Chapter 9: After the Storm
Kael didn't go straight back to the pack house.
He couldn't.
Not with Ronan's cum still leaking out of him, thick and warm, running down the insides of his thighs with every step. Not with his hole still swollen and sensitive, fluttering around nothing like it was already missing the stretch. Not with the taste of Ronan's blood and sweat still on his tongue, the scent of the rogue embedded so deep in his skin he could smell it on every breath.
He veered off the main path, heading deeper into the woods toward a small stream he'd used as a boy when he needed to be alone. The water was cold, fast-moving, loud enough to drown out the pounding in his ears.
He stripped again—clothes tossed on a rock—waded in naked up to his waist. The icy current hit like a slap, making him hiss through his teeth. He ducked under, scrubbed at his skin with rough hands, trying to wash away the evidence.
It didn't work.
Ronan's scent clung. His cum stayed inside, leaking slower now but still there, marking him from the inside out. Kael's hole clenched at the thought—slick mixing with the water, making him feel filthy in a way that made his cock twitch again.
He surfaced, water streaming down his face, chest heaving.
"Fuck," he muttered to the night.
He stood there a long time, letting the cold numb everything except the ache between his legs.
Ronan had fucked him.
Ronan had bent him over that log, spread him wide, slammed in deep and raw until Kael was moaning like a bitch in heat, claws digging into bark, begging—actually begging—for more.
Kael had come untouched the first time, cock spurting across the dirt while Ronan pounded him from behind. Then again, on his back, Ronan's hand wrapped around him, stroking rough while he thrust in hard, filling him up until cum overflowed and ran down his crack.
And Kael had let it happen.
Had wanted it.
Had hated every second and loved it more.
He dragged himself out of the stream, shivering, skin prickling. Dressed in damp clothes that clung uncomfortably. Walked back toward the pack house with slow, careful steps—every movement reminding him of how thoroughly Ronan had used him.
The house was dark when he slipped inside. Most of the pack asleep or out on night patrol. He climbed the stairs to his room, locked the door, leaned against it like he had earlier.
His body still hummed. Still ached. Still wanted.
He stripped again—slow this time—and fell onto the bed naked. Rolled onto his stomach, face buried in the pillow, ass up slightly. The position made more of Ronan's cum leak out, warm and sticky between his cheeks.
Kael groaned into the fabric.
His hand slid back—fingers circling his hole, slick with cum and his own arousal. He pushed two fingers in—easy, too easy after Ronan's thick cock. His hole sucked them in greedily, clenching hard.
"Shit," he whispered.
He fucked himself slow—deep, curling fingers to hit that spot that made his toes curl. Imagined it was Ronan again—rougher, meaner, pinning him down and whispering filthy things in his ear.
"You're still dripping for me, aren't you?" he imagined Ronan growling. "Hole all loose and sloppy from my cum. Begging for another load."
Kael's hips bucked. His free hand wrapped around his cock—stroking in time with his fingers.
He came fast—hard, spilling over his fist and onto the sheets with a muffled groan. His hole spasmed around his fingers, milking them like it was trying to keep Ronan inside.
He collapsed, panting, sweat cooling on his skin.
Sleep came eventually—fitful, full of dreams where Ronan's hands were everywhere, where Kael was on his knees, mouth full, ass full, begging without shame.
He woke before dawn—hard again, hole aching, Ronan's scent still strong.
He dressed quickly. Left the room before anyone could see the wrecked sheets or smell the sex clinging to him.
Downstairs, the betas were stirring. One of them—young Marcus—approached cautiously.
"Alpha. Patrols found fresh rogue tracks near the eastern ridge. Same scent as before. Strong. Recent."
Kael's stomach flipped.
Ronan.
He kept his voice even. "Tell them to stand down. I'll handle it personally."
Marcus nodded, eyes flicking over Kael curiously—probably catching the faint scent of sex and rogue—but he didn't comment.
Kael stepped outside. The sky was still dark, moon fading.
He headed east again—same path, same pull.
This time he didn't tell himself it was scouting.
This time he knew exactly what he was going for.
Ronan was waiting at the ridge—same log, same spot. Shirtless, jeans low, cock already half-hard in anticipation.
He didn't smile when Kael approached. Just stood. Watched.
Kael stopped in front of him. Close. No words at first.
Then he grabbed Ronan by the throat—gentler this time, thumb stroking over the pulse.
"You left your cum in me," Kael said quietly. "Still leaking out."
Ronan's eyes darkened. "Good."
Kael's other hand slid down—cupped Ronan through his jeans. Squeezed.
"I'm not submitting," Kael said.
Ronan's hand mirrored him—cupping Kael, feeling the hardness, the damp spot already forming again.
"Neither am I."
Kael leaned in. Lips brushing Ronan's.
"Then let's see who breaks first."
They crashed together—mouths, hands, bodies—tearing at clothes, growling, moaning.
No more running.
No more pretending.
Just two alphas finally giving in to what they both wanted.
And neither was backing down.