Claimed By The Alpha Twin

The Dream

Chapter 6: The Dream

Maya

Ah. I see what's happening now.

I'm dreaming.

That was the only explanation that made sense in my foggy, whiskey-soaked mind. Because there was no way the real Caleb would ever look at me like this. Those hazel eyes soft and burning with desire, as if I were something precious and wanted. And he definitely wouldn't be standing over me in nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips, water droplets still falling from his wet hair onto my skin.

This had to be a dream. Reality had never been this kind or generous to me.

And if this was the only place I could finally have him, the only place where he would look at me like I actually mattered, like I was desirable and enough, then I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to stay here forever, drowning willingly in the fantasy of being truly wanted.

Normally, I would never let him this close. No matter how broken I felt inside. No matter how much alcohol still clouded my judgment. Alpha Ian had raised me with strong values. He had drilled it into me from the day he took me in: You are not less. You are never less. Do not beg for love. Do not settle for scraps of affection from any man. Not even his own sons.

But what was the worst that could happen? This was just a dream. None of it was real. And right now, my body was aching with a deep, desperate need I had buried for far too long. It craved touch. Warmth. The feeling of being seen, desired, and claimed, even if only in my imagination.

The man above me made the ache so much worse. His eyes had darkened, turning predatory in a way that sent shivers racing down my spine and heat pooling low in my belly. My stomach tightened with anticipation. Every nerve in my body suddenly felt electrified and painfully aware of him. The broad strength of his shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abs, the way water traced slow paths down his skin.

I pushed myself up onto my knees on the bed, bringing my face dangerously close to his hips. My nose nearly brushed the sharp V of muscle that disappeared beneath the towel. I breathed him in deeply—clean soap mixed with that warm, masculine scent that made my head spin and my weak wolf stir faintly inside me. My hands wrapped around his waist, fingers pressing into firm, warm skin as if I could keep him here and prevent the dream from slipping away.

Then I felt it.

Something thick, hard, and hot nudged insistently against my cheek.

I froze, my breath catching sharply in my throat.

Slowly, I leaned back just enough to look down. My eyes widened. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry despite the lingering taste of whiskey.

The outline beneath the straining towel was unmistakable. Huge. Thick. Rigid with obvious need. The fabric stretched taut over his impressive length, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

There's no way anyone is built like that. Not even the real Caleb.

My hand moved before my brain could stop it. My fingertips brushed lightly over the towel, tracing the solid, burning heat underneath. A small, awed sound slipped from my lips.

"Wow..." I breathed, barely audible.

The moment I touched him, his entire body jerked.

In an instant, everything shifted.

His hands gripped my waist with firm, possessive strength, fingers digging into my skin just enough to send sparks shooting through my veins. One large hand captured my wrist and pinned it behind my back, holding me steady. Before I could even gasp, my back hit the soft mattress with a thud. Another gasp escaped me as he leaned over me, his powerful body pressing me down, caging me completely beneath his heat.

I could feel him against my thigh. Hard, throbbing, dangerously close to where I ached most. The intense heat of him burned through the thin lace of my red lingerie, making my core clench with raw need.

His hand slid from my waist up to my throat. He didn't squeeze, just rested it there, warm and commanding, his thumb brushing slowly over my racing pulse point. His other hand tilted my chin up until our eyes locked in the dim bedroom light.

"Do not start what you cannot finish, Maya."

His voice was low, rough, and edged with clear warning. It sent another powerful shiver racing through me.

"I won't say this again. Get dressed and leave."

His words should have scared me. They should have snapped me out of this hazy dream. Instead, they only fueled the fire burning low in my belly. I was already soaked, my thighs pressing together instinctively, desperate for any kind of relief.

I bit my lower lip, holding his intense gaze boldly. "What if I don't want to leave?" I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of boldness and deep vulnerability.

His hand tightened slightly around my throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make my breath hitch and my pulse thunder wildly. "Leave," he repeated, the command rougher and more strained this time.

I smiled up at him slowly, deliberately. I let my thigh brush teasingly against the thick, straining bulge beneath the towel. I felt him twitch hard against me in response.

"Aren't I the one who should be telling you to leave?" I tilted my head, my voice soft and teasing despite the alcohol and dream-like haze. "Are you scared of losing control? Or do you just love controlling everyone around you?"

I licked my lips slowly and deliberately. My free hand slid from behind my back and traced the hard ridges of his abs. The muscles jumped and tensed powerfully under my fingertips. He felt like warm, living stone. Every line strong and perfect.

"I don't mind if you control me, you know..."

His body jerked visibly at my touch. A spark of satisfaction curled through me.

"Does that turn you on?"

He raised one eyebrow, but I could see the fracture in his usual iron control—jaw clenched tight, breathing slightly ragged now.

"You love being in control, don't you?" I chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing. "That's good. Because I want you to take me. I want you to touch me. I want you to ruin me. I want you to lose every ounce of that iron control you always hide behind."

Something dangerous and hungry shifted in his gaze. I felt him throb powerfully against my thigh, swelling even harder.

His fingers brushed over my lips, silencing me gently but firmly. "Maya, you're drunk. I don't mess with drunk women."

My heart stuttered hard in my chest. My skin tingled everywhere his fingers had touched.

"I drank, but I'm not drunk," I said, my voice smaller and more vulnerable than I intended. "I know what I'm doing. I know what I want."

He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his damp hair in obvious frustration. The motion made more water droplets cascade down his chest and abs. Then he planted both hands on either side of my head, caging me completely once more.

"I don't do things without clarity," he said, voice low and rough with visible restraint. "Do I have your consent?"

I nodded quickly, heart pounding.

"Use your words," he demanded, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made my core throb.

"Yes," I whispered, barely able to speak. "Yes, you do."

What was the worst that could happen? This was only a dream.

But damn, he looked incredible like this. Water droplets still clinging to his skin in glistening trails. The towel hanging so precariously low that I could see the sharp cut of his hips and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath it. His chest was broad and powerful, abs sharply defined. He was every forbidden fantasy I had ever harbored, brought to vivid, breathtaking life in this hazy dream.

And for tonight, in this moment, he was mine.