Page 33 of Alpha Power

"It's a long story."

"I like long stories," she replied quickly.

Luther chuckled, gliding across the room until he came to a stop directly in front of her. He slowly raised a hand, giving her plenty of time to back away if she wanted to. When she didn't, he lightly ran his fingers over the claw marks around her throat.

Her breath hitched, his light touch igniting an inferno in her belly. How could one innocent touch cause such a reaction?

His dark eyes watched as his fingers traced the curve of her neck, up her jawline and across her cheek. He brushed his thumb lightly over her bottom lip. "So soft," he murmured, mesmerised.

When she opened her mouth to respond, his lips were on hers, hard and full of yearning. His tongue dipped into her mouth. His taste exploded all over her senses.

Sandalwood. Tobacco. Vanilla and scotch.

A moan of pleasure immediately escaped her lips at the feel of his mouth on hers.

His hand moved to grip the back of her neck, the dominant gesture sending a tingle down her spine. He pressed his body against hers as their tongues moved with unrefined passion. It went from 0 to 100 really, really quickly and Zamorra loved it.

Her body heated, pure unadulterated lust consuming her entire soul.

When his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, her eyes snapped open in surprise.

Luther's eyes blazed red, his breathing heavy as he looked down at her. "I've been wanting to do that since the first time I laid eyes on you."

Zamorra couldn't think. Her body was vibrating with excitement and desire. She had been kissed before, but never like that. She had felt that kiss over every inch of her body, like a lover's caress.

He lowered his head and nipped at her lips again. "Open."

She didn't hesitate. She parted her lips, her whole body tingling as his mouth claimed hers again.

"Oh my!" A feminine voice shrieked.

Zamorra stilled and pulled back. Luther still had an iron-clad grip on her nape, limiting her movement. A low growl escaped his lips as he stood to his full height and scanned the room.

Margaret was standing in the hallway, a tray of glasses in her hand and a shocked expression on her face. "My apologies, my Lord." She bowed her head slightly. "Your Elites are ready and awaiting your arrival." She slowly began to back out until she disappeared back around the corner.

Luther tsked, his thumb rubbing small circles into the crook of her neck. She wasn't even sure if he knew he was doing it. But she liked it. A lot. Based on the feelings of euphoria her werewolf was sending her way, she liked it too.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before he looked down at her. His lips curved up into a seductive smirk. "We'll continue this later." He stepped back, releasing his hold on her neck. He straightened his tie, something she noticed he did quite a lot, like he always needed to look good and put together. He inclined his head towards the conference room. "Let's go, Little Alpha."

Zamorra watched him walk away, her brain a puddle of jello. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her erratic heartbeat. "What the fuck just happened?"

Zamorra stared at her reflection, her blue eyes tracing the fabric clinging to her body. She had originally chosen this outfit - a sleek, red pantsuit with an intricate black lace bodice - because it was the only thing she could find that would give her the freedom to fight if the situation called for it and looked nice enough to wear into a club. Now, she was rethinking it.

Having to wear the plain, black clothing Luther provided for days on end made her feel like what she was wearing now was scandalous. When really, nearly every inch of her skin was covered.

Her long, silver hair was left free to flow down her back. She kept her make-up minimal: simple black eyeliner, red lipstick to match her outfit, and blush. She wore a pair of plain silver earrings in her ears and a black choker around her neck.

We look so . . . girly,her werewolf said, scrunching up her nose.

Zamorra laughed. She could tell her werewolf was not impressed. Usually when she went out to a club, she just wore jeans and a t-shirt. She had no one to impress and she had learned over the years not to draw attention to herself. But Zamorra knew that if she wanted someone to talk to her about a secret drug making its way through the supernatural community, she would need to look the part. A woman, just out looking for a good time and a little something to take the edge off.

There was a knock on her bathroom door, then it promptly opened, Margaret appearing in the doorway.

"You know, you're meant to wait to be acknowledged before coming in," Zamorra said, narrowing her eyes at the old woman.

Margaret waved a hand through the air. "Nonsense. Be lucky I even knocked." She breezed into the small space, eyes scrutinising every detail on Zamorra's body. After a few seconds she gave an approving nod. "You look perfect. He'll love it."

"What? Who?" Zamorra asked, quickly.

---