Alpha (20 page)

“You’re teasing me, Kyrie. Testing me.” He glared at me, head tilted down, jaw hard, looking primal and dangerous. “It’s not smart.”

I lifted one knee, and the sheet fell away; Roth growled. I ran my middle finger up the seam of my core. Roth’s growl turned feral.
 

“Last warning, Kyrie.”
 

I didn’t need the warning. He was a man on the edge. I was playing with fire, and I knew it. But I was aching. Unsatisfied. For all that I’d come hard last night…three times? Four?…I was unsatisfied. I’d made do with my own fingers and battery-operated toys for a long time before Roth sent for me, and it just didn’t do the trick. I could get off, but that wasn’t enough. Merely achieving orgasm wasn’t enough. Even with Roth’s hands and fingers making me come, it wasn’t enough. I needed the connection. I needed to be filled. Held. Touched. Wanted. Loved.
 

And Roth knew it.

I still ached, deep inside where his tongue and fingers couldn’t reach. An ache that no amount of skillful cunnilingus could sate. I needed the man. Especially now that I’d seen his face, seen the heated glare in his eyes, seen the slight tremble of need in his hands.
 

I dipped my finger inside me, withdrew it.
 

“Fuck.” Roth’s curse was an angry rumble. He straightened, let go of the doorframe, and then, faster than my eyes could track, he was lunging forward, crawling across the bed. Hovering over me. Eyes inches from mine. “Don’t
fuck
with me, Kyrie. If you want to do this right now, we’ll do it right now. I’m barely holding back. The fact that I have an enormous amount of self-control is all that’s protecting you from your own foolishness.”

“Foolishness?” I breathed. “I thought this was what you wanted?”

“What? Games? Teasing? No. I want honesty. I want your desire, and I want to know what you’re thinking. What I
don’t
want is power-play games.” He grabbed my wrists in one hand and pinned them above my head. “You want to know the power you have over me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then ask me a question. Anything.”

“What is your first name?”

His eyes went hard. “Valentine. My name is Valentine.”

“Valentine Roth.” It fit him so perfectly.
 

“Yes.” His grip on my wrists was tight, iron-hard, and almost painful. His knees were between my thighs, forcing them apart. “Now. What else?”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

Ten years older than me. Should I be worried about that? I knew, instinctively, that I didn’t give a shit how old he was. I just wanted to know if he’d tell me.

He was breathing hard, as if revealing so much about himself was physically difficult, even painful. I saw actual pain in his eyes, perhaps even fear. As if he’d exposed himself to me and was now waiting for the repercussions.
 

“Thank you,” I said, my voice small and quiet.

“For what?” He seemed honestly confused.

“Letting me see you. Telling me your name.” I think he expected me to struggle against his hold on my wrists, but I didn’t.
 

Instead, I lifted up and kissed him, sucked his lower lip between my teeth. I devoured his leonine rumble of surprise and pleasure and kept kissing him. His tongue slid between my teeth, his weight lowered so our bodies touched, and I felt his jeans rough against my skin, felt the bulge behind his zipper scraping on my lower belly.
 

“I want you, Valentine.” I flicked my eyes open and met his own. “Make love to me. Touch me. Come inside me. Do anything you want.”
 
I couldn’t resist my desire anymore.

I didn’t know what this meant, where it was going, but I didn’t care. This was the last vestige of my control over my own life, over myself, and I’d just given it to him.
 

“Anything I want?”
 

“Yeah, anything.”
 

“That’s a dangerous thing to offer a man like me.”

“I know.”

“And still you offer it?”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off his. “I do. Make love to me, your way.” I was shaking all over, nervous, scared, excited.

Being Roth, he did the last thing I expected. He pulled away, slid off the bed. “Then I choose to wait. I will have you, Kyrie, and I will have you soon. But not here. Not now. I want you in
my
bed. I’m going to make you scream, and weep, and beg me for me. And I’m going to do it where no one has ever been: my bed.”
 

I watched him back away yet again, jeans strained from the erection behind his zipper. This time, I didn’t let him get away. I followed him, scooting off the bed and catching him by the belt loops before he got too far. “I like the sound of that.” I looked up at him. “But I want to see…this. I want to feel you first.” I tugged at the button of his jeans.

His eyes met mine, and he nodded. “As you wish.”

I lowered his zipper, then pulled his jeans down around his thighs. I breathed in, let it out. I tore my gaze from his and curled my fingers under the pale gray elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs. Hesitated. And then I tugged the elastic away from his body and pulled his underwear down, baring him to me.
 

I knew he was big. Of course he’d be big. But…holy shit on a shingle. I didn’t expect him to be
that
big. His cock was long and standing straight up, the tip rising past his navel. So thick. He was so hard it looked painful, his balls tight against him. He’d stretch me, that was for sure. For now, though, all I wanted was to feel him in my hands, to make him come, to give him relief.
 

I wrapped one hand around him, and he was so thick my thumb and middle finger couldn’t meet around his girth. Jesus. Sweet baby Jesus. I slid my fist down his length and back up, my hand barely brushing his flesh. He breathed out through his nose, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching. I cupped my other hand around his taut sac, sliding my fist down and twisting gently, watching his expression as I touched him. He licked his lips and blinked several times, breathing hard, eyes fixed on me.
 

“Don’t start what you won’t finish, Kyrie.”
 

I let my lips curve up in a grin. “I would never do that, Valentine.”

His brows lowered, jaw squaring as he clenched his teeth. As gently as I could, I squeezed his balls, a caressing pressure. Slid my middle finger onto his taint and applied pressure. He rumbled in his chest, fists clenched at his sides. I kept my eyes locked on his as I stroked his considerable length ever so slowly, then leaned in, closer, closer, opened my mouth as wide as it would go. Curled my lips in over my teeth and took his broad head into my mouth. I closed my lips around him, just beneath the groove at the base of his tip. He made a sound that was suspiciously close to a moan as I lowered my mouth around him, still stroking slowly at the root of his cock. I could only take a few inches of him before I felt him at the back of my throat, and then I drew away. I let my saliva coat his flesh, returning my gaze to his as I rubbed my palm over his head, smearing my spit over him, making him slick and slippery. I fisted his length, replacing my lips around his thick, soft, springy head, tasting pre-come on my tongue. I drew off again, licked the pre-come away with a fat swipe of my tongue, twisting and plunging my fist around him, squeezing his sac in time with my sliding fist, pressing up against his taint.
 

Roth’s thighs trembled, and I felt his knees dip. He threaded both hands into my hair, gripping handfuls and tugging firmly. He didn’t push me onto him or try to force me to do anything, he just tugged my hair in his fists. A reminder of his strength, of his control, a reminder that he was allowing me to do this.
 

There was no desire in me to play for control, to play games. I only wanted to feel him come.
 

I mouthed him again, taking him deep, letting his tip nudge the back of my throat and then backing away, pumping at his root with ever-increasing speed. I loved the way the increase of my tempo around his cock made his knees bend and dip, and I loved, too, the way his fists in my hair tightened involuntarily as he neared his climax.

I bobbed on him, sucking hard, feeling his sac tense and tighten, feeling his gloriously thick cock throb, and I knew he was close. I prepared myself for the gush of his release against my throat, but it never came.

Instead, I felt myself pushed backward, felt him above me, heard his breath in scraping gasps, felt his entire body trembling as he held back. “No. Not like that, not the first time.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how I want it.”

“Did I…do something wrong?”

“No, Kyrie. No. Not at all. I love the feel of your sweet mouth on my cock. But I don’t want to come in your mouth just yet.”

I still had a firm grip on his cock, and I slid my fist down his length, staring up at him. “Okay. Like this, then.”

He ducked his head, gathering himself. “You really want this?”

I nodded. “Yes. I want to feel you come. You’ve made me come so many times now, and it’s my turn.”

“Where?” He slid his shins beneath his body, sitting up, staring down at my naked body as I lay beneath him. “Tell me where you want me to come.”

“Anywhere you want.”

He straddled me, sliding forward. I leaned up, took him in my mouth, tasted him, then lay back down. “On my stomach?” I said. “On my tits? You tell me where you want to come. I want to know what you want.”

I moved my fist around him, feeling him tense and jerk, and stroked him even faster.
 

Roth’s breathing grated past his clenched teeth. “I want to come inside you, Kyrie. Not this.”

“Then put your cock inside me,” I said.

He shook his head. “No. Not yet. In my bed. Only there.”

“Then take me there.” He growled and then wrenched himself away, backing up against the wall, his chest heaving. I followed, wrapped both hands around him, and stroked him gently. Pressed my lips to his and kissed him, demanding, needing. “Please come, Valentine. Come for me.”

He sighed into my mouth and then pressed his forehead to mine. I watched my hands moving on his thick, straining cock, stroking, twisting, plunging. “Kyrie…I’m close.”
 

“Good,” I whispered. “Give it to me.”

He groaned, thrusting his hips, driving his cock into my grip. I wrapped my hand around his head and stroked his length with my other hand.
 

“God…Kyrie…I’m coming, right now.” I felt wet warmth fill my palm, and I kept caressing his length, slowly, gently, milking him.
 

“Kyrie….” His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. When he was softening in my hands, I let go of him, lifted up on my toes, and kissed him once more. He watched me with glazed, hooded eyes.
 
“You do something to me, Kyrie. You make me lose control.” He put a hand to my face, gripped my chin between finger and thumb.
 

I held his come in my hand, feeling it drip between my fingers. “Well…maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

He sighed. “In my life, it is.” He shook his head, dismissing the topic. “You are amazing, Kyrie. Go wash up and get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

He leaned in, kissed me on the lips swiftly, and then backed away, zipping and buttoning his jeans. I waited until I heard the door latch behind him, and then I washed my hands in the bathroom sink before turning on the shower. I washed, shaved myself from armpits to ankles, and let my mind wander.

Valentine Roth. What a name. And what a man. So fucking gorgeous. He could be a superstar actor with his looks. An A-list actor, or a rock star. But he wasn’t. He was a reclusive businessman, über-rich, successful, and intensively, reclusively private.
 

Something else niggled at me about Roth. He looked familiar; I just couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him.
 

As soon as I was done in the shower, I wrapped a towel around my body and another around my hair, then perched on the edge of my bed with my phone, typing his name into Google. Nothing. Not a single photograph, no Wikipedia entry, not a single scrap of publicly available information. That, to me, smacked of interference. I mean, I was a nobody, but if you typed my name into Google, you’d find, if you scrolled far enough, at least a Facebook profile, the thumbnail-sized selfie photograph of me, taken on a weekend trip to Chicago with Layla. You could find at least basic info on me, just by a few searches and clicks, and I was no one at all, public-wise. Yet there was nothing at all on Valentine Roth, who had to be in a microscopically small percentage of the population in terms of wealth. Something told me he had paid an exorbitant amount of money to keep himself out of the public eye, to hide any photographs or the like.
 

So it wasn’t that. I’d never seen him in any gossip rags or on TMZ. But I
had
seen him before. I knew it. But where? I couldn’t figure it out, no matter how hard I tried to remember.
 

Eventually, I gave up and got dressed.
 

I put on a pink-and-black lace push-up bra and a pair of black underwear. Over it, I put on a simple but flattering black sundress and a pair of strappy sandals. I didn’t spend a lot of time on my hair or makeup, just brushing my hair until it shone and fell in golden waves around my shoulders. I snapped a ponytail elastic on my wrist, and applied some light mascara, blush, and lip stain. He said we’d have a busy day, so I wanted to be ready for anything.
 

Especially the kind of anything that would lead to seeing Valentine Roth totally naked.

8

PRIVATE QUARTERS

I found Roth sipping from a china cup, holding a dainty saucer in his hand. The cup and saucer were so small and delicate-looking that it was almost a comical image. I mean, I knew all too well the strength in his hands; he could crush the cup and saucer with ease if he wanted, yet somehow he looked totally natural, at ease. He was sitting at the breakfast nook, staring out at the Manhattan skyline as the sun rose to shed golden light on the high-rises. He had one calf crossed over his knee, flaxen hair wet and slicked back to one side. He wore a pair of dark jeans with a white T-shirt beneath a slate-gray blazer, Tommy Bahama boat shoes on his feet. The sleeves of the blazer were pulled up just beneath his elbows, his muscular forearms keeping the sleeves in place. The effect was one of casual godliness. I had to remind myself to keep breathing as I slid into the chair next to him.