My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 90: The burden of my feelings ( Killian’s POV )

Chapter 90: The burden of my feelings ( Killian’s POV )

"We should go."

"No, it’s still early, babe. Let’s sleep a bit more!"

"Get off! I’m sticky and sweaty."

"Shower together?"

"Don’t push it!"

Luther mumbled as he left the room to shower.

The echo of my heartbeat still haunted the room. Should I yell? Should I scream into the pillow? I’m so happy I can die.

The sheets are soft under me, the room is quiet, but inside my head, it’s chaos because I can’t stop grinning. I can’t stop thinking about last night. About him.

The first thing I notice is the smell. It’s everywhere—on the pillow under my face, on the sheets, in the air.

Him.

Not just his cologne or soap, but his skin, his warmth, every bit of him that brushed against me last night.

I bury my face into the pillow and take a deep breath, like I’m trying to pull him inside me somehow.

It makes me laugh, this little shaky sound, because it’s so good. It’s him.

He might not have left out his pheromones, but he just smells so incredibly sweet to me.

I grab the pillow again, squeeze it to my chest like it might slip away, and just let out this breath that turns into a laugh. It’s stupid, but I don’t care.

The room doesn’t feel empty. It feels like him—like he’s hiding in every crease of the sheets, in the air, in me.

I can’t believe this is real, and yet here I am, sitting in the middle of a bed that smells like Luther, feeling like the happiest idiot alive.

Last night wasn’t just good.

It was the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.

And right now, with his scent wrapped around me like proof, I don’t know if I’ll ever come down from this high.

"Stop grinning like an idiot and call Tom!"

"Tom?"

Why would he think about Tom this early in the morning?

My jaw is tight—so tight it aches—and I can feel the grind of my teeth every time I breathe.

My mouth doesn’t move.

Not a word leaves me.

My chest is rising fast, each breath sharp and uneven like I’ve been running.

My shoulders are locked, pulled high, and the muscles in my forearm twitch as I keep pointing, like my body can’t decide whether to hold steady or lash out.

You just spent the night in my arms. Why are you asking for another man?

"Yeah, we have to discuss what we can do so I can move back into my own house."

"Oh, it’s a legal matter."

"And it’s important to me."

"What do you need?"

"Huh?"

"Why would you want to go back to your house? You can live with me."

"As tempting as that sounds, I don’t want to."

"Why?"

"Because I am done being a stay-at-home boyfriend. I have my own life and I want to take charge of it."

"Then— what is going to happen with us?"

"What do you mean?"

"Last night. Was it just a one-night thing?"

"Well, I don’t know. I enjoyed myself, but I’ve already told you that I can’t reciprocate your feelings."

"We can be roommates though."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. And they were roommates. Quit it, buddy!"

"That’s not what you were saying last night."

It’s not fair. Why would he insist on living away so much?

I can be the stay-at-home wife.

I cook. Not exactly edible, but there can always be room for improvement.

I clean. Or I can pay for a good cleaning service.

And given how he arched his back the night before, I can perform my wifely duties better than the average.

So why?

The bathroom door swings open, and steam spills into the room, curling against the cooler air.

Luther steps out, barefoot, a towel slung low around his hips, water sliding down his chest in slow, uneven trails.

His hair is damp, sticking to his forehead in dark strands, and every drop that clings to him catches the light before it slides away.

My hands flex against my thighs because every part of me is tense, every nerve lit up with the sight of him.

It’s so casual for him—like this doesn’t mean anything—but it’s killing me.

He moves like he isn’t aware that he’s taking the air out of the room, like the way his muscles shift under his skin is just nothing.

The towel hugs his waist tight enough that I can see the sharp line of his hips above it, the faint movement of his stomach when he exhales.

His skin is warm pink from the heat of the water, dotted with droplets that trail down and disappear into the towel. His shoulders are broad, his arms loose at his sides, but even then they look powerful, like there’s weight behind them even in stillness.

He’s just there, perfect, with his jaw rough with stubble and his lashes dark against his cheeks when he glances down to adjust the towel.

And I’m standing here with my pulse hammering in my ears like a damn drum.

Every breath I take feels heavier because the steam carries his scent, clean and sharp, mixed with the heat of his skin.

It makes my chest tight.

My throat too.

My eyes drag over him like I can’t stop, and I don’t even try to.

The curve of his back when he stretches his arm up to run through his hair.

The way his stomach shifts when he moves.

The faint trail that disappears under white cotton.

I want to look away.

I should.

But I don’t.

My jaw aches from how hard I’m holding it, because there’s a pull in me I can’t fight, and it’s infuriating how strong it is. My nails press half-moons into my palms. I can feel heat crawling up my neck, settling under my skin until I swear it’s burning.

"Don’t forget to breathe, Akna!"

"How about another round?"

"No, thanks."

"But I’m dying over here!"

"The bathroom is empty. Go deal with it there."

"Can you come to? For visual support at least?"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I’m sure you have a good enough memory to handle it. I’m going to call Tom."

"Tom, Tom, Tom. How do you even know that he’s alive?"

One second, Luther’s face is open, calm, maybe even soft—and then it hardens like a door slamming shut.

His jaw tightens first, sharp and locked, the muscle twitching once before it goes still.

His mouth presses flat, lips pale against the strain, and his chin tips just slightly down, like he’s holding himself in place.

His eyes do the worst of it.

They narrow—not much, not dramatic, just enough that the warmth is gone.

All that’s left is a cold focus that makes my stomach drop.

His brows pull low and tight, dragging shadows across his face, and the lines there cut deep, deeper than I’ve seen in a long time.

It’s silent, but it’s heavy, thick in the space between us like smoke.

I messed up. Bad.

"I saw him jumping out of the window with Damian. He’s a survivor. He survived me, he’ll survive anything."

"What do you mean?"

My lungs can’t seem to get enough air, even though I’m breathing fast—too fast, shallow.

My teeth grind before I even notice, my jaw locked so hard the muscle at the side of my face throbs.

Tom is a beta.

Luther said I was his first alpha, not his first man.

F-ck.

What a way to ruin my mood.

"What?", he asked, matching my energy.

"What do you mean he survived you? What exactly did you two do exactly?"

Luther’s standing there, face tight with anger, and I don’t give him a second to breathe.

I close the distance in two hard steps, fast enough the floor barely feels under me.

My hand shoots up and grabs his chin before he can turn. My fingers clamp down hard, digging into the sharp edge of his jaw, the heat of his skin burning against my palm.

His stubble scrapes me raw as I pull his face up toward mine, rough enough to pull a sound from his throat.

He stiffens under me, body locking, but I don’t stop.

I tilt his head higher, forcing his eyes on mine, holding him still with my grip like iron.

His breath hits quick against my wrist, hot, uneven, and I feel the twitch of his jaw fighting me, the tension rolling under my fingers like a live wire.

I squeeze harder, dragging his face closer, close enough to feel the heat pouring off him.

His lips part just a fraction, his teeth flashing when he tries to pull back, but I don’t let him.

My thumb presses into the hinge of his jaw, pinning him in place while my other hand fists at my side, itching to grab more, to hold him completely still.

"It hurts.", he groans.

"Tell me what you did."

"Or what? Are you going to pull an Emiliano on me?"

I clenched my teeth tightly. He’s provoking me.

I knew it.

As well as I knew I had no right to be this angry.

This jealous.

But he’s mine. Last night was the first step of him nesting prettily in the cage I offered him.

This grip on his chin was a setback, but we need to talk. To communicate. As a couple.

"I thought you wouldn’t let your feelings burden me. How quickly you switched up!"

His tone was amused. Belittling. Hot.

"Can’t I be jealous?"

"No. If you step out of your line once more, I will make sure to never see you again."

The threat came out casually, but the heaviness of it made my grip weaken. My hand shivering in terror.

"Luther."

"Get out!"

"Luther!"

"I’m serious, Akna. Get a coffee and breakfast. Let me cool off and do my business or get out of my sight!"

"Are you gonna call Tom?"

"Yes."

"He’s dead."

"What?"

"He fell to his death, protecting Damian."

Luther’s eyes filled with tears.

Good.

If I can only have you when you’re grieving- Emiliano, Tom—

I will kill all humanity one by one just to make sure you’ll never leave me.

I love you.