Alpha's Chosen Mate

9

He laughs a little, wrapping his arm around my middle and thrusting deeper inside me. I realize that he isn’t fully inside me yet. I am going to die tonight by Asher’s hands.

By the sixth thrust, a strange sound leaves my mouth, one I don’t recognize. Christian never f****d me rough. He was always soft, treating me like I was breakable, fragile. He respected me—at least, while he wasn’t f*****g other women. He asked what I wanted and when I wanted it. He never took more than he thought I could offer, and whenever I was wild enough to ask him to go harder, deeper, to choke me, to disrespect me with his lips and c**k, he’d still make love to me gently.

My desire for anything rougher died eventually. I loved Chris. s*x with him was always beautiful, even if it was a little boring, like something out of the sweet romantic novels I read.

This is something different…something monstrous. A hunger like nothing I’ve ever felt yawns in the pit of my stomach, and I push back against Asher, taking the last of his length into me. My inner walls burn with pain and pleasure and Asher growls, letting go of my hands. He grabs my hair instead, wrapping it around his fist and raising me by it. He likes my hair, I think.

My back collides with his chest, and another brutal shove makes me clench hard enough to see stars. I moan, but the cloth in my mouth muffles it. He grabs a breast and kneads it as he continues pounding into me with a brutal vengeance. I recognize with every fiber of my being that he hates me. He hates me as much as he wants me…and he is punishing me for it. It makes me lightheaded. I shouldn’t like that. It shouldn’t make me hotter and wetter. It shouldn’t make me reach up to touch my other n****e and pinch it in tandem with his movements.

There’s something seriously wrong with me tonight. Something so out of control I know it can’t be me. This has to be a curse. I’m under a spell and…and I crave the finishing, my ending. I want—no, I need this.

I rub my thumb over the reddened bud as Asher grounds into me, pushing past walls that make me feel a sensation I’ve never felt before. The pressure in my p***y brings tears to my eyes. The sound of his c**k ramming into me changes, and it almost feels like…fuck. I think I scream as fluid expels from me and⁠—

Awareness ripples over me, and I’m violently pulled out of the dream.

My eyes open to soft moonlight spilling into my room. Sweat trickles from my forehead onto the already-drenched sheets. It was a dream. Of course it was. There’s no way I’d be in that situation with Asher.

Then I realize where my fingers are. Horrified, I snatch my hand away from my folds, but it’s already coated with slippery c*m. “Hell,” I cuss, utterly disgusted with myself. My insides throb with a desperate need for release.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

I yelp, bolting upright at the sound of Asher’s voice. A wild glance in the direction of the sound, and I see him leaning against the door. It’s a casual stance, but everything about him screams dominance. His presence makes heat wash over my skin, and I ache so badly for the barest of bit of friction, I would come if he so much as touched my cheek.

“H-how did you get in?” I stutter, pulling the sheets over myself as if that can hide the scent of my arousal.

“This is my home.” He pushes off the door and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He’s dressed once again in human formal attire, like he’s just returned from a business meeting. He even has a black tie on to complete the all-black look. “Did you finish?”

Shame makes my cheeks burn. “Huh?”

Asher’s gaze lowers slowly to my fingers, and then to my thighs under the sheet. “Use your words, Leilani. Did you finish? Did those tiny fingers of yours bring as much pleasure as mine did?”

My mouth dries as mortification sears through me. He watched me…while I…he watched me, and somehow he knows I was dreaming about him. Breathing heavily, I say the first thing that pops into my head, attempting to get rid of the unwanted feeling unfurling in my chest.

“Christian. I was dreaming about him, not you. And it wasn’t just his fingers.” I’m rambling nonsense. I know I am, but the words keep tumbling out of me.

Asher nods, his expression devoid of emotions. “I see.”

And then, he’s gone. One moment, he’s halfway across the room, and the next, a hand clamps down on my exposed ankle and I scream as he pulls me down the edge of the bed and places himself between my thighs. “What the f**k is wrong with you? Get off me!”

He glowers at me and his lips pull back into a feral snarl that reveals sharp canines. “I dare you to utter one more lie to your husband and alpha. I dare you.”

My hand darts out, but I’m too short to reach his face. So I punch his chest with as much strength as I can garner—which means nothing, because Asher is cut from something stronger than adamantine. “You aren’t my alpha, and I’d rather have Christian in my bed than you! I could never want you!” That sounds like a lie even to me, but my rage speaks faster than I can think.

Asher stares at me with unnerving calm, but I feel his anger in his trembling fingers. “Never is a very long time, especially when you’re trapped under the same roof as me. Lie to yourself all you want if it makes you sleep better at night, but it won’t change reality.” He catches my chin between his fingers, pushing my face up roughly until all I can see is him. “You belong to me, and eventually, you’ll understand how good that feels.”

Fear wars against lust, but lust wins. Since when do I want territorial, murderous alpha bastards? Since when does the thought of being owned by him make my p***y quiver? Stubbornly, I open my mouth to tell him to f**k off, but he pushes two fingers into my mouth.

Instinctively, my tongue swirls around their tips. His eyes light up. He seems pleased—I’ve done something right. “Is this what you wanted?” His fingers slide out and push back in.

Don’t do it, Lei. Don’t you dare!

I suck on his fingers. My body, the traitorous b***h, has sold me out to the devil. Amused, Asher continues the movement, mimicking thrusts in a different part of me. I don’t realize I’ve spread my thighs wider until he raises his knee and rubs it against my c******s. My answering moan is guttural.

His free hand wraps around my neck firmly, but not painfully, and something about the position makes me clench my thighs together. I moan against his fingers as he adds a third. My hips buck against his knee. I grind against him desperately, ecstasy just a handful of thrusts away. Another hard suck, and Asher makes a sound that’s a mix of impatience, anger, and desire. “This is how you’ll strangle my d**k when I f**k your mouth.” It’s not a question. It’s an order.