Chapter 3

I woke to the feeling of being full.

Not just sated, but physically, profoundly full. His knot was still locked inside me, a thick, unyielding pressure that was a constant, intimate reminder of the night before. The fever in my blood had cooled, but it hadn’t gone out; it had banked, waiting. And as I blinked my eyes open in the dim grey light of dawn, I realized it wasn’t just my heat that had changed. It was him.

The alpha was still asleep, but his sleep was not peaceful. His brow was furrowed, and a low, continuous growl rumbled in his chest, a sound I felt more than heard. It was the sound of a rut. My heat had triggered his primal response, and now he was just as much a slave to his instincts as I had been. The scent in the room had changed, too. It was darker, more aggressive. My sweet, desperate omega scent was still there, but it was now layered with his dominant, possessive musk, a scent that said *mine* over and over again.

As if he felt my gaze, his eyes snapped open. They weren’t soft with sleep. They were burning with a predatory, hungry light that made my breath catch. He looked at me, truly looked at me, for the first time in the light. His gaze was possessive, sweeping over my face, my neck, the bite mark he’d left on my shoulder that was already bruising into a dark, possessive purple.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice a rough, morning rasp that scraped over my nerves.

He didn’t wait for a response. With a powerful shift of his hips, he rolled us, his weight a delicious, heavy blanket that pinned me to the cot. I was now on my back, and he was over me, his arms caging my head, his body a wall of muscle and heat. His knot was still lodged deep inside me, and the new position sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through my already sensitive core.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to. His eyes held me captive as he began to move. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate rutting from the night before. This was slower, more intentional, but no less intense. He pulled back slightly, the ridge of his knot dragging against my inner walls, making me gasp. Then he pushed forward, a deep, grinding thrust that seated him even deeper inside me.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He punctuated the question with a sharp thrust of his hips.

“You,” I breathed, my hands coming up to clutch his biceps.

“Louder.”

“You!” I cried out as he did it again, the stimulation sending sparks of pleasure dancing behind my eyes.

He took his time, establishing a punishing rhythm. Each deep, grinding stroke was a claim, a reminder of his possession. His eyes never left mine, forcing me to witness my own surrender, to see the raw, undisguised lust in his gaze as he watched my body react to his. This wasn’t just about pleasure; it was about dominance. He was rewriting my very soul with his scent, his touch, his cock.

His mouth descended to my neck, not to the bite mark, but to the other side, to the sensitive skin where my pulse fluttered wildly. He didn’t bite, just breathed me in, then scraped his teeth against my flesh, a teasing, threatening promise. I whimpered, tilting my head to give him better access, a silent invitation for him to complete the mark, to make me his forever.

“Not yet,” he rasped against my skin, reading my mind. “You’ll beg for it before I give it to you again.”

One of his hands left the cot and slid down my body, his fingers finding my clit. He began to circle it in time with his slow, deep thrusts, and I saw stars. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, a tight, hot coil winding in my belly, pulling tighter and tighter with every stroke, every circle of his thumb.

“Please,” I begged, my voice a broken moan. I didn’t know what I was begging for—for release, for him to stop, for him to never stop.

“Come for me, omega,” he commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through my entire body. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”

His words were my undoing. The coil snapped, and my orgasm crashed over me as a of pleasure so intense it stole my breath. I screamed his name, my back arching off the cot as my inner walls clamped down around his knot, rippling and milking him. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of satisfaction, as he followed me over the edge. I felt the hot, powerful pulses of his release as he flooded me again.

He collapsed on top of me, his weight pinning me, his face buried in my hair. We were both panting, our bodies slick with sweat. For a long moment, we just lay there, tied together, the only sounds our ragged breaths and the frantic beating of our hearts.

After what felt like an eternity, his knot began to recede. The sensation was strange, a slow, aching release of the pressure that had been a constant presence. He finally pulled out of me, and I felt an immediate, hollow sense of loss. A rush of his seed and my slick followed, coating my thighs.

He rolled off me, but he didn’t go far. He propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes still burning with that intense, possessive fire. He watched me for a moment, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

Then, without a word, he reached out and hooked a hand around my waist, pulling my body back against his. He settled me so my back was to his chest, my body tucked into his, like I was made to fit there. His arm wrapped around my waist, his hand s possessively over my stomach.

“Sleep,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re going to need your strength.”

And as the heavy weight of his arm and the overwhelming, comforting scent of my alpha settled over me, I realized the fever wasn’t just a temporary affliction. It was my new reality. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.