The digital clock on my nightstand glowed a soft 12:00 PM when consciousness finally pried me from the best sleep I'd had in a decade. Not the cold, functional rest of a predator, but the warm, heavy-limbed surrender of a woman who'd finally found her harbor. Althea was a warm weight against my side, one leg thrown over mine, her breathing a soft, steady rhythm against my collarbone. The scent of vanilla strawberry and us sweat, sex, and something uniquely her filled the air. My obsession hummed contentedly in my veins, not a frantic scream but a deep, satisfied purr.
Carefully, so as not to disturb her, I extracted my arm and reached for my phone. My kingdom could wait a few more hours. The first text was to the man who technically still owned it.
Me: Grandfather. I need you to handle weekend operations indefinitely. Althea and I are… trying. I'm helping her recover.
His response was almost instantaneous, the old man probably having his phone surgically attached to his hand.
Arthur Hartwell: About damn time. Just make sure to give me a great-grandchild. Twins. A boy and a girl. Start a dynasty.
A smirk touched my lips. Always the strategist.
Me: I'll be on a hybrid work model starting next week. Temporarily. Office and home. But weekends are non-negotiable.
Arthur Hartwell: Weak. But for her? I'll allow it. Don't make me regret it.
Next, I shot a terse message to HR, mandating my new weekend-free status and directing all weekend emergencies to my email. The tone left no room for debate. Miss Chen, my ruthlessly efficient second-in-command, needed no instruction regarding Marcus and the five idiots in the warehouse. She knew the score: keep them alive, keep them talking, keep them regretting every life choice that led them to cross Althea's path.
Business handled, I turned my attention to the true center of my universe.
She was breathtaking. Morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets and her exposed skin. My marks—love bites in shades of plum and burgundy—stood out against the delicate column of her throat. A primal, possessive thrill shot through me. Mine. All mine.
The impulse was irresistible. I reached for my tablet, opened the camera, and made sure the flash was off. The first click was silent. She slept on, a slight smile touching her lips as if she sensed the worshipful attention. The image was perfect: her dark hair fanned across my pillow, the marks, the utterly peaceful expression. My new home screen. No question.
But one wasn't enough. My obsession, sated but never dormant, demanded documentation. I took another. And another. A close-up of her lashes against her cheeks. A shot of her hand resting on my stomach. Then I switched to video, recording the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the tiny, almost imperceptible flutter of her nostrils. I was capturing her existence, her aliveness, and storing it in my digital vault.
Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep. They focused slowly on the tablet in my hands. A sleepy, knowing smile spread across her face. "Adore me that much?" Her voice was morning-rough, a sound that went straight to my core.
"I do," I said, the truth simple and absolute. I kept recording.
She chuckled, a soft, breathy sound, and reached for the tablet. I let her take it. She pulled it close to her face, her eyes sparkling with playful affection, and pressed a soft, full kiss directly to the camera lens. "How about that?"
My heart did something complicated and beautiful in my chest. "Better," I managed, my own voice thick. "But you know what's the best?"
Her smile turned sultry. "I know." She leaned in, tablet forgotten between us, and captured my mouth with hers. It was a deep, slow, claiming kiss that tasted of sleep and sweetness and a promise of more. We broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads touching.
"So?" she breathed, her fingers tracing my jaw. "Aren't you supposed to be working? Even though it's the weekend?"
I nuzzled her nose. "I took a mandatory weekend off. To aid you. And I've arranged a hybrid work setup. Indefinitely." I pulled back slightly to search her eyes. "I want to spend more time with you. Not in a caging way, of course." The lie was a courtesy. I wanted to cage her in my arms, in my home, in my life, forever. But I said the right words. "Will you let me spend time with you, Althea?"
Her eyes beamed, lighting up the whole room. "Yay! Of course I would love that! Yey!" She clapped her hands together like a child given a surprise gift, and the genuine joy in it dismantled another piece of my armored heart. "But… I'm hungry, Haven. From all that… activity earlier." A blush crept up her neck. "Can you cook, please? And uhh… look at those pajamas." She gestured vaguely at the floor where the innocent pink satin set lay in a crumpled heap near the foot of the bed. "Errmm… I'm so sorry, Haven."
I caught her chin, making her look at me. "Don't you ever apologize for that. I loved it too." I kissed her quickly. "Now, come on. Get dressed. I'm going to cook us lunch."
Her smile returned, radiant. "Yes, ma'am."
The kitchen became our stage for a domestic ballet. I moved with purpose, pulling out eggs, bacon, pancake mix—comfort food. Althea, dressed in one of my old, soft band t-shirts and a pair of her own shorts, padded around barefoot. Sushi circled her ankles, tail a metronome of hope.
"Pancakes for Sushi too?" she asked, kneeling to scratch behind his ears.
"He gets a plain one. No syrup," I decreed, cracking eggs into a bowl.
"Your Highness approves," she announced in a regal voice for the dog. She then retrieved her Polaroid camera from the living room. While I whisked batter, I heard the familiar whirr-click-zzzt of the camera. She was photographing Sushi sitting politely, then the sunbeam on the floor, then a bowl of fruit on the counter.
Then I felt her gaze. I looked over my shoulder. She had the camera raised, one eye closed in concentration. Whirr-click-zzzt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, pouring batter onto the hot griddle.
"Documenting the legendary Haven Hartwell, feared mafia leader, master of the Sunday pancake flip." She grinned, waiting for the photo to develop. She shook it, then peered at it, her smile softening. "You look… happy."
I flipped a pancake with a practiced wrist. "I am."
We ate at the kitchen island, shoulders touching. Sushi devoured his plain pancake in two gulps and settled at our feet with a contented sigh. Althea scrolled through her phone idly while stabbing pieces of syrupy pancake.
"Ooooh!" she exclaimed suddenly, sitting up straight. She waggled the phone at me. "Look! The nearby community park is having a 'Paws in the Park' festival today! A whole pet festival! Look at all the booths agility courses, treat bakeries, little pools…" Her eyes were wide with excitement. "We should take Sushi! So he can hang out with his fellow furries! Wouldn't that be cool, Haven? He's such a prince, he needs to see his subjects!"
I looked from her sparkling eyes to Sushi's blissfully napping form. The idea of a crowded, public, sunny park filled with chaotic animals and strangers made my instincts bristle. Too many variables. Too many potential threats. Too many eyes on what was mine.
But she was looking at me with that hope. That life.
"A public park," I stated, my tone neutral.
"Yes! It's just a few blocks away. We can walk! It'll be fun. Fresh air. Sunshine. Happy dogs." She nudged me with her elbow. "Come on. It'll be good for you too. You can't just lurk in shadows and boardrooms forever. Even scary mafia queens need vitamin D."
I arched an eyebrow. "Scary mafia queen, am I?"
"The scariest. And the hottest." She leaned in and planted a sticky, syrupy kiss on my cheek. "Please? For Sushi? For me?"
I was putty in her hands. Syrupy, obsessed putty. "We go. We stay for one hour. We stay together. You don't wander off. Sushi stays on his leash. I am armed."
She rolled her eyes but her smile was victorious. "Deal. So dramatic. It's a pet festival, not a mob war."
"You never know," I muttered, but I was already mentally cataloging the small-caliber pistol that would fit in my waistband under a light jacket.
An hour later, we were walking down the tree-lined street, Sushi leading the way on his leash, his fluffy tail a banner of joy. Althea had chosen a simple sundress, her hair in a loose braid. She looked incandescent. I wore dark jeans, a black tank top, and a lightweight linen shirt left open. The grip of my pistol was a familiar, comforting pressure against the small of my back.
The park was a riot of sound and movement. Barking, laughter, the hum of crowd noise. Tents and booths lined the paths. There were dogs of every size and description. Sushi, our normally placid prince, lost his royal composure entirely. He became a golden, wiggling, sniffing machine.
"He's in heaven," Althea laughed as Sushi strained gently toward a confused-looking pug.
"He's a menace," I corrected, but I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips as I watched her laugh.
We fell into a rhythm. Althea would stop at every other booth, cooing over handmade bandanas or artisan dog treats. Sushi was a magnet for attention. Children pointed, adults smiled.
"Oh, what a beautiful boy!" an elderly woman crooned, bending stiffly to pat his head. Sushi sat, offering a paw. The woman melted.
"What's his name?" a young boy asked, his own small terrier dancing at his feet.
"This is Prince Sushi," Althea announced with pride, as if presenting a dignitary. Sushi puffed his chest out.
"He's so well-behaved!" a man remarked.
"Thank you. We're very proud of him," I heard myself say, the words foreign but genuine. This… this normalcy was a bizarre, out-of-body experience. But with Althea's hand in mine, it felt… possible.
We passed a group of people who looked to be in their late twenties. One woman's eyes widened in recognition. She whispered to her friend, and their gazes flickered to Althea with a mix of surprise and curiosity.
Althea noticed. She tightened her grip on my hand for a second, then lifted her chin. She gave them a small, polite smile.
One of them, emboldened, called out. "Althea? Althea, hi! It's so good to see you out!"
Althea stopped. "Hi," she said, her voice warm but guarded.
"We just… we never see you around the neighborhood anymore. We heard… well, you know. Rumors." The woman shrugged, looking awkward. "It's just a really nice change of pace to see you. We… we kind of thought you might be, you know, a recluse. Or… cruel." She flushed.
Althea's laugh was light, airy, and utterly charming. It was a performance, and she was a master. "Rumors," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "But I'm here, ain't I?" She leaned into my side. "And I'm not alone."
The group nodded, their awkwardness dissolving into smiles. "Well, welcome back! And beautiful dog!"
"Thank you!" Althea chirped, and we moved on.
As we walked away, I squeezed her hand. "Cruel?" I murmured, my voice low.
"Small towns, big imaginations," she sighed, but I saw the faint shadow in her eyes. The memory of isolation. My protectiveness spiked, a sharp, hot blade. I wanted to find the source of every rumor and silence it. Permanently.
"You are the furthest thing from cruel," I stated, my voice leaving no room for argument.
She looked up at me, the shadow fading, replaced by warmth. "I know. I have you to remind me."
We were approaching a quieter spot near a giant oak tree when a voice, bright and clear, rang out. "Oh my god! Althea? ALTHEA!"
A woman was practically sprinting toward us, dragging a tall, sleek woman behind her and a gorgeous, fluffy white Samoyed on a leash. The woman had bouncing curls and an energy that seemed to outshine the sun. She skidded to a halt in front of us, her eyes wide.
"Cousin!" she exclaimed.
Althea blinked, startled. "I… I'm sorry?"
"It's me! Cassara Cross! From your mother's side! The artist branch, not the stuffy lawyer branch, thank God." She was talking a mile a minute. "Oh my gosh, it's been years. I heard you had another terrible accident with cars? I am so sorry, I've been filming on location in Bulgaria for six months, it's a chaos, but I'm glad you're fine! You look amazing!" She finally took a breath, then gestured to the elegant woman beside her, who offered a calm, amused smile. "And this is my fiancée, Thalia Graves. She's also my manager. For now. And this fluffy cloud," she said, gesturing to the patiently sitting Samoyed, "is Marshmallow."
She looked down at Sushi, who was already nose-to-nose with Marshmallow in a polite canine greeting. "And your golden retriever is…?"
"Sushi," Althea said, a real, unguarded smile dawning on her face. She seemed to instinctively trust this human hurricane.
Cassara stared for a beat, then threw her head back and laughed. "SUSHI! Oh, we really are cousins! We named our pets after food! HAHAHAHA! Marshmallow and Sushi! That's fantastic!" She wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, this is too good. Thalia, babe, see? Family."
Thalia extended a hand first to Althea, then to me. Her grip was firm, her gaze intelligent and assessing. She took me in—the posture, the watchfulness, the subtle bulge at my back—and her eyes narrowed just a fraction. She knew she was looking at something dangerous. But she simply smiled. "A pleasure. Cass has talked about her elusive cousin Althea for years."
"Well, here I am," Althea said, seeming genuinely delighted. "Less elusive by the minute."
"You have to hang out with us!" Cassara insisted. "We have a prime spot under the oak tree. We brought a picnic basket big enough for a small army. Come on! Please? Family bonding! Our food-named dogs can play!"
Althea looked at me, a question in her eyes. Is this okay? My every instinct said to extract her, to keep her in our controlled bubble. But this… this was connection. This was her rebuilding a world outside of trauma and my obsession. I couldn't deny her that. Not when she looked so hopeful.
I gave a short, single nod. "We'd be delighted."
Under the sprawling oak, we spread out our blankets. Cassara's picnic basket was, indeed, epic. There were gourmet sandwiches, fruit skewers, mini quiches, and a bottle of sparkling lemonade.
"So, you're in entertainment?" Althea asked as she accepted a quiche from Thalia.
"Actress!" Cassara said around a bite of sandwich. "Struggling, mostly. But Thalia here is a genius. She's navigating me through the shark tank. And we're both Alphas, so it's a double-Alpha power couple situation. Keeps things… interesting." She winked at Thalia, who smiled a private, soft smile.
"And you two?" Thalia asked, her eyes flicking between Althea and me. "What's your dynamic?"
Althea didn't hesitate. She leaned her head against my shoulder. "Haven's my Anchor. My everything, really. I'm… well, I'm just me."
The raw honesty in her words, the public declaration, sent a possessive fire through me so intense I had to focus on breathing. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "She's mine," I said, the words leaving my lips coated in a finality that was both a promise and a warning.
Thalia simply nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. Cassara, however, beamed. "Oh, I love that! So intense! So romantic!"
The dogs, meanwhile, had become fast friends. Sushi and Marshmallow chased each other in gentle circles, then settled down to share a patch of shade, sides touching. It was idyllic.
Until it wasn't.
Cassara was in the middle of a hilarious story about a disastrous audition when Thalia frowned, looking around. "Where's Marshmallow?"
We all looked. The patch of shade was empty. Both dogs were gone. The leashes, which we'd loosely tied to a low branch, lay on the ground, the knots cleverly slipped or chewed through.
"Oh, no," Althea breathed, immediately standing up.
A flash of panic, cold and sharp, gripped me. Not for the dog—for her. If she ran off into this crowd looking for him…
"We'll find them," I said, my voice calm, the voice I used before executing a plan. "They can't have gone far. Althea, you're with me. Cassara, Thalia, you circle the other way. Meet back here in ten minutes."
We split up. Althea's hand was clammy in mine. "Sushi! Sushi, come!" she called, her voice tight with worry.
I scanned the crowd, my hunter's instincts kicking in. I filtered out the human noise, focusing on barks, rustling, anything. Then I heard a distinct, high-pitched yip followed by a familiar, happy bark. It came from behind a large cluster of ornamental grasses near the park's community garden.
"This way," I said, leading Althea through the crowd.
We pushed through the grasses and stopped dead.
There, in a sunny, secluded clearing between the garden beds, were Sushi and Marshmallow. They were not lost. They were… otherwise engaged. Deeply, enthusiastically, caninely otherwise engaged. Marshmallow stood patiently while Sushi, with a look of determined canine concentration, was firmly attached to her hindquarters.
Althea let out a choked sound. I stared, utterly dumbfounded.
A second later, Cassara and Thalia burst through from the other side. Cassara took in the scene, her mouth forming a perfect 'O'.
"Oh. My. God," she whispered, then promptly clapped a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake.
Thalia put her face in her hands. "Marshmallow, you little hussy," she muttered, but her voice was thick with suppressed laughter.
Althea looked from the dogs, to me, to Cassara, and back to the dogs. A giggle escaped her. Then another. It built into full-blown, breathless laughter. She bent double, clutching her stomach. "He's… he's making a… a California roll!" she wheezed.
That did it. Cassara's laughter exploded, loud and unrestrained. Thalia snorted, losing her composure. I felt a rumble in my own chest, and then I was laughing too, a rare, deep, unfettered sound. The absurdity of it—the feared Haven Hartwell, brought to a public park to witness her dog's improvised wedding—was too much.
"Okay, okay," Thalia finally managed, wiping her eyes. "We have to… separate them. But you're not supposed to pull them apart when they're… tied. It can hurt them."
"So we just… wait?" Cassara asked, still giggling.
"We wait," I confirmed, my arm around Althea, who was still trembling with laughter against me.
So we waited. Four women, standing in a semi-circle around two very connected dogs, in the middle of a pet festival. Passersby would glance over, do a double-take, and either quickly look away or smirk.
"This is the most goofy, ridiculous thing," Althea whispered to me, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
"You wanted an adventure," I murmured back, kissing her temple. "You got one."
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, the dogs naturally separated. Sushi trotted over to us, looking immensely pleased with himself, his tongue lolling. Marshmallow followed, serene as ever.
Cassara immediately scooped Marshmallow up. "You are grounded, young lady! No more fancy treats for a week!"
Althea knelt in front of Sushi, taking his face in her hands. "Prince Sushi. You are a scoundrel. An absolute cad. I can't believe you." She was trying to sound stern, but she was still grinning.
Sushi licked her nose.
"Well," Thalia said, sighing. "I guess… we're family now. For real."
Cassara's eyes lit up. "Oh my God, we are! We have to have a wedding! A puppy wedding! Or at least a playdate to discuss puppy support payments!"
The laughter started all over again. As we walked back to our picnic spot, the dogs back on their leashes and seemingly unfazed, Althea slipped her hand into mine. She looked up at me, her face flushed with happiness, her eyes clear and bright.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For this. For everything."
I looked at her—my beautiful, brave, laughing Althea, surrounded by life and sunlight and ridiculous, goofy joy. The obsession inside me swelled, but it wasn't a dark, grasping thing in that moment. It was a fierce, protective, all-consuming love that wanted to freeze this exact scene in time forever. I wanted to build a fortress around this happiness and keep it safe forever.
"Always," I promised, my voice a vow in the bustling air. "For you, always."
The chapter of our life was no longer just about recovery from darkness. It was now also about this: sunshine, misplaced dogs, syrup kisses, and the bewildering, wonderful normalcy of a shared picnic. And as we rejoined our new… family… under the oak tree, I knew with absolute certainty that I would burn the whole world to the ground to keep this feeling alive. Starting with anyone who dared to make her stop laughing.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of easy laughter and startling normalcy. We exchanged numbers with Cassara and Thalia, promising with genuine intent on Althea's part and wary tolerance on mine to have dinner soon. As the festival wound down, we walked home, Sushi trotting contently between us, his adventure clearly a success.
My mind, however, was a battlefield. The joy of seeing Althea so unfettered warred with a deep, primal terror. Every smile she gave to a stranger, every independent thought, was a tiny fracture in the control I'd vowed to relinquish. I'd promised no cage. But my hands itched to build the bars higher.
"I'm starving again," Althea announced as we stepped through the front door, kicking off her sandals. "All that laughing and sun. I want… takeout. The greasiest, most unhealthy takeout imaginable."
I arched a brow, leaning against the doorframe as she padded into the living room. "After your pancake manifesto at lunch?"
"sticky sweet!" she declared, spinning to face me, her sundress flaring. "We had wholesome park fun. Now I want decadent couch sloth. Pizza. And… ooh, Korean fried chicken. The really sticky, spicy kind."
It was a health hazard. It was a culinary abomination compared to what my chef could prepare. It was everything she wanted. "If that's what my queen desires," I said, pulling out my phone.
But before I could dial, she held up her own phone, a triumphant little grin on her face. "Already ordered! While we were walking home. It'll be here in twenty. Extra cheese, extra spicy. I paid for it, too." She puffed out her chest slightly, a proud gleam in her eye. "My card finally works on the app. Figured it out."
The statement hit me like a physical blow. This girl, my beautiful, broken bird, was trying out her wings. Not to fly away from me, but simply to do something for herself. For us. It was cute. It was heartwarming.
It was horrifying.
What if I can't control this anymore? The thought was a silent scream in the vault of my mind. She was learning, growing, becoming more capable by the day. The amnesia had made her dependent; her recovery was making her independent. We'd talked. I'd promised. No cage. No manipulation. But the fear was a living thing, coiling around my ribs, squeezing my heart. The thought of her not needing me was a special kind of hell. The thought of her wanting me but not requiring me was somehow worse. What if my obsession was the only tether, and she learned to cut it?
I must have been silent too long, my expression unreadable even to myself. Her smile faltered. "Haven? Is… is that okay? I just wanted to… you're always doing everything. I wanted to treat you."
I crossed the space between us in two strides, cupping her face. "It is more than okay," I said, my voice rough. I kissed her, pouring every ounce of my tumultuous fear and adoration into it. "It's perfect. You are perfect. Thank you."
The food arrived, a fragrant, greasy bounty. We spread it out on the coffee table, abandoning plates for the simple joy of eating with our fingers straight from the boxes. We found some stand-up comedy special, the easy laughter from the park continuing in the dim, cozy light of the living room. Sushi, exhausted from his royal duties, snored softly on his bed in the corner.
But I couldn't focus on the screen. My world had narrowed to the woman beside me. The way her tongue darted out to catch a string of melting cheese. The delighted mmms she made as she bit into the crispy, sticky chicken. The sauce smudged at the corner of her mouth. She was a vision of messy, joyful life, and I was a starving woman at a feast.
She noticed my stare. Mid-bite, she paused, her eyes meeting mine over a drumstick. A slow, knowing grin spread across her sauce-glossed lips. She deliberately sucked the sauce from her thumb, then held her hand out to me, fingers slick and shiny.
"Haven," she said, her voice a low, playful challenge. "Lick it."
A bolt of pure, undiluted lust shot through me. The command, the audacity, the sheer intimacy of it. My obsessive heart roared in approval. Yes. Claim. Consume. I didn't hesitate. I took her wrist gently, my eyes locked on hers, and brought her fingers to my mouth. I took her index finger between my lips, slowly, thoroughly cleaning the sweet-spicy sauce from it. I repeated the action with each finger, my tongue swirling, coaxing, my gaze never leaving her burning face. It was not just cleaning; it was a worshipful, carnal promise. Every part of you is mine to taste.
When I was done, her breathing was shallow, her pupils blown wide. I released her hand and moved. In one smooth motion, I was on my knees beside the couch, caging her against the cushions. My face was inches from hers. I could smell the chicken, the cheese, and beneath it, the vanilla strawberry scent of her arousal. It was the most intoxicating perfume on earth.
I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. My voice dropped to a predatory whisper. "Can we make love tonight, Althea?"
I felt her entire body shudder. A sharp gasp hitched in her throat, and the heat radiating from her skin intensified. "Oh my god, Haven," she breathed, a shaky laugh escaping her. "You're initiating. That's… that's cute. Alright."
Cute. I was a panther poised to devour, and she called me cute. It only stoked the fire.
She didn't wait for me. With a boldness that stole my breath, she reached for the hem of her sundress and pulled it up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her bra followed. She sat before me, gloriously bare from the waist up, bathed in the flickering light of the television, her skin pebbled with goosebumps and desire. Her consent was an action, not a word. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever witnessed.
"That's my girl," I growled, the possession in my voice thick and undeniable. I yanked my own shirt and bra off, discarding them. "So sexy." I crashed my lips onto hers, the kiss instantly deep and claiming. I tasted the remnants of our meal and the unique flavor of her.
As our tongues tangled, I settled my weight over her, one knee between her thighs on the couch. The friction of my denim-clad knee against the thin fabric of her panties made her moan into my mouth. I lowered my torso, rubbing my bare breasts against hers. The sensation softness against softness, pebbled peaks scraping together was exquisite.
She gasped, breaking the kiss. "Ahh… boobies on boobies."
I chuckled, the sound dark and low against her throat. "You like that, Althea?"
"No…" she whimpered, arching her back to press us closer. "I love it."
A victorious thrill shot through me. I continued the delicious friction, then slid a hand between us to capture her left breast. I molded it, my thumb sweeping over the taut nipple in slow, deliberate circles. She cried out, her hands fisting in my hair. I broke away from her mouth, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her sternum until I took her right nipple into my mouth. I sucked, hard, then soothed with my tongue, before grazing it gently with my teeth. My other hand plucked and pinched her left nipple, orchestrating a symphony of sensation.
Beneath me, on my knee still pressed firmly between her legs, I could feel the heat and dampness seeping through her panties. The fabric was soaked. A dark chuckle escaped me. "So wet for me already, my love," I murmured against her damp skin.
"Haven… please…"
"Please what, sweetheart?" I lifted my head, meeting her desperate, hazy eyes. My hand slid down her trembling stomach, over the lace of her panties, pressing down firmly on the soaked core of her. She jerked, a broken sob leaving her lips. "Can I remove these?" I asked, my voice deceptively gentle, my fingers hooking into the lace. "Can I see what you've done for me?"
"Yes. God, yes."
In a swift move, I peeled the ruined panties down her legs and off. I stood just long enough to shuck my own jeans and panties, leaving us both utterly bare in the shadowy living room. The comedy special played on, forgotten, its laughter a bizarre soundtrack to our intensity.
I knelt on the couch again, but this time I positioned myself above her, one thigh settling between hers, my knee nudging her legs further apart. I leaned down, supporting my weight on my forearms beside her head, our faces close. Our bodies aligned, but not yet joined in the way she might have expected.
"I want to feel all of you," I whispered, my voice husky with need. I began to move, a slow, rocking grind of my hips, bringing my wet, heated core into direct, sliding contact with hers.
(its like scissoring but yea <.< goodluck to thy imagination - author)
The sensation was electric, overwhelming in its intimacy. It was skin on sensitive skin, a shared rhythm, a joining without penetration that felt somehow deeper. A shared gasp tore from both of us.
"Oh, Haven," Althea moaned, her hands scrambling to grip my hips, trying to guide my rhythm.
I kept the pace slow, torturous, building the fire by degrees. "This," I panted, my forehead against hers. "This feeling… you wrapped around me, us moving as one… this is ours. Do you feel it, Althea? Do you feel how we fit?"
"Yes… it's… I've never… I love this position, Haven," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. "It's like… you're everywhere."
"I am," I vowed, increasing the pressure and speed slightly. The slick, hot glide was becoming frantic. My thoughts were a litany of possession. Mine. This heat is mine. These sounds are mine. This pleasure is mine to give and take. "You are mine. Every sigh, every tremor. Say it."
"I'm yours," she sobbed, her hips meeting my every grind. "Only yours. Haven… please…"
"Come for me, my love," I commanded, my voice breaking as my own climax coiled tight, sparked by the friction and the sight of her unraveling beneath me. "Let me feel you come on me. Now."
It was the permission she needed. Her body bowed off the couch, a silent scream on her lips as she shattered, her inner muscles fluttering against me, her release adding to the slick intensity between us. The feeling of her climax triggering mine was instantaneous. My own orgasm ripped through me, a wave of blinding pleasure that had me crying out her name, my hips stuttering against hers as I rode out the shared convulsions.
We collapsed together, a sweaty, trembling heap on the couch, breathing in ragged unison. But my body, my treacherous, Alpha body, was not done. As the aftershocks faded, I felt the familiar, welcome pressure of my shaft materializing, pressing insistently against her thigh.
Desire, thoughtless and profound, reignited. I needed to be inside her. To seal the claim in the most fundamental way. With a groan, I gathered her limp, boneless form into my arms, standing in one motion.
"Bed," I rasped, carrying her towards the hallway.
But as I passed the wall near the staircase, she stirred. Her arms tightened around my neck. "Wait," she breathed, her voice hazy but intent. "Here first. My love. Right here."
Her demand, her desire to take me in this semi-public space of our home, sent a fresh jolt of lust through me. I obeyed instantly. I turned and pressed her back against the cool wall, supporting her weight with my hands under her thighs. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her heat nestled against the head of my shaft.
I didn't wait. I drove into her in one deep, claiming stroke.
She cried out, her head falling back against the wall with a soft thud. "Haven! You're so… deep. I can feel you… throbbing in me. Ah… I love you." She dragged my face to hers, kissing me with a passionate ferocity that matched my own.
I began to move, deep, rhythmic thrusts that pushed her against the wall with each one. The hallway echoed with the sounds of our skin meeting, our ragged breaths, our whispered names. It was raw, urgent, a physical manifestation of the fear and possession churning inside me. I was marking her, claiming her, anchoring myself inside her so she could never, ever drift away.
"You are my heart," I grunted against her neck, my thrusts becoming less controlled, more desperate. "My soul. My only god. Althea…"
"Yours," she chanted, her nails scoring down my back. "Always yours. Haven, I'm close… again…"
"Come with me," I demanded, my own peak rushing up like a tsunami. "Now."
We fell together, a second, more devastating climax seizing us simultaneously. My shout was swallowed by her mouth as she screamed into mine. I held her there, pinned between my body and the wall, as we shuddered through the endless waves, my release filling her, my mind chanting a single word: MineMineMine.
When I could move again, my legs weak, I carefully carried her the rest of the way to our bedroom. I laid her down on the rumpled sheets, her body glowing in the moonlight, marked by my passion. But the night was not over. The obsession was a hungry beast, and it demanded to be fed until dawn.
I joined her on the bed, my body covering hers again, but this time with a slower, more languorous intent. We made love again, a long, drawn-out exploration. I worshipped every inch of her with my mouth and hands before finally sheathing myself inside her once more. This time, we talked.
"Do you have any idea," I murmured, moving within her with slow, deep rolls of my hips, "what you do to me? When you laughed today in the sun?"
"Tell me," she whispered, her legs locked around me.
"You unravel me. You make the monster purr. You make me want to be a better woman, just so I can be worthy of the way you look at me."
"You are worthy," she insisted, lifting her hips to meet me. "You're everything."
"I'm obsessed."
"I know." She smiled, a tender, accepting curve of her lips. "I'm obsessed with you, too. With your strength. With the way you look at me like I'm the only light in your universe."
"You are." My rhythm faltered with the intensity of the truth. "The only light. The only sound. The only thing that matters."
We moved together in a slow, building rhythm, trading whispers, promises, and kisses until the pleasure became a tight, sweet coil once more. This climax, when it came, was not a wildfire but a deep, resonant bloom that spread through every cell, leaving us breathless and utterly spent.
Finally, finally, the beast was sated. For now.
I collapsed beside her, pulling her into my arms, her back to my front. I kissed her sweaty shoulder, her neck. Then, with a tenderness that felt foreign even to me, I disentangled myself. I fetched a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom and returned to the bed.
She was nearly asleep, her breathing deep and even. "Haven?" she mumbled.
"Shhh, my love. Just taking care of you." Gently, I wiped the evidence of our passion from her inner thighs, from her stomach, from between her breasts. Each swipe of the cloth was a prayer, a promise, a branding. I will care for you. I will clean your wounds and your pleasures. I will be your beginning and your end.
When she was clean, I pulled the soft sheets over us both and drew her back into the fortress of my arms. She sighed, nestling against me, completely pliant and trusting.
In the dark, with her heartbeat slowing against mine, the fear returned, but quieter now, soothed by the scent of sex and vanilla strawberry that clung to her skin, by the physical proof of our connection still tingling in my own body.
You can have your independence, I thought, my lips against her hair, my obsession a silent, eternal vow in the quiet room. You can order takeout and pay with your own card. You can make friends and go to festivals. You can spread your wings as wide as they will go.
But remember, my beautiful, daring bird…
I am the sky.