Alpha's Dark Desires-Chapter 212: Interruption

Elena POV:

What the fuck was I thinking?!

The knock on the door hit like a bucket of cold water, yanking me straight out of the lust-drunk haze I’d completely drowned in. One moment I was grinding shamelessly on Damon’s cock, his hands all over me, mouth doing devastating things to mine—and the next, reality sucker-punched me in the chest.

Shit.

I pushed against his chest—firm, wet, glorious, sinful—and scrambled out from under him like I hadn’t just been seconds away from begging him to fuck me into oblivion. My heart was racing. My breathing? Chaotic. My panties? Absolutely ruined.

"I— I need air," I choked out, more to myself than him. My voice was cracked, hoarse with desire, like I’d just survived a fever I’d willingly set myself on fire for.

I didn’t wait for a reaction. I turned and bolted, storming straight to the balcony like it was some lifeline to sanity. The cool night air slapped my face the second I stepped outside, and God, I needed it. Desperately. I leaned forward against the railing, eyes squeezed shut as the breeze tried to cool the burning flush on my skin.

What. The. Hell. Was. That?

No—what the hell was I doing?

I had been dry-humping Damon like a damn animal. Like Zena—my permanently horny, bond-obsessed wolf—had taken the wheel, slammed on the gas, and thrown all sense of reason out the window. And she had. She’d woken up from her cryptic slumber the moment Damon stepped out of that bathroom dripping wet, towel slung low, dark eyes full of wicked heat.

And me?

Yeah, I’d folded like a house of cards in a hurricane. A fucking whimpering mess just because he kissed me like I belonged to him. Because his cock pressed perfectly against my—

"Don’t you even go there," I muttered to myself, gripping the rail tighter as the images came back, fresh and vivid like Zena was projecting them straight onto my retinas.

Gods.

His hands on my ass. His mouth on mine. That dangerous, possessive growl when I rocked my hips just right. The way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the universe worth worshiping. And I almost gave in.

No. Correction—I did give in.

And then I ran like a coward because the door knocked? Pathetic.

Back inside, I could feel him. Damon. Still shirtless. Still naked, probably. Still reeking of sex and frustration. The bond between us pulsed, like a string stretched taut between two poles. He was pacing, energy vibrating just under the surface, anger curling around him like smoke. He hadn’t said a word, but I knew he was seconds away from ripping the door off its hinges and shoving it down whoever’s throat had dared interrupt us.

Poor soul. They had no idea they’d almost signed their death warrant just by knocking.

I took another deep breath, inhaling the night air like it could fix the war unraveling inside me. It didn’t.

I was still trembling. Not from fear. From want.

And that was the worst part.

Because it wasn’t Kane who’d made me feel like this. Not Dean. Not the ghosts of what-ifs. It was Damon. The real one. The one I wasn’t supposed to want. The one who’d claimed power like it was his birthright, thrown the supernatural world into chaos, and crowned himself King like it meant something.

I wasn’t supposed to want him.

I was supposed to hate him.

But how the hell was I supposed to remember that when his cock had been lined up so perfectly with my soaking folds, and he’d kissed me like I was more than just a mate—like I was his?

I groaned and let my head drop against the railing. "I need help. Like, actual therapy or a priest or an exorcist."

Zena purred inside me, smug and satisfied, like she had just won a battle I didn’t even get to fight properly. He felt so good, she whispered, echoing the memory of his tongue in my mouth, the feel of his hands, the friction that almost shattered me. And he didn’t even fuck us yet... imagine when he does.

"Don’t," I snapped aloud, trying to silence her, but she just growled and rolled like a cat in heat.

I rubbed my hands over my face and dared a glance back through the glass doors.

Yep.

Damon stood there, towel now hanging low on his hips again—but barely. His hair was still damp, chest still glistening. His jaw was clenched, and those dark eyes were locked on me like I was prey he intended to catch. Slowly. Mercilessly. Eventually.

His energy coiled like a storm waiting to strike.

And that knock? Whoever had the audacity to break that moment between us... they help me find my sense before it escalated. Because Damon looked like he was about to murder someone with enthusiasm.

I turned back around before he could say something that would weaken my knees all over again. Or worse—step onto this balcony and continue what we’d started.

Because if he did, I wouldn’t stop him.

And I didn’t know what would be worse—falling into that madness completely, or pretending I hadn’t already started the descent.

******

I heard shuffling guess he was looking something to wear. Movement near the door. Then the soft click of it opening.

A girl’s voice—hurried, breathy. A whimper. Then fast, low talking, too muffled for me to catch the words but urgent enough to stir something tense in my gut. And just as quickly, the door clicked shut again.

I blinked, frowning, and turned away from the balcony rail, peering through the glass. freeweɓnovel-cøm

Empty.

Damon was gone.

Just... gone.

The spot where he’d stood a second ago—where he’d looked like he was ready to storm the hallway and throttle whoever dared to knock—was now vacant. No towel, no footsteps, not even the damn scent of his arousal that had soaked the room like thick perfume.

"Great," I muttered, rubbing my arms as a chill kissed my skin—not from the breeze, but from his absence.

Great. Just perfect.

Now I could finally try and compose my traitorous, throbbing body. Maybe. Somehow.

Because despite the air outside cooling my skin, inside I was still burning. Still trembling from where his hands had touched me. Still aching between my thighs, and way too aware of how close—how godsdamned close—we had come to crossing that final line.

My lips still tingled from his kiss.

My breasts still felt the imprint of his chest.

And my core... yeah, let’s not even go there.

I groaned and ran both hands down my face, then through my hair, then crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe of the balcony like that could hold me upright while my knees remained a little too jelly-like for comfort.

Where did he go?

Who the hell was that girl?

What was that interaction?

My mind raced to answer all three, but Zena—ever the unhelpful horny wolf—was lounging with a satisfied purr, as if she’d just had dessert and now wanted a nap.

"He’ll be back," she murmured inside me, not at all worried. "You’re what he wants. You’ll always be what he wants."

I sighed and glanced back inside. The room was quiet now. Still warm with the lingering heat of what almost happened, but empty in that hollow kind of way that only came after something intense gets snatched away mid-breath.

Maybe I could find sleep before he came back. Maybe.

My body wasn’t convinced, though.

It still throbbed in betrayal, muscles tense, skin oversensitive, heart pounding like it had unfinished business. Which it did. Damon-shaped business.

I shuffled back into the room, eyes flicking to the bed that now felt too big without the pressure of his body or the weight of his gaze on mine. I avoided the pillow where the damn book still sat—accusing, mocking, too close to being the trigger for everything that had just gone down.

I dropped myself onto the other pillow instead, dragging the blanket up like it could smother the chaos still roaring inside me.

Gods, I needed to sleep. I had to sleep.

Because if I stayed awake, my mind would replay every second of that kiss, every grind of his hips, every shiver that had run through me like a lightning bolt primed to explode.

And if he came back while I was still awake?

I wasn’t sure I’d stop it next time.

Worse—I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

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