POV Blake
When cornered animals have two options—fight or flight—I've discovered a third: fuck your way out of danger.
The bedroom air practically vibrates with all the questions Matthias isn't asking anymore because my tongue is in his mouth.
This isn't about desire—okay, that's a lie, it's like 30% desire—but mostly it's survival.
Every "who are you really?" brings me closer to a shallow grave, and I've learned that nothing shuts down an Alpha's critical thinking faster than a determined woman in his bed.
I press against him like my life depends on it, which it literally might, and kiss him with the desperation of someone whose cover story is held together with dental floss and prayer.
My hands are already working his clothes off while my brain runs damage control calculations.
Diary under my pillow to our left, next to the burner phone.
Exit strategy: Nonexistent. Current plan: Screw him senseless and hope for amnesia.
Whatever this magnetic insanity is—it kicks into overdrive the second our skin connects.
It's like being electrocuted by horniness, which sounds ridiculous but accurately describes the sensation of every nerve ending screaming ‘more’ at maximum volume.
I push Matthias in his chest softly and climb into his lap again, strategic positioning to get him as far from those pillows as possible, and grind down in a way that makes his eyes roll back. Success.
Critical thinking: totally offline. Dick: very online.
"Amelia…" he groans, and the wrong name is a bucket of ice water I push through.
His control snaps like a cheap thread. One second I'm on his lap playing chess with my vagina, the next I'm airborne. My back hits the wall hard enough to rattle the framed pictures, and then he's on me like a man possessed.
This is what happens when you poke the Alpha, kids.
Matthias’s hands are like iron on my hips, his grip biting into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises that’ll bloom later like some fucked-up love letter.
His cock is buried deep inside me, relentless and unyielding, every thrust punching a moan out of me that sounds more like a sob.
The wall at my back groans under the force of his body slamming into mine. His breath is hot and ragged against my neck, his teeth grazing the skin there as if he’s debating whether to mark me permanently.
“Fuck,” he growls, the word low and guttural, like it’s been dragged straight up from the depths of his soul.
His hips snap forward again, driving me harder into the wall, and I swear I can feel him in my throat.
My legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as if I can fuse myself to him. My nails rake down his shoulders, leaving angry red trails that’ll sting later, but right now all he does is groan like it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.
“You’re mine,” he snarls, his voice rough with possession, and for a second I almost believe him.
His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding, and I bite back with just as much ferocity.
Our teeth clash, tongues tangling in a battle that’s more fight than kiss. He licks into my mouth like he’s trying to taste every secret I’ve ever kept, and I let him because I’m too fucking far gone to care.
His hand slips between us, fingers finding my clit with unerring precision.
The shock of pleasure almost blinds me, and I cry out, the sound muffled by his mouth still claiming mine.
He works me with brutal efficiency, his fingers circling that swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves like he’s determined to push me over the edge right fucking now.
And God, I’m close—so fucking close—but I don’t want it to end. Not yet.
“Matthias,” I pant, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. His name tastes like desperation on my tongue. “Fuck, please—”
“Not yet,” he growls, his voice like gravel.
He slows his thrusts, dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming back in with a force that makes me see stars.
My head falls back against the wall, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath, but it’s impossible when he feels this good. Every inch of him is pure, unrelenting ecstasy, and I’m drowning in it.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters against my skin, his voice trembling with something that sounds awfully close to awe. “How you can be so fucking perfect?”
I don’t know if it’s the words or the way he says them, but something in me snaps.
I grab his face, forcing him to look at me, and the intensity in his eyes is enough to make my stomach drop. There’s something raw and unfiltered there, something that makes my chest ache even as my body screams for more.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice breaking on the words.
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.
His hips snap forward again, faster and harder than before, he’s driving into me with a precision that has me seeing freaking fireworks behind my eyelids. His fingers never let up on my clit, the dual stimulation pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
I can feel it building, coiling tight in my belly, and I know I’m not going to last much longer.
“Matthias—” His name on my lips is a plea for mercy and destruction all at once. “I’m gonna—”
“Come,” he orders, his voice rough with command. “Come for your husband, wifey.”
That word, coming out of his mouth, was the last straw of my sanity. Goddess.
My body is ready to obey the command, to meet the orgasm with open arms. I’m clenching around his cock, milking him for every drop of pleasure he has to give, and Matthias growls low in his throat, his hips stuttering.
We both are so fucking close—
"Matthias! We need you, now! The Riverside pack just crossed our borders."
Apparently, salvation arrives in the form of his Beta Zack's voice, slamming at our bedroom door.
Matthias freezes, his whole body going rigid in a way that has nothing to do with our current position. The growl that rumbles from his chest could peel paint.
Cock-blocked by international werewolf incidents, I guess.
"I'm going to kill him…" he mutters against my throat.
"Border violations seem like a valid reason for interruption," I manage, trying to sound like someone who isn't currently being pinned to a wall by two hundred pounds of sexually frustrated Alpha.
He pulls back enough to look at me, and Christ, his eyes are more wolf than man.
"We're not done," he says, voice rough as gravel. "We'll finish this properly when I get back."
The statement hangs heavy with double meaning.
This—the sex? The interrogation? The slow unraveling of my desperate deception?
All of the above?
He sets me down like I'm made of spun glass, which is hilarious considering he was just railing me like a jackhammer.
I watch him dress with mechanical efficiency, every movement screaming barely leashed control. The muscles in his back ripple with tension, and I have the inappropriate urge to bite them.
Focus, Blake. Mission, not muscles.
He pauses at the door, looking back with eyes that promise everything and threaten even more. "Don't go anywhere."
"Where would I go?" I aim for light, but it comes out breathless.
His smile is all predator. "Exactly."