Night Alpha

13 - Touches Thick

I stay quiet, he has stopped crying for a while now, picking at his phone and stealing glances when he can. So this is what my life has come to now. Trying to keep a grown child from molesting me while not fighting enough that he slams me onto a door. Wonderful. He steals another glance.

So he's friends with the alpha's son, I wonder of his relationship with the queen. Is he stronger than the son, or was he purposefully weakened to allow for this brawl ? I don't think I could get him on my side, even if he seems to like fucking with him.

Maybe that's what I need. Someone on my side, someone to help me distract him just long enough. I just need 10 minutes, just a small head start. But who would be willing to betray their kind ? Is that a death sentence here? Is it one for me too? Should I even run from a predator ? Yes.

« Stop that. Your fidgeting. If there's something you want to say, just say it already. » I'm annoyed, between the stress and dreadful news of my body's newfound abilities, I feel myself get mad more easily.

He doesn't reach for his phone, doesn't growl, doesn't look at me. He stays awfully quiet and still, it's unnerving. What's wrong with him now? I don't plan on asking, at least it'll give some peace and quiet. I move to put the plaid back on, lower my hands push at the ground and get up. Except I don't.

I'm yanked to his side, back onto the ground and wrists bound by his hand. His thick fingers don't press, but I feel their strength anyway. Suddenly I'm laying like five course meal right under him, still seated to my side. The plaid lays under me, only still covers part of my legs. When I look at him questioningly, he doesn't stare back.

Eyes focused on my mid section, he pushes my arms on my chest. His eyes have darkened, but he makes no sound and I awfully feel like a prey, waiting for the last blow. Fear creeps under my skin like a snake but I only feel his warmth around me. Fire feels like it laps at my face, at my belly, it's dizzy and soon my neck become itchy.

I'm too dizzied to speak, to protest, eyes closing unwillingly. When I try to push back, his hand guides my wrist to my face, cutting my view. He still makes no noise, I don't even hear him breathe. I feel a burning finger skim the open skin of my stomach, right between my sweats and where my shirt must have risen.

My back unwillingly arches, my head rolling back on the wooden floor. I'm sure a noise leaves my mouth because I feel the vibrations in my throat. I don't hear though, feverish when my belly pulses inside out. I plea him to stop, try to at least but my body has lost its strength.

« Milo. » I breathe his name out, a small whisper. The heat has made me too dizzy but when I try to turn to my side to curl and calm my belly, my hips stay put with a press of his fingers.

My body feels like it is no longer mine. My toes curl even when his fingers leave my skin. I feel like an open wound, raw and sensitive. When he takes my hands back lower on my chest, I see him again. I feel like he may have lost something too. Dark eyes and small inhales through his nose, head turned to the side like a child but tongue darting out to wet his lower lip like the monster he is.

But there's a look in his eyes I don't decipher, one where no matter the darkness of his eyes and no matter the shortness of his breaths, he feels too calm. I've learned that they love to use their growls to communicate. But not now, even though he did when I tried to flee at the door. Or when I hit him, when I insulted him, when I teased him.

He's too calm to be uncontrolled, to be wildling out. Because when he looks at me with not even a trace of heat as he had before, this feels a lot more like a scolding, like a lesson when pushes my hands down, watches my reaction when his back bends and his head lowers to the open skin of my stomach.

He only hides when my clutched fingers uncurl to push his face away. He turns his head, pushes its side softly to my open palms, like longing for the touches I don't give him. Like these fake caresses on his face are still wanted, needed. He breathes in, nose in between my opened fingers, mouth shuddering on my palm.

When he presses his lips onto it, my back arches again, legs bending and neck aching. His kiss on the soft skin of my hand feels a lot like burning charcoal has infiltrated my veins, moving back up my arteries. The heat goes on another height, I'm blinded and feel sweaty. Like an open nerve left out in the scorching summer air.

He doesn't feel like the night anymore, like a shadow lurking. No he feels like the sun when it hits your skin. My body lurches when I feel his nose on the soft part of my belly. He pushes my body down, one hand pressing mine on my chest and other snaking under my right leg, coming back up over the left one to stop it from coming up.

Even with the sweats I feel the heat of his finger digging into my tight, awfully close to my middle, just at the joint with my hips. I feel him breathe into my skin, desperate gulps bringing the small hair there to raise. Full breaths that feel a lot like apnea, like meditating, like drowning.

I lose track of time, too blinded to see, too feverish to think. A strangled moan leaves my throat when he traces a long thick band with his tongue. Burning like the sun with the trace of saliva it leaves across my stomach, right under my bellybutton. My body shakes, shudders and I think I pass out for second, head rolling back. I'm left spacing out and breathing like I ran a marathon when his body leaves mine.

He stills, uncurls his back, sits back on the floor. He stays there, unmoving and staring at me while I lay there unable to think. I get it then. It's not just his voice, not just his strength. He could take if he if wanted. There's nothing that would stop him. Nothing I could do to stop him. The blank face has faded for something that looks a lot like annoyance, like bitterness.

I understand then the lesson, the scolding. I forget the boyish look, the gentle smile for something more fitting when I still can't gather my thought nor the control of my body. He stands, slow and purposeful, waits a bit more eying the expense of my stomach. My hands and neck buzz under his look. He looks back up at my face, bitter and jaw locked, adjusts with a hand under his sweats and leaves the room.

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Kind of double update cause I couldn't post last week. Let me know if you spot any grammar mistakes. Let me know if you like the story, I even enjoy getting your feedback, your impressions and theories. Stop by through messages if you want to discuss anything.