Hot Alphas

by Lora Leigh

  “I know what I want.” He tugged her head back and dipped his own, pressed his brow to hers. His free hand fisted the back of her shirt and it left her feeling surrounded by him. “I want you. I’m scared to death and you’ll have to kick my ass along the way, but I want you, and everything that comes with it.”

  Oh. Well. Hell.

  Now she was really lost.

  For a long, long moment, he stared at her and then, slowly, he slanted his mouth over hers. He pressed her back against the wall of the house, the strength of his body pinning her to it as her muscles went lax. His tongue toyed, tangled with hers. Her heart slammed against her ribs as he slid his hands up her sides, danced the tips of his fingers along her neck before plunging them into her hair to arch her face to his.

  “Ali-girl.” He rubbed his lips against hers before pressing a hot, burning line of kisses down her neck. “My girl.”

  She twisted her hands in his shirt, sucking in a desperate breath. He shifted against her and her pussy clenched when she felt the hard, heavy ridge of his cock. Hunger and need ripped through her.

  Lost … yes. She was lost. She didn’t care.

  * * *

  He barely had the brainpower to realize they were on the porch.

  Her lit porch.

  Groaning, he managed to stumble inside and kick the door shut and that was where his control ended.

  Spinning around, he put her against the door and leaned back, grabbing the hem of her shirt. It was wet now, thanks to his own sodden clothes and he ran his fingers down the transparent cloth. Through it, he could see the outline of her bra, the soft swell of her breasts, the elegant line of her torso. He wanted to go to his knees before her and worship her, wanted to press his lips to every damn inch of her. Slowly, he lifted his gaze up to meet hers. “I got you all wet.”

  “So you did.” She licked her lips.

  “Should I do something about it?” He made himself hold back. He’d been so fucking unfair to her, holding back from everything they both wanted, both needed. He needed this … now. With her. She wanted it. But if he’d pushed her so far away that she wasn’t ready for this …

  A slow smiled curled her lips. “Well, you’re a big boy, Tate. It’s time you start taking more responsibility for things,” she teased. “You got me all wet. Now take care of it.”

  As she spoke, she curled her legs around his hips and arched against him.

  The contact was a jolt, straight down his spine, hitting him square in the balls. “Yes, I should absolutely take care of that.”

  Reaching for the hem of her shirt, he slowly peeled it up, watching as he bared each inch. Goose bumps broke out along her skin and once the shirt had cleared her head, he dropped it to the ground and leaned forward, pressed his mouth to the delicate line of her collarbone.

  She shivered and he looked up, stared into her eyes. “Are you cold?”

  “Umm.”

  “I can’t tell if that’s a yes or no.” He nibbled his way along her shoulder, felt another shiver race through her. “I’ll take it as a yes. I should warm you up. Get rid of these wet clothes.”

  He kissed his way up her throat and reached behind him to unhook her feet, guiding her legs down so he could deal with her jeans. “These should go, too, right?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled against his lips as he went to take her mouth. Her kisses—he could gorge on them. Every day for the rest of his life and never be satisfied. That was what he wanted. What he’d wanted for a long, long time; maybe he’d even let himself think about having it. “I think everything should go.”

  “Good idea.” He undid her bra, slipped the straps slowly down, watching as her breasts swung free. The deep rose of her nipples begged for him and he paused to catch one in his mouth, plumping her breasts together as he did so. “So soft. So sweet.”

  She arched against him, a movement guaranteed to distract him. He wasn’t about to get distracted, though, and he straightened, focusing his attention on the thin cotton yoga pants. They were gone in seconds and he boosted her back up, pressed her back to the door.

  A random thought fired—we can go to her room—but he didn’t want to be away from her, didn’t want to try and navigate the house when he could be inside her.

  She hissed, shivering. “You’re getting me wet all over again.”

  “That’s the idea.” He slid a hand down between them, pushed a finger inside her and yes, she was very, very wet.

  She gasped as he stroked her, her muscles clenching around him. Then she reached for him, yanking at his shirt. “Take this off.”

  He leaned back just enough, gripping the firm curve of her ass. “You take it off instead.”

  Their gazes locked and held as she dragged the shirt up. It caught around his shoulders and he let go just enough to finish stripping the wet mess off as she clutched at his hips with her knees.

  It was absolutely insane that his hands were shaking.

  He’d made love to Ali a hundred times. More.

  Yet each time was a new experience.

  This time, I don’t have to hide—

  He stilled, slowly lifting his eyes to stare at her.

  “Tate?”

  His heart thudded in his chest and he tried to breathe around the massive ache centered there but it was almost impossible.

  An uncertain look crossed her features.

  “No more holding back?”

  A breath shuddered out of her. “Please don’t.”

  Gazing at her, he eased the zipper of his jeans down, his cock pulsating, the need inside him swelling, rippling through him. His blood burned. Nerve endings seemed to sizzle and scream inside.

  She reached down and stroked one finger along his length and he caught her wrist, stretched it up over her head and pressed it to the door, still watching her. He caught her other wrist as well, holding them both pinned in one hand, high over her head.

  It arched her back, lifted her breasts, a position that seared itself on the back of his mind.

  With his free arm, he caught one leg, drew it up. “There. Stay right there,” he muttered, right there as he pressed it to his hip, opening her. Her lips parted as she stared at him, soft, broken little pants coming from her. Then he reached between them and grabbed his cock, grimacing as even that touch sent a jolt racing through him. He was ready to come, right there. The heated kiss of her wet pussy against his head was a damn near brutal sensation.

  Ali gasped as he pressed against her. Slowly, oh, so slowly, she yielded. Her breasts rose and fell against his chest in a rapid rhythm, her gaze all but blind as she stared at him.

  She was burning him. Burning him alive.

  “Burn for me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I want to feel you burn for me.”

  The silken, tight grasp of her pussy closed around him, the tissues clinging to him as he withdrew and then surged back in. Her head fell back, throat arched, the line, delicate, exposed. He skimmed it with his lips. “I love you.”

  A soft, broken cry escaped her lips.

  Why did this feel different?

  Bewildered, Ali stared into his eyes but even as she tried to understand everything shaking and rolling through her, he surged against her again. His swollen flesh rasped over sensitized tissues and he retreated, slowly, almost too slowly, so that she was painfully aware of the void he left behind. His gaze caught hers, held hers as he poised there, right there at her entrance.

  Then he started it all over again, a slow, deep possession, until she was full with him, stretched tight around him. The pleasure battered at her and she whimpered, twisted in his arms in a desperate attempt to get closer.

  “Burn for me,” he whispered against her mouth again, releasing her wrists and sliding his hand down to cup her cheek.

  She clutched at his shoulders, her nails biting into his flesh as she clenched down around him, already feeling the orgasm gathering deep inside her. So easily. He had her so easily.

  He worked a hand between them and s
he keened out his name as he flicked his thumb over her clitoris. There …

  She caught her breath but then he changed his rhythm, going to shallow, teasing thrusts as he toyed with the hard little nub of flesh. “Not so fast, Ali-girl.”

  She glared at him.

  He stared back at her. The naked need, the hunger, the love she saw in his eyes left her breathless.

  Desperate, she reached for him and he came to her, his mouth slanting over hers. Sinking her teeth into his lower lip, stroking her tongue against his mouth until he opened for her, she tried to gorge on him, feast. Lose herself.

  His rhythm turned hard again, hard, heavy, driving. She arched to meet each thrust, gasping out his name and then he tensed against her.

  “Tate!”

  Abruptly, he moved—harder, faster, working one arm around her to hold her steady as he drove into her like he was trying to imprint himself on her very flesh. She loved it.

  A shriek ripped from her as the climax slammed into her. Ali hadn’t even caught her breath before his cock jerked and she felt him start to come. Moaning, she quivered around him, shaking at each rhythmic jerk of his heated length.

  “Ali…”

  Her name was a dazed, raspy murmur on his lips.

  Because she could actually say it this time without him tensing up, she turned her face into his neck. “I love you.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The sun came up over them as he made love to her again.

  She’d lost track of how many times they’d turned to each other during the night. This might have been the sixth—she had fuzzy recollections of it happening sometime in the dark, but that might have been a blissed-out dream.

  Now, with her face pressed against the pillow and him stretched out, half lying on top of her, half alongside, she tried to steady out her breathing.

  Her heart beat like mad and she had a feeling if she looked in the mirror, she’d see a goofy grin spreading across her face.

  It wasn’t a bad day, she decided.

  Not a bad day at all.

  She didn’t have to work.

  The kids wouldn’t be home for a while and best of all …

  “What’s the smile for?”

  That was the best of all. Tate was here.

  She cracked one eye open and saw him peering down at her. “I dunno. I’m suffering from oxygen deprivation so I’m probably delusional.”

  “Uh-huh.” He dipped his head, kissing her behind the ear and then he rolled off, settling on the bed just a few inches away.

  In the soft, golden glow of the early morning sun, he looked too beautiful. He was here. In bed with her.

  He hadn’t up and left in the middle of the night. He didn’t look like he was going to take off running right now, either.

  Swallowing, she laid a hand on his cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  He covered her hand with his. “Ali.”

  “Don’t.” She shook her head, wiggling closer and tucking her head against his chest. “I just. Hell. I thought about this. I wanted this. Didn’t think it would happen and I was ready to just…”

  “You got tired of waiting.”

  He stroked his hand up her back, his touch light and gentle, but she felt the tension mounting inside him.

  “Not because I wanted to.” She rubbed her thumb across his skin and felt his chest rise, expanding on a sigh. “I just realized that waiting around and hoping things would change wasn’t going to make them change.”

  “So we talk now.” He rolled her onto her back and stared down at her. “What do you need me to do? What can I do?”

  “You already did a lot of it, Tate.” Studying his face, she shrugged. “You let me in. All you ever did was keep me on the outside, sharing nothing but … this. It was just sex. I know that’s all we talked about in the beginning, but I think we both know things changed for us along the way.”

  He pressed his thumb against her lips. “I always wanted more than just this. I just didn’t think…”

  His voice trailed off and the thick black fringe of his lashes drooped, shielding his eyes. She kissed his thumb and then squirmed, pushing against his shoulders until he let her up. Dragging the sheet up over her shoulders, she settled on the mattress with her legs crossed. “I know. I get it. You’re wrong.” She narrowed her eyes as he slid a look at her. “But I can understand why you never wanted to trust yourself. As long as you’re willing to stop. Okay?”

  “It’s not going to be just as easy as flipping a switch.” He climbed out of bed and she watched him disappear through the door. Something kept her from getting up and a minute later, he reappeared, pulling his jeans up over naked hips. She watched his hands as he zipped them up, left them unbuttoned over the lean, tanned line of his belly.

  Dragging her gaze away, she looked back at his face, but he was focused on the floor. One hand closed into a fist. “I know I’ve fucked up, Ali. I am fucked up. I know that, I get that, and I’m going to fix this. Fix me. But I also know it’s not going to be an overnight thing.”

  She waited a beat and then shrugged. “Well, we’ll take it in bits and pieces.” He flickered her a look and she smiled at him. “Besides, you might be wrong. Overnight things might just be the answer to getting you on track. Last night was pretty damn good, right?”

  The grin he gave her was just a flash on his face and it barely showed in his eyes. Shoving away from the wall, he moved to stare out the window. “Just tell me you’re not giving up on me.”

  “Tate.” She slid out of the bed and moved to stand behind him. Wrapping her arms around his back, she pressed her lips to his spine. “Baby, I didn’t give up the past three years while you had your head up your ass. You’re just now starting to show some sign of intelligence. Why would I walk now?”

  “You’re a smart-ass.” He covered her hands with his.

  “Yeah. So are you. I think that makes us a matched set.”

  They stood there a minute and then he slowly turned around, leaning back against the wall and drawing her into the cradle of his hips, one arm wrapped around her waist. “I keep thinking about the past fifteen years. About my dad. About me.” Misery was written across his face, naked and plain. “What in the hell am I supposed to say to him?”

  Her heart twisted in her chest. The storm in his eyes, the pain she could see him trying to hide, was enough to break her. Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands, pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his mouth.

  Then, easing back down, she held his gaze. “Just go to him. Tate, that man loves you. All he wants is to have his son back.”

  * * *

  “I ain’t got time for you today.”

  “Wow. Nice to see you, too, sis.” He stood in the doorway, watching Chrissie … no. Chris. She hated it when he called her Chrissie. Sometimes he looked at her and saw the little girl who’d clung to him that awful night. For a little while, after Mom died, he’d been her world.

  Unlike him, she’d looked at their father and maybe it was the eyes of a child that had let her do it, he didn’t know, but she’d looked at her father and just saw the man who’d tucked her into bed. The man who’d told their mom to ease up when he thought she pushed them too hard.

  They hadn’t been perfect parents, Tate thought.

  But they’d balanced each other.

  Tate hadn’t come to grips with how he felt about that final night, but he was going to do it in bits and pieces, just like Ali had suggested.

  Starting here.

  Chris stood at a table and for the life of him, all he could think was that she looked like a gothic Tinker Bell. Short punkish haircut in shades of white-blond, black, and pink, incongruous as hell, but it suited her. She wore a shirt with a ragged hem that bared her belly and left the stone in her navel flashing in the light as she reached for another blossom. Tattoos twined around both of her arms, sleeves that she had started working on as soon as she turned eighteen. For her eighteenth birthday, she’d gotten her first tattoo and Dad
had paid for it.

  That was what she’d wanted and Dad had never been able to tell Chrissie no.

  It wasn’t a surprise.

  She was the only one who’d believed in him, Tate realized. From the beginning.

  The tattoos were a garden, blooming there on her skin, roses and daisies, climbing and vining around her arms before disappearing under the cotton of her shirt.

  He thought there was a new one around her left wrist, but he wasn’t sure.

  She shot him a look, her green eyes unreadable.

  For the most part, he was close to his sisters, but this time of year was hard … on all of them. He tended to withdraw. Jensen all but worked herself into the ground, picking up extra hours at the station whenever she could. Chris centered herself around Dad. The baby tiger, there to guard the old man from anybody who might hurt him.

  Namely, his son.

  Swallowing, he closed his eyes and lifted his head, staring up at the sky as he tried to figure out the easier way to go about this. There wasn’t one, though.

  What the hell.

  He’d managed to bare himself to Ali. He could handle Tinker Bell over there.

  “I talked to Dad.”

  Her hands stilled over the blossoms—badass, gothic Tink loved nothing more than working with flowers. There wasn’t a week that went by that their mother’s grave didn’t have a beautiful display on it. By night, she tended bar over at Shakers and during the day, she had a mini florist’s shop bustling in the garage tacked on to her house. Her dream was to expand it out of her house, but it hadn’t happened yet.

  Her lips flattened out. “Leave him alone, Tate. You’ve caused him enough grief, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean, fuck. You try the same thing, without fail, every year—”

  She stopped. Without looking at him, she put down the stems she was working with and then reached for the rag in her back pocket, wiping her hands off. She gazed out the window, her hands clutching at the edge of her worktable. “What did you say?”