Alpha Knight

by Rose, Renee Rose

  “I definitely want more of that,” he says.

  I scramble off his lap, way too horny for a high school dance. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “You can run, but you can’t hide.” Bo murmurs, his pirate smile in full bloom, eyes winking with mischief.

  Damn him for being so attractive.

  Damn him for getting under my skin.

  I escape before he does any more damage.

  * * *

  Bo

  I have to stay in my seat for a minute until I can get my cockstand under control. Then I head out the back doors for some air. I pull out my phone and check for any messages from Winslow.

  “Hey, isn’t that guy one of the Wolf Ridge ballers?”

  Shit.

  It’s a football player from Cave Hills.

  What are the chances of me being recognized here? We’re in helmets and matching jerseys. I shouldn’t be that easy to pick out.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “He came with Sloane McCormick,” another helpful teammate offers.

  “No shit.”

  The team strolls over, their alpha—because humans have alphas, too, even if they don’t understand pack dynamics—in the lead.

  I sense the aggression in them right away, and my wolf snarls, but I hold him down.

  This is one of those instances Coach lectures us over and over about. We don’t fight humans. It doesn’t matter how stupid or annoying they are. We have to suppress the urge to show our dominance.

  Because, of course, we would dominate in any fight. No human could stand a chance against our superior strength.

  If I were smart, I would turn around and walk into the school right now.

  Find Sloane. Ask her if she wants to go home.

  But my wolf won’t let me tuck tail and run. I may not be able to fight, but I sure as hell can’t hide.

  I lean against the brick wall and watch them come at me, their chests puffed for posturing. “What’s up, assholes?”

  Their leader grabs a fistful of my shirt and bangs me against the wall.

  I have to concentrate to let my muscles go slack. Not to give into the instinct to swing at him.

  “Really? You’re calling us assholes? I think you’re on our turf, tonight.”

  “Nah. We own the goddamn state, dickwad. It’s all my turf.” It’s stupid, I know. Coach Jamison would have my balls for goading him, but I can’t help myself. These guys are such clowns, strutting around like peacocks.

  He swings, and I duck. His friends move in fast, though. They pin my arms while he beats on my ribs a few times. I could throw them off me. It would be so easy. I could crush all three of these little fuckers, but this is one of those moments I take one for the pack.

  We can’t always come out on top—the human world would get suspicious.

  He clocks me in the face, and my mouth fills with blood. Either a tooth got knocked out or went through my lip. It doesn’t matter—I’ll heal within an hour or two.

  What does matter, though—what bothers the fuck out of me—is Sloane choosing that moment to walk out.

  I shove one of the guys off me to free my right arm, even as I try to talk myself down.

  I’m saved from having to punch one of them, though, when Sloane marches over, yelling, “Get. Off. My. Boyfriend.”

  My muscles go loose again, and I grin like an idiot.

  The alpha holes will have a heyday with this when I tell them.

  Saved by a girl.

  A human girl.

  The ugly-ass leader’s lip curls with fury. “This is your boyfriend?” He throws another punch, but I dodge. “You said you had a boyfriend back in Detroit.”

  “I did. Until I met Bo.”

  Huh.

  I don’t know what she’s playing at, but I’m enjoying the hell out of it. She’s claiming me as a boyfriend now?

  She must really not like this asshole.

  He throws another punch, and I start to dodge, but at the last moment, change my mind and let it fall. It hits my jaw.

  “Stop it!” Sloane screams. The genuine alarm in her voice gets my wolf riled up like he needs to protect her. Of course, it’s me she’s screaming over. “Let him go!”

  “Why would you go out with this guy?” He shoves me, which throws off the balance of his friend pinning my arm. “Don’t you know he’s from Wolf Ridge?”

  Sloane’s dislike is evident now. She glares at the guy with pure disgust. “I’m sure that means something to you, but you forget, I’m not from around here. It means absolutely nothing to me.”

  “They’re like ignorant hillbillies,” his teammate jumps in to explain. “Inbred white trash who are dumb as rocks but can take a tackle. All they know how to do is play sports, but not a single one of them ever goes to college.”

  I don’t punch him. It would be too easy. Instead I just shake out of his grip and walk cockily to Sloane.

  “The only one showing their ignorance right now is you, Brian,” Sloane throws back, reaching for my hand. She leads me away from the building, toward the parking lot.

  I let her lead until we turn the corner, and then I put my arm around her shoulders like I need help. She just saw me get my ass beat. I have to at least act a little hurt.

  “Oh God, are you okay?”

  I give her a wide grin. I still taste blood in my mouth, so it’s probably a colorful one.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “You, rescuing me.”

  “Don’t think it means I like you.”

  I unlock the passenger side door to Winslow’s Mustang. “I think you do, Legs.”

  After she gets in, I walk around and start the car. Its early still—there's time to take her out somewhere. And that idea appeals to me, but not as much as getting her home, considering I plan on spending the night in her bedroom again.

  And not on the floor.

  I pull out, and she yanks off her crown, tosses it on the dash, then fiddles with the ancient radio in the car until she picks up a station.

  I park in front of her aunt's townhouse and turn off the car.

  "You don't have to walk me to the door."

  "Oh, but I do. I promised your aunt I'd be respectful."

  She snorts as she slides out of the car and shuts the door, booking it to the townhouse like she can't wait to get rid of me.

  I have to hustle to catch up, but my legs are longer. I reach past and catch the door knob before she does. "What, no kiss?"

  "Fuck no." She gives me a shove.

  I want the kiss, though. I want it badly. Time to stop being a dick.

  I slide my hand under her hair. "Just one," I coax. "I'll make it good."

  She hesitates, uncertainty glinting in her copper-brown eyes. She wants it, too. She just doesn't trust me.

  I lower my head. Brush my lips across hers, testing. She doesn't pull away. I make more contact, but it's still light.

  She kisses back, just a little.

  I snake my arm around her waist and deepen the kiss. Everything about it feels good.

  Right.

  The way she tastes. The way her body fits against mine. The tentative way she gives herself to me.

  I press her back against the door and go in for the kill. Sweep my tongue between her lips. Drop my hand to her ass.

  She softens even more. Lets me.

  "You taste like blood,” she murmurs when I let her up for air.

  I lift my chin toward her window upstairs. “Then let me in, and I’ll brush my teeth.”

  She considers me with heavy-lidded eyes, then opens the door and slips inside.

  I take it as a yes and barely refrain from a fist pump as I walk to the Mustang to park it somewhere nearby where her aunt won’t see.

  I lose the tie and jacket in the car and grab my backpack with a change of clothes and my phone charger and toss in her crown from the dash. Then I slip back through the darkness and swing soundlessly up to the porch roof.

  Sloane stands in t
he open window, watching my approach. “You make that look easy.”

  I shrug and pop off the screen to slip through. “It is easy.” Because I have superhuman strength. But I’ll let her be impressed, just this once.

  She has music playing—probably to block out any sound I make.

  I dig out and hand her the crown, biting back every princess comment that comes to mind. Instead, I drop my backpack and hook my index finger behind the spaghetti strap of her black dress. “You were undeniably the queen tonight.”

  She chuffs, brushing off the compliment but allowing my touch. She points at the blood splattered on my white shirt. “I’m sorry the guys at my school are such jerks.”

  “Nah, I’m good. I might have egged them on a bit.”

  “When it’s three to one? How smart is that?”

  I shrug. The hole in my lip is already half-healed, but she wouldn’t know that. “You’re right. It was stupid.” I grin and head to the bathroom to brush the taste of iron out of my mouth, so she’ll kiss me again.

  When I come back, I find she hasn’t moved. She’s just standing there, watching me.

  Considering.

  No, she’s nervous.

  I don’t know why I didn’t pick it up before, but I do now. When I listen close, I hear her heartbeat pumping faster than it should. Smell the tinge of fear in her scent, mingled with arousal.

  Sloane McCormick—the gorgeous, sex-drenched goddess among humans—is nervous with a guy? With me?

  I’d be flattered, except I don’t think it’s about me.

  She’s been pretty damn comfortable with me from the start. We don’t try to impress each other—we give each other shit.

  I stalk over to her, grab the back of her head and slam my lips down on hers.

  A shudder runs through her, and then she slowly cracks open. She steps into the space between us, places her hands on my ribs.

  “Hey, beautiful,” I say softly when we break the kiss. I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Is this your first time?”

  She stiffens, her eyes flying to mine.

  “Don’t be nervous. I’ll make it good—I promise.” I hook my forearm under her ass and lift her to straddle my waist, walking a few steps forward to lower her on the bed.

  Vulnerability shows on her face, and it makes me want to slay dragons for her.

  “How did you know?”

  I nip her inner thigh as I slide down to position my head between her legs. “I put it together.”

  I’m waiting for a protest of any kind, but all I sense is relief. She drops her head back on the bed and lets me push her thighs wide.

  She’s wearing a pair of panties I saw in her drawer—a black satin G-string that’s easy to push to the side. Her pussy’s shaved bare.

  For me.

  I lick into her, hooking her thighs over my shoulders and molding my hands around her ass. When she jacks her hips off the bed, I delve in deeper, penetrating her with my tongue, lapping at her juices. I investigate her princess bits until I find her clit. It swells when I pull back the hood and tongue it, and she clamps her knees around my ears.

  I thrash her with my tongue, swirling it around until her clit gets engorged enough for me to suck. And then affix my lips over it and pull while I slide a finger inside her.

  She arches up, squeezing my finger and lets out a broken moan. “Take off your clothes, Muscles,” she orders.

  I give her a smirk. “You think you’re calling the shots tonight, queeny?”

  She nods. “I’m definitely calling the shots.” Her voice is husky and rich. It gets me harder than stone.

  I slide my finger out.

  All right, yeah. I’ll let her call the shots. It’s her show. But I pull her panties with me as I back off the bed.

  She helps me, watching with heavy-lidded eyes. “Off,” she mouths.

  “I heard you, princess.” I unbutton my shirt and shrug out of it, then lose the white undershirt. I leave on the dogtags because I never remove them.

  She watches as I unbuckle my belt and free my erection. I do a quick search for a condom in my pocket as I step out of the pants and rip the package open.

  It occurs to me she could blue-ball me again. Get me standing here with my dick in my hand and then tell me to fuck off.

  But one look at her face tells me that won’t happen. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy. She wants this.

  I roll the condom on, keeping my gaze locked on hers. The zipper’s on the side of her dress, and I tug it down, then easily slip the sheath off her, so she’s naked.

  She’s as porn-ready and beautiful as I imagined. Her tits are firm as apples with nipples that tilt up. Her belly is flat—there’s that beauty mark I noticed last night.

  “You want the vibrator again?”

  It’s shocking how much different I feel about it than I did last night. Now that I know there’s no boyfriend. And she’s not nearly as experienced as she pretends.

  She shakes her head and eyes my dick. “I want that.”

  I can’t stop the mile wide grin from stretching across my face. “Yeah?”

  I crawl over her. “You think you can handle this?” I grip my cock and give it a shake. I’m teasing her because I know it will put her at ease. She’s comfortable when there’s a challenge on the table.

  “Please, you’re not that big.”

  I smirk. “Famous last words.”

  She tries to squeeze her knees closed. “Wait, wait, wait.”

  Of course, I do.

  “You’re actually huge. Do we need some lube?”

  I drag the head of my sheathed cock through her copious juices. “Do we, sugar? You feel pretty wet to me. But I’m happy to get slippery if you have some.”

  “Nevermind. Just try it.”

  She’s nervous again. I want to get her past it, so she can get off.

  I pin both her wrists above her head with one hand and grip my cock with the other, lining it up with her entrance. I rock slowly, applying a little pressure until the tip slips in. Then a little more. She’s tight, but wet, and I fit. I don’t feel any barrier. A few more gentle thrusts, and I’m in, fully seated, stretching her wide. I stay deep and let her adjust.

  “You okay?”

  She nods. She doesn’t look like she’s in pain, but she doesn’t look particularly pleasured, either.

  I pull out. “Come here.” I drop to my back beside her. “You ride. You’re the queen tonight. Take what you need.”

  She scrambles up—no hesitation. I definitely know this girl. I may not have all her secrets yet, but I know her.

  * * *

  Sloane

  I don’t know why I was so against Bo knowing I’m a virgin. He’s a sweetheart in bed. Lying back, his Adonis-like body on full display, he’s every bit the gentleman. Gone is the dickish asshole trying to make my life miserable.

  Now he’s all consideration and patience. I lean over to turn up the radio a little more, just in case, then throw a leg over his waist and rise up to position myself over his cock. He holds it firm for me as I slowly lower myself down on it.

  So. Good.

  I start to rock my hips. He helps me, gripping my ass with his large palms. We find a rhythm, and I ride it.

  Then I need more. I grab his wrists and pin them down beside his head. He gives me that pirate smile. We both know I’d lose any real wrestling match with him, but he’ll let me play. Let me pretend I have the upper hand for once in our rocky relationship. I pick up my speed, rubbing my clit forward and back as I move over him.

  It’s incredible. I want more. All of it.

  “You want me to touch you, princess? Let me touch you.”

  I’m not sure what exactly he means, but I release his wrists. He brings his thumb to my clit and starts rubbing. With the other hand, he reaches behind and presses the pad of one of his fingers against my anus.

  I bite back a shriek at the sudden onslaught of attention. Of sensation. I’m bucking, riding him like he’s a bronco.
It’s all too much—the loss of control, panic at the orgasm hurtling toward me. I topple sideways as it rips through me.

  Bo is a prince because he follows me over, staying inside me, taking over the work of thrusting while he still rubs my clit. Wave after glorious wave of pleasure roll through me as I smother my cries and gasps in the bedcover.

  Bo pushes one of my knees up toward my chest and goes for his finish, hammering into me in my twisted, sideways position.

  I watch him, mind blown with my own orgasm. Mind blown at the sight of him—this full grown spectacular specimen of malehood, all ripped muscles and power. If he was respectful before, it’s gone now.

  Now he’s nothing but pure, animal need. I got mine, and now he’s after his. And he’s taking it. A more timid girl would be frightened by this display. The intensity. The loss of control. There’d be no stopping him now, if I wanted to. But I definitely don’t want to. I’m in awe, fascinated by his unapologetic virility.

  His face contorts, as if in pain, and then he slams home and stays, eyes squeezed shut.

  But a second later, his eyes fly open and find my face. “Shit, are you okay? Was I too rough?”

  I shake my head. He was, but I’d never tell him, and not out of pride this time. Because I learned something about myself: I like it rough. I’m going to be sore—I already am sore, but holy hell, sex is fun! I don’t know why I denied myself so long.

  Too many barriers up, I guess. I was unwilling to let anyone see me in a vulnerable position. It’s hard to believe that of all the people to let in, I chose Bo Fenton, the guy who hates my guts.

  Only maybe he doesn’t. Not anymore.

  Maybe he never did.

  Was this all some crazy, animal attraction that we both resented because we’re not supposed to be together?

  Me, because I can’t. And him because he blames me for what happened to his brother?

  He’s still watching me, expression almost tender. He reaches out and strums my nipple with the pad of his thumb. “Are you okay?”

  I nod.

  “Sore?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  He winces and eases out. “Sorry. I lost control at the end.” He turns around and walks to the bathroom, giving me a view of his very nicely-defined butt. I like how unabashed he is about being naked. But with a body like that, who wouldn’t be?