The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate

His finger slid back inside before the sting faded, and the transition from discipline to pleasure was so fast her body couldn’t decide which signal to prioritize.

"Did I say you could talk?" His voice dropped into a growl that carried the full weight of the Alpha underneath the man, the wolf underneath the king, the predator underneath every civilized layer Finnick Shadowclaw wore in public. He pushed a second finger inside her and curled both. She stiffened from the burn.

"You promised me. I followed you. And now you are going to give me this." His fingers pumped harder. His thumb pressed against her clit with a precision that was criminal. "You are going to be crowned in Shadowclaw. You are going to wear my pack’s mark and become one of us. Say it."

"Fin, I am already crowned in Drakenfell—"

Smack.

His fingers returned immediately, thrusting deeper, faster, the rhythm punishing and rewarding simultaneously.

"You already have my mark. It’s time you have a Shadowclaw crown on your head too."

"I—" Her voice broke on a moan she failed to suppress. "Fin, I don’t know how that would work—"

He pulled his fingers free. Both hands went to the hem of her chemise. He pulled it over her head in a single motion, the silk whispering against her skin as it left. The room’s cool air hit her body. A reminder that she was very much on all fours and very naked in front of him. She blushed.

He moved her off his lap, shifting her sideways onto the mattress until she was on all fours, her face positioned above him.

One of his hands stayed fisted in her hair, gentle but possessive, his fingers threaded through the white strands with a grip that communicated ownership rather than force. His other hand found her backside, rubbing slow, soothing circles over where he had just spanked.

"You have never done this before, have you?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. Through the matebond, he could feel her nervousness, the heat, the particular cocktail of curiosity and embarrassment that belonged to a woman encountering a first in bed and a woman who was shy still with him.

She shook her head. Her cheeks were flushed. Her green eyes were wide.

"Good." His mouth curved. "That means I get to teach you."

He tugged her hair just enough to lift her face, to bring her eyes to his, to establish the line of sight he wanted maintained.

"Open your mouth, baby."

She hesitated, very aware that she had no idea what she was doing, and Fin was very aware of the same thing, and the patience in his eyes made the blush worse, not better.

The hesitation lasted two seconds before his hand came down on her backside. Sharp. Precise.

"I said open."

Her lips parted. He guided himself past them, his hand in her hair controlling the angle, the depth, the pace. The contact was slow. The first inch. The taste of him on her tongue, salt and heat and something that was uniquely his.

Her cheeks burned. She could feel him watching her and the watching made her shyer than she should be right now.

"Slow at first." His voice had changed. Rougher. Lower. The control was still there, but the edges were fraying, the discipline being tested by the sensation. "Just the head. That’s it. Use your tongue."

She did. Tentatively. A slow, experimental pass of her tongue across the tip, and the groan that came from Fin was soft and wrecked and honest in a way his voice rarely allowed itself to be.

"Good girl. Just like that."

While she worked, his free hand slid between her legs. Two fingers pushed inside her without warning, and the moan that vibrated against him drew another groan that he made no effort to suppress.

"Fuck." The word came out strained. "You are dripping down my hand while you suck me." His fingers began pumping in time with the gentle push of his hips. "You like this, don’t you?"

Her face turned scarlet.

His arousal was bleeding through the matebond. She could feel it layered on top of her own, the doubled sensation creating a feedback loop that amplified every touch by a magnitude that made concentration impossible.

"Deeper, Serena." His hand in her hair guided her down. Another inch. The pressure at the back of her throat triggered a reflex, and she gagged, the sound involuntary, and his hand held her head still. He didn’t pull back. He didn’t let her pull back.

"Breathe through your nose." His voice was steady. Patient. The voice of a man who was going to teach this lesson thoroughly and was in no rush. "You can take it."

His hand came down on her backside while he was still in her mouth, and the combination of the sting and the fullness and the matebond carrying his pleasure directly into her chest pulled a sound from her that she would deny producing under oath.

His hand guided her head down. Slowly. Another inch. His hips rose to meet her, a controlled, shallow thrust that pushed him deeper, and her throat resisted, and he held her there.

"Relax your throat. Let me in deeper."

She breathed through her nose. The resistance eased by a fraction. He pushed further.

"Good girl." The praise was low, rough, fraying at the edges. "Take a little more. You are going to learn to swallow every inch for me."

The dual rhythm, his cock in her mouth and his fingers inside of her, was building something in her body that the matebond was carrying directly into his, and the feedback loop was making his discipline expensive. Her hips started rocking backwards into his hand on their own.

"Look at me while you suck." His hand in her hair tilted her face upward. "Eyes up here."

She looked sideways up at him with her mouth full. Her cheeks flushed. The intimacy of him watching her, her watching him, while her mouth was full and her body was trembling, was the most exposed she had ever felt.

"That’s my perfect girl. Mouth full of my cock. Pussy dripping down my hand. This is exactly where you belong."