He began to move, careful, measured thrusts of that single finger. I writhed, torn between the instinct to escape the overwhelming newness and the desperate need for more. Pleasure and fear spun together until my head swam and coherent thought scattered.
"Look at me. Don’t you dare close your eyes." The order cracked sharper this time. I forced my lids open through pure will and met the burning black of his gaze. "That’s it. Keep those eyes on me. I want every emotion on your face when you come for me for the first time. I want to remember it. I want you to remember exactly who made you feel that way."
His thumb found the swollen, hypersensitive peak between my folds and began to circle—slow, sure, relentless pressure that built and built. Tremors raced through me. Something vast and terrifying gathered low in my belly, a dark wave rising higher with every stroke, every circling rub, every possessive growl against my skin.
"Magnus—I... I can’t—something’s happening—I don’t understand—" The words dissolved into broken gasps. My nails scored deeper into his shoulders, drawing blood, as the wave threatened to crash and drag me under.
"Does it feel good?" His voice was rough velvet against my ear. "Come for me. Right now. I want to feel it."
He drove his fingers harder, faster, relentless. The massive wave that had been building inside me finally broke. It crashed over my head, dragged me under, and obliterated everything.
I screamed his name—loud, broken, helpless—as my body arched hard against him. The world detonated in a blinding white fireworks of sensation too sharp, too vast to name. Pleasure ripped through me in violent, almost painful spasms, wave after relentless wave, until I could do nothing but shake and cling.
I pressed myself against him, burying my tear-damp face in the hot curve of his neck, breathing in the dark, comforting scent of him while he kept moving—slow now, gentle, coaxing every last tremor from my body.
"You are so beautiful," he growled softly, the sound thick with possessive satisfaction. "Fucking breathtaking when you come for me. I want to see it again. And again. Every single day. As many times as I can make you fall apart. Only for me. Only on me."
My strength deserted me completely. I collapsed against his broad chest like a rag doll, lungs working in shallow, desperate pulls, body still trembling uncontrollably. Magnus’s arms closed around me—careful, yet unyielding—drawing me tight against the heat of him, holding me through the aftershocks as if he would never let go.
***
"Maybe you shouldn’t go to this little side job of yours after all," Magnus said, sitting across from me on the sofa with a cup of tea and a slice of the apple pie I’d baked that morning. He looked at me from beneath heavy brows, his expression sour—as if I’d just suggested something utterly unnatural.
Watching him, I couldn’t help but think he had lied to me back at the amusement park when he claimed he didn’t like sweets. Why else would he be eating apple and honey pie so contentedly?
"Jane, we literally just came back from the doctor," he added, his voice laced with low Alpha authority.
I sat with my legs pulled tight against my chest, already dressed in a comfortable tracksuit. My skin still hummed with the memory of his hands, the searing heat of his body, and the crushing weight of him over me.
Yesterday, the second Magnus had regained his senses after what happened between us right here on this sofa... My cheeks burned at the unbidden memory. He had immediately shifted right back into his default state: the domineering, possessive alpha male.
His reaction when I had carefully pulled up my pant leg to reveal the raw, chemically burned skin was something I would never forget. His face had turned to stone, his jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth grind, and a dangerous, feral shadow had flared in his eyes.
He had immediately declared—without even asking for my input—that I was never setting foot in that house again.
And now, right after we returned from the clinic—where the doctor had applied a soothing compress to my leg and prescribed allergy medication—Rolan had called. He asked if I could come help out today. They needed to clear out a large hall where a new indoor pool was planned.
A wealthy local family had purchased the old building, and a thorough deep clean was required before the construction crew arrived.
True to his word, Rolan had brought in homeless folks to help, but they still needed extra hands. Many of them lived with disabilities—some were missing an arm or a leg, others were sick—yet they pushed through because they desperately needed the pay.
All the volunteers who stepped up, including me, agreed to work for free so that every penny from the hiring family would go directly to those in need.
"Magnus, I won’t be lifting anything heavy," I said softly, looking at him. "Besides, Rolan will be there. I’m just going to help out—it won’t take more than a couple of hours."
He set his teacup down with a dull thud, the metallic sheen of the heavy band around his wrist—hiding the mark—catching the light. I couldn’t say I had fully processed our conversation about his second mate, but a fragile sense of peace had settled over me.
I chose to trust him.
He said he was handling it, and I didn’t believe he would lie to me. Lying was the last thing he needed to do. Considering how he couldn’t even look at me when he first discovered the mark, and how terribly he had treated me back then... No, he wouldn’t deceive me now.
"A couple of hours," he repeated slowly, tasting the words as if they left a bitter aftertaste. "And we still need to talk about putting an end to this whole volunteer side-hustle. If you need money, I’ll give it to you. If you want to help those people, I’ll send my own men and they’ll do everything for you."
"No," I shook my head, my fingers tightening over my knees. "Magnus, you don’t understand. This matters to me. I’m not doing this just because I can’t find anything else to occupy my time. It’s... how do I explain it... it’s my need to be useful. For myself. For others. It matters to me."
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