Page 135 of My Unhinged Alphas
He reaches between us and rubs my clit, rougher now, and I cry out, thighs locking around him. Every thrust drives me higher. Every stroke of his fingers shreds another layer of thought. He fucks me like a man praying with his whole body, desperate and reverent and filthy all at once, and I come apart under him hard enough to bite my own lip to keep from making too much noise.
He fucks me through the orgasm with deep, relentless thrusts, mercilessly.
And he doesn’t slow down after I come.
If anything, Vale gets rougher. Like the orgasm only stripped the last layer of restraint off him and now there’s nothing leftbetween us but impact and heat and the relentless drag of his cock driving into me again and again. The bed knocks softly against the wall. My thighs are spread wide around his hips, shaking every time he thrusts deep enough to make my whole body jolt. He’s braced over me on one arm, the other hand gripping my waist hard enough to hold me exactly where he wants me.
I can barely catch my breath.
He’s really fucking me now. Not careful. Not cautious. Railing me with the kind of focus that makes it feel like there’s nothing else in the room except his body pinning mine into the mattress and the wet, filthy sound of him moving inside me.
“Vale—” I gasp, and it comes out broken.
His mouth finds mine for one hard kiss, then my throat, then back to my mouth again, like he can’t decide where he wants me most. His scar brushes my cheek when he moves, rough skin against flushed skin, and the intimacy of it hits me almost as hard as his cock does.
I’m not used to this.
Not the sex. Not just that.
The attention.
Being looked at like this, held like this, wanted like this. Every part of me lit up under somebody’s hands and mouth and eyes. I spent most of my life being easy to miss. Easy to move around. Easy to forget. Now every sound I make gets answered. Every twitch of my body gets noticed. Every shiver means something to him.
It’s too much.
And I love it.
Vale’s hand slides up my stomach, over my breast, fingers tightening just enough to drag a cry out of me before he drops his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth. The combinationof that and the punishing rhythm of his hips nearly makes me black out for a second.
“Fuck,” he groans against my skin. “You feel?—”
He doesn’t finish.
He doesn’t need to.
I know.
I can feel how close he is in the way his thrusts start hitting harder, rougher, less measured. I can feel it in the way his breath comes apart against my throat, in the way his hand slips between us again to rub my clit with impatient, brutal little circles that make me arch so hard my back nearly leaves the bed.
I’m half floating from the first orgasm and somehow already climbing toward another.
He looks wrecked. Beautiful and wrecked and lost enough in me that I almost don’t notice anything else.
Almost.
Then I do.
A shift in the dark. A breath that doesn’t belong to either of us. The faint, wet sound of a hand working over skin.
My eyes open properly.
And there’s Havoc. Watching. One hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly while he watches Vale fuck me into the mattress like he can’t make himself leave. His face is half shadow, half that thin stripe of light from under the curtain, enough for me to see the heat in his eyes and the way his mouth curves when he realizes I’ve caught him.
For a second, I think the sight should shock me.
It doesn’t.
Maybe because everything about tonight has already gone too far to be shocking anymore. Maybe because my body is so open, so overrun with pleasure and being seen, that adding one more gaze to the weight of it feels less wrong than it should.
