My Possessive Alpha Twins For Mate Chapter 297

Dahlia’s POV

Logan’s head slumped against my shoulder, his breath coming in heavy, uneven waves. He nestled into me, one arm still looped beneath my thighs, cradling me against him, while his other hand reached up to unbuckle the restraints above my head. Once freed, that hand slid down to my back, attempting to pull me closer to his chest. But I wasn’t ready to be held.

I braced my legs and pushed myself upright, forcing some distance between us. My hands wedged firmly against his chest, and I shoved. He blinked, eyes flickering with hurt before he looked away, quickly unlocking the closet door and walking out in silence. I heard the water run in the bathroom — he was likely cleaning himself up, washing the moment off his skin like it meant nothing.

I scrambled to gather my clothes, tugging them on hastily, holding my torn blouse shut with trembling fingers. My only thought was escape. I needed space. A consensual, playful punishment was one thing — but this… this had crossed a line. Something about it felt wrong, suffocating. I was furious. I needed time to think, to unravel the knots of confusion tightening in my chest.

How dare he touch me like that to quiet his own inner storm? Yes, I had the power to stop it — I could’ve used my safe word. But by the time I recognized what was happening, I was too far gone to speak. My voice, lost in the fog of lust and disorientation.

I bolted for the door, hoping to slip away unnoticed, but fate was cruel. He intercepted me in the hallway, his expression one of startled concern, a warm cloth in his hand — no doubt meant to clean me, to soothe. But I wasn’t interested in being soothed.

I sidestepped him, ignoring the cloth, the gesture, the regret in his eyes. My feet carried me to the door of my room, but he followed close behind. Just as I reached for the handle, his hand curled around my arm.

“Please, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice raw, eyes pleading with me to let him fix what he’d broken.

“Leave me alone,” I snapped, my voice colder than I felt. He held my gaze for a moment, then dropped his hand and nodded with a resigned sigh.

“I’ll give you time,” he said flatly. “But I’m coming back. We need to talk.”

And with that, he turned and disappeared into his room, leaving me standing there like a fool, staring after him, stunned by how much had unraveled in so little time.

I pressed my forehead against my door, drawing in shaky breaths, trying to ground myself. Finally, I stepped inside and made a beeline for the bathroom. I needed heat — something to burn away the tremors still rolling through me.

I turned the hot water all the way up, stripping quickly as the tub filled. I poured in a generous amount of my favorite scented bath oil, the familiar fragrance offering a small measure of comfort. Once it was full, I slipped into the scalding water and sank low, until it kissed my chin and soaked the tips of my hair. Wet curls clung to my neck and shoulders, a physical reminder of how raw I felt inside.

The day had been emotionally brutal. Physically draining. I let the quiet envelop me, allowing myself a moment of stillness before dragging my mind back to everything that had gone wrong.

This past week with my mates had felt like a dream — soft, beautiful, intoxicating. I had almost let myself forget that real life is complicated. Messy.

After the chaos at Crystal Moon, my dominant feeling had been relief. Chiara was safe. Dr. Winslett had managed to save her womb. That alone should have been enough to make me feel at peace.

But that shadow in the back of my mind wouldn’t let go — the insistent whisper that maybe, somehow, it was all my fault. Everyone had told me otherwise, but doubt is a powerful thing.

When I’d woken up to find Logan there, offering comfort in the form of intimacy, I hadn’t hesitated. My body craved the release, and I knew he could give it to me.

But instead of finding comfort, he poured his own pain into me. That wasn’t love. That wasn’t what I needed.

He had hurt me. And I wanted to be angry about it — to stay angry. Even if a part of me knew there was more to the story, I wasn’t ready to see his side. Not yet.

Instead, I let my thoughts spiral toward the pain — the drawer of toys he hadn’t told me about, the question of who else he’d used them on. The image of him doing those things to another woman seared through my chest like lightning, robbing me of breath.

I knew I was being irrational. Of course he’d had lovers before me. I thought I’d made peace with that. But this felt different.

I’d known from the start that both my mates were dominant. And they had certainly expressed that dominance in our bed before. But what Logan did today felt… possessive. Degrading. Like he wasn’t seeing me — just using me.

It hurt to think he might have once cared enough about someone else to treat them with that same fierce intensity. But worse still was the question that now clung to my heart: if he could treat me that way… did I matter at all?

I forced myself to see it from his perspective. I hadn’t walked out on him. I’d left Liam.

But I should have known Logan would find out. Should have expected that he’d worry. If the roles were reversed — if one of them had stormed off without a word and vanished for hours — I would’ve been panicked too.

Shame crept in, curling around me like smoke.

Mmhmm, Blue murmured in my mind.

“Oh, don’t act like you weren’t pissed too,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

We should’ve at least let them know we were safe, she admitted softly. Even if Liam was acting like a dick, we didn’t need to scare them.

“You’re right,” I whispered. “I’ll apologize.”

But they owe us an apology too! she snapped. Liam was cruel. And if Logan thinks sex is a way to control us, he’s got another thing coming.

They’re hurting, she said gently. I can feel it. Fang and Ghost are both grieving.

Blue had always been soft when it came to our mates, even when they deserved her wrath.

Resolving to speak with them — both of them — I quickly scrubbed my body, washed my hair, and wrapped myself in a thick, fluffy towel. I stepped into the bedroom and eyed the disheveled sheets, grimacing.

Yeah. Those needed to go.

I slipped into a lacy bralette and matching thong, then grabbed clean sheets from the closet. As I stripped the bed, the scent of sex clung to the air — our mixed scents, sweat, and something heavier. I flung the soiled sheets to the floor and unfolded the fresh ones, smoothing them across the mattress.

As I tugged the corners into place, my mind wandered. People always said makeup sex was incredible. I wouldn’t know. The hum still simmered in my body, a quiet ache from the release denied earlier. Despite everything, I wanted.

I was bent over the bed, stretching to tuck the final sheet in, when I heard the soft creak of the door behind me. The warm scent of vanilla and pine drifted in, unmistakably Liam.

Well. Ready or not, it looked like the fallout of today’s disaster was finally here.