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Alpha’s Sun (Bad Boy Alphas #13)
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This pretty little hippie human is driving me crazy. Two years ago, I had her beneath me, howling my name, until she left.
Big deal. Females have always been my bane.
I would do anything to get her off my mind.
Erase her face from my memory.
Her scent from my nose.
But she lingers.
Taunting me. Tugging at me. Driving me insane.
When I see her again in New Mexico, my wolf wants me to claim her. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let her distract me from pack business again.
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“You’re so hard.”
Titus grunts under me. His big body splays out on my massage table, his face hidden, resting on rigid biceps. I’ve been kneading his shoulders for a half an hour and he hasn’t relaxed once. If anything, he’s gotten more tense.
I run a hand over the breathtaking expanse of his back, tracing the black vines of his tribal tattoos, scratching lightly. A breath rattles out of him, half growl and half something softer, gentle. A purr.
“You can turn over now,” I suggest delicately, and hold up the towel to help him turn with modesty. I never sneak a peek with clients, but with Titus, I can’t stop myself. The solid curve of his buttocks, the ridge of his hip, the barest glimpse of something fat and long nestled in a base of wiry hair—
He flops on his back and the source of his tension becomes clear.
“My. You are hard.” He’s either erected a flagpole between his legs under the towel, or he has the most massive erection I’ve ever seen. He’s been lying on that all this time? No wonder he’s uncomfortable.
I lick my lips, staring at the tented towel. I should start rubbing his legs—kneading the powerful thighs, working my palm into the ridge above his knee, but there’s no point. Not with that marvelous cock saluting the sky. He won’t relax until someone takes the edge off his arousal.
That someone is me. Hurrah!
I pull a stretchy bracelet off my wrist and tie back my hair. I’ve already removed my boho shawl, baring my arms and freckled cleavage in my spaghetti-strapped top.
“Let me make you more comfortable,” I murmur and reach under the skimpy towel. Sweet goddess above, he is a handful. I grip the pulsing base with one hand and whip off the covering with the other. His flared crown is leaking and I swipe my tongue to taste him—
A fierce growl and Titus knifes up, catching my chin. “You do this for all your clients?” His normally gray eyes blaze bright, bright blue, clashing with the orange and red in the corona around his head.
His aura really is amazing. The passion, the heat—flames crackling with heat—so intense—
I blink. He’s talking to me. Asking me something. Something important… because the red means—
“You’re angry,” I breathe, awed by the shimmering sunset colors.
He growls again but his hand on my jaw is gentle. He’s so big and powerful, he could break me without a thought. He doesn’t, though. He’s infinitely gentle, wincing when my table creaks under his massive, muscular bulk. He spent the whole afternoon under my bus, banging wrenches and snarling curses until the motor purred like a kitten. The massage was meant to be a thank-you. I knew we had chemistry… but I never realized how much.
“Answer me,” he orders. So bossy. “Do you give all your clients blowjobs?”
I color a little. I believe in free love, but if another man said what he’s implying, I’d slap him. Instead, I raise a brow. “Do you get erect whenever you get a massage?”
His chest rises and falls, his breath blowing back the loose tendrils of hair around my face. In a minute he’s going to blow. So much anger. I’m not frightened by it. No. What would that amount of passion be like in bed?
“No,” he snarls.
I cross my arms over my chest to show him I won’t be bullied. His eyes drop to my breasts, soft and clearly outlined under my light tank top.
Titus gives me a look so wild and desperate I take pity on him. “I don’t give my clients blowjobs. Not even ones who help me when my bus breaks down.” Or protect me when some bad shit is going down with my daughter. I touch his rigid thigh and the giant muscle jumps under my small hand. “This is for you, Titus. Only for you.”
The light around his head flares bright gold.
“Mine,” he rumbles in a voice so deep, I barely make out the word. Before I can protest, he’s on me. His giant hand slides under my tank top, over my flat stomach to cup my loose breast.
“No bra. I knew it.”
“I never wear bras,” I inform him. “Or panties.”
He makes a helpless noise and drops to his knees on the floor. His large hands flip up my flowy skirt before he leans in, presses his face to my bare pussy and inhales. Oh my goddess. I lean back on the table, my legs too weak to hold me up.
“Quiet.” His left hand, still under my tank, squeezes my breast hard. “I’ve had just about enough of you prancing around, flaunting your tight little bod—fuck!” The fingers of his right hand glide into my sopping pussy. “How are you so tight?”
“Yoga,” I gasp. “Lots of yoga.”
“I mean here,” he rumbles, finger-fucking me. “Pussy squeezing me like it’s gonna snap off my fingers. Fuck!”