I have a fuzzy recollection of him carrying me downstairs and sliding into bed while never losing our connection. The act is wild and possessive, straight out of the smutty omegaverse novels I read—an alpha knotting his omega.
His soft breath ruffles my hair, telling me he’s asleep.
This is my chance to escape.
But his thick cock is too damn distracting. Even at half-mast, it’s stretching me good. For an old man, he sure has a lot of stamina. Matt’s pales in comparison to his. The difference is almost laughable.
Stop comparing their dicks, Molly.
Carefully, I cup his wrist and lift it. I pause for a few seconds as a precaution before shifting away, little by little, until we’re connected only by his cock. I can’t help but clench around him. Heart racing, I spread my thighs and relax my muscles, praying he slips out.
Biting my lip to stifle a moan from the feel of his veins rubbing deliciously against me, I move to the side again. Just his tip remains inside me.
So close.
I stretch to my right.
Just one more?—
I’m hauled against a hard chest. A low growl before Alexander growls, “Where do you think you’re sneaking off to, little bird?”
“Let me go!” I yell.
With a tilt of his hips, he impales me with his shaft.
I hate how perfect and right it feels.
“Damn you!” I curse furiously.
Flipping me onto my back, he straddles me and shoves my arms over my head. Leaning down into my face, he says, “How long are you going to keep fighting us?”
“Until it gets through to your head that I don’t want to be yours.”
His jaw grinds before he abruptly pulls out of me.
The loss of our intimacy doesn’t bring any satisfaction.
I feel bereft and cold.
When he gets off the bed and walks out of the room, I have the urge to chase after him. Yank him against me and kiss the anger and hurt away.
I’m confused at my reaction all over again.
Instead of using the opportunity to skip away, I stare up at the ceiling. The heavy footfalls drag my attention to the beastly naked man striding my way. Alexander’s handsome face is a mask of indifference.
It stings.
I shuffle to sit up against the headboard as he drags a chair to the edge of the bed. It’s when he sits down that I see him holding a diary.
Wait… why does it look familiar?
Flipping it open, he begins to read, “I’mcrushingon Sheriff Smith, and it’s becoming intense day by day…”
My throat goes dry, my eyes widening in utter shock.
He’s readingmypersonal diary.
How did he find it? I keep it at my house in the locked drawer of my nightstand.
