Claimed as the Alpha's Second Luna

Chapter 3

Annie's POV:

Elena made me the maid assigned to Alexander's bedchamber.

The black uniform appeared on my doorstep the next morning. A cover story too—I'd been brought in to handle 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 half an hour, the herbs took hold. 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 forced the air out of my mouth. His heartbeat slammed through my shoulder blades fast enough to feel like my own.

His mouth dropped to the curve of my throat. His tongue traced a line from my collarbone to behind my ear, wet and hot, and the sensation shot straight down between my legs. I felt myself clench around nothing—an involuntary pulse that made my thighs press together.

"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, with something warmer beneath it that was unmistakably him.

My body clenched around the emptiness his fingers had left behind.

My tongue met his. My hips pushed back against him without permission. The hard ridge behind his trousers pressed into the curve of my ass, and I heard myself make a sound—low, throaty, the kind of sound I would have sworn I wasn't capable of.

His hands found the collar of my uniform. One yank. Buttons scattered across the floorboards. Cool air hit my breasts, and then his palms closed over them. Hot. Rough. His thumbs circled 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 dropped to 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.

I was soaked. I could feel it—slickness coating my inner thighs, and it had nothing to do with fear.

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. The stretch made me gasp—he was thick even there. His thumb found that tight, swollen spot above and circled. Slow at first. Then faster. The pressure built from a spark to a throb to a pulse that made my vision blur at the edges.

"No—"

The word came out wrong. Not like refusal. Like begging.

He pulled his fingers out. My cunt clenched on the emptiness, a wet, abandoned ache that made me want to grab his wrist and drag him back. Before I could, his hands closed on my hips and lifted me. I heard his belt buckle. Then the blunt, damp head of his c**k pressed against my entrance.

His hips drove forward.

His c**k stretched me open until every inch of him was buried inside me. My walls fluttered around his thickness, slick enough that every thrust slid deep before dragging back across the swollen flesh inside me.

He didn't pause. Didn't ease in. Hard, fast—every thrust driving him deeper, his c**k dragging across that swollen place with every stroke. The wet slap of skin filled the room. The bed frame knocked against the wall. My fingers clawed at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I could find purchase.

And my hips—my hips were rolling forward to meet each stroke.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, but every thrust still forced another broken moan from my throat. My cunt kept clenching around him, squeezing him deeper no matter how desperately I tried to stay still.

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. The heat of his mouth and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts blurred together until I could no longer separate one sensation from the other. My fingers buried in his hair and held him there.

The angle shifted. He hit somewhere deeper.

His c**k struck the swollen spot inside me again. My thighs locked around him before I could stop them. My toes curled against his ribs. Pressure gathered deep inside me, tightening with every thrust, and I tried to hold it back—tried to stop my hips from rising, tried to clamp my jaw shut on the sounds in my throat—

He drove in again. Harder.

My cunt spasmed violently around his c**k, squeezing him over and over until I cried out against his shoulder. My thighs locked. His name. Over and over. Broken. Gasping. My nails raked lines down his back.

Three more hard thrusts and his c**k swelled inside me before hot spurts filled me one after another. I felt each heavy, wet pulse flood deep inside me, then another, then another—thick and wet, each one filling me until I could feel it starting to leak down my thighs even before he pulled out.

His hips jerked once more as the last pulse emptied inside me before his weight finally settled against me, his forehead dropping to my shoulder, his breath slowing—ragged, then deep, then even.

He was asleep. Still pressed deep inside me.

I didn't sleep.

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.