Wall Street Titan: An Alpha Zone Novel

by Anna Zaires

  In fact, it’s inescapable.

  He turns his attention to my other breast, sucking on my nipple with strong pulls as his hand travels lower, to my soaked underwear. He tugs the panties down my legs; then his fingers return to my folds. Only this time, he doesn’t tease. Laving my nipple with his tongue, he penetrates me with one long, thick finger, pushing deep as his thumb presses on my clit.

  I combust. There’s no other word for it.

  Somehow, my first orgasm had only primed me for this, and my entire body spasms with white-hot pleasure as I cry out, bucking underneath him. The wet heat of his mouth on my breast, the feel of his big finger so deep inside me, the heavy weight of him pressing down on my legs—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

  I need more.

  I need him in me.

  “Yes, you do,” he growls, and my eyes fly open to meet his burning gaze.

  I must’ve said the words aloud. Normally, the knowledge would make me flush all over, but I’m too far gone to care—and judging by the tight cast of Marcus’s hard features, mocking me is the last thing on his mind.

  He’s still wearing his pants and belt, and our hands collide as we reach for the buckle at the same time. It would be funny, except I’m so aroused the delay is the worst kind of torture. I feel as if the two orgasms had only whetted my appetite, as if now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t stop until I devour the main dish.

  And what a dish it is. My breath stutters to a halt as he unzips his pants, finally freeing his erection, and pulls a condom out of his pocket. I’d felt that hard bulge pressed against me the other week, and it had definitely seemed impressive, but I still didn’t expect this.

  “Were you ever in porn?”

  The words pop out of my mouth before I can think better of it, and this time, I do flush—because I did not mean to sound like the semi-virgin that I am. He’s undoubtedly used to women with sexual experience as extensive as his own, not twenty-six-year-old cat ladies who’ve slept with two boyfriends in their entire lives.

  His dark eyebrows pull into a frown, but to my relief, he doesn’t seem inclined to laugh at me. Instead, he mutters, “No,” and finishes putting on the condom. He then moves over me, covering me with his large body. Framing my face with one palm, he claims my lips in another deep, consuming kiss, and at the same time, his knee wedges between my thighs, pushing them apart. The broad head of his cock brushes against my inner thigh, and I feel the blunt, heavy pressure of him at my entrance.

  Holy shit, that feels big, even in my hyper-aroused state.

  Way too big.

  I tear my lips away from his. “Um, Marcus…”

  He halts immediately, the tip of his cock less than a quarter inch inside me. Pushing up on one elbow, he asks roughly, “Am I hurting you?”

  I swallow, meeting his gaze. “A little.”

  His jaw flexes. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “What? Oh, no. Just… go slow, okay?”

  Intense relief flashes in his blue eyes. “You got it,” he promises, and then he bends his head and kisses me again. At the same time, his hips start moving back and forth, working himself into me one millimeter at a time. The stretch still burns, but I’m so aroused that I don’t mind the slight bite of pain—and the feel of his tongue tangling with mine adds to the slickness easing his way.

  At first, I’m grateful for the slow pace, but a minute later, when he’s still less than halfway in, I’m ready to claw his back raw.

  I need him in me. All the way. Now.

  Sinking my teeth into his lower lip, I lift my hips, taking in another couple of inches—and my breath stops in my lungs as he surges into me with a low groan, penetrating me all the way.

  Oh, fuck. That is big.

  I must’ve said it out loud again because he freezes on top of me and lifts his head. “Did I hurt you?” His voice is strained, every muscle in his large body tense as he holds himself completely still. “Emma, kitten… tell me. Do you want me to stop?”

  I manage a small shake of my head. “No. Don’t stop.” My inner muscles are fluttering in panic, still trying to get used to the overwhelming size of him, but the newly awakened nymphomaniac in me is demanding more.

  I want that third orgasm, and I want it now.

  He stares at me, his lightly bronzed skin covered with a thin layer of sweat, and I feel the exact moment his self-control snaps. With a low growl, he pulls back and surges into me, thrusting so hard I gasp. But he doesn’t stop this time. With his eyes narrowed and his gaze locked on mine, he sets a hard, driving pace.

  The fire simmering inside me ignites hotter, each stroke of his massive cock bringing me closer to that delicious edge. Panting, I sink my nails into his sides and match him thrust for thrust, the erotic tension spiking to unbearable levels. I’m about to come, and it feels different, more intense with him inside me. My heart pounds violently, my skin burns, and all of my muscles are so tense I’m trembling. It’s like a train is barreling toward me, and I can’t stop it, can’t slow it down. Each time he bottoms out inside me, his pelvis grinds into my swollen clit, and gasping cries tear from my throat. It’s too much, too intense, yet I want more.

  “Come with me,” he bites out, his face twisting as he hammers mercilessly into me, and the release hits me so hard I scream. My inner muscles clamp on him as pleasure blasts through every nerve ending in my body, and I feel his cock jerk and pulse deep within me as he grinds into me, his eyes screwed shut and his head thrown back with an orgasmic groan.

  The aftershocks are like a series of mini earthquakes in my body as he collapses on top of me, then rolls onto his side, holding me anchored against him in a possessive hold as his slowly softening cock slips out of me. Sweat glues our skin together, and our ragged breathing is audible in the silent room as a single thought circles through my mind.

  I am so screwed.

  29

  Marcus

  I tighten my hold on Emma as she shifts, trying to move away. I should let her go, so I can remove the condom and clean up, but I can’t bring myself to do so. My heart is pumping like an overworked steam engine, and despite the orgasm-induced relaxation spreading through my muscles, I’m vibrating with a surfeit of adrenaline.

  I have never, in all of my life, experienced anything like this—have never lost myself in a woman so completely. From the moment she grabbed on to my shoulders, I was driven by a single primal urge: to get inside her, to claim her and make her mine. I forgot all about my plans for an elaborately staged seduction, how I was going to use what the investigator had uncovered to convince her to give me another shot.

  I was going to woo her tonight like a gentleman, but instead, I attacked her with all the finesse of a sex-starved convict, not backing off even when I felt her extreme tightness and knew that I was hurting her.

  “Are you all right, kitten?” I murmur, pulling her closer until I’m spooning her from the back, with one hand cradling her breast and the other arm stretched out underneath her neck. Her small, lush body feels so right, so perfect against me. Her ass is deliciously full and round as it rubs against my groin, and the soft globe of her breast fills my palm like it was made for it.

  She really does remind me of a kitten, a sweet, warm, cuddly one.

  “I’m fine.” A visible flush creeps over her bare shoulder, coloring her skin a delicate shade of peach as she tries to scoot away again, mumbling, “I should wash up.”

  This time, I have no choice but to let her go. Reluctantly, I lift my arm, and she jumps up and off the bed, all wild red curls and pale curves as she beelines for the bathroom. I sit up as well and reach for a tissue from the box on the nightstand. It’s just in time too—the condom is already slipping off me. As I ball up the used tissue with the condom inside, I notice two of the cats—the smaller ones—staring at me, their green eyes accusing. Their bigger sibling is, thankfully, nowhere to be seen.

  Maybe he got offended that I took his place on the bed?


  “What?” I growl at them when they keep staring, then realize I’m talking to fucking cats.

  Getting up, I zip up my pants and stride over to the bathroom, where I hear a shower running.

  “Emma?” I knock. “Can I come in?”

  No response.

  I take that as a yes and push the door open. Like most people who live alone, she’s not used to locking the bathroom door.

  Inside, the small room is filled with steam, the mirror all fogged up. Through the semi-transparent blue curtain hanging over her tub, I see the outline of Emma’s body under the spray of water, and though I’m still catching my breath from the powerful orgasm I just had, my cock twitches with renewed interest.

  Fuck. It was supposed to get better once I’ve had her.

  I hesitate, staring at her for a moment, then remove my shoes and strip off my pants and briefs. Hanging the clothes over the towel rod, I pull aside the curtain. “May I join you?”

  She freezes in the middle of pouring body wash into her hand, her eyes rounding in shock. “What?”

  “May I join you?” I repeat, my voice roughening as more blood surges to my groin. With the gorgeous spirals of her hair loosely pinned on top of her head and the water sluicing over her smooth, pale skin, she’s the most fuckable thing I’ve ever seen. I’m used to women being shaved or waxed, but she’s just neatly trimmed, and the little patch of flame-bright hair between her legs draws my eyes like a beacon.

  A natural redhead—not that I’ve ever doubted it.

  Her delectable skin turns a pretty shade of pink as she realizes where I’m looking. “Um… yes.” She sounds choked, and when I look up, I see her staring at my rapidly hardening cock. “You can… come in if you want.”

  Oh, I want. Stepping into the tub, I pull the curtain closed, angle the showerhead so the spray is not blasting us, and take the body wash bottle from her nerveless fingers. “Here, let me.”

  She blinks up at me, uncomprehending.

  “I want to wash you,” I explain, pouring the liquid into my palm before setting the bottle down in the corner of the tub. “Turn around.”

  She obeys, and I spread the lather over her pale shoulders, then run my hands over the soft skin of her back, my heart rate speeding up with growing arousal. She has the sexiest dimples at the base of her spine, where her tiny waist flares into a deliciously full ass. My hands slide down to wash those soft, round globes, and I can’t stop myself from squeezing them possessively.

  Mine.

  This sweet little ass is now mine, as is every other scrumptious part of her.

  It’s an utterly atavistic thought—fucking a woman doesn’t mean you own her—but I can’t squash it. It’s a conviction that goes down to the bone.

  Emma is now mine. I’ve staked a claim on her, and I’m not backing off.

  The tub we’re in is cramped, especially for someone my size, but I manage to kneel behind her as I spread the soap down her legs, my dick stiffening further as her calf muscles flex at my touch. That delicious ass of hers is now closer to my eye level, and my mouth waters with the urge to bite that creamy, supple flesh, to sink my teeth into it as if it were an apple.

  “Turn around.” My voice is so hoarse with lust I barely recognize it. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, why I’m feeling this overwhelming need to mark her, to brand her as belonging to me. I’ve never had the slightest urge to hurt a woman, but something dark in me—something I didn’t know was there—likes the idea of marring her pale skin, of seeing signs of my possession on her smooth flesh.

  Suppressing the bizarrely sadistic inclination, I wait for her to turn, and when she does, I grip her hips and pull her toward me. Even with my legs folded flat underneath me, I’m too tall—or she’s too short—for me to reach my goal. So I lift her leg, hiking it up until she’s balancing on her toes, holding on to the tiled wall for support, and then I lean back until her pussy is right over my face.

  Her gray eyes are wide as she stares down at me. “What are you—” she starts, but I’m already diving into my feast, lapping at her pink folds like I can’t get enough. And I can’t. It’s like her flavor has been created specifically for me. I need to taste her, to feel her soft, slick flesh under my tongue.

  She cries out, her leg tensing in my grip as I get to her clit, and I taste her arousal as more slickness rushes forth to coat her entrance.

  She wants me.

  Fuck, yes, she wants me.

  Forgetting all restraint, I eat her pussy, spurred on by the erotic cries and moans emanating from her throat. She’s as sweet as I’d imagined, her flesh silky-soft under my tongue. Her clit is swollen from my previous ministrations, and I suck on it, feeling her thigh quiver with each pull of my lips. More delicious slickness coats my tongue, and I use my free hand to penetrate her with two fingers, pressing my fingertips against the spongy G-spot on her inner wall.

  Her cries escalate, her whole body shaking now, and I feel the precise moment when it happens. Her muscles clench on my fingers, and a violent tremor runs through her. I ease up on the sucking in favor of licking her gently as she shudders with the aftershocks, and then I withdraw my fingers, lower her leg, and return to a kneeling position in front of her.

  She sways a little, as if weak from her orgasm, and I grip her hips to steady her as I rise to my feet, turning so that she’s back under the shower spray. The taste of her is on my lips, and my dick is so stiff it hurts. But I don’t have a condom handy, and she might be sore from our first fucking, so I force myself to release her and wrap my fingers around my cock instead.

  With her watching me dazedly, I pump my fist up and down, letting my eyes roam over her curvy body.

  It takes just a few quick strokes for me to come, marking her pale thigh with thick white ropes of my seed.

  30

  Emma

  My mind is still filled with wool, my thoughts tangled from post-sex endorphins as I stare at my legs, where Marcus’s semen is slowly sliding down the front of my left thigh, mixing with the water streaming over me. I feel like I’ve somehow landed in a porn flick—a particularly long, involved one, with the hottest actor I’ve ever seen.

  Marcus came on me.

  On my leg.

  While I watched him.

  It was so dirty—and so unbelievably hot. Just like the sex dreams I’ve been having, only better, because this was my fourth orgasm. Fourth. I’ve never come four times in a row, not even with my vibrator. And I was right about his tongue being crazy skilled. God, is it skilled. The way he attacked my clit—

  “You okay?” he murmurs, and I blink, flushing as I look up.

  “What?”

  “You okay?” he repeats, thick eyebrows arching, and I realize I completely zoned out, standing there like I’m the only one in the shower.

  Like this is one of those dirty dreams of mine, instead of a real-life sexual encounter with the man I was going to send packing as soon as he turned up on my doorstep.

  “The books,” I blurt out, my mind finally latching on to something other than the fact that I have his seed on me.

  That he’d just been in me, so deep inside that I still feel tender from his hard possession.

  “What about them?” He sounds amused as he picks up the body wash again and pours some on his palm, then proceeds to lather himself all over, his movements as casual as a jock’s in a locker room.

  “I can’t…” I swallow, my eyes falling to the softening column of his sex as he washes it thoroughly. Even like this, he’s impressively sized, bigger than either of my two exes. With effort, I force myself to look up. “I can’t accept them.”

  His expression darkens. “Why not? You like books, don’t you?”

  “Of course. But those are first editions. They must cost more than my apartment. And the scarf—I can’t accept it either. It’s too much.”

  There, I’ve said it. I feel bizarrely proud of myself—at least until he steps closer, getting under the spray with me, and I
recall that I was going to tell him that before something like this happened.

  The whole point was to chase him away so I wouldn’t give in to this dangerous attraction.

  He must be thinking the same thing because one corner of his mouth curves up sardonically as he angles the showerhead to have the water hit him more directly. “They’re gifts, kitten. You’re familiar with the concept, right?”

  He’s so close now that my nipples are grazing his hair-roughened chest, and my breath catches as he reaches down with that unsettling casualness and wipes the remnants of his seed off my thigh, lightly brushing over my sex in the process.

  “There,” he says huskily. “All clean now.”

  Turning, he swiftly rinses the remaining lather off his body and steps out of the shower, leaving me to stand under the spray and gather the tattered shreds of my composure.

  I half-expect Marcus to be gone when I come out of the bathroom—after all, he got what he wanted—but he’s there, sitting on my bed in his business attire, looking as if nothing’s happened.

  That is, if one ignores the possessive heat in his cool blue eyes as they travel over my short pink robe and the bare legs underneath it.

  Holy fuck. Does he want more sex?

  With me?

  Is this going to be a thing now?

  I stop by my closet, eyeing him uncertainly as Mr. Puffs meows from his perch on the top shelf. “So,” I start, ignoring the cat, “about the—”

  “I told Wilson to move our reservation by an hour.” Marcus stands up, his tall, large figure making my studio look even smaller. “We’ll make it on time if you don’t take too long to get dressed.”

  I gape at him. “You still want to go out to dinner?”

  He frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Because you just fucked me ten ways to Sunday without needing to take me anywhere, I want to say, but I choke back the words in time. “No reason,” I mumble instead, grabbing a clean pair of panties from the closet before making my way over to the desk, where the jeans, sweater, and bra I’d been wearing are lying neatly folded, with Queen Elizabeth and Cottonball stretched out on top of them.