He yanks my dress up, my panties down, and I grab the bookshelf and hold on. My heart is in my throat, and liquid pools within me at the sounds of rustling fabric behind me. He mutters a curse. More fabric rustles, and then his hands are on my hips, dragging me back as he thrusts.
I cry out and moan as he slams himself home. For one perfect second, he holds me flush against him, his arms wrapped tight around my middle, his mouth at my throat. A more intimate hug than any I’ve had before.
He lifts his head then. As his hands tighten on my hips, lifting me slightly, I rise to my tiptoes as he starts moving.
This isn’t lovemaking.
This has nothing to do with love.
This is fucking.
In and out, our breathing harsh and overly loud, his cock slides in and out of me. My body opens up around him, my hips push back, wanting more.
“Please,” I whimper, willing him to go faster, needing this to never stop. “Please.”
And I grit my teeth, my orgasm tantalizingly close, desperate for his knot to lock us together so he can’t ever leave me.
I want it all.
His cock jerks, he grunts, and rips himself out of me.
I cry out as I lose my balance and fall, my knees slamming against the floor and my forehead bumping the bookcase, knocking a book aside and making my head pound.
By the time my heart has steadied, and I twist around, Archer has gone. I’m alone.
Getting to my feet is hard. Stopping my tears from falling is impossible.
The library door starts to open. “Juniper?”
I brush the tears from my cheeks and yank my skirt down, flashing a false smile at Veronica when she peers into the room. “Sorry. Did you need to clean in here?”
She looks at me as if she knows something is wrong. Maybe she heard what Archer and I were doing in here. Maybe she smells the sex.
Humiliated that I let myself want something that I should never have let happen, I rush past her, up the stairs, and to my room, where I pick up my cell phone from where it’s charging on my bedside table. I dial a number from memory. My fingers tighten around the handset as I take in a breath and release it.
“Yes?” Mom asks once the phone stops ringing.
She sounds distracted. That’s nothing new.
“Mom, I want to come home.”
She laughs. “Don’t be silly, Juniper, youarehome. With your alphas, where you belong.”
“But Mom, I—I just want to come home.”
“Well, of course you can come home,” she says with a laugh.
All the muscles in my body relax.
“But not until this weekend, and you’ll have to tell me what meal your alphas prefer for dinner. I can make it a special occasion. It’s been some time since I’ve hosted.”
I nearly scream with frustration. “Mom, you don’t understand. I?—”
“Your father is calling me. We’ll speak soon. Bye, sweetheart.”
I’m opening my mouth to respond when the dial tone blares in my ear.
I continue holding the phone, then hang up, put it down, and sit on the edge of my bed. I won’t cry again. All I do in this house is cry, hurt, and cry again.
