboard. Callie turned to look at me—her smile faltered. Her hand fumbled for the door handle.
Oh yeah. She recognised the look.
“You’re going to walk into my bedroom,” I said slowly, voice low, deliberate, “strip, and present yourself for me.”
Her pupils dilated, darkening those hazel eyes I knew too well.
“Today’s lesson is all about presentation.”
The tip of her tongue darted out as she nervously licked her lips. God, she was trying so hard to play it cool.
“What do you say, Callie?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Not sassy this time.
Sultry, hungry and fucking perfect.
It was time to breed.
?? ?? ??
Armed with drinks and spare towels, I walked into the bedroom. What I saw nearly made me drop the water bottles. She lay at the foot of my bed—arse balanced off the edge, back arched ever so slightly, her slick folds glistening under the soft light. Her thighs were spread, shamelessly open. Waiting. Offering.
