Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 77

That night, I didn’t go to Richard. I didn’t even look at my messages. I didn’t pace near the door or invent excuses to pass his wing of the estate. I just went home, undressed slowly in the dark, and crawled into bed.

Lay there curled on my side with the covers pulled over my head and the necklace gripped tight in my fist, the metal warmed from my skin. I kept thinking about Jenny. About the way she used to braid my hair while telling me which council heirs were secretly cowards. About how I promised I’d never be one of them. I’d broken that promise a dozen times over, and didn’t care if I did. Maybe she should. Maybe I deserved.

The next morning, Richard didn’t say a word about the way I kept my distance. Not when we passed in the hallway. Not when I took a seat two chairs away from my usual one in the staff room. He carried on as if nothing had shifted. He made a joke during the huddle that made three people laugh. He handed off files. He didn’t look at me once.

And it enraged me. It made my skin crawl.

How could he act like none of this mattered? How could he be so composed when my throat was raw from holding back everything I couldn’t say out loud? He moved through the day like this was all still working, like we hadn’t fallen apart three times since Sunday. And maybe that was the difference. I could never compartmentalize like he did. I had no walls left.

By the time debate prep started that afternoon, the tension was baked into everything. I kept my voice professional, my notes sharp, but every correction came out like a cut. I wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“That phrasing makes you sound defensive,’

” I said, pointing to a line in

the draft script. “It’s going to read as insecure.”Richard didn’t glance up. “It’s supposed to sound firm. That district needs a show of strength.”

I leaned forward. “Firm doesn’t mean robotic. You’re talking to swing voters, not a firing squad.”

He set down his pen. “You think you could write it better?”

I didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Silence fell around the table. I could feel every pair of eyes flicking between us. The air went stiff. Someone pretended to cough.

Richard nodded once. “Noted.”

The rest of the session was stiff, mechanical. When it ended, people scattered like they couldn’t get out fast enough. I stayed behind, slowly packing up my materials with movements that felt too loud in the quiet room.

I heard him approach before I saw him.

“Why are you mad at me?” he asked, voice low.

I didn’t turn around. “Why aren’t you?”

“We made a decision.”

I faced him. “No. We made a fantasy, something we both pretended could exist outside of everything else, something physical, something clean. And now you’re acting like I’m the only one drowning in it. Like I’m the only one who can’t make it make sense.”

“You think I’m not?”

“I think you’re better at hiding it.”

He stepped closer. “You want me to fall apart in public? Is that what you need?””No,” | said, my voice shaking. “I need you to act like I matter. Like we matter.”

We stared at each other, the air thick and unspoken things building like pressure under glass. Then, at the same moment, we moved.

He reached for the edge of the table. So did I. Our fingers brushed, and then we collided.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t tender. It was raw, furious, unspoken. He spun me around and pushed me up against the cold metal edge of the table. I gasped. He was already pulling at my skirt, and I didn’t stop him. I pressed back into him, breath hitching. We moved fast, rough, desperate.

His belt hit the floor with a clink, one hand on my hip, the other flat against the table beside my head. My palms splayed out over the ‹ smooth surface as he pushed into me hard and fast. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, the tension unspooling in waves that made my knees weak

He groaned against my neck, low and guttural. I arched into him, needing more, needing everything. We didn’t say anything. There was no time. No pretense. Just need. Just us.

Amelia

It started after another strategy session, both of us lingering in his office while the building slowly emptied. I stood near the window, arms crossed tightly, watching dusk bleed into the pine forest below.

The walk to his estate felt like falling backward through a dream.

Familiar roads blurred around me. My feet steady on the road, but inside, I was fraying.

When he opened his door, he was barefoot and wrapped in a towel, hair still damp from the shower, steam curling out from the hallway behind him. There wasn’t a flicker of surprise in his expression. No hesitation. No pretense. He just looked at me like he’d been waiting.

Like he’d known I would come.

He didn’t ask why. I didn’t explain. The moment the door shut behind me, he pulled me into him. We kissed like we were starving.

The hallway was too narrow, too sharp-edged, but it didn’t matter. We barely made it to the bathroom. The shower was still damp from earlier, condensation clinging to the glass. I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt while he yanked down the zipper of my skirt. Our clothes hit the floor in uneven piles. His mouth found my throat and I gasped, back colliding with the cold tile as he lifted me.

The water hadn’t even fully heated up again before he was inside me.

My legs wrapped around his waist, hands braced against his slick shoulders. He held me like he’d break if he let go. His thrusts were erratic, messy, more need than rhythm. I dug my nails into his back,buried my face in his neck.

“Tell me you need this,” he whispered against my jaw, voice low and wrecked.

“I do,” I said, panting. “I need you. I always do.”

He groaned, thrust harder, and I cried out, my entire body winding tighter. The steam filled the space around us, blurring everything. We kissed between gasps, clutching each other like we could disappear inside the contact.

My orgasm hit fast, sharp and sudden. I clenched around him, choking on a gasp. He came with a growl, biting down against my shoulder, arms locking tight around me like he’d never let go.

Afterward, I perched on the bathroom counter, wrapped in one of his towels. My hair dripped onto the tile as I sipped from a glass of water he handed me. He stood across from me, quiet, watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. He kissed my temple softly, like an apology, like he meant something he wouldn’t say aloud.