The instinctive rejection was the one wound I could never fully heal — not in myself, and certainly not in the small Alpha who carried Justin’s blood.
I kept him on his knees as midday light poured through the high windows, turning the treatment room into a blazing golden crucible. The neutral sensitizer pulsed steadily through his veins, sharpening every nerve until the air itself felt like a thousand tiny blades. His thighs shook violently with the effort of holding the position. Sweat rolled down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen in heavy rivulets. His c**k hung heavy and flushed between his spread thighs, the head swollen and glistening, leaking in thick, rhythmic drops that fell onto the sheets with soft, obscene sounds.
I straddled his lap and sank down onto his throbbing le
