Page 51 of The CEO Alpha’s Substitute Mate

Her hand slides down between us and finds the hard line of me through my trousers. She rubs once, slowly, the heel of her palm pressing firmly enough that my breath stalls.

I catch her wrist. Then the other. One hand pins both above her head against the cool glass, holding them there with ease. My free hand moves under the hem of her sweater, palm flattening over the warm plane of her stomach before rising higher. Soft cotton, the curve of her breast, the tight peak of her nipple already waiting. I roll it once between my fingers, and the sound she makes is small and open.

That sound undoes the last of my restraint.

I ease the waistband of her leggings down just enough. My fingers slide beneath the fabric, through soft curls, and find her already slick. The heat of her startles me. I stroke once along her folds, and she shivers hard against the wall, wrists flexing under my grip.

“Look at that.” My mouth is at her ear. “All of this for a man you can’t stand.”

“You’re enjoying this.” Her nails are in my shoulder through the shirt. “Shut up and move.”

I circle her slowly, learning the shape of her, the places that make her breath catch. When I press one finger inside, the resistance is immediate. She is tight, tighter than I expected, and the way her body yields only reluctantly pulls a low sound from my chest.

“You’re tight,” I hiss, working the single finger deeper with careful pressure. “Just one finger and you’re gripping me like this.”

She answers with a soft, broken noise that goes straight through me. I keep the pace measured, curling my finger against her front wall, thumb brushing the swollen knot above in the same rhythm. The sounds she makes grow quieter, more desperate, each one urging me on. Her hips begin to move against my hand despite the hold I have on her wrists.

I feel the first tremor start in her thighs. Her breath stutters.

“That’s it.” I put my teeth against the side of her throat without breaking the skin, and my wolf howls at being denied the rest of it. “Let me have it.”

She comes apart around that single finger, body clenching hard, a sharp gasp of my name leaving her lips as the pleasure takes her. I watch her face, eyes closed, mouth open, the flush rising across her cheeks, and the sight of it is almost too much. I want more of it. I want to see that expression again.

Before the last wave fully leaves her, I ease a second finger in beside the first. The stretch makes her gasp again, head tipping back against the glass. She is still so tight that every careful thrust draws a new sound from her. I work her open with both fingers, slower now, deeper, thumb never leaving her clit. The second climax builds faster. When it hits, she shakes against me, wrists straining in my grip, my name torn from her throat in a voice I have never heard before.

I keep my fingers inside her through it, feeling every pulse, until the tremors ease and she goes soft in my hold.

The need in me is sharp enough to hurt. I withdraw my hand, release her wrists, and lift her clean off the ground, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She turns her face into my neck.

“Where’re we going?” she mumbles into my collar.

“To my bed.”

“Your bed is not in my room, though.” Her hand is inside my shirt now, spread over my chest.

“No, it’s not,” I agree.

She laughs down in her throat and puts her mouth on the underside of my jaw.

I carry her down the stairs. The house is quiet now. The only sound is the soft drag of her breath against my neck and the quiet shift of fabric as she keeps her face buried there. My door is already open. I kick it shut behind us and cross the room in three strides.

Tossing her on the bed, I reach for the hem of her sweater and pull it over her head in one motion. The cheap cotton bra follows. Then the leggings and the soaked lace beneath them. She is bare in the low light, long muscle and flushed skin, and for a moment, I only look.

She looks up at me, pupils still wide, lips swollen from the roof. Her fingers reach for the remaining buttons of my shirt, and I let her open them, stripping the rest myself. When I join her on the mattress, the weight of me makes her sink deeper into the covers. I brace above her on both arms and study her face.

“Last chance,” I say. The words come out rough. “You’re still drunk. Tell me to stop and I walk out.”

She lifts one hand and traces the line of my collarbone. “Coward.”

That is answer enough.

I lower my mouth to her throat first, then the hollow between her breasts before taking one tight nipple between my lips and suckling on it until her back arches. The soft sounds that leave her are driving me crazy. I move lower, across the plane of her stomach, and settle between her thighs. She tries to close them on instinct, but I open them again with my hands and hold them there.

The first long stroke of my tongue makes her cry out. She is still slick from the roof, still sensitive. I take my time, slow and thorough, learning every place that draws a new sound from her. When I seal my mouth over her clit and suck, her hips jerk hard enough that I have to pin them. One finger slides back inside her. She is still tight, still gripping. I add a second and curl them while my tongue works, and the second climax of the night hits her faster than the first. She comes with both hands fisted in my hair and my name torn from her throat.

I climb up her body while she is still shaking. Ariela reaches for me, chest heaving, and pulls me down, kissing me open-mouthed and tasting herself. Her hand finds my cock and strokes once, twice. The contact is enough to make my vision narrow.

“Please,” she whimpers against my mouth. “I want you inside me.”