Chapter 10

Idon't remember how we got to the bedroom, only that we are here. I'm in some kind of trance. I can't quite believe this is happening. An out-of-body experience, if you will, that people sometimes talk about when they are close to death.

Only I don't feel close to death. I feel more alive than I've ever been as I take a seat on a chair placed for my viewing pleasure. He wants to watch me take her ass, an act she has been reluctant about. One I have secretly craved. One I believe Clara will be enthusiastic for by the time Frederick is done with her.

Her hand is in his as they come to a stop at the foot of the bed. She looks small and fragile beside him. He leans in towards her protectively, his focus on her at all times.

I had heard this about alphas and how they are able to sense things below the surface that betas cannot. In the way some animals are able to home and find water, alphas can sense things regarding lust.

"I'm a little nervous," she admits.

He draws her small hand to his lips. "We shall take good care of you, ensure you are thoroughly prepared," he says.

"How will you…" —she swallows— "How will you prepare me?"

He brushes her hair over her shoulder before his fingers find the ribbon at her bodice, the one she foolishly insisted on tying for the short walk to our bedroom. "We will take our time. I will know when you are ready. There will be no fear, only a pleasurable experience."

She gazes up at him, so trusting.

I think it will be more than pleasurable. I think it will be incredible. I also think it will be a terrible strain for her to take his cock.

My throat works as I swallow. I'm asking a man to ruin my wife, to defile her pussy with his thick cock. I don't know why I should like the thought of that, of her being all open when he is done with her. The thought of taking her after him should disgust me, shouldn't it?

It doesn't. It enlivens me. I feel sensitive all across the surface of my skin, and as I brush my knuckles over my lips, even that small sensation is magnified.

He kisses her, gentle nibbles upon her lips that grow in urgency as he divests her of her dress. She hardly notices what he's doing, so caught up in the kiss. It's almost like she's forgotten I am here. I feel a brief stirring of something. I don't quite know what it is. It's not jealousy. But it is a kind of longing. I could stop them. He has already indicated that we should speak plainly if it becomes too much, and I trust him in this even as I understand I'm gifting my wife to a man with an animalistic side, a man with a knot.

As her gown slips to the floor and her naked beauty is revealed, his lips break from hers.

"Gods, you are stunning. I want to shred every gown in your closet and keep you like this all the time. Some alphas do that, you know. Expect their mates to be naked the moment they enter the privacy of their home. Some have the most scandalous kind of clothing they insist their mates wear, little more than pretty wrappers that serve no hindrance to an alpha's frequent desire for rutting."

A thrill passes through me at his words, both his praise and the kind of depraved things an alpha demands of his mate. He echoes all I feel… all I secretly desire. I wish that I could keep her in those naughty undergarments she sometimes wears.

He cups her tits together and squeezes them, brushing his thumbs over her nipples before he slides his hands down to her hips. He lifts her and drops her on the bed. "Spread your legs, Clara. Nice and wide. I want to watch you while I undress."

She does so, slowly, demure, her pretty face flushed.

"Tell me how she looks," I ask, unable to mask my eagerness.

He undoes the buttons on his shirt, working down. "She is like the goddess in living flesh. In all my life, I have never seen such beauty. She is perfect. Gods, she is so perfect with her full tits and slick pussy glistening with her need." As he reaches the bottom of his shirt, he tugs it free and tosses it to the floor.

He is a beautiful man, broad-chested and powerful, the definition of alpha masculinity. When he wears clothing, one might almost forget that he is an alpha—and primal—yet there is no disguising any of that as he strips down the rest of his clothing and stands before her naked.

Her chest saws unsteadily, as does mine.

His cock is thick and long. I can already see the faint swelling near the base—his knot. He takes that monstrosity in his hand and strokes it once, ejecting a long, thin trail of pre-cum that stretches to the bedroom floor before it finally breaks.

Her lips part on a little gasp. My mind splinters between now and last night when I sought to work four fingers into her. It will be a strain for her to take him. I still want him to. The thought of him pushing into her, forcing her flesh to yield, has my cock thumping and leaking behind my pants.

It is suddenly hot in here. I reach for the buttons of my shirt and tug it off impatiently, then I toss it to the floor.

"I'm just going to test you," he says to her.

He braces himself over her, one hand planted on the bed beside her right shoulder, leaving the left side open and exposed for my view as he slips the other hand between her thighs. She moans. I see her hips moving, and his fingers begin to pump.

"You are tight—very fucking tight," he says. "Let's see if we can open you up a little."

My dick jerks in approval. She frets a little on the bed, but he lowers his lips to her right tit and sucks until she softens and submits.

I've come in her many times in the last night and day, and his vigorous pumping makes the most debauched wet sounds.

His lips pop off a breast. "That's my filthy girl." He looks down the length of her body. "Open your legs wider for me. That's it."

She spreads her legs, opening herself to him as his fingers continue to pump. I see him pull them all the way out, and then, this time, when he pushes in, she arches up off the bed.

"Good girl," he croons. "Let me open you up."

I lean forward on the chair, my breathing unsteady, the blood pounding through my veins as he lowers his lips to a breast again, sucking and nipping, pressing his nose into the underside and then sucking half of it into his mouth.

Her breathing begins to stutter. He stops, and when his touches resume, they are gentler.

"Oh! What? Why did you stop?"

"I don't want you to come yet," he says.

My balls draw tight. Of course, he doesn't. He's an alpha, and this will all be on his terms.

She pouts prettily at him.

"I know, Clara, I know. You have to trust me on this."

He slides his finger inside again, but only one. The filthy wet noises begin again as he slips it in and out, and then it is two fingers, and then it is three.

My amusement flares as I get the distinct impression my wife is trying not to let on how much she likes this. "I think she's playing you," I say, wondering where my loyalties lie to offer this up.

He stills with his finger buried deep, glances across at me, and smirks. "I know. I'm on to her."

She huffs out of breath, and her fingers fist the bedding beside her. "Please don't keep stopping. I'm ready. I'm more than ready."

"Hmm? Do you really think so?"

He directs the weeping tip of his cock at her pussy, and slides the head up and down through her slick folds. I almost feel the moment when he catches her entrance… and pushes.

My breath lodges in my throat, and my balls reach. Somehow, I manage not to fucking come.

And there he stops. She tries to jerk away. He encloses her throat in his fist and pins her still against the bed.

"You were getting impatient, my sweet Clara. Is this not what you want?"