Page 156 of Ruled By The Alpha

Samson cleared his throat. “Where’d you go?”

“Outside.” Glancing at him, she tucked a stray hair behind her ear and turned back toward the fire, shifting pots and pans around on the hearth. “Are you in pain? Hungry? Would you like some eggs?”

His stomach growled an answer. Food sounded pretty damn good, but cooking would keep her on the other side of the room, and for his plan to work, he needed her much, much closer.

He cleared his throat. “I need your help with something first.”

Chin dipped, her eyes swept over his blanketed form. Well-aware, the contour of his engorged sex jutted up, its highly visible outline twitching in greeting, liking the feel of her eyes on him.

Rosemary’s cheeks deepened in color, indicating she hadn’t missed the movement. Samson bit his lip, working hard to maintain his mask of innocence. This mission presented a much more delicate endeavor than his usual offers ofhey, wanna fuck?to the Omegas in his Pack. Those women knew the score; Rosemary didn’t. He needed to tread carefully.

“Are…” Her voice, hoarse and throaty, betrayed her. “Are you in pain?”

“I have…” His lips curled despite his best effort to suppress a smirk. “…an itch.”

Her head cocked to the side, suspicion touching those dark eyes, “An itch?”

“Uh-huh.” He grimaced and made a show of wriggling his back. “Can’t reach it, and it’s driving me crazy.” He shot her an imploring look. “Can you help, please?”

Chapter 5

Rosemary

She ought to have stayed outside and far, far away from this intriguing, troublemaking man—or troublemakingAlpha. Whatever he was. The things he’d spoken about were too preposterous to be real, and yet his presentation had been too earnest for her to outright dismiss. She’d asked questions until her eyelids refused to remain open, and then fell dead asleep with the man’s deeppurrrumbling like a lullaby in her ears.

According to this man, that made her an Omega. Embarrassment kept her from asking if being an Omega had anything to do with waking up in a pile of soggy bedclothes. As she’d slept, wetness had pooled between her legs, drenching her nightgown and the covers to the point where she thought she’d wet her bed like a child. Only it was neither menstrual blood nor urine she’d woken up in. Something else, watery and slippery and fragrant, had spilled from her secret, private place. Even worse, her sex had grown swollen and plump, quivering with an uncomfortable mix of sensitivity and ache.

The feeling wasn’t entirely mysterious. She’d read every book Papa had brought to their home—fiction and nonfiction, scientific and literary—and understood sex in theory. Sexual longing and curiosity weren’t unfamiliar to her, either, but this was different. This was heightened andspecificin a way her responses had never manifested before. Her body called out, not just for touch and relief, but forhistouch. The touch of an Alphawhose name she still didn’t know, yet whose body beckoned her closer, like a bee to a flower.

“What itch?” she asked skeptically, her eyes carefully trained on his face as her feet carried her to his bedside.

“My shoulder.” He lifted the offending body part, the far shoulder that would require she reach across his chest in order to help.

Rosemary scowled even as her hand darted out to give a perfunctory scratch on the muscled contour before pulling back as if she’d touched a hot iron. His lip tipped up at the corner with a conciliatory grimace.

“Theunderside,” he said. Fighting against the restraints, he pitched the shoulder up a few inches. “Please,” he added as an afterthought, the single word sounding much more like a taunt than a request.

Rosemary hesitated. In order to satisfy him, she’d have to brace herself with one hand on the headboard and snake the other underneath the smooth, carved surface of his body. She eyed the meaty joint with suspicion, sliding her cautious gaze upward until it caught on the glimmering hues of his eyes. Something shifted in their depths, something vital and fiery that sent excited tendrils over her chest and up her neck.

“Or you could just release me.” The soft purr he added to the wordreleaseturned her knees to jelly.

“I can’t do that…” she whispered, her uncertainty plain.

As she watched, his pink tongue slipped out to moisten his wide, plump lips. “Samson,” he said, voice rough and growly.

Rosemary blinked, her mind racing to catch up to what he’d said while her body busied itself replaying the glimpse of his pink tongue. Between her heated face and her jellied knees, that quick swipe had fresh liquid brewing between her legs. A drop ventured down her thigh, its slow meander a tease in its own right.

His nostrils flared, but he held her gaze, “If you’re going to refuse, don’t you think you should at least say my name? You know, to soften the blow?”

Rosemary edged closer, not entirely sure what she was going to do. “Who said I was going to refuse?”

He cocked a challenging brow. “You’re obviously afraid. I don’t know why; I’m very neatly secured here.” He glanced down at his restrained body. “Admirable work, really. Just wish I knew what the endgame was.”

He was taunting her. Tempting her to expose her plans for him via provocation. Rosemary gnawed her lip. Little did he know she had no plan.Noneof this was planned.

Or maybe he did know, hence the conniving.

Samson.

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