Page 45 of The Denver Alpha

“Who, you?” she fires back, silver flecks igniting in her irises. “You wanna punish me, Sarge? Show me who’s boss?”

I lunge toward her over the gearshift, wrapping a hand around her throat and drawing her face close to mine. “You’re damn right I do.”

Juliet draws ragged breaths, her face inches from mine, her eyes searching my own for a long moment. Then her lips part to speak, her tongue darting out to wet them before she says, “Then do it.”

I release her throat in surprise, rocking back into my seat and staring at her in disbelief.

She can’t mean that, can she?

Then again, I saw the surrender in her eyes that night in the office at the club. I felt the way she gave herself over the first time I kissed her, and again the second. She may be all alpha female, but that doesn’t mean she’s above submission, if the circumstances are right.

Or is she just fucking with me right now?

Is this another one of her games?

I decide to call her bluff, reaching down and hitting the buckle of my seatbelt to unfasten it. “Come on, then.”

Getting out of the car, I don’t pause to find out if she’s going to follow. I just push the door closed behind me, walking away and heading for the elevator.

For a second, I don’t think she’s going to take the bait.

And then I hear the car door slam.

I hear her footsteps, quick against the pavement as she rushes to catch up with me.

I grin inwardly as I approach the elevator and press the button, waiting for the car to arrive on my floor. The door slides open and I step in, and just before it closes again, Juliet darts inside to join me, her breathing labored.

The elevator door closes and the car starts to ascend in silence. Only then do I hazard a glance her way, finding her staring back at me.

“Where are we?” Juliet asks.

“My office.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “I thought your office was at the packhouse?”

“I can’t exactly have outsiders coming onto pack land, so I have to have another one here.”

She nods slowly, turning away to stare at her distorted reflection in the metallic elevator door.

She looks nervous.

She’s wringing her hands in front of her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. They’re subtle tells, but tells nonetheless. It strikes me as odd that the ever-confident Juliet would be nervous, and I watch her carefully, trying to decide whether I’m taking things too far. Whether I should put a stop to this before it escalates any further.

Even as I consider it, though, I know I’m not going to. I’ll push her as far as she’ll let me, and I’ll enjoy every fucking second.

The elevator dings for the twelfth floor and the door slides open to a small but tastefully appointed lobby. It’s a ghost town because I’m not here often enough to warrant keeping the place staffed, though I almost prefer it that way. As the leader of a pack, there aren’t many places I can go to chase solitude.

Juliet and I step out of the elevator in tandem, and I can feel the nervous anticipation radiating off her as she looks around to take it all in before we head down the hall to my large corner office. It’s sparsely decorated, but it doesn’t need much- not with the view from the big windows that overlook the city below. Juliet heads right for them to check it out when we enter while I close the door behind us, enjoying my own view of her tight ass in those little denim shorts of hers.

I click the lock on the door handle and Juliet spins around to face me when she hears it, her throat working with a hard swallow. Then a heavy, tense silence descends upon us as we stare at one another from across the room in expectation.

I break the silence with a simple command: “Strip.”

I hear Juliet’s sharp intake of breath, see her pupils flare. Maybe she’s not nervous after all- maybe I’m mistaking her nerves for excitement. And if that’s the case… fuck, then things are about to get interesting.

Juliet takes a step forward, her eyes trained on mine as her hands drop to the hem of her t-shirt. In one fluid motion, she pulls it off over her head, revealing a lacy white bra that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her tits spill out over the top of the cups, her dusky pink nipples visible through the thin fabric. I’m instantly hard, and that’s before she even pops the button on her jean shorts and shimmies them down her hips, stepping out of them in a lacy white thong that matches her bra.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, eyes roaming every inch of exposed skin. Her body is exquisite, like it was chiseled by the gods themselves in their own image.

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