Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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After he spoke, there was this silence that felt way too long, thick and heavy like the steam rising from the water.

My mind, usually quick on its feet, just froze up when I needed it most...couldn’t even come up with a solid way to say "no."

Lorenzo’s lips were still pressed against my throat, warm and soft, lingering right where I could feel the pulse of my own scent, and every time I tried to say "stop," it just slipped away before it could reach my mouth.

I could feel the heat of his breath, and the way he just waited patiently. And as the silence stretched, it felt more like a confession than anything else.

My fingers dug into the edge of the pool behind me, pressing hard enough for the stone to bite into my palms, and there was this annoying little voice in my head making fun of me for how my body seemed to have its own agenda, completely ignoring what my brain wanted.

He definitely got what the silence meant.

That hand on my waist tightened, pulling me closer in one smooth movement until I was pressed up against him in the water, leaving no illusion of distance.

His kisses moved from my neck to something deeper, his tongue gliding over my skin with a slow rhythm that made my spine arch without any say from my brain.

He’d lick again, slower this time, then nibble lightly on the same spot, inhaling as if he’d been deprived of my scent for ages.

I let out a sound that was half a gasp and half something else entirely, tilting my head back instinctively, offering him more of my throat while my rational mind scrambled to create an escape plan that seemed to fade away.

’Don’t fall for it, he’s just seducing you to make you stay again! Do something to stop this crap!’

The voice in my head screamed, but I wasn’t sure if I was even listening.

"You’re trembling," he murmured against my skin, his voice vibrating right into me. "Is that fear, or something a bit more intriguing?"

"It’s...it’s the water, not you," I replied, managing to lie impressively given that the pool felt like a warm bath and I was vibrating like a poorly tuned instrument.

His quiet huff of laughter showed just how much he believed that.

His free hand started exploring me under the water, taking its sweet time, which felt way riskier than being quick about it.

His fingers traced my spine down from the back of my neck to my lower back, then wrapped around my hip, lingering just above the waistband of my boxers.

He never quite touched between my legs, and that restraint felt almost cruel in the way it kept the worst of my ache just out of reach.

His palm slid over my stomach, feeling my muscles jump under his touch, then drifted lower along my inner thigh, stroking in slow, firm passes that never fully reached where I needed him the most.

With every little movement in the water, the contact felt more intense, slicker, and way more personal than it should have in a pool that was still public enough to feel like a secret.

Our bodies were pressed together, and it became impossible to ignore how affected he was.

Heat and pressure nudged against me through the thin fabric and water, a solid reminder every time we moved.

He started grinding slowly, almost like he was experimenting at first, the roll of his hips intentional and controlled.

The water amplified every motion, making every movement feel more intense and dirty.

The friction built up, dragging the wet fabric between us, his thigh settling between mine, and I could hear the low sound vibrating against my throat as he found an angle that made us both tense.

I tried...oh, how I tried—to stay fucking still, to maintain some dignity, but my body had already made its choice, and it wasn’t the one I wanted.

Each shift of his hips sent another jolt of unexpected pleasure through me, while that sarcastic voice in my head went breathless and useless.

When he finally kissed me, it was deep and claiming enough to show he was done waiting for permission he had already decided he had.

His hand found the back of my neck, fingers weaving into my wet hair so I couldn’t easily turn away, and his tongue slipped past my lips with a confidence that left no room for debate.

I resisted for a moment out of reflex, that last stubborn thread of pride insisting I should at least try to control the pace, but he met every push of my tongue with a deeper claim, tasting me thoroughly and swallowing the soft sounds I couldn’t hold back.

Between kisses, he muttered against my mouth, fragments of words that struck like a brand. "Mine."

"You’re not leaving me."

"Say it." He demanded, "Say you won’t leave me."

Each word punctuated by a slow grind of his hips that made coherent thought feel like a luxury slipping away.

"N–no..." I gasped.

I stopped pretending somewhere around the third or fourth kiss. My hands left the edge of the pool and found his shoulders, then slipped up into his white, wet hair.

The moment I did, it felt like I crossed a line I didn’t even realize was there until I was already over it.

I made noise, it was helpless, embarrassing noise and my hips started moving along with his grinding instead of resisting it, chasing the friction while my mind spiraled through a frantic internal monologue about how this was too much, too fast, too permanent, just too everything.

The water around us was a whirlpool now.

Every roll of our bodies sent little waves crashing against the stone, the steam felt thicker, and his scent, dark, possessive, laced with heat that settled low in my stomach and refused to leave was everywhere.

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more wrecked and still stay upright, his hand slipped lower.

Fingers slipped under my boxers beneath the water, finding the hard, aching length of me, gripping with a confidence that sent my whole body jolting.

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