Page 3 of In Control

He’s an alpha. He’s used to getting his way, to having his orders obeyed.

In any other situation, it would piss me off. I’m not some pushover, some little girl to be bossed about by men.

But in this situation, I’m more than happy to play along.

He takes a grip of my hand and walks us across the dimly lit foyer to a door marked PRIVATE.

I guess I should be thankful he didn’t try to rut me right there against the bar. Then again …

The door snaps open as he leans his heavy shoulder against it and he drags me along behind him as we enter a pitch-black room. No window. No light.

I want to protest, but then he’s pushing me up against the cool wall, my head knocking against the smooth plaster.

With his alpha vision, I assume he can see in this darkness because he finds my ear and whispers, “Such a pretty thing.” His hands glide over the silk of my dress, caresses the curve of my waist and my hips. “And this dress.”

“You’re quite pretty yourself,” I tease.

He snorts, his hand travelling down the outside of my thigh until he discovers the slit in my dress. He growls.

A noise that, now it’s directed at me, has my core spinning.

“I’m not pretty, little one. I’m not careful. I’m not gentle.”

“What are you then?”

His hand slips inside my dress, his knuckles rubbing against the inside of my thigh. Higher and higher until he finds the gusset of my thong. His thumb skates against my mound.

“Dirty,” he growls.

I whimper as his thumb skates along the lips of my sex, the thin material doing nothing to mask the sensation.

“I-I-I like dirty.” I take a hold of the lapel of his dinner jacket, yanking him closer, feeling the hard outline of him against my belly. “I like bad and rough and dangerous.”

He chuckles. “I worked that much out.”

He withdraws his hand and I swear at him under my breath.

But he’s not backing away; he shifts his thigh between mine, giving me friction where I need it and, clasping my chin between his fingers, lifts my face so he can claim my mouth.

He kisses me hard, the back of my head pressed against the wall, the fingers at my chin leaving to tangle in my loose hair and his other hand squeezing my tit through the dress.

My nipple hardens against his touch, and there’s that growl again, rumbling through our kiss.

Then he’s slipping the spaghetti straps of my dress down my shoulders and shimmying the whole thing down my body, letting it pool at my feet.

He breaks our kiss, leaning back to look down at me, dressed only in my thong and my heels.

When he dives back in to kiss me, it’s more wild, more desperate. His tongue sweeps through my mouth, his teeth drag against my lips, and his fingers tug in my hair.

I’ve never been with an alpha before. But I know the stories. I’ve seen the pictures. I know he’ll be big and girthy. I know he has a knot that would rip me open if he tried to lock into my unprepared cunt.

But although I should feel caution, I don’t. I feel only need and want and–

“Wet for me, little one?” he asks, his finger skating through my folds and finding my hole.

“Yes,” I gasp. “So wet.”

“No, sweetheart.” His fingers swim back to the apex of my folds, hitting my clit. “Need you really wet to take me.”

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