Page 47 of My Unhinged Alphas
He tilts my chin up with two fingers, kissing me again—slower this time, deeper, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a way that makes my knees buckle. His hand slips under the hem of my shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of my waist, not grabbing, just exploring, teasing, testing how far I’ll let him go.
The answer is apparently: farther than I should.
His teeth catch my lower lip, tugging gently, and a sharp, helpless whine escapes before I can swallow it. His smile against my mouth is pure sin. “There it is,” he murmurs. “That little sound. I knew you had it in you.”
He presses me harder against the window frame, his thigh sliding between mine, nudging them apart with effortless dominance. “Tell me to stop,” he says again, voice dark and thick with desire.
But we both know I won’t.
Not now. Not with his hands on me. Not with his mouth ruining every bit of logic I had left.
His mouth trails down my throat, hot and open, his breath skating over my skin like he’s marking new territory with every inch he claims. My pulse is a frantic drum beneath his lips, and he smiles against it—like he likes hearing how wrecked I already am.
Then he pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes. And the look he gives me… It isn’t a question. It’s a promise.
“I need to taste you,” he says, voice low and rough, each word hitting me in the spine.
My knees go weak.
Before I can even form a response, he sinks to the floor with deliberate slowness, pulling my jeans down as he goes. He kneels in front of me like it’s nothing—like he’s done this a thousand times and has every intention of doing it again.
He makes me step out of the jeans and then throws them aside. Then his fingers slide up the inside of my thigh, teasing, coaxing, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. “Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs.
I do.
Not because he asked. Because I want to.
His hands hook into my panties, and he looks up at me while he pulls them down—slowly, devastatingly slow—like he’s unwrapping something precious.
Cool air hits my pussy and I gasp, knees wobbling as he spreads my legs with hands that are far too sure of themselves. He slides one up—pressing his palm against my inner thigh—guiding me open for him.
God, I’m so exposed. And he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing worth worshipping.
He presses one hand against my hip, grounding me, holding me steady as his other hand slides between my legs—fingertips finding heat and slickness that makes his breath catch.
“Fuck,” he whispers, reverence bleeding into hunger. “You’re soaked for me.”
My head falls back against the window frame, a helpless sound leaving my throat when he slides two fingers through me—slow, teasing strokes that spread my wetness along his skin.
He brings the fingers to his mouth and watches me as he tastes me. His lips close around his fingers lazily, tongue curling to savor every drop like he’s memorizing it. His eyes never leave mine.
My entire body trembles.
When he pulls his fingers free, they’re shining—and he’s smiling like he just confirmed a suspicion. “Sweet,” he says softly, almost reverent. “I knew you’d taste sweet.”
My knees buckle, but he catches me, strong hands sliding up to grip my hips as he leans in closer, breath hot against my bare pussy. “I need more,” he rasps. “I need to taste you properly.”
I don’t even have time to brace.
He licks me. One long, slow stroke straight up my pussy, tongue flattening against my clit at the end, and the shock of it rips a choked moan out of me that fills the whole damn room.
My hands fly into his hair, gripping hard, pulling him closer without meaning to—but he takes it as permission, groaning against me as he buries his face deeper between my thighs.
“I-I…please, Knox.” His name breaks out of me like a prayer.
He groans again—like hearing it from my mouth makes him feral—and licks me harder this time, tongue circling my clit in slow, perfect, devastating patterns.
My legs shake violently. Heat surges up my spine. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can only feel.
