Too Late, the Alpha Lost Me After Two Weeks' Notice novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Long Table

After the Hall empties he kneels in the records room and takes her on the oak table, and at dawn the Council's letter arrives.

He turned the key in the records room door and put his back against it.

"Come here," he said.

It was the Wednesday after the notice, ten past eight at night, and the Hall had been empty since six.

The lamp on the long oak table made a yellow circle, and everything else was dark.

I put the ledger down on the table and walked across the room to him.

"I need to say one thing first," he said.

"Say it."

"I told myself you were off limits. You worked for me. I thought it was the decent thing."

His throat moved.

"I was very good at being decent. I'm sorry."

"That's not the one thing, is it?"

"No." He took my face in both his hands. "I want you on that table."

I laughed, and it came out shaky.

"That's better," I said.

He kissed me.

It wasn't like the kitchen.

There was no rain to hide in and no surprise.

There was only his mouth opening mine and his tongue sliding deep, and his hands going into my hair.

I pulled his Henley over his head and dropped it on the floor.

His chest was lean and hard, with a scatter of dark hair and a long thin scar under his ribs.

I put my palms flat on it and felt his heart slamming.

"You're shaking," I said.

"I've waited on you six years," he said. "I just found out."

"That's not how it works."

"It's how it works for me."

I walked him backward by the belt until his boots hit the table leg.

Then I turned us and put him against the wood and undid his buckle.

I got my hand inside his jeans and closed it around him through his shorts.

He was hot and hard and thick, and he jerked in my grip.

"Ebba."

"Shh. I only want to feel how much you want me."

"A lot," he said through his teeth. "A lot. Stop, or I won't last."

"You're lasting fine."

I stroked him once, slowly, base to tip, and watched his eyes go black.

He caught my wrist and pulled my hand out.

"Not yet," he said. "You first. Let me do it properly."

"Properly."

"On the table. Up."

He lifted me by the waist and set me on the edge of the oak.

The wood was cool and smooth under my bare thighs where my skirt rode up.

I had worn a skirt that day.

I had worn it on purpose, and he had no idea, and I loved that.

He unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time and kissed what each button had been hiding.

My collarbone.

The valley between my breasts.

The soft place under them where I'm ticklish, so I squirmed and he held my hips still with both hands.

"Hold still," he said.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

"Cass."

"Good," he said, like I'd done something right. "Lean back."

I leaned back on my elbows on the table.

He pushed my skirt up around my waist and went down on his knees on the floor of the records room.

He pulled my underwear down my legs, slow, and tossed it somewhere behind him.

He did not hurry.

He kissed the inside of my left knee, and then the inside of my right.

He worked his way up my thighs with his mouth an inch at a time.

I felt his breath on every inch of skin he skipped.

"Cass."

"I'm busy."

"You're teasing me."

"I'm learning you."

He bit the soft skin of my inner thigh, gently, and soothed it with his tongue.

I made a noise I had never made at my own desk.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"Your mouth."

"Where?"

"On my clit. Now."

"There," he said, and smiled against my skin. "Good. Say it like that every time."

He put my knees over his shoulders.

He looked.

I felt his breath first, warm, right where I was already aching, and then his mouth.

He licked me from the bottom to the top in one long slow stroke.

My whole back came off the table.

"Oh, God."

"Quiet," he said against me. "Unless you want the whole pack to hear."

"I don't care."

"You will." He licked again, flat and wet, and I had to shove my knuckles in my mouth.

He was thorough.

He found out what I liked by listening, the little sounds, the catch in my breath.

When I gasped on one stroke he did it again, and again, until I was making noises into my fist.

He circled my clit with the tip of his tongue, slow and light.

Then he sucked it, gently, and I thought I would die.

"Cass, please."

"Please what?"

"Inside. Put your fingers in."

He did.

Two fingers, thick and certain, slid into me while his mouth stayed on my clit.

He curled them up against the spot that made me see white.

I came hard, fast, with a cry that I tried to muffle and couldn't.

My thighs clamped around his head and my heels dug into his back.

He didn't let up.

He gentled his mouth and kept his fingers moving.

I came a second time, shorter and sharper, a moment after the first one ended.

"There it is," he said, rough and pleased. "Two. You gave me two."

"That's what you wanted?"

"I wanted to hear that," he said, "every night for six years."

I couldn't breathe for a second.

I sat up, boneless, and took his chin in my hand.

His mouth shone.

He was looking at me.

"Get up," I said.

"Ebba."

"Get up. Take your pants off."

"Why?"

"I've got something to tell you about how good you are. I want to say it while you're inside me."

He stood so fast he almost lost his balance.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down and kicked them away, and I saw him properly for the first time.

He was long and thick and hard, flushed dark at the head.

He curved up against his belly, and a bead of wetness shone on the tip.

"Beautiful," I said, because it was true.

His breath hitched.

"Don't."

"Why not? You are."

"Nobody's ever said that to me."

"Then I'm the first."

I wrapped my fingers around him, slowly.

He hissed through his teeth and thrust once into my fist.

"You're perfect. You did everything right. Come here."

I pulled him between my knees.

I guided the head of him through the wet, up and down.

Then I tucked him against my entrance and wrapped my legs around his hips.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked.

I pulled him in.

The stretch was enormous, and sweet, and it went on and on.

He went in an inch and stopped, breathing hard, and then another inch.

I grabbed at his back and told him not to be careful.

He seated himself all the way, and we were both shaking.

He pressed his forehead to my shoulder.

"God. Ebba. You're so tight."

"You're so good," I said. "You feel so good. Stay there a second."

He stayed.

His whole body was trembling and holding still, and I understood that he would stay there all night if I said to.

"Now move."

He pulled back and pushed in, slow at first, a deep, steady stroke that rocked me on the table.

The oak creaked under us.

I clung to his shoulders and watched his face, and every time he sank in all the way I whispered, "Yes. Like that. That's it."

His eyes went dark and unfocused.

"Again," I said. "That's perfect. You're so good at this."

He groaned and picked up the pace.

His hands went under my thighs and tipped my hips up.

The angle changed and he hit something deep inside me that made me cry out.

"There," I gasped. "Right there. Don't stop."

"I won't."

"Harder."

He gave me harder.

The table jolted across the floorboards an inch at a time.

The ledger slid and fell, and papers went everywhere, and neither of us noticed.

I reached down between us and found my clit with two fingers.

When I touched myself he made a sound like he was being torn open.

"Yes," he said. "Do that. Let me watch."

"Look at me, Cass."

"I'm looking."

"Tell me how it feels."

"Like," he said, and his hips stuttered, "like I've been starving in a house with the pantry locked. And you walked in and opened it."

My throat closed.

I came again, rolling and long, clenching around him.

I felt him lose it right behind me with a shout he buried in my neck.

He came deep and hard, his cock pulsing inside me, hot, again and again.

I held him through all of it with my arms and legs wrapped around him.

For a while the only sound in the room was breathing.

"Good," I whispered into his hair. "That was so good. You were so good."

He lifted his head.

His eyes were wet.

"Nobody's told me that," he said. "Not one time. You said it four times tonight."

"Five."

"You counted?"

"I count everything," I said, and kissed him.

He did not pull out for a long time.

He slid down to the rug with me still in his lap, and he spread his Henley under my back.

He did it again, slower, with my knees up and his hands on my face.

I came a fourth time that night with his name in my mouth.

He followed me with his eyes open, looking at me the whole way.

After that we lay on the rug in the wreck of the ledgers with the barn coat from the hook over us.

I fell asleep with my head on his chest.

The window was grey when somebody hammered on the records room door.

"Cass," said a big voice. "I know you're in there. The Council's letter just came."

It was Dag.

"And you'd better read it before Monday."

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