Alpha’s Obsession Page 16

  “And the next time you put that pussy so close to my mouth—” He undulates his hand, pressing the heel against my clit, then rolling through the fingers, all the way to my anus. I gasp and rise up on my toes. “—you’re going to find out just exactly what I’d like to do with it.”

  A shiver of epic proportions runs through me. More like a shudder, only that sounds bad. And what I’m feeling is really freakin’ far from bad. My insides have gone liquid, heat pours down my inner thighs, straight to the cupped arches of my feet.

  I now understand where the phrase “he curled her toes” comes from.

  He slowly slides the firm contact of his fingers over my slit, which has completely dampened my panties. “Understand, beautiful?”

  I swallow. “Yeah.” My pussy clenches.

  His fingers delve under the crotch of my shorts, into my panties and I mewl.

  “Baby, you wear those shorts to Eclipse again, I’m gonna take you back here and spank that juicy ass red so every guy watching you dance will know you’ve been claimed.”

  He jerks his head back and shakes it, as if he’s surprised by what he just said, but his fingers are gliding, gliding, gliding over my juicy slit and I’m moaning softly, my gaze staying at the level of his chest.

  “Eyes on me, baby,” he commands and I obey without thinking. Dancers are by nature obedient creatures. We’ve spent our lives molding our bodies and minds to do anything and everything a director or teacher asks of us. Anyone who doesn’t gets weeded out fast. There are always ten dancers waiting to take your spot if you’re not willing to give five hundred percent.

  He holds my gaze as he screws one finger into me.

  I whimper, not out of pain, but out of need. I’m not a virgin but I’ve literally never been so turned on in my life. My nipples poke against the tight fabric of my shirt and my pussy is sopping.

  I writhe against his hold on my wrists, grind down to take his finger deeper.

  He leans his head down by mine, so we’re temple to temple. “You okay, angel?”

  It’s a little late to be double-checking for my permission, but I appreciate the ask. “Yeah,” I breathe.

  “Good.” He shifts and wedges a second finger inside me.

  I buck my hips, rising up on my toes.

  “You’re dancing for me now, aren’t you, baby?”

  “Oh God,” I moan.

  He’s worked both fingers deep inside me and now he stops moving. Just stops!

  “Wh-what at are you doing?”

  His grin is all shades of sexy. “Just making sure you really want it.”

  I roll my hips. “I said I did.”

  He pumps slowly. Too slowly. “Say it nicely. Tell me who you’re dancing for.”

  “You. I’m dancing for you,” I cry, growing desperate for release.

  “You want more of my fingers, angel?”

  “Jared,” I pant.

  His eyelids droop. “That’s it, baby. Say my name like you’re begging.”

  One part of me gets pissed. Is he making a fool of me here?”

  He must sense my resistance because he says, “Nah, fuck it. I should be begging you. I can’t wait to watch you go over the edge, beautiful.” He pumps his fingers in and out until my shimmying legs are ready to give out. “Come for me, Angelina. Show me what you’ve got.”

  I have no idea what he means by that, but, again, my body follows his command. I give into his skilled torture. The moment my muscles start to squeeze his fingers, he shoves deep and waits, letting me tighten and release in waves of pleasure and release.

  “Aw, fuck, baby.” He leans his forehead against mine as he eases his fingers out. “That was even better than I imagined.”

  I’m not sure what he means, since I’m the one who got off, but it still inspires a giddiness that revives me from the relaxation coursing through my muscles.

  The doorknob rattles and Jared jerks away, releasing me and tugging down the hem of my shorts just before the door swings open.

  One of the bartenders bustles in, then stops when he sees us, throwing us a curious look.

  Jared steps in front of me, as if to shield me from scrutiny, and I appreciate the gesture, late though it may be.

  “I’d better go find my friends,” I murmur. It’s not that I want to leave Jared. Wait—yes I do.

  Embarrassment has taken over, along with the realization that he’s probably taken dozens of girls back here. That’s why the bartender doesn’t seem surprised.

  I push past Jared toward the door. “Wait, angel. Just wait.” He catches me around the waist.

  I go still but I don’t look at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low so only I will hear. “I definitely didn’t mean to make you feel used or cheap.”

  I’m not sure if that’s how I was feeling, but now that he’s named it, a sick feeling spreads through my belly.

  “Hey, I really I have to go,” I insist.

  Jared releases me. I sense his reluctance, even though I refuse to meet his eye. I just want to get out of there.

  I’m the only one of my friends who didn’t drink tonight and I’m the one making the bad decisions.

  “Just wait. Can you give me a second?”

  I slip out of his reach. “That’s okay,” I mumble, without looking back. “We can talk later.” I bolt from the storeroom before he can say anything else. I sense him behind me, but I don’t look back, just beeline it for the bar to find my friends and get the hell out of here.

  What was I thinking? Apparently all it takes is a couple slaps to my ass and I’ll let a guy to anything to me.

  Damn. I need to tell my friends never to let me be alone with Jared. Ever. Especially not when I’m ovulating.

  Danger zone.

  I find Talya and Remy just as the overhead fluorescents come on, signaling the club is closing. The crowd gives a collective groan and people scurry out like cockroaches caught in the sun.

  “Come on,” I urge my friends. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough.”

  ~.~

  Jared

  I screwed up. Big time.

  I knew I was supposed to keep my hands off Angelina. She’s my female kryptonite. My self-control goes to shit around her.

  Now I’ve gone and degraded her in the worst way.

  It was almost worth it. Almost.

  Fuck, I will be jacking off to the memory of her orgasm face every night for a week. It was even better than I pictured it would be.

  I scan the crowd remaining, people who need encouragement to leave. Men and women trying to find or solidify their hookups before they go.

  “Times up,” I call out. “Everybody out.”

  A couple girls are hanging around, giving me the eyes.

  I’m not tempted. Not really. But part of me thinks maybe I should fuck one of them just to get that red-headed beauty out of my system. Out of my fantasies. Damn she’s been the main feature of them ever since she showed up here at the beginning of the semester with her bold new idea for having go-go dancers.

  Somehow, I’d even volunteered to make the boxes the dancers perch on.

  A blonde, prettier in the low lighting than she is under the bright glare, toddles toward me on six inch heels.

  I frown and give my head a short shake and she wheels about and toddles out the door instead.

  I shake my head, more at myself than anyone else, and help get the rest of the crowd out. I run the dust mop to pick up the litter of plastic cups, straws, and cocktail napkins. I try to think of something else—anything but the sweet curves of Angelina’s ass when she was dancing up on that box. Or the slight curl of her lip when I penetrated her. The way her mouth opened and eyes rolled back when she came.

  I’m still replaying it all after we lock up.

  “What’s with you, dude?” Trey asks as we walk to our parked motorcycles in the lot.

  “Nothing.” I sound surlier than I mean to.

  “Did something h
appen between you and that dancer?”

  “Shut up, asshole.” Trey’s my best friend, but sometimes he doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.

  “Uh huh. I thought so. Damian said you were fucking her in the storeroom.”

  I grab Trey’s collar and fist it up tight, getting my face right into his grill. “I was not fucking her.”

  “Okay,” he says quickly, holding up his palms. “Whatever you say, bud.”

  I know all I’ve done is dug my grave now, so I release him and straddle my bike, turning it on with a louder rev of the engine than is necessary.

  I tear out of the parking lot. It’s almost three in the morning and no cars are left on the road. At least that’s what I told myself later. The truth is that I was still back in that fucking storeroom, replaying the part that went south with Angelina.

  That’s why I pulled out of the alley without looking.

  I never saw that car coming. Not until I went flying over it as glass shattered like a burst of confetti from a party balloon.

  Alpha’s Passion - Coming in April!

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  Bonus Short Story

  Have you read this Bad Boy Alpha Bonus Story?

  LOVE IN THE ELEVATOR

  (Bonus Scene from Alpha’s Temptation)

  By Renee Rose

  © Renee Rose Romance

  Jackson

  I haven’t seen Kylie since I got to work and my wolf is getting cranky.

  Usually, once a wolf has claimed his mate, the itchiness to always be near her eases. Or at least I thought it would. But it hasn’t with Kylie. Probably because she’s carrying my pup. Or kitten. We’ll see. I’d be happy with either.

  Because I’m possessive as fuck, I prefer to drive into work with Kylie. I like knowing which superhero t-shirt she’s wearing, whether she put on Converse or heels. I like prolonging the time we’re together before we have to be apart. But I had an early meeting this morning, and with the pregnancy, she needs more rest, so I let her sleep in. Now, I drum my fingers on my desk as my executive team reports on the monthly earnings.

  A message box pops up on my screen and my wolf is instantly mollified.

  BATGIRL4U: Today is our two month anniversary.

  All it takes is seeing her moniker and my cock lengthens.

  KING1: Oh yeah? From the day we met?

  BATGIRL4U: The day you groped me in the elevator.

  KING1: I know how and where I want to celebrate

  BATGIRL4U: How?

  I hesitate, knowing she’s not going to like my answer. I didn’t actually grope her in the elevator. She was interviewing with my company and a power outage stranded us in the elevator together. She’s claustrophobic and had a panic attack. I wrapped my arms around her to press her sternum and activate her calming reflex. That was before she ran her mouth about me. Before I knew she was the hacker who’d nearly taken down my multi-billion dollar company.

  KING1: Nailing you in the elevator

  BATGIRL4U: Hell, no

  I expect that reply. My lips quirk, the thrill of punishing her already making my hips shift to accommodate my growing cock.

  KING1: Do you get to tell me no?

  BATGIRL4U: ...Yes?

  KING1: My office, 10 minutes.

  Returning my focus to my team, I clear my throat, cutting off the CFO, who is going on about quarterly earnings. “All right, let’s wrap this meeting up. Send the reports to me via email.”

  They’re used to me. I’m always abrupt, usually an asshole, although having Kylie has softened me. I watch them file out and loosen my tie.

  Kylie walks in and my heart stutters. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore the day we met. Tight t-shirt with the Batgirl symbol in hot pink glitter across her perfect tits under her slender black jacket. Short, fitted skirt, no hose, high heels.

  “Lose the jacket,” I command.

  Her hips sway as she saunters forward. She knows the power she has over me, even though she lets me call the shots. Gaze locked on mine, she slips the jacket off and tosses it over the back of a chair.

  I stand and stride to meet her, hunger for her gnawing at me, even though I claimed her last night. And on our lunch hour yesterday. And that morning. Still, it’s been twelve hours and my wolf is restless to smell her, taste her, watch her come unglued.

  I grasp the hem of her t-shirt and yank it up above her glorious breasts, shove the fabric between her lips. “Hold this,” I command and she bites down. I groan when I see my favorite red lace bra, the one she wore the first time I undressed her. I shove the cups down to take in her hardened nipples. She’s not showing yet, but her breasts have grown, swelling more each day. I measure their weight in my hands. I want to suck them rosy, but this is punishment, so I force myself to be content with pinching each nipple.

  “Bad girl,” I murmur in her ear as I circle around behind. I smell the sweet honey of her arousal, sense the tremble in her legs. She loves punishment as much as I love giving it.

  I propel her forward until she’s up against the full-length windows that give my office a view of the Catalina mountains. The glass is mirrored, so I can see out, but no one can see in. “Hands on the glass, kitten. Spread your legs.” I nudge her high heels apart.

  She widens her stance as far as her tight skirt allows. I press my body against her back and reach around to cup her breasts. “Are you allowed to tell me no, baby?” I slide a hand down the front of her until my palm meets the skin of her thigh, then I reverse direction and coast up the inside of her thigh, rucking up her skirt as I go. My fingers reach the apex of her thighs and I cup her mons, pressing the heel of my hand against her clit.

  “Jackson,” she moans, dropping the t-shirt from her teeth. I let it go.

  “Are you, baby?”

  “N-no,” she says hoarsely, head thrown back on my shoulder.

  “Who calls the shots, kitten?” I slip my middle finger inside her panties and stroke along her dewy slit. “Hmm?”

  “You do.” Her inner thighs tense and shiver as I tap-tap-tap my finger over her clit.

  I penetrate her, pushing my digit into her sopping heat, loving the way her responsive little body convulses at the sensation.

  “If I want you in an elevator, I get you in an elevator. Don’t I?”

  She stiffens slightly. I know this is a challenge for her. It’s not that I want to torture her—I love this female more than I ever believed possible. But I want to help her overcome her past trauma. With the right measure of lust and the trust between us, I think I can get her to lose her phobia of elevators. I’ve already had her in a shower stall and that’s a much smaller space.

  “Jackson—”

  I pull my finger out and slap her pussy. “You will yield, baby. You can do it now or you can do it after your punishment, but I’m going to get my way.” I bite her ear. “Now, which is it going to be?”

  I’m hoping she chooses after punishment, not only for the pleasure it will bring both of us, but because I think it will be easier to get her to let go in the elevator if she’s already drunk with lust.

  When she doesn’t answer, I spank her pussy again. I use one hand to pull her panties to the side and the other to deliver light slaps on her bare sex, right over her clit.

  “Punishment it is.”

  ~.~

  Kylie

  It’s a good thing my palms are flattened against the window, because I need them to hold me up. As Jackson spanks my pussy, lust storms through me like a hurricane, making me sway on my high heels. I�
�d take them off, but I know Jackson will never allow it. He loves the heels. Often orders me to strip out of everything but the heels.

  Jackson would never let me fall, though. He must realize my predicament, because he circles my waist with one strong arm and brings his lips to my ear. “I bought something for you, kitten.”

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t move.”

  He eases his body away from mine and we both groan. I feel the loss every time our bodies separate. From his desk drawer he produces a gadget or device—a bulbous metal… “Is that butt plug?”

  Holy buttstuff, batman.

  I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s just that Jackson’s dominance comes from being an alpha wolf, not from following the trappings of a BDSM fetish. He smacked my ass the very first time he got me out of my clothes and has never stopped since. Still, I appreciate his investment in keeping things fresh.

  Even if I’m not so sure how I feel about having a stainless steel plug shoved up my ass.

  He uncaps a tube of lubricant and squeezes a dollop onto his finger. “This will help you remember who’s in charge when we’re in the elevator.” He rubs the lube between his thumb and forefinger. His hungry green eyes have changed to pale blue; his wolf is riled up for me.

  Damn. He’s still on the elevator idea. Not that I thought he’d drop it. Jackson King didn’t build SeCure into a multi-billion dollar company by taking no for an answer. But I’m way more into wearing my interview outfit to celebrate our two-month anniversary than re-creating an elevator stall-out.

  He walks around behind me and tugs my panties down. My skirt is still rucked up around my waist, legs splayed wide. Pregnancy has done nothing to dampen my ever-present desire to be claimed by my mate at all hours of the day.