Alpha’s Desire: 6 (Bad Boy Alphas)

Angelina

Idon’t know how I managed to sleep at all. I dreamed all night about a beefy werewolf coming in my room and pinning me down. Forcing my legs wide and pleasuring me with his mouth and fingers until I scream myself hoarse.

Living with Jared in the house is going to be next to impossible. I hear him rummaging in the kitchen, so I pull a pair of shorts on under my sleep shirt and pad out to the kitchen. I find him looking through my cabinets, appearing disgruntled.

He’s even bigger and more impressive in the morning. His muscles stretch his fitted t-shirt and jeans like a work of art. The dancer in me wants to climb all over him like a living jungle gym.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

He closes a cabinet door and frowns. “Coffee. I was going to make you coffee to start your day. Or don’t you drink it?”

I shake my head, trying to tamp down the pleasure at hearing he wants the coffee for me, not himself. “Not unless I buy it from Starbucks. I usually make a smoothie in the morning. You want one?”

He appears surprised. “Um, yeah. That’d be nice.”

I walk past him to the refrigerator and start talking out ingredients. “What do you usually have for breakfast?” I’m picturing him as a steak and eggs kinda guy, considering he’s a wolf.

Speaking of wolf, I thought of a million questions to ask him, but I don’t know if he’s receptive to answering, considering I’m not supposed to know anything.

“Oh, I’m a can of Red Bull and anything else in sight kinda guy.” There’s a self-deprecation in his tone that I hate, although I can’t put my finger on why it bothers me so much. It’s kinda like he’s assuming I’m going to judge.

I bustle past him and start throwing stuff into the blender: frozen wild blueberries, organic raspberries, a dash of pure cherry juice, a banana, a couple handfuls of spinach, gelatin for my protein, spirulina, water, and a squeeze of lemon. I blend it up and pour it into two tumblers with lids and straws.

When I hand Jared his, he wears this heavy-lidded gaze, like smoothie making is some kind of erotic artform.

“Thanks.” His deep voice sends butterflies fluttering in my belly. He chugs it down in three gulps and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Delicious. Thank you, beautiful.”

“I-I’m going to jump in the shower.”

“Don’t let me slow you down.” He lays that charming grin on me, the one that causes girls at the club flash their boobs and make utter fools of themselves.

I spin around and head for the bathroom, quick, before I join that club.

Of course, the entire time I’m in the shower I’m thinking of him. Imagining what would happen if he decided to barge in. Did I purposely leave the door unlocked?

I fear I did.

But he doesn’t come in. Which is a good thing, considering I have classes all day. Still, I’m unbelievably self-conscious as I run from the bathroom to my bedroom in nothing but a towel. Why didn’t I bring my clothes into the bathroom with me?

I’m pretty sure I hear Jared chuckle as I shut my door, which makes it all the worse. I shouldn’t let him get me flustered in my own home. I throw on my dance clothes and pull a pair of shorts and t-shirt over my tights and leotard. My hair goes up into two buns on the top of my head—antennae style, not the Princess Leia style.

When I come out, Jared’s holding up a wall in the front room, looking at his phone. He drags in a long, slow breath when he sees me, eyes devouring me like I’m sex on a stick, not a dorky bunhead who has to dress out for ballet first thing in the morning.

Well, I guess he is the big bad wolf.

And that thought shouldn’t get me so wet.

“Okay, so I have classes all day—I won’t be home until six or so.” I raise my eyebrows at him.

He takes my keys from my hand and locks the door after us. “Great. I’ll drive.”

I stop walking. “Wait… what?”

“Did you think I’d just meet you back here at six? No, baby, I’m your shadow. I go where you go.” He walks toward my car.

“You-you can’t go to classes with me!” I splutter.

He stops at the driver’s side and leans on the roof of the car. His grin is wicked. “I can, yes.”

I arch a brow. “Oh really? You’re going to take ballet?”

“I’ll wait outside.”

“So how do you know I won’t tell someone during class? This is stupid, Jared. You can’t be with me every minute of the day. You don’t need to come to school with me.”

“I have my orders. I’m to stick to you like glue.” He gives my body and up and down sweep. “And that suits me just fine.”

The flutters in my belly make it hard to maintain a hard line. I have to admit, there’s something appealing about having Jared as an attachment. But it’s also utterly ridiculous. I cock a hip. “You can’t. You won’t fit in. What will I tell people?”

His smile falters and I have the brief impression I’ve hurt him, although I can’t fathom why. “Tell them I’m your bodyguard. Come on, get in. You’re going to be late for class.”

“You don’t even know when my class is!” I protest, but he’s right.

“I do, actually. I checked your phone and shared your calendar.”

I fish out my phone and stare at it. “And what? Did you bug it, too?”

When he doesn’t answer, my jaw drops. “Are you serious?” I’m suddenly scared again. I’m in way over my head with an organization—a species?—I don’t even understand. I thought I could trust Jared, but now I’m not sure.

“Hey, hey.” As usual, he picks up my vibe. “Calm down. What did I promise you?”

I clutch my bag so tight my knuckles turn white. “I don’t know,” I mutter-snap.

“You’re safe with me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“As long as I don’t tell.” I say it as a statement, not a question.

He nods. “As long as you don’t tell.”

“And if I do?”

Jared’s face clouds, the line of his jaw becomes more defined. “You can’t.” His tone brooks no opposition. There’s no wheedling or calming. He’s telling me like it is.

I blow out a shaky breath.

“Are you thinking about telling someone?” There’s an edge of danger in his tone, something I haven’t heard before. The guy is huge and I’ve already seen what he’s capable of in his short tussle with the vampire. But in this moment, it becomes infinitely clear that he’s deadly.

My heart pounds against my ribs.

“Are you?” His tone is sharper than a knife.

“No!” I’m both offended and angry. And still scared shitless.

Jared relaxes against the seatback—the one he pushed all the way into the backseat to get in—but a furrow still clouds his brow. “I don’t like to smell fear on you, baby.” His hands tighten on the wheel, like he’s holding on to keep from reaching for me. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

My mind swirls with a million unfinished thoughts. The only coherent one that floats to the surface is he can smell my fear?

“Sure,” he says. I guess I asked it out loud. “And your arousal.”

I flush and shoot a glance at him. His lips twitch and I want to punch him. What this man does to me! I don’t slap or punch people. Ever.

“I usually park all the way up on 5th street and walk. You can’t park on campus.” I inform him, to change the subject.

But he turns, pulling right onto campus and stopping in front of the dance building. “You’re late. Go on in. I’ll park and meet you after your class.”

I get out and lean my head in the door. “I have classes here all day. Seriously. Just come back at four.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be there after ballet.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I say before I remember his words last night.

His grin is borrowed straight from the devil, himself. “Now you’re in for it.”

I slam the door and stomp up the stairs, my face burning red, butt already tingling thinking about his promised spanking.

Jared

There’s a special kind of torture for males who dare imagine they’re worthy of a ballerina. It’s the body-hugging garments they wear that pass for clothing. I’m standing outside the door of Angelina’s ballet class peeking through the window and dying.

Literally. I’m dying. My cock is rock hard, especially because now I’m thinking about spanking her and I don’t know if I’ll make it through the day without letting off some steam.

A group of girls in leotards and tights gather outside the studio, plopping on the floor and spreading their legs wide to stretch in preparation for the next class. Some of them appear appropriately scandalized to see me here—what I’d expect from the virginal masses of uptight dancers. But some eye me with the bold looks I’m used to getting at the club, gazes traveling over my muscles and tattoos. It’s that fascination with the bad boy that makes even good girls make poor decisions.

“Are you waiting for someone?” One of them pipes up.

“Yep.”

“Who?”

“Angelina. The redhead.” I nod to the window where the dancers are in poses similar to the one of the Romeo and Juliet ballet poster on the wall I’m leaning against.

“Oh yeah. She’s great. I love Angelina,” one of them gushes, getting even flirtier, even though I just named my female.

“She is,” I murmur, watching my girl spin in four consecutive circles on shoes that let her stand right on her toes. Her legs are a mile long and pure muscle. Her body, a work of art. This is a different Angelina than the one I’ve seen at the club. She’s serious and precise. Perfect in every move. And rather unhappy-looking. I sure as hell hope it’s not because I’m here.

A door at the front of the studio opens and dancers spill out along with strains of fancy music. Classical or some shit.

“Angelina!” one of the girls near me squeals. “Over here.”

Angelina takes one look at me and her lips tighten.

Dammit. I am definitely bringing her down.

She marches over and I half expect her to march right past, but instead she lands right up against my body, face upturned, as if for a kiss. An angry kiss. No—possessive. She’s marking me in front of her friends.

Hot alpha female.

Let it never be said I wasted an opportunity. My lips are on hers before she can blink, and it’s not a peck, either. I devour her mouth like a starving man, ignoring the twitters of laughter from the gaggle of dancers around us.

When I release Angelina, her lips are swollen, eyes glazed. I wrap my hand around her nape and lean down to murmur in her ear. “You staking your claim, baby?”

She lifts her chin in that adorably stubborn pose I’ve come to adore. “Maybe.” And with that, she sashays off, leaving me to follow after her.

I don’t hurry, sauntering behind her, getting my fill of the swing of her ass, the flex of her muscular thighs. She stops and bends over a drinking fountain, even though she’s carrying a half-full water bottle. Giving me a show. I arrive behind her and make an approving noise in my throat.

Because I’m fairly certain that’s what she wants.

I happen to know her next class isn’t for forty minutes, which gives me time to get my hands on her. If I can just get her some place alone. Unfortunately, I’m still attracting stares from every human in the building.

I bump up behind Angelina and wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her back against my body so she can feel my solid erection. “Baby, take me somewhere private and I’ll reward you properly for offering up that kiss.”

I half expect her to shut me down, but her eyes dart around and then she grabs my hand, pulling me down an empty hallway. She tries a door and finds it locked, then tries another one. It opens.

I follow her in and shove her against the wall beside the door. That way, no one can see us through the window, and I can stop the door from opening if anyone tries. I have the front of her leotard down in seconds, bra cups peeled off and my mouth over one of her rosy nipples. One hand squeezes her breast while the other rubs between her legs. I go right up her shorts, investigating the outline of her pussy through her leotard and tights.

“Baby, I want to shred these tights with my teeth,” I confess.

“No,” she pants. “Please don’t.” She pushes at my chest, and I force myself to draw back. I may be aggressive, but I sure as hell don’t force myself on women.

But my little ballerina drops to her knees, head tipped up, gaze on my face.

My nostrils flare and I automatically reach for the outline of my cock in my jeans.

She undoes my button and makes a sexy show of dragging down the zipper. All the while, I’m biting my knuckles to keep from groaning.

She doesn’t say a word. Neither of us do. She takes my cock out and wraps her slender fingers around the base.

The minute her lips part, pre-cum leaks out. I’m about two seconds from spending, which isn’t like me. I pride myself on stamina. But apparently I have none where this girl is concerned. Especially considering I’ve been blue-balled for her for days now.

“Fuck, angel,” I grit when she licks around the head. “You’re going to get off easy, because I’m about two pumps away from coming.”

I love the satisfied smile she flashes right before she takes me deep.

Oh fates. My balls tighten up, thighs go rigid. I grasp the back of her head and pump into her mouth like a total jackass. I can’t help myself. I need relief so bad I’m going blind.

“Angelina,” I choke, trying not to shove all the way down her throat.

She tightens her hold on my cock, and jacks her fist. Her tongue swirls on the underside of my member, lips suction tight.

“Baby—”

I give her control again, and she pumps her mouth in concert with her fist, making it feel like she’s taking my full length.

“Fuck. Fuck yes. I’m going to come,” I warn her so she can pop off, but she stays on, sucking hard enough to pull the chrome off a bumper. I come in her devastating, hot mouth, my eyes rolling back in my head.

She sucks me clean and stands up while I shove my cock back in my jeans.

“Goddamn.” I snag her nape and pull her face up to mine. “Remind me to threaten the welfare of your tights again.”

She gives a surprised laugh that lights up her face and I drink it in, still riding the euphoria of my release. “Well, your boner was looking pretty painful.”

I grin. “I can’t help it. You’re more dressed at the nightclub, and you already know how I feel about what you wear there.”

She laughs, a husky sound that revives my cock far too soon. It seems I’m going to be permahard for this girl. “You sure it wasn’t seeing all the dancers out there?” There’s a pointedness to the question and I don’t forget her little show of jealousy in the hallway. It’s important I set her straight.

“No, baby. Just you.” Her tits are still hanging out and I pinch both nipples gently. “But you’re welcome to stake a public claim on me, anytime. I sure as hell enjoyed it.”

She blushes, but she’s still smiling, and I steal a brief kiss.

“Don’t think this will get you out of your spanking later, though.”

She flushes a deeper red, but leans right up against me. I cup her ass and pull her hips up on mine. “Do werewolves have girlfriends?”

The question is so innocent, but it’s loaded.

For both of us.

I ease off my grip on her ass and sag against the wall. “No.” It fucking kills me to say it, especially when I see her expression shutter. “Not with humans.”

“Oh.” She busies herself with putting her tits away and I want to smash my own face in.

“Listen—”

“No, you don’t have to say anything.” Her voice sounds forced. “I knew you weren’t the boyfriend type from the beginning. That’s why I was putting on the brakes.”

I curl my fingers into my palms to keep from reaching for her. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to respect your boundaries. It’s just really fucking hard. Humans don’t usually tweak me as much as you do.”

This earns me eye contact again, which comes as a visceral relief. “I tweak you?”

I drag my lower lip through my teeth. “So fucking much.” I adjust my cock, which is already growing again. “But I’ll give it rest. Thanks for taking the edge off.”

She pinches my nipple through my t-shirt. It’s a sassy move, considering I’m the guy who likes to be the aggressor, but I let her do it. “Well, I should get to class.”

“Yeah.” I open the door for her and let her go through it, but I don’t follow. She needs her space, as much as I can give it. I wait until she’s almost around the corner before I leave the room.

Dammit.

It feels like I just swallowed a round of lead.

Agent Dune

Facial recognition software pulls absolutely nothing on the faces he has from the lab bombing. Including Nash’s. It’s almost as if they’ve been buried on purpose. But by whom? His superiors? Or someone on their side? It would take some extremely sophisticated security hacks to be able to fuck with their system, but he’s learned never to underestimate anyone. Never underestimate, never make assumptions. You have to stay open to crazy fucking possibilities if you want the real answers.

If he wouldn’t have written things off as impossible back when he first saw something unreal about Nash, he might’ve learned something about his past. What his father was. What happened to him.

So he wasn’t going to let the chance slip this time. He’d find the bombers, yeah. But he also was going to uncover whatever fucking secret was being kept at those blown up labs. Whatever Data-X had been up to. Genetic engineering was his guess.

And more than one party wanted it covered up. More than one party has a stake in it.

An incoming alert makes him return his focus to the facial screens.

A match.

He read the file. One Parker Jones.

Picked up for questioning related to illegal betting in San Diego.

Subject did not cooperate. Suspected of organizing cage fights and serving as bookie for said fights.

Well, looks like he has a suspect to stake out. He gathers his equipment and already packed bag, checks his weapons and leaves the small government-provided safehouse.

Parker Jones, prepare to give me some fucking answers.