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There’s something on the edge of her consciousness that begs for Alina’s attention, but she can’t put her finger on what it is. In the darkness of her room, her sheets are half tucked around her, the ceiling fan is humming as it spins lazily above, and her brain is just barely able to put together that there’s movement on the edge of the room—but she can’t be bothered by it. Doesn’t think it’s there, truly; a figment of her imagination derived from the scary movie that Zo and Genya had convinced her to watch before bed time. It’s not that she minds movies about hauntings, but a half xanny and a couple swigs of whiskey are a requirement if she’s going to get any shut eye afterwards.
It’s this that keeps her eyes mostly shut, has her turning onto her side in bed with her back to the door (she thinks? space doesn’t feel real). Has her breathing in deeply, a calm, easy breath before releasing it through her parted lips.
Kicks out a leg to get into a position that doesn’t put as much strain on her hips and feels her foot brush up against something.
At least, she thinks she does. When Alina flexes her toes she meets nothing but space, and her eyes stay shut, unwilling to open. There’s nothing to look at, and her dreams were so, so sweet.
If she focuses hard enough, she thinks she can flutter her way back to them, reality dripping at its edges until it blurs with her fantasies. Feels her legs being parted and a low grumble of a laugh being pressed to her inner thighs. They’re sticky with sweat and arousal, not that the man between them seems to mind, pushing aside her panties to take a deep inhale, beard brushing against her overly sensitive skin. It’s prickly, and when she tries to squirm away there’s something keeping her in place. Feels like hands, warm palms that smooth their way up and down her thighs before moving them just so, opening her wider. Exposing her to the first press of a tongue against her core that has her rocking her hips.
Still she can’t open her eyes, doesn’t think she needs to. This is a dream, why bother acknowledging anything else around her? She can feel the press of nails against her skin, certain that they’ll pierce through if their owner adds any more pressure, and whimpers when she feels fang tips against the curve of her vulva. This part her brain knows, is intimately familiar with. Has turned over and over in her head like a worry-stone until she’s smoothed the fantasy over, perfected it. The press of a tongue deep inside of her cunt followed by an animalistic growl, one that makes her whimper in response. A true bitch in heat, thighs already trembling as the man’s wide tongue fills her up, dragging her arousal out of her before he brings it to her clit. The faintest brush of teeth against her most intimate bits, a hint of what could be if she’s not good, before he suckles at her clit like it’s the source of peace on earth.
A single finger presses inside of her, knuckles thick enough to stretch her cunt pleasantly, and she whines again in her sleep, her head turning to the side as she cants her hips forward, trying to take more than what her visitor has to offer.
Tonight her fantasy is a Lycanthrope, a Wolf who’s unafraid to show her his deepest desires and how she stars in every single one of them, who’s teeth are sharp enough to rend her flesh from bone with the snap of a jaw, whose knot will split her apart if she begs him hard enough for it. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know that his own are dark with his desire, a determination to take everything she has to offer until she’s left trembling in his wake, never the same as she was before he came into her life. Tonight, she’s his Omega, as all humans must be when confronted with a Wolf, and she’ll submit willingly to his needs because they so readily align with her own.
“That’s it for me, darling girl. You’ll take another, won’t you? Have to work you open slowly if you’re going to take my cock.”
She whimpers as a second finger presses inside of her, wonders if she could get away with opening her eyes. Wonders if her dreams will let her see this man she’s split open around, whose fingers she’s soaking until she’s sure he’ll only smell like her for the rest of the night.
He doesn’t wait for her to adjust before he adds a third, and now her face screws up in painpleasurepain, hips shying away from the pressure until a broad hand presses down on her stomach.
“I said you’ll take another. You’ll take everything I give you, pup, because that’s what you were meant to do.”
Oh he’s mean, this mystery man. He grinds the base of his palm against her clit on the edge of too much and too hard, but she comes around him with a howl all her own when he orders her to. Feels her body go white-hot, supernova under his demands for her to give him another, curled fingers drawing pleasure from her like poison from a wound—demanding she acquiesce before he finally withdraws.
Licks his lips noisily, the sound audible even through the pounding of her heart in her ears. Thinks she hears a murmured soon but before she can ask what he means there’s a chirping from the side of her.
Her eyes jolt open, bright sunlight streaming through the window she swore she closed the night before, and with a look over at her clock Alina swears and bolts out of bed.
A half an hour later and she’d have been on schedule, would’ve had plenty of time to run through the shower and clean the slick mess up between her legs from last night’s dream, but as it stands she can only jam on a pair of clean panties, shimmy under a skirt that hits perhaps an inch or so too high for business-casual, and high-tails it down the three flights of stairs and out of the apartment, still buttoning up her blouse as she slings her purse over her shoulder.
She’ll brush her teeth at the office, has a toothbrush in her desk for instances such as this, running her fingers through her hair to try and give it some semblance of order as her flats slap against the already sun-warmed pavement of Ravka’s sidewalks.
Doesn’t have time to wonder why her thighs feel rubbed raw and prickly as they slide against one another, shoulder colliding with that of an ogre trying to side-step his way under a construction awning. She apologizes with a small wince as her shoulder smarts and she’s given a dirty look for not watching where she’s going, before turning and half running-half walking the rest of the way to Lantsov & Sons, grabbing an iced vanilla latte and blueberry scone from the maenad working at the small cafe just before the elevators on the first floor.
She’s already preparing herself to stay late the rest of the week to make up for the forty-five minutes she’s lost by the time she makes it back to her desk, sighing heavily as Zoya looks pointedly at her, hiding a giggle behind her shoulder as their manager rounds on Alina for her tardiness.
“It won’t happen again,” Alina promises, fingers tucked behind her back and crossed, the both of them knowing all too well it just might, before she’s left to collect herself at her cubicle and boot up her computer, struggling to pull her mind back to work, cunt still uncomfortably slick pressed against the fabric of her panties. Noticable, she hates to admit, every time she shifts in her seat.
Thankfully her manager leaves after that and doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the day, a kindness for which Alina isn’t sure who to thank, but is grateful all the same.
The day ticks by, second by wandering second, until the rest of the office goes home, leaving Alina to reflect on what it is she’s doing at this job. Once she thought it was a greater purpose she was serving, calling and talking to people who were on the fence voters for monster rights. Working through the manuals and dialogue booklets to canvas where they supported vampire coven laws to be upheld, discussing where faerie rings should be erected, and listening to their frustrations with orc strikers who had put a halt on labor until their unions were listened to and twenty-four hours shifts were outlawed (sad that that had only happened in her last year).
Now . . . Now she doesn’t quite know how to feel. truthfully, the word that comes to mind is stuck. Languishing. Floating, if that. She can do this job with her eyes closed, knows the words to say to turn a difficult conversation into a meaningful one.
And it’s meaningful work, but there’s a part of her that yearns for more. Something more meaningful, and less cut and dried.
More than once she’s applied for an upper management position, citing her exceptional record and conversion rate. Making a PowerPoint demonstration about how her methods single-handedly changed the minds of 78% of the callers she spoke with about Centaur grazing pastures being grown in Central Park. It was a huge lobbying victory!
But her manager had told her it wasn’t in the budget. Two years in a row.
So what’s there for her to do now?
An hour after the office empties and she packs her belongings into her purse, throwing her coat over her shoulder as she locks up behind herself and hops on the nearest Blue Line train for the bar in Os Alta, a good thirty minutes from the office and home.
She deserves a treat for all her hard work, after all.
It’s later than she meant when she finally stumbles back into the Blue Line, grinning as she slinks her way through the packed train car to the back, where she’s hoping no one will notice she’s rosy cheeked and glassy eyed. She pulls out her phone as she shifts her way through the crowd and comes to stand with her back to a man at least half a foot taller than she is even with her heels. He smells good, at least, and she settles in place near him, her back to the onlookers as she bites her bottom lip and texts Genya that she made it to the train.
The train fills up until she’s pushed up against the man behind her, though he hums a soft apology when he bumps against her. She barely notices that he doesn’t move, the warmth of his body a balm to the chill of the evening air, fingers clumsily moving across the keys as she tries to set her alarm for extra early the next day.
There’s a warmth on her hips that makes her pause, eyes blinking slowly, as she looks down to the large hands that have settled themselves on her hips, fingers curved to hold her in place.
She blinks again, sure that this is just her mind playing tricks on her, when the car jostles and she’s pulled back against a firm, warm chest, easily trapped between that and the wall in front of her. She can barely see her surprise reflected back in the dark windows of the train, can’t make out the face of the man currently holding her in place, and is about to open her mouth when he leans in to take a deep, slow inhale right next to her throat. Hums a quiet approval that makes her skin break out in goosebumps.
“Don’t you smell delicious,” he says, voice so soft she feels like she’s imagining it, ears full of water and the sound of her beating heart as her hips are moved, and there’s a steady pressure between her legs. Alina looks down, blinking rapidly, to discover a trouser-clad thigh sticking out between them, solid and hot against the seam of her panties, her skirt having ridden up just enough with the added pressure. The insistence of his body as it pinned her in place, and his hands tugged her down in a rocking motion on his thigh.
Lights sparked behind her eyes, her mouth parting in silent surprise as she stares forward at the reflection of herself. Feels her cheeks grow even warmer as she’s moved slowly, oh so torturously, along the hard line of this man’s thigh. Rocks her hips out of desperation so that her clit catches, and the resulting pleasure that sparks up her body is enough that she’s forced to bite on her lower lip to keep from moaning out loud.
“Keep quiet for me, there’s a good girl.”
As though she can think to do anything else. As if her brain is able to contemplate doing anything more than just letting him move her, the heavy scent of cedar and new fallen snow filling her senses as she turns her head to the side to press her face against the curve of his throat.
“Feels good, doesn’t it sweetheart? Feels so good against your needy pussy; can feel you getting me wetter with every pass.”
She can’t put words to what’s come over her, blames it on one too many tequila shots, but she’s nodding all the same and trembling in his grip. Close, far too close given that it’s just been a matter of minutes. She shouldn’t want this, a voice reasons in the back of her mind as she feels her breathing begin to shorten. As she bites harder on her bottom lip and tries to look up at the man behind her. He pulls a hand away from her hip to force her to look straight forward again.
“Ah-ah. You haven’t earned the right to look at me yet, sweetheart. Just keep rocking those pretty little hips, there you go.”
What else can she do but obey? Even if she’s not supposed to, even if she should be running to the other end of the bus screaming and demanding this man’s head for sexual harassment, they both know she won’t do anything of the sort.
They both know she’ll let him move her hips until she finally comes, shuddering and clenching tight on nothing, biting on the heel of her palm to keep silent, grateful that the rest of the car is so busy that they don’t pay her any mind.
She’s still trying to reclaim her faculties when the man moves his thigh out from between hers and squeezes her ass. “Your stop’s up, sweetheart. Go on, off to bed with you.” He pats her on the backside, but by the time she’s turning he’s already gone, heading off to—god knows where. She has bigger fish to fry, like stumbling her way off the train before the doors close and keep her riding it longer than she has to.
Hardly has time to realize, until she’s back home and shaking her head clear of the post-orgasm cobwebs, that there’s no way he should’ve known her stop.
By the time Alina wakes up the next day, she’s certain that she dreamed the whole thing up. It’s the only thing that makes sense, she thinks as she runs a brush through the tangled ends of her hair and wipes the remaining makeup off her face from the night before, before applying a new layer.
She has to have come up with the entire thing, fabricated it out of her darkest fantasies, because there’s no earthly explanation for her letting a complete stranger get her off on their thigh. No universe in which she’d just let herself be used without her consent like that; none.
She ignores the soaked through panties from the night before, lying on top of her dirty laundry pile like a warning flag she doesn’t want to acknowledge.
There’s something off that she can’t put her finger on throughout the day, as though she’s revolving around a different axis than normal. She smiles and goes about as though nothing has changed, but it keeps her squirming in her seat, wondering whether there’s anything she can do. Her temperature feels a little too high, but there aren’t any aches and pains that accompany that make her think of fever. She’s thirsty, but water doesn’t feel as though it’s doing anything no matter how many of her tumblers she guzzles down. Her eyes feel heavy, weighed down by bricks, and yet her mind screams at her to stay awake. Alert.
For what she isn’t sure, can’t begin to track where the sensation is coming from—just knows that it’s there, an itch she cannot scratch at the very back of her mind, gnawing at her every brain cell as she mindlessly picks up the phone and playacts at her job.
There’s no room for growth; why does she bother staying? She’d say it’s to make a difference in the world, except that it feels so very childish to think that her being there makes a change to anything at all.
She’d say it’s because she has nowhere else to go, but that doesn’t feel totally right, either.
Spends her lunch hour trying to piece together the events of the night before, of how she’d gotten home, of just what could’ve possibly happened that had gotten her so trashed as to hallucinate the events on the train.
God, what if she’d assaulted the man? What if she’d made up the entire thing, about the way he’d held her close and adjusted her, had eased her over his thigh, to make up for the fact that she was in fact the one doing it?
“What’s got you blushing?” Zoya asks, taking her usual seat at Alina’s side, smelling like peonies and Nikolai’s cologne, sees the hickey hastily covered up by Zoya’s hair when she brushes it back in front of her neck.
“Nothing,” Alina murmurs, wishing it was true, taking another bite of her sandwich to let Zoya take the conversation by the reigns and tug it towards her own plans for the evening. There’s a party downtown, again, one that Alina thinks sounds vaguely familiar, but she feels the ice creep into her veins as she realizes to get home again, she’ll have to take the same train route as she did last night.
What if he’s there? What if he remembers her, and what if he asks her why she did it? What if she doesn’t get a chance to say she’s so sorry, so very, very sorry, for accosting him the way she’s certain she had, before he calls security on her.
No, better for her to stay home.
“I’m actually feeling kind of feverish,” she murmurs when Zoya pauses to take a breath, earning herself a glower from the woman.
“Pop some ibuprofen and come anyway.”
“Zo.”
“C’mon, Alina. You’re probably just hungover; hair of the dog that bit you won’t hurt.”
God, if only she knew. But Alina bites on her bottom lip, and Zoya relents. Can likely smell Alina’s embarrassment, and Alina’s not going to tell her it has nothing to do with not being able to make it to the party—. Will let her make her own assumptions.
Takes the pitying sigh to mean that she’s off the hook, even if Zoya’s expression looks mutinous.
“I owe you one, Zo,” Alina says with an apologetic smile, reaching over to squeeze her friend’s hand. Breathes a little easier when she gets a squeeze back.
It starts to rain just as Alina’s wrapping up for the day, the gray clouds she’d noticed on her walk into work having finally decided they’d had enough, releasing fat droplets onto the pavement. She’d had plans to walk home, but hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, or wear sturdier shoes than her well-worn flats that she’s certain are hanging on their very last leg.
The other option is taking the train, or waiting an extra half an hour for the next bus, only to have to sit through the four extra stops that it makes before making it a half-block away from her house.
Scrunching her nose, she pulls her purse onto her shoulder before she pulls her coat on, zipping it up to hide the bulk of it underneath the yellow brushed wool, grateful that at least it would keep her from getting too wet. Her mind made up, her hands shoved into her pockets and head dipped down, she makes her way out the door twenty minutes after her last colleague has left, shivering as the first drops of rain splash down onto her. It’s not so heavy that she can’t see where she’s going, but the sidewalks aren’t empty enough for her to run all the way back home, forcing her to bob and weave her way through the umbrella carrying crowd.
Doesn’t have time to notice anything else around her, water clinging to her lashes, dipping below the collar of her jacket to soak her blouse, her shoes so waterlogged she’s certain she’ll need to just throw them out by the time she finally makes it home. More than once, she’s knocked into a puddle of bone-chilling water, causing her to curse under her breath, fantasizing about the hot shower she’ll sink into when she finally gets back to her apartment.
Not a block from her apartment she’s jostled once more, this time nearly onto off the sidewalk and into the gutter, the rain water sloshing at the curb’s edges as it pours into the sewers. A man’s hand on her upper arm steadies her, warm, solid and white-knuckled, but her savior is gone before she can so much as thank him for saving her from the fall, a broad back disappearing beneath the cover of an all-black umbrella.
Alina doesn’t wait around, just picks up the pace and practically throws herself through the door of her apartment’s lobby, panting, red-faced and wondering if she wasn’t sick before, if she is now.
That’d be just her luck.
Her shoes she kicks off with a squelch, even if she’s got a couple flights of stairs before she gets to her floor. The thin carpet is better than slipping and sliding in what amounts to no more than soaked through cardboard at this point.
“Not much further,” she murmurs to herself, putting one foot in front of the other, grateful for the empty hallways, that the rain has either kept her neighbors indoors or kept them from coming home too soon. “Just a few stairs, Alina, then it’s straight into the shower with you—.”
She doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her, doesn’t realize she’s not as alone as she thought until she’s pressed up against her opening apartment door, a hand at her throat, fingers digging into her parted mouth, until the door’s closed behind them. There’s not time to scream, not time to realize that she can feel the deadbolt snick into place before her front is shoved against the newly closed door, jaw hanging open and unable to bite down on the fingers keeping it there.
“Not a word or I’ll break your jaw,” a mouth says at her ear, full lips brushing against the shell of it as she feels—smells—the man standing behind her. The hand not keeping her jaw wide open tugs at her coat, yanks it off of her before she can blink, before she can realize that she’s crying as he presses his nose against the base of her throat.
She tries to tell him that if he wants her money he can have it, but he has his mouth pressed against the skin just above her jugular before the words can stumble around the fingers keeping her mouth open, and she feels incisors too large to belong to a human against her skin. Her mouth goes dry, eyes wide and unseeing in the dark as a growl vibrates between the two of them.
“Do you know how fucking delectable you smell when you’re afraid, Alina?” he demands, her name pouring from his tongue like a curse as she feels the beginnings of talons press against the flat of her tongue. His claws extend and with his other hand he shreds the blouse she’d picked out that morning, pieces of polyester satin falling to her feet.
“Do you know how hard it’s been, waiting?” He sounds angry now, but she can’t think of how to appease him. Thinks her body tilts her neck further to the side, as though trying to get away from him. The noise he makes sounds placated. “How you tease me with your fucking window open, letting any bastard passing by beneath your window smell you? How ripe you are when you’re alone at night, dreaming, or stuffing your fingers into your cunt?”
Her pants are next, reduced to ribbons of fabric that fall uselessly to the ground as he pulls his fingers from her mouth and hauls her back against his chest. He stands at least a half-foot above her and his grip is punishing; if she makes it to see tomorrow she knows there will be purple and blue bruises on her arms and waist where he grips her. The threat from earlier echoes in her ears as she breathes deeply, smells wet dog, and finds herself trembling as she’s hauled through her own house and into her bedroom in nothing but her panties and her bra.
“P-please,” she manages to whisper, catching sight of a man’s face, of dark eyes that make promises she’s too afraid to acknowledge, full lips now pulled back in a laugh, showing razor-sharp teeth and a tongue that’s nearly as red as spilled blood.
Her knees hit the back of her bed as he steps closer, steps around her to shut the window. As if he knows that she won’t try to make a run for it. It’s all she can do to keep from bolting, her mind determinedly centering on “freeze” instead of anything useful.
What’s the point in trying to fight when she knows a Lycan is twice as strong as she ever could be, and nearly three times as fast? She’s read the pamphlets, knows about blood in the water and the impossibility of stopping once he’s started, thinks she remembers something about the best option being to try and reason with their human instincts and morals, if she can.
What’s the point when he’s got her scent already, has had it for some time if his words are to be believed?
She whimpers, repeats her soft please as he steps closer, lays as still as she possibly can as he drags his claws across the front of her tummy just light enough to keep from breaking the skin. The same cannot be said for her bra or her panties, which find their home on the floor, too, before he pushes her onto the bed front first.
“P-please,” he mocks, his tone harsh. “Please, what? Let you go?”
His hands haul her hips closer to the edge of the bed and flips her over so she can feel the press of his cock against the curve of her ass. She tries to wiggle away, but he firmly pulls her back.
Smacks both cheeks of her ass until she howls in surprise, clawing at the bedsheets beneath her as she fights with herself to scramble away, even though it’s what got her into trouble in the first place.
“Please fuck you?” His words are harsh, split over a grin that she trembles to hear, though not as much as she shakes when she hears a zipper being undone, or the shuffle of fabric as she pulls his cock from his pants. The fabric itches against the backs of her thighs, though her shocked brain has enough wherewithal to realize that it’s nicer fabric than anything that lives in her closet.
“Please breed you?” There’s the sound of the man behind her spitting, and she jolts at the sensation of his saliva as it falls on her cunt, slipping between her folds. “Please pup you?”
She’s traitorously wet within seconds of him rubbing her clit, hating the way that her toes curl in desire as he brushes the head of his cock over the sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again. Hates the way that her back arches and her breathing goes ragged when he notches the head inside and pushes.
Hates that she can barely hide the moan within a scream as he presses her head into the mattress and shoves inch after inch inside of her, refitting her cunt to his needs. It’s painful, he’s big, and already she can feel what she thinks is his knot beginning to tease the edge of her cunt. Alina tastes salt as she screams into the mattress when he pulls out, then pushes back inside, forcing her to take all that he has to offer, and then some.
He groans, the sound somewhere between a beast and a man, as he pulls her back against him with a snap, as she feels him jolt his hips forward and begins to pick up the pace. He’s still dressed, the soft brushed fabric of his shirt a counterpoint to the rough sheets beneath her, as though he has no need to strip down. As if this is normal, expected. She can hear the clinking of his belt as his hips cant forward over her own quiet huffs for air.
Her assailant’s palm comes down on her ass once more, and she squeaks in surprise loud enough to make him laugh. “Came here night after night just to fuck you open on my fingers, but it barely fucking did anything did it? Saints, you’re so fucking tight, still. You were so cute, passed out on your bed, too tired to even realize I was there getting you ready for me. Listening to those sweet moans you make when you’re drunk on sleep, when you don’t know it’s not a dream.”
Alina whines as the pressure increases, as he angles her hips upwards so that he can fuck deeper into her even as he leans further over her body with his. Caging her in. “You never were,” he whispers against her ear. “Thought about taking you every time. Thought about just sticking my cock inside of you, keeping you at my side until tonight—full moon, Alina. You know what that means.”
He groans when her body tenses up, his fingers reaching between her legs to play with her clit so that she goes tight around him, as sensation floods her every pore. She tries kicking out at him, but it’s useless; he has her well and truly pinned on his cock, under his lean bulk, and for all the good wiggling underneath him seems to do she might as well be fucking back against him.
“You almost had me last night, sweet girl. When you rode my thigh so prettily in public? That did it. How I knew I had to make you mine. Knew I had to take you as my own, fill your sweet little pussy with my pups—you’ll give me a litter, won’t you? Over and over, until we’ve filled my house with them. Give you something else to care for while you’re home, waiting for me to come back and fill you up—. No, no, shhh. Don’t fight it. I’m almost there—.”
Alina can’t help but whimper as he keeps working her clit under his fingers, keeps building her up and up and up—.
“You’ll just make it worse—.”
There’s a biting truth to what he was saying. Still, she reaches back for him, trying to push him off of her even as he holds her close, even as her cunt clenches around his cock every time he withdraws, as though she’s trying to keep it inside of her, her body the greatest traitor of all. She can feel him pulse inside of her when she tries to push him off, feels his knot begin to swell as though bolstered by the conquest.
Realizes he’s dragging his teeth against the base of her neck again as he sucks a slow bruise against the junction of her throat and shoulders. For all her fantasies, all her wildest dreams of being taken like this, there’s a sort of disbelieving horror that dawns on her when she realizes that it’s happening to her outside of her control. Her fingers clench in his hair, pulling him closer or pushing him away she can’t tell anymore. “N-no, you can’t—.”
He huffs a laugh against her skin that feels like a wolf gnawing on a bone. “Can’t I? You’re mine, pup.”
Realizes, too late, as his knot begins to expand, as he pushes into her to seal her up and as his come floods her womb, what he’d said about the full moon.
Realizes, only as his teeth sink into her skin, seconds before her mind goes white and her own orgasm overwhelms her, that there will be no escaping him. That once he bites her, that will be all there is to her. Her freeze gives way to fight, as she writhes and shouts, trying to push against the bed, desperate to get out from under him as he clenches his jaws tighter and growls, jerking his hips harder into her.
Even as pleasure makes her shout, synapses snapping with the shock of her orgasm, she can feel the pressure growing in her mind, a balloon ready to pop. Can feel his will, his desire for her, rearing up like the wolf that he is, swallowing whole her aspirations. In her minds eye she can see the flood of him, the way that his Claim burns through everything that once made Alina herself. Her wants, her needs—.
“N-no, please!”
The words are as useless this time as they were before, slurred into the bedspread as her toes curl and her fingers turn to fists in the bedspread.
Feels as her body goes taut as she comes again, spurred on by his fingers, now playing with her nipples as his cock continues to pulse and fill her up until she’s certain it ought to be leaking out.
Feels Alina Starkov drain down the sink of her subconscious, slipping through her fingers as she struggles to hold on to herself, only to be replaced with the wants and needs of her mate above her. Aleksander, his bite sings. Her mate’s name is Aleksander, and she can feel how his happiness radiates from his place above her, her blood on his tongue, his lips on her skin as he kisses his way across the column of her spine.
How sweet he is, she thinks, as she shudders with pleasure at the touch of her mate, as she lets loose a breath of relief knowing that he’s there to protect her, feels his come already heavy inside of her.
She reaches a hand back to take Aleksander’s, letting their fingers thread together as she brings it to her stomach, and blinks back tears she hadn’t realized she was crying. Why was she crying?
“That’s it. That’s my good girl; ready to go again?”
She nods, even as boneless and fucked out as she feels, when his cock hardens inside of her once again, ready to make good on his promises of a family of their own.
She doesn’t even give the office two weeks, the next morning, seated on Aleksander’s slowly deflating knot, she calls in and tells them that effective immediately she’s quitting. He preens, kissing his way across her shoulders, as Alina bathes in the heat of his affections, squirmy and filled and smiling wider than she thinks she has in her lifetime. She can’t remember, truly.
What few belongings he allows her to keep boxed up and shipped to Aleksander’s house before the next week is through. Her clothes find their way to a charity, one he’s kind enough to let her choose, and she’s leafing through nursery colors as soon as she’s moved in, though they both know she’ll side with whichever her mate likes best. He seems to think that she’s going to have a girl, can already tell that she’s with child the moment it takes, devouring her pussy and swearing he can taste the difference as she spreads herself out on his enormous bed, dazed and blissed out and unsure how her life has managed to amount to this—.
But this is all she is, now. This is what she was meant to do.
This is all she was ever meant to be.