Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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The aftershocks still rolled through me in slow, uneven waves, making my limbs feel heavy and my thoughts a jumbled mess, like debris scattered after a storm.

I couldn’t seem to pull myself together well enough to create any distance between us, even though every instinct shouted for me to do just that.

Lorenzo held me close...one arm wrapped firmly around my waist beneath the water, the other resting at the back of my neck.

His forehead pressed lightly against my temple, almost as if he was just breathing me in now that the intensity of the moment had calmed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, almost casual, and that calmness was somehow more disconcerting than any fiery compliment would have been.

"You looked so beautiful like that," he murmured against the damp skin at my hairline, his words unrushed and relaxed...as if this was just another regular Tuesday.

"The way you trembled. How hard you tried not to make a sound but couldn’t manage it. I could feel how long you’d been holding back from anything close to this. It was all over you."

I wanted to fire back with something sharp, like how observant he was for a guy who’d just had his hand down my boxers...but the sarcasm came too late, fading before I could voice it.

My body was still hyper-sensitive; every drop of water or shift of his chest against mine sent fresh sparks flickering through my nerves, and the weight of everything he’d confessed earlier sat heavy between us.

He didn’t back away or lighten the moment.

He just kept holding me there while the last tremors faded, the water lapping quietly around our hips, and the longer he stayed, the more it felt like the space for retreat was being quietly, methodically closed.

In the back of my mind, a weary voice was already drafting a formal complaint to the universe.

Dear Cosmic Management, please explain why the hell a terrifying mafia don, aka my husband...was currently cradling me like a prized possession also happens to give the most devastating handjobs in recorded history?!

Asking for a friend.

Signed,

An omega who should really be better at self-preservation.

I let out a heavy, post-nut sigh.

"You...ass." I said.

When he finally decided we were done with the pool, there was no discussion.

One moment, I was still half-floating in the warm water, thoughts refusing to settle, and the next, he lifted me clear of the surface in a smooth bridal carry.

I blinked up at the ceiling of the pool room in a daze, startled by the sudden shift.

I should have protested. I should have kicked or twisted or at least one more shot a cutting remark about the theatrics.

But my head was still fuzzy from the first climax, and the cooler air hitting my wet skin made everything feel sharper and more exposed all at once.

Water spilled from both of us onto the tiles as he carried me the short distance to the wide stone bench that lined the edge of the room.

The contrast between the lingering heat of the pool and the sudden chill raised goosebumps along my arms and the insides of my thighs.

"I can walk," I mumbled, my words coming out far less dignified than I meant. "My legs still exist. Somewhere...uh, I think."

"They do," Lorenzo replied, not slowing down even a bit. "I just prefer them where I can see them."

He set me down carefully, as if I might bruise if handled too roughly, then lowered himself between my spread legs without a word of explanation.

The sight hit me harder than I was ready for....the feared Don of the Castelli family on his knees for me on the damp tile, his long slick hair still dripping onto my thighs, emerald eyes locked onto mine with a focus that felt anything but submissive.

He gave me a small, almost innocent smile that did nothing to mask the darker undercurrent of lust, desire and possession beneath it.

"Just a little taste," he said, his voice quiet and certain, the words landing low in my stomach like a promise I hadn’t agreed to but couldn’t refuse.

I gazed down at him, water still trickling from my hair into my eyes, and managed the feeblest attempt at sarcasm I’d ever produced.

"You know, most people start with taking the person they like out for coffee. Or a conversation...or, I don’t know, not freaking kidnapping the omega first."

"I already had the conversation," he replied, maintaining that small, dangerous smile. "You just weren’t listening."

He didn’t rush.

Instead, he focused on the insides of my thighs, placing slow open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin there, while the cool air sent another shiver across my wet body.

His mouth was warm and intended, tracing higher with each pass, teeth scraping lightly enough to sting without truly biting, tongue following behind to soothe the same path.

Water from his hair continued to drip onto my skin in small, uneven drops, each touch feeling more vivid.

He disregarded the obvious arousal that was already stirring again beneath the soaked fabric of my boxers, concentrating instead on the soft skin of my inner thighs as if he had all the time in the world and planned to savor every second.

"I’ve wanted to taste you since the night I realized how I felt about you." he said against my skin, his words vibrating through me.

"You can keep pretending this is something you can walk away from if it makes you feel safer, but your body already gave you away in the water. It doesn’t lie like your mouth does when you’re scared."

My internal monologue swung wildly between embarrassment, residual anger, and a raw, unwilling need that refused to quiet down.

I needed no further convincing...

This man just had to be the devil himself...with how he was calm, calculating, and far too skilled at dismantling every defense I’d ever constructed.

Somehow, the devil himself had decided I was worth falling for in the most absolute and inconvenient way possible.

The earlier confession echoed in my mind, the easy certainty with which he’d spoken of claiming and pups and dragging me back every time I tried to get my ass far away from him.

And now here he was, on his knees, rewriting the terms of whatever this was with his mouth while I was too wrecked to do more than breathe through it.

When he finally tugged the wet fabric down far enough to free my cock for himself once again, the cooler air made me flinch.

But the heat of his mouth that followed was so sudden and complete that coherent thought shattered almost immediately.

He took me into his mouth in with control instead of frantic urgency, the wet pressure surrounding me in a slow, devastating slide that forced a broken sound from my throat before I could hold it back.

I flinched violently at the strange sensations immediately overwhelming me.

What the shit was he doing now?!

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