Alphas of Sin Read online

  The hissing sound from between his teeth makes me more aroused as I stroke him. With vigor, I spin, lick, suck and feast. I take him in until he hits the back of my throat, my eyes watering as I try not to gag. My hand moves back and forth in time with my mouth at my relentless pursuit at making him moan. This man is having these reactions because of me, and the power is overwhelming. I can only imagine how my mascara is trailing down my cheeks, my lipstick no doubt is smeared as I continue and hear him growl.

  I release him, the pop filling the air, and he rumbles, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. “Lay back,” he groans. “I’m tasting you now.”

  I kick off my heels and fall back, pushing my way up into the plush pillows. My chest heaves in anticipation as his body settles between me. His hands frame my spread legs, his thumbs stroke back and forth over my tender lips, parting them open. Then, finally, he dips his head and lets his tongue stroke my inner folds in a teasingly long slide. A moan escapes my mouth louder than intended. As I squirm, he stops. “Stay still,” he commands.

  My heart pounds as I swallow back a retort.

  “Good, don’t say anything.” His fingers part me again and his tongue continues around me and he’s so soft, licking leisurely, sucking and teasing. The intensity grows, and I can’t help but tug on his hair, urging him to go faster.

  “Please,” I moan out as my hips jerk up.

  He pauses and looks up at me, his eyes full of mischief. “Please? Please, what?”

  “Keep on, go faster, something…”

  “Need this touched?” His fingers press against my clit.

  “Yes, oh God, yes…” I cry as he affixes his mouth on me again, this time with a faster stride of his tongue. I’m building up and aching for relief after being denied so long. The Promise Land is there, in my grasp, and as I’m about to hit my high, his tongue disappears. The loss of his mouth makes me insane, and I clutch his head, wanting his mouth back on my spot. Instead, his fingers play around me, shifting the focus. It’s like one of those sneezes you’re about to release, yet it’s held back and leaves you frustrated. You walk right up to the orgasm and just before it’s about to hit, the buildup fades.

  “You’re doing this on purpose,” I groan.

  He wickedly smiles up at me. “You’ll thank me.”

  His thumbs spread my lips apart and his tongue is over me again in rhythm with my hips. He’s rebuilding, his touch varied from the last. Small, delicate circles with light taps exchange into larger circles with more pressured ones. I can feel the climax so close. I want to hold on, take it and run. This deliberate act of his to withhold my explosion is making me ravenous because I know what awaits me at the finish line. He knows not to wait too long, but just long enough to bring me to the brink.

  I lose control. My body quakes and I cry out, the spasms violently causing me to feel as if I’m in another universe. He’s holding me down with his hands as I thrash, letting go of the tension that has been plaguing me for months. It seems a lifetime of waiting, wanting, needing this. It’s long-lasting, making my eyes water at the intensity of my blast, bursts of light hitting behind my closed lids as I begin to calm down from the violent jerks.

  Aftershocks course through me as he spreads kisses over my belly and up, moving to my mouth and kissing me with a possessiveness that continues to turn me on. I’m on a cloud, floating, my mind in another state.

  Overly sensitized, I’m in need of recovery. He cups his hand over the apex of my thighs, leaving it there as the pulsation inside me dies down. I’m catching my breath, my heart is slowing as he smiles at me.

  “You’re pleased with yourself,” I laugh.

  “Tell me you didn’t like it, and I’m gonna have to punish you,” he says, his finger dipping in, making me shudder from the stimulation. He starts up and down motions with a gentle, turgid pressure, making sure I’m comfortable.

  Guilt should be plaguing me, but I’m in a fog, no longer thinking of my quaint life at home. This is everything I need. Almost everything.

  “I want you inside me, now. I need it.”

  “You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He kisses me, putting pressure on my lower lip with his teeth and squeezing. He flips me over with ease, and his lips are on my back, trailing down the spinal column to where my back dips. He grasps each of my hands and positions them to the headboard. “Hold on,” he says gruffly as he runs his length up and down my opening and sinks in.

  He pushes in and out, his hands gripping my waist, guiding me. The slapping sounds our bodies make gets me high all over again. I clench my legs together to feel him deep inside, the inner walls of my body reveling at the pressure. I groan out as his hand snakes in front of me, finding my clit and stroking it. I feel it swelling, my cries mingling with his groans as his cock pulses within me.

  I feel a burning in my lungs, this pleasure taking over my ability to think. I only feel, and with each rough grunt and thrust from him I’m getting closer to my release. He has no mercy on me, nor would I ask for it. I want him to keep going, pushing me hard as I grip the headboard, the bed rocking in time with our movements. I squeeze my eyes shut as he leans into me, his chest on my back, our breaths caught in our throats.

  He’s close; I feel him tightening. His fingers continue to rub at me, this time fast and hungry and it sets me off. I tug him in deep as I call out his name and he shakes, groaning out my name so low, deep, and primal. We’re melded together, coming as one, our voices colliding as my aching hands let go of the headboard and we collapse onto the bed. Our sweaty, sensitive bodies grasp one another as our breathing steadies.

  In going over my feelings, I ask myself do I feel…

  Guilt?

  Nope.

  Regret?

  Nope.

  Instead of telling myself I should leave and check on my son, I take a deep breath, let my eyes close, and fall into one of the most peaceful sleeps I’ve ever experienced.

  * * *

  “Good morning,” I hear the sounds of a chipper voice, but my eyes can’t seem to focus as I pry them open.

  My croaky throat can’t produce anything other than a grunt. I blink as this beautiful man wrapped in a thick, plush robe sits beside me on the bed. He holds out a glass of water and I prop myself up, taking it from him and gulping the contents.

  “What time is it?” I ask, trying to spot an alarm clock.

  “Almost ten.” His grin is crooked and his stubble is sexy over that amazing jawline of his. “You looked too peaceful to wake, so I figured I’d get some work done while you…snored.”

  My mouth hangs open. “I don’t snore!”

  He chuckles, dimples deepening the sides of his cheeks. “You have somewhere you need to be today?”

  I inhale, letting my back rest against the headboard. I should say yes. My son is probably wondering where I am. Dean and I have never left him anywhere overnight before.

  “Don’t worry, Vivien. You don’t have to tell me anything about your life. And we don’t have to go anywhere.” His understanding is a breath of fresh air to my tight lungs as he cups my cheek. “You’re married.”

  My eyes widen. I stay silent.

  “I am too,” he exhales. “I recognize who you are. I feel what you feel. I’m there alongside you, fighting for my significant other to see, hear, and understand me.”

  I swallow, my throat constricting. “Sometimes I feel like we’re so different. Too different.”

  He sighs, nodding slowly. His eyes meet mine. “Sometimes differences are good. They can add texture to a marriage. You just have to embrace those differences.”

  I chuckle, impressed with his response. “Are you my therapist?”

  “No,” he laughs along with me. “But I go to one.”

  “Seems like most do.”

  “It must be a fad.” He winks. “You starving? I ordered room service. They’ll be here in a bit.” I nod as he looks me over. I clutch the bedsheet to my body, embarrassment swimming around me.
I still have my garter belt and stockings on. “No need to be shy. I’ve seen every part of your body. You’re so beautiful, and you’re amazing.”

  I feel my face flush. “You are too,” I whisper.

  He leans over to kiss my forehead. “There’s a robe in the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything.”

  After getting over the initial shock of mascara and lipstick smeared all over my face, I take a quick shower, trying to keep my thoughts of home life under control. This is about being in charge of what I want, doing what I need. I can’t let my desires be swept under the carpet like I always do. Everyone’s first, except me. I’m constantly in a state of worry, putting Dean’s and Jake’s necessities over my own. I’m exhausted fighting for my voice to be heard.

  Shuffling of papers fill the air as I walk in and see this beautiful man sitting at the table, hunched over. The idea of him inside me last night makes my stomach plummet all over again, and I feel an urgency to have at him again. Our time is limited, and I need to feel him before heading back to another reality.

  I take my seat across from him at the table and glance over the dishes. I start pulling the silver lids off and see a plate of eggs, bacon, fruit, and toast. My rumbling stomach tells me it’s been too long since I last ate, but nerves had taken over my actions last night. I rip into my food like a ravenous beast. My hands fumble with the butter knife as I slather butter and jam over the triangle of bread. I finish chewing the bacon I had shoved in my mouth like a mad woman.

  I glance up at him and catch his laughing grin. “What? I’m hungry.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. It’s sexy.”

  I smirk and sip on a glass of orange juice. “Sure. Sexy in this terrycloth robe.”

  “Especially in the terrycloth robe, because I know there’s nothing under it but you.” He winks, setting me on edge as I pick up my fork and continue eating my food. He puts his pen down and links his fingers together as he watches me. “So, Vivien, tell me, do you do things like this often?”

  “Eat?” I give a toothy grin in between bites.

  “No,” he laughs. “You know what I mean.”

  I keep my eyes on my dish, playing with the contents. My appetite subsides. “Meet a man in a hotel bar, spend the night with him in his room, and have amazing sex?” He waits for my answer. “No. I’ve never done this before.”

  “My wife and I…we’ve been having a rough patch. I don’t blame you for wanting to get away from everything. I feel that sometimes too.” His voice is steady but sad. “She’s important to me though.”

  “Is she?” I ask, my eyebrow lifting. “Think she’d approve of your behavior last night?”

  His eyes roll as he shakes his head. “No, nor will she approve what I want to do with you right now.”

  “What’s that, exactly?” I instinctively open my legs, wrapping each ankle around the legs of the chair. His sight moves down, and since the table is made of glass, he sees my robe part open, giving him the slightest glimpse of what’s under.

  “You’re deflecting. Obviously you don’t want to hear anything about my wife?”

  “I could do without.” I shrug my shoulders, then run my hands over the collar of my robe, pulling it down.

  I see his breathing pick up, but he attempts to change the subject. “Do you have kids, Viv?”

  The question hits me hard, and tears fill my eyes as I think of my beautiful boy who must be wondering when I’ll be home. “I have a six-year-old. You have kids?”

  He nods. “Do you want more?”

  I give a small smile, “I do, but I’m not sure my husband does.”

  “Did you ask him?” I shake my head. “You can’t know for sure if you don’t ask.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, “Every time I want to, I chicken out because I’m scared he’ll say no, and that’ll break my heart.”

  “He should support your dreams. If you want another child, you need to be honest with him and bring it up. Why do you feel like you can’t talk to him? Do you feel unloved?” he asks sincerely.

  “No. I don’t like to bother him when he comes home tired from work. He’s a good man though.”

  “Then why would you do this?”

  My eyes meet his, and I’m annoyed at his question. “Because I want to feel adored, desired, and beautiful. My husband used to look at me with this fire in his eyes. Like I was the most beautiful girl in the room. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t thrive on it, but I do miss it.” My hands fidget as I think over what I’m saying. I don’t hold back, however, because this is my chance to say what I want without consequence. “He doesn’t look at me the same way.”

  “Maybe he does, you just don’t see it,” he counters.

  I chuckle, “He’s always watching television, on his phone, playing with the boy, fixing something in the house. Our intimate times have gotten shorter. I feel like he doesn’t know me as well. We were lovers and best friends, but lately it feels like we’re roommates going through the motions.” I hesitate before asking, “Why would you do this?”

  “I want more sex.”

  I huff and close my robe and legs, grabbing my fork and stabbing bits of egg and eating. I try not to let my anger boil over.

  “What? I’m being honest,” he states.

  I can’t look at him, irritation starting to churn. “It’s just so typical. Women wanting to be emotionally connected and guys thinking with their dicks. It just all seems so…” I search for the word, waving my fork in the air, “cliché.”

  “My marriage is anything but cliché. I love my wife,” he snaps back.

  My mouth parts and remorse fills me. Not for what we’ve done, but for calling his marriage a stereotype. Plain and simple we aren’t connecting with our spouses.

  “You’ll never divorce her?”

  “Never.” His dark eyes focus on me, and I finish off my breakfast as he continues. “My wife is one of a kind. Her laughter brightens my day. She’s the first one I think of when I wake and the last person I think of before I fall asleep. She’s my all.”

  His words give me chills. I swallow and break the trance of his gaze as I clear my throat and switch subjects. “You work hard,” I say, looking at the paperwork splayed out in front of him. “Do you like your job?”

  He nods and shifts the paperwork over. “It’s alright. Good money.”

  “In what?”

  “Pharmaceutical sales.” I chuckle at him and his crooked grin makes me feel weak. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug. “If you could do anything in the world with anyone you wanted, what would you do and who would you do it with?”

  “As long as I had my family with me, it wouldn’t matter where I was or what I was doing.” His razor sharp answer is straightforward.

  “You know this is free space to say anything. I wouldn’t judge you if you said you wanted to go climb Mount Kilimanjaro with Gisele Bündchen.”

  “Well, that just wouldn’t work at all. I don’t want Tom Brady anywhere near me.” We both laugh, the joke breaking the tension around us. He picks up a piece of pineapple from the fruit cup and pops it in his mouth. “So, what do you actually do, Vivien? Because we both know you’re not a librarian. Do you like your job?”

  “I’m a hooker. I love it,” I deadpan. I don’t want to talk about my job, so I gaze on him with my lids heavy as I part my legs again. My hands dip lower, my robe parting, revealing more of my skin.

  “Good way to sidetrack me,” he says, his eyes trailing my body. “Answer the question.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m a hairdresser. I enjoy it, but I have to listen and give advice to my clients. It can be draining.”

  He nods. His clenched hand uncurls a finger and he makes a gesture. “Open your robe.”

  “You’re so demanding,” I say. I can’t deny that I’m enjoying it. My nerves can’t get the better of me, I’m the one who started this little tease. I slowly let the material hang.

  “You like it,” he growls. He sees my breast
s on full display. They’re perked up, my breathing is hard. “Touch and play with yourself.”

  He keeps an intense glare on me. I feel like I’m on exhibit for him as I stare right back and pinch my nipples, rub and play until they become sensitive like my sensitive center. “You like this?” I ask as my tongue trails over my lips.

  “Get up. Take your robe off.”

  I stand before him and hesitate, glancing over to the window. The light that streams in is unforgiving, and I realize he’ll see every part of me in the daylight. “It’s—”

  “You’re not going to play the shy act right now, take off the fucking robe. I’ve been hard since I woke up this morning and saw you lying beside me. I want inside you.”

  My mouth hangs open, and I feel myself wet at the thought of him fucking me hard and fast. He’s so masculine, the way he takes charge, primal and manly. Before I can begin, he rises and approaches me with grace. His hands move to the belt and he unties it. His palms graze over my breasts and he glides to my shoulders pushing the robe off me, his dark eyes never leaving mine.

  “You’re beautiful. Every bit of you,” he says in a whisper, as he feels the weight of my breasts in his palms and gives them a squeeze. The gliding of his eyes over every inch of me makes me shudder. When he lands his lips in the space between my shoulder and neck, I lean into him, my body melding against his.

  He slows his kisses, peppering them over my neck, behind my ear, to my lips, and lets his tongue tangle with mine. There’s no shame, no hesitation to take what he wants, and I should be the same. I become resolute to take my pleasure, and I won’t apologize for it. I push my hands through his hair as he takes his time sucking on each breast, my knees going weak from the stimulation.

  In a swift motion, his robe is off, and he’s grabbing me from my waist, sitting me on the table. I gasp at the feeling of the cold glass on my skin as I open my legs and allow him close to me. We ravage each other with our mouths. I reach between us, grabbing his shaft and stroking it. It’s like steel encased in velvet.