Chapter 10
Riley
The light in the art studio was different in the morning.
It wasn't the harsh, accusatory fluorescent glare of the locker room, nor the dim, hazy mystery of the moonlight.
It was a pale, wintery gray that filtered through the skylights, washing over everything in a soft, dreamlike diffusion.
It illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air, the dried paint on the easels, and the man sleeping next to me.
I lay perfectly still, afraid that even the sound of my breathing would shatter the moment.
Spike was asleep.
Seeing the Butcher of Ironclad Mountain University asleep was like seeing a hurricane pause for a nap.
It felt unnatural, yet fascinating. He was lying on his back on the nest of blankets we had made, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the light, the other resting heavily across my waist. The sheet was tangled around his hips, leaving his chest bare.
I traced the landscape of him with my eyes.
The bronze skin, usually slick with sweat or tense with aggression, was smooth and relaxed.
I followed the line of the black tribal tattoo that curled around his ribcage, disappearing into the waistband of his boxers.
I studied the jagged white scar on his shoulder, a relic of a game I hadn’t seen but could imagine.
He was massive. He took up so much space, physically and atmospherically. Even in sleep, he radiated a heat that kept the drafty studio at bay.
My heart did a slow, painful flip in my chest.
I am in so much trouble.
Last night... last night had been a revelation. He hadn't taken me. He had pleasured me, worshipped me, and then held me while I slept. He had proven every terrifying statistic about Alpha aggression wrong.
But now, in the cold light of day, the reality of what we were doing crashed down on me.
I was the Tutor. He was the Star. I was a Latent. He was an Alpha.
If we crossed the final line—if we actually did it—there was no going back. The bond would settle. My scent would change permanently to match his. Every Shifter on campus would know within seconds of smelling me that I belonged to Spike Thorne.
I should get up. I should put my clothes on, sneak back to my dorm, and pretend this was just a fever dream.
I moved my leg, intending to slide out from under his arm.
His arm tightened instantly.
"Don't," he rumbled.
His voice was thick with sleep, a low baritone that vibrated through my ribs. He didn't move his arm from his eyes. He didn't wake up; he just reacted. Instinct.
"I have to go," I whispered, though I made no move to leave.
"No, you don't." He moved his arm, opening one eye. It was gold, lazy, and warm. "It's Sunday. No classes. No practice. No stats."
He rolled onto his side, facing me. He propped his head up on his hand, looking down at me with a terrifying level of clarity.
"Morning, Mouse."
"Morning," I squeaked. I pulled the blanket higher, covering my bare shoulders. I felt suddenly exposed, even though he had seen almost everything last night. "How... how did you sleep?"
"Like the dead," he said. His gaze drifted down to the blanket clutched in my hands, then back up to my face. A slow, lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're blushing."
"I am not."
"You are. You're pink. Everywhere." He reached out and ran a thumb over my cheekbone. His touch was rough, calloused, but gentle. "Regrets?"
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly. "Just... thinking."
"About?"
"Physics," I lied. "Volume. Mass. Displacement."
Spike laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound that made my toes curl. "You're thinking about whether I'm going to fit."
My face went from pink to burning red. "Spike!"
"It's a valid concern," he said, his smile fading into something darker, more intense. "I'm big, Riley. In every way. And you're..." He let his eyes sweep over my form under the blanket. "You're small. Fragile."
"I'm not fragile," I whispered, the old insecurity flaring up. "I won't break."
"I know," he said softly. "I learned that last night. You're made of steel wrapped in silk."
He moved closer. He shifted his body until his chest was pressing against my side. I could feel the hardness of him against my thigh—the morning proof that he was very, very awake.
"But," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "that doesn't mean I won't hurt you. The first time... for a human... with a Shifter..."
He trailed off. He looked conflicted. The desire was there, burning in his eyes, but so was the fear. The fear of his father's blood. The fear of the monster.
"You won't hurt me," I said.
I didn't know where the certainty came from, but it was absolute. I reached out and placed my hand on his chest, right over his heart. It was beating slow and steady.
"I trust you, Spike."
He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. "You shouldn't."
"Too late."
I took a deep breath. I made a decision.
I was done being the observer. I was done watching life from the safety of the media box or the library. I wanted to live. I wanted to burn.
I moved my hand down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, to the waistband of his boxers.
Spike’s eyes snapped open. He sucked in a sharp breath.
"Riley," he warned. "Be sure."
"I'm sure."
I slipped my hand inside the elastic.
He was hot. searingly hot. And he was hard as stone.
Spike groaned, his head falling back. "Fuck."
"Show me," I whispered. "Show me everything."
He looked at me for one agonizing second, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, the predator took over.
He moved with a speed that made me gasp. In one fluid motion, he shucked off his boxers and loomed over me.
I had seen him in the locker room. I had seen him last night in the dark. But seeing him now, fully naked in the morning light, hovering over me... it was awe-inspiring.
He was magnificent. A sculpture of muscle and power. And he was aroused—fully, painfully aroused.
My breath hitched. My brain—the scientist brain—did the math. Volume. Displacement. It seemed impossible.
Spike saw my eyes widen. He saw the flash of intimidation.
"Too much?" he asked, his voice tight. He started to pull back.
"No," I said, reaching for him. "Just right."
I threw off the blanket. I lay there before him, naked, exposed, vulnerable.
"Look at me," I whispered.
He looked. His gaze felt like a physical caress. It started at my toes, traveled up my legs, lingered on the curve of my hips, my stomach, my breasts.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "Perfect."
He lowered himself over me. He didn't crush me. He supported his weight on his forearms, creating a cage of muscle around my body.
He kissed me.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was a claiming.
He devoured my mouth, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting me, marking me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing the weight of him to ground me.
His knee nudged my legs apart. I opened for him instantly.
"Good girl," he growled against my lips.
The praise sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, breaking the kiss to look me in the eye. "Say it, Riley."
"I want you," I gasped.
"How?"
"Inside. Now."
"Impatient," he chuckled darkly. "I like that."
He reached down between us. His hand was large, his fingers calloused. He touched me, finding the slick heat I had been building since I woke up.
"You're ready for me," he murmured, sounding satisfied. "So wet."
He rubbed his thumb over me, making my hips buck off the blankets.
"Spike, please," I begged.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay, Mouse. Stay with me."
He positioned himself. I felt the blunt pressure of him at my entrance. It was a stretching, burning sensation.
He paused.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I looked up into his eyes. They were glowing gold.
"I'm going to go slow," he promised. "But once I start... I can't stop. You understand? Once I'm in, you're mine."
"I'm already yours," I whispered.
He pushed forward.
It was an inch. Just an inch.
I gasped, my fingernails digging into his shoulders. The stretch was intense. It felt like I was being split open.
"Breathe," he coached, holding himself perfectly still, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint. "Relax for me, baby. Take it."
I tried to breathe. I tried to relax.
"That's it," he soothed. "Good girl. You're doing so good."
He moved again. Another inch.
The pain flared, sharp and bright, but it was mixed with a feeling of fullness that was overwhelming. He was filling empty spaces in me I didn't know existed.
"Spike," I whimpered.
"I know," he gritted out, sweat beading on his forehead. "I know it hurts. Almost there."
He pushed past the barrier.
I cried out, a sharp sound of pain.
He stopped instantly. He kissed my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks. He murmured nonsense words of comfort—I've got you, I've got you, shh, almost done.
He waited. He waited until my body adjusted, until the burning faded into a dull throb.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice strained.
I nodded against the pillow. "Yeah. Keep going."
He pushed the rest of the way in.
It was endless. He just kept going deeper and deeper until he was completely sheathed inside me. Our hips met with a soft slap of skin.
We froze.
The sensation was indescribable. I felt full. stretched. Owned.
Spike let out a long, ragged groan. He dropped his forehead to rest against mine.
"You feel so good," he rasped. "So tight. God, Riley."
"You're huge," I whispered, terrified to move.
"I tried to warn you."
He pulled back slightly, then thrust forward.
The friction sparked a fire. The pain was gone, replaced by a deep, dragging pleasure.
"Oh," I breathed.
"Yeah?" He moved again. "You like that?"
"Yes."
He set a rhythm. It was agonizingly slow. He withdrew almost completely, then sank back in to the hilt, stretching me anew with every stroke.
He watched my face the whole time. He watched my eyes roll back. He watched my lips part.
"That's it," he praised. "Take every inch. Be a good girl for your Alpha."
The words shattered me.
I wasn't the scientist anymore. I wasn't the smart girl. I was just a creature of instinct, responding to her mate.
"More," I begged, lifting my hips to meet him. "Faster."
"You think you can handle faster?" he challenged, a wicked glint in his eye.
"Try me."
He growled.
The rhythm changed. The slow, sensual grind vanished, replaced by the driving, primal force of the Wolf.
He pounded into me.
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
It was rough. It was animalistic. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the quiet studio.
I clung to him, wrapping my legs around his waist, locking my ankles to pull him deeper. I scratched my nails down his back, wanting to mark him, wanting to leave proof that I had been here.
"Spike!" I screamed as the pleasure began to coil in my belly.
"I'm here," he growled. "Cum for me, Riley. Let me feel it."
He drove into a spot deep inside me—a sweet spot that made my vision white out.
"Spike, I'm gonna—"
"Do it," he commanded. "Break for me."
I broke.
The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave. My body convulsed, clamping down around him. I screamed his name, arching my back off the floor.
The feeling of me tightening around him was too much for his control.
Spike roared. It was a guttural, raw sound of release.
He slammed into me one, two, three more times, hard and fast, burying himself as deep as physically possible.
He stiffened. I felt him pulse inside me. Hot. Endless.
He collapsed on top of me.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was our ragged breathing.
I lay there, crushed beneath his weight, sweat cooling on my skin, my heart hammering against his.
I felt... reconstructed.
Whatever I had been before—the invisible girl, the stats nerd—she was gone. I had been forged into something new in the fire of his touch.
Spike shifted. He rolled to the side, taking his weight off me but keeping me pulled tight against his chest. He kept one leg thrown over mine, pinning me down.
He buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.
"Mine," he whispered. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.
"Yours," I agreed, too exhausted to lie.
He kissed my shoulder. "Did I hurt you?"
"Only at first," I said, running my hand through his damp hair. "It was... perfect."
He let out a sigh that rumbled through his chest. "I didn't use protection."
The words hung in the air.
I froze.
I hadn't even thought about it. In the heat of the moment, in the rush of morning desire, the thought of a condom hadn't even crossed my mind.
"I'm on the pill," I lied.
It was a reflex. A defense mechanism.
I wasn't on the pill. Why would I be? I was a virgin who spent her Friday nights organizing flashcards. I had never needed birth control.
Spike pulled back to look at me. His eyes were searching. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I said, the lie cementing itself. "It's fine, Spike. Don't worry."
I couldn't tell him the truth. If I told him I wasn't protected, he would panic. He would spiral. He would think about his father, about the "tainted blood," about the risk of bringing a pup into his chaotic world. He would pull away.
I couldn't let him pull away. Not now. Not when I finally had him.
"Okay," he said, relaxing. He believed me. "Good."
He kissed me again, soft and lingering.
"I should get you back to your dorm," he said, though he made no move to get up. "Before people start wondering where you are."
"Five more minutes," I whispered, snuggling into his chest.
"Five minutes," he agreed.
As I lay there, listening to the steady thrum of his heart, a cold knot of dread began to form in my stomach, right next to the warm glow of satisfaction.
I had lied to an Alpha about breeding.
And I had just fallen in love with a man who was convinced he was too broken to be loved.
I looked at the sunlight streaming through the window. It felt like a spotlight.
We had crossed the line. We had broken the rules.
And now, we had to survive the consequences.