Too Late, the Alpha Lost Me After Two Weeks' Notice novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: His Bed

His house was a mile up the ridge, and it was bare.

There was a kitchen table with one chair at it.

A couch nobody had sat on, and a single lamp on a milk crate.

And there was the bed.

He had built it himself, out of white oak, and it was the size of a small boat.

"Nobody's been in this bed," he said.

He stood beside it in the lamplight with his hands hanging.

It was Saturday night, the seventeenth.

I had come up the ridge road in my own car with a bag over my shoulder.

"Not once?" I said.

"Not once. I made it for a life I wasn't having."

"Then it's about time somebody tried it."

I put my bag on the floor and took off my coat.

I took off my sweater, and my boots, and my trousers.

I stood in my underwear in the middle of his bedroom floor.

He watched with his lips apart.

"Get on the bed," I said. "On your back. Take everything off first."

He undressed fast, and he did it badly, and I loved it.

His shirt got caught on one arm.

He kicked his jeans across the room.

Then he was naked and stretched out on his back on the white sheets, long and lean in the yellow light.

He was already hard.

I climbed up over him on my knees, and I looked at him for a long moment.

From his throat to his flat stomach to the thick curve of his cock.

"I'm going to take my time," I said.

"Take whatever you want."

"I will."

I kissed him.

I kissed his mouth first, and then the hollow of his throat.

I kissed down the middle of his chest, to his stomach, and he sucked in a breath under my lips.

"Hands above your head," I said. "On the headboard."

He put them there.

I felt him tense with the effort of leaving them.

"Good," I said against his skin. "Stay."

I sat up and straddled his hips and did not take him in.

I rubbed against him instead.

I slid my wet underwear along the length of him, back and forth, so he could feel exactly how ready I was.

He groaned from deep in his chest.

"Ebba."

"I know."

"You're drenched."

"For you. I have been for a week. I was wet in the car coming up."

He swore, softly.

"Take them off," he said. "Please."

"I will when I want to."

I rocked on him a little longer.

Because it felt good and because he was looking at me.

Then I reached down and slid the cotton aside with one finger.

I took him in my hand and held him at my entrance.

The head of him pushed against me, hot and thick.

I sank down an inch.

He made a choked sound, and his hips began to lift.

"No," I said. "Lie still."

He stopped.

His whole body locked.

"Good," I breathed. "That's so good. Stay just like that."

I took him in another inch.

The stretch burned, sweet and deep, and I had to hold on to his chest.

Another inch.

His stomach muscles were jumping under my palms.

I took him all the way down, until I was seated against him.

I stopped there and held still.

For a moment neither of us breathed.

"God," he whispered. "You feel like."

"Like what?"

"Like I should have been doing this all my life."

I smiled, and I couldn't help it.

"You've done well," I said. "Don't move."

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