Chapter 11 #2
The words hung in the air between us, sharp and cutting. For a moment, I thought he might step back, might decide this argument wasn’t worth having. Instead, he pressed me fully against the workbench, his thigh sliding between my legs.
“You want to know the difference between protection and possession?” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent heat spiraling through my belly. “Protection is making sure you don’t have to deal with a bunch of bureaucratic nonsense. Possession is what I’m going to do to you right now.”
Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. I should have pushed him away, should have maintained my anger, but the bond between us was singing with need and my body was responding to his alpha aggression with a surge of arousal that made my knees weak.
“Dominic,” I gasped against his lips, “Marcus is outside—”
“I locked the door when I came in,” he said, his hands already working at the buttons of my shirt. “Not leaving here without having you first.”
The raw honesty in his voice sent heat straight to my core. “Someone could see through the windows—”
“Not where we’re going,” he said, pulling me toward the back of the shop, toward the extension my grandfather had said his parents had added in the 1930s. The space was separated from the main shop by a partial wall, invisible from the street windows, private enough for what he intended.
I let him pull me into the back room, my anger and arousal tangling together in a way that made everything more intense. When he pushed me against the wall beside my storage shelves, I was already breathing hard, already getting slick with want.
“You think I’m controlling?” he said, his hands spanning my waist, holding me in place. “You haven’t seen controlling yet.”
“Prove it,” I challenged, meeting his gaze with all the defiance I could muster.
His smile was sharp and predatory, his fangs on full display. “Oh, sweetheart, I was hoping you’d say that.”
His hands went to my shirt, not bothering with buttons this time. I heard fabric tear as he pulled it open, felt the cool air hit my skin as he pushed the ruined cotton off my shoulders.
“I’ll buy you ten new shirts,” he said, muffling my disgruntled squeak of protest with his mouth. “Right now, I need you naked.”
His hands were already working at my belt, pulling it free with a single efficient movement. When he dropped to his knees to remove my boots and socks, I had to brace myself against the wall to stay upright.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said, his hands sliding up my calves as he rose to his feet. “And you’re mine.”
“Dominic—”
“Say it,” he commanded, his fingers trailing along the waistband of my underwear. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, because it was true despite everything else, despite our argument and all the ways we were still figuring out how to be together.
“That’s right,” he said, finally pulling down my underwear and leaving me completely bare. “Mine to protect, mine to worry about, mine to fuck.”
The crude language sent another spike of arousal through me. “You’re still dressed,” I pointed out, reaching for his shirt buttons.
He caught my hands, pinning them against the wall above my head. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me yet, omega.”
He drawled out the last word, his voice caressing each syllable. The dominance in his voice made my omega’s body sing with submission, but the stubborn part of me that had started this argument wasn’t ready to give in completely.
“Since when do I need permission?” I retorted petulantly.
“Since you decided to question my judgment,” he said, using his free hand to trace patterns on my chest. His calloused thumb swept across my nipple, causing my breath to hitch. “Since you decided to be a brat.”
“Your judgment is flawed,” I managed, though it was getting harder to think with his hands on my skin, teasing me.
“Is it?” His fingers found my other nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until I arched against the wall. “Because my judgment says you’re wet for me right now.”
I couldn’t deny it when the evidence was literally dripping down my thighs. “You just scented me, that’s all. Alphas and your bloodhound noses—”
His palm connected with my ass, the sound sharp and loud in the cramped space.
A startled yelp escaped my throat, my body jerking forward. The sting faded almost instantly, replaced by a surge of heat that shot straight to my cock. My cheeks burned as I processed what had just happened—and how much I'd liked it.
"Should I bend you over my knee and spank your ass?" he asked, his hand sliding between my cheeks, teasing but not touching where I needed him most. "Or should we save that for later?"
“Dom, please,” I whispered, my hips trying to chase his touch.
“Please what?” He was enjoying this, enjoying having me desperate and needy while he maintained perfect control.
“Touch me,” I said, giving up the pretense of resistance. “Please, I need—”
“You need your alpha to take care of you,” he finished, finally sliding his fingers through my slick.
His fingers were skilled and knowing, finding exactly the right pressure and rhythm to have me gasping his name. When he pushed two inside me, I could have cried with relief.
“That’s it,” he said, pressing deeper. “Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”
I was already close, the combination of emotional intensity and physical pleasure overwhelming my senses. When he added a third finger, stretching me open, I shattered with a cry that echoed in the small space.
“Beautiful,” he said, working me through the aftershocks. “Absolutely fucking beautiful when you come for me.”
I was still catching my breath when he pulled his fingers away, bringing them to his mouth to taste me. The sight of him licking my slick from his skin sent another pulse of arousal through me.
“Your turn,” I said, reaching for his belt with hands that were still shaking.
This time he didn’t stop me, letting me work his belt free and push his slacks down just enough for access.
I tugged his shirt open, buttons scattering, revealing the lean muscle and controlled power beneath.
He was still mostly clothed, but what I could see made my mouth water—his cock hard and ready for me, his chest rising and falling with controlled desire.
“Like what you see?” he asked, noting my appreciative stare.
“Always,” I breathed.
“How do you want me?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
“Turn around,” he said, his hands already guiding me to face the wall again. “Hands flat against the wall, legs spread.”
I complied, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the best possible way. When he stepped up behind me, his chest against my back, his cock pressing against my entrance, I felt completely claimed.
“You sure you want this?” he asked, his voice gentler despite the dominant position. “We’re both still angry.”
“I’m sure,” I said, pushing back against him. “I need this. Need you.”
He pushed into me slowly, letting me adjust to his size despite the urgency that had driven us to this point. When he was fully seated inside me, we both went still for a moment, breathing hard.
“You feel so good,” he said against my ear. His fingers dug into my hip while his other hand traced along my spine, eliciting goosebumps across my skin. “So tight, so perfect for me.”
Then he started moving, and all thoughts of our argument disappeared under waves of pleasure. Each thrust drove deep, finding that perfect spot that made my vision blur.
“This is what you need,” he said, his voice rough with exertion. “Tell me you need this, baby.”
“Yes,” I gasped, my hands scrabbling for purchase against the smooth wall. “Oh, yes… don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promised, his pace increasing. “Going to take care of you always, going to keep you safe and satisfied and mine.”
The possessive promise, combined with the perfect angle of his thrusts, sent me spiraling toward another climax. When he reached around to stroke my cock in rhythm with his movements, I came with a shout.
My body clenching around his cock sent him over the edge. He tensed, muscles rigid as he drove forward. With a final powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his deep groan vibrating against my back as his warmth filled me.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, letting the intensity of what had just happened settle between us. When he finally pulled out, I felt empty and satisfied in equal measure.
“Come here,” he said, turning me around and pulling me against his chest. “Let me hold you.”
I melted into his embrace, the anger from our argument finally dissolving under the weight of physical satisfaction and emotional exhaustion. His scent was warm and comforting around me, mixed with the musk of our recent activities.
“We’re still going to argue about the housing situation,” I said against his chest.
“I know,” he said, his hands stroking through my hair. “But we’re going to figure it out together.”
Before I could respond, he surprised me by bending down and scooping me up in his arms, carrying me toward the stairs that led to my apartment.
“W—what are you doing?”
“Taking care of you properly,” he said, navigating the narrow stairs with practiced ease. “I know the way.”
My heart fluttered with affection and arousal in equal measure. He did know the way—to my small kitchenette, my cozy bedroom, and to the bathroom where he could clean us both up properly.
In the bathroom, he was gentle and thorough, cleaning away the evidence of our passionate encounter with warm washcloths and soft touches.
The tenderness was almost overwhelming after the intensity of what had just happened.
His hands were reverent as they moved over my skin, checking for any soreness, making sure I was comfortable.
When he helped me into a clean shirt, his fingers lingered on my skin in ways that made my pulse quicken again.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his hands stilling on the fabric. “For being a controlling bastard earlier. I know you’re not fragile. I just… when it comes to protecting you, I don’t always think clearly.”
The apology was exactly what I needed to hear. “I know you’re just trying to protect me. But I need to be part of the decisions that affect our life together.”
“You’re right. I know you're right,” he said, fastening his slacks. “Feel better?”
“Much,” I said, watching him button what remained of his shirt with the kind of casual grace that still made my breath catch.
He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a small orange bottle, shaking one white pill into his palm before dry-swallowing it with practiced efficiency.
“Your medication,” I said, recognizing the prescription bottle.
“Part of why I came by,” he said, tucking the bottle back into his pocket. “I wanted you to see me taking it. Keeping my promise about managing my health properly.”
The gesture was so thoughtful, so deliberately transparent, that it made my chest tight with emotion. After all his evasiveness about business matters, this simple honesty about his health felt precious. “What was the other reason?”
He gave me a look that was pure alpha satisfaction mixed with tender affection. “I think I already accomplished the other reason.”
The implication made me blush, but it also made my heart race with something deeper than arousal.
This man, this complicated, protective, sometimes infuriating alpha, was mine.
He was taking care of his health, taking care of me, building a future with me that he didn’t even know included a baby yet.
The weight of my secret pressed against my chest again, made heavier by the intimacy of the moment. “Dominic, I—”
My phone buzzed with a text message, interrupting whatever I’d been about to say. I glanced at the screen to see a message from Adelaide’s office about the town hall meeting this evening.
“The meeting is at seven tonight,” I said, showing him the message. “Are you and Blake attending?”
“I’ll be attending as your mate,” Dominic said, his expression shifting back to business mode.
"But you won't be revealing what you and Blake are up to?" I replied, my fingers tracing the edge of his shirt’s placket. "The community might want to help."
His fingers closed around mine, drawing my hand upward until his lips found the sensitive skin of my wrist. “Blake and I should have news to share soon. Not tonight, but soon.”
“What kind of news?” I asked, though I suspected he’d be as evasive as before.
“Patience, baby,” he said, his smile carrying an edge of satisfaction that made me both curious and nervous. “Blake’s been working his magic, and I’ve been having some productive conversations.”
I felt that familiar flutter of unease at his carefully chosen words, but I pushed it aside. His demeanor was steady and certain in a way that beckoned trust. “And you think it will make a difference?”
“I think people will be pleased with what we’ve accomplished,” he said, pulling me close for a soft kiss. “Trust me, Leo. Soon, we’ll have good news to share with everyone.”
I smiled, nodding. My own unspoken secret weighed silently between us.
Soon, I promised myself. Soon, I would find the right moment to tell him about the baby. When things were calmer, when we had privacy and time to process what it meant for us.