Alpha

by Jasinda Wilder

I could barely focus on the rest of the opera, wondering if he’d touch me again, if he’d kiss me again, wondering what else he could possibly do to me. Yet he didn’t. He simply held my hand, his thumb occasionally caressing my knuckles. All through the opera and the car ride home, I half-expected to feel his touch find my core again, but it never came, and I was left off-balance, wanting more, wanting to touch him, to rip the blindfold off and see him, to see if his erection had subsided, wondering what he would do next.

  He held my hand on the elevator ride up to his penthouse, all the way to the door of my rooms, and then he took both of my hands in his, pressing my back to the door.

  I tilted my head up, ready for anything.

  “Good night, Kyrie. ” His lips brushed mine, swift and dry.

  That was it? Make me come in the middle of the opera, then nothing? Just…good night?

  “Good night, Roth. ” I was frustrated, confused.

  His hand left mine, opened my door, and I stepped back, turned around, away from him. He untied my blindfold, yet instead of taking it as he had the last time, he put it in my hands.

  I saw his hands. They were even larger than I’d expected. I placed my palm against his, comparing. The tips of my fingers barely reached the middle of his, so he could fold his fingers over mine. His hands were rough, callused, thick and strong. The nails were cut close, filed into neat, even arcs. Not manicured or buffed, just cared for. He was still, frozen behind me as I held his one large, tanned paw in my smaller hand. I turned his palm to face down. The skin on the back of his hand was leathery, lined.

  “Your hands are rough. ”

  “Yes. ”

  “I was under the impression that you grew up…wealthy. ”

  “I did. ”

  “But yet your hands…. ”

  He didn’t answer right away, but neither did he pull his hand from mine. I couldn’t help slipping my fingers through his. “I grew up very, very wealthy. My father is, even still, one of the wealthiest and most successful businessmen in the world. You wouldn’t have heard of him, because he keeps a low profile, stays out of the news and such. But yes, you’re right, I grew up rich. Spoiled. I never did a thing for myself as a child. My food was cooked for me, brought to me. My bed was made for me. I was driven everywhere by a chauffeur. I had bodyguards and personal attendants, private tutors. I grew up getting whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. ” His voice was so close, pitched to barely a murmur, each word hesitant, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying all this. I didn’t dare breathe for fear he would clam up. “Such was my life until I turned eighteen. I spent a lot of time with my father. He was my hero. I idolized him. I wanted to be like him. I watched everything he did, went to work with him and asked questions and took notes, learned everything I could about business. I was being groomed to be his heir and successor. Or so I thought. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, my father took me to the gates of our estate in rural England, where a brand new BMW M5 was waiting. My father handed me a briefcase, told me to open it. Inside that briefcase was my passport and one hundred thousand British pounds. Also in that briefcase was a Beretta M9, three clips, and a box of ammunition. My father handed me the keys to the car. I will remember his words for the rest of my life. He said, ‘You’re on your own, now, son. That is your inheritance, and it’s all you’ll get from me. Go. Earn your own fortune. You can come back to visit anytime you want. But if you stay longer than a month, I’ll charge you rent, and any money you borrow I will expect to be repaid with interest. I earned what I have with my own two hands, and so will you. Goodbye, and I love you. ’ And then he turned and walked away, closing the gate behind him. ”

  “That’s…kind of cold. I mean, he just…kicked you out, just like that? Cut you off?”

  “Just like that. I had the clothes on my back, the car, and the contents of the suitcase. That’s it. I had friends, of course, places I could go, enough money to buy my own flat or stay in a hotel. But yet, I knew enough to know that a hundred grand would vanish rather quickly if I wasn’t careful. ” Roth pulled his hand away, finally. “The story of how I ended up where I am now is a long one, and an often unpleasant and dark one, and I will not tell it now. ”

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  “Wow, Roth. That’s…crazy. ”

  He didn’t respond. “Yes, I suppose it is, at that. ” He sighed. “You know, what I just told you is more than I’ve ever told anyone. ”

  “I suspected as much. Thanks for telling me. ”

  “Good night, Kyrie. ” I felt him back away, and then he was gone, the door clicking closed behind him.

  And, for the second night, it took me a very long time to fall asleep.

  6

  GIVING IN

  I was a ridiculously sound sleeper. I always had been. My dad used to say that I could sleep through the end of the world. I’d sleep through thunderstorms that shook the whole house, through my alarm clock blaring in my ear. It would take a rough hand shaking me for several minutes before I’d finally wake up, and even then I’d be groggy, disoriented. I drooled when I slept. It was embarrassing. It was part of the reason I’d never lived with a guy, to be totally honest. By drool, I don’t mean a cute little bit at the corner of my mouth. I mean my pillow would be damp when I woke up. It was gross, but I couldn’t help it. And what guy would want to sleep next to a girl who drools a pool of spit all over him and the pillow?

  I never woke up in the middle of the night, not ever, not for anything. Once I fell asleep, I was down until my body was ready to wake up.

  Yet, two days after the visit to the opera, I jerked awake in the middle of the night. I hadn’t seen Roth since the opera, which had made for several very long and very boring days. I woke up, peering at the clock beside me: 2:39 a. m. Why was I awake? My heart was hammering, thudding in my ears. I peered around the room, but all I could see were shadows and vague shapes, faint reflections of deeper shadows from the mirrors in the bathroom.

  My room was almost pitch-black, the only light coming from the clock beside my bed.

  I wasn’t alone. Suddenly and completely, I knew this. “Hello? Roth?”

  “Yes. It’s me. Close your eyes. ” His voice came from the doorway leading to the living room.

  “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night. ”

  “Close your eyes, Kyrie. ”

  I did as he instructed. “They’re closed. Not that it makes a difference, this room is so dark. ”

  “Keep them closed. ” I heard his voice moving nearer, heard his feet on the carpeting.

  I felt the bed dip under his weight. My heart began hammering even harder, pounding in my throat. His hand touched my leg, near the knee, moved upward, to my thigh, to my hip. Up my waist. I was covered only by the sheet, wearing a T-shirt and underwear. His hand slid over my breast, cupped it, and then kept moving. He found my face. His thumb brushed my chin, my cheekbone. And then I felt silk pressed to my eyes, and I lifted my head so he could tie the blindfold.

  “I apologize for my absence these last few days, Kyrie. Business called me away. But I’m back now, and I’m going to make up for my departure. ” He pulled the sheet down, tossed it aside. “Put your hands beneath the pillow, under your head. ”

  I slid my hands under the pillow as instructed, and kept my questions to myself. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to do, and I wasn’t about to argue.

  His finger traced my cheekbone once more, brushed a tendril of hair away, then slid down the curve of my throat.

  “Is this shirt important to you?”

  I shook my head, then realized he might not be able to see the gesture. “No. The last one you ripped was, though. ”

  “My apologies, in that case. ” He grasped the neck of my T-shirt in both hands, and I felt his knuckles against my breastbone, felt his hands tense, and then the cotton ripped open from top to bottom. I felt his presence leave the bed, heard a switc
h click. “That’s better. Now I can see your lovely body. You have such perfect br**sts, Kyrie. ”

  Cool air washed over my exposed torso, making my skin pebble and my ni**les harden. My hands clenched into fists under the pillow. I braced myself for his touch, but when it came, it wasn’t where I expected it. His finger touched the seam of my mouth, slid from corner to corner. I parted my lips, felt his finger slide into my mouth, and I tasted salty skin. I bit down gently, and I heard a hiss as he sucked in a breath. His finger left my mouth, carved a line down my chin, down my throat, between my br**sts, over my diaphragm and stomach. When he reached my underwear, his finger hooked under the elastic and continued its southward journey, bringing my panties with it. I lifted up, and his finger ran around to my hip, bringing the fabric down, and then across my pudendum to the other hip, and then the garment was gone, tossed away.

  I was naked for him now, except for a ripped scrap of T-shirt around my arms. My ni**les were diamond-hard, my breath coming in long, deep pulls, lifting my boobs and letting them fall. My thighs were pressed together, and I felt his gaze on me, knew he was staring at me, memorizing my body. I let my legs fall apart, let him see me.

  “Kyrie…you are so f**king beautiful. ” His voice was low, reverent. “And you are mine. ”

  I flinched in surprise when I felt his palm graze my left nipple, and then relaxed into his touch as he cupped me. His hand moved to my other breast, and then slid down the curve of my waist, to the bell of my hip. Over my thigh, up the inside, and then his finger was tracing the dampening line of my cleft, sending a hissing breath out of my lips.

  “No need to be quiet this time, Kyrie. You can make all the noise you want. Scream for me, if you want. Say my name. Right now, say my name. ”

  “Roth…. ”

  As the word left my mouth, his finger slid into my pu**y, and I said his name, drawing it out into a groan. He coated his finger in the slick juices of my folds, and then dragged it over my clit. He didn’t need to do that, though, because I was already wet, already throbbing for his touch. I knew how hard he could make me come, and from the moment I felt him rip my shirt open, I wanted it, needed it.

  Giving into him was becoming easier.

  “Spread your legs, Kyrie. Wide open. ”

  I obeyed, drawing my knees up and letting them fall apart. See? I didn’t even question him — I just did what he told me like a good girl.

  “So perfect, Kyrie. Your pu**y is like a flower, pink and pretty and begging for me to open its petals. ”

  Who the hell talks like that? I wondered, but the thought was faint, because his words had a powerful effect on me. He thought my pu**y looked like a flower? Jesus, that was kind of hot. Weird, and unexpected, but hot.

  His fingers traced over my opening, slid down one labia and up the other, dipped in to caress my clit, and back out. And then his weight shifted, and I felt his broad shoulders brushing the inside of my knees, and I felt his stubble on my inner thigh. Oh, god. Oh, god. He was about to go down on me. I wanted to tense, wanted to hook my knees over his shoulders and beg him to lick me senseless, wanted to beg him to take off the blindfold so I could see him, so I could watch his head between my legs. I did none of that. I held absolutely still, kept silent, and waited.

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  His hands curled around the outside of my thighs, and I felt his breath on my soft, sensitive skin. His stubble was rough on my flesh, but his tongue sliding up my folds made up for it. In fact, the contrast of his scratchy stubble on my thighs and his tongue wet and hot and slow along my opening was delicious and erotic, and I couldn’t and didn’t try to stop a moan from escaping my lips. His fingers walked along the hollow of my hips, found the lips of my pu**y and pulled them apart, and his tongue flicked in to swipe around my swollen clit in a long, wet circle.

  “Kyrie…you taste so good, Kyrie. I’m going to lick your sweet, perfect pu**y until you beg me stop, but I won’t stop. I’ll keep licking you until you can’t take it anymore, and then, when you’ve come so hard and so many times that you think you’re about to die, I’ll make you come again. Have you ever come so many times you passed out, Kyrie? That’s what I’m going to do to you. Right now. Tonight. I’m going to eat your sweet wet little pu**y until you pass out. ” His words rumbled and his voice purred like a lion’s growl, and his breath was hot on me, and his fingers were gentle but insistent, and I nearly came just from his voice, just from his words, just from his promises.

  I bit my lip and moaned as his tongue slid up my opening, his tongue flattened and fat. He licked me like that a few times, his tongue going stiff as it swiped over my clit. As the tip of his tongue left my pu**y, I felt my hips lifting, rising of their own accord, seeking contact. Moans were leaving my lips nonstop now as his tongue narrowed and speared into me, diving in to circle my clit. The rhythm, oh, Jesus, the rhythm he set was slow and deliberate and maddening. Designed to make me crazy. Designed to make me beg. He used nothing but his tongue. For a time I had no way of measuring what he was doing, just licking and circling me in no discernible pattern. Heat swelled inside me, and pressure bore down on me like drowning at the bottom of a pool. My breath came in groans, and my hips lifted and fell to the wild sequence of his tireless tongue.

  And then, just as I was about to scream from frustration and need, the fingers of his right hand trailed around my leg and up the inside of my thigh, and then I felt a single digit pierce my folds and curl against my inner walls, crooking to stroke me high and deep, eliciting a gasp that became a whimper. I couldn’t help but hook my heels over his shoulders, and he grasped my hips in both hands, tugged me down the bed, grabbed a pillow, and shoved it under my lower back to lift my ass off the bed. My hands were fisted under the pillow, shaking, desperate to tangle in his hair.

  His hands slid over my body, soothing and smoothing, exploring and possessing. His palm grazed my breast, cupped its weight, and then his fingers pinched my nipple, tweaking and twisting, adding a sharp line of barbed-wire heat to the pressure and fire inside me. I felt his other hand arcing over my belly, across my hip, my thigh, sliding over the damp and trembling line of my pu**y, and then his finger traced down the opening and pushed in. I groaned, and then let a tiny breathless scream leave me as his tongue flicked against my clit. Another finger joined the first inside my pu**y, and his tongue moved in slow circles. Two fingers stroked inside me, curling up and in, and the pace of his tongue quickened.

  Heat billowed in my core, pressure set my thighs to trembling, and my heels crossed over each other on his back, holding him to me. My hands needed to touch him. I needed to. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I kept them in place, just as he’d told me to do.

  I was moaning loudly now, hips writhing against his mouth.

  My orgasm was quick and hard, pulsing through me like lightning strikes.

  “Shit…Roth…oh, god…. ” I heard myself gasp.

  “That was a good start. ” His voice came from between my legs. “But it was just a start. ”

  Just a start? That orgasm had left me limp and sweaty, shaking, barely able to catch my breath. I realized that he might not have been kidding when he’d promised to make me pass out. I’d only had multiple orgasms once in my life, and that had been a…memorable evening. The guy in question had been a U. S. Marine on leave, and we’d only had that one night together, but holy shit had he been good.

  He was an amateur, I realized, in comparison to Roth. I’d come hard, and it had only taken him a few minutes.

  My thoughts were dissolved by his fingers sliding out of me and moving up to caress my throbbing, aching clit. I groaned, and Roth groaned with me.

  “This time, I want you to come as fast as possible. ” He licked me once, hard. “Are you ready, Kyrie?”

  “I…I don’t know if I can again. ”

  “Oh, you can. ” He licked me, and I felt a bolt of something hot shoot through me, making me gasp. “See?
Come for me, Kyrie. Come again. ”

  He put his lips to my clit and sucked, three fingers sliding in and out of my tight, clenching opening. He sucked hard, and my hips left the bed, lightning hitting me with each pull of his mouth on my throbbing nub.

  And sure enough, within seconds I was teetering on the edge, and his free hand drifted up my body to pinch my nipple, pinching as hard as he was sucking. I groaned, and as soon as I fell over the edge, his touch turned light, his tongue flicking my clit and his fingers gently stroking my nipple. I screamed aloud, coming hard, back arching.

  “Good, Kyrie. Very good. That was beautiful. ” I felt him crawl out from between my thighs and up my body. “Now, while you’re still coming, touch yourself. Put your fingers to your pu**y so I can watch you make yourself come. ”

  I was arched off the bed even as he spoke. There was no way I could come again. No way. I ached. I hurt. I was completely limp.

  When I didn’t comply, I felt him grab my hand and shove it between my thighs. His palm touched the back of my hand, and his fingers moved against mine, pushing my middle digit against my clit.

  “I can’t…I can’t. ”

  “Yes, you can. ” I felt him lean over me, felt his tongue, which surely must be tired by now, trace a lazy circle around my nipple. “Touch yourself, Kyrie. I want to watch you make yourself come. ”

  I moved my middle and ring fingers in a tentative circle. I swallowed hard and bit my lip as almost painful heat throbbed inside me. Roth was pressing kisses to my tits, cupping my right boob and pulling it toward himself, licking my thickened nipple, circling the areola with his tongue, and then letting go and paying the same attention to my right side. His hands weren’t idle, though. He was stroking me, caressing me all over. Grabbing my hip and kneading my tits and holding my waist. I felt my hand moving, felt pressure build within me once again as my fingers moved in compliance with Roth’s command. How could I possibly come again? He’d brought me to climax twice within, what, fifteen minutes, if that? Jesus. I didn’t think it was possible, but he’d done it.

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  And now, his mouth on my tits and my own fingers circling my clit with quick, sure movements, I was right there again. What was it about Roth that affected me so powerfully? His voice? His dirty talk? His confidence? I wasn’t sure, but there was something about him that just pushed me to boiling point.

  I was teetering on the cusp of orgasm, lost to sensation, my fingers touching myself in the way only you can touch yourself, knowing your own hot spots, knowing the perfect speed and perfect rhythm. His lips were wrapped around my right nipple, and I felt a line of heat connecting my tits to my core, and as my fingers moved and his mouth suckled, that line was being tugged, jerking yet another orgasm from me.