The Alpha's Eternal Ache

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHLOE

​The drywall scraped against the bare skin of my shoulder blades, a coarse friction that did nothing to anchor me. I wasn’t spiralling out of my mind, but only because my brain couldn't process a coherent thought past the sheer, violent momentum pinning me in place. Edward moved with a terrifying, rhythmic force, driving into me with a speed that left no room for breath, let alone pleasure.

​I had spent months wondering what intimacy would feel like. I had imagined the warmth, the slow unravelling of nerves, the gentle weight of another person. I hadn't imagined this. I hadn’t expected to feel like a shoreline being battered by an incoming tide, helpless against the erosion.

​Is it because of what he is?

​The thought flickered through the chaos of my mind, brief and fragile. A werewolf. The rumors whispered in the low light of taverns spoke of their passion as a destructive thing, an untamed wildfire. Experiencing it firsthand didn't make me crave the heat; it made me feel like I was burning alive. His hands were iron vices on my hips, locking my pelvis flat against the wall while he buried himself in me again and again.

​Suddenly, a sound ripped from the dark space above my head—a low, vibrating howl that started deep in his chest and tore through his throat. It rattled the windowpanes, but the wild animal cry was the least of my concerns. The sound that truly consumed the room was far more intimate, and far more terrible: the wet, rhythmic slap of our bodies colliding, echoing off the bare walls like a drumbeat counting down the seconds of my endurance.

​"Edward, please..." The words tore from my throat, raw and fractured. I swallowed hard, trying to gather enough air to make myself heard over the din of his heavy breathing. "Can you take it easy? Just... slow down?"

​My voice sounded incredibly thin, a ghost of a sound that barely carried past my own lips. Edward didn't pause. His eyes, dark and fixed on some point over my shoulder, didn't blink. The muscles in his back tightened, shifting like coiled steel beneath his heated skin. I figured he hadn't heard me over the rush of his own blood.

​Then, the force increased.

​He drove deeper, a brutal, uncompromising thrust that made my knees buckle. I tried to find a grip on his broad shoulders, my fingernails digging into his skin, trying to anchor myself, trying to force his body to sync with mine. I tried to hold him to find some semblance of control within the tight, burning friction of my own anatomy, but it was useless. It was like trying to hold back an avalanche with open palms.

​It felt as if the man I knew had vanished entirely. The Edward who looked at me with quiet intensity over dinner, who brushed the hair from my face with a trembling hand—he was gone. His body was here, heavy and punishing, but his soul had retreated into the dark, leaving behind a ravenous entity that only knew how to take.

​A sharp, blinding heat flared across my thigh. I gasped, my head snapping back against the wall as his claws raked down my skin. He didn't even seem to notice the resistance of my flesh. Three jagged, parallel lines bloomed crimson against my pale skin, the blood welling up immediately and beginning its slow, hot crawl down toward my knee. Before the sting could even register as pain, his heavy jaw dropped. His fangs sank deep into the meat of my shoulder.

​I braced for the agonizing tear of flesh, but he retracted them almost instantly. He didn't lick the wound. He didn't nibble on the blood that trickled from the twin punctures. It was a brand. A marking.

​He was doing exactly what he had promised he would do. Every dark, arrogant warning he had whispered in my ear days ago was manifesting in the bruising weight of his body. This wasn't a dance meant for two. It wasn't an act designed for my pleasure; it was a solitary ritual of dominance, and I was merely the altar he was using. Everything inside me screamed with a deep, aching soreness. There was no ecstasy here. Only the cold, hard reality of submission.

​Is this what it means to belong to someone? To be consumed until there is nothing left?

​I couldn't even summon the anger to blame him. He had warned me. He had told me what the beast inside him demanded, and I, in my naive curiosity, had refused to yield. I had demanded to see the truth. Now, the truth was breaking me.

​He thrust again, a sharp, angling motion that struck a nerve deep within me. A sudden, involuntary jolt shot up my spine. My vision blurred at the edges, a familiar, terrifying heat pooling in the lower depths of my stomach. I was nearing the edge.

​Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the physical haze. How? How am I getting off on this?

​I was baffled, utterly repulsed by my own biology. I shouldn't be climaxing. Every rational thought in my head screamed that I wasn't enjoying this. I wasn't being courted or pleasured; I was being systematically disassembled. It felt like torture. Yet, my body was betraying my mind, tightening, spiralling toward a release that felt more like a punishment than a reward.

​"I can feel your juices all over my c**k," a voice growled. It didn't sound like Edward. It was deep, gravelly, vibrating with a guttural, monstrous resonance that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

​Before I could find the breath to argue, to deny the shameful evidence of my own arousal, he hoisted me into the air. My feet lost all contact with the floor. For a terrifying second, I was entirely weightless, suspended by his grip alone, before he dropped us both to the hardwood floor.

​The impact sent a jarring shock through my spine. Without a moment's pause, he seized my ankles, pulling my legs up and wrapping them tightly around his thick waist. The wood was cold against my back, a stark contrast to the furnace of his skin as he leaned down, continuing his relentless work.

​Just let it happen, a weary voice inside me pleaded. Allow yourself to enjoy it.The fact that my body had shattered into an orgasm meant I liked it, right? Maybe I was just overthinking. Maybe I had been trapped in the prison of my own mind from the very second he first buried himself inside me.

​Edward leaned down, his face inches from mine, his breath hot and smelling of ozone and copper. "Allow yourself to feel this, Chloe. Love it." A dark, cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "This is just the f*****g beginning. And before you say a word, remember: I told you so."

​The passage of time became a casualty of the dark. I lost count of the hours, just as I lost count of the times my body convulsed beneath him, forced over the edge by sheer friction and the overwhelming, inescapable weight of his presence. I had come so many times that the sensation had dulled from a peak of intensity into a throbbing, sensitive ache. Yet, Edward hadn't stopped.

​My eyelids felt like lead weights. Twice, the heavy darkness of exhaustion had pulled me under, drifting me into a dreamless void, but Edward refused to let me escape. The moment my muscles relaxed, he would shift his weight, or deliver a sharp, heavy drive that shocked my system back into awareness.

​"You're surrendering to slumber, Chloe," he murmured against my ear, his voice a low, mocking rumble. "Stay with me."

​But he didn't slow down. He wouldn't stop.

​He was still f*****g me as if the sun would never rise, as if the world outside the bedroom door had ceased to exist. I wasn't just tired; I was profoundly, hollowly exhausted. My bones felt like dust. A girl's first time shouldn't be a test of survival. It shouldn't be a marathon of endurance. It was supposed to be sweet. It was supposed to be a gentle, quiet transition, entirely focused on making her feel safe.

​"Owwwwwwww!"

​The sudden, primal howl dragged me violently out of the fog in my mind. This time, the sound was different. It wasn't just a growl of dominance; it was louder, wilder, a pure animal release that echoed off the ceiling. He didn't care who heard him. He didn't care if the whole pack knew what he was doing to me in the dark.

​As the echoes of the howl died out, his body went rigid. A violent tremor ran through his chest, and he finally peaked.

​As he collapsed heavily against me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, a strange, hollow realization washed over me. That was the first time. Since he had first pushed me against the wall hours ago, this was the very first time he had allowed himself to release. I had been shattered into countless, exhausting orgasms, and he had held himself back, prolonging the torment until now.

​"What’s the time, Ed?" I croaked. My throat felt like sandpaper. I rolled my head to the side, glancing toward the large glass window. The sky outside was a deep, velvet black. The moon was high, casting a cold, silver square of light across the tangled sheets on the bed we hadn't even used.

​Edward didn't move. He remained heavy on top of me, his heartbeat thudding like a war drum against my ribs. "You called me Edward," he said, entirely ignoring the question.

​"What?" I blinked, trying to clear the static from my brain.

​"You called me Edward. Not Ed."

​"When?" I frowned, my bruised body aching with the slight movement. "I’m pretty sure I just said Ed."

​"No, you didn't." He lifted his head slowly, his eyes reflecting the pale moonlight. There was a strange, dangerous calculation in his gaze. "Earlier. You said, and I quote: 'Edward, can you please take it easy and slow?'"

​A cold spike of clarity pierced through my exhaustion. The fog in my brain cleared just enough for the puzzle pieces to click into place. "You... you heard me?" My voice trembled. "You were being rough and wild! I thought—"

​I cut myself off, the realization hitting me like a slap to the face. He had heard me. He had heard my plea, heard the terror and the pain in my voice, and he had chosen to ignore it. He had chosen to press harder.

​"That doesn't mean you call me Edward," he retorted, his voice dropping into a sharp, defensive snap. He rolled off me, but he didn't move away, looming over me on his elbow. "I value the name you give me over the name itself. You’re the only one who calls me Ed. So why use the general name? Am I not special to you anymore?"

​I stared at him, utterly incredulous. The absurdity of it felt like a heavy weight on my chest. "Really? That is your concern right now?" I threw my hands up, though the effort made my shoulders scream in protest. "Do you have any idea how sore I am? You didn't consider the fact that I was in pain while you f****d me for hours! Hours, Ed! Hours!"

​A faint, infuriating smile touched his lips. "There’s the name," he whispered.

​Before I could scream at him, before I could push him away with the last remnants of my strength, he leaned down and slammed his lips against mine.

​The contact was a shock to my system. Thinking back through the blur of the night, this was the first time his lips had touched mine all day. He hadn't kissed me when he pressed me against the wall; he hadn't kissed me while he held me down on the floor. He had treated me like an object, an instrument for his release, entirely forgetting that I had a face, a voice, a soul—until now.

​But this kiss wasn't an apology. It was passionate; it was utterly, terrifyingly possessive. He didn't just press his lips to mine; he claimed them, staking a claim on my mouth the same way he had branded my thigh.

​He parted my lips, taking control of my tongue without a single shred of permission. He gave my mouth the exact same relentless, bruising attention he had given the rest of my body, devouring me as if he wanted to swallow the very breath out of my lungs. It was a dizzying contradiction that made my head spin. His tongue felt like velvet, warm and smooth, but his teeth were a constant, underlying threat, nipping at my lower lip until a soft whimper escaped me, trapped inside his mouth.

​The rhythm of the kiss changed, slowing down into a deep, hypnotic pull. The sheer intensity of it acted like a narcotic, drawing the final reserves of energy from my limbs. I felt like a puppet whose strings had been cleanly severed. My eyelids fluttered shut, my body turning incredibly heavy and limp against the floorboards.

​The darkness rushed back in, sweet and irresistible. Right there, in the middle of his possessive, sweet kiss, my mind slipped away, and I drifted off into the dark.

​I couldn't help it. I was absolutely exhausted. He could have started with this sweet side and ended it rough. But he choose it otherwise.