10 Dates with Mr. Alpha (MXM)

Chapter 11

Kiel blinked fast, lashes wet. "And I took it. All of it. And I... I still want more."

Their lips met again, softer than before. Slow. Reverent.

Kiel's body was sore, trembling, but he straddled Ronan anyway. Their cocks brushed, and it was too much. Too tender. Too raw. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as their kiss deepened.

"I want you to fuck me slow this time," Kiel breathed against his lips.

"I want to love you through it," Ronan answered.

He guided himself in—carefully now. Tender. Slow enough to feel every ridge, every stretch, every gasp that fell from Kiel's throat.

They rocked together, no force, no frenzy. Just skin and heat and wet mouths finding each other over and over again.

And when they came—together—it was quiet.

Silent tears. Quiet sobs. Fingers clenching skin like they couldn't bear to let go.

Their bodies stayed connected long after the climax faded. And they stayed like that...

Breathing.

Touching.

Feeling.

The moon had passed its peak.

A silver glow still bathed the clearing, but the sky was softening—hints of dawn blushing on the edge of the world. Time didn't matter here. Not in this place. Not tonight.

Kiel lay curled beside Ronan, head resting over his chest, feeling the slow rhythm of his heartbeat.

He could feel their bond—woven between their ribs, curled around their lungs, threaded into every breath.

But something still pulsed. Quiet. Unfulfilled.

"I thought that was it," Kiel whispered, fingers tracing idle circles across Ronan's abdomen.

Ronan turned his head to look at him, eyes softer now. "Me too."

But their wolves still stirred. One last time.

Not with hunger. Not with heat.

But with purpose.

Kiel sat up, straddling Ronan one final time, slower than before. There was no rush. No need to prove dominance or give into feral instinct.

They'd fought.

They'd fucked.

They'd claimed.

Now they'd bind.

"You ready?" Kiel asked quietly.

Ronan only nodded.

Kiel lowered himself onto him again, both of them sighing at the stretch, their bodies recognizing each other now. Kiel was sore—worshipfully so—but he welcomed it. He welcomed the ache, the echo of everything they had become.

Each movement was deliberate.

Each grind of hips, a prayer.

Ronan's hands found Kiel's waist and held him—not to guide, not to control—but to feel. To ground himself in this moment, this love.

Their foreheads pressed.

Their eyes locked.

Every thrust was a confession.

I see you. I trust you. I am yours.

Ronan's breath hitched, and Kiel cupped his face as he rode him slowly, heat building not from lust, but from the sheer depth of being seen.

And then—

The bond ignited.

Not like before.

This time, it didn't blaze.

It bloomed.

A radiant warmth flooded their chests, sank into their bones, wrapped around their hearts. They felt everything—pain, pleasure, fear, love—together.

When Kiel finally came, it was a full-body collapse, a gasp that shook his whole being. And when Ronan followed—thrusting up one last time, filling him again—he did so with his arms wrapped tight around his mate.

The knot swelled one last time.

Final.

Permanent.

And they both wept.

Not because they were sad.

But because something untouchable had touched them.

Their wolves had chosen.

Their bodies had followed.

And now, their souls had sealed it.

They fell asleep still joined, skin to skin, heart to heart.

And when the sun rose, they would wake up not as enemies. Not even as lovers.

But as mates.