His Alpha

1

Only a sample of the story you can purchase it on Amazon if you like the sample.

His Alpha by Rachelle Mills

Goodbye eyes

His sight holds his silver blades when he's brave enough to face me.

Watching him fidget with his belt buckle, how many times have I undid that belt only to look into his eyes while taking him in my mouth? How many times has he helped me up from my kneeling position to lick himself off my lips? Saying thank you, Tommie, in between breaths, everything always ending in a thank you.

The professor is a smart man, doing this in a public place, I have to maintain a certain civility. A song playing in the background has a certain heartbreak tone to it that mirrors my feelings.

He doesn't take my hands in his. Instead, he's sitting down holding his own together, fingertips on his knuckles, rubbing them gently.

How those hands taught me all I needed to know about pleasure, now his words are teaching me all about pain.

His eyes are roaming everywhere that's not important, the pictures on the walls of perfect landscapes, out the window looking at the people coming in.He should be looking at me, at what his words are doing to me. "I told you this was for fun; I told you I don't get attached. Tommie. So don't look at me like I'm breaking your heart, you knew the outcome." His voice just a whispered breath that hurts my ears.

"You never told me that." My hurt words are barely able to contain the quiver of my voice.

"I did, you just chose not to listen." Another volley of whispered words so no one around will hear the little secret we share. I won't cry in front of him; I'll save that for when I get home. "It's final." His voice an octave more pronounced in depth.

This coffeehouse he asked me to meet him at is where we had our first date, coffee, and conversation nothing more. Just a friendly hello. Getting comfortable in each other's company.

We met a few more times very casually nothing serious, as the time went by he was able to become more to me, he weaved himself into the fabric of my life. I remember our first kiss; it's the first time I ever kissed another guy because I thought I was never like that. It was so very cautious on both our parts.

I can't believe I left my expected life for him, for this human. Now he's using this place for our final goodbye. I can laugh at the irony of it except at this moment laughing is the last thing I want to do. "What about all your stuff?" My eyes still not leaving his face, hoping to catch a glimpse of regret of how hard this must be for him. The only thing I catch is relief that he's getting rid of me. I'm the deadweight he's throwing overboard, and I'm sinking hardly able to keep from drowning.

"Keep it, nothing that I want anyways." That hurts, he doesn't want anything from our life together. How can I be replaced so easily? How can he just turn me off as if I'm a light switch, once I lit up his life, now he turned me off darkening me forever from his?

"So this is it?" I'm trying so hard to hide my trembled hurt. I had no idea he had another; he promised me they were just friends. Aren't lovers the last to know that they are being thrown away like pieces of unwanted garbage. Right at this moment, he looks as if he's the color grey, sucking up everything that was good between us, leaving nothing but a haze of lies in its place.

"I'm sorry, it's not you, it's me." That makes me exhale the breath I was holding, always the famous last words of parting lovers, trying to make the one getting dumped feel better.

"I should go, I'm sorry Tommie." He's not sorry, my eyes watching as he's able to walk away so easily. Looking at his back one last time, I have come to memorize every vertebra, every mole, every curve of him while taking him from behind. Pulling my eyes, it takes everything within me not to explode from the inside out. It's as if I'm in a fog; he's left me sitting all by myself with a full coffee in front of me that I can't stomach to drink.

Just think only a few minutes ago I was so happy seeing him sitting there waiting for me, giving him a wave as I enter the shop. I should have known; I should have gone with my gut feeling that something was up when he didn't smile or wave back.

It's not a long walk back to my place. My steps feel heavy as if every single one I take is grabbing onto me like quicksand slowing me down. My shoulders are hunching forward, and now my eyes are pooling with tears that I am trying so hard not to shed.

Heavy, that's how I feel when I turn the key to the apartment. Walking in, it smells like us. Going over to the fridge pulling out the light amber sadness that whiskey can bring. Taking the bottle throwing the cap away, I let the first swallow burn its way down my throat. It's better to feel this than anything else at the moment.

Holding a hand rolled sparking it up, taking the first puff into my lungs slowly holding it in for as long as I can, then exhaling it out slowly. Gradually this stick does what it's supposed to do, and my eyes start to get half closed.

Sinking into the couch, tipping the bottle to my lips again, taking several pulls quickly, the liquid settling at the bottom of my stomach starting to warm me up. Another inhaled breath from the stick has me blowing big puffs of white smoke that hovers in front of my face for just a moment before ascending to the ceiling. I need this at this moment; I need to go somewhere else, but I know in the morning it will hurt even worse than now.

Somewhere deep in whiskey thoughts as the night continues on, I come to the realization that it's time for me to go back to my pack. There is nothing anymore tying me here.

Except what's waiting for me at home is a whole different kind of pain that I'm not sure I'm ready for.