Reborn: The Alpha I Called a Mistake

Chapter 3

Aurelia’s POV

Ryan turned toward me. His gaze darkened with desire.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He cupped my face.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Then he kissed me. Everything else disappeared. His lips were warm. His touch was gentle but certain. I surrendered to the moment, believing this was love.

He had undressed me slowly at first, his fingers trembling on the buttons of my blouse, but when I had pushed at his chest—half-hearted, uncertain—he had only kissed me harder, his hands moving to my p***y, groping me through the thin fabric of my panties until I gasped and writhed in his grip.

“It’s okay,” he had whispered against my skin, his breath hot and ragged. “I’ve got you. Just trust me.”

He had moved me toward the bed, his body a relentless tide, and when my knees hit the edge of the mattress, he had laid me down, my naked body sinking into the softness as he stripped off his own clothes.

He had been beautiful in the dim light, lean and athletic, his skin golden and smooth, and when he had joined me on the bed, his body covering mine, I had trembled beneath him, my hands shaking as they found his shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful,” he had breathed, his eyes roaming over every inch of my exposed flesh. “So f*****g beautiful.”

Then he had started to move, and the world had dissolved into a tangle of limbs and heat, our naked bodies a messy, urgent knot as we rolled across the mattress. His fingers had kneaded my flesh everywhere—my breasts, my hips, my thighs—as if he were trying to memorize the shape of me by touch alone.

His mouth had found my n*****s, and he had sucked them with a hunger that made me arch off the bed, my back bowing as a cry tore from my throat.

“You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he had groaned, his words muffled against my skin. “The hottest f*****g thing.”

I had felt the heat of him, the hard length of his desire as he thrust deep inside me, his hips slamming against mine with a rhythm that was both brutal and exquisite.

I had moaned, a high, desperate sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in my chest, and he had groaned in answer, squeezing my boobs harder, his fingers sinking into the yielding flesh as he thrust deep, his hips driving into me with a force that made the bed frame creak.

“You’re a siren,” he had growled, his voice a dark, chaotic rasp that sent shivers cascading down my spine. “That’s what you are. A siren. You’ve got me under your spell, and I don’t ever want to break free.”

The word had struck something deep in me, a chord that resonated with a truth I had not yet learned to name. Siren. The way he said it, it was not a compliment; it was a confession, a surrender, a claim.

He squeezed my boobs harder still, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with an urgency that bordered on pain, and I had cried out, the sound torn from me as he thrust deep again, and again, and again.

“Say it,” he had demanded, his mouth hot against my ear. “Say you’re my siren. Say you’ll sing for no one but me.”

“I’m yours,” I had sobbed, the words a broken melody in the dark. “I’m your siren. Only yours.”

He had groaned then, a sound of pure, animal satisfaction, and his hand had moved from my breast to my p***y, cupping and groping the swollen, slick flesh with a skill that made my vision blur. His fingers had found my c**t, circling it with a pressure that was both delicious and devastating, and his voice had been a dark, possessive growl in my ear.

“It’s swollen for me,” he had said, his fingers working me with a rhythm that matched his thrusts. “Your p***y is swollen for me. You want this. You want me.”

I had cried and writhed, my hips bucking against his hand, my body a live wire of pleasure and shame and desperate, aching need. The pleasure had built inside me like a storm gathering force, each thrust of his hips and each stroke of his fingers pushing me closer to the edge, and when I had finally shattered, screaming his name, the world had gone white behind my closed eyes. He had followed moments later, his release a hot, pulsing wave that left us both gasping and tangled in the ruined sheets.

Afterward, we had lain together, our bodies slick with sweat, and he had traced lazy patterns on my skin, whispering filthy promises that made me blush even as they made me ache for more.

“I’m never letting you go,” he had murmured. “You’re mine now, siren. Forever.”

I had thought, in that moment, that I had found something real, something that would last forever.

But forever had been a lie.

For three years, Ryan and I had been inseparable.

Our love had once burned like wildfire—reckless, consuming, impossible to extinguish.

He had loved me with an intensity that made me feel invincible. And I had loved him with a devotion so complete, it bordered on worship.

Then graduation came.

Ryan joined his father’s company, and everything changed. The boy who once held my hand in the dark became a man I barely recognized.

His nights grew longer.

His calls grew shorter.

The promises that had once fallen effortlessly from his lips became rare—and hollow. I kept making excuses for him. He was busy. He was under pressure. He still loved me.

We would find our way back to each other. I believed it because the alternative was too painful to face. Then my twenty-second birthday arrived. And I decided to surprise him.