Lola & the Millionaires: Part One

by Kathryn Moon

  “Would you like me to sit up front?”

  I whipped my head around to see Matthew ducked and looking at me through the car door.

  “What? No, you don’t have to do that.”

  “You’re sure?” Matthieu asked.

  It seemed strange to insist on him sitting in the back with me, and there was something vulnerable and nerve-wracking about the privacy window and the knowledge that we would be entirely alone in the small space. Still, I nodded, and Matthieu slid into the backseat.

  “I think Leo’s waiting until the last moment to give Rake the news,” Matthieu said with a soft smile. “Otherwise, he might try to make Wes meet us on the road or…” Matthieu cleared his throat and shook his head, the slow blush rising to his cheeks just barely visible in the dim light of the backseat.

  Through the partition, the car twitched with the driver’s door shutting, and a moment later we were moving away from the curb. I glanced back out my nearby window and startled. The figure was still there, but now the face was turned up, revealing a cheesy Halloween skull mask. A moment later, we were out of sight, and I tried to settle the nerves the eerie image had left in me. Maybe my neighborhood was getting a little sketchier, or maybe it had just been a teenager playing to scare.

  If Wes did talk my landlord into finally fixing the lock on the front door, that would be a relief.

  “Leo said the drive was long?”

  Matthieu hummed and nodded, eyes fixed on our reflection in the partition glass. “A few hours. I made sure there was food in the fridge, but if you’d like to stop, we certainly can. I thought…this way, you could relax,” he said, words fumbling as he went, voice gaining a rasp. He cleared his throat and ducked his head.

  Right. Just relax. In the backseat of a not-quite-limo with an alpha that made me forget why I avoided alphas, and instead left me wanting to climb on his lap and—

  “Thanks. And thanks again for picking me up,” I said, pressing my thighs together and trying to get my brain under control.

  “My pleasure,” Matthieu said, nodding and looking out his window.

  I mirrored him, watching the city streets pass. A few hours in the car with Matthieu, and then I’d be at the house for Rake’s heat. Nothing to worry about.

  The ride was torture. We hit bumper to bumper traffic on the freeway out of the city, and an hour had already passed without us hitting the suburbs. With every passing minute, Matthieu’s scent grew stronger, silky edges showing a bitter frayed edge with nerves. Neither of us had so much as twitched over into the middle seat, but even so, I was fairly certain I was coated in his scent. This wasn’t a normal amount of alpha pheromone either, it was flooding the confined space, which meant whatever Matthieu was feeling that triggered the response was strong.

  I was getting less and less worried about the prospect of the heat the longer I sat surrounded by Matthieu’s pheromones. I was aroused. Hell, I was soaked. I was taking thin brief breaths to try and keep from sucking down dizzy lungfuls that might make me do something regrettable. Like thigh-ride Matthieu for the remainder of the drive. I would definitely be ready for whatever Rake needed when I got to the house, and I was only a little nervous about what that would mean. If it satisfied this hunger, I’d deal with the repercussions later.

  Suddenly, it occurred to me what Matthieu’s scent might be about.

  “You must be anxious to get to Rake,” I said, relieved to sound halfway human and not have all my words fall out in a needy whine.

  “Hm?” Matthieu startled, turning his head to me with his brow furrowed. “Rake?”

  “For his…his heat,” I said, swallowing. Leo hadn’t mentioned Matthieu being in the room too, but maybe the alpha was more possessive with Rake and wanted one on one time with him? I didn’t really know enough about the whole thing, and I wished Rake and I had discussed it more before I ended up deciding to come.

  “Rake’s heat?” Matthieu stared at me blankly, my own lips parted in confusion and his eyes darting down to glance at them. All at once, comprehension lit up on Matthieu’s face. “Oh! No, no I… Rake and I aren’t bonded in that way. I go to the house when I can so he has his whole pack around, but we have a-a platonic romance,” Matthieu said with an amused smile, a little line of confusion left digging into his brow.

  I stared straight ahead at our reflection in the partition. “Oh.”

  Then why was he filling the car with his scent right down to the stitching in the leather seats?

  “Oh,” Matthieu echoed softly, his own stare moving forward until we were holding each other’s gaze in the black glass. He cleared his throat and my eyes fell to his hands over his knees, gripping until his knuckles were white.

  You know exactly why, I hissed to myself.

  It was like when I’d worn Baby’s scent and caught Buzz’s eye, except this time there was no omega perfume to explain Matthieu’s reaction to me.

  “I’m sorry,” Matthieu murmured, shifting to face me. “I didn’t realize how difficult it would be. Would you like me to move up front?”

  I bit down hard on the inside of my lip, studying his earnest expression, the clarity in his gaze. I shook my head slowly.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Lola, and this is entirely my own issue.”

  That hawkish nose. The lines around his eyes and lips from years of deep smiles. The broad shoulders. It wasn’t just Matthieu’s alpha scent that had such an effect on me, although it certainly didn’t help. That was just the siren song. Matthieu was the cliff I wanted to throw myself from.

  “I’m sure,” I said, words breathless. I twisted to face him too, our knees bumping together, and then I parted my thighs, cool air sliding up under my skirt and making the arousal against my panties even more obvious.

  Still, I was only a beta, and it took Matthieu a moment to notice. I watched the exact moment my scent reached him, his nostrils flaring and pupils blooming black. He let out the softest vibration, the lowest combination of an alpha’s hungry growl and satisfied purr, before swallowing the noise. Not fast enough to stop goosebumps rushing over my skin and my nipples hardening to points.

  “Lola.”

  I caught my breath, eyelashes fluttering at the slow, round notes of my name on his lips. It was a caution, or a prayer, musical and deep in my ears.

  The hand on his leg slipped over to mine, ducking beneath the soft fabric of my skirt, fingertips sliding down to the hypersensitive skin of the back of my knee. An embarrassing broken moan slipped from my loose lips at the faintest touch. With a gentle nudge from him, I slid my leg up onto the seat, spreading myself wider, the tart whiff of my desire growing stronger.

  I lunged forward and Matthieu caught me, sliding over squeaking leather to meet me halfway. Our foreheads bumped, and then my mouth was suckling and searching over rough stubble to find his lips. His tongue swept in immediately, bringing with it a drunk and heady flavor burning on my tongue that left me craving and searching for more. The kiss was rough and messy to start with, but soon Matthieu’s hands were on my back, sliding up to hold my head. He took the lead, guiding and working my lips with his—teeth scratching and tongue soothing—until I was twined around his body, whining and writhing. This is why the French were famous for kissing, or maybe Matthieu had just had the best practice. Every touch was masterful and affectionate and left my pulse thrumming from my head to my toes, my clit pounding and begging for attention.

  He was getting hard. I could feel it against me, and I started to grind against him, my core already tingling with pleasure like I’d been waiting the entire ride for just a little bit of touching to push me over the edge. This was the high I’d been doing everything I could to avoid for the past year, the dizzy drunk desperation. I would do anything to keep Matthieu’s hands on me, keep his attention.

  It was like someone had turned up the volume on life. I was more sensitive, more aware, more alive.

  “Lola,” Matthieu growled, mouth pulling away as I trie
d to chase him for more. His teeth nipped my chin, and then I was arching back as he sucked kisses on my throat, strong pulls against my skin that echoed in my cunt. “Lola, tell me this is all right.”

  “Matthieu, I want—” I whined and rolled my hips against his, one of his hands coming down to my ass and squeezing.

  “Anything,” he hissed, licking over my pulse. “Anything.”

  I sucked in a breath, and it was a struggle. I was on a dangerous edge of arousal and panic, and for every delicious perfect sensation, there was heightened anxiety to match it.

  “I need control,” I said, stretching and bracing my hands on the back of the seat.

  Matthieu was under my shadow, eyes nearly black with desire, lips wet and chest heavy with breath. I lifted one hand and hesitated, wanting to slide my fingers into his hair. His head tilted in the direction of my hand, inviting me to touch, and his hands fell to the leather seats. My knees were on either side of his hips, my back to the partition. Matthieu must’ve turned us and pulled me onto his lap during the kiss, and I hadn’t even noticed in the haze.

  “It’s yours,” Matthieu murmured, a scratch in his words and his gaze heavy-lidded. “Anything you want, Lola.”

  My breath hitched. Well now I felt like I’d just been left in front of a massive buffet table of all my favorite foods. Where did I start?

  “The driver can’t see, right?” I asked.

  “No, but he might hear if we aren’t careful,” Matthieu said, lips curling.

  That was all right then. I planned on keeping my mouth busy.

  I reached down, my fingers looping around Matthieu’s wrists and drawing his palms up to the back of my thighs. “Touch,” I whispered, lowering my head to brush my lips over his. “But don’t push.”

  Matthieu started to purr, but he choked on the sound as my fingers reached for the hem of his sweater, dipping underneath and stroking at the soft skin of his stomach. I kissed him again, trying to take sips of his flavor instead of guzzling the moment down like an alcoholic reuniting with their favorite poison. Matthieu’s hands were warm on my skin as his fingertips, calloused from playing the guitar, slid up between my thighs. Up and down he stroked, tempting me to sink down into his touch and let him feel how badly I wanted him.

  Remember what Rake said? a warning voice asked.

  I did, and that was the worst part. I wouldn’t stop. God, they would smell Matthieu all over me when I got to the house. Maybe that would be the end of all of this. Rake and Leo would see who I really was.

  I still wouldn’t stop.

  My fingers on Matthieu’s stomach moved down, cupping his erection over his jeans. Matthieu groaned, a purely sexual sound, and his hips bucked as I massaged him through layers of fabric. Unable to resist the call of my warmth or trying to reciprocate my touches on him, Matthieu’s hands under my skirt grew brave, pushing against the damp fabric of my underwear.

  “Fuck,” Matthieu hissed, eyes squeezing shut. “Jesus Christ, what are we doing? Fuck you’re so wet, Lolotte.”

  I whined at the coaxing pet name and rode his fingers, the pair of us handsy and probably louder than we should’ve been if we wanted this to be private.

  “Fuck, if I’d known,” Matthieu gasped out, leaning back to catch my eyes, a perfect silvery-blue ring of color surrounding his full pupils.

  Decision made, I pushed his hands away and then moved backward until I was off the seat of the car and down on the floor. Matthieu’s head shot up as I moved his knees aside to make room for me between them. His eyes were wide on my face, breaths panting.

  “Are you—” He stopped on the words, swallowing hard and searching my face. He let out a long breath and smiled at me. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  I sighed in relief. I really hadn’t wanted him to check on me again. I didn’t know if I was all right, but I knew what I wanted. And that was to tear Matthieu down one piece of pleasure at a time. To own him in the moment and to pretend I was in control and not just a slave to old habits.

  “Un petit mort,” I quoted. A little death.

  Matthieu huffed a laugh, hand reaching up to slide over his face. He stiffened and then pressed his fingers to his nose, a soft growl echoing in the small space as he smelled me there. Distracted, Matthieu didn’t notice as I leaned in, rucking his sweater up. His stomach flexed as I sucked a kiss on his ribs, my hands returning to the crotch of his jeans, one working at the top button while the other stroked the ridge of his length through the fabric.

  I kissed my way down his right side and then again down his left, my hands keeping busy over his erection. His own hands were back on the seat, fingers digging into the cushions, flexing with every strained puff of breath. When I undid the zipper and reached to the waistband of his jeans, looking up at Matthieu, his vision was glazed with hunger, cheeks and throat flushed red.

  He muttered something in French as he lifted his hips and helped me pull his jeans and boxer briefs down his thighs. It’d been a long time since I was in a French class, but the few familiar words I caught combined with his tone led me to think he might’ve been insulting himself.

  “I want my mouth on you. My hands on you,” Matthieu breathed out as his cock bobbed free, long and uncut and red with angry arousal. He blinked slowly at me, stomach exposed and twitching as I teased my fingertips over the insides of his thighs. “This is your show. But just know I’m desperate for you.”

  I swallowed at the words, at the ragged tone of his voice, and nodded once. I wouldn’t be able to resist him. I wanted those things too. But first I needed or wanted to know if he would—if he could let me have the control when it came to his pleasure.

  Matthieu cursed again, a rough combination of English and French, as I wrapped one hand around his base. He had a curve in his length, bowing toward my face, one I was pretty sure would feel fantastic brushing inside of me. The head of his cock was weeping, and I sat up on my knees, lapping my tongue over the slit to catch the fluid. Velvety and burning, like a shot of good alcohol. Matthieu snarled and froze at the touch, his breathing loud in the small space.

  I did it again and he released a long, quaking groan, thighs flexing and stomach jumping, his entire body fighting the urge to pounce and take control. But he held still, even as I took him deeper in my mouth, pumped his length with my hand and cupped his balls.

  I didn’t usually go down on the betas I met in the club. I wanted to make sure that I got off on those excursions, not the random partners I met. This also wasn’t something I’d been bullied into with Indy. It might’ve been Matthieu who was groaning and moaning at the feel of my mouth on his pulsing cock, but I was getting wetter too, the longer he held still and let me have my way.

  This was something I’d never asked for with an alpha. Alphas didn’t give up control, and to be honest, I had been so determined to catch one because I’d wanted that thrill of surrendering. Matthieu’s surrender was twice as heady as any of the early nights with Buzz or any other alpha who’d given me an hour of their time.

  I licked stripes up his length, sucked at his tip until he was shaking in my hands, and then pulled him deep into my mouth with long drags and bobs of my head till he hit the back of my throat. Underneath my hand at his base, his knot grew swollen and pulsing, begging for attention.

  “Fuck, merde. Lola, Christ,” Matthieu chanted a long litany of expletives and pleas as I toyed with him. His fingers squeaked over the leather, leaving sweaty handprints behind.

  I wanted him to touch me again. I wanted his hands in my hair, tugging. Or even on the back of my neck, guiding me to the right pace, forcing me deeper on his length. He never so much as bucked, even while I rolled his sac in my hand and mouthed down to his base where they met.

  “Touch,” I said, lifting my head just long enough to catch my breath.

  Matthieu’s hands flew off the seat, but they weren’t forceful. They scooped my hair up away from my face, piling it on the back of my head in one of his hands, the other resting gently
over the back of my neck, thumb stroking my cheek. I squeezed my hand harder around his knot and sucked, hollowing my cheeks and taking Matthieu as deeply as I could. Matthieu moaned and then purred as I pulled slowly up, licking a swirl over his head and mouthing down the underside of his length. When I made it back to the tip, there was a small dribble of fluid waiting for me.

  “I’m so fucking close,” Matthieu rumbled.

  So I did it all again, Matthieu stiff as a board in the seat as he sank into my mouth until my nose was against my own gripping fist. A long line of curses fell from his lips as I drew back up, panting gasps as I teased his cock with kisses and licked away the pre-cum. On the fourth slow deep thrust into my mouth, he gave in.

  “Don’t stop, Lola. Please, please don’t stop.”

  My hand left his sac just long enough to give an encouraging squeeze to the back of his hand. And then Matthieu was urging me faster, deeper, both of us desperate to see him crashing over the edge.

  “Now,” Matthieu hissed, tugging on my hair.

  I forced myself to relax and kept sucking and pulling as Matthieu arched and let out a long shattering, low howl of pleasure as he exploded on my tongue, knot pounding his pulse against my palm. He was fiery down my throat, the warmth spreading through me even as I gagged a little. I eased up and caught my breath, slowly pulling away, careful to catch every drop. When my tongue flicked over his head, Matthieu growled.

  His hands grabbed me by my neck and arm, dragging me back up against his chest. I met his lips in a rough kiss, trying to keep all his flavor to myself as his tongue ravaged my mouth. He turned me on his lap, almost like a bridal carry, so that I was laying in his arms and against the side of the car. Suddenly, his hands were everywhere—squeezing on my breast, gripping the back of my bare thighs, and then up, hooking under my wet panties and thrusting into my aching sex.

  I shouted at the sudden intrusion, and Matthieu swallowed the sound, tongue stroking against mine, his fingers pumping roughly into me, thumb hunting for my clit. I thrashed in his hold and his free hand clamped on the back of my neck, holding me in place. Panic spiked, but so did ecstasy as he found my clit and my g-spot at the same moment, thumb and fingers manipulating me into a sudden, shocking orgasm.