Alphas & Fairytales: A New Year's Eve Anthology

by Molly McLain

  I run my palms over his shoulders to press against his chest, trying to keep him at bay. “No. You’ll mess up my lipstick.”

  Blistering lakes of desire bore into me. I almost tear off the damn dress myself and bend over in invitation.

  “Have it your way. But I want rings of it circling my cock later. From base to tip.”

  Holy sister of pearl. “I think that can be arranged,” I murmur, barely able to think.

  “I want to be coated in it, Willow. Every fucking inch of me.”

  Oh my God…his dirty words. They undo me every time.

  Curling my fingers around his neck, I promise breathlessly, “Consider it done.”

  A slow, wry smile curves his mouth. “No bra. What other surprises do you have in store for me, beautiful?”

  I flinch slightly when his hand grazes my exposed flesh, drawing chills. That irresistible smile of his turns utterly sinful, promising. Wolfish eyes never leave mine as his fingers skate their way upward, snaking around my inner thigh. When he brushes ever so lightly against my damp silk the noise that leaves the back of his throat is an unholy mixture of craving and voracity.

  It nearly brings me to my knees.

  “So fucking wet already. God, Willow, you’re testing every ounce of control I possess right now.”

  I swallow hard, the heat from the flames in his gaze warming me from head to toe. I’m panting when I taunt, “I can’t say I’m terribly sorry.”

  His face is flirty and devilish. Full of love and kept promises. “You might be later if you keep up that sass.”

  I tighten my hold around his neck. My God, I want to kiss him right now.

  “You love my sass.”

  “I love a lot of things about you, Willow. That isn’t one of them.”

  “Such a liar.” My laugh turns into more of a huff as a finger that had been toying with the seam of my panties finally works its way underneath. He brushes lightly over my moist flesh, back and forth. Waking up nerve endings. Hypnotically, relentlessly teasing me.

  “You’re not playing fair,” I manage to squeak, using his shoulders as leverage to lean into his touch. Trying to get relief. Accomplishing nothing.

  With a tug of the arm wrapped around me, he brings me flush to him, whispering against my blushing cheek, “Fair isn’t in my vocabulary when it comes to you. Never has been. Never will be.”

  When he twists that hand mashed between us and slowly drives a single finger inside me so I feel every swollen ridge he passes, I beg, “Let’s stay in,” not caring that it took me an hour and a half to put the right amount of curl in my blond locks or coat my lids with seven varying shades of neutrals. My sole focus is on how fast I can get his cock to replace his finger, messy hair be damned.

  Two fingers enter me next, this time rougher. I clamp down. Hard, involuntarily. His groans settle through the pores of my skin as I start to rock. I almost have him. I know I do.

  “You are nearly irresistible. So tempting. Do you know that?”

  “Take me. Right here.” Pretty please, I almost tack on. Fuck the pretty. Just the please. My hips move faster. More desperate.

  “Jesus, I want to. I want to spread you out on these stairs and eat you until you’re raw.”

  God almighty. I almost crash my mouth to his, wrap my legs around his waist, and ride his cock to the Stratosphere.

  “Do it,” I challenge. That gauntlet works every time with men. With him. Every blessed time. By the contraction of his muscles and the quickness of his heartbeat, I’m sure I’m about to get what I want.

  But I don’t. He stops. Leans back so I feel his harsh breaths against my lips with each exhale. “I would if I didn’t have other plans for tonight.”

  And there it is. What tonight is really all about. He’s waiting for me to ask. He’s been waiting for the past two days, but I won’t. I can’t. I want confirmation but I also don’t.

  So we just stare at each other, knowing we both know what the other is thinking until the doorbell to our suite rings, breaking our thrall. Only then does he withdraw those wicked fingers. He brings them to his mouth and sucks, making sure I watch him lick them clean. Then, placing his lips as close to mine as he dare without touching, he says softly with so much assurance I physically feel it, “And I promise you will love every minute of it or we stop.”

  Before I can respond he straightens and adjusts the hard package pressing against his zipper. He spins in those fancy, gleaming shoes and moments later a very recognizable baritone voice floats through the room.

  Noah Wilder.

  Shaw’s best friend since birth, co-CEO of Wildemer & Company, the management consulting company Shaw and he run together, and the very reason my stomach has been in quasi knots since the three of us hopped on their private jet in Seattle.

  Noah appears from around the corner and stops dead in his tracks, whatever he was saying to Shaw falling to a dead silence. I flush all over when he leisurely peruses me the way Shaw just did.

  “Jesus fuck,” he mumbles. He shoves his hands in his pockets, jingling some change, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s to hide the erection he just sprouted, not because he wants to count quarters.

  And this—right here—is the crux of my confusion.

  Shaw is insanely possessive of me. Under any normal circumstances, at any other time, I would expect him to be two seconds away from strangling his best friend’s neck. But he’s not. He’s not paying attention to Noah at all. His eyes are boring straight into me, white-hot with lust.

  As they continue to visually devour me, nerves over the night resurface with a vengeance. We are in the City of Sin, after all, and the man standing next to Shaw is the Prince of Iniquity himself.

  Las Vegas is perfect for men like them. The Devil’s playground. A carnival of seduction and enticement. Reservations of right and wrong are sacrificed nightly without any thought for the aftermath.

  These two best friends have shared everything throughout their entire lives. Including women. Until I came along, that is. And though Shaw has said I’m “his and his alone”, intimating he would never, ever cross that threshold, that is not at all the impression he’s given me since we’ve landed. Never is certainly not swimming in those lake blues right now.

  Wild, hedonistic desire is.

  Yes, decadence is the perfect descriptor.

  Taking a step forward, Shaw holds out a steady hand, palm up. His voice is coarse and gravelly when he asks me, “Ready?”

  I hesitate just a moment, giving Noah one last uneasy glance before setting mine in it, wondering if I’m making a mistake, yet still allowing him to lure me straight into a night full of unknowns…

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  …that may well test the very foundation of our relationship.

  Chapter 2

  If I had visions of Vegas being a party town before, New Year’s Eve must amp it up times a thousand. The air is positively abuzz tonight. Of course, the black-tie gala is a very big deal, but an MMA fight between Gavin “The Ripper” Cage and someone whose name I can’t remember was held earlier this evening at this same hotel.

  I’m not into MMA myself. It seems primitive and base, but Noah wouldn’t stop talking about “The Ripper” the entire way here. I was told he is receiving some sort of award tonight at this party. Noah is beside himself with so much excitement he reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Open your purse, please,” a short, stocky man barks.

  The security surrounding this party is unlike anything I’ve ever been through before. Metal detectors. Purse searches. Pat downs. At first it seems like overkill, but probably isn’t given the spectrum of attendees, so I’m waiting patiently in line for my turn, while Shaw and Noah have breezed through already.

  I flick the snap and open a clutch so small I can barely fit my room key and lipstick in it, let alone a weapon of any sort.

  After I make it successfully through the bag search, I stop in front of a handsome guard who reminds
me of Henry Cavill except with a definite bad boy edge to him. I see the tips of flames peeking at me from the top button of his blue uniform and inanely wonder how many other tattoos he has.

  “Evening, ma’am.” He nods politely, gesturing for me to put my arms out.

  I comply.

  “Good evening…Henry,” I say on a laugh when I take in his nametag. “Did anyone ever tell you—?”

  “All the time, ma’am.”

  “I bet that serves you well.”

  He looks up from his kneeling position and winks. “It has its advantages, yes.”

  Shaw scowls and tightens his fists the entire time Henry runs his hands lightly over me. Noah tries to keep his face neutral, but eyes don’t lie. If he could have shanked Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome and got away with it, I think he would have.

  “You have a nice night now, you hear?”

  “I will, thank you,” I tell the good-looking guard, ignoring the way his attention drifts to my chest. I suppose I invited it by wearing something so provocative, but the only man’s attention I care about or want is currently grumbling when I reach his side.

  “This is going to be a long fucking night,” he says.

  “Oh hush. It’s going to be fun.” I wrap my hands around the elbow Shaw has crooked for me, Noah flanking me on the other side. We follow the three couples in front of us moving at a snail’s pace toward the French doors of the extravagant ballroom of the MGM Grand, festive music and chatter from the hundreds already there pouring out.

  When we finally stride through the entrance into the biggest room I’ve ever been in, impeccably dressed waiters and waitresses are lined up on either side holding trays of flutes filled to the brim with bubbling champagne. We stop at the first one and Shaw picks up a glass, handing it to me. The waiter’s eyes wander and when Shaw growls they snap back forward. He holds the silver platter higher, his white-gloved hand now shaking slightly.

  “Be nice,” I chastise, pushing him forward.

  “Be nice? Willow,” he hisses, “you have no goddamn idea how irresistible you are. You’re going to make every man here hobble around with a hard on all night long.”

  “I’ll second that,” I hear Noah say.

  My face blazes at the same time my belly spins.

  Noah is drop-dead gorgeous. A perfect specimen of a man. With stormy eyes, sharp cheekbones and unruly dirty blond hair he oozes sex appeal, raw and pure. He’s insanely attractive; no woman would deny it. Neither will I. On the night we met, the night that changed my life, there’s no doubt if I would have given the green light, Noah would have given me my first orgasm in the corner we were perched in before laying the next one on me in the elevator on the way to the penthouse.

  But I don’t want that. I didn’t then and I don’t now. I don’t want his tongue flicking my clit or his long fingers tweaking my nipples. I don’t want to cry his name when I come instead of Shaw’s.

  Do I?

  A tingle flares low in my core.

  Shit.

  Do I?

  Out of my periphery I sneak a glance at these two dominating forces beside me. If tonight presents me with a buffet of iniquitous depravities, would I walk away or would I greedily pluck one or two tasty tidbits? I’d like to think the answer is the former, but with the way Noah’s eyes have been roaming over me since we left the hotel room…

  Whew, is it hot in here?

  I take a large gulp of the fizzy wine, hoping it quenches the small blaze that thought just caused. It’s a hopeless quest.

  “Oh, stop you two,” I scold, my voice quivering a little. “This room will be filled with gorgeous women who will make me feel like Pollyanna.”

  “Impossible,” they both say in unison.

  But they’re wrong. So very wrong.

  Unsure what our destination is, I hang on to Shaw’s arm as we wind our way through the splendid interior, weaving around men who are impeccably dressed in pricey custom tuxes and women who are exquisite creatures of beauty I didn’t think existed in real life.

  “Not impossible,” I mumble, momentarily forgetting about the two men skirting me.

  Prestige. Affluence. Pretention. Arrogance.

  Power and control.

  It’s a potent combination that propagates and thickens the further we bury ourselves into the belly of opulence. There are influential people here and you can feel it everywhere. I have accompanied many powerful men with egos the size of Texas to countless fancy parties but this puts them all to shame.

  I gaze around discreetly, trying to seem as if I’m not fresh off the farm, but I am in awe of my surroundings.

  Excess on top of excess.

  Dozens upon dozens of tables circle an inlaid oak dance floor placed in the center of the room. Each is outfitted with tight stark-white cloths and elaborate but small white flower centerpieces. Dozens more standing tables are scattered throughout and are fashioned in the same manner.

  The main lights are dimmed low, but splashes of snowy white illuminate the walls and balusters. Candles flicker everywhere, adding a surprisingly cozy ambiance to the large space. The coffered ceilings look to be at least two stories high and massive, intricate crystal chandeliers that could easily crush a crowd below if they fell hang every fifty feet or so.

  But what’s most impressive is the wall of glass that sits at the far end of the room. Giant gold drapes frame colossal windows, which makes it seem as if the clear, star-filled night’s sky is right in this room with us. It will be the perfect place to watch the fireworks at midnight.

  It’s magical. A scene right out of a fairytale.

  Still moving, my eyes scan the busy room when they’re caught by an impossible sight. “Oh my God. Is that…?” I start, my voice fading when I realize it can be none other than—

  “Savanah Jordan. Yes,” Shaw answers nonchalantly as if he hasn’t just seen the most beautiful woman in the world in person not twenty feet from us.

  “You have to be kidding me? Academy Award-winner Savanah Jordan is here? The Savanah Jordan is at this gala?”

  “It would appear so, yes.”

  Shaw barely spares her a glance and for that I’m secretly grateful, but I can’t stop staring as we walk by. Beyond stunning, she’s wearing a floor-length apple red gown held up by two thin wires of fabric. There’s a slit up the side, exposing a jutting hipbone, and a plunging neckline that’s twice as daring as mine. I think I see her belly button. As we pass, she happens to glance my way, catches me staring and smiles. And it’s genuine and sweet and I want to be her friend.

  A few moments later we stop in the line for the bar and I notice for the first time neither Shaw nor Noah grabbed a flute of champagne. The bartenders are working as fast as they can, but by the looks of the long line in front of us, we may be here a while.

  “She’s a big MMA fan,” Noah chimes in as we take a few steps forward. Goosebumps travel the whole right side of my body as he whispers this in my ear.

  “She is?” I find myself whispering back. I’m stupefied. Savanah Jordan is at the same party as I am and she likes watching sweaty, angry men bleed all over each other. Color me shocked. Maybe I should be more open-minded.

  A passing waiter stops in front of us with a tray of gorgeous, extravagant mini desserts. We all politely decline. Shaw and I had a romantic dinner in our room earlier, missing the formal dinner here at the gala. I’m not sure what Noah did. I was too worried to ask for fear he’d end up eating with us and our night of sordid festivities would start earlier than I was ready for.

  “Yeah. Hot as sin, sexy as fuck and sacrosanct. Kinda reminds me of you,” he tells me, only this time it’s in his normal, everyday voice.

  Holy crap. Did he just say that? Out loud? And did Shaw hear him? There is a definite, explicit insinuation there: Implied corruption of the innocent. And I know where I fit into that equation.

  I look to Shaw, who isn’t looking at Noah but straight at me. And oh, he heard all right because that same lust that darke
ned his eyes back in the room is blackening them now.

  I’m utterly confused.

  If they’re trying to throw me off kilter: throws confetti. They win.

  I drag my attention back to Noah still trying to formulate a suitable spirited response he’s probably expecting, but my mind blanks when I catch molten eyes staring into mine.

  I want to fucking taste you, they brazenly convey.

  Jesus. My nipples strain. A slow gander down my chest confirms he doesn’t miss it.

  I swallow, willing my heart to slow a few beats. All right…a lot of beats.

  Noah raises a brow. Just one. And that same side of his full mouth quirks up until a dimple pops. He’s waiting to see what I’ll say. For a slap to the face, maybe. But the whole time he waits, his starving eyes never leave mine.

  I know Shaw has to be watching this bizarre, inappropriate exchange. How can he not be? But once again, I’m drawing a blank because he’s not doing a thing to dissuade Noah’s blatant advances.

  Realizing I am totally out of my element, I finish my drink in one fell swoop and swap out the empty for a full glass from another waitress scooting by.

  “Thirsty?” Shaw asks, his voice husky. I ignore the heavy stare I feel from Noah on my right.

  “Yes,” I answer simply, downing half the contents.

  Shaw’s arm comes around me and he pulls me close. The scent of his spicy cologne permeates every one of my senses, calming me a degree or two, but that lasts only as long as it takes him to say, “Pace yourself, Goldilocks. I want you fully present for what we have planned later.”

  I suck in a sharp breath.

  We.

  Not I.

  We.

  I’d like to think what he said was meant for my ears alone, but I know I’m not making up the brush of Noah’s fingers I just felt skim the bare skin at the small of my back. It was brief but that’s now the hottest spot on my entire body. It burns and an unwieldy volcano of lust and bad judgment radiates down to the base of my spine where it settles into a slow simmer. And I can’t get it to stop no matter how much I tell myself this is wrong.