Page 73 of My Unhinged Alphas
My whole body jerks at the sensation, a small, helpless pulse of pleasure rippling through me even after everything, and I hate how sensitive I still am. My thighs are shaking. My skin feels too tight. My heart is hammering so hard it almost hurts.
What the hell?
I can barely breathe around the thought.
I just let them do that.
Not one man. Both of them.
I let them touch me, taste me, hold me against the wall and fuck me until I couldn’t think straight, and somewhere in the middle of it I stopped even pretending I wanted to resist.
My face burns.
My entire body burns.
Vale steps back like he’s just realized what he’s done. His breathing is rough, uneven, and there’s something almost stunned in his expression now, as if the reality of it is only catching up to him after the fact.
Havoc, of course, looks far less conflicted.
I don’t look at him. I can’t.
I’m too aware of everything. The dampness between my thighs. The soreness. The fact that I’m standing here completely naked in a strange room in the middle of nowhere with two dangerous men and no idea what that says about me except that my judgment has officially left the building.
Vale reaches for the hem of his shirt without a word and pulls it off over his head. The sight of him nearly short-circuits what little sanity I have left.
His body is lean and hard, marked in places I don’t let myself study too closely, and for one terrible second I forget I’m supposed to be horrified by all of this and just stare.
Then he steps forward and holds the shirt out to me.
A peace offering. Or a shield.
Maybe both.
I take it with hands that are not nearly as steady as I want them to be.
The fabric is warm from his body. I pull it over my head too quickly, almost tangling myself in it in my hurry to cover up. It hangs past my thighs, smelling like him, and somehow that only makes my heart pound harder.
I cross my arms over my chest, then uncross them, then give up and just stand there in his shirt, still trying to catch my breath.
No one says anything for a second.
The silence is awful. My pulse is still racing. My lips still feel kissed. My body still feels used in a way that should make me panic and, instead, mostly leaves me dazed.
I look at Vale first.
Then at Havoc.
Then away again.
“What,” I say, and my voice comes out thinner than I mean it to, “the actual hell was that?”
Havoc is the first one to recover.
Of course he is.
He leans back against the wall like he didn’t just help ruin my life in the hottest and most psychologically confusing way possible, wipes a hand over his mouth, and gives Vale a look that is way too satisfied.
“I wasn’t planning to take it that far,” he says, almost casually. Then he jerks his chin toward Vale. “But he was too wound up.”
