The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 60

The bedroom door crashes open under the combined force of our momentum, and I barely register the interior before Morgan’s mouth reclaims mine.

Soft colors. Clean lines. A desk beneath the window cluttered with papers and the phone she’s been using to text Ricky.

And the bed—a king-size monstrosity that takes up half the room, piled with pillows and thick blankets that look like heaven after weeks of imagining her in spaces too small to contain what I want to do.

Thank you, Ricky. Whatever mysterious past led you to furnish a safe house with a bed this size, I owe you more than you’ll ever know.

Morgan’s fingers work at the buttons of my shirt with an urgency that matches the hunger clawing through my chest. I let her strip the fabric from my shoulders, let it fall to the floor in a heap neither of us cares about.

Her hands flatten against my bare chest, and the contact sends electricity arcing through my nerve endings.

“Zane—” My name comes out breathless, broken.

I walk her backward until her thighs hit the edge of the desk, and then I’m lifting her onto its surface, scattering papers and sending a pen rolling to the floor.

She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me into the cradle of her body, and the friction makes us both groan.

She’s mine right now, in this moment, and I’m going to make sure she never forgets it.

My mouth finds her throat, her collarbone, the soft swell of flesh above the neckline of her shirt. I want to tear the fabric away, but some part of me wants to savor this—wants to draw out every second until she’s begging for more.

“If the baby is mine—” The words escape before I can stop them, raw and desperate against her skin.

Morgan stills beneath me, her fingers pausing in their exploration of my shoulders.

“Terrible timing, Zane.” But her smile takes the sting from the words, and her legs tighten around my waist. “Let’s talk about it when we can think straight.”

“I need to know you’d want that.” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, vulnerability cracking through the desire. “I need to know you wouldn’t see it as a complication, as the wrong outcome.”

Her expression softens, and her hand rises to cup my jaw with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

“You think I lie awake hoping the baby belongs to Paul?” She traces her thumb across my lower lip. “You think I don’t imagine a child with your eyes, your gentleness, your ridiculous sense of humor?”

The confession hits me like a physical blow. “Morgan—”

“I don’t know whose baby this is.” Her voice drops to something intimate, something meant only for me. “But I know that if it’s yours, I would be grateful, Zane.”

God. This woman is going to destroy me.

I crush my mouth against hers, pouring every ounce of feeling into the kiss—gratitude and want and a possessive hunger I’ve stopped trying to control.

She responds in kind, her fingers raking down my back, her hips rolling against mine with a rhythm that makes coherent thought impossible.

The desk groans beneath our combined weight.

I ignore it, too consumed by the taste of her, by the soft sounds she makes when I angle my head to deepen the kiss.

My hands slide beneath her shirt, palms rough against the silk of her skin, mapping curves I’ve been dreaming about since the greenhouse.

A sharp crack echoes through the room.

We both freeze, and I glance down to see one of the desk legs listing at an alarming angle, the wood splintered where it meets the frame.

I start slow, tracing patterns across her skin with fingertips and mouth, learning every sensitive spot, every place that makes her breath catch. She writhes beneath my attention, her hips pressing back against me with increasing desperation.

My hand slides between her thighs, finding her slick and swollen, and I groan against her spine at the evidence of her arousal.

“Yes—” She moans as my fingers find her center and begin to circle.

I build her toward the edge, feeling her muscles tense beneath me, hearing her breath come faster and more ragged. Just as she’s about to crest, I pull my hand away.

“Zane!” The protest tears from her throat, her body shaking with denied release. “Don’t you dare—”

“Not yet, little wolf.” I press a kiss between her shoulder blades. “I want you desperate.”

I start again, slower this time, drawing out every sensation until she’s trembling and incoherent beneath my touch. When I feel her approaching the peak a second time, I withdraw once more.

“God—damn it, Zane—” Her voice cracks with frustration. “I need—”

“What?” I position myself behind her, my length pressing against her entrance but not pushing inside. “Say it.”

“Please…” She pushes her hips back against me, shameless and wanting. “I need you to fuck me.”

The filthy word sounds foreign coming from her mouth, and that makes them even hotter. I thrust forward in one smooth motion, burying myself to the hilt.

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