Alex in Wonderland (Twisted Fairytales #1)

by Max Monroe

  But I guessed the hours upon hours of hot, all-consuming sex weren’t so bad either.

  After a quick stretch of my arms and legs, I slid out of bed and strode my bare ass into the kitchen.

  With his back to me, and only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs over his firm ass, Matt stood at the stove. The grease in the skillet sizzled as he flipped a few slices of bacon, and I merely stood there gawking.

  The California sun drifted in from the big window in front of the dining table, draping a blanket of light over his body. Every sculpted muscle on his back and shoulders flowed from bright to dark. He was a living work of art, his tanned skin so tempting to touch, every simple move and flex giving away his strength.

  With the spatula in his hand, he turned around. His all-knowing gaze locked with mine for a brief moment, before I couldn’t fight the urge to take in the rest of him and released the hold.

  My eyes moved down, down, down, taking in his broad shoulders, his chiseled chest, the muscles of his abdominals, and that drool-worthy V muscle leading to the promised land.

  God, he looks good. Hell, clothes, naked, only briefs, he always looks good.

  Matt Hadder was a man. Strong. Intense. Powerful.

  I wanted to eat him with a spoon.

  “Enjoying the view?” He quirked a brow, and I blushed.

  Giggling, I covered my cheeks with both of my hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  In the blink of an eye, Matt closed the distance between us and lifted me into his arms before setting my bare ass onto the counter. Gently, he pushed my thighs apart and moved his big body closer. “Hungry?” he asked with a smirk.

  I nodded. Oh yes, I am definitely hungry…

  “Fresh coffee in the pot.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes.”

  I couldn’t stop my lips from turning down into a tiny pout. I didn’t want food for breakfast. I wanted Matt for breakfast.

  “Disappointed about something?” He ran his index finger across my mouth, the line of his brow frustratingly knowing.

  I shrugged and leaned closer, his intense amber eyes locking with mine.

  “Later, little one,” he whispered against my lips. He slid his finger up my thigh until it reached where I was already wet for him. Slowly and without hesitation, he slid that finger inside of me, gently pumping it in and out a few times before he pulled it back out and left me aching for more. “But right now, it’s breakfast,” he said before sliding his finger into his mouth and tasting me.

  Fucking hell. I clenched my thighs together. I wanted his mouth on me. Hell, I wanted my mouth on him. When it came to Matt, I found I was insatiable. Ready and willing for any attention he’d bestow.

  “And then we have a meeting with a client.” He moved back to the stove, and with the spatula, worked on scrambling the eggs.

  I tilted my head to the side in confusion. “We?”

  He nodded. “Yep. You’re coming along for this one.”

  I was going to another meeting with him? My eyes popped wide, and my throat dried up like the Sahara. I didn’t pretend to know all the inner workings of Wonderland, but I knew enough to know that every meeting held an undertone of importance and a lot of times, even risk. In Mexico, when he’d met with Jack Knave, I’d done my best to roll with it, but there was no denying, on the inside, I was shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

  And Jesus, what in the hell would I wear to a client meeting?

  Taking into consideration the attendees I’d witnessed at the numerous Wonderland parties I’d worked, I didn’t even want to guess who the mystery client was. A famous celebrity? A politician? A goddamn king?

  Oh God, what if it is a king of some foreign country?

  What in the hell does someone wear to meet a king?

  I had a feeling my daily wardrobe of cutoff jean shorts, a tank top, and a pair of flip-flops wasn’t going to cut it. Hell, my nicest dress probably wouldn’t cut it.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. No rabbit suit required,” he teased with a soft chuckle and portioned the bacon and eggs onto plates. “I already have something picked out for you.”

  “Of course you do,” I answered sarcastically.

  “Mind elaborating on what you mean, little one?”

  “Well, you’re Matt Hadder.”

  He grinned. “I am.”

  “A man who dots all of his i’s and crosses all of his t’s,” I explained. “You don’t leave anything to chance.”

  With both plates in his hands, he leaned forward and whispered into my ear, “Until you.”

  I leaned back and assessed his facial expression for meaning.

  “I took a chance on you,” he said. “After the Devlins’ party, after I thought you’d heard more than your share of information, I still took the chance,” he clarified, and then poignantly added, “Best fucking decision I ever made.”

  As Matt walked toward the dining table, my heart pumped hard and furious in my chest. He’s felt something for me from the beginning. If I weren’t careful, I’d probably end up doing something crazy like falling in love with the big, bad man.

  Too late for that. You’ve already fallen down his rabbit hole…

  “Come on,” he said from the table. “Breakfast is ready.”

  I shook away my insane thoughts and sat down across from him. With a shaky hand, I picked up my fork and took a bite of eggs for means of distraction. But it was useless. I could feel his eyes on my face. When I looked up, his brow was furrowed.

  “You okay?” he asked and I nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  Nope. I’m not sure. I feel like I’ve gone mad.

  “Uh-huh,” I lied and took another bite. “Just hungry.”

  But it wasn’t hunger that had me feeling all fucked up.

  It was the reality of the truth. My truth. I’d already fallen for him. I felt like I was Little Red Riding Hood and he was the Big Bad Wolf, and I honestly didn’t know if that made me crazy or senseless or nothing at all. But I knew one thing for certain.

  With my heart on fire, I was a bad liar.

  A few hours later, we were sitting outside, on the gorgeous terrace of a home that encompassed as much square footage as a football field.

  Dr. Evan Saint. A world-renowned plastic surgeon whom I’d recognized instantly from a popular reality show. He was the It doctor when it came to plastic surgery and Beverly Hills. The one surgeon everyone wanted to see, but only the most exclusive could get an appointment with.

  Today, Matt was discussing the finer details of a charitable event Dr. Saint was throwing to benefit children in Africa who suffered birth defects but did not have the money or medical treatment needed to fix them.

  But in this case, Dr. Saint didn’t exactly live up to his name.

  The party, like every other event I’d attended, was a cover.

  The actual goal of the event was over my head in terms of logistics, but from what I understood, it had everything to do with money laundering—avoiding the normal tax liabilities that came with being in the top three percent.

  “And my Alex will be the one running the show for your function,” Matt said, and Dr. Saint nodded in understanding. “She’ll be your primary liaison and will ensure that everything runs smoothly.”

  Wait…what? My brain fought to comprehend his words.

  Primary liaison? As in, I would be hosting the party?

  Holy hell. Had I just gotten a promotion?

  THE CAR SAT IDLING IN the paver-stone circle drive of Evan Saint’s home.

  Alex walked in front of me, her stride long and her pace quick, the clack of her heels on the stone almost constant.

  She was either angry about my surprise or overwhelmed, or maybe a little a bit of both, but the thought of dueling it out with her in the car already had me half hard.

  “Slow down,” I advised, grabbing her by the hip to encourage it physically.

  “You
slow down,” she shot back nonsensically, and I smiled.

  “Calm down, little one,” I cooed softly, taking the door from Ben, my driver, and nodding that I had it. He jerked his head up and moved to round the hood as Alex slid into the car.

  She glided to the opposite side, and I tucked one foot inside the door and sank into the seat. Once I had the other foot in and the door closed, I could practically feel her questions, shaking inside her and waiting to burst free.

  “Now, what’s all this about?” I asked.

  Her head jerked toward me, and her mouth opened. “What’s all this… What’s this about? You’re kidding, right?”

  I raised just one brow as the car rumbled over the pavers as we exited the driveway.

  “How could you not tell me about my new position before the meeting? Why am I even getting it? I’ve only been here a few months, and I’m already getting a promotion? I mean, I just can’t even…”

  So many questions, so much indignation…all of it at once, and the way it made me feel so different from days past—I couldn’t even stop myself from teasing her.

  “You know, I think you’re the only person ever to question me this much and still be around to do it more.”

  Her pulse fluttered wildly in her throat, nearly making the skin vibrate as she straightened her spine and turned to look me dead in the eye. “What are you going to do about it?”

  If possible, her throat trembled, the beat of her erratic heart so fast as my eyes darkened at the question. She was everything—madness, sanity, weakness, and strength—all in one tiny package.

  I leaned forward quickly, forcing her back into the soft leather of her seat and putting my face close to hers. Her breathing came in fast pants against the flesh of my lips as I got close, and her hands tensed in their spot on top of her legs.

  I reached up and, without much thought, wrapped a hand around the inviting thrum in her throat.

  “Are you not afraid of me, little one?” I whispered softly, squeezing slightly with the hand at her throat and running the tips of my fingers up the bare skin of her thigh with the other.

  She shook her head no, just barely.

  “But it doesn’t stop you,” I murmured.

  “Of course not,” she answered on a whisper.

  “Why?”

  She swallowed thickly, the line of her throat contracting in my hand. “I’m more afraid of letting the fear stop me from having what I want.”

  So swiftly she gasped, I released her throat and grabbed her hips at once, lifting her and settling her down on my lap. Her eyes held mine as I sank my hands into her hair. “And you want me.” She moaned, grinding onto the feel of my hard cock.

  I skimmed her lips with my own, once, twice, three times, until I had to have my tongue in her mouth. She tasted sweeter than she smelled, and the feel of her on top of me spread warmth in my chest. I pulled her back by her hair, almost violently, I knew, and I waited for her rolling eyes to come back to me.

  “I want you too,” I told her easily, the admission the truest words I’d ever spoken. In that moment, I wasn’t being who anyone wanted me to be. I was myself, and Alex was the muse that led me to him.

  Wonderland and John Hadder had saved me as a boy. Alex in Wonderland was saving me now—from a life alone, from a life without love…from a life without living.

  “I want you too,” I repeated. She’d probably never understand the reason for emphasis, the true revelation I’d just felt, and I was okay with that. I didn’t want that weight on her. I didn’t want to change her.

  I wanted her exactly as she was right then.

  She shifted restlessly on top of me, and I slammed my lips back to hers. She was wild and needy, and our clothes were entirely too in the way at this point.

  I ripped her top, the buttons scattering along the seat and floor of the car, and yanked the cups of her bra down until each perfect tit spilled out and sat on top.

  She gasped and keened as I ate at them one at a time, circling the nipple with my tongue before nibbling with my teeth, and finishing by sucking the entirety of the flesh into my warm mouth.

  Her skirt was easy enough to deal with by yanking it up around her hips, but my pants were another story. She whimpered as she shoved her hands in between us, tearing at the fabric without actually getting anywhere.

  I pushed her back onto my knees and dealt with the buckle on my belt myself, not even pausing before undoing the button and zipper on my pants and yanking my cock free.

  She moved forward without invitation and sank down on me in one smooth stroke. Normally, I had to work to seat my large girth inside her petite body, but she was so ready this time it didn’t matter.

  “Oh God. Oh, yeah,” she chanted. “Matt!”

  “That’s it,” I coached. “Ride me until you get there, little one. Use my cock, take all of it,” I warned, “because after you’re done, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll pass out.”

  “Jesus, Matt. Oh my God.”

  “Yeah,” I urged, keeping a tight hold on what little control I had left as she bounced on me, her tits so decadent I couldn’t help but bury my face in them for another taste.

  “Ride me, little Alex,” I pushed. “Ride me until you come. Chase your fucking pleasure, greedy girl.”

  She cried out as her cunt gripped my cock, climaxing so hard her eyes rolled back in her head. I rode it with her, greedy too, stroke for stroke until she stopped moving.

  With a quick flip, I put her face in the seat, my dick back in her heat, grabbed her hips, and made her mine with the savagery everyone knew me for.

  She groaned endlessly, one sharp cry breaking through the guttural sound every five or six strokes, but she stayed with me, pushing back onto my cock as best she could.

  I was mindless, the tick of pleasure like a bomb on its countdown as it ran down my spine and gripped tightly on to my balls.

  Come spurting, I closed my eyes and roared as my climax washed through me, the sharp flex of my hands on her hips enough to bruise her.

  She whimpered, collapsing softly as a second climax deep in her cunt milked me for every last drop.

  “I thought I knew Wonderland,” I told her tenderly as I collapsed on top of her. “But it turns out I can be wrong because I was just eight fucking inches deep inside it.”

  APPARENTLY, WONDERLAND, INC. DIDN’T JUST encompass the United States—it was worldwide.

  While most of its “parties” were held within the elite homes of Hollywood, its clients were spread across the globe. Offshore bank accounts. Computer hacking. And friends in the highest of places. Expensive drugs and beautiful pleasure girls were mere child’s play compared to the corporation’s ability to make money disappear.

  In the span of three hours, tucked soundly in the lavish constraints of Evan Saint’s home, I’d connected more dots than my brain could digest.

  Tonight, I was his primary liaison. The hostess with the mostest. The go-to for Dr. Saint to ensure that tonight’s function ran effortlessly.

  As ridiculous as it sounded knowing what I knew about them now, Wonderland, Inc. knew how to plan parties. In two weeks’ time, Evan Saint’s charity function had been planned, arranged, and executed. All with class, sophistication, and an overwhelming attendee response. Out of the three hundred people who were invited to this lush affair, only two declined. According to Matt, part of that was because of Wonderland’s overly extensive network of local business owners. Even Tony the butcher had things to hide. Go figure.

  So far, things were running as smooth as butter.

  Matt had debriefed me prior to the start, and even Cal had taken the time to show me the ropes and ease my transition into my new role. Thankfully, neither had thrown me to the wolves, and by the time the party began, I felt ready to dive in with both feet.

  I’d stayed busy from the start, ensuring that Dr. Saint was happy and all of his attendees had what they needed.

  I’d arranged for a pleasure girl to spend time wit
h a CEO of a major corporation—which made their money off of baby products—after I’d received his million-dollar donation to help African children receive medical care.

  I’d watched a famous celebrity make a hearty investment in the Wonderland drug fund. And I’d witnessed said famous celebrity snort her investment straight into her nose.

  Nothing was off-limits, and the world was their oyster. To do and experience anything they wanted without the moral constraints of society. All the while, raising money for a good cause.

  Playing the game by their own rules, the party moved on.

  I’d helped Jessie Cat with her girls, served drinks to a group of prosecutors discussing the fact that it was usually better to make a deal with a criminal than to risk losing points on their coveted “conviction rates,” and I’d even assisted a prominent politician with making last-minute travel arrangements to a private beach home owned by a popular lobbyist group.

  I saw and heard everything in my new role. And the more I witnessed, the more I realized that, when it came to money, nothing was off the table. Everyone was connected in some way. And owed favors were the lifeblood of the wealthy.

  The good weren’t just good. The bad weren’t just bad. Everyone was human. Some just had more means to accomplish their goals and delve into their dirty, greedy desires than others.

  “Matt would like to see you,” Jessie Cat said as I stood inside of the kitchen, making payment arrangements with the caterers. “He’s downstairs,” she added. “And he would like a scotch on the rocks.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, and she grinned.

  She bumped her hip softly against mine. “I see the way he watches you.”

  I quirked a brow, and her grin grew wider. Secretly, I’d been wondering how much the people around us knew about how close we were—and how they’d react. But I’d been too happy to worry about it with any real intensity.

  “All I’m saying is that Matt Hadder has never paid any woman that kind of attention.” She grabbed a fresh bottle of champagne and removed the cork with a quiet pop, hardly spilling a drop. “That man lived in shades of cool. Until you.”