Danica’s POV
His lips were gone before I could even process what had happened. My heart pounded as Alpha Nicholas held my hand tightly and walked past Beta Doris and Alpha Kendrick, stunned into silence.
I didn’t dare look back. But I could feel Kendrick’s burning gaze searing into my back.
He had always been confident, always in control. And now, for the first time, I had seen him speechless.
The door slammed shut behind us. The lock clicked.
I turned to face Nicholas, my chest heaving. His eyes were dark, his breathing uneven. There was something almost dangerous in the way he looked at me, something primal.
“I didn’t know you cared,” I said, my tone smug even as my heart raced.
His expression remained cold, unreadable. “I don’t.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Then what are you doing here?” I folded my arms across my chest, not backing down. “You rejected me. It’s time I move on.”
His jaw clenched. “You told me you didn’t want a mate.”
“And?” I arched a brow, daring him to continue.
He took a sharp step toward me, closing the distance between us. His scent, earthy, masculine, intoxicating, wrapped around me, but I refused to back down.
His voice was low, dangerous. “If you accept that jerk, I’ll kill you.”
A bitter laugh bubbled from my lips. “Well, that would be better than becoming an object of ridicule here. You've ridiculed me enough, Alpha.”
He flinched, just slightly, but I caught it.
“You act like you own me,” I continued, my anger bubbling over. “You rejected me. You ignored me. You made sure everyone knew that I meant nothing to you. And now, suddenly, I’m yours?”
He didn’t answer. His fists clenched at his sides.
“I don’t belong to you, Nicholas,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “I’m done being treated like some disposable warrior in your pack.”
His eyes darkened. “You think I can just stand by and watch Kendrick take you?”
“I don’t care what you do,” I shot back. “You don’t get to decide what happens to me anymore.”
His nostrils flared. His breathing was heavy, controlled—barely.
“I should let you go,” he said quietly.
“Yes, you should,” I snapped.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he grabbed my wrist. His touch was firm, his skin burning against mine. My body betrayed me, a shiver running down my spine despite the fury still boiling in my blood.
“Let. Me. Go,” I hissed.
His grip tightened for a second before I yanked my arm away.
I turned to leave, determined to walk out of his life the way he had walked out of mine. But the moment I moved, he blocked my path, his tall frame looming over me.
“Move,” I growled.
His eyes locked onto mine, filled with something raw, something terrifying.
“No.”
The word was barely a whisper before he grabbed me again—this time with both hands.
I gasped, my breath catching in my throat as he cursed under his breath and crushed his lips against mine.
He lay me sprawled on the bed, my tits spilling out of a lace bra that looked like it had been ripped off in a frenzy, the fabric barely clinging to her nipples, which were hard as fucking diamonds. My skirt was hiked up to her waist, revealing the slick, glistening mess between her thighs. My pussy was swollen, puffy, and dripping, begging for something, anything, to fill it.
He stood over me, his cock a fucking weapon of mass destruction. It was thick, veiny, and pulsing with need, pre-cum oozing from the tip like it couldn’t wait to paint me insides with his filth. His pants were pooled around his ankles, his ass clenched with anticipation, every muscle in his body taut like a fucking bowstring ready to snap.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he growled, his voice low and rough, like gravel dragged over silk. His fingers, thick and calloused, trailed down my stomach, leaving a trail of fire in our wake. He didn’t ask for permission; he didn’t need to. I was his, and he was going to fucking ruin me.
His fingers plunged into my pussy without warning, curling and twisting, finding that sweet spot that made me scream. My back arched off the bed, my tits bouncing, my mouth falling open in a silent scream. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his fingers pistoning in and out of me, the sound obscenely wet, like he was fucking me with a mop in a bucket of water.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunted, his breath hot against my neck. “You like that, Danica? You like being filled up?”
I couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, my body was a writhing, trembling mess. But he didn’t care. He was too busy yanking my legs apart, spreading me wide open like he was about to feast on the most decadent fucking meal of his life.
And then suddenly, his tongue was on me, flat and wet and fucking relentless. He ate me pussy like a man starved, his tongue lapping at my clit, flicking and sucking, his nose buried in my slick folds. I came almost instantly, my legs trembling, my pussy clenching around nothing, my juice dripping down his chin like he was drinking from a fountain of sin.
But he wasn’t done. He was just getting started.