Page 133 of Never Submit

“So you think just because I don’t fall at your feet I’m staid?” I ask slowly.

She shrugs, a perpetual brat. “If the tie fits.”

And I hear it. Loud. In my head, the snap—and my body floods with a savage energy.

“That’s ‘if the tie fits,sir’,” I reprimand, but my voice is full of iron will, and Ren goes utterly still.

Her eyes are big, her hair tousled, and her skin flushed. Just because I’m not interested in having her, beyond perhaps a stress relieving fuck, she needs to learn I’m not to be messed with.

She needs to understand just how fucking dangerous I am, and know her place in this pack. I’m the alpha for a reason.

“Want to know why I wear suits, beyond liking them?” Iask, my voice controlled.

Her lashes flutter. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” I correct her. “I wear them to remind myself to keep the beast in. The buttons stop me from ripping out throats. Are you offering me yours?” I purposely sniff and lower my face, level with her delicate neck. “Or something far more delicious?”

She half takes a step towards me but stops herself, biting her lip. “I?—”

“Let’s test it, shall we?”Stop, please. But the sensation in my cock drowns out the softer voice of logic.

“Test what?” she asks.

“You. You address me assirwhen we’re together. Without insolence, without jest, and because you know your place when you happen to be in a room with me. You got that, Ms. Wexler?”

“Maybe.” Ren tilts her head to mirror me. “Sir.”

I smile, showing teeth. That’s more like it. The energy crackles between us as I crook a finger. “Come here.”

She’s about to take a step and I shake my head with a tsk. “No. Properly. Correctly.”

“I don’t?—”

“On your hands and knees.”

Ren’s eyes bulge. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Oh, I’m enjoying this. “Hands and knees, Ms. Wexler. Now.”

Still, she hesitates, so I let a rough, threatening growl rumble in my throat. Her wolf must recognize the alpha within me in some way, because she drops to the floor and blinks in surprise, like she’s not sure how she got down there in the first place.

“Perfect.”

This is a sight for the ages. Renee in asundress and hoodie, glaring up at me, her pretty mouth swollen and her cheeks colored.

“Can I get up now?” she asks.

“Sir.”

She grimaces, grumbling under her breath, then says, “Sir.”

“No, Ms. Wexler. Crawl.” I perch on the edge of my desk, my arms crossed over my chest.

“Fuck you. I’m not crawling!”

“You’re going to crawl, or you’re going to learn the consequences of not obeying me.”

She doesn’t move. I practically read every thought, written on her face. She thinks I’m a sadist. That I’m screwing with her for no reason. Yet she wants to please me on some level.

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