Page 24 of Healing the Alpha

A low, guttural groan breaks out of my throat at the sensation, the suddenness of my orgasm taking me completely by surprise as my cock jerks where it’s trapped between our bodies, spilling thickly against Kyle’s stomach.

Kyle’s right behind me. He arches into me with a broken groan, spilling his final load deep inside me as my own release smears hotly between us. I push back against him, taking him as deep as I can and relishing in the burn as my sore hole stretches around his base while he rides out the final tremors of his rut.

We lie together as we both come down, chest to chest, our breathing slowing in unison. I run my fingers through his damp hair, feeling the hot sting of his mark on my neck.

“That was intense,” Kyle huffs against my neck, his hand stroking down my back and making me shudder happily.

“It was fucking hot.”

I can feel how wide his smile is against my skin. “I want you to do it to me when I’m out of my rut.”

I hum, practically vibrating with satisfaction. “You want my mark, alpha?”

“I want all of it,” he says, pinching my side. “Want you to mark me up. Fuck me.”

I lift my head up, raising my eyebrows at him. “Really?”

He stares back at me, looking a little offended. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? You’ve done it, it can’t be that difficult.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snort, dropping my head back to his chest. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll never want to top again.”

“We’ll see,” he chuckles.

We lie in silence for a while. I listen to the steady thump of his heart against my chest as he plays with my hair lazily. It’s so far from where we were this time six weeks ago I feel like I should be more freaked out by the domesticity of it, by the fucking sweetness of it. But I’m just… not.

“It’s wild, though, when you really think about it,” Kyle mutters, his voice dropping low as his fingers trace mindless patterns over my forearm. “Two alphas… we should want to kill each other. Any textbook or doc would tell you our instincts should be tearing this room apart.”

I shift to look at him, the corner of my mouth twitching up. “I’ve never felt like that about you, Ky. Not even when I was fifteen and my hormones went crazy and I wanted to rip every other alpha’s head off just for breathing the wrong way.”

Kyle lets out a soft, breathy laugh, but his eyes stay serious, fixed on the blooming mark he just sucked into my throat.

“My doctor said something weird at that checkup I had a couple weeks ago,” he says pensively. “He was looking at my X-rays, and he asked me if I had a mate at home. Said my arm and wrist were knitting together nearly twice as fast as they should be for an injury this bad. He thought I had an omega at home smothering me with bonding pheromones 24/7.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”

“Told him I wasn't mated, and that my alpha beast of a best friend had been taking care of me,” Kyle grins. “Guy looked at me like I was fucking with him. Told me that kind of accelerated cellular repair only happens under the care of a permanently bonded, mated pair. Strictly alpha and omega.”

He reaches up, his thumb brushing over the dark mark on my neck, the dull burn of it making a satisfied growl vibrate in my chest.

“Maybe some things are beyond biology,” I rumble softly, leaning down to press my lips against his temple. “Maybe some things don’t have to make sense.”

“Yeah,” Kyle whispers, his chest heaving in a deep, contented sigh as he pulls me down flush against him. “Maybe it’s just us.”

Epilogue: Max

One year later

I bounce on the balls of my feet, bringing my leather gloves up defensively and not breaking eye contact with Kyle. He circles me like a panther, light and strong, no trace of hesitation or pain on his face. You wouldn’t know he was lying in a hospital bed battered and broken this time a year ago; the only reminder is a nasty scar on his leg which, ironically, was one of his more minor injuries.

He snaps out a lightning-fast jab that I barely slip, countering with a right hook that gets him right in the ribs. It took me months to be able to spar with him without holding back again—too scared of tapping a rib that was only partially healed and hurting him again, or somehow breaking his arm in two like I’m the fucking Terminator.

Kyle got so pissed off with me that he backed me into the corner of the ring one quiet afternoon and told me he’d knock me out himself if I didn’t start hitting him back like a real alpha. When all that did was turn me on, he followed through on his threat by nearly taking my head off with a brutal punch that finally convinced me he wasn’t going to shatter into a thousand pieces at the next strong breeze.

Now, he barely blinks when my fist lands in his ribs. He just grins through his mouthguard, his eyes flashing with that competitive spark that’s always got me riled up, although nowadays it’s in a very different way from before.

“That all you got?” he laughs, moving in closer, getting so close I can smell the subtle change in his scent as it morphs into something fractionally darker when his eyes fall on the purple mark on my neck that he refreshed last night. He’s wearing a matching one over his own scent gland, and the thrill of seeing him with it still hasn’t worn off. I’m not sure it ever will.

It had been an instant giveaway that something had happened between us when I walked into the gym the day after Kyle’s rut ended. Marcus had given me a sly smile like he knew all along, and Levi had walked up to me, taken one look at my neck and said, “So you and Kyle finally fucked, oui? About fucking time.” Then he’d walked away nonchalantly, leaving everyone else open-mouthed.