An Alpha's Desire

by Amarie Avant

  “Hello, Lauren.” My tone is bitter.

  “Desire, I need your help,” she sighs heavily.

  “Oh, you need my help? Can't fathom how I thought that the ‘I’ and ‘me’ shit ended when you had children, Lauren.” My eyes close and I sink back into the chair. That was harsh, but I’ve been enabling Lauren for years. “This morning I was late to work. Riley is my heart, and I don’t mind helping. But don’t confuse my help for weakness.”

  “I know, I know. Desire, you are good at everything—that’s not an excuse. I can't get current on one bill without a late notice for another. Listen, Riley and I are being evicted, right now,” she huffs.

  I sit forward in the chair. “What do you mean you’re being evicted? Last night, you went god knows where. Needing time to yourself.” And I know for damn sure, ‘me time’ in your eyes isn’t a stroll in the park to contemplate.

  “I had dinner with a friend of mine who was supposed to help me pay my damn rent.”

  “Supposed to help you? Nobody in this world owes you a thing, Lauren!”

  “Desire, I can use the ‘Iyana’ spiel this evening…at your house. Right now, the damn police just told me to get all of our shit. Riley and I need a place to stay.”

  Azalea’s emergency cell phone begins to ring.

  “Desirenda, are you listening to me? Your godson and I need a place to stay,” she says. “Are you going to let us live on the street?”

  Your Godson. Are you…you…you! I bite my tongue for now. “Lauren, I’ll see you at my house this evening.”

  “Hello,” I answer Azalea’s phone and hang up mine.

  “Hello, beautiful. I hate to call you with a problem, but I believe Jada has attempted to break protocol by trying to find out my identity.” The voice is as captivating as the Devil. I glance at the roster and match up the phone number. My pupils dilate. Daniel Rutledge.

  Your girls. My mouth grits while he begins to tell me of his plight.

  “I’ve had Jada for almost a year now. It would be so unfortunate that she has an underlying agenda,” he adds, almost seeming disappointed. What is it, love for Jada on his part? The devil is a liar.

  “Consider her terminated.” I shrug.

  “Whoa-who-who are you?” His baritone increases in ways that make me think of icky alpha novels where the guy issues commands like ‘sit there’ or ‘suck daddy’s dick like this.’ Yuck. For the second time today, I desire to gouge my ears out.

  “I said who are you and where is Madame Azalea or Whitley?”

  “I’m nobody important.” I sink back into the chair. I almost feel like there’s an imaginary red button for me to push—a means to an end. “So, you’re saying that one of your oldest bitches seems a bit manipulative. She’ll be dealt with and fired.”

  “C’mon, don’t call Jada a bitch. I don’t want her fired–”

  “Should I have her whacked?” I offer. Maybe I've flown over the cuckoo’s nest, but today I've been getting hit at all angles. Why not? I’m arguing with a man who has an impeccable perfect facial structure, strong angular jaw, pleasure seeking lips, thick wavy golden hair, a body that has been ripped to shreds with muscles—unless People magazine was playing nice by photoshopping their snooping of him. But usually candids of celebrities are raw, and unbeautified.

  “Whacked? Miss, who are you?”

  “I’m the woman who is attempting to acquiesce to your request, Mr. Rutledge. I’m sure you’re accustomed to attaining your every desire, having been born with a silver spoon shoved up your… mouth.” I smile for emphasis. “Consider Jada Richards as checked and put in her place—”

  The phone goes dead.

  He hangs up.

  I place my hand over my mouth and give a little chuckle. Okay, so I was an asshole, but he’s a disgusting prick. Azalea is going to kill me. That thought doesn’t settle in because the door is opening.

  And in walks none other than Wentworth Daniel Rutledge the motherfucking Third.

  I never insert my foot into my mouth at the proper time such as telling Lauren why she needs to be a good mother as opposed to why we, as black people, should. Forget all the generalizing it; that trick needs to spend the same amount on a wardrobe for Riley as she does her damn virgin-Indian bundles! But here I am, a size eight stuck down my throat. I breathe in a woodsy scent, perfectly spiced with testosterone that turns my insides to pure mush. Awareness rocks through my entire core, and every nerve ending in my body is fully aware.

  So, People’s Magazine hadn’t airbrushed him to perfection. He is perfection. His eyes are a steely gray with a hint of honey—a very faint, faint hint because mostly they register anger. Blond hair stylishly cut. Carved cheekbones, strong jaw, set rigidly. The finest silk suit is tailored over muscles, and I am knowledgeable that he is indeed taller than any of the magazines could portray. I glance down to make sure his shoes aren’t deceivingly heighted in the back, but it doesn’t appear so. There’s a predatory demeanor about him, and he radiates heat, something that reads volumes.

  He’s daring me to sling shit in his face, the same shit I had slung over the phone.

  Daniel

  I was already having a bad fucking day. First, I decided on a quick detour from Quebec to Los Angeles in order to see my kid sister, Juliet. The jet had been headed toward Dallas for my board meeting, when I told the pilot to land at LAX. The pilot advised that there would be a delay. Yet, no one in my family has ever placed her first, so my board team would have to wait since I rarely see Juliet these days.

  While sitting in traffic headed to her home in Malibu, I then received a call from the hotel in Quebec that Jada and I often frequent if I don’t have much time to get away. There’s no monetary limit to ensuring my privacy, and thus, receiving a call that Jada Richards attempted to return to our shared hotel room this morning is a motherfucking no-no. We have our separate rooms. The shared one is where all the business is handled.

  Besides, Jada had no items brought to our room except for the trench coat she wore. And she left with more diamonds on her throat.

  Then, I attempt to call the Madame to rectify this issue, and I speak with a woman whose voice is deceptively sweet, sultry. The woman’s tone only seemed to increase with animosity by the second. Why? I had no fucking idea, but whoever she was, she would pay dearly. Driving so fast, I passed up the plaza, and I had to make an illegal U-turn before zipping into the correct parking lot.

  Now, I’ve let myself into the office with a key Azalea offers her clients, so that we aren’t standing waiting no matter how short of a time it takes her or Whitley to get to the door. Which is probably never.

  But that wasn’t the lovely Madame Azalea. Nor was it her executive assistant, Whitley, who had a fetish for all things Hello Kitty, and had thanked me profusely for the manga comic books I had my assistant purchase, and the trip to Japan just for fucks sake.

  Her short, chocolate-brown tresses frame a doll face and cheeks. The owner of such a sultry, spicy tone has pillow lips. Fuck-me pillow lips that lead to the sort of mouth that seems to be never ending.

  Petite and curvy in all the right places. Man, her hips are so thick, I know without a shadow of a doubt that her ass is ripe. Each and every ample curve of her body is calling out to my cock.

  “How did you get in here?” the woman asks, her hostility momentarily displaced by curiosity.

  I jiggle the key. “We all have one.” Keep talking shit. I dare you. We’re going to get down to just why you have a problem with me.

  She sinks back into her seat with a give a flip façade. “All right, Mr. Rutledge. Obviously, you just hung up in my face mere minutes ago. I haven’t even had the chance to deal with Jada. Like I attempted to say, I’m sure you’re accustomed to the help moving at the speed of light, although I’m not the usual maid,” she punctuates every word with hate, “I’m here to deescalate issues via phone only. The Madame will handle Jada, I assure you.”

  “I am positive The Madame will. What is yo
ur name?”

  “I thought we already confirmed that I am nobody. Nobody whatsoever.” Mouth so fuckable, glare so hard. Her face is gorgeous—rich brown complexion.

  Somehow, someway I see my kid sister through her eyes. It might sound peculiar but I do. Juliet was ten and she couldn't understand why my grandfather had not one word for her.

  It was Christmas. Grandmother Marilyn always made her feel comfortable during the holidays when she visited from boarding school. Over the years, due to age, Juliet realized I hadn’t attended school away as well. My grandfather, Wentworth I, always had a lesson to teach me, a vital bit of wisdom to offer. For her, he had nothing. When she found out, she was fucking crushed.

  The image fades, and the woman's pearly white teeth are scouring over her bottom lip. Again, I am captivated by her to the fullest.

  I bite the tip of my thumb. Is she one of Azalea’s new ones? Though I pay Azalea and offer my woman the stars, I always thought I was one of Azalea’s favorites. Three is more than enough, but the chance to decline—or not—should’ve been mine.

  The woman glares at me. “Is there anything else?”

  “Your name. Are you new?”

  “I don’t matter, Mr. Rutledge. But since you must know, I am not new. Azalea wouldn’t entrust such vital information to a newbie. So, please believe that she has your identity along with her other clients in safe keeping, which should come as additional incentive to you not to make any rash decisions regarding Azalea, after she figures out Jada’s motives.”

  The first sign of sincerity is on behalf of Azalea? Her employer? I would assume that my decision to do away with all of my women might place a small damper in Azalea’s pockets, but not enough to cry over.

  She continues, “Anyhow, I’m just trying to get the job done.” Some of the intense hatred on her part seems to fade as she again murmurs that she's nobody, while her big, brown eyes sweep toward the door. I make no move to leave. “So, Azalea will handle the situation…”

  “On the contrary.” I grip the back of the leather chair at the desk parallel to hers and roll it near to her. “You have this animosity about you that intrigues me.”

  She smirks. “I intrigue you? I doubt we’ve made a connection in less than five minutes. No intelligent conversation, and no endorphins released over comedic relief.”

  “Damn, and here I assumed the very thought of myself consumed your mind day and night.” I lick my lips. I rub a hand along my bristled jaw. “Then I also assume that I’ve personally slighted you in some form or fashion—but you know the dangers of assumption, right? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe your bitterness isn’t personal.”

  “Bitterness?” She arches an eyebrow.

  I nod. “Yeah. And I am certain that I haven’t crossed paths with you Miss… Miss…I would never forget such a gorgeous, sweet face and mouth.”

  Her eyes spark. Shit, I’ve got her hot in all the right places, but all the wrong ways. “Humph, I doubt that I have mistaken you for anyone else, Mr. Rutledge. You have three mistresses. The dark and lovely Jada is your longest running one, followed by blue-eyed, southern belle, Scarlett, and hot-Latina, Ari. Their entire lives revolve around you. They’re like little pets, begging for attention. I, on the other hand, am not. So, I’d say, there is nothing else I’m capable of helping you with. Have a good day, sir.”

  She's trying desperately to get a ride out of me. Those huge eyes reflect what she sees of me. I've never given a fuck about being liked or loved. But regardless, I have always been respected. And as I’ve said, I know the name of everyone I cross paths with. I damn sure as hell would know her. “All right, so you don't work for Azalea,” I assess.

  “No. I’d rather suffocate in my own vomit then work for my…work for Azalea. I’m filling in for her. Please rest assured that Azalea will rectify this situation and your secret is safe with me.” She rises. Her gaze is expecting. I’m unmovable.

  Hips, glorious hips that are perfect for me to stake claim to, begin to sway as the woman comes around the desk.

  I glance down at her tennis shoes. A peach-golden warmth creeps up her neck. What a beautiful neck she has. Naked and in need of an adornment. Despite the tension, I see so much beauty in her because that's who I am. I sit back, watch people, move them into the proper places. Own them. And I want to add her to the list.

  “Mr. Rutledge, I've given you my word.” Her voice is soft as she touches the doorknob.

  “Yes, you have.” I'm behind her in seconds, so quickly the slight jar of her shoulders is noticeable. My cock is an instant away from her backside. My palm is against the doorframe, so she couldn’t open it if she wanted to. As I look down, the small of her back disappears where heaven begins, a round never-ending ass.

  I’m too close for her comfort. The woman is sandwiched between myself and the door, unable to turn around and sashay that voluptuous derriere away from me.

  A sugar, honey scent infuses in my nostrils as she turns her neck just so, mere moments away from my mouth.

  “Mr. Rutledge.”

  “Yes, you've given me your word and promised Azalea will deal with Jada. All of which I believe. But you haven't consented to all of my requests.”

  Her eyebrow arches, and I know the wit is back before she says, “Are you kidding me? Am I the only one who has never fully obliged you? Is that where the amusement bit comes in?”

  My mouth curves up to the right. I match her smirk for smirk. “Not necessarily. There are associates on my team who like to try me all the fucking time. Their attempt to challenge is only exercise and has strengthened my power. But you, on the other hand, may just very well be the first to do so and I actually gave a damn. You don't like me. I get it. We have ample time to remedy that.”

  Truthfully, she disregards me as if my presence is so insignificant. And she does it with such witty ease, it appeals to me. Her deep, sarcastic dislike for me rides my nerves from my brain all the way down to my cock. How the fuck does this woman that I don’t even know, make me want to punish her? I personally vow that she will scream my name soon during spankings and sex.

  Her smile says, not if you don't know me or my name.

  I offer her the confident smile of a winner. “We have all the time indeed.” I step out of the building.

  ###

  Why did the mysterious woman’s jaded face take me back to when Juliet found out that I had never attended boarding school? At age twenty, she is thirteen years younger than me, and I remember the day she chose Pepperdine University. She moved to the international location in Shanghai, China, first. Juliet was determined to get as far away from me as possible. Up until then she had always begged to live with us, even promised that she would do her best not to piss off Wentworth. Though my grandfather loathed just the thought of her.

  Keeping Wentworth the First and Second away from my sister is the reason she went to boarding schools anyway. I’d made the request with Grandmother Marilyn, and she’d fed the idea to my grandfather. But my motive was to save Juliet’s life. Even now, I contemplate if she’s better for it.

  Now our relationship is strong again. Every so often she asks to live with me, wherever the fuck that is. I have many expensive places to lay my head, homes and mansions that I own, but setting roots isn’t a priority of mine. Not until I fall in love, and settle down. Prior to Titan Aerospace, the umbrella corporation for the commercial planes, manufacturing of private jets and more, Titan Airways began in the 1930’s. Needless to say, the business aspect can run itself, but Wentworth taught my father and I an honest day’s work.

  With the bottom of a piping hot pizza pie against the palm of my hand, I knock on the door of the villa I purchased for Juliet.

  The door is all thick frosted glass. A figure comes to the opposite side and the door swooshes open. Juliet is dressed in distressed jeans, a plaid shirt, and one of her favorite beanies covering up hair. She always cusses, argues, and frets before bounding into my arms.

  “Daniel! I'm starving.” S
he lets me go. “I thought you'd be here at lunchtime.”

  “I got sidetracked.”

  “Humph, and you brought pizza! As long as it took, you could've made a trip to the store for fresh ingredients.” She takes the pie. “Shit, this smells good. But we could've made a pie a mile high with toppings.”

  I smile. “Damn, and I was in such a rush to get to you.”

  “Obviously not.” Juliet is blunt, but unlike the woman at Azalea’s office, she has a bubbly smile to go with it. She leads us through the open, vast living and dining room area toward the kitchen. “You were held up by one of your girls? Was it Scarlett? She's my favorite of the three. Jada’s a tad too old, though she has her shit together. And Ari still has to sample the frat guys. I know you love Jada the most but tell me you were with Scarlett?”

  Scarlett is twenty-eight and from the south. Her father is a mega church owner. Our first encounter was after she finished her PhD in environmental engineering. With a hectic work schedule, and a need for downtime, she is the most fun, and adventurous of the bunch. Ari is my sweet girl, seven years younger than I. She runs her own non-profit organization, and is in a sociology master’s program. They all have some form of volunteer work. I could never have a connection with a woman who didn’t have a strong head on her shoulders, and the value to return the favor to someone else.

  But Jada…my Jada is a cougar, a divorcee who enjoys my company on occasion.

  “Actually, it was none of them.”

  “You stood me up for work.” Juliet all but smacks the pizza down onto the marble island countertop. This is her only pet peeve. We made promises after Juliet finally consented to attend Pepperdine in the states; that I would always put her first. She truly is more important to me than Titan Airways.

  “No. It was for a very important business matter.” I pull out the high-back stool.

  Across from me, Juliet presses her palms onto the counter and leans forward. “It was for a girl. A woman. Don't insult my intelligence.”