Too Late, Alpha, I'm Your Pen Pal novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Thursday

She goes back, and on his desk he finally gets his mouth on her; by morning his letter to Moth confesses he slept with someone.

I went back on Thursday and didn't pretend it was for the ledgers.

He opened the study door in his socks, with his hair damp from the shower and a pencil in his hand.

I took the pencil and dropped it on the floor.

"Clear the desk," I said.

He looked at the forty-one slips of paper, then at me.

He swept them off with one arm.

They went everywhere, and neither of us watched.

I kissed him in the middle of the room.

He tasted like mint and coffee, and he kissed me back.

"I've thought about this for two days," he said against my mouth.

"Good."

"I mean every minute."

"Then stop talking."

I pulled my cardigan over my head and he pulled his thermal off, and I stopped breathing at the sight of him.

He was long and hard through the chest, with a dark trail of hair down his stomach.

A pale scar ran over his left ribs.

I put my palm flat on his skin and felt his heart slam.

"Look at you," I said.

"I was going to say that to you."

"Then say it."

He unhooked my bra with one hand and let it drop.

His breath went out of him.

"Maja," he said. "You're beautiful."

I had heard those words before, in another pack, from men who meant my face.

This was different.

He was looking at my breasts like he wanted to learn them, and his hands came up slowly, as if I might vanish.

He cupped me, and thumbed both nipples, and I made a sound I'd never made in front of anyone.

"Do that again," I said.

He did it again.

He bent and took one nipple in his mouth, hot and wet, and sucked until my knees went.

"Desk," I said.

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

My jeans came off, and my underwear after them.

He stepped between my knees and went still.

"I'm going to look first," he said.

I felt my face burn.

He looked at me, spread open on his desk in the lamplight, wet and bare, and his pupils swallowed his green eyes.

"So pretty," he said. "Look how wet you are."

"Lennart."

"Wet for me."

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I'm wet for you," I whispered.

He growled, and went down on his knees.

The first stroke of his tongue was long and flat and slow, from my entrance to my clit.

I fell back on my elbows with a gasp.

He groaned.

"You taste like..." he said, and stopped, and licked me again instead.

I wove both hands into his hair.

He found my clit and worked it with the tip of his tongue, small hard circles, and his big hands held my thighs open.

"Right there," I said. "Don't move."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He slid two fingers inside me, curled them, and the whole room blurred.

"That's it," he said, low. "Let me hear you."

"God. Lennart. God."

"You're doing so well. Just like that. Come for me."

I came with my head thrown back and my heels digging into his shoulders.

The sound that left me rattled the glass in the windows.

He kept going, softly, licking me through it, until I was shaking and pushing at his head.

He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at me.

My throat closed.

I grabbed his belt and pulled him in.

"Fuck me," I said.

"I want you to look at me while I do."

"I will."

I opened his jeans and freed him, and my mouth went dry.

He was long and thick, flushed dark and heavy in my hand, a bead of wetness at the tip.

I stroked him once, root to head, and he swore.

"Maja."

I guided him to my entrance.

He pushed in slowly, an inch, then another, and I felt every ridge of him stretch me open.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

His eyes held mine as he seated himself to the hilt, and we both groaned.

"You feel," he said, and his voice broke, "you feel like I was made for this."

"Move."

He moved.

He drew out slowly and pushed back in, with his hands braced on the desk beside my hips.

The old wood creaked.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and rose to meet him.

"Harder."

"Like this?"

"Yes. Harder."

He gave me harder, deep and steady, and each thrust hit the place that made me see white.

"You're perfect," he said into my throat. "You're so tight. You take me so well."

"Say it again."

"You take all of me. Look at you taking it."

I was lost.

His hand slid between us and found my clit, and I came again, clenching so hard around him that he cursed and shuddered.

"Maja, I'm going to..."

"Inside me."

He thrust once more, deep, and came with a harsh broken sound, his forehead dropping against my shoulder.

I held on to him, with my nails in his back, and felt him pulse inside me.

We stayed like that, breathing, sweat cooling on my skin.

He kissed my temple, so gently I almost cried.

"Stay," he said.

I could have said yes.

I could have stayed until the fire burned down, and woken in his bed, and let him look at my sleeping face.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because if I stay, you'll ask me things."

He was quiet.

Then he stepped back and handed me my cardigan.

I walked home down the ridge with my legs unsteady and his taste still in my mouth.

In the morning there was a letter in box 9.

It was only a few lines.

Dear Moth,

I slept with someone last night. I won't hide it from you.

I don't love her. I think I might want to.

L.

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