Chapter 421: Chapter 421: Not done. [Win-Win]

Chris felt Dax’s heavy, demanding body against his, the evidence of his own exhaustion, and the lingering heat that refused to subside. He looked up at Dax, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the tensed muscles in the alpha’s shoulders, Dax’s tight jaw, and the undeniable, stubborn hardness pressing against his thigh.

“You think you’re done?” Chris murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. He didn’t sound breathless or weak or spent after how much he had been through with the pregnancy.

Dax didn’t blink. He didn’t even smile. He just looked at Chris like he was observing a particularly interesting piece of data, his expression unreadable but for the faintest crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“I never said I was,” Dax said deadpan.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Chris grinned, literally inviting danger into his life.

“Am I?” Dax’s pale brows rising, his purple eyes shining with mischief.

He hooked his arms under Chris’s knees and flipped him over onto his stomach in one smooth motion, the mattress groaning under the sudden shift in weight. Chris didn’t grunt. He didn’t even lose his smirk. He braced his hands against the mattress and pushed up, arching his back in a silent, arrogant invitation.

“Rough,” Chris said. with a low growl

“Efficient,” Dax corrected, unrepentant.

The reflection in the glass wall shifted, showing Dax looming over him, a dark shadow against the light. The view of the room and Dax made Chris feel more exposed and vulnerable, but he didn’t mind. He knew what he was doing.

He did it so many times before, but for a while he forgot about it. Not anymore.

“Then stop holding back,” Chris said, his voice dropping an octave, the challenge clear.

Dax grabbed Chris’ hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and thrust forward without warning. It was a hard, deep penetration that made Chris gasp, his head dropping forward onto the mattress.

“Gods,” Chris gritted out, but he pushed back, taking it all.

Dax didn’t give him time to adjust. He set a brutal pace, his hips slapping against Chris’s buttocks in a loud, wet rhythm that filled the space. He reached around and grabbed Chris’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, the combination of friction and pressure driving Chris wild.

“You like that?” Dax growled in his ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his neck.

“Yes,” Chris hissed, his back arching off the bed. “More.”

Dax laughed, a low, dark sound that vibrated through his chest and into Chris’s back. He let go of Chris’s cock and grabbed his waist, lifting him slightly off the bed, changing the angle again. He slammed into him again, harder, hitting that spot inside him that made Chris see stars.

“Look at yourself,” Dax commanded, his pheromones surging in the room.

Chris turned his head, his cheek resting against the cool sheets. He saw his reflection: flushed, disheveled, eyes wide and glassy, being fucked senseless by a man he had sworn to annoy and love in equal measure. It was a sight that made his blood run hot.

Chris grinned, watching the alpha in the mirror. He was beautiful when he lost control. “You like what you see?” he asked, his voice wrecked but his eyes bright. “Tell me you like it.”

Dax didn’t answer with words. He slammed in with a ruthless thrust that forced the air out of Chris’s lungs and made the glass wall behind them shudder in its frame.

“Gods,” Chris gritted out, his back bowing like a bowstring pulled too tight. The cold rain scent spiked, sharp and electric, fighting back against the darkness of the rum. It was a clash of elements, the storm against the spice.

“You’re far from done,” Dax growled, his voice vibrating through Chris’s entire body.

“I’m just getting started,” Chris shot back, pushing back to meet him, his arrogance unwavering.

Dax’s jaw tightened. He seemed to accept the challenge. He gripped Chris’ waist, lifting him off the mattress and changing the angle until he was completely buried. Then he began to move, not with the previous slow burn, but with a frenzy that bordered on violence. His hips slapped against Chris’s buttocks in a wet, thunderous rhythm that shook the bed frame.

“Look at yourself,” Dax commanded, his hand finding Chris’s throat.

Chris tilted his head back, exposing his neck, and looked into the mirror. He saw his own flushed face, sweat sheening his skin, and eyes blown wide and glassy. He saw Dax looming over him, a dark shadow, his own eyes purple and hungry. He saw the way their bodies moved together, a desperate, beautiful tangle of limbs. It was erotic, it was intense, and it was exactly what he wanted.

“You’re beautiful, Dax,” Chris murmured, his voice dropping to a purr. “So beautiful.”

The praise seemed to unlock something in the alpha. Dax’s hips slammed into him harder and faster, each stroke hitting that spot inside him with viciousness. The scent of spiced dark rum grew thick, suffocating, filling the room until it was the only thing Chris could breathe. It was intoxicating, a heavy blanket of masculine dominance that Chris wrapped around himself willingly.

“You take it so well,” Dax groaned, his face buried in Chris’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. “So perfect.”

The coil in Chris’s stomach snapped. With a cry that was half-moan, half-scream, he came. His vision whited out, his body arching off the bed, his cock spurting between them as the wave of pleasure crashed over him. The scent of fresh, cold rain burst into the room, sharp and overwhelming, washing away the rum’s darkness.

The clenching of Chris’s body around him was Dax’s undoing. With a final guttural roar that was half pain, half ecstasy, Dax buried himself to the hilt and emptied himself deep within Chris. His body shuddered, a powerful, violent tremor that wracked his entire frame.

He collapsed, his full weight pinning Chris to the mattress. For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged, desperate gasps for air and the faint hum of the ventilation. The scent of their combined pheromones was a physical presence, a thick, heavy blanket that settled over them, marking the territory as irrevocably theirs.

Slowly, Dax shifted, rolling to the side but keeping a leg thrown possessively over Chris’s. He propped himself up on an elbow, his chest still heaving. He looked down at Chris, at the mark on his shoulder, at the tear tracks on his cheeks, and at the utterly sated and triumphant look in his eyes.

A slow, tired smile spread across Dax’s face, a genuine, unguarded thing that was more potent than any of his earlier smirks.

“You are lucky that I’m not into rut.”

The words came out rough, half a threat and half a confession, and the fact that Dax managed either after what he’d just done, after what they had just done, was proof that the man was built out of stubbornness and control.

Chris lay there for a second, breathing like the air had to be earned, hair a mess, skin warm and oversensitive in a way that made everything feel both too much and not enough.

He turned his head slowly, cheek pressed to the sheets, and looked at Dax through half-lowered lashes.

“Am I?” Chris murmured, voice wrecked but smug in all the ways that mattered. “Because that sounded like you’re offering me a service.”

Dax’s laugh was low and exhausted, the kind that came from deep in his chest and shook with reluctant amusement.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Chris blinked innocently. “Don’t what?”

Dax stared at him like he was watching a fire decide whether to spread.

“You’re going to start again,” Dax said.

Chris’s mouth curved. “I already did.”

Dax’s leg remained draped possessively over him, heavy and unapologetic, like Dax had decided this was the only acceptable outcome: Chris pinned, kept, and claimed even in stillness.

Chris shifted just enough to test the line between comfort and provocation.

Dax’s hand tightened on his hip immediately.

Chris smiled wider, delighted.

“There it is,” Chris whispered. “The threat management system.”

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