It took a moment, a long, agonizing moment, before he stilled. His breathing was ragged, his body tense, but he didn't push forward.
His golden eyes burned into hers, searching, questioning.
Lauretta swallowed hard, trying to steady herself, trying to ignore the way her body still throbbed with want.
She needed space. She needed control.
And right now, Marcus was unraveling everything she thought she had built, the detachment she had formed.
The realization of what she was doing crashed over her in waves, each one more suffocating than the last, dousing the fire that had burned so fiercely inside her just moments ago.
What have I done?
Humiliation clawed at her chest, replacing every ounce of pleasure with a deep, gnawing shame. She had let herself go, had willingly melted in his arms, responding like a desperate, wanton fool.
This isn't me. This can't be me.
Lauretta swallowed hard, shaking her head as if the motion could erase what had just happened.
Becoming the alpha's lover—it was a trap. A deadly, inescapable trap.
She could already see how it would unfold, how easily she could be discarded once his interest in her burned out. At first, she would be his. Only his. He would be possessive, protective, and unwilling to share. But that wouldn't last. It never did.
Because once an alpha tired of his plaything, the rest of the pack—the ones with rank, with power—would want their turn. And she wouldn't be able to say no. Not when she had already set the precedent of submission, not when she had allowed herself to be claimed.
The moment she let him bed her, she would lose everything.
The respect she had managed to scrape together. The wary distance she had forced them to keep.
She would become nothing more than a pack whore. A cheap, nameless plaything passed around whenever they had an itch to scratch. And no one—no one—would care about what she wanted.
Her stomach twisted violently.
This couldn't happen. She couldn't let this happen.
Her hands, still pressed against Marcus's chest, trembled. She shoved harder this time, forcing space between them.
"No." Her voice was firmer now, steel laced beneath the lingering breathlessness. "I can't."
His golden eyes flickered, darkening with something unreadable. Frustration. Confusion. Restraint.
But he didn't move forward again.
Lauretta exhaled sharply, her pulse hammering in her throat. She had to get out of here. Before it was too late. Before she lost herself all over again.
The women would hate her.
They would sneer and spit at her feet and whisper cruel words behind her back that would eventually make their way to her ears. To them, she wouldn't be a person anymore—just a shameful stain on the pack. The harlot who warmed their sons' and husbands' beds. The outsider who had spread her legs for power she didn't deserve.
They would degrade her at every turn.
It wouldn't matter that she had no say in it, that she had never wanted to be a pawn in their twisted hierarchy. They wouldn't care. They never did. Women like her—alone, vulnerable, unclaimed—were easy targets, easy to drag through the mud.
And once her dignity was gone, once she was labeled and branded, there would be no coming back.
The idea of it made her stomach churn.
And what about her new workplace?
Lauretta had fought hard for that job, had pushed through sneers and dismissive glances to prove that she belonged, that she was more than just a rogue trying to leech off the pack. But all of that—every bit of effort—would crumble the moment the rumors reached them.
The Alpha's lover.
It didn't matter if it was true or not. Perception was what dictated fate in a pack. And if they saw her as nothing more than the Alpha's discarded plaything, they would treat her like one.
She'd lose the respect she had managed to carve out and lose the stability she was desperately trying to build for herself. And after that?
She would have nothing.
No allies. No home.
No freedom.
The realization sent ice through her veins.
Lauretta gritted her teeth, tightening her trembling hands into fists as she took a step back from Marcus.
She would not let this happen.
Not to her. Not again—not when she had finally attained a bit of respect in the pack; she wouldn't lose it for momentary pleasure.
Marcus may have been many things—ruthless, possessive, dangerously unpredictable—but he was never one to take a woman against her will.
Just as abruptly as he had started, he pulled away, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling in time with hers. His hands still lingered on her, gripping her waist as if reluctant to let go, but he didn't force her. Instead, he searched her face, golden eyes scanning for the reason behind her protest.
Lauretta turned her face slightly, avoiding his gaze. She knew what he was looking for—fear, reluctance, hesitation. But she gave him nothing.
The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, filled only by the sound of their unsteady breaths.
Marcus exhaled sharply, his grip loosening. He was glad he hadn't hurt her in any way—at least, not physically. But the way she trembled, the way her lips remained slightly parted, her silver eyes darkened almost to black with something dangerously close to want...
It made something primal inside him stir.
She had wanted him. He had felt it in the way her body had responded to him, in the way she had melted against him before pulling away—the way she had been slick for him and the wonderful scent of her arousal thick in the air.
And yet, she had stopped him.
That truth sobered him more than anything.
Marcus clenched his jaw, forcing himself to step back fully. The heat between them still lingered, buzzing like electricity in the air, but he wouldn't push her.
Not when she was looking at him like that—like she wasn't sure whether to fight him or herself.