The Alpha's Touch Boxed Set (14 Book Bundle)

by Taylor, Tawny

  “Abby,” he murmurs, “oh Abby. God, how I want you.”

  She parts her legs under him to let his roving hand gain access to her core. She is already so moist down there, and she is practically creaming between her legs. His hand brushes against her pubis, and her hair down there stands with apprehension. Then he delves his fingers in between her folds – her moist, sticky folds, swollen with desire – and touches her where she wants to be touched, where she is lit up like a fuse, where her entire body screams with fire.

  His first squeeze on her soft, tender flesh, and she comes with an explosion. She is so pent up with lust and frustration that her orgasm overtakes her like a tidal wave. He throws his body on hers, letting her shudders and moans vibrate through him. He lets her ride the crest and then she lies back, unsuspecting and panting before he starts his sly ministrations again.

  “No, no, no, I can’t stand it.” She tries to bat his hand away, but he persists, smiling.

  He grabs her wrists and brings them above her head, where he pinions them to the couch. She gazes into his liquid eyes, which are now amber green in color.

  “Don’t move,” he says, and slowly lets her hands go from his grasp.

  Then he lowers himself to her open legs and bends his chestnut head to her loins. His tongue darts out again. A swipe of his clever, wet flesh assaults her throbbing little nub, already stoked to furnace levels. Her hands fly down to clutch at his hair as his tongue writhes and pummels her little quivering piece of flesh.

  He is amazing at this. More than amazing, she thinks. And to think that he thought one year ago that he was lacking in this department.

  He tongues her and tongues her until she’s clawing and writhing at the cusp of another orgasm. He lets her go, and this time she arches her back and screams his name. Devon! Not anyone else. Not the name from her past which still haunts her. But Devon, the name belonging to this beautiful, beautiful dream of a creature.

  Then before she can fully recover, he slips on a condom and poises his cock at her entrance.

  “Tell me how old you really are,” he whispers.

  “Eighteen.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Devon . . . please. I can’t stand it any longer. Take me. I’m eighteen, I swear it!”

  Satisfied with that revelation, he thrusts into her with one forceful motion. She cries out with the pain, and he strokes the damp hair off her brow lovingly.

  “Ssssh,” he says, “it’ll be OK.”

  She is not a virgin, obviously, and her core soon acclimatizes to the expansion. She loves looking at his face as he moves inside her. Loves gazing into his green, green eyes, with his pupils dilated with desire and his irises flecked with gold and purple. His lips are slightly parted and he smiles down at her with such radiance that her heart swells with unaccustomed emotion.

  His breathing quickens as he accelerates his pumping. She can see the sweat gathering on his brow and on his cheeks and the tip of his fine nose where it pools into a drop. The drop balloons and falls onto her face, splashing her hot skin. He curls his upper body so that his lips can descend upon hers, and he kisses her even as grinds his hips against hers.

  Soon, she feels the insides of her pelvis melting. She gives in once again – the third time under an hour – to the spasms that take her. She surrenders herself to the ecstatic release. He comes this time, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Then he withdraws and flops on the couch beside her, only there’s very little space and he ends up half lying on her limp form.

  He hisses, “God, that was good.”

  She is too winded to say anything.

  He turns his head towards her and gently teases out a tendril of her hair. “You’re beautiful.”

  She shakes her head and smiles.

  “You are,” he insists. “Come, let’s go to bed.”

  “What will we do in bed?”

  “Sleep.”

  They sleep together that night, entwined in each other’s arms. Before dawn, he wakes up to take a leak. She stirs in her sleep, and he returns to sit on the bed beside her. In the dark, she can see him staring at her and sighing.

  “What’s the matter?” she says softly.

  “Nothing. Everything. It’s complicated.”

  “Come here.” She holds out her arms to him. He comes into them, and they make sweet love again – this time more measured and languorous. Dawn speckles the window and the titter of birdsong on the roofs fills the brisk air.

  “Shit,” she says, getting up, “I realize I have to go to work.”

  He laughs. “Not till you shower first.”

  The ‘shower’ leads to more slippery persuasions, and Abby is sore from all the fucking when she shakily gets out of the stall.

  As she stands in front of the mirror, naked, and tries to run a comb through her wet hair, he comes and stands behind her, the way he did yesterday. This time, he puts his arms around her torso as his beautiful eyes meet hers in the mirror.

  “I’m crazy about you,” he murmurs into the back of her neck.

  She smiles. She doesn’t want to tell him yet how crazy she is about him. Has been since the moment she laid eyes on him, in fact.

  “I’ve got to go to work,” she says.

  “So do I.”

  At first, her smile dims. She pictures his beautiful body being revealed to Rachel and Claire, until she realizes how ridiculous the notion is. She is about to meet Rachel at the store, a fact she has kept secret from him. And he has started to pack his paintbrushes and paint boxes.

  “You’re going to Padraig’s,” she observes.

  “Of course.” His smile is broad. “Where else did you think I was going?”

  *

  Abby is early for her first day at work. Richard Krieg is nowhere to be seen, but Rachel arrives ten minutes later. She is even taller than Abby remembered and so blonde that the sun casts horizontal bars of light on her hair. She is very sharply dressed in a woolen lilac jacket, matched with a pair of well-cut black trousers.

  Abby feels terribly shabby compared to her. The image of Devon’s naked body pressed against Rachel’s flawless white one fleets through her envious mind, but she quickly pushes it away.

  “Good morning,” Abby greets her.

  “Good morning.” Rachel flashes her a genuine smile as she bends down to unlock the shutters. “I suppose that no good brother of mine hasn’t turned up yet.”

  Abby doesn’t say anything. She isn’t sure of the relationship between Rachel and her brother. For all she knows, Rachel may be trying to bait her, and she isn’t about to fall into that trap.

  Richard shows up at about eleven thirty, and the first thing he does is to leer at Abby.

  “You look different today.” He sniffs the air about her.

  Abby cringes inwardly, but she doesn’t let it show.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Krieg,” she says coolly, “can I help you?”

  He doesn’t stop sniffing the air, like a dog. “You smell different.” A slow, sly smile spreads across his face. “You got laid last night.”

  Abby’s skin crawls. “What’s it to you if I did?”

  She moves away. He may be her junior boss, but there is only so much she can take.

  “Richard, may I have a word with you?” Rachel stands at the small corridor that leads to her office. Her expression is unreadable.

  Richard grimaces and gives Abby a final stare before shuffling into the office with his sister. The door closes purposefully behind them. Abby supposes Rachel will berate her brother for flirting with the staff, if you can call what Richard did ‘flirting’.

  At the end of the day, she made four sales, including a five thousand dollar urn from Egypt, modern day, not pharaohnic. She is extremely proud of herself.

  Rachel beams at her. “That was quite an accomplished first day.”

  “I know. It’s unreal!”

  Abby never thought her interview sale
s repartee would actually translate into real life, and into real sales. But it was so easy once she got started. Everything flowed naturally. She finds that she actually likes talking to the customers as well and taking a genuine interest in them. And they seem to sense it.

  In another part of the store, Richard scowls darkly.

  Abby pays him no heed. She can’t wait to get back home. It’s funny how she thinks of Devon’s apartment as home now in such a short period of time.

  Devon is waiting for her when she gets home. He has ordered Chinese takeout. But food isn’t on his mind as she enters. Instead, he has set up the easel and canvas.

  “I’m on a high today,” he explains. “I have to paint you while the inspiration strikes.”

  “Do I pose nude?” she asks coyly.

  He laughs. “Only if you must. I’m going to paint a dress over you anyway.”

  She opts for nude. She splays herself on the couch in a wanton gesture. He tries very hard to keep his face straight as he paints.

  “How was your first day at work?”

  “Great. I sold four vases.”

  He whistles. “And those are worth ten thousand dollars each?”

  “Not quite, but the sum of them is around there.”

  “You’re a natural,” he says proudly.

  “I know.”

  “And modest too.”

  For answer, she lifts her small breasts to his gaze.

  “Shit,” he says hoarsely, his face flushed, “you’re gonna get me hard again.”

  Just as she orchestrated, he puts down his paintbrush and starts to strip, his eyes burning into hers. When he comes to her, his cock is willing and ready.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he rasps.

  “Make me.”

  He scoops her up in his strong arms, and she gives a shriek. He laughs and carries her into the bedroom, where he throws her onto the bed and jumps in beside her. After much kissing and nuzzling, he rolls over to put on a condom, but she says, “Wait.”

  She makes him lie back as she strokes his hard member until it becomes even harder, if possible. Then she bends her head to take him into her mouth. He groans softly as she sucks his head and rod, sliding his warm flesh in and out of her mouth as if it’s a popsicle. She enjoys the texture of his cock – the ridge of flesh that separates his crown from his shaft. Loves the way it fills her mouth like it is meant to be there. Loves the way it tastes – so sweet and salty and silky.

  “I swear I’m going to come in your mouth if you go on doing that,” he warns.

  She doesn’t reply for obvious reasons.

  He arches his back and cries out as he spurts out his semen in two geysers. She captures his hot seed and lets it roll over her tongue, tasting its acridness – like bitter almonds. He allows himself to rest for a moment, and then he starts to stroke himself again into hardness. She watches him, soaking in his beauty. She is amazed at his ability to get hard so many times in a day. Maybe it’s youthful hormones, but it sure comes in handy in his profession.

  He finally straps on the condom and rolls her onto her belly.

  Lifting her waist so that she is perched on her knees, he enters her from behind. She is so wet for him that there is a squish, a soft sliding of flesh into flesh.

  He pounds into her until she comes, screaming his name. And then he climaxes for the second time and rolls off her body, breathing heavily.

  “You will be the death of me,” he mutters. “I won’t be able to get any painting done at this rate.”

  “So I won’t pose for you naked anymore.”

  “Is that a threat?” He grins, taking her chin in his hand and twisting her face gently towards his. He kisses her wetly and lovingly.

  She throws her arm around his waist and holds him close to her. She can feel his slowing heartbeat against her flesh. She wishes they can stay like this forever, skin to skin, beating heart to beating heart, imbibing the scent of their sweat and flesh and lovemaking. She doesn’t want to let him go. Ever.

  After a while, he says, “I have to go.”

  She feels a prickle of dismay.

  “Do you really have to?”

  “Yes.”

  She sits up, refusing to look at him. She trembles slightly. “I thought you were past that.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long time.

  Then: “I never said I was past that. We still have to eat. We both do.”

  She turns abruptly from him. Her pulse thrums like butterfly wings against her neck, and there’s an ache in her stomach that has nothing to do with the fact that neither of them had dinner.

  “Abby,” he pleads, stroking her back. “It’s just a job. I need to pay the rent. I won’t get paid for the mural until I finish. Billy is on to me now. And you won’t get paid until a month in.”

  “It’s not just a job.” She shudders.

  His touch is calming, relaxing.

  “It is just a job,” he insists. “I don’t feel anything for those women. Not in the way I feel for you.”

  “What do you feel for me?”

  She can’t stand the thought of him being intimate with other women the way he has been with her. The thought of him doing to them what he did to her with his mouth and hands and cock is so excruciating all of a sudden that the images hit her like a visceral wave.

  She lets him stroke her back, the way one would placate a child. Then he sighs and gets up.

  “I have to go or I’ll be late.”

  She wonders if he is meeting Rachel. And God help her, but she likes Rachel despite everything.

  “Do I wait up?” she says sullenly.

  “No.”

  He puts on a sleeveless back tee and blue jeans. With his dark hair and golden skin, he is sex on a stick.

  “It’s just sex for money, Abby,” he says softly.

  She doesn’t reply as he walks out of the bedroom, looking like a young god, and closes the front door gently on her.

  JOY

  The next few weeks are filled with bliss for Abby. The passion between her and Devon burns hot and furious. He would jump her as soon as one of them comes back from work, and they would make love on whatever surface presents itself at the opportune moment – couch, floor, wall, bed, bathtub.

  If anything, the copious amount of sex she has been getting – sometimes three or four times a day – makes her hungry for even more. He can’t seem to get enough of her body, and she him. They explore each other intimately, never seeming to tire of each other. Her murky past blurs almost into cessation and she can wholly devote herself into the present. A present filled with Devon and his warm, deep eyes, which simmer with emotions he can never seem to utter to her.

  The ‘love’ word does not crop up between them, but yet it is there – the unspoken fiber that connects them. She loves him, that’s for sure, but she doesn’t want to say it to him just in case it jinxes them. And she is sure that he loves her too. He only says it in a moment of sheer orgasm –

  “I love you!”

  - like an explosive utterance, but she knows better than to take it as the gospel truth.

  But he is nothing short of the perfect boyfriend. Completely and breathtakingly gorgeous, completely devoted to her pleasure and needs save but one, completely attentive and completely wonderful. Abby never knew she could be so lucky to find someone like this.

  But of course, in light of everything that has happened to her, she is wary of too much happiness, like a deluge of rain before a devastating, soul-killing drought. She still has not told Devon about her recent past that has caused her to flee to New York. Perhaps she never will. Why tear everything down when it has been going so well?

  Devon’s night job still hangs between them like the three ton elephant in the room. She doesn’t talk to him about it again. It is pointless. But it still hurts when he gets up from their bed or from painting or whatever he is engaged in to go into the bedroom to change into what she calls his fuck clothes.

  “I have to go out,�
� he would announce, and she knows exactly what he means.

  His mural painting is going well, and he has started to take painting commissions again. Abby has been to Padraig sparingly to watch his progress, but she doesn’t dare stay too long. She avoids Billy Dee like the plague, afraid of recognition, afraid of the sudden “Hey, I know who you are!” that will be plucked out of the blue. Her hair is growing longer again, and she is careful to keep it tied up when she’s out with people other than Devon.

  They are perfectly happy otherwise. And they are a couple in all appearances. They are young and happy and delirious with the first flush of love between them, even if it is unspoken, and nothing could be better in their worlds.

  Abby’s salesgirl job is going well too. Her natural salesmanship is a boon for the store, and business has never been better. Rachel is forever beaming when toting up the numbers. She isn’t there for large parts of the day, and so Abby has to contend with that creep, Richard, whom she refuses to let rile her.

  Richard tries to put the moves on her more than once. The very first time he did that, Abby firmly pushes his hands away and said, “If you touch me again, I’ll do worse than tell your sister. I’ll yell ‘rape’, and those cameras up there will back me up.”

  She pointed to the roving security cameras that Rachel had installed in all four corners of the store.

  Richard backed away quickly.

  *

  Payday is a great day for Abby. In her office, Rachel totes up her commissions on an Excel file and beams.

  “What an excellent first month.”

  She writes Abby a check and presents it to her with a flourish.

  Abby’s eyes widen when she sees the amount. This is something she has earned all on her own, and the fact thrills her like no other.

  Rachel laughs at her glee. “Wonderful feeling, isn’t it? I totally understand. I felt the same way when I earned my first real paycheck too. My family has money, and Richard and I never had to struggle or want for anything, but there’s nothing quite like doing it all on your own. That’s why I opened this business, among my other enterprises.” She waves her hand around. “I just didn’t want to take handouts from Daddy anymore.”