Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  “Yes, Sir. I won’t tease you anymore. Sorry.”

  “Good.” I went over my storyboard and played her my song.

  She gasped when it started. “Oh my gosh! The song from the car! This is it? Our song?”

  I liked how she called it that. It was ours. It was hers. I wrote it before I even ... huh, funny, weird. I wrote it right after I met her at that damn restaurant, but I didn’t realize it until now. Holy shit! She was my muse? She was! But I wasn’t actually consciously thinking about her. I don’t think.

  “You said this is about a BDSM journey?”

  “Yeah. I, uh, just had this subbie in mind who, um, felt trapped by so many things: conventions, expectations, convictions. And only through BDSM does she, even while physically bound at the hand of her Dom, realize she’s been set free. She becomes a butterfly at the end, empowered and strong.”

  She gasped. I saw it on her face. She mapped it out and routed it back to her very own reality. Did she know it was literally her? That this song was hers? When I told her, I was thinking so generically in reference to any sub, but, no, the butterfly, the true creature of color and light was standing right in front of me. She with her prissy, pent-up ways inspired a song of free expression. I didn’t know how to feel about that. “It’s so beautiful and the song’s so moving, Jason. Even without words, I can feel the longing and the frustration and the ultimate deliverance at the end.”

  “Yeah … the end.”

  “It seems kind of one-sided though. Isn’t BDSM a mutual journey? I mean, outside of club life?”

  “It is.”

  “So, where’s the Dom in it? How does it fare for him? Is he freed too?”

  “Um,” I scratched my lip, “the Dom thinks he’s broken and remade the sub into his own vision and is delighted by that, but the process, um, has actually...” I looked at her and shrugged. “You know what? It’s not important. The song’s ultimately about the sub.”

  “But not entirely. What were you gonna say? What happens to the Dom? He’s part of the song too. I need to know.”

  “He discovers, uh … that he’s become bound to her, and that her new beauty and the perfection he hand-crafted within her has ultimate power over him.”

  Her eyes sparked with illumination. “Aaahhh, and, let me guess. You, Sir Jason, don’t want anyone having power over you. That’s why you like to keep things loose and empty. You like to be a god, worshiped, adored, in total control, the one holding all the power.”

  I sneered at her. “Yeah, so? I want to be King. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “Yes. What you really are, Sir, is a wimp.”

  “Excuse me?” I roared at her. “Don’t try to dissect my motivation or get inside my head! I am no damn wimp.”

  “Sure you are. You’re afraid of losing your esteemed status to some lowly sub.”

  “Yeah. So? What the hell’s wrong with that?”

  “For someone with such a big ego, I just assumed you were man enough to go after what you truly want at heart. But, really, you just avoid it.”

  “Shut the hell up. I don’t have to answer to you or explain myself. You don’t know me. You don’t know my past and everything I’ve been through.”

  “You’re right. But I only want to truly submit in reality to a fearless man, one who’s sexy, bold, tireless, demanding, unflinching and stern. That’s clearly not you. I can’t find the best things in myself with a Dom who’s half-assed about it and afraid to dig deep.”

  “Um, did I not just dig deep? I popped that ass. Need another reminder?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I have no intention of being your Dom or anyone else’s. And, again, I will remind you, we’re just having temporary fun here.”

  “Right. It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.”

  “And that sure as fuck won’t be me.”

  “No, of course not. ’Cause you’re a damn, untouchable rock, Jason. Let’s get to work and stop this idiot fighting, okay? Then you can be done with me once and for all and go back to your playboy domination, flitting around with no purpose. Play it again.”

  “Fine.” I growled and replayed it.

  She lay down in a fetal position to show me her stuff. When the music started, she was a little too fluid, uncurling to flat and lifting and circling her arms and legs around.

  “No. It needs to look like you just woke up to find yourself strained by your confines.” I sat in a chair, riveted on her. “Press your hands around, jerkier, like you’re in a coffin and about to be buried alive. You should have panic and sadness on your face.”

  She did exactly as I asked. Just in this rehearsal, she made me believe she was trapped and longing for freedom.

  “That’s fantastic. Perfect. Now, claw and muscle your way out. Break free, Shayna. Show me whatcha got. That fight, that heart. Draw me into your plight. Hear the change in the song?”

  She emerged from the chrysalis, that tight, tight hold on her, and pinwheeled her legs in a split that made me crave to take her just like that. I was mesmerized by the determination on her face and drawn into her innocence, her passion, her craving to take flight. She flitted, twirled and leapt around the space. She rose up on her bare toes, then melted down at the waist, reaching for her arched feet. She straightened back up and slid her legs into some ballet position.

  “You need to look more confused at first, more unsure. You can start leaping but more shakily, like you think you could take flight but aren’t actually sure how to or if you can.”

  She had me start it over. This time, she got a little more contemporary in her dancing, so flexible, so jerky, so damn hot, and she nailed it.

  “And then, the Dom comes upon this confused sub.” I stood and strode over to her. I captured her body as she unfolded out of a crouch and dipped her back over my arm. She raised her leg in a split and stayed there, naked, draped on my strong arm. We stared into one another’s eyes. “You need to, um, resist me here, sweetheart, not surrender yet.”

  “I … can’t.”

  I lifted her back up. “I know I’m hung like a moose here and that you want it good and raunchy, but forget about my dashing good looks for a moment. You have to fight me, Shayna. We haven’t even gotten to the lifts yet. This whole section before the next tempo change needs to be fiery, passionate, and gropey. Resistance has to be evident. You can’t want to let go and give into submission so easily, right away. We need a dance of seduction first, a struggle, that palpable sexual tension.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “I can’t, Sir.”

  “You always fight. Why not now? You’re just playing a part here. You’re just my dancer.”

  “’Cause I don’t wanna fight. I want to give in. It doesn’t feel like I’m just the dancer. Is this song about me? Like, for real?”

  “Hell no. That’s pretty damn presumptuous of you, Shayna.”

  She totally bought my lie, dropping her chin, losing big tears. “Oh. I — This, it’s just exactly what’s going on in my head right now. Exactly. I know you said that, but it feels so personally mine.”

  “It’s not. Why the hell would you assume it’s about you? I don’t even know you. Why would I write a frickin’ song about you, Shayna? Get real. I can’t even stand you.” What a dick!

  She started blubbering. I yearned to comfort her but wouldn’t let myself. “Okay, okay. I know it can’t be, in actuality, but it … just felt like it was. You don’t have to be so mean about it!”

  “Yes, I do. You need to have some sense knocked into you. We are nothing to one another. Absolutely nothing. Got it? We’re not even really friends. We’re just shooting a freaking video here, we’re not becoming a couple. And I wanna keep it that way.”

  She glared at me, her eyes like daggers. “Likewise. I could never be with such a shitty, puffed-up, obnoxious, temperamental asshole like you anyway. Let’s just … freaking dance!”

  “Yeah. Let’s!”

  She fought me plenty from
that point on, so perfectly. Incredibly steamed up and fiery, this shy creature blazed across my floor like an inferno.

  I chucked her clothes at her so she could get dressed, then stopped to put four cameras on and the blackened soul lighting. We were so vividly furious, it was worthy of capture. Some of this footage might be perfect. Can’t always recreate this kinda shit. I uttered more insults to tick her off. Her eyes got more explosive and glossy. Perfect. We fumed even worse than before when we resumed, practically clawing at each other, pressing, molding, grinding together like we were trying to squeeze out one final orgasm before a tornado completely decimated us. As we grew slick with sweat, our grunts and cries of exertion turned to animalistic exhibitions of raw lust. We were predator and prey, master and slave.

  But she was tactically sucking me into an irresistible, sticky web of seduction with her paradoxical charms, so I was no longer absolutely certain which side I was on.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shayna

  After getting my car from XX, Jason and I sat on the floor against his charcoal couch to watch baseball while we tore into Chinese food for a late dinner. This felt so normal and kickback, like we were dating or something. He laughed at my jokes and made me feel cherished with little touches, like bopping my nose or sweeping my hair over my shoulder. But he wasn’t my boyfriend … or my Dom. He was just some rude jerk who pissed me off most of the time.

  With fury fueling us this morning, wow, I don’t even know what that was. A volcanic blast? A war? His hands left ghosts behind all over my body and I kept catching myself absentmindedly running fingers along the bare parts of my skin that held his essence. Although we still needed to figure out how to do the lifts and spins, where his hands were supposed to be, and how I should move or pose in his grip when he was decent but not exactly Fred Astaire, we did nail down the seductive rolls on the floor the way he wanted and recorded those. I was feeling jittery about being suspended for the shots he wanted to capture tomorrow. I don’t understand how anyone can find extreme bondage sexy or erotic. Being all tied up uncomfortably in a tangle of ropes? No thanks. The thought of it does nothing for me. Whatever. At least his hands’ll be back on me. That is never not a titillating experience, especially when he’s all the more crude and demanding, uh, and livid. He’s like a sex machine and masseuse in one panty-soaking, body-quaking bundle. I loved getting him riled up. He turned into a detonated bomb, exploding raw lust and frustration all over me. So hot. Err, he drove me nuts! One minute, I wanted to rip his hair out, and the next, I wanted to rip up my desire to wait.

  I stared at him as he intently watched the at-bat and called out every pitch. When he caught me gawking, he sneered all cocky like he does, like he knows he owns me or something. Funny, I was just thinking I owned him. Maybe he doesn’t know it yet.

  “Since you clearly can’t get enough of me, Sunshine, wanna go to a wedding with me Friday night? You can hang all over my body, clutch me like a damn koala if you want.”

  “Clutch you like a koala? Whatever. Screw you, Asshole.”

  He laughed. “Can’t, Sunshine. I’m … waiting.”

  I snickered, then glared at him for his lack of consideration for the couple. “What wedding? You can bring a date last minute? Don’t they need a head count?”

  “Already gave my plus one. I mentioned the wedding last night. It was strung together on a shoes-string budget with only a month of planning. They had to scrounge to get the hotel, officiator, cake. I was invited over the phone. One of my oldest friends.”

  I scratched my stomach, it suddenly feeling icky. I hate going places where I don’t know anyone. I never know what to talk about. “Why the rush?”

  “Found out he’s gonna be deployed soon.”

  “Oh. A little crazy to get married now, but okay. What happened to your actual plus one?”

  “Haven’t asked anyone yet.”

  “What! Kinda late notice. That’s in a few days.”

  “I can always get arm candy in a rush.”

  “Right. Am I just candy to you?”

  “Definitely not. You’re pure class. You’d vastly improve my noncommittal, playboy image.”

  “Um … maybe. I hate stuff like that, but I’ll think about it.” Arm candy. He probably can’t even recall how many women he’s slammed his cock into. Gross. I licked my lips when he closed his mouth around chopsticks and made rice disappear. His mouth moved like perfection, performing its own sultry dance. It was surely the delighter of countless pussies. I don’t think there’s a sex toy on the planet that can top that. It pained me to think of how many women he’s whisked to heaven. I had to at least get some idea. “How many, um...how many women have you been sexual with?” I blanched. “I mean, everything, oral and anal too.”

  His eyes fixed on the game, he scratched his neck. “Including you? Seven, you nosy bird.”

  “Seven? That’s it?”

  “What the hell! Don’t sound so stinkin’ surprised. I told you I wasn’t getting up every skirt.”

  “Yeah, but...”

  “I don’t screw around with just anyone. A woman has to not just be extraordinary and totally subalicious, she has to be at least potentially mine.”

  I’m not yours though. Not even close. Kind of fickle on your standards. I huffed. “Okay. How many women have you dominated then?”

  “Two hundred and twenty-six, most of which were repeats, hungry for the orgasms I provide. I’ve had two fulltime subs, if you care to know.”

  I shook my head, astonished. “You remember the number? Wow. Doesn’t it all blur after a while?”

  He looked away from the game finally and bored his gaze into me. “Would it sting less if I said so? Would it erase the haunts of all the women who writhe under my hand?”

  “No, not really. I was just … wondering and asking out of curiosity.”

  “Honestly, I compartmentalize, so I don’t get too attached to anyone in particular. It’s fun and hot for me that’s all.”

  “So, I was spot-on before?”

  “Sure, yeah, you called it, nailed me good. But it’s sufficient for now. Dominating and getting the adoration I crave has become more important to me than sex or blowjobs even.”

  I ate some of my veggie lo mein. “More important? Wow, okay. Why didn’t it work out with your subs? Your full-timers?”

  “Sometimes, while practicing BDSM, or with relationships in general, you just grow in a different way than your partner, and both of mine morphed into raging masos. I couldn’t and still can’t deliver the kind of pain they grew to crave. I just, have this limit I can’t and won’t cross. I can smack a face and seize a throat fine, but I can’t literally beat a woman or partake in something like breath play. I can’t torture either.”

  “Wow. Torture. They wanted that? People are actually into that?”

  “Yep and yep.”

  “I definitely wouldn’t want that. Breath play? Is that stopping someone from breathing?”

  “Yeah, monetarily with anything from a mask to a belt to bare hands. It’s not arousing for me. I like to get rough, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t really consider myself an edge player. My subs became more edgy, too edgy for me, over time, and I ended things, knowing I wasn’t the best Dom for them.”

  “Right. You can’t exactly get worshiped if you pound or strangle someone into unconsciousness.”

  I said that in jest, but he was not amused. His stare in the distance surged with rage, the cords in his neck strained, and his jaw clenched. He was eerily-quiet. Breathless. Pissed. Angrier than I’d ever seen him and I tick him off plenty. I longed to put my hand over his but was terrified to actually do it. I didn’t know how he’d respond. “Jason,” I said quietly. “Sir?”

  He flipped his attention back, and when he met my eyes, anger melted away, revealing a dark, long hallway of pain that made me tear up and want to hold him. “What?”

  I swallowed away the anguish in my throat and my lips trembled. “Um, I’m so sorry. Whe
re’d you go? Ya mad at me? I didn’t mean to ups—”

  He held his palm up to silence me. “I’m fine. What were you saying, Pet?”

  “Um,” I licked my lip, “I was just wondering, if you’re honestly happy doing what you do. Keeping a distance? Not getting laid even?”

  “Uh, thoroughly thrilled? No. Happy? Usually. Content and satiated? Definitely. Good enough answer, Sunshine?”

  “I guess. Did it hurt, that your BDSM relationships didn’t work out?”

  “Of course it hurt! And it’s not just losing the BDSM aspect, but the actual person, the closeness you’ve built, those shooting-the-shit and silly moments you share with someone who knows you better than you even know yourself. Especially in this lifestyle, I find, it’s extremely hard to reset in a new kinkified romance, set my sights on someone else, and aim to discover someone’s exact spank threshold or favorite flower. Not worth the hassle.” He returned to his food, seeming eager to flee from the black hole that tried to suck him in about a minute ago. I watched him as he expertly ate fried rice with chopsticks. Damn, that mouth.

  “How do you do that?”

  He pulled his attention off the game again to look at me. “Do what now?”

  “Use those?”

  “Come here.” He wiggled his finger, urging me closer. “Gimme your hand. I’ll show you.” I scootched over. He put his set down and took my hand in his. A charge of electricity raced through me when he grazed my palm with his thumb. He held up my chopsticks, separated but parallel to one another, then moved my fingers with delicacy and softly said, “One finger goes under, one in between and the index finger curls slightly at the top like this. Now bring your thumb up to meet them.” Finding his gentleness so utterly sensual, I got buzzy and held my breath as he set me up.

  He let go.

  I frowned. “That?” I wanted his touch back. Even just that little bit was heaven.

  “Yep. Now, raise just the top stick slightly, like an alligator mouth.” He squawked and I laughed.