10 Dates with Mr. Alpha (MXM)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight
Aftermath of the Fourth Date: In Too Deep

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Kiel couldn't sleep.

Even with the smell of Ronan still clinging to his skin, the ache between his legs a sweet reminder of how rough it had been in the woods, his chest hurt.

It wasn't the pain of bruises. It was the pain of something changing.

Something irreversible.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands like they might explain why the fuck he kept letting Ronan inside—his body, his head, his heart.

They weren't just "hooking up" anymore.

This was... more. And he hated it.

Because the more Ronan touched him like he mattered, the more his walls began to crack.

A soft knock came from the window.

Kiel looked up and froze.

Ronan.

Still shirtless, hair a mess, chest heaving like he'd run the whole way here barefoot.

Kiel opened the window.

"I shouldn't be here," Ronan said.

"Then go."

"I can't."

They stared at each other, neither moving. Until finally, Kiel stepped aside.

Ronan climbed in.

The room was quiet—moonlight slicing through the blinds, casting pale stripes across Ronan's body. His golden skin still bore the red scratch marks Kiel had left on his back. Their marks. Their war.

"You okay?" Ronan asked softly.

"No."

A pause.

"Me neither."

Kiel hated how that made his throat tighten.

He turned away, pretending to look for something in his drawer. "If you're just here to fuck me again, don't bother. I'm tired."

Silence stretched.

Then Ronan said, "I didn't come here to fuck you."

Kiel blinked. "No?"

"I came to hold you."

That broke him.

He turned around, slowly, heart pounding. Ronan stood there looking lost, like he didn't know what he was doing either.

Kiel crossed the room and pressed his forehead to Ronan's chest.

"I don't know what we're doing," he whispered.

"Me neither," Ronan murmured. "But I know I can't stop."

Kiel swallowed. "I don't want to stop."

Ronan cupped his face, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. "Then don't."

Their kiss this time was different. Slower. Softer.

But no less desperate.

They peeled each other's clothes off like they were unfolding something sacred. Every inch of exposed skin felt like a confession.

When Ronan laid him down, it wasn't about control. It was about closeness. Kiel's legs wrapped around him, holding him there, grounding them both.

Ronan kissed down his chest, his stomach, his thighs. Worshipped him with his mouth like every touch was a prayer. And Kiel let himself feel it.

"I hate you for making me love this," Kiel whispered when Ronan's tongue lapped teasingly at his hole.

Ronan didn't stop. Just looked up with dark, hazy eyes and said, "I hate you for making me need this."

He slicked his fingers and pushed in slow, curling them just right. Kiel arched with a moan, gripping the sheets.

"More," he gasped. "Please—more."

Ronan gave him everything.

He lined up and slid in gently, burying himself inch by inch. The stretch still burned, but the way Ronan kissed Kiel's temple, whispered his name like a secret, made it safe.

They moved together, hips rocking, sweat gathering between them. It wasn't rough. Not this time.

It was something else.

Kiel buried his face in Ronan's neck, nails digging into his back, legs tightening around his waist. "Don't let go," he breathed.

"I won't."

"Not just tonight."

"I won't."

Their pace picked up. Every thrust a vow. Every moan a surrender.

Kiel cried out when Ronan hit that spot inside him, over and over, his cock leaking between them.

"I'm close," he whispered.

"Me too."

Ronan didn't knot him this time. Just stayed buried deep when he came, their orgasms crashing over them like a storm they'd tried and failed to outrun.

They lay there in silence, heartbeats syncing again, skin against skin.

And for once, there was no hate. No games.

Just two broken boys holding each other in the dark, pretending the morning wouldn't come.

But it would.

And with it—truth.

The Next Morning

Kiel woke up alone.

The spot beside him still warm, the window cracked open.

No note. No text.

He sat up slowly, eyes burning.

He knew this was going to happen.

He knew Ronan would run again.

And yet, it still broke something inside him.

Because he hadn't said it.

Hadn't told Ronan what was really tearing him apart.

That he wanted more.

That he didn't want to hide this anymore.

He pressed a hand to the mark on his shoulder—faint, but there.

Ronan hadn't claimed him. Not completely.

But he was branded all the same.

And if Ronan thought he could just disappear this time without consequence...

He was wrong.