Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 328: Delivery

[Halfway Through - Spice ☺️ ]

Half an hour later, Rowan returned.

He didn’t make an announcement. He didn’t comment. He simply walked in with the efficiency of a man who had learned that asking questions in this household was a dangerous hobby.

In his hands was a small, unremarkable box.

Matte black. No logos. No markings. The kind of packaging designed to pass through ten layers of security and still look like it belonged there.

He set it on the low table in front of Chris and straightened.

"Procurement is... very efficient," Rowan said dryly. "And very discreet."

Chris looked from the box to him, eyes bright with far too much interest. "You’re an enabler."

"I am a professional," Rowan corrected. "There is a difference."

He paused, then added with faint amusement, "And for the record, the system flagged this as ’time-sensitive delivery.’ I chose not to ask why."

"Wise choice."

Rowan gave him a long, resigned look, then turned toward the door. "I will be outside. Very far outside. And if His Majesty asks, I was never here."

The door closed softly behind him.

The suite went quiet again, save for the distant hum of the city and the steady presence of security beyond the walls.

Chris stared at the box for a moment, then at his comm.

As if on cue, it vibrated.

Dax: ’It arrived.’

Chris’s lips curved.

Dax: ’Use it.’

A beat.

Then another line appeared, calm, confident, and entirely unashamed.

Dax: ’And send proof.’

Chris leaned back in his chair, bathrobe still loose around him, curls damp against his temples, the box sitting between his knees like a challenge.

"Oh," he murmured to the empty room, amusement and heat threading together. "So that’s how we’re playing now."

He picked up the box, turning it once in his hands.

"Very well, Your Majesty."

"You didn’t even hesitate," Chris murmured to the empty suite, his thumb tracing the edge of the matte black box. His own scent, spiked with anticipation, filled the plush space around him. The robe’s belt came loose with a single tug. The heavy fabric slid from his shoulders, pooling around his hips where he sat in the oversized chair, baring his smooth chest to the cool air.

He lifted the lid.

Nestled inside on a bed of black velvet was the toy. Sleek, polished silicone in a deep, royal purple, shaped with elegant, undulating ridges along its considerable length. It was thick, impressively thick, with a rounded tip and a flared base. Chris’s breath hitched. He wrapped his fingers around it. The material was silken, cool to the touch, and close to the size of Dax’s cock.

His other hand drifted down, over his flat stomach, through the soft, dark curls at his groin. He was already half-hard, his cock twitching against his thigh.

He reached for his comm, propping it against a vase on the table, angling the lens toward the chair. He tapped record.

A slow, wicked smile touched his lips. "Proof, Your Majesty," he said aloud, his voice a low, intimate thrum. "As requested."

He let the robe fall completely open, exposing his naked body. His skin was pale and smooth in the lamplight, his legs falling open in a lazy, inviting sprawl. With his left hand, he guided the sleek, purple head of the toy between his thighs. It was cooler than his skin, which made him gasp. He rubbed the smooth tip up and down his hole, coating it in the glistening slick that gathered there.

His breath came quicker. He shifted, bending one leg up to plant his foot on the chair cushion, opening himself wider for the camera, for the absent husband whose presence was a phantom weight in the room. With his right hand, he reached back to spread himself, fingers splaying the soft, pink furl of his entrance. It glistened, already loose and wanting.

"Look," he whispered, as if Dax could hear him through the recording. He pressed the tip inside.

It was a slow movement, the rounded head pushed past the tight ring of muscle, which yielded with a soft, wet pop. Chris’s head fell back against the chair, a sharp moan tearing from his throat. Oh, gods. The stretch was immediate, intense. The ridge just behind the tip caught on his inner walls, dragging deliciously as he pushed another inch in. He could see it, in his mind, the purple silicone disappearing into his body, his hole clinging tightly to the girth of the dildo.

He paused, panting, his abdomen fluttering. He was so full already. But it wasn’t enough. The animalistic, omega part of his brain, the part Dax had so thoroughly awakened, craved more. Craved being filled to the brim.

Gripping the base harder, he began to work it diligently. A shallow thrust, then another, deeper. The ridges along its length mapped his inner passage, each one a different point of friction that made his toes curl. In... and out... The wet, obscene sounds of his slick and the silicone filled the quiet room. His free hand dropped to his cock, wrapping around himself, stroking in time with the toy’s penetration. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in his gut, a dual sensation of being speared open and the familiar friction on his cock.

He changed the angle, leaning forward slightly, and the toy hit something deep inside that made stars burst behind his eyelids. "Fuck!" he cried out, his hips jerking involuntarily. That was it. That was the spot. He focused there, setting a rhythm with deep, grinding thrusts that mashed the toy’s head against that perfect, swollen place inside him.

His scent flooded the suite, fresh rain now layered with the sweet, musky perfume of omega arousal. Pre-cum beaded at the tip of his cock, slicking his stroking hand. His world narrowed to the push and pull, the devastating stretch, and the building pressure. He was a mess of sensation: the ache in his wrist, the burn in his thighs from holding himself open, and the glorious deep fullness of the toy.

"Dax," he moaned, a broken plea into the empty air. "Feels... so good..."

He imagined it was his alpha. Imagined the brutal strength of Dax’s hips, the bite of his fingers on Chris’s skin, and the knot that would swell and lock them together. The fantasy pushed him higher. His strokes on his cock became frantic, desperate. The toy plunged deep and stayed there, buried to the hilt as Chris rubbed his prostate frantically.

The climax crushed him.

A raw, guttural scream was ripped from his throat as his body convulsed. His cock pulsed in his fist, thick, hot strips of cum painting across his stomach and chest in violent spurts. At the same time, his channel clenched violently around the toy, milking it, a wave of intense, fluttering contractions that wrung every drop of pleasure from his nerves. His vision whited out. For a long, endless moment, there was nothing but the pulsating, all-consuming release.

Slowly, tremulously, he came back. He was panting, sweat-slicked, and utterly spent. The toy was still inside him, a heavy, satisfying weight. He glanced at the comm. The recording light was still on.

With a weak, sated smile, he slowly pulled the toy out. It emerged with a wet, slick sound, his used hole gaping slightly around nothing, glistening with a mix of his slick and the toy’s sheen. He held the gleaming, wet object up to the camera for a long moment, a blatant, shameless display.

He stopped the recording. Attached the file. His fingers, still trembling, typed out a message.

Chris: ’Proof of concept. Your taste is... exquisite. The ridges are particularly persuasive.’

He sent it. Then he slumped back into the chair, the toy dropping to the velvet carpet with a soft thud, his own cooling cum sticky on his skin. He let his eyes fall shut, a deep, satiated purr rumbling in his chest as he waited for the king’s reply.