Page 48 of In Control

“You can fuck me too, Alpha.” I push my hips against him, feeling the hard bulge in the front of his trousers.

He doesn’t answer me. Instead, his hands trace over my hips and down my thighs.

“This silly little skirt isn't appropriate for my office, Sophia. It’s too fucking short.” His hands reach the hem. It’s not short, it reaches down to my knees. “All the way through that meeting, all I could think about, all I wanted to do, was glide my hands up under your skirt,” his hand dips under the hem, resting on the inside of my thigh, “and touch you,” he growls.

I bite my lip and he strokes his hand slowly up my thigh, halting at my underwear.

“All I could think about was what you’d be wearing under this silly skirt. What silly little pair of knickers I’d find. Let me see.”

He hooks his finger into the waist of my underwear and creeps them down, down my thighs, over my knees, and down my calves. He follows my underwear down, crouching and then kneeling in front of me.

“Lift your foot, sweetheart.” I do, stepping first one foot, then the other out of my underwear, my pulse racing all the time.

The door of his office is unlocked. Anyone could walk in on us right now.

He takes my knickers in his fist and stares down at the lacy black pair. He scoffs. “Fucking ridiculous.” And then he brings them up to his nose and inhales.

I doubt there’s anything to smell. I’m no omega. I don’t have that sweet-smelling slick alphas go mad for. And yet he grunts when he inhales like there’s something there he likes.

His eyes flick up to mine and he stands, stuffing the pair of knickers into his trouser pocket, and I take a fistful of his shirt and attempt to drag him towards me.

He doesn’t move and a sinister smile forms on his lips. He takes my fist in his hands and yanks it from his shirt.

“Don’t fuck him anymore and don’t come to this department dressed in these silly little outfits of yours.”

He drops my hand and strides back to his desk, leaving me leaning against the bookcase, panting, and without any fucking underwear.

“What the hell?” I spit.

“Thank you for your time, Ms Valentine,” he says, lowering himself onto his chair and gesturing towards the door as if to tell me I’m dismissed.

I march over to his desk and slam my hands on the surface making the piles of paper there leap into the air.

“Give me back my underwear,” I hiss, conscious of ears in the office next door or out in the corridor.

“No.”

“What the fuck are you even going to do with them?!” He smirks at me and a number of dirty images swim into my mind. “You’re a pervert.”

“Maybe I am. And you are a tease.”

MaybeIam. Maybe I do spend a little more time hovering in front of my wardrobe and in front of my mirror these days. Maybe I want him to notice me and to regret what he is missing.

But I don’t take orders. I’m done with those kinds of games now. I’m in control. I’m nobody's baby and he certainly isn’t my daddy. He doesn’t get to say what I can and can’t wear.

“Professor,” I tell him, leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest. “You just made things a whole lot worse for yourself, because now every outfit I wear to this department will be designed with the specific intention of torturing you.”

I spin and storm out of his office.

This is fucked up. I’m on the verge of ending things with a man I like because of this alpha. And now he’s playing games like this with me too.

No way. He doesn’t get to call the shots.

No one gets to tell me what to do.

I’m going on that date with Liam and Gabriel.

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