Alphas: Supes and Badboys (8 Books in One)

by Myles, Eden

  “I will do anything to protect you, Livia, but I cannot help you if you don’t trust me, if you will not work with me!”

  We stood there a long moment, my arm upraised, his hand on my arm, stopping me. It took me a long time to stop shaking from rage. Only then did he loosen his hold a little. His eyes, momentarily clouded with fear and outrage, softened once more. I had never met a man so volatile in my life!

  Slowly his voice came to me, little more than a whisper, but one edged in steel. “I will not let him harm you,” he repeated. “I made you, Livia! You belong to me, and you are the most amazing thing I have ever created. But you must do what I tell you to do. You must obey me if you want to live.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Do you trust me, Livia?”

  I breathed in and out, in and out. Finally, I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then listen. You will do as I say, and I will do whatever I can to make safe passage for you out of Blackstone Hall. Do you agree?”

  In and out. In and out. It wasn’t easy, but I nodded. “Yes.”

  He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. His mouth was warm, and the rough touch of his chin, contrasting with his soft lips, sent a kind of tingling electricity down through my hand and arm. I laid the back of my fingers against his cheek, felt the light stubble there, and he closed his eyes, cupped my hand as if that were the dearest gesture he had ever received from another human being.

  His other hand glided up my side, around my neck, and cradled my head. I hadn’t pinned my hair, and so he was able to tangle his fingers in the long, russet coils. He clenched his fingers, holding me rigidly in place. His mouth came down hard upon mine, like that first time, and he bit my bottom lip and forced his tongue deep into my mouth. I squirmed and sighed at the sheer power and ravenous hunger of his kiss. We were alone. There was no escape for me now.

  “Livia,” he breathed against my lips before claiming them again. “Livia…you taste so good. So perfectly human.”

  He pushed me back on the gurney and swept his bag and instruments aside with one big hand. His other hand cupped my backside and jerked me against the front of his body. My heart thudded in my ears so loudly I was certain he could hear it, that he knew what he was doing to me, how much I secretly ached for him.

  He rubbed the hardness of his erection against the front of my body, so I could feel how much he wanted me, then ripped my clothes from me in a fit of desire. His ferocity surprised me. Again, I was struck by the duality of his nature, how proper and exact and scholarly he was among others, how wild and demanding and irrevocably male he was with me.

  My fingers moved over him, but I was only able to pull away his coat and neckcloth, to peel him down to his waistcoat before he pushed me down, held me down, his hands roving over my nakedness, this body he had made, leaving an electric warmth in their wake that left arching toward him.

  He pulled back just long enough to study me, his grey eyes appraising my naked body up and down beneath my gown. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Absolutely perfect in every way.” His lips descended on mine once more, and he traced the curve of my throat. “Rothschild is a fool.”

  He began licking and biting me, and I writhed against him, mewling impatiently. I had no memories of Olivia being with a man, and if that was true, I felt sorry for Olivia, dying without knowing this euphoria. His tongue dipped lower, tracing the delicate bones of my clavicle, and then lower, along the slope of my breast. My need for him turned into a raging hunger.

  I needed more. I needed to feel him touch me everywhere.

  Perhaps he read my thoughts. “Do you remember being with a man?” he asked, his breathless hush brushing across the hardening peaks of my nipples.

  I arched my back, reveling in the sensation. “I think Olivia died a virgin.”

  “Shame.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  He took a hard peak in his mouth, drew it out, let it go, then blew gently upon it until I trembled uncontrollably for him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he confessed. “If you want me to stop, tell me now, because soon I won’t be able to.”

  My throat seized up with emotion, but I managed to pant out breath and wrap my hands around the hardness of his cock through his trousers. He gasped at the sensation. “Please…” was all I could manage. He was my master, my creator. My god. I wanted to please him.

  He licked and nipped at my quivering flesh even as he slowly dropped to his knees before me. He forced my legs open and his lips traced the outer edges of my wet, swollen core. I had never been touched there before by anyone and the sudden, fierce, unfamiliar touch wrenched a cry of delight out of me. He teased me, kissing the inside of my thighs, blowing gently against the petals of my labia until I was crying out for him and thrusting my hips wantonly at him, hoping he would taste me, claim me. “Please, Doctor…take me.”

  He groaned low in his throat. “I want to bring you first. I want to feel this exquisite body respond to my every touch, Livia.”

  He skimmed the hood of my clitoris back and flit his tongue over my exposed little nub. I cried out and thrust my hips upward in response. When he licked along my wet inner flesh, his tongue dipping inside me briefly, I nearly jumped off the gurney in response. Only his other hand, holding me immobile atop the table, kept me down. I groaned and thrashed as he forced two fingers deep inside of me, curled them, and rubbed at the inside of my body. I begged him shamelessly to take me, to not torment me like this.

  “Tell me what you feel, Livia,” he whispered between fast, maddening licks of his tongue. “What does your body feel?”

  “Everything…dear gods, I feel everything!” I said, nesting my fingers in his silvery dark hair. “I feel heaven in your touch, Doctor!”

  He chuckled at that, and the vibration of his voice made the sensations coursing through my body amp up another level. “You feel so beautiful inside, Livia. So perfect. It’s been so long,” he said, sucking my swollen nub into his mouth and running his teeth over it.

  I wondered what he meant. I wondered how many women he’d had. I clutched Dr. Von Holtz’s hair and my hips began moving of their own volition, in a rhythm similar to the one his tongue was provoking. I had never thought of myself as a wanton women until this moment, until him.

  I climaxed hard, thrusting my hips, my inner muscles clenched down hard around his fingers inside me as my lower belly contracted and then spasmed. I danced for him like a puppet for her master.

  When the last shudders left my body, I found I was so exhausted I fell upon the gurney, panting uncontrollably. It was then he climbed atop the gurney, looming over me. He’d worked the rest of his clothes off, and the sight of his beautifully sculpted chest and abs, the soft mat of silvery hair peppering his chest, his incredibly hard cock slapping against the flat plain of his belly, jolted me and sent a breathless thrill through my body. I wanted to skim my fingers through the silky plain of his chest, mold my hands to the muscles of his back and ass, hold him inside me until I burst from the pleasure.

  He looked me over, drank in the sight of my nakedness, until I felt a pang of worry. What if he found some error in his creation of me, some terrible flaw I had yet to uncover? What if my body was imperfect, like my eyes? I nibbled my lower lip, afraid he would reject me, declare me unfit and unworthy of being his lover. He leaned down and kissed the place my navel should have been.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out.

  “For what?”

  “I know I’m not…normal. I’m…deformed.”

  “You are not deformed, Livia,” he replied with insult, looking me straight in the eyes so I knew he spoke the truth.

  “But there are things wrong with me.”

  “There are things wrong with us all,” he said soothingly, stroking my hair and kissing along my face and neck. “I have a floating rib and am color blind,” he whispered in my ear, and I giggled at that. Now I knew why he always wore the same outfit.

  But my g
iggles were quickly cut off by the glorious sight of him. His cock was thick and heavily spiderwebbed with veins. He slid it along the wetness of my slit until it glistened with my arousal. He rubbed the thick, spongy head against my clitoris until I was writhing uncontrollably atop the table for him.

  “Gods, you’re gorgeous and amazing,” he growled against my throat. “Like some little doll made only for me, made for my pleasure alone.” He rubbed at my opening, wetting me until I thought for certain I would go mad from his teasing. “I know you were made for him, but I want to hear you tell me you’re for me, Livia, all for me.”

  “I’m for you, Doctor,” I gasped out. I didn’t feel silly to be talking like this. Instead, it felt right. Correct. “I was made for you. I was made for your pleasure.” My hands stroked over his back and buttocks as I invited me to take him. “Take your pleasure from me.”

  “My gorgeous pleasure doll,” he growled and lifted his hips just enough to plunge his cock home inside me.

  Immediately, my back arched as I took him inside me. He thrust in and out, slow and deep, and the sensation of that wet friction dragged a cry from my throat. He paused, letting me adjust to the feeling of him inside me, stretching me to my limits, until my frustration mounted, moment by moment, and I finally pierced his back with my nails and said, “Dear gods, take me, Doctor, take me hard…”

  He put his back into our rut. I gripped his ass as he went deeper, pounding against me and up inside me so hard my entire body shuddered from the impacts. My lower body trembled and I felt the first surges of a new climax seizing me. He reached between us and squeezed my breasts hard in his big hands until I felt my breath stutter and my body edged up closer to release.

  “Ohhh…” I said and tilted my head back as I reveled in the feeling of him sheathing himself ever deeper inside of me. My free hand moved to his chest, to trace that wall of sweating muscle, the smooth, glistening hair, and when I finally looked up, I saw he was wholly focused on me as he brought me, brought us both, his eyes pinned to my face, watching my ecstasy with a devotion that bordered on the religious.

  His concentration on pleasuring me left me humbled and terrified at the same time. My body trembled and thrashed for him. My legs lifted up and I rested my heels at his waist. My stomach muscles constricted and I could feel my body compulsively gripping him, not wanting to let him go.

  The pleasure must have been overwhelming for him as well. He grunted and lunged once more, then grew deathly still deep inside me as he found his own release. The heat of his seed spilled inside me, and his eyes fluttered and he said at last, “Oh, Livia…how I love you, my doll,” before collapsing atop me. We lay for many breathless moments together, and I stroked his hair and kissed his ear.

  I loved that he loved me. I was grateful to the gods and to fate that they had sent him to protect me, but I realized we had just made my situation more complicated…more impossible. Because no matter how hard Dr. Von Holtz was willing to work to get me out of Blackstone Hall, I realized I could not leave without him.

  * * *

  Chapter IX

  The storm rolled in like war drums, shaking the mountains. I sat in my window seat, clutching my knees against my chest, and watched the lightning bridging the earth and the heavens, all hot electrical power.

  When someone knocked on my bed chamber door, I nearly jumped. “Yes?”

  Dr. Von Holtz let himself in. He looked neat and stiff as always in his evening dinner wear. He looked me over and then noticed I was still in my chemise, the evening gown laid out on my bed, “You haven’t finished dressing, Livia.”

  “I was watching the storm, Doctor,” I told him as I got to my feet.

  He looked me over in my chemise and knickers, his interest obviously piqued. “Where’s your chambermaid?” he inquired. “Tonight is very special.”

  “I sent her to fetch me some flowers from the garden to wear in my hair.”

  “In order to be rid of her, I’m sure,” the Doctor said drolly, giving me a look that said he knew exactly what I was up to.

  I shrugged. “I hated her fussing.”

  He moved forward until he faced me and placed two fingers under my chin. “It’s important that you keep up appearances, Livia. If you act too willful, Lord Rothschild may become suspicious.”

  I lowered my eyes. “But it’s difficult to endure all this…fuss.”

  “Livia…”

  “Yes, I know, Doctor. I must remember the plan.”

  Ever since I had gotten my strength back a few days ago, I’d been swarmed by chambermaids who wanted to wash and dress me, groomers to fix my hair and makeup, secretaries to schedule my days, tailors to design my wardrobe, and tutors to improve my sewing and court etiquette. All furnished by Lord Rothschild, of course.

  All quite infuriating! I would much rather have spent my days improving my horsemanship, or working with the archers who walked the battlements and spent hours practicing down in the courtyard where I could only watch them from afar from my window seat.

  But I had to trust the Doctor. I had to play the game, as he reminded me on an almost daily basis. He said Rothschild was dangerous. An old warlord with few scruples. In the years before peace came to this land, Rothschild would regularly behead his enemies and display them upon his castle wall. He’d been known to stake men alive for looking at him crossly. If he became suspicious of me—of us—he would surely have us both put to death.

  The Doctor tilted my chin up a little ways and placed a warm, wet kiss on my lips. My entire body seemed to come alive with that kiss, like he was awakening me from some evil spell in a child’s fairytale. I reached for him, to wring my arm around his neck, but he withdrew and gave me a poignant look. “Lord Rothschild is expecting you to be down to dinner in less than fifteen minutes. Now get dressed and meet us downstairs.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  After my chambermaid returned and put me in a huge, lacy, midnight blue and frightfully uncomfortable ball gown that felt more like a straightjacket than any item of finery, I started downstairs, the flowers in my hair and my evening fan fluttering properly before my chin. Lord Rothschild met me at the foot of the stairs.

  He was dressed in black, glittering brocade, and his long, white-blond hair was tied into a queue with a hank of black ribbon. He might have been handsome once, but now he just looked ancient and evil, like a raven that had taken on human form. He took my hand and kissed my knuckles. I jumped at the coolness of his lips. “My lady,” he said.

  I curtseyed properly, the way my instructors had taught me. “My lord.”

  “I trust you approve of the dress?”

  As if I had any choice. But I smiled pleasantly all the same. “Yes, of course, my lord. It’s beautiful.”

  He showed his strong white teeth in a smile. “I’m pleased you approve.” He offered me his arm and escorted me into dinner. When we got to the enormous banquet hall, I saw the Doctor waiting and felt my spirits lift a little. At least he would be here, I thought.

  It was a fairly dismal affair, the food foreign and tasteless, more pretty to look at than good to eat, and the servings much too dainty for my rather generous appetite. Only Lord Rothschild seemed to enjoy the hideously undercooked venison bleeding all over our plates. But I worked hard on conversing properly.

  Dr. Von Holtz sang my praises and told me how well I was responding to his hypnotherapy, how I was remembering more things every day. We were not engaging in any such activity, actually, but by Lord Rothschild granting me the sessions in the wizard’s tower, the Doctor and I were able to be alone for long periods of time.

  During these stolen periods, we would make love, or the Doctor would instruct me in his work. He’d found I had a particular aptitude for the sciences and said that once we escaped the Hall, I would make a fine assistant to him. I found his work fascinating, and was steadily finding ways to improve upon it.

  Sometimes he would share the letters he’d received from Rothschild in the past, and throu
gh them, I was able to paint a more complete picture of Olivia. I hoped it was enough to fool Rothschild into believing my memory of my former self had fully returned.

  After dinner, we retired to the drawing room to take tea. It was there that Rothschild said, “I’d hoped to take you for a walk in the garden tonight. If my lady approves, of course.”

  I suppressed a grimace, the idea of being alone with Rothschild in the dark frightened and disturbed me. I thought of all the stories I heard of his nocturnal hauntings. “I love the garden, of course,” I said, recalling that detail in one of Dr. Von Holtz’s letters, “but I noticed a storm fast approaching. Would it be wise, my lord?”

  We could hear the thunder rolling toward us, even through the thick, black rock of the Hall.

  He reached out and laid his cold hand atop mine. “I promise to protect you from the storm, my dear.”

  I smiled wearily. “You have power over storms, my lord?”

  “I have power over many things,” he said.

  I let him walk me out into the courtyard. I had no choice, really.

  He led me through the tall, black iron gate where the wild roses grew and we strolled down the long stone path that wove around the various patches of flowers that Rothschild’s gardener had planted. In the dark, the flowers were mostly amorphous bunches of shadow, and the only real light came from the lanterns strewn in a daisy chain along the battlements high above.

  I kept my hand on his forearm as we walked, but as the dull roar of thunder sounded far above, I found myself moving instinctively closer to him. He misinterpreted my fear as desire and set his other hand on mine.

  I shivered from his cold.

  “You mustn’t be afraid, Livia. I’ve waited a long time for your return.” His eyes faintly glinted in the dark, like the eyes of a predator in the forest at night. “Do you remember what flower was your favorite?”

  I knew from Dr. Von Holtz’s letters. I touched the flowers in my hair. “The tulip.”

  We stopped before a bed of them, and Lord Rothschild plucked a red one for me, moved his hand to brush my cheek. We stood close together, yet I sensed no heat at all from his body. “I think you really are becoming my Olivia.”