DIRTY ALPHAS: The Alpha Bad Boy Collection

by Franca Storm

  “Fuck you, Damon!”

  Hmm…classy. “You’re welcome for your mind-blowing orgasm, by the way!” I call out after her, unable to resist having the last word.

  She blows out an angry breath and I watch her tight little ass bouncing with every step, her skirt so short that I can see the tops of those delicious stockings of hers. I smile with amusement as she slams the door behind her.

  It’s amazing how women like her can still think it’s their right to be all self-righteous and pissed off even after I lay down the law for them before I even touch them. But, hey, it’s easier to blame the guy, than themselves, right? Well, screw that. Every time a woman reacts like her, it just reinforces my rule of never getting too close. Who needs all that bullshit? Not me, that’s for damned sure.

  I sigh and fix my black dress pants. I look down at my crisp white shirt that now has What’s-Her-Name’s neon pink lipstick marks all over it. Shit, if I was really an asshole, I would bill her for the couple of hundred bucks that a new one will cost. I cross to the closet on the wall opposite my desk where I always keep a few spare suits. A necessity, because there have been several times when I’ve crashed here in my office after a long-ass eighteen hour day at the club.

  I’ve got my fingers in a lot of pies and Pillow Talk—my high-end club is just one of them. As my newest acquisition, it’s taking up most of my time right now. Another six months and it’ll be good to go and I’ll finally be able to leave my hand-picked managers to run it. Any other owner probably would’ve handed it off by now, but not me. I can’t afford to risk it by relinquishing control too early. I know my staff thinks I’m a micro-manager and damn right I am. It’s the only way to ensure that things are done right.

  Opening the cupboard, I reach for another Armani shirt; this one, a silky black. I shed the one that What’s-Her-Name ruined with her cheap lipstick. As I shrug it on over my shoulders, the intercom on my glass-top desk sounds.

  “Boss, I got a Miss Smith out here demanding to speak with you.”

  “Smith?” I murmur to myself. I stub the answer button and bark at Jack, my Head of Security, “Who?”

  “Julie Smith, boss,” he says as if it’s supposed to mean something to me. Well, it doesn’t.

  “Tell her my cock’s not available right now.”

  There’s a brief pause where I know he’s relaying my words to whoever Miss Smith is.

  “Uh…she says…uh…” he struggles.

  “She says what?” I demand.

  “She says she’s not here to blow you and that you wouldn’t be able to handle her anyway.”

  Mmm…feisty. I like that. “Send her in.” Let’s see how ballsy she is when she comes face-to-face with me.

  They all think they’re tough, that they’re gonna stand up to me and maintain their good girl image. But they always cave. Every single one of them spreads their legs for me in the end.

  And so will this one.

  I button my shirt at the middle, not bothering with the rest, as I sink into my leather chair and lean back comfortably.

  A second later Miss Smith walks through the door.

  Fuck me.

  It’s her.

  Miss Smith is nothing but an alias.

  Wow. Having only ever seen her from a distance before, I’m stunned now that she’s actually standing in front of me, only a few feet away. She’s gorgeous. Her thick golden hair catches the light and glitters. Her eyes, a striking shade of blue, scan the room quickly, carefully sweeping over every detail. And her lips? So full, so perfect. I’d love to have those wrapped around my cock.

  She’s wearing a leather jacket that hugs her tight body in all the right ways. I note the two empty holsters strapped to her black cargo pants. Did security frisk her, or did she come here unarmed?

  She shuts the door behind her and strolls on in like she owns the place. Her eyes rake over me, drinking me in slowly. I see her lip curl up appreciatively. And then she slaps her palms down on my desk and tells me, “You need to come with me, asshole.”

  “And where are you gonna take me?” I ask coyly.

  She doesn’t react to the sexual subtext in my comment at all.

  “Somewhere safe,” she responds, all business.

  I smile with amusement and leave my chair, rounding my desk and approaching her. “And why would the woman who’s been contracted to kill me want to keep me safe?”

  I step into her personal space, but she doesn’t move a muscle. She stands there meeting my challenge and glowering up at me.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” she says. “Yet,” she adds, her eyes flashing with a darkness I understand all too well.

  I step back and look her up and down, making no pretense that I am indeed eye-fucking her on the spot.

  She isn’t the least bit intimidated.

  Not like the others.

  Interesting.

  I reach out and finger the collar of her leather jacket, part of which is turned inward. As I fix it, my fingers brush the soft skin of her neck. I feel her body stiffen at my unexpected touch, but she doesn’t move away, doesn’t even break her gaze. Of course she doesn’t. We’re from the same world. She knows that if she backs down, control will be mine. The power will be mine.

  I decide to push her further and I lean into her. I whisper softly in her ear, “Alana Halton. Contract killer and the hell bitch of the city.” She tenses again, at the sound of her real name on my lips. Very few people know her identity so I can imagine how anxious I must be making her right now.

  But I’m just getting started. I know this girl. She thinks she has the upper hand. I’m about to show her that she couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not like the people she’s used to dealing with. I graze her earlobe with my teeth. “Tell me something, Miss Halton. Why would someone like you choose to spare me? Everyone knows your reputation. Mercy isn’t a part of it.”

  She places her hands on my chest. Seeing as though my shirt is only buttoned at the middle, she touches my bare skin. I swallow hard as she flicks my right nipple between her fingers. Fuck, her touch is electric. I feel my cock stir. Christ.

  She stretches onto her tiptoes and tells me in a seductive whisper, “And everyone knows your rep, Damon.”

  Before I can utter a response, she pushes me back roughly with both hands. The surprising power behind it causes me to stumble back.

  “You know who hired me?” she demands, shifting her weight and folding her arms across her chest.

  “Of course. There isn’t anything that happens in this city without me knowing about it, Miss Halton.”

  “Then you know Robert Cartwright is a dangerous man.”

  “And you are fucking stupid.”

  “What?” she fumes, taking a threatening step towards me.

  “Refusing to do as he asks is like signing your own death sentence.”

  “I don’t kill innocents.”

  I scoff. “You think I’m an innocent?”

  I see the frustration on her face. She clearly detests small talk. Very impatient indeed. But, then again, she is young. A lot younger than me.

  “Just pack your shit and come with me,” she orders. “Or, we can do this the hard way.”

  The hard way? Mmm. “And that would be?”

  She pulls a tiny remote from her jacket pocket and tells me, “I’ve rigged explosives throughout your club. One push of a button and I’ll level this place. Or you come with me quietly. Your choice, Damon.”

  I hear the very real threat in her words. But all I can focus on is the way my name sounds on her lips. The slight gravelly tone of her voice is such a turn on. I’d love to hear her screaming my name under different circumstances. Yes, Damon! Fuck me, Damon! Damon, I’m gonna come! Mmm…amazing.

  “Did you hear me?” she snaps.

  “Yes, I heard you, Miss. Halton.”

  “Alana,” she commands. “Just call me Alana, for fuck’s sake.”

  I grin. “I’ll think about it.”

  She rol
ls her eyes and draws in a breath, trying to calm herself. “Tell your people you’ll be working from home for the next few days. That’s all we’ll need. By then I’ll have Cartwright’s location and I’ll take care of everything and you can go back to your debauched, rich playboy lifestyle. Okay?”

  What? She’s planning to go after Cartwright? That’s her brilliant plan? Damn, she’s cockier than I’d thought. Sure she’s good at what she does, but Cartwright is in another league altogether.

  I can’t let her do this.

  I’ll play along for now until she gets the asshole’s location. And then I’ll take over from there.

  “Fine,” I agree. “I need to stop by my condo first.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t—”

  I grip her jacket and jerk her towards me. “Non-negotiable,” I growl.

  Pissed, she pulls herself out of my grip and mutters, “Fine. But make it quick, pretty boy. You don’t need to get doled up for this. We’re just going into hiding. Your adoring public won’t be anywhere near where we’ll be.”

  “Pretty boy, huh? So you like what you see?” I tease, wanting to gauge her reaction. God, this girl is so much fun to mess with. I can’t seem to help myself.

  She scoffs. “I don’t usually hear that line until a guy pulls his cock out.”

  I reach for my belt. “Happy to oblige, Miss Halton.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t embarrass yourself,” she says harshly. “You’re not my type.”

  Ouch. “Of course. It slipped my mind. You don’t fuck real men,” I say just as harshly. Her eyes flash at me, but it just spurs me on. I press my hands to her shoulders and push her against the wall. “Tell me; when was the last time one of them made you come so hard that you couldn’t even remember your own name? The last time you had a real cock between your legs?” I grab her hand and press it to my erection. She gasps. Curiosity flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared as she recovers and pushes me away.

  “I don’t fuck guys like you,” she tells me vehemently. A little too vehemently.

  “Like me?” I query; already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear her say it.

  “Control freaks.”

  “But you want to. A part of you wants me to bend you over my desk and fuck your sweet pussy. I bet you’re wet for me right now, baby.”

  Just when I think I have her now, she surprises me by laughing. What? She’s laughing at me now? I’m speechless for several moments, like an awkward teenager trying to hit on his first crush. How is this happening? She’s getting under my skin.

  She pulls a card from her jacket pocket and hands it to me. I take it dazedly. It’s a business card for a pizza place.

  “That’s the number for one of my cell phones. Call me when you’ve picked up whatever you need to from your condo. I’ll be in the club. You have an hour. Don’t keep me waiting. We need to leave under the cover of darkness. Cartwright has eyes everywhere.”

  And without another word, she leaves my office, slamming the door behind her.

  4

  ~Alana~

  I slide onto a stool at the bar and order a scotch. I down it quickly and slam the glass down on the bar top, breathing out a sigh of relief.

  God, I needed that. My whole body is on fire right now thanks to that asshole, Damon Brookes.

  The things he said. I’m usually the one spewing that shit. But somehow he managed to turn it around on me. How? It’s like he’s able to get inside my head, like he has access to my deepest, darkest secrets and desires. And how does he know about my sex life? I figured a guy like him would do his research on the woman who was hired to kill him, but he knew a little too much for a run-of-the-mill background check. Details that are personal. Classified. How could he know about my control issues? Who is this guy really?

  Stop it! You don’t care who he is.

  He’s just leverage. That’s all. This is business. Just another job, but without the murder aspect. Well, unless he continues to piss me off, and then I might reconsider. But right now I need him alive. He’s my only leverage against Cartwright. No doubt, since I refused to take out Damon, he’ll have hired someone else to get the job done. I need to prevent that from happening. No one else can kill Damon or I lose my leverage.

  But, damn, he really managed to get under my skin. I can’t believe I let him put his hands on me; let him hold me against the wall like that. I never let a man touch me without my expressed permission. And even then it’s only on my own terms.

  There’s something different about this one though. He seems to just exude sexual energy. It clouds my head, my thoughts. And in his office it weakened my resolve.

  Shit, I can’t let that happen again. It’s a dangerous road to head down. Remember your rules.

  It’s been a few days since I last got laid, because of having to lay low with this Cartwright threat hanging over my head. Yeah, that’s probably all it is. I just need to get laid.

  As if it can hear my thoughts, the universe responds to me. A guy slides onto the stool to my left.

  “Hey, sweet thing. Can I get you another?” he says, gesturing to the empty scotch glass in front of me.

  I look him over. Dammit, he’s a suit. His blonde hair is stiff with product. He’s clean shaven and I can smell the overwhelming stench of too much cologne. I hate suit guys. I like my men a little rough around the edges, not preppy pussies.

  He’s the opposite of Damon who’s the very definition of ‘man’. The way he towered over me, he must be more than six-foot. Broad shoulders like a rugby player. And, fuck, is he ripped. Damn. His shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way so I could see his mouth-watering six pack. Talk about abs of steel. Muscular legs too—all the better to hold the weight of the monstrous cock that I felt through his pants. I can’t stop picturing the way he gazed at me with his piercing blue eyes. So much heat. So much fire. He has that whole Ian Somerhalder thing going on. Those goddamn eyes. His wild hair. Such a dark brown that, to the casual observer, it would seem black. And the slight waves running through it. Yum. And although he was wearing suit pants and a shirt, he’s not an actual suit guy. He’s not clean cut. The stubble on his chin told me that much, not to mention his abrasive attitude.

  I stare at the guy beside me who’s still waiting for my response. He pales in comparison to Damon. But Damon and I aren’t hooking up. He’s too controlling. He basically told me that himself. I can’t get mixed up with someone who needs control, because I need it. And it’s impossible for us to both be in control at the same time when we’re fucking. No, forget it.

  I smile at the guy beside me. He’ll do. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? And I need to fuck right now.

  “I’d like that,” I say with a sly wink, pouring all the sexuality that I have at my disposal into it.

  He orders my drink and a beer for himself. He starts engaging me in some mindless small talk. I barely hear him, making sure just to nod at the right intervals to seem like I’m actually listening and giving a crap.

  I sip slowly at my scotch this time, remembering that I have to drive shortly.

  God, this is taking too long.

  I take matters into my own hands and slide my palm up his thigh. He jerks and grins at me.

  I slip off my stool and reach for his hand. “There’s a quiet alley just outside,” I tell him, smiling suggestively.

  He takes my hand and I guide him through the packed bar to the door. We step out into the parking lot and I lead him around to the side of the bar to an alleyway that I assume is used for deliveries. I slam him against the wall and unbuckle his pants quickly. He reaches for me, wanting to kiss me.

  “No kissing. Just fucking,” I tell him, panting now with my desperate need to have his cock buried deep inside me.

  He seems a bit put out, but then he gets a grip, remembering that he’s about to get laid and reaches for my cargo pants. He fumbles with the belt, but I let him continue and it isn’t that long before they’
re down around my ankles. I shake them off. Because we’re in a public place, I keep my panties on. I wrap my legs around him and he follows my lead, gripping my thighs. I push my panties aside and thrust myself down onto his ready and waiting cock. Not bad. Could be way better, but it’ll do. He grunts as I start to move, riding him hard and wild, my nails biting into his neck.

  “Fuck! Yeah, that’s it! Ride me!” he cries.

  I close my eyes, relishing the sensation of him filling me. Yes, this is just what the doctor ordered.

  “Make me come!” I order him.

  He does as he’s told and reaches between us to fondle my pussy. I can tell right away that he’s inexperienced. Urgh. Why? Every damn time! I grab his hand and place his index finger just where I want it, saving him the trouble of having to find my clit. I don’t have time for that.

  “Harder,” I tell him. “Small circles.”

  I guide his hand for a while until I finally feel the build of an approaching orgasm. But his concentration wanes as I continue to ride him hard.

  “I’m not gonna let you come until you make me come,” I warn him, slowing my pace.

  “Never gonna happen,” a voice comes from behind me suddenly.

  I still immediately and look over my shoulder to see none other than Damon Brookes leaning against the wall, his arms folded.

  He’s just standing there watching us.

  Unbelievable. Shit, if I was a guy I’d have a limp dick by now. As it is, he just killed the mood.

  “Forget it,” I tell the suit guy as I lift myself off him. My back to Damon, I pull my pants back on and buckle the belt.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” the suit guy thunders.

  He makes a move to grab me, but before I can respond, Damon is there pushing him back.

  “She said you’re done; then you’re done,” he snarls at him. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

  The guy walks away, muttering curses under his breath.

  “Classy, Miss Halton,” Damon comments.

  “How dare you interfere? I was about to—”

  “What? Come? No you fucking weren’t. The guy didn’t have a clue what he was doing.”