Alphas & Fairytales: A New Year's Eve Anthology

by Molly McLain

  Sexy as sin, they mold right into iniquity as if they were born of it. I think maybe they were. Am I just an additional step on their path to deprave yet another woman?

  Nerves return with cramped vengeance. I grab hold of my stomach. It twists furiously. A shiver of anxiety travels up my spine, down my limbs. I bite my bottom lip, my teeth sinking in until it hurts.

  Shaw notices. He’s on his knees, between my legs. My face in his hands, his lips covering mine in a tender, but heavy kiss. He whispers, telling me this is what I crave, what they need.

  It is?

  I feel strange as cool leather connects with my back. Shaw hovers over me, diving into me, grinding his thick cock into my fleshy thigh. He grabs a leg, twists it to the side, lines up his erection and thrusts forward on a harsh grunt until he’s buried to the hilt.

  I’m impaled. Split. Falling and floating.

  “Ah, fuck yes.” His forehead meets mine on a thud and he grabs my hips, jerking me against his pelvis with each ferocious drive. “God damn you feel good. Like that sweet space between heaven and hell.”

  His wild stabs pick up pace. He becomes jerky, losing finesse. He shifts me so my head is barely hanging on the couch and I understand why when I shove open my eyes.

  Noah is patiently lingering.

  Chest heaving.

  Cock straining.

  Crisp hazel eyes so feverish I may blister under them.

  It’s wrong, but I can’t tear my eyes from any godforsaken part of him. Underneath his clothes he is flawless, carved marble.

  His body heat radiates against my scalp. Sweet and gentle, he runs the pad of his thumb against my forehead, silently assuring me he’ll take care of me.

  “I want to watch you swallow his cock,” Shaw grunts, never losing his stride. “All of it.”

  “Would that turn you on?” I manage to choke out between ragged gasps. Not sure which man I’m talking to.

  Shaw stills mid-thrust, cock pulsing with every quick heartbeat. Levering on his elbows, he curls his fingers around the back of my neck and tilts my head so he can bore deeply into my eyes. “Is it wrong if it does?” he challenges, not answering my question.

  It is. Isn’t it?

  This entire situation feels odd, misplaced. A subliminal part of myself is afraid this is what Shaw really wants—will always want. That I’ll never be good enough, that he can’t be satisfied with only me in his bed.

  “This doesn’t change anything between us, Goldilocks,” he assures me, once again making me believe he’s reading my mind.

  “Doesn’t it?” I throw back, moaning softly when he shifts his pelvis forward so slow I feel every veiny ridge of him.

  “No.” His mouth descends on mine. Fast and firm, mumbling “No” repeatedly between urgent, fervent kisses. The tension in my body dissolves the more he drugs me with the potency of his lips, teeth and tongue. “Say the word and he leaves,” he tells me hotly. “Just say the word.”

  But I don’t. Christ almighty, I don’t. I say nothing. It’s like my vocal chords have locked up because as much as I say I don’t want this...

  He knows I’ve given in even without me saying so. He checks my face for proof and when I give him a reassuring smile, he gently repositions my head so it’s slightly hanging over the edge. In the mirror I watch Noah step closer, concerned but excited.

  Suddenly I’m fragmented in two, one part of me remaining under Shaw, the other rising, hovering above. Detached but tethered at the same time.

  Noah’s gaze slices to mine, catching it in the mirror. “Is this okay?” he asks, running a finger down my cheek, or up my cheek as it were, now in my somewhat inverted position. “Because if it’s not…”

  “It is,” I watch myself telling him. Even though anxiety has its teeth firmly sunk in the pit of my stomach I don’t feel it anymore.

  Noah circles his impressive cock with a wide palm and gives it a few strokes. I see it from above and below him concurrently. It’s fascinating, these varying angles.

  Dizziness washes over me.

  A pearly drop of pre-come gleams, waits for me, balancing on the tip against the muted tint of metal hanging from the slit. It’s tempting. My mouth waters.

  I lick my lips. I don’t feel them.

  Noah chuckles lightly. Then we make contact. Flesh to flesh. Throbbing cock to tightly clamped lips. “Open up, doll,” he commands.

  My mouth unlocks. I see it. Feel the hinges of my jaw opening. Know his flavor explodes on my tongue when I dart it out to lap up that dangling salty drop, but don’t taste it.

  Shaw feels weightless. I watch him move over me, his flesh never touching mine.

  “Oh fuck, Willow.” The grit in Noah’s voice agitates in banked agony. “You have no idea how many times I imagined this. You, at my mercy. Sucking my cock until I spend everything inside this hot, brassy mouth.”

  My head spins, round and round. I don’t feel real.

  Palming the back of my head, Shaw holds me still, giving me one more out. “You ready?”

  Am I?

  I freeze, locking up entirely.

  Can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t do anything.

  “Willow,” Shaw asks, shaking me slightly.

  My ears start to ring. My vision fogs over. I can’t hear, see.

  “Willow.”

  Sweat builds; the sticky slickness of it coats my naked skin.

  “Willow…” Deep tones full of concern and a touch of fear sound so far away. Water through the cotton stuffed in my ears.

  “Baby…”

  My chest hurts. It’s thick. Weird. Squeezed until I feel dense, drowning.

  “Willow, wake up…”

  That authoritative voice I love so much starts to shake loose the something that’s stuck, gone haywire. It dissolves and I gasp a breath. The scene below me fades, color into colorless into pitch black.

  “That’s it. Wake up.”

  Wake up. Wake up.

  Yes.

  Wake up.

  We disappear, the three of us. There one second. Gone the next. I’m spiraling through darkness, tumbling into shades of grey, sinking past creamy whites until I’m snapped back into hazy consciousness, billowy clouds hanging like cotton candy in front of me.

  I want out. I need out. I push through them. They’re thick and endless. The remnants stick to my skin like spider webs. I run faster. Harder. Wanting to get to him before I’m swallowed whole.

  “Wake up, Goldilocks,” Shaw gently entices me.

  That name. That stupid, endearing name does its job. I’m at the end. I made it. I made it. My lids feel heavy but I push them open. Blink a few times until Shaw comes in clear. My heart races so fast it hurts. I clutch my chest.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his brows pressed tightly together in worry. The move carves dozens of tiny grooves around his stark blue eyes, making him look manly and savage.

  As he studies me with concern, I work to get my bearings. The scent of leather hits my nostrils, along with Shaw’s spicy cologne. I notice engines humming loudly in the background. Sun streaks through small portholes, spilling onto my lap in crisscross patterns.

  I sit up straight, perched on Shaw’s lap, and anxiously glance around. Then every muscle I have relaxes at once to the point I almost cry.

  There are no glaring lights as far as the eye can see. No dings of slot machines that incessantly ring in your ears. No half nude women parading around or seas of alcohol waiting to be consumed. There is no ballroom. There are no celebrities. No MMA fight. No suite. No mirror or buttery couch or Noah standing naked as the day he was born over me.

  We’re thirty thousand feet above the earth in Shaw’s plane, heading to Charlotte. The opposite direction from the City of Sin. It’s not even New Year’s Eve. December thirty-first is still more than two months out.

  “Hey,” his soothing voice lulls, pulling my attention back to him. “What was that about? You look spooked.” He cups my cheek tenderly, fingers tunneling in the r
oots of my damp hair. “You’re sweating.”

  I avert my eyes, still trying to calm my choppy breaths, but he won’t let me. He dips down, his face right in mine until I have no choice but to look at him.

  “What’s wrong?” His unease settles into me and somehow, in a weird way, that eases my own. I smile, though I know it’s shaky, and relax back into his hold.

  “Nothing,” I manage. I fist a hand in his shirt and squeeze tight, burying my head further into the crook of his shoulder, trying to keep tears of relief at bay. “It was just a dream. Nothing but a dream.”

  My imagination getting the better of me. My fear and insecurities from last night’s revelation that these two men share their women manifesting themselves in my subconscious. Just a dream.

  Remembering we’re not alone, my eyes flick up to see Noah watching us from across the aisle. He’s fully clothed in a snazzy blue button down, dark ripped jeans, and a pair of brown Gucci loafers. I keep myself from glancing to his lap, the Prince Albert I don’t know if is real or imagined still vividly in the front of my mind, remembering that it was just a dream.

  “You okay, doll?” he mouths, a tender smile on his handsome face and it’s then I know. I know even if a threesome was something Shaw wanted, which I believe in my soul he doesn’t, that Noah would never allow it. He respects me too much. As a woman and a friend. Understands how deeply I care for the man currently holding me, even if I haven’t told Shaw as much.

  I smile and slowly blink my eyes closed then open, giving him assurance. Noah nods once, as if confirming my thoughts then drops his eyes back to the paper in his hands.

  A finger slides under my chin, tipping it up. The most intense baby blues on the planet lock to mine. I love it when he looks at me this way. So adoring, as if I’m something precious he never expected. “You okay, beautiful?”

  I force my head up and down, this time genuinely smiling, though still a bit unnerved. “It was just a dream,” I tell him again when his lips land on my forehead.

  A sexy, hedonistic, forbidden dream.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No,” I practically shout.

  “That bad?” he chuckles, tilting my face up once again.

  There are parts of me still pulsing. Throbbing and trembling. I’m a red-blooded female who was just wooed by two hot men in her sleep. Even if it isn’t what I want in real life, who wouldn’t be turned on by that? So while my bodily response is pure biology, that’s not what I’ll remember with vivid clarity hours and days out from this moment.

  Unsure how to answer his question I opt for the truth. “I don’t remember much. It’s mostly faded away.”

  “You sure?” He brings his lips to mine, gently placing them there. Holding me steady.

  “I’m sure,” I murmur against them, dying to drag them back when they part with mine.

  He wants to say more. So do I. Neither of us do.

  I let out a long, slow breath, eyes tracking to my left ring finger currently twisted in Shaw’s shirt. Unforeseen devastation hits me sharp and quick, nearly closing my lungs when I see that it’s empty and bare.

  I am not engaged. I am no one’s fiancée. I feel more alone than ever.

  One by one the specifics of my dream are already harder to catch, to remember. With every passing second they wither more and more, becoming fuzzy and bland. White noise in empty space.

  All except one.

  That one won’t fade, won’t dim.

  That one will remain clear and bright. All too transparent, I’m afraid.

  A feeling, really, more than a memory.

  Contentment. I was content in my dream, a foreign feeling to me. When I thought I was soon to become Mrs. Shaw Mercer I was happier than I thought I had a right to be.

  Eyes fastened to a finger that holds no promises, the realization that I want those promises from the man whose arms are wrapped so tight around me it’s hard to breathe is winding itself so thoroughly around my soul I don’t think I can settle for less.

  The only problem is I’m not sure they are promises he knows how to give.

  Author Note

  Hey loves! If you read this short, you got a sneak peek into my new favorite couple, Shaw Mercer and Willow Blackwell. Look for their full, sexy story in my new duet, Finding Me, coming in 2017. The first book in the duet, Lost In Between, will be released in February 2017. The second book, Found Underneath, is tentatively scheduled for May 2017. Shaw Mercer is my most alpha character yet and sure to be your next BBF. Follow my Facebook page or join my newsletter to keep up to date on all new releases!

  A Wild Chase

  BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  B.B. REID

  Chapter 1

  MILA

  “Right there.” I was short of breath and being driven insane yet still found the will to speak.

  “You like that?” I pressed my hips against his talented tongue in response. When he pulled away, I stared at dark blond locks and twinkling blue eyes.

  “Don’t stop.” I tightened my grip on his hair. I’ve waited too long for this. It couldn’t end now.

  “I have to.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m ready. Take me.”

  “It’s time to get up.”

  “What?” I glanced at the window. I could see the full moon shining high and bright through my window. Confused, I turned back to confront my long awaited lover and found him gone. My alarm began to blare, and I felt myself being pulled away.

  The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was that it was definitely not the middle of the night and Chase—err… Mr. James—was not in my home, in my bed, making love to me.

  No, the reality was, I’d been touching myself in my sleep again. And it was all because of Chase James.

  My boss.

  I groaned, rolled over to my side, and made the alarm shut up.

  God, I’m so pathetic.

  I’d go to bed every night with the resolution that I’d get over my secret attraction to my boss only to have him consume my dreams. I graduated top of my class from one of the top ivy league schools in the country with my master’s degree in business, and after two months of job hunting, the only company that offered was run by an arrogant asshole who didn’t hire an asset. He hired someone to fetch his coffee.

  I forced myself out of bed and avoided my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was going to have a hard enough time facing the man himself in a few hours.

  I showered and dressed and was pouring my first cup of coffee when my best friend dragged herself into the kitchen wearing her favorite batman shirt. Her unhealthy obsession with the fictional hero convinced her to collect over a dozen of them. We met in undergrad, hit it off the first day of class, and decided to become roommates during graduation before following each other to New York.

  “Morning, Chris. What’s shaking?”

  “Hopefully, the brain from my boss’s skull when I wring her neck. I said a prayer.”

  I sighed deeply. This was a weekly occurrence. Chris would swear she’d be a gentler, more patient being, but then, when someone lit her short fuse, she’d blow.

  “What happened this time?”

  “She’s a moron.”

  “How convincing.”

  “The reasons don’t matter anymore because I quit.”

  I spat out my hot coffee and cursed colorfully when the brown liquid spilled on my cream blouse. “How? It’s only seven thirty!”

  “I did it before lunch yesterday.”

  “Christina…” I only used her government name when I was really pissed or wanted to annoy her because she hated being called Christina.

  “Don’t Christina me. I was miserable and quitting keeps me out of the pen. I’m small, cute, and mouthy. I’d be someone’s bitch before I even dropped the soap.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Because that’s what Chris does. She makes me laugh even while being a complete bitch.

  And me?

  She says I keep her grounded
. I guess that meant we needed each other. She was a firecracker while I was the world’s biggest pushover.

  “Why am I just hearing about this now?” I decided to be supportive because Chris’ mind was a steel vault. When it closed, she wasn’t opening it again unless she wanted to. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could get her job back. I was pretty sure her boss hated her just as much.

  “After it happened, I was in shock. I came home, took a bath, and slept the day away. Now I’m awake, and I don’t have the slightest fucking clue what I was thinking.”

  It made sense why I didn’t see her hanging around last night, but so did my assumption that she’d pulled another late night at the office. She was a workaholic and had aspirations of usurping her boss as H.B.I.C: Head Bitch In Charge.

  It’s only been two years since we graduated, and Chris was already the Associate Director of Business Strategy at a pharmaceutical giant.

  “What are you going to do?” It was hard to judge her recklessness when Chris was one of the smartest people I knew.

  “Find another job, of course.”

  “You say that as if it’s simple.”

  “I’m trying to be optimistic.”

  “You?” I snorted. “No.” Chris was the ultimate pessimist.

  “Well, if it all goes downhill, I can always not pay rent and mooch off you.”

  “Would this be before or after you strip for cash?”

  “Definitely during. You took all the rhythm and left none for the hopeless.”

  “But you do have a rocking body. That’s one area you excel where I don’t.”

  “Come on. You have a great body. I’d kill for your ass. Mine is as flat as a pancake.”

  “You should know, despite my depressing love life, I do prefer men.”

  “So, you aren’t exclusive to men?”

  “If only you weren’t as straight as an arrow. Possibly straighter.”

  “True. There’s just something about a man… when he’s not talking and his clothes are off…” She sighed, and when her eyes got a faraway look in them, I wondered what tryst she was reminiscing at the moment. Chris was a man-eater and I’d yet to see a man who could stand toe to toe with her. “And what about you?”