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  Alpha’s Sun

  Renee Rose

  Lee Savino

  Burning Desires

  Copyright © July 2019 Alpha’s Sun by Renee Rose and Lee Savino

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the authors. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors' rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published in the United States of America

  Renee Rose Romance and Silverwood Press

  Editor: Maggie Ryan

  This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Read All the Bad Boy Alpha Books)

  About Renee Rose

  Other Titles by Renee Rose

  Excerpt - Dead Man’s Hand

  About Lee Savino

  Excerpt: Sold to the Berserkers

  Also by Lee Savino

  Prologue

  Sunny

  “You’re so hard.”

  Titus grunts under me. His big body splays out on my massage table, his face hidden, resting on rigid biceps. I’ve been kneading his shoulders for a half an hour and he hasn’t relaxed once. If anything, he’s gotten more tense.

  I run a hand over the breathtaking expanse of his back, tracing the black vines of his tribal tattoos, scratching lightly. A breath rattles out of him, half growl and half something softer, gentle. A purr.

  “You can turn over now,” I suggest delicately, and hold up the towel to help him turn with modesty. I never sneak a peek with clients, but with Titus, I can’t stop myself. The solid curve of his buttocks, the ridge of his hip, the barest glimpse of something fat and long nestled in a base of wiry hair—

  He flops on his back and the source of his tension becomes clear.

  “My. You are hard.” He’s either erected a flagpole between his legs under the towel, or he has the most massive erection I’ve ever seen. He’s been lying on that all this time? No wonder he’s uncomfortable.

  I lick my lips, staring at the tented towel. I should start rubbing his legs—kneading the powerful thighs, working my palm into the ridge above his knee, but there’s no point. Not with that marvelous cock saluting the sky. He won’t relax until someone takes the edge off his arousal.

  That someone is me. Hurrah!

  I pull a stretchy bracelet off my wrist and tie back my hair. I’ve already removed my boho shawl, baring my arms and freckled cleavage in my spaghetti-strapped top.

  “Let me make you more comfortable,” I murmur and reach under the skimpy towel. Sweet goddess above, he is a handful. I grip the pulsing base with one hand and whip off the covering with the other. His flared crown is leaking and I swipe my tongue to taste him—

  A fierce growl and Titus knifes up, catching my chin. “You do this for all your clients?” His normally gray eyes blaze bright, bright blue, clashing with the orange and red in the corona around his head.

  His aura really is amazing. The passion, the heat—flames crackling with heat—so intense—

  “Sunny!”

  I blink. He’s talking to me. Asking me something. Something important… because the red means—

  “You’re angry,” I breathe, awed by the shimmering sunset colors.

  He growls again but his hand on my jaw is gentle. He’s so big and powerful, he could break me without a thought. He doesn’t, though. He’s infinitely gentle, wincing when my table creaks under his massive, muscular bulk. He spent the whole afternoon under my bus, banging wrenches and snarling curses until the motor purred like a kitten. The massage was meant to be a thank-you. I knew we had chemistry… but I never realized how much.

  “Answer me,” he orders. So bossy. “Do you give all your clients blowjobs?”

  I color a little. I believe in free love, but if another man said what he’s implying, I’d slap him. Instead, I raise a brow. “Do you get erect whenever you get a massage?”

  His chest rises and falls, his breath blowing back the loose tendrils of hair around my face. In a minute he’s going to blow. So much anger. I’m not frightened by it. No. What would that amount of passion be like in bed?

  “No,” he snarls.

  I cross my arms over my chest to show him I won’t be bullied. His eyes drop to my breasts, soft and clearly outlined under my light tank top.

  Titus gives me a look so wild and desperate I take pity on him. “I don’t give my clients blowjobs. Not even ones who help me when my bus breaks down.” Or protect me when some bad shit is going down with my daughter. I touch his rigid thigh and the giant muscle jumps under my small hand. “This is for you, Titus. Only for you.”

  The light around his head flares bright gold.

  “Mine,” he rumbles in a voice so deep, I barely make out the word. Before I can protest, he’s on me. His giant hand slides under my tank top, over my flat stomach to cup my loose breast.

  “No bra. I knew it.”

  “I never wear bras,” I inform him. “Or panties.”

  He makes a helpless noise and drops to his knees on the floor. His large hands flip up my flowy skirt before he leans in, presses his face to my bare pussy and inhales. Oh my goddess. I lean back on the table, my legs too weak to hold me up.

  “Titus—”

  “Quiet.” His left hand, still under my tank, squeezes my breast hard. “I’ve had just about enough of you prancing around, flaunting your tight little bod—fuck!” The fingers of his right hand glide into my sopping pussy. “How are you so tight?”

  “Yoga,” I gasp. “Lots of yoga.”

  “I mean here,” he rumbles, finger-fucking me. “Pussy squeezing me like it’s gonna snap off my fingers. Fuck!”

  “Ah, oh… that? It’s been awhile—” How long has it been since I’ve gotten laid? I’m totally sex-positive, but I’ve hit a dry spell. “There’s been a lot going on. The mafia, my daughter in trouble—”

  “Shut up,” he murmurs against my pussy, not unkindly. “This is how it’s gonna go down. I’m going to eat you until you scream. Then I’m going to fuck you ‘til you scream some more.”

  He licks up my slit and my knees buckle. “Titus,” I sigh.

  “That’s right, baby. Say my name. I’m the one fucking you. No one else.”

  Ah, so delightfully possessive. I would laugh but there’s an edge to his words. The tightness in his jaw speaks of pain. Someone hurt this big, beautiful man.

  I settle my hand on his jaw. “Tonight, I’m yours.”

  With a growl bordering on a roar, he picks me up and strides to the bedroom, k
icking the door.

  * * *

  Three days later…

  The soft light of day falls across my face. I slither out from underneath Titus’ giant tattooed arm and slip off the bed without waking him. His face is more relaxed than it’s been this whole week. Since the attempted massage, we’ve barely left bed, only leaving to visit a barbecue with Titus’ son Tank and their motorcycle club. For a biker, Titus is pretty uptight, but now he’s sleeping like the dead.

  Good sex will do that to a man. I mentally buff my nails on my shirt. I did that.

  I tiptoe to my bag, wincing as the bed creaks. It’s sagging on one side—broken. Oops. I slap a hand over my mouth before I giggle like a girl. Titus is uptight and controlling as they come, but when he lets loose? The bed isn’t the only thing feeling the force of his passion. I’m going to be sore for days, but I don’t mind. It was magnificent sex. Unbridled, wild, rough. I think Titus even scared himself with how badly he wanted me. How much he needed to claim me.

  So hot.

  But all good things must come to an end.

  I pull out one of my hand-painted cards—a watercolor of Cathedral Rock up in Sedona—and flip it over. On the back I use a black calligraphy pen to write:

  Titus,

  Thank you for everything.

  I gnaw on my lower lip, remembering the pain that crossed his face. A woman hurt Titus, and I might be a pacifist but I’d claw the bitch’s eyes out if I met her. But it’s not my fight.

  I tap the pen against the card. What to write? Wish you were ready for a relationship? Call me when you figure your shit out?

  Instead, I pen:

  I hope we’ll meet again soon.

  Love,

  Sunny.

  There. Short and sweet. It says everything I have to say to him. I creep out of the apartment the motorcycle club provided for me this past week and shut the door gently. I’ll ask my daughter to pick up my massage table and store it for me until I return to Tucson. She put down roots and found her soulmate here. She’s safe now, living with Titus’ son. Foxfire and Tank were meant to be.

  Titus and me… that’s another story. I don’t know what our future holds, but leaving is the right thing to do.

  Titus and I have chemistry—lots of it. But I’m way too much for the guy.

  Story of my life.

  Titus is like his spirit animal—the wolf. He’s meant to roam free. He’s a hunter, but once he caught me, he didn’t know what to do with me.

  And I’ll be damned if I stick around where I’m just going to get hurt again.

  If we’re meant to be, the Universe will throw us back together again.

  I’m sure of that.

  I tiptoe down the sidewalk like a college girl doing the walk of shame out of the frat house and climb in Daisy, my VW bus. It starts right up, thanks to Titus.

  The road blurs as I drive away, but I don’t look back.

  I can’t.

  Leaving is the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurts.

  Chapter 1

  Titus

  I park my motorcycle at the Rio Grande gorge bridge and walk down to check out the scene at the end of the bridge.

  And it is a scene. There are vendors assembled on the side, some with tables set up, some operating out of buses or the backs of pickup trucks. There are pinon nuts for sale. Local honey. Jewelry. The vendors are a mix of Native Americans and hippies.

  A bridge stretches across the Rio Grande gorge, a nauseating six hundred or more feet above the giant canyon. I hear a tour guide telling someone it’s one of the highest bridges in the country. I recognize it from Easy Rider and one of the Terminator movies—favorites of mine.

  I scent the air, catching the smell of coffee, ice cream, sweat. The sun beats harder in the high altitude and my leather riding jacket suddenly feels too hot.

  I peel it off and toss it over the seat of the bike. I don’t know why, but I have a good feeling about this rest area. Like I’m going to get the information I need from one of these humans milling about here. There’s a positive energy crackling in the air.

  Someone knows something. I’m here for a reason; I can feel it.

  My alpha sent me to follow up on some intel we received about another Data X lab out in the high mesa of New Mexico. I scouted around Sandia National Labs, because we thought it might be there, but I caught no scent of shifters. I checked out Roswell, because of the alien lore, but struck out there, too. There may be aliens, but I didn’t smell any shifters.

  I only know one wolf in New Mexico and he’s a loner. No pack, totally off the grid. So off the grid, he doesn’t have a phone—landline or cell. It’s been years since I’ve seen him. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s still around, but I figure if any of the weird shit that went down with the Data-X guys—any government testing on shifters or disappearances happened in his state, he’d know.

  So I’ve come up to the one place I know he always goes in summer—the Taos and Red River area for fishing.

  “Titus? Oh my goddess!” A female voice stops me in my tracks and my entire body reacts like a flash flood of lust dumping into my veins.

  Fuck.

  Not her.

  I’m so not up for this right now.

  I rotate slowly, and even though I’m prepared to see the brightness that is Sunny Hines, her beauty knocks my knees out from under me.

  I flex my jaw, forcing myself to breathe.

  “Sunny.” It comes out like a growl. Like an admonishment, which I guess it is.

  This woman is fucking trouble with a capital Fuck.

  A free-loving hippie who blew through my life two years ago like a fucking hurricane. Definitely left damage in her wake. And I hadn’t even realized I had anything on the line with her.

  She’s dressed in a tank top that shows off her slender, muscular arms and her long blonde hair is woven in a braid that hangs across one delicate shoulder. She hurls herself at me.

  You wouldn’t think a woman so tiny could make such an impact, but I have to brace to catch her full weight, and there’s no choice but to pick her up off her feet with a bear hug. Her arms wind around my neck in a stranglehold.

  “Sweet goddess above. I knew I’d see you again! It’s so great. Such a surprise.” She barely breathes between sentences. “How are things? Have you been to Tucson to see the kids?”

  I try to extricate myself from the hug, mainly because the feel of those soft, bra-less breasts rubbing over my chest is too much. Especially when combined with her unique scent. I don’t know what it is—probably some frankincense or patchouli shit, but on her, it doesn’t smell bad. On her, it comes off as feminine power mingled with mysticism.

  It smells like danger.

  My wolf doesn’t think so. My wolf thinks she smells like hedonistic pleasure.

  And he’s totally down with that.

  But I’m not.

  Fuck, no. This female—this human female—is the last person I need to get involved with. If I think I made a mistake with my first mate, I know without question this one is a hundred times worse.

  At least Barbara stuck around a few years to see Titus Junior grow into a little boy. But maybe that’s not fair. From what I can tell, Sunny was a great single parent for Foxfire, my son’s mate.

  But she’s ditzy as hell. Like whacko airy-fairy.

  I clear my throat trying to step back, but she follows into my personal space. Damn her. “Uh, yeah. I saw the kids a few weeks ago. All good.”

  “Any talk of grandchildren?” The hope in her face is so blinding I want to look away. People shouldn’t show their emotions so clearly. It’s unnerving. Does something squirmy to my gut.

  “No,” I say too gruffly. “At least not that I heard. But I don’t go pushing that kind of thing.” I glower at her like it’s entirely inappropriate for a woman in her fifties—a woman who looks too fucking glorious to be in her fifties—to want grandchildren.

  Her expression dims slightly and she pulls back.
>
  I’m instantly sorry for being such a dick. My wolf stirs, restlessly, like he needs me to fix it. ASAP. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out to touch her arm.

  I fucking stroke her arm—like I have any right to touch her that way. To caress her sun-kissed soft skin. “I’m sure they’ll come eventually. The kids are still young.”

  Some kind of pain flits across her face, something I can’t decipher, but she nods and turns the smile back up. “Well, what are you doing here, Titus? Clearly you didn’t come to see me.”

  The idea that I would come to see her is ludicrous, and she must know it because a blush creeps up her neck. It may be adorable to see a woman our age blush, but again—the woman’s got to stop showing every single emotion. It’s fucking dangerous to show so much vulnerability. Especially a woman like her, living alone in that goddamn Airstream. Any guy could take advantage of her. Mow her down.

  And that thought leaves my skin prickly with anger.

  “I’m on official pack—I mean club business.” I’m not sure if Sunny fully understands what we are. She lives in a different dimension. To her, everyone has a spirit animal, which she can see with her inner eye. So she sees mine as a wolf. She saw her daughter’s as a fox, so she named her Foxfire. But does she really get that we’re shifters? That part is unclear.

  If she were a different kind of human, telling her probably would’ve been necessary. But she sort of accepts it all like it’s nothing. I don’t think she’s actually seen a shifter in their true animal form. Tank swore to his alpha she hadn’t, anyway. I don’t believe she knows it is a real thing, not a spirit animal.