Alpha's Dark Desires-Chapter 210: An Accident Turns Spicy

Elena POV:

I was too busy cursing my horny wolf to notice anything else. That bitch Zena was ruining my imagination and the book. I swear, she was looping the same damn mental image like a smutty PowerPoint in my head—Damon, naked, wet, slick with blood, like a demonic Greek god sculpted from sin and shadows. And now, post-shower, that image had only gotten worse. Or better. Depends on who you ask. My body? She was definitely voting better.

I only snapped out of it when I felt the shift in the air around me. That subtle electric buzz that meant Damon was near. Too near.

I looked up.

There he was.

Damon, standing just a few feet away from the bed, water still dripping down his airbrushed-by-the-devil chest. His hair was damp and messily tousled, a single rogue drop sliding down the curve of his collarbone to the perfectly defined ridges of his abs. A towel hung dangerously low on his hips. Dangerously. The V of muscle leading down was practically an invitation to stare. And guess what? I RSVP’d.

My breath hitched. My thighs clenched. Zena purred.

"Fucking bitch," I whispered to her, which she took as encouragement.

His eyes—dark, molten, and intentional—locked onto mine, and a smirk curled up one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what he was doing. The bastard probably did. Of course he did.

"I can smell your arousal, little mate," he said in a voice that could melt glass. Slow. Deep. Lazy. Predatory. "Didn’t think you were so naughty... getting all hot and bothered just from the sight of my cock."

My face went from zero to tomato. Flushed. Burning. Exploding. Because yes, I was still turned on from the book and now this—him. His naked walk-in. His scent. His voice. Everything.

I was sitting on the left side of the bed, which, unfortunately, was right next to the bathroom door. Meaning Damon only needed, like, three steps before he’d be in dangerous proximity. I immediately started inching to the right.

"S-St... Stop," I stammered.

He didn’t.

Of course he didn’t.

The sadistic gorgeous prick caught my ankle, fingers wrapping around me with all the possession of a dark king, and began pulling me toward him. Slow. Unrelenting.

"Why run," he drawled, "when the image of me alone makes you wet?"

Bastard.

His grip sparked the mate bond like he’d lit a match and dropped it into a pool of gasoline. My whole body shivered at the mate-tingles—those damn sparks that made everything feel hypersensitive. Dangerous. Addictive.

With one sharp tug, he dragged me to the edge of the bed. And just like that, he was between my legs, towering above me with nothing but a towel, water glistening on his skin, and a sinful smirk that promised nothing holy.

The position we were in? It was almost exactly like the one from the book I was reading—hot CEO, bent-over secretary, office desk, legs spread, blouse torn. And now here I was, nightdress clinging to me like a second skin, body betraying me in every possible way, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted to jump ship.

Damon closed his eyes and inhaled. Deeply. Sensually. Nose flaring.

"Gods, love... you really are wet for me," he whispered, opening his eyes with that feral glint. "And I haven’t even touched you yet."

"No, I’m not!" I yelped, even though we both knew it was a damn lie.

He chuckled darkly. "Should I prove you wrong?"

He didn’t wait for permission. His hand traced slowly—too slowly—up my thigh, the pad of his finger brushing along the inside of my leg toward the very center of me. Right where I didn’t want him to touch. Or maybe exactly where I did.

My nightdress was a pale, almost-transparent blue, a last-minute choice I definitely wouldn’t have worn if I knew he was coming back today. It clung to my hips, my thighs, and left nothing to the imagination under the light.

Just before his fingers could make contact with my already soaked folds, I panicked. Shouted.

"It’s not because of you!"

He blinked. Stopped. Looked confused, like I’d short-circuited his brain.

"What?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"It’s... it’s the book I was reading that made me—" I stopped myself. Fuck no, I was not finishing that sentence.

But my glance betrayed me. I glanced at the book—still on the pillow. And Damon followed my gaze.

He raised an eyebrow. "That little thing?"

Shit.

Before I could dive for it, he reached toward the pillow.

"Nope!" I shrieked, launching myself forward like a lunatic. I didn’t think, I just acted.

I threw myself on him in a blind attempt to stop him from getting the book, but I underestimated my momentum... and forgot he was still damp from the shower... and that towels aren’t exactly reliable battle gear.

It was chaos.

He lost balance.

We tumbled.

I landed on top of him with a thud, and the towel? Gone. Fully gone.

Worse? Our bodies aligned in the worst possible way. I was straddling him—full on—my thin nightdress doing absolutely nothing to shield me from the feel of his now rock-hard cock nestled right against my core. My face was inches from his. Our chests pressed together. My hands braced against his abs. His hands—traitorous bastards—landed squarely on my ass.

The friction made me moan.

A little one.

A helpless, traitorous moan that gave everything away.

His eyes darkened. Turned primal.

And then he kissed me.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

No.

Damon kissed me like a man starved. Like he’d been waiting for this—for me—for lifetimes. His mouth devoured mine, tongue sliding past my lips the moment I gasped, claiming, tasting, stealing.

He rolled his hips up. I gasped again.

The grind of his cock against my clothed center was maddening. His grip tightened on my ass, squeezing, fondling, pulling me closer, anchoring me to him and moving my hips to rub his hard erect cock. My fingers clenched against his chest, desperate and needy. I tried to push up, to gain control, to breathe, to think—but he flipped us.

Suddenly I was on my back, and Damon was on top of me, kissing me senseless, grinding into me like he was already inside and fucking me into the mattress.

He was heavier than he looked. Stronger. The pressure of his hips between my thighs, the rhythm of his movements, the heat of his skin—it was like being caught in a current too strong to swim against.

My head tilted back.

My lips parted.

I moaned into his mouth.

And gods help me—I wanted more.

No Kane. No Dean. No confusion.

This wasn’t some shadow pretending.

This was Damon.

And he knew it. I knew it.

And he kissed me again.

And again.

And again.

Until I forgot the book, forgot the world, forgot the war waiting outside the door.

And for just one moment... I let myself fall. free𝑤ebnovel.com

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