Alphas: Supes and Badboys (8 Books in One)

by Myles, Eden

  “You are,” he said, sounding serious for the moment. “If you didn’t feel powerful and secure in that power, you wouldn’t feel comfortable submitting to your gentleman.”

  “Jerrel thinks I’m a bitch.”

  “Not many men know how to handle a strong woman.”

  “But you do.”

  “Yes,” he answered with a perfectly straight face. “I like strong women. My father made his fortune mining gold ore from the desert, but my mother worked as an Ambassador in the Embassy of the Republic of Namibia. She was a very powerful woman, highly respected.”

  “I hope you’re not seeing me as your mother.”

  He glanced over, giving me what I knew now to be his bedroom eyes, faintly dangerous. “No. I don’t see you as my mother, Rachaela.”

  “What do you see me as?”

  “My partner. My courtesan. My woman.”

  The warmth and insistence in his voice made me wet. “That’s a rather wifey term. What will Jasmine think?”

  “We can ask her,” he said as he pulled into the lot behind Jasmine’s studio apartment to pick her up.

  She emerged wearing a short red evening dress similar to mine—little more than a negligee, really. Wolf had dressed us both similarly—but then, we were his roses tonight, with one of us destined to be his orchid, his courtesan. He had given me sixteen red roses when he’d come to pick me up. I’d thought it was an odd number, and when I’d asked him about it, he’d told me it was because he’d been inside me sixteen times, which immediately made me blush, something that hadn’t happened in years. Jesus, he’d been counting. But with Jasmine, he gave her a dozen white roses before handing her down into the front seat of the car, leaving me in the middle this time. I thought that was odd…and disturbing. It looked much too much like a wedding bouquet to me.

  “Rachaela,” Jasmine said, and touched the side of my face with her painted fingertips, this pretty little Dresden doll of a woman. It was an absent touch of greeting, and yet, somehow, more intimate than I’d expected from my rival. We drove out to Long Island in relative silence, with Jasmine making some small noises of appreciation over her roses. Wolf’s roadster wasn’t very big, so Jasmine’s body kept me pressed tight against Wolf’s side. Eventually I developed enough courage to slide my hand along Wolf’s leg.

  He’d told us a little of what to expect when we arrived at the Dollhouse, but I wasn’t prepared for the sheer size of it. It was a big, rambling stone colonial set far back on a huge, private estate. The estate itself was surrounded by tall, wrought iron fences and dense copses of pine and fir trees, very private, and in a place like Long Island, that meant the house was not just old but very, very expensive. Hampton House looked old and expensive, like a museum or university. I half expected to see a coach house out front and footmen in powdered wigs as we pulled up. There was a coach house, converted into a guard station, but also modern valet parking. The guy guarding the front entrance looked like serious hired muscle, despite the tuxedo.

  Wolf walked the two of us inside, and I was immediately taken by how well preserved everything was, the smell of age and wood and oil. The timber framing and wainscoting went forever. The receiving room was huge and furnished like an Eighteenth Century hunt club study, with gigantic oil paintings, stuffed and mounted game animals, and two-hundred-year-old Shaker furniture. It was occupied by perhaps fifty members of the Dollhouse Society, all with scotch or martinis in hand. Some of the men I recognized from the society papers, but some I knew personally, like Malcolm. He was standing near the hearth, talking to a very tall gentleman dressed in a dark evening suit and glasses. The tall man looked like someone I should know, but didn’t.

  Wolf stood between us girls, his hands brushing the sides of our hips. “Ah, there’s Malcolm.”

  “Who’s the man with him?” I asked.

  “That’s Ian Sterling.”

  “Of Sterling of New York? The cosmetics company?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Can we say hello?”

  “I can. You cannot.”

  I blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Gentleman are not permitted to converse with other gentlemen’s courtesans inside the Dollhouse. It’s a house rule,” Wolf explained. “You may converse with other courtesans, of course.”

  I was about to protest that rule rather vocally when Jasmine linked her arm through mine. “Would you like to explore with me, Rachaela?”

  I concentrated on controlling my anger and let her drag me along into an adjoining room, which was done up quite a bit differently than the receiving hall. This one was larger, longer, and stark white, though the walls were flocked with framed photographs of different types. Some were as large as lithographs, others mere tiny tintypes. All of them depicted some form of erotica, everything from the fashionably elegant photo shoots I employed for Blaze magazine to the more hardcore stuff. Much of it looked quite old, the strangely artsy, almost demure style of the early Twentieth Century, under parlor maids being flogged with feather dusters, topless Mata Hari-type dancing girls kissing apples and snakes, that type of thing. It reminded me of the French postcards that gentlemen used to share between themselves during that period. I’d seen pictures of cards like those online years ago and they had been a big influence in my launching the magazine in the first place. Most of the photography was much too stylized to really be called pornography.

  A large group of women stood clustered together near the giant-sized stone hearth, sharing drinks from the sidebar. Jasmine stopped and looked them over nervously. “They’re very pretty,” she said, actually biting a nail, though that was something of an understatement. They weren’t merely pretty. They were gorgeous, model-perfect in their sleek long bodies and ten-thousand-dollar gowns, though none of their garments were quite as short as our own. It was like the United Nations of courtesans; I saw women of every ethnic variety and combination. Devon, the only man in the room, was the only one who really stood out, but the moment he saw us, he gaily waved us forward, a girl attached to each arm.

  “How are you dolls tonight?” he asked, and Jasmine peered up at him as if she had never seen anything more splendid.

  “Devon,” I said with a smile. “We’re fine, but the gentleman are in the other room. Do you like hanging around with us dolls?”

  He gave me a droll look. “Doll, I am a doll.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He offered me a lascivious smile and introduced the two of us to several of the other courtesans.

  They seemed nice enough, chatty, not nearly as stuck up as I’d expected they would be. One young brunette caught my attention immediately. She was very tall and rather shy, and she had a rather noticeable bulge beneath her cocktail dress. I thought about what Wolf had said about the gentlemen marrying their courtesans. Apparently, pregnancy wasn’t off the menu, either.

  “Are you…playing tonight?” I asked the young woman who introduced herself as Evelyn.

  “Oh no!” she exclaimed, setting her hand on her rather substantial belly. “Ian won’t let me play until after the baby is born. I’m just here to meet you new girls.”

  “Ian Sterling. You’re his courtesan?”

  “Yes,” she answered brightly. “Ian’s being very stern with me. No play, either in the Dollhouse or at home. And only very gentle sex.”

  “You two play at home?”

  “Oh yes, we have our own playroom,” she said without even an iota of shame. “But we won’t play again until after the baby.” She rubbed at her belly and blushed.

  I noticed that Devon was busy entertaining Jasmine, so I attached myself to Evelyn. She seemed very sweet, much too sweet to be a courtesan. She went to the wet bar and poured us both sparkling waters. Belatedly, I recalled the no-alcohol rule that Wolf had mentioned.

  “How do you…?” I began, and then stopped. I didn’t really know how to ask something so personal as How do you play? What exactly do courtesans and gentleman do?

  �
��Do you know anything about the Dollhouse? Do you know what to expect?” Evelyn surprised me by asking.

  I took the glass of lime bubbly water from her and said, “Wolf’s told me some. You…well, basically, you have sex for the enjoyment of the gentlemen.”

  “And for our own enjoyment as well,” Evelyn told me. “You must be certain all your needs are being met as well. Devon told me that.”

  “So it’s not all for them,” I grinned.

  “Who said it was all for them?” Evelyn grinned back, and I felt that she and I were going to be very good friends in the future.

  I’d never really had a close girlfriend before. I’d been an only child, and somehow I’d breezed through high school and then college without developing any real attachments. Certainly it was difficult to find any women to talk to me now. Most women who saw the magazine thought I was a lesbian, a pervert, that I exploited women, black people, or all of the above.

  “Do you enjoy this?” I asked. “Being a courtesan, I mean?”

  Evelyn smiled serenely down at me. “I love Ian. I love being his courtesan as much as I love being his secretary and his wife. It’s very empowering.”

  “I don’t see how,” I said. “You do what he tells you to do, don’t you? You do everything he tells you to do.”

  Evelyn smiled. It was a secretive smile, the smiles of women throughout history—Elizabeth I, Joséphine de Beauharnais, all the women of real power. “Don’t you know, Rachaela? He only tells me to do what I want him to tell me to do.”

  I was still thinking about Evelyn’s words when Wolf came to fetch me. He took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, very gentleman-like, as we went to collect Jasmine from the gaggle of courtesans. “Usually, a courtesan has a debutante ball her first night in the Dollhouse, but since I’m still undecided about the two of you, the board has granted me a pass on the ball. We’ll still be able to use one of the playrooms, however.”

  I swallowed, perhaps a little nervously. “Which playroom?” I had a horrid fantasy of Wolf taking us down into some frighteningly depressing dungeon space full of racks and chains. I didn’t think I would enjoy that.

  “I’ve decided on the Wedding Suite,” Wolf said as Jasmine attached herself to his other arm. “I thought it fitting, since this will mark the beginning of my monogamy.” He looked at us both. “You may approve or disapprove, of course.” He walked us into a long hallway covered in yet more of that antique erotica that was so beautifully fascinating. I wanted to return to the Dollhouse one day soon just so I could get a closer look at the pictures on the walls. “Here we are,” he said, leading us into one of the playrooms.

  The blast of pure whiteness chilled me silent. It was a vast and luxurious suite full of antique furnishings, and everything from the walls and furniture to the furry white carpeting was of the purest white. Even the huge bundles of roses placed in different locations throughout the room and threaded on wires around the windows and wound around the poles of the antique Shaker, four-poster bed were white, only their green stalks and leaves standing out. Their heady perfume, concentrate by their sheer numbers, made my head spin, and I wobbled a little in my heels until Wolf led me over to the bed, which was slightly elevated on a dais.

  I sat down on the edge of the unbelievably soft, downy bedclothes and looked around the playroom. The bed itself was huge, larger than king-sized. It sported an enormous, brass chandelier above it, with veils twined around the farthest arms and secured in long banners to the posts of the bed, and more white roses twisted around the inner arms, but no candles of any kind, and no lighting equipment that I could see. Then it occurred to me that from the sheer size of it, and industrial-strength chains attached to it, the device was likely not a chandelier. I thought it was possible it was a human mobile. I quickly looked away, only to find myself face to face with Wolf crouched before me, his hands sliding over my knees. He fierce blue eyes held my gaze as he pushed the skirt of the little dress up and up. “Do you approve?” he asked me so quietly I had to strain to understand his words through his accent.

  I knew what he was really asking me. Shall we continue? Shall I make love to you for the pleasure of these strange people?

  I thought about what Evelyn had said, and I thought about Wolf’s words earlier tonight about free will. I was giving myself to him, but only because I was allowing myself to. “Yes, sir,” I said.

  Wolf smirked his knowing smirk, as if he knew I would not let him down. He had me lift my bottom so he could slide the dress off me. The room was warm and brightly lit, and I shivered and tried to cover myself with my hands. He forced my arms down and away and looked me over with great care and concentration. I had followed his instructions to the letter this time. Under the dress, I wore only black silk stocking with garters and heels. My pussy was shaved and as bare as a nut. The moment he looked at me, I felt my entire body quiver, my nipples harden as if he had touched me there, and the wetness grow between my legs. He halved his eyes. “Make yourself available to me, my courtesan,” he instructed me.

  I knew better than to assume anything with Wolf. “Back or knees?” I hoped not knees. I didn’t know if I could endure the debasement of being sexed from behind for the entertainment of strangers.

  “Back.”

  I stretched my body out on the white down comforter and lay there like some sacrifice, dressed only in my stockings and heels. I looked up at my gentleman as he settled on the edge of the bed, wondering what he would ask of me tonight, and if I had the strength to give it. His eyes traveled all over me, much like Jerrel’s had done, but with more intensity than I’d ever seen in Jerrel’s face. I knew sex was a game with Jerrel, a past time. But Wolf played for keeps. He elevated sex to an almost tyrannical art form. Meanwhile, Jasmine crawled over the foot of the bed, and across the mattress to join us. Like me, she was dressed in only her stockings and heels. She had a slim, pale body, with swaying, applelike breasts and a cleanly shaven pussy. Normally, I wouldn’t have looked twice at a naked girl, but there was something so intense about her that I couldn’t look away as she hemmed me in against Wolf.

  Wolf traced the curve of my cheek with his fingers, then brushed them across my lips. I took them into my mouth and suckled them. Wolf hadn’t been expecting that, and he grunted with approval as I sucked and lathed them. Then his fingers moved on, down my neck, and he used those wet fingertips to circle one of my nipples. He pinched it so I gasped. It wasn’t a gentle pinch. He repeated the pattern with the other, this time holding the pinch until my entire body bucked in response and I nearly creamed myself.

  His fingers resumed their journey down over my ribs and belly, then lower still. He tapped them against my clit so my whole body jumped. “Wolf,” I begged, and lifted my hips, offering myself to him. His fingers moved into me, teasing past my folds and aggravating my already engorged clit. I gushed with wetness. I instinctively clenched my legs closed, but he used his other hand to spread me wide. His drove his fingers deep inside me. He lowered his head and blew gently against my clit so I writhed for him. An orgasm broke over me suddenly, and I arched my back and made small whimpering noises.

  Wolf clutched my knees and spread them. He bent over me and stayed my whimpers with his biting, demanding kiss. Somehow, my head had wound up in Jasmine’s lap. I could smell her spicy perfume as she cradled me and ran her long fingers through my hair. Wolf said to Jasmine, “Hold her open,” and Jasmine obediently reached up and held my legs apart while Wolf undid himself.

  His cock was more than ready for me. I wondered how he endured it; he seemed to live in an almost constant state of arousal. He stroked himself as he looked me over, growing even bigger and harder in his hand, frighteningly so. Then he mounted me and shoved himself deep inside me and I felt my inner muscles clench down around him. He pressed my knees further apart, to my ears, so I was spread completely, with no way to hide myself from him or the other members of the Society who had gathered around the bed to watch us, and no way for me to
control his depth. My cunt was fully open to him, and he immediately penetrated me to the hilt. He drew back slowly, then drove into me again, wetly, so my breath caught in my throat. He varied his tempo, slow and gentle strokes, followed by fierce, sharp thrusts. His cock penetrated me all the way to my cervix, while his tongue thrust deep inside my mouth, so he was fucking me in two places at once.

  His hands released my knees and I moved my legs up, hooking them over his shoulders. I matched his thrusts with my own. He pressed the palms of his hands to the wall above us, bracing himself as he pistoned deep inside of me, his eyes half-closed, grunting deep in his throat from the work, the whole bed groaning and straining under the incredibly powerful thrusts of his assault. He said in that low, hoarse voice, “Tell me you belong to me, my pet.”

  “I belong to you,” I said as I clawed at the bedclothes to anchor myself.

  “Tell me you want me. Only me.”

  “I want you, Wolf,” I gasped out. “I want only you.”

  “Tell me you trust me.”

  “I trust you. I love you,” I panted. “I love you,” I said again, barely aware of what was coming out of my mouth in those last few seconds.

  Wolf made a groaning noise deep in his throat and closed his eyes in something like rapture as he thrust one last time, a bruising impact that left me screaming, and finally came, his seed spurting hot and deep inside me, with no barrier between us now. “Ich liebe dich,” he whispered as he collapsed on top of me, burying his face in my hair. I wanted to ask him what he’d said, but before I could, he moved to one side of me to relieve the pressure of his body and gathered me against his suit.

  “Wolf, please…I want to see you. Really see you.” All these weeks, all the times he had fucked me so hard, so deep, and I hadn’t seen him naked. I wanted to see my gentleman naked, to feel and taste him. I immediately went to work on his jacket and waistcoat, his shirt. He didn’t protest as we came up together in the center of the bed on our knees as I pulled the shirt off his shoulders, kissing every newly revealed inch of him. He was beautiful, like some pale, carven statue—not a soft-edged Donatello, but a more angular Michelangelo. I rested my hand in the middle of his chest, comparing my mocha skin to the almost glowing icy Norse whiteness of his. Sparse platinum fur encircled his nipples and moved downward over his sweating belly toward the coarser, warm thatch I knew lurked below his beltline. Shirtless, I’d expected him to look pink and vulnerable like so many white men did, but he was hard like stone, and he didn’t feel vulnerable at all. I licked the sweating hollow of his throat, then moved my lips down, tracing the line of hair. I sucked each of his nipples deep into my mouth, lathing the little piercings there. I bit them until he grunted and his fingers dug into my hair.