Page 36 of My Unhinged Alphas
My breath catches. “You’re still,” I say, holding his gaze, “distractingly attractive.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. And the only thing louder than my heartbeat?—
Is his.
Chapter 5
Vale
I should step back.That’s the first clear thought I have.
I should release her wrist. I should put distance between us. I should remember every rule I’ve lived by for years—control, restraint, discipline.
Instead, I feel her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers.
She’s not recoiling. She’s not looking away.
She’s looking at me.
At me.
I lose the argument with myself.
Her hand is still twisted in the fabric of my shirt, knuckles pale, as if she expects me to disappear. The wall is at her back, cool concrete pressing through the thin material of her shirt, and I’m standing too close, close enough that I can feel the heat of her body through layers of fabric.
I should step away. Instead, I bend.
The kiss begins almost cautiously, my mouth brushing hers as though I’m testing something fragile. I expect hesitation. Fear. Regret.
I find none.
She inhales sharply at the first contact, not in protest but in surprise, and then her lips move against mine with a boldnessthat knocks the air from my lungs. She’s not passive. She’s not fragile. She meets me.
My hand slides from the wall to her waist before I realize I’m moving, fingers spanning the curve of her hip as if I need to confirm she is real. She feels solid. Warm. Alive. I deepen the kiss slowly, deliberately, giving her space to break it.
She doesn’t.
Her fingers push into my hair, pulling me closer, and the small sound she makes against my mouth is soft and reckless and far too intimate for a room like this.
The sunlight has climbed high enough now that it fills the space entirely. It reveals everything—the rough weld marks in the metal cross on the wall, the bare lines of the concrete floor, the narrow bed with its military-tight sheets. There is nothing gentle about this room.
Except her mouth against mine.
I press her more firmly into the wall without meaning to. My thigh settles between hers, grounding her there. She shifts slightly, and the movement sends a sharp jolt of awareness through me that I’m not prepared for.
Her body responds. She exhales against my lips, and the sound is almost a question.
I pull back a fraction, forehead resting against hers, our breaths tangled together. “This is a mistake,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
Her eyes are wide but not frightened. There is heat in them, curiosity threaded through fear. “Then stop,” she whispers.
I can’t.
My mouth finds hers again, slower this time, exploring rather than claiming. I trace the seam of her lips with mine, memorizing the way she tilts her head instinctively to fit against me. I taste the faint sweetness of whatever she drank last night, layered with something entirely her own.
My grip on her waist tightens, not to restrain but to anchor myself. She trembles under my hands, and I realize it’s not from cold or fear. It’s the same tension thrumming through me—want colliding with disbelief.
No one has looked at my face the way she did and then stepped closer.
