Claimed as the Alpha's Second Luna

Chapter 3 The Forced Nights

Annie's POV:

Elena made me the maid serving in Alexander's bedchamber.

The black uniform appeared on my doorstep the next morning. It gave us a cover story too—I was there to take care of the Alpha's personal quarters. Every evening, I arrived at the appointed hour, straightened his clothes, set out his dinner, and waited for Elena.

Before each meal, Elena added something to his food. I watched her do it. Her fingers were steady. A fine powder, the color of rust, dissolved into the broth before the steam had finished rising.

Within 30 minutes, the herbs worked. I could hear his breathing change through the door—labored, uneven, the rhythm of a man fighting something he couldn't defeat.

Elena would stand at the end of the hallway and watch me.

"I'm counting on you again tonight." Her hand smoothed my collar. "Don't let him notice anything."

Then a light push between my shoulder blades.

The door closed behind me.

Heat pressed against my back—his chest, bare and burning. His arms locked around my waist from behind and pulled me against him in one motion. The impact of his body against my spine knocked the air from my lungs.

His mouth found the curve of my throat. His tongue traced a hot, wet line from my collarbone to my ear.

"Alexander—"

The word barely left my mouth before his hand closed around my jaw and turned my face toward his.

His mouth crushed against mine.

There was no patience in the kiss, only hunger.

His tongue pushed past my lips, and the taste of him flooded my mouth.

He tasted bitter and metallic from the herbs.

My tongue met his. My hips pushed back against him on their own.

His hands yanked the collar of my uniform—one pull. Buttons scattered across the floorboards. Cool air hit my breasts, and then his palms closed over them. Hot. Rough. His thumbs worked my n*****s until they tightened and ached against his skin.

My head dropped back against his shoulder.

He spun me around. My back hit the bedpost. His mouth found my breast, tongue wide and flat, then teeth—a graze, just the edge of them, dragging across the peak until my hips bucked forward and ground against his thigh. The wet fabric between my legs dragged across the hard muscle.

His hand slid down my stomach. Rough fingers pushed past the waistband of my underthings and found me. Two fingers slid through the wetness and pressed inside.

His c**k spread me wide—each thrust sliding deep, then pulled back—the slap of wet skin filling the room. The bed frame hit the wall. My fingers clawed at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I could grab.

And my hips were rolling forward, meeting each stroke.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, but every thrust still forced another broken moan from my throat.

He bent his head. His mouth covered my n****e again, tongue flicking, then sucking hard enough to pull a broken cry from my throat.

My fingers buried themselves in his hair and held him there.

The angle shifted. He hit somewhere deeper.

Three more hard thrusts—then his c**k swelled inside me, hot spurts filling me one after another.

I could feel it starting to leak down my thighs even before he pulled out.

Then his weight finally fell against me, his forehead resting on my shoulder. His breathing slowly evened out.

He was asleep.

I wasn't.

When his breathing steadied into the rhythm of unconsciousness, I eased his arm off my ribs. An inch at a time. My thighs trembled when I slid off the bed. The slickness between them—his release mixed with mine—had cooled and gone tacky. I felt it trickle down the inside of my leg with the first step.

The seam of my underthings scraped the inside of my thigh and I sucked in a breath. My inner thighs were sticky with dried release, and the swollen lips between my legs rubbed painfully against the damp fabric. When I pulled the fabric up, the damp cotton clung, then peeled away with a wet sound that made my face heat.

I bent to gather my clothes.

I pushed the door open and walked out.

The corridor was empty. Elena had already gone. Moonlight through the high windows turned the stone floor a sick gray-white. I pressed one hand to the freezing wall and moved.

I didn't go far before my legs gave out. I leaned against the cold stone and let the night air find the places his mouth had been. In the morning I would scrub his rooms and pretend I had never been in them. In the morning, I would be a maid again. But tonight the taste of him was still on my tongue, and the herbs were still in my blood. I walked home with my hands shaking and my thighs aching. I didn't know which part of me hated it and which part of me was already waiting for the next night.