Alpha's Desire Read online

  I’m unbelievably grateful for the question. It would be so easy to start complaining about my controlling parents right now. Or how every day that draws closer to graduation I feel more and more stuck.

  “Well, honestly? I’d love to have my own dance company.”

  There. I said it out loud. The angels of dance didn’t even strike me down.

  “Mmm hmm. What would your dance company be like?”

  I have to take long strides to keep up with Jared, which is freeing. “It wouldn’t be a ballet company. I guess more contemporary, but I see it as more of a hybrid. Like one part performance art, three parts dance—but any kind of dance—ballet, modern, hip hop.”

  “Uh huh. Is that what you do at the club?”

  “Yes, but what we do there is just the tip of the iceberg. I have this idea for a totally interactive show. Something that entertains an audience and doesn’t just cater to the old fogies who want to be high-brow and say they went to see the Nutcracker. Something anyone and everyone would like. All ages. All backgrounds.”

  “Wow.”

  I steal a glance at Jared to gauge his reaction. I can’t believe I’ve actually expressed the ideas out loud, but now that I have, my excitement rolls behind them like a giant bulldozer. There’s no keeping it back. I’ve been stewing on these ideas since high school, for God’s sake.

  Jared smiles. “That sounds incredible, baby. What would it take to make it happen?”

  And then everything goes flat. That familiar choking heaviness returns.

  “Whatever you just thought about, you’d better kick it the fuck out of your head,” Jared growls, surprising a laugh out of me.

  “I thought about what I’m supposed to be doing when I graduate.”

  “Which is?”

  “My dad’s willing to invest in my career, but only to help me open a dance studio. For kids. Which is cool and all. I like teaching okay, but…”

  “That isn’t your dream.”

  I have a little more room to breathe just with him saying the words. “Right.”

  “So the plan is open a ballet studio, teach what you learned from your uptight professors, and be a good little ballerina?”

  That laugh-sob is becoming my new go-to reaction. “Pretty much. The thing is—I don’t even consider myself a ballerina. If I were a serious ballerina, I’d be at least fifteen pounds lighter and I would’ve been apprenticed to a professional company by the time I was fourteen. My mom wanted this for me, but not badly enough to ship me off to New York or San Francisco.

  “It’s probably not too late for a performing career in modern, but it still would involve me going to New York City. The ‘ents don’t like that.”

  “Do you want that?”

  For some reason, I have the sense Jared’s holding his breath.

  I consider it. The idea excites me, but it might only be because I want anything different than what I have now. Would I create my company there? It’s doubtful. I’d probably get swallowed whole by all the desperate dancers clawing to succeed. Get caught up in waiting tables and going to auditions. Struggling to please a new master. Stuffing this inner voice of mine back down again.

  “No. Not really. I still wouldn’t be doing what I want to do—choreographing. Creating.”

  “Okay, so back to my question. What do you need to execute your vision?” There’s a determination in Jared’s eyes, like he’s going to make this happen for me. I shouldn’t get excited, but I can’t help it. It’s the first encouragement I’ve had, and I’m going to take it and run with it.

  “I picture it in a warehouse. Some place we could transform for different shows. I’m picturing silks and trapezes or hoops rigged from the ceiling, dances in water tanks—crazy stuff! The audience would be led through the space—almost like a haunted house. There would be a new performance around every corner. They’d stop and watch and then their host would bring them to the next spot. Maybe six minutes for each piece—everything perfectly timed and coordinated.”

  “I can get you a warehouse.”

  I stop and stare at him. “What?”

  He rolls his tongue under his lower lip, pushing it out. “I have a warehouse space you can use.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. What else do you need?”

  I swallow. “Um, I’m not sure. I’d have to trick it out. I don’t really have money for that, and my dad would never invest in something that’s not a solid business venture, like a ballet studio.”

  “Why isn’t this a solid business—nevermind. Forget your dad. He isn’t your only resource. Tell me what you need and we’ll figure it out.” We’ve circled around a few blocks by now and are back in front of my place. “Want to do another loop?” he asks.

  I grimace at my flip flops, which weren’t the best choice for walking. “No, not now. But thanks. You were right, walking helped.” We head up the steps to my place. “So you’re a runner?”

  He unlocks the door and lets me in. “Er, no. I mean yes, but four-legged,” he says with the sexy grin that makes my knees go weak.

  I stop and face him, tipping my face up with my best puppy eyes. “I want to see. Show me your wolf? Please?”

  His arms loop around my waist and he palms my ass, yanking my core up against his jeans, where his very impressive erection bulges. I see indecision dance over his expression. “I can’t, baby,” he says on an exhale.

  I try to hide my disappointment. Try to remember why we can’t do this. We aren’t a couple. We never can be. We’re forbidden to each other.

  Romeo and fucking Juliet.

  I think I’ll make a dance about it when I have my show. Throw myself off a balcony in a dive that makes the audience gasp before the bungee around my ankle picks up the slack.

  Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m actually thinking like I’m really going to have the performance.

  “So I want a list of what you need in the warehouse. The setup—everything.”

  “Jared—” I take a step back, out of the circle of his arms. We’re not even dating. Not a couple. I can hardly ask him to let me use his warehouse for my show. Not when his existence may be wiped from my mind in less than two weeks. “I appreciate your offer, but I can’t accept. I need to do this on my own.”

  8

  Jared

  I open my mouth to argue but she lifts her chin at that stubborn angle I find so adorable.

  Fuck.

  My fingers curl up with frustration, but punching a wall isn’t going to help. Angelina’s pulled back, cutting me off. As she should.

  I’m not part of her future. It’s wrong of me to try to insinuate myself into it. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her give up on her dream. To wither away and die under the expectations of prescribed perfection.

  She kicks off her flip flops and heads into the kitchen.

  I follow, unable to stay out of her business. She takes out lettuce and tomatoes, puts them in a bowl.

  It may be exactly what she wants to eat right now, but the sight of it makes my wolf growl. She thinks she weighs too much to be a ballerina. She’s been starving herself to fit into some mold that I want to fucking destroy right now.

  “Is that what you want to eat?” I ask, sounding grouchier than I mean to.

  She whirls and puts her hands on her hips, one leg jutting out. “I can’t eat street tacos and beer with you every night, wolfie.” She slaps the sides of her hips. “Wouldn’t want to get a fat letter from the faculty.”

  A real snarl comes out of my throat. I prowl closer. “Do you think you need to lose weight?” There’s danger in my tone, but she doesn’t recognize it. Or if she does, she’s ignoring it because she’s shutting me down.

  “Five or ten pounds lighter would be ideal.”

  I cage her against the counter.“No baby, you’re perfect.” Too perfect for me. Way outta my league. I grit my teeth. Fuck those dance professors. I better not ever meet them, because there’s no telling what my wolf would do
to the people who made my girl cry.

  I wish she could be my girl forever so I could protect her from the world. Maybe after we split, I’ll keep an eye on her. Have my wolf check on her. ‘Cause that’s not fucking pathetic.

  But no, this girl doesn’t need protection. She just needs to get out from under the weight of other people’s expectation. To start living for herself.

  “Fuck ideal. Do you think you need to lose weight?”

  She’s holding her breath. Neither of us moves. My body is up against hers, but barely touching.

  “No.” She sounds relieved when she says it. “If I did, I would’ve already lost it. I don’t want to look like a toothpick.”

  “That’s my girl.” I lower my lips to her forehead and press them to her smooth skin.

  “I’ll make the salad—or I’ll go buy us some fucking steak, if you want it.”

  She laughs, the puff of air hitting my throat.

  “I want you to make the list of what you need for the show. Not for me. For you. It will help you get clear on exactly what you need.”

  “Oh, well—”

  I step out of her way. “I mean right now, Angelina. Sketch it out. It’s important to take action on your dreams. Take this one small step right now.”

  “Fine,” she says in that sassy way that gets me harder than stone.

  Does she remember what I promised to do the next time she said it? But hell, I shouldn’t, not when—

  She sneaks a guilty look, like she’s checking to see if I noticed.

  Hunger hits me. My cock punches out, straining against my jeans.

  Angelina laughs and darts past me.

  Foolish, foolish girl.

  Does she have any idea what happens when you goad a wolf into the chase? I catch her and swoop her up over my shoulder in about two seconds flat.

  Her giggle tells me she wants this and fuck if that doesn’t release the dam on my self-control. I smack her upturned ass and jog into the bedroom. I drop her onto her feet and turn her to face the bed. I’m not ready to start spanking yet, though. I wrap one arm around her waist and cup her mons, rubbing the seam of her shorts into her slit.

  She writhes, pushing back against me, her breath ragged.

  I slow my movements. “You know what’s going to happen now?”

  “You’re going to spank me?” She sounds breathless.

  “That’s right, baby.” I unbutton her miniscule shorts and let them drop to the floor. Her tank top is easy to peel off. “Take off your bra and panties.” I like taking her clothes off, but I also enjoy making her bare herself for me. That way I know I’m not bulldozing her.

  She looks over her shoulder at me—a redheaded coquette—and it’s all I can do to keep from shoving her over the bed, spreading her wide and pounding into that sweet pussy until she’s hoarse.

  But no. I get to spank her first. A pleasure I will relish until the day I die.

  “Panties off.” I make my voice firm. Or maybe that’s my need bleeding into my tone. Either way, she jumps to obey, hooking her thumbs in the waistband and slipping them down her legs.

  I work to control my breath. The scent of her arousal fills the room and my hands have already found her bare skin, gripping her hips with authority. “Bend over, baby.”

  She rests her hands on the bed.

  “All the way over. And baby? When I’m disciplining you, answer me with respect.”

  I know she has no clue what I’m talking about. I’m not even into BDSM, except that wolves are over the top dominant. But I’m dying to hear the words from her lips. “Say, yes, daddy.”

  She lays her torso on the bed. “Yes, daddy.” Her voice wobbles, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s with need, judging by her scent.

  I give her the lightest of slaps. I don’t want to scare her—not now, not ever.

  She moans and waggles her ass.

  I spank her again. “That’s for keeping me hard every minute of the day. Every goddamn time I’m in your presence.” Another slap, a little harder.

  She catches her breath.

  I change things up, let my fingers go where they’ve been dying to be—between those shapely thighs of hers. They glide along her slit—which is dripping wet. The evidence of her excitement nearly makes me come.

  I spank her several more times, sharp and crisp. My hand leaves pink stains on her porcelain skin.

  And then I’m lost. I place a hand on her lower back to hold her steady and spank away, craving the punitive contact, the stinging blows, the way she jerks and gasps with each smack.

  “Spread your legs, beautiful.” My voice sounds like I have rocks in my throat.

  She obeys, widening her stance to one only a dancer could pull off.

  “Fucking perfection.” I bring my hand up smartly between her legs and slap her pussy.

  She shrieks, but doesn’t move.

  I drop my face to her level and wrap a fist in her hair, turning her to me. I need to see in her eyes that she’s okay with this level of intensity.

  She’s bitten her lip, but her eyes are glazed with pure lust.

  I kiss her, sucking the blood from her plump flesh. She kisses back, her tongue sweeping into my mouth.

  I bite back a curse. “I’m not done spanking you yet, angel.”

  I return to my position behind her and spank her some more, giving her ass a rosy glow. “If you were mine, I’d be spanking this ass every night, baby. Every fucking position. Over my lap. On your hands and knees. Bent over the couch. Tied to the bed.” I slap between her legs, aiming for her clit. “Yeah, tied to the bed, legs spread wide. I’d save that position for when you’re really naughty. Maybe use my belt a little to make you scream.”

  I slap her juicy pussy again, several times.

  “Wh-why?” she pants.

  My chuckle is dark. “Because this ass just begs for it, baby. And to pay you back for keeping my goddamn balls tied up and in your back pocket.”

  She laughs, a husky sound that makes my erection punch out painfully. I unbutton the denim and slide the zipper down to free my length. I give my cock a hard squeeze.

  “Don’t worry, baby. I’d make sure you liked it. Or I’d make it up to you afterward if I was too rough.”

  I aim a few hard slaps to the place where ass meets thigh. “I have a feeling that would be often.”

  She wiggles her ass and tries to sneak a hand down between her legs.

  “Uh uh.” I catch her wrist. “No relief for you, baby. Not yet. Not until you’ve been thoroughly punished.”

  I snag a condom from my back pocket and tear open the foil, roll the rubber over my throbbing dick. I have to give it a couple quick yanks, because I’m dying here. I know my girl is, too, though, and I’m going to give it to her good. I drag the head of my cock through her juices. A hot shiver runs through my body, straight to the base of my spine. My belly shudders in.

  Angelina moans encouragingly. I push into her, my eyes flipping back into my head at the contact of her sweet sheath around my swollen member.

  “You want my cock, angel?”

  “Yes, please. I mean, yes, daddy.”

  Fuck. The word daddy makes me shove hard into her, all the way.

  She gasps, her pussy clenching around my length.

  “You like that, don’t you?” I arc in and out slowly, closing my eyes to shove down my mounting desire.

  “Yesssss.”

  I pull out. “Sorry, baby. That’s not where you’re taking my cock tonight.”

  Her breath stutters, but she doesn’t offer up any complaint. My girl’s nervous—I get that—but she’s game.

  I run my palm over her blushing ass, loving the sight of my handprints there. “I’ll make it good for you, angel.” I reach down and hook my pinkie through hers where it lies on the mattress. “Promise.” I rub her ass some more. “Now don’t move from this position. I’m going to go get some oil. If you move, I’m going to spank you again when I get back before I take your tight littl
e virgin ass. Understand?”

  “Yes, daddy.”

  I groan. To reward her—no, who am I kidding? It’s for me, too—I take a deep plunge into her pussy, rolling my hips once I’m inside. A couple more deep thrusts and I pull out, holding the condom in place while I kick off my pants and stalk to the kitchen. I find a jar of coconut oil in one of the cabinets and scoop some into a bowl.

  When I come back, I find Angelina in the exact position I left her—she hasn’t moved a muscle.

  “Good girl,” I purr as I scoop some of the coconut oil and rub it liberally around her anus.

  She shivers and shifts on her feet, but doesn’t tighten or move from her position.

  “I’ll bet you have the tightest ass in the history of all asses,” I murmur, working one well-lubed finger into her back hole. “All those twirly turns and deep bends.”

  Her husky laugh surrounds me. “Pirouettes and plies. Yeah, my pelvic floor is probably made of steel. Does that mean it will hurt mo—”

  “No way. It’s not going to hurt, angel. I would never hurt you. At least not in a way you don’t love.” I slap her ass again.

  Fates, I love the sound of my hand smacking her fucktastic ass.

  She moans into the covers.

  I work a second finger into her ass and massage around the tight ring of muscles, working her open, preparing the way for my cock.

  I lube up my member and press the head right up against her entrance, holding her cheeks wide. “Take a deep breath, baby.”

  She holds it instead.

  I laugh. “Deeper.”

  She laughs, too. “Deeper, right. Okay.” She draws in a breath.

  “Now blow it out slowly and relax.” I apply gentle pressure as she exhales, but I’m not going anywhere. “Push back at me, angel. Like you’re trying to push me out, not let me in. That’s it.” Her sphincter muscles open and I gradually work the head of my cock through. I reach around under her hips and rub her clit as I inch in, giving her the pleasure she needs to let go.

  And then I’m in. I don’t move, except to stroke her pussy as she gets used to the intrusion.

  “Good girl. You took my whole cock, baby. Right in that tight little dancer’s ass. How does it feel?”