Rejecting the Alpha

Kylie

I ate lunch, locked in Alpha Gavriel's room and I was ready—or at least as ready as I was going to be—by the time he returned, shortly before dinner.

I had taken care of my appearance carefully, trying to find a balance between not looking either bad or enticing. It probably did not matter, because even after everything he did, my heart gave a little leap at the sight of him, dishevelled and handsome, clearly after hours of training. It was probably the same for him.

For a moment I had a flash of what things might have been like if that part of him had not been lost. I still reeled with the injustice of my mating to this murderer, but perhaps it had not originally been the travesty it now was. In a better world maybe I would not have this draw to the one who had killed my family. Maybe he would have been someone else before the accident.

His eyes swept over me, before he walked into the washroom. After a quick shower he emerged and dropped his towel. I had to force myself not to look as he pulled on a clean shirt and pants.

"Come on," he said, and I fell into step beside him as we went to the dining room. Sitting at the table, we didn't say anything and the silence stretched between us like a growing thing. I did not complain about our distance since I didn't want to get closer to him.

But I had to, at least until I managed to get my people out. "So, Alpha Gavriel, how was your day?" I asked him.

His brow narrowed a bit as he looked at me. "It was fine."

He wasn't going to help me out with talking, apparently. Our suppers were brought in by a pack wolf, interrupting my attempt at civility. Forks clinked against plates and the sound of our breaths barely broke the awkwardness between us.

I tried to spark some sort of conversation, but all my attempts fell flat, and soon enough we were heading back to his bedroom.

As soon as we got in the door, he pulled me up against him almost roughly, his lips on mine, his hands on my waist, and then roving lower. My heart slammed in a combination of fear and excitement, and somehow between the weight of his body and my own retreat I ended up with my back against the wall, him in front of me, holding me there.

It felt good. It was so perverse. The memory of the recent slaughter flashed through my mind and I started to struggle to escape.

"What is it?" he asked, annoyance in his tone.

I held back my tears. If I told him it would only anger him more.

"What is it you're feeling now?"

Damn it, I needed to work on my mental defenses. "I'm just...my family."

He made an animalistic sound I could not interpret. "Not letting me fuck you won't bring them back, mate."

The tears spilled. "I've never done this before either and you're pushing me so fast."

He was watching me, his mind clearly working. "If I go slower will you stop resisting?"

I sniffled. "How slow are we talking?"

He did not like that answer. "Go, and get on the bed." He stopped blocking my way.

I didn't dare disobey. I sat tentatively and watched him warily.

He stepped closer and my body tensed.

He crouched down and leaned over me and slowly brought his mouth to mine again, this time the movements of his lips and tongue leisurely. It was seductive, this facade of gentleness he now employed. His hands slipped down my sides and up my shirt, coming to rest over my bra and cupping me through the smooth material. Fire ran through my veins as he kneaded my flesh, before reaching around and unclasping it in a smooth motion.

A sound, torn between protest and I didn't know what came out of my throat as with a single motion he pulled off my shirt and bra and left me entirely too exposed. He'd seen me before, and I felt no more comfortable this time. Last time he had been driving, now his eyes were raking over me greedily without distraction. He caught my hands before I was able to cover myself.

A moment later his hands were on me again, caressing my chest, but slowly this time. He pushed me back and started kissing me again, one hand on my breast while the other held his weight up above me. It started moving down until it was resting at my hip, then further...

He worked open my pants, and pushed them down. I should have protested, but that part of me that was relentlessly drawn to him wanted his hand to continue, and then he found that spot between my legs, and touched it with slow, sure strokes.

Then, with a swift movement, his finger was inside me, searching my depths, invasive yet fitting me like he belonged there. I whimpered at the heat building in my core. I hated him so much, but the feeling was so good...

I didn't protest. I didn't care anymore

for the moment that he was the one who had destroyed everything. I wanted to forget, the bond was pushing me, and didn't I want to get on his good side, if he had one? This murderer was my mate, and this was likely inevitable, so I sunk into the feeling.

His eyes were fixed on me, sweeping over my body. He shifted and shoved my pants all the way down my legs, and I was as naked as the first time he saw my human form.

The memories of that moment dampened my enthusiasm. He frowned as his eyes went to my face. "What is it now?" he asked, slowly moving his finger inside me as he spoke.

"It's..."

"It's what?"

"It's what happened."

"Hmm. I can't change that now." He leaned forward and kissed me, probably with the intent of making me forget, and it worked in part, pushing back my reservations again.

Without removing his finger he began play with me again with his thumb and his lips wandered down my neck, pausing at my mark and spending time there before moving down to suckle my breasts, all the while keeping that steady feeling of movement inside me. Against my will my hips lifted up, searching for more.

Pressure was building, an agonizingly nagging sensation, and another finger joined the first, and the pressure exploded into pure satisfaction, leaving me panting.

Author's Note:

Just to be clear, just because he isn't actively hurting her and she's not fighting does not make this situation okay, and neither does the fact he’s her mate.