My Possessive Alpha Twins For Mate Chapter 296

Dahlia’s POV

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I hovered—my limbs heavy, my mind fogged, yet something pulled at my awareness. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know he was there. I could feel him watching me. That scent—rich coffee laced with cinnamon—wrapped around me like a memory. Logan.

My eyes fluttered open slowly, meeting his. There was a weight to his gaze, darkened with an intensity that made my breath catch. His expression was unreadable, lips drawn tight, jaw rigid. I’d never seen him like this before. This wasn’t the Logan I’d come to know. And that unfamiliarity—it thrilled and terrified me in equal measure.

In a blink, he moved. One moment I was lying still, the next I was perched in his lap, caged in his arms. His embrace was ironclad, desperate almost, like he was holding onto something he thought he might lose. He buried his face in the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply, and I could feel every nerve ending awaken as he breathed me in.

But he was tense. I felt it in the tightness of his muscles and through the invisible thread that connected us.

I leaned back, needing to see his face, to make sense of what was unraveling inside him. His eyes locked with mine—sharp, seafoam green, swirling with secrets I couldn’t decipher.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, voice low, hoarse with something deeper than desire.

The answer came without thought. “Always.”

He rose then, lifting me as though I weighed nothing, and carried me out of the room. It wasn’t until he stepped into his closet and turned the lock behind us that I began to wonder why a closet needed a lock. But the question vanished as quickly as it came.

He set me down gently, hands steadying me before stepping back to look at me. There was a quiet deliberation in the way his eyes traced my face, a storm of thought behind his gaze. Then, with no warning, he reached out and tore my blouse down the middle.

“What—?” I started, but his finger touched my lips, silencing me.

“Shh,” he said softly, “Trust me.”

His hands were efficient, stripping me of my clothes piece by piece, until I stood before him in only the barely-there G-string I’d slipped on that morning. He stepped back, drinking me in with a dark hunger that made my skin flush. His growl rumbled low, primal, and heat pooled between my thighs in response.

The way the twins looked at me always made me feel wanted—but this… this was different. This was possession. Worship. Fire.

He was still fully clothed—ripped jeans hugging his legs, a white button-down left partially unfastened to reveal the ink etched along his chest. His sleeves were rolled up, arms flexing as he moved, and when he caught me staring, his smirk was lazy, smug, and devastatingly sexy.

Then he turned, opened the top drawer of a built-in dresser, and the sound of metal clinking sent a ripple of anticipation through me.

“Hands above your head,” he ordered, his voice all command.

I didn’t hesitate.

In moments, I was bound—cuffed to a metal ring overhead, the cool steel biting into my wrists. It should have scared me. It didn’t. Instead, arousal surged through me, my body already aching with need.

He rummaged again in the drawer, the faint sounds making my pulse race. When he returned to view, he held a slender black rod tipped with leather—a riding crop. My heart stuttered.

He slapped it lightly against his palm, over and over, letting the sound and sight of it unravel me. My mouth went dry and a moan slipped free before I could stop it. Logan’s grin turned feral.

“Remember your safe word,” he warned.

Then he leaned in, lips brushing mine. “Open your mouth.”

The command was soft, but absolute. I obeyed.

He slid the leather end between my parted lips.

“Suck.”

I did.

“Good girl.”

Withdrawing it slowly, he traced the crop along my body, teasing curves and dips, circling my nipples until they peaked painfully from the cold. My moans grew louder, needier, until—

Smack.

He brought the crop down on my ass, and I cried out, the sting sharp and shocking. But even that pain melted into pleasure as he caressed the burning skin, then trailed the crop between my thighs.

He rubbed it against my clit, slow and deliberate, until I was gasping, panting, desperate. Just when I was about to fall apart, he pulled away.

“Please, Logan,” I begged, voice breaking. “Please…”

“Please who?” he growled, snapping the crop against my flesh once more.

“Alpha,” I whimpered, head thrown back. “Please, I need you!”

With a grunt, he tossed the crop aside and dropped to his knees. He hooked one leg over his shoulder, his face inches from where I was dripping for him. He looked up at me, ravenous.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth found my core, his tongue tasting, teasing, torturing. He brought me to the brink—again and again—only to pull back each time, leaving me writhing and cursing in frustration.

“Fuck!” I cried out.

Logan rose, unzipping his jeans, freeing himself. His cock was thick, veined, the tip flushed and glistening. He looked enormous. He looked like salvation.

“Legs around me,” he barked.

I obeyed.

“Good girl. I’m going to fuck you now—hard and fast. This is for me. You do not come.”

Then he thrust into me.

The scream tore from my throat. His grip on my ass was bruising, his pace relentless. I was falling apart, unraveling, yet held together only by his hands, his cock, his dominance.

“Please, Alpha, I need to come!” I sobbed.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled. “Don’t. You. Ever. Scare. Me. Like. That. Again.”

Each word was driven home with a brutal thrust. And suddenly, it made sense.

This wasn’t just sex.

It was punishment.

It was him reclaiming control—over his fear, over me.

And then he came, a guttural growl vibrating through his chest as he spilled into me, fierce and possessive.

And all I could think was—what the hell had I done to deserve this kind of love?