Alpha's Forbidden Mate

by Alice Cain

  Darrick is not only less breakable than a human the same size but he is also much more sensitive. That opens a whole new world full of possibilities.

  I go down on him a few times, pressing hard against his inner thighs to hold him trapped against the bed, sucking as forcefully as I can as I drag my lips back up to the tip of his cock.

  He's writhing underneath me, the whole bed shaking with his reaction as I finally pull away completely and wrap my hand around his thick cock. The expression on his face is beautiful, his delight so obvious in his features.

  "I'm going to fuck you," I say, half leaning sideways in an attempt to reach the condoms and lube in my top drawer. When he realizes what I'm doing he places a warm hand against my forearm.

  "We don't need them," he says quietly. "We can use them if you want, but they're not necessary."

  Admittedly, I hesitate for a moment. I've never fucked anyone bareback before and to be honest I've never given the idea much thought. Safe sex has been so ingrained in me that the idea isn't as appealing as it probably should be.

  I can see the disappointment on Darrick's face and I find myself wondering why this might be so important to him. I've read that werewolves can't catch or carry human venereal diseases—and that seems to be what Darrick is confirming—but his reaction is off somehow.

  "Explain this to me, Ricky," I say, leaning over him to see his face more closely without actually letting go of his cock. I jack him slowly as I wait for his answer. He's quiet for longer than I expect, so I ask again. "Why is doing this without a condom so important to you?"

  His cheeks and ears grow red with embarrassment as I watch him struggle to find an answer he thinks I might want to hear. I shake my head and reach for his jaw to force him to look at me.

  "I want an honest answer, Ricky."

  "Scent is very important to werewolves," he replies eventually.

  I'm not entirely sure what he means by that. "You don't like the smell of lube and latex?" I guess that makes a bit of sense. They're not exactly sexy scents and probably smell much worse to enhanced noses.

  He smiles softly and shrugs. "I'd rather smell like you," he says quietly, "but it's okay. We promised to find middle ground on what we both need."

  "I don't think I can fuck you dry." I don't want to hurt him or myself, and when he shudders unpleasantly I take it as an agreement on his part. Sex is definitely not fun if it's that sort of painful.

  Darrick reaches up to place his warm palm against my cheek. "Pre-cum will be enough," he whispers reassuringly. "Heaven knows there's plenty of it right now." He grins wickedly. "Apparently you have a rather strong effect on me."

  I smile at that and start to move my hand once more, his cock growing to full hardness again in only a few strokes. He's right about the pre-cum. My hand and his stomach are covered in it, but since I want our first time together to be pain free—we'll explore our tolerance levels later—I start to move my hand faster, jacking him off even as I move my knees under his thighs and lift his ass off the bed.

  "Come for me, Ricky," I whisper.

  ~*~*~*~*~

  *** Darrick ***

  I'm so turned on I can barely think straight, but a direct order from my mate has orgasm slamming me. I growl low in my throat as cum bursts from my cock, numerous streaks of white covering my abdomen before John runs his fingers through them, scooping most of it up.

  I'm still trying to catch my breath when I feel slippery fingers gliding over my ass. The sensation is strange, the pressure against my hole gentle but insistent. Yet instead of pushing in, instead of taking advantage of my werewolf strength and enhanced healing, John coaxes my body into responding, caressing over and around that tiny hole until the muscles relax and begin to open.

  But even then, John doesn't rush things. He twists his hand, coating my crease and rim thoroughly before gently working a finger inside me. I moan at the intrusion, the sensation far more intimate than I'd ever imagined.

  He smiles at me, leaning over to kiss me softly without ceasing his ministrations, my entire body starting to undulate without my conscious thought.

  "That's it, Ricky," he says in a deep tone that does nothing to stem my growing arousal. "Relax and let me in."

  I nod my enthusiasm and instinctively bear down, gasping in surprise at the change of angle. John hums his approval and slides a second finger inside me, scissoring them gently as my body responds eagerly. I feel so open, so ready, so needy, I can't help the soft sound of disappointment that escapes when he gently pushes deeper instead of pulling out and shoving his cock into me.

  But the new sensation has me nearly levitating off the bed in reaction, my breath catching in my throat as pleasure rolls over me in waves, the gentle movement of John's fingers inside me prolonging the sensation.

  "Has no one ever found your prostate before?" John asks, sounding perhaps a little bit annoyed.

  I can't risk telling him the truth right now, so I shrug again and hope it's answer enough.

  "I read," John says quietly, "that werewolves have incredible stamina, so I find myself wondering what sort of recovery time you need between orgasms." He smiles when he wraps his fingers around my rapidly recovering cock. "Can you come again for me, Ricky?"

  I nod, eager to please my mate any way he wants. The fact that I'm already leaking pre-cum and am on the very edge of climaxing once again kind of makes it easy. My back arches instinctively, pushing my cock harder into John's grip, the added pressure forcing me to orgasm once more.

  My human mate growls—and seriously, how fucking hot is that?—and scoops up the new jizz coating my stomach. I salivate as I watch him coat his own cock with my seed, the possessive, instinctual side of me howling my approval nearly loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

  John grins at my reaction, his movements slowing as I watch, entranced. Again and again he gathers up my cum and smears it over his dick, teasing me nearly enough for my cock to grow hard once more.

  He lifts my knees into the air, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh before dropping his gaze to my hole. I can feel the muscles clench in anticipation as he moves closer, his cock finally grazing my rim before he lines himself up carefully and slowly pushes in. I'm tight, but he takes his time, working his way into my body gently, the never-ending pressure splitting me apart in the most delicious of ways.

  The moment he's fully inside I want him to move, to fuck me, to claim me, to take whatever my mate needs from me, but he holds still, breathing hard as he waits for something that I don't understand.

  I'm about to ask if there's a problem, loathe to break the quiet moment but too worried that I'd done something wrong, when something happens, something incredible, something I never quite understood.

  I'm moaning helplessly, writhing on my mate's cock as pleasure swamps me, drowning me in sensation, John's smile and scent of approval spinning the feeling higher, tighter, overtaking everything else. I see and feel nothing but this man, my mate, my perfect match. For one brilliant shining moment my world is absolutely perfect.

  And then he starts to move.

  And my definition of perfect is rewritten forever.

  Within moments I'm squirming, pleading, desperate for release, desperate for my mate to claim me in the most human of ways. He grins as he pounds into me harder, thrusting, grinding, fucking me until I throw my head back and howl.

  Chapter Seven

  ** John **

  I hold Darrick close while he sleeps again. I've never had a bed partner who was so responsive, so incredible, so fucking... loud. I grin at the memory and really hope my neighbors weren't frightened by the howl when he came on my cock that last time.

  Hell, even though my ears are still ringing from that high pitched noise, I can't imagine a more perfect way for a werewolf to celebrate pure joy. This man sleeping in my arms is simply incredible.

  I run my finger gently over the dark circles under his eyes and worry how hard the past week must have been for him to be this exhauste
d. Even when he finally wakes several hours later I'm reluctant to let him go. I know we both desperately need a shower, but I'm too happy to have Darrick in my embrace to care that we're both a little sticky.

  And hey, maybe now is a good time to try and sort fact and fiction from what I researched on the Internet. I'm also willing to do a little research on Darrick's more personal needs while we're at it, though I'm not quite sure I'm going to be able to top our first time together. That was simply too perfect and I can't imagine our sex life getting any better.

  Keeping my tone low and just a touch demanding the same way I'd overhead Doms at the sex clubs speaking, I continue to caress and touch him tenderly as I start asking questions. Once I've confirmed that he's had enough sleep, isn't hungry or thirsty, and is happy to put off cleaning up for a little bit longer, I get to the information that I've been researching all week. "So it's true that werewolves can't catch or carry human diseases?"

  "Mostly," Darrick answers breathlessly as I slide my hand over the relaxed muscles of his upper thigh, dragging my blunt nails across the flesh over and over when I realize just how much he enjoys it.

  "Define mostly," I demand even as I move to a more comfortable position, my mouth close enough for him to feel the warmth of my breath on his ear as I speak. "Give me examples."

  I smile when I realize he's reacting beautifully to my tone of voice and to the firm way I'm holding him trapped against me. It's definitely working for me.

  "Our healing and immune systems," Darrick says, his words stuttering as I continue to drag my blunt nails over his skin, "work more efficiently than humans, so most viruses and bacterial infections are cured before they can develop symptoms."

  "So you don't get sick?"

  He shrugs as best he can in the firm circle of my arms. "We have a couple of diseases unique to werewolves, but for the most part werewolves as a species have always been immune to the diseases doing the rounds among humans."

  "Cancer?"

  "Not that I know of," Darrick replies sounding uncomfortable with my line of questioning. It takes me another moment or two to realize why.

  "Shit," I whisper, my renewed arousal dying a quick death.

  When I'd read about werewolf healing and immunity on the Internet it had seemed to be yet another wildly exaggerated justification for keeping werewolves apart from humans. Of course it had also been the subject of a doctor's political push to force werewolves into laboratory testing for the "good of the human race."

  Knowing now that the article is not only accurate but very possibly something that is being considered by the government very literally makes me feel ill. Humans debated and decided against animal testing decades ago, but forcing sentient beings into slavery for "medical" reasons is apparently something humans are willing to turn a blind eye to now.

  Darrick rolls in my embrace and I'm more than happy to let him. I need him to see my face and know that I mean what I say. "I will never agree to something like forced medical testing. Not ever."

  "It's okay," Darrick says in a soft, reassuring tone. "I know you're only asking because you're curious, not because you intend to publish articles on our healing abilities."

  Despite his reassurance I feel a little bit chastised. The information is already on the Internet—albeit hidden among other wild claims—but I hadn't exactly decided not to write an article on it either. I suddenly find myself rethinking everything I've written on my blog. Most of it is really just links and references to other information available on the Internet, but now I find myself desperately hoping I haven't published or highlighted anything that werewolves don't want humans to know.

  I'm a reporter in a supposedly democratic society. I'm all for freedom of information, but not when it gets people killed. I close my eyes against the argument I've always struggled to reconcile in my head. People need information to make an informed choice—I'm a true believer that discussing hate-filled and painful issues is a necessary evil for society to be able to grow and learn and to find peaceful understanding—but where does necessary public information end and private information begin?

  And is that even a question anymore considering the wholesale invasion of privacy that is becoming more and more obvious now that our social lives are virtually online for everyone to see?

  I can't help but smile when I feel Darrick's warm hand against my cheek. I reach up and place my hand over his before turning my head and placing a kiss against his palm.

  "Just how much research did you do?" Darrick asks, his voice thick with concern.

  "The usual," I say, not really wanting to admit that it has been my project for most of the past week. Unfortunately Darrick must realize that "the usual" for a reporter is far more than the average Internet user because he frowns worriedly.

  "You said something earlier about starting a blog?"

  Yeah, I really don't want to have this conversation—especially right now—but if we're going to have the sort of relationship I hope we're working toward, he needs to know everything about me.

  "I did," I say, trying to fight down the resurrection of the overwhelming emotions I'd been feeling when Darrick had knocked on my door only a few hours ago. "After the magazine 'edited' my article"—yes, I'm still pissed about that—"I realized if I wanted to report accurately about what I'd seen at the rally that I needed a platform I had more control over."

  Darrick looks uncomfortable and I rush to explain that I have no intention of blogging about personal things such as our sex life. I mean, I know that's a thing some people like to do, but I am definitely not one of them. Private versus public? Yeah, details of my sex life are not for the masses. But there is one tidbit of information I would like to verify.

  He laughs when I ask. "You've just had your hands all over my dick and you didn't notice?"

  I laugh with him because it really is an absurd question. "So knotting is just another creative fiction? Damn, that is disappointing," I say, pretending to be dramatically saddened.

  Darrick frowns at me. "I only said I don't have one. Not that they don't exist."

  "Okay," I say, ready to swat him with a pillow for teasing me. "Fine. They do exist...on wolves and dogs."

  "And werewolves," he adds with a serious face. "It's just not as common as the fictional stories make it sound, but it is something else that sets werewolves apart from humans. To be honest, I'm very glad I don't have one."

  "But you're the alpha," I blurt out without really thinking it through. I really hope he doesn't ask where I found that on the Internet. I really would like to get through this conversation without admitting that some of my research into werewolves involved skimming through a number of fictional titles some of which... okay, many of which were romantic in inclination.

  "Being the pack alpha is just a title," Darrick says with a warm smile. "I didn't need any extra body parts to get the job."

  "Makes sense," I say, trying to rein in my embarrassment and find a change in subject. "How did you become pack alpha?" I'm still embarrassed that the last time he was here I assumed he'd killed his father, so changing the subject really isn't working for me yet.

  Fortunately Darrick answers my question without making reference to my naïve and biased assumption from last week.

  "Each pack runs a little differently," he says wriggling as if to encourage me to start caressing him again. I'm definitely inclined to oblige him. He sighs happily before continuing. "Most packs still follow a traditional hierarchy. Kind of like human royalty, the leadership is passed from father to son, occasionally a daughter or cousin, or to the alpha's younger sibling if a child isn't born. Pretty much from birth I was raised to take over our pack."

  "But you challenged your dad and took over earlier than planned?"

  "I did."

  "And that involved?" I ask, raising my voice at the end to make it a question. And yes, okay I am trying to lead him into answering the question without offering any of the information I read on the Internet. I already falsely as
sumed he killed his dad to take over the pack. The last thing I need to do is embarrass us both by asking if they change into their werewolf and fight until someone is declared the winner.

  "I know what you're thinking," Darrick says with a snort of laughter, apparently seeing right through my clever line of questioning. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that clever, but give me a break here. At least I'm trying to learn fact from fiction. "It was nothing quite so exciting, just a lot of corporate lobbying and maneuvering." He grin's widely at my over-the-top show of disappointment. "You really need to stop getting your information off the Internet. I know where you got the information on knotting from."

  "I plead the fifth," I say, laughing with him. Hey, some of those books are seriously hot. As if he heard my thought, he tilts his head back and drags his teeth against my jaw before biting down softly. It gives me some really wicked ideas and I can't help the shiver that quakes through me.

  "I need a shower," he says in a regret-filled tone.

  I'm disappointed when he rolls off the bed, but I'm happily distracted by the delicious, naked man in front of me. Maybe it's his werewolf physiology and I'm a shallow asshole, but I really want to get my tongue on those gorgeous abs again. Darrick's cock is slowly growing harder the longer I watch him, so I'm not at all surprised by the wicked smirk on his lips when my gaze finally goes high enough to reach his face. "Any chance of fucking me up against the tiles?" he asks in an innocent tone.

  Yes, I can move very fast when I'm motivated.

  ~*~*~*~*~

  *** Darrick ***

  John's shower is nowhere near big enough for two grown men, but somehow I still manage to find myself pressed face first against the tiles, my hands pinned above my head, and John ramming his thick cock into my still messy hole over and over and over. I'm so turned on my legs are shaky and I'm really glad he has the strength to hold me up.

  He's a big guy and seriously fit—apparently exercise helps him clear his mind enough to write—so I love that he's not holding back, that he understands that I'm far stronger than I look. I can't imagine he's had too many partners where he could just let go and use his full strength.