Page 11 of Feral Alphas

Despite my bad mood, I smile at her gentle teasing. It’s no secret a resting scowl face is my trademark. “This is our case, Fel,” I say firmly, watching Liam’s wide shoulders weave around the desks.

“Damn right it is, boss.” She meets my gaze with a fiery look in her eye. We’re both overdue for a big case like this, and no senior special agent fucker is going to spoil that for us.

My key jams in the lock as I turn it and a curse slips between my roughened lips. Damn old house is falling apart. I make a mentalnote to get the metal oil out and spray it as I jiggle the caught key until it releases, and my front door opens.

Stepping inside, my breath catches, as it always does as I look down at the man kneeling in the foyer. My gaze slides down his naked body to the big hands resting flat on his knees, the knuckles tattooed black. Thick black bands of ink wrap around his arms an inch below both elbows before turning into blocky lines that weave across his upper arms like living art, covering over the gang marks from a past life that still haunts him.

Tattoos aside, Luka himself is a work of art. His wavy blond hair rests on his shoulders, the ends brushing against the wing tatts circling his throat. I know every scar, every curve of his bicep, and the sandpaper scratch of his five o’clock shadow. And there between his knees is that delicious cock, already jutting out with excitement and proudly displaying the silver glitter of his Prince Albert piercing.

This familiar moment of silence helps me shift gears from work to home, and I suck in a fresh breath. “Hello, Luka. Have you been good today?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You didn’t touch yourself?”

“I did, but I didn’t come,” he admits, not meeting my gaze.

I drop my satchel on the side table and cross the small space to stroke his hair, part of the routine we thrive on. “Hmm, well, I’ll let that slide today. House looks great and is that bread I smell?”

“Yes, I made sourdough.”

My mouth waters as I offer him my hand. We might be poor, but I’m fucking spoiled by my sub even though he sometimes forgets to look after himself. “Did you drink all your water today?”

He hesitates, and then that blonde mop of hair shakes back and forth. “No, Sir.”

“Show me,” I growl.

He leads the way into the kitchen where his water bottle sits on the island bench with less than an inch left in the bottom, a clearly contrived rebellion against our agreement. I swallow down a chuckle and click my tongue. “Are you trying to be a brat?”

“No, Sir.” Despite the words, those light blue eyes flick toward me under his lashes, judging my response.

I unholster my gun and lock it away in the cabinet drawer before I speak again. “Do we have an agreement that you’ll drink all your water every day?”

“Yes, we do.”

I shake my head. Strangely enough, I never asked to be his dom. It was Luka who discovered this lifestyle as a way to fend off his anxiety, and I’d do anything he asked me. I’m sure he’s the only being, man or woman, who can handle all of me.

“Pass me the hair tie, Luka.”

His cock jumps as he slips the signal of his willingness off his wrist and passes it over.

I guide him onto the bar stool and take my time finger-combing his hair back into a ponytail. Although I’m home and Luka’s so fuckingly, beautifully distracting, I still can’t get that asshole from work off my mind.

Well, taking care of Luka properly is about to drive every other thought away.

As I tie off the hair band, I pick up the water bottle. “You know I have to do something about this, Luka.”

He nods, trying not to look eager, and failing. I tilt the bottle to my lips and fill my mouth before kicking over the bar stool and turning him so I can trap him against the bench. I pry open his mouth and tilt his head back so I can seal our lips together and pass him the water.

He squirms, resisting me for a moment, and I wrap my hand around his throat. “Swallow,” I order.

He shivers and obeys. Three more times I make him drink from my mouth until the bottle’s empty, and then I throw it across the kitchen into the sink with enough force to make a loud clatter. He jumps.

“If you dehydrate and get sick, what happens to me?” I ask.

He hangs his head. “Sorry, Sir.”

“That’s not good enough! Bend over the table.” I draw back to let him escape me. I should take him to the bedroom and go over him inch by inch, but I’m impatient and irritated today, and Luka’s so horny for me he’s vibrating.

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