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

by Jo Raven

  She pressed my abdomen with her palm and sat up. “You are. I’ll go.”

  “No!” Seizing her wrist, I sat up too. Her messy hair drew my fingers up to smooth it. “Stay. I want you here in my arms where nothing bad can touch you. I have a fine collection of whips and a formidable stare, so any nightmares or bad guys will crawl away into the night if they dare approach my doll.”

  Her hum turned into a giggle. “I really like that. Thank you for making me feel safer.” She shivered as my fingertips streaked down locks and over the curve of her shoulder. I followed the graceful line down to her wrist.

  “You are so damn beautiful,” I whispered, fearing a loud utterance would break the spell she was bewitching me with.

  “Thank you.” She dropped her chin in doubt. I nudged it up with my thumb.

  “I mean it. Truly stunning.” We stared at each other and our breathing swirled into rumba. I finally lied back, pulling her into my embrace. She curled against me, setting her ear over my double-timing heart. “Be good. I mean it. No groping.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Stay an angel. I like you pure.” I caressed her hair, arm and back.

  “But I don’t wanna be entirely pure. That’s how I have been and I haven’t been happy. The slightest little wrongdoing has been making me feel so guilty. I hate living like that. I’m trying to find balance, where I’m not too perverse and not too goodie-goodie. Is my naughtiness earlier why you didn’t scene with me tonight after I sucked you upside down?”

  “That made me hornier than ever. I need to be level-headed while scening. Rabid lust can cause fuckups and a clouding selfishness.”

  She ran figure-eights over my pecs and scratched at my nipples. “Oh. Sorry for teasing you all day and for being bratty. Dancing with you was fun and delicious though. I love being up all against you.”

  “’Cause you’re a damn koala.”

  That made her laugh.

  “My pecs have been known to create cling and drop many a jaws.”

  “And panties no doubt.”

  “Those too.” I snickered under my breath, but the cracks I noticed in her voice hitched a feeling of emptiness to my talent and set my teeth on edge. Doing or saying anything that punctured this gentle flower with real pain literally made my chest ache.

  “I loved your other songs that you played for me. Listening to your music helps me to see into your soul, which is just as sexy as the outside. How’d you get into composing?”

  “Uh … started off as an escape.”

  “From?”

  “Hell. What else?”

  She propped up over me, searching my eyes. “It’s hard to believe anything hellish has happened in your life.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, you’re just so … self-assured. ”

  “Cocky you mean.”

  She chuckled. “Of course I mean that, but I was just trying to be kinder about it. What. Did a girl break your heart or something?”

  “No. My dad broke my mom’s face.”

  Her jaw dropped open and her eyes got wet. She slapped her mouth with her fingertips. “What. Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”

  “A couple times.”

  “Jason, I didn’t know. I’m so—”

  I brushed away her meaningless apology. “For the first ten years, my life was as idyllic as you imagined it. My parents were rich and well-respected. My sisters and I attended private school. I played t-ball and soccer in my hometown. I was learning to play alto sax, mostly ’cause I had a crush on this girl in band. I was all goose-sounding at first, but I kept playing and started to love it. I stupidly felt invincible, like nothing bad could touch me. But everything went to shit when my dad got fired. We lost our house and had to live in a roach-infested shithole. He started smashing back beers, then hard liquor too. He gambled or drank away the little money we had, so we were often hungry. And that’s when the fighting started, first the two of them yelling, and then, just him. A monster broke loose.”

  “That’s so awful he hit your mom.”

  “‘Hit’ would’ve been a vacation. He beat the hell out of her, even leaving her on the brink of death once. When he was unleashing his fist-and-foot fury, I’d take my crying sisters onto the flat roof and play them a concert that sometimes lasted for hours. I tried to provide dinner and a show, which consisted of berries I picked, free samples I got, bakery scraps I dumpster-dove for, and grapes I stole. The sax didn’t block out the noise really, but with all that practice, I got better and better and started writing music and learning other instruments too. I was too small to protect my mom then. I felt so powerless that I couldn’t do anything. So, I tried to at least make it better for my sisters. The good thing was, when I was thirteen, he started jetting off for months at a stretch and only come back for money because my mom was working two jobs and slowly pulling all of us out of the gutter. When I was sixteen, he showed up out of the blue, for another cash grab. I was ready then, taller and bulkier, no longer some helpless pipsqueak, and I fought him off my mom. I gave him the licking of his life and threatened to kill him if he ever showed his face again. He never did come back or lay a finger on her again. Three years ago, he was driving drunk and smashed into a utility pole and perished in flames. People stopped to help, but it was too late. They heard his screams as he cooked to death. I consider that fair justice.”

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. How can you be a Dom then? I mean, you hit women?”

  I scowled at her, feeling intense agony from that verbal stab. “Are you serious right now? They are not even comparable. Do you understand the difference between BDSM and abuse?”

  “Yeah, but I still don’t get how you can be a Dom after your nightmarish past and everything.”

  “In BDSM, subs have power. My mom didn’t have power. Subs can become victims if they’re not careful, but their desires to submit, or receive pain even, don’t make them victims. The tilted dynamic in D/s is freeing and empowering. My dominance is wired in, maybe from once feeling so powerless, I don’t know. But, I need the worship and adoration. I need to be rough at times, not violent, but rough. I like to feel an explosion of animalistic lust. I like the raw, palpable energy from Dom to sub to just rip off panties and slam a girl against a wall as I take her with a bite on her shoulder. I need to nurture and support, to be the protector, the ultimate cherisher, the guide. I need to dominate, to own the room, to control my sexual space and hers, and to kick up fiery blushes and soaked panties wherever I go. I know you won’t see it like this, but working at the club like I do makes me a bit of a hero for brief moments in time. After tough days at work or just a span of confusion or uncertainty or curiosity, women come to me for release, for clarity, for a good time, and I make their fantasies come true. I make them feel special and sexy and give them a safe space to be all subbie and get dominated when they often don’t get that in everyday life. I’m a Dom, not a monster, and don’t you ever dare imply it.”

  “Okay. I won’t. I don’t think you’re a monster, Jason, I don’t.”

  “Understand now?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “That’s why I’m scared for you, Sunshine. That’s why I want you to have confidence and grit and to not wilt like some unwatered violet. I see your delicacy and openness, and I want to protect you from all the awful creeps out there who’ll hurt you in the entirely wrong way.”

  She nestled on me again. “Thanks for telling me that, for trusting me.” She sniffled and shook, and her tears puddled on my skin. I pulled her up to me and turned towards her. She threaded her legs with mine as I wiped her face.

  “Don’t cry for me, baby. Please don’t.” I smooched her nose, and intended to do only that, but as I swept my finger along her jaw, her luscious raspberry lips became too enchanting, and I suddenly found myself drowning in her kiss. When she opened up to me and poked the tip of her tongue in past my teeth to tease mine out, I was a goner. I drove in my offering to appease her, and she appreciate
d my sacrifice with swirly approval and fierce sucking that quickly stiffened my dick.

  Our fingertips were grazing, spiraling, floating everywhere as our kiss deepened and whisked us to the span between heaven and hell. She quaked as I hiked her ruffled hem past her hips and beyond so I could touch anywhere I wanted to unhindered. I lifted the nightie over her head and past her long hair and tossed the feather-light thing to the floor. I pressed her down flat and peeled off her panties with my teeth. When I coasted back up over her body, kissing her feet and legs along the way, I rubbed her clit with my nose and left a kiss below it that left her shivering with a whimper. I pitched over her on all fours. Uneven breathing bounced her boobs, giving me a hot, hot show. She brushed my boxer briefs off with delicate fingers, curving down my ass and thighs. I seethed and sank down her body, mashing myself against those hot tits. She stripped my Hanes off the rest of the way with her toes, which rubbed our nakedness together.

  Because this was too close to sex and I was clearly dick-brained to be kissing her again at all, I rolled us back onto our sides. We linked scissoring legs and ground against one another, just relishing the softness and scent of skin. Aahhh, mine. I wasted no time in delicately ravishing her. Her velvety texture, strawberry scent, and wet mouth were intoxicating.

  Her porno sighs, laced with my name, were the sexiest sounds on earth. I planted a smack on her ass, snatching her breath, pulling that sigh up to a cry of ecstasy that twanged my nuts with a pang.

  My senses were exploding. Enjoying the simmering heat and refusing to become entirely consumed by it, we kept everything soft and light as we danced dirty in my sheets. I was all up in her hair, breathing hard against her nose, then her ear, then her breast, sucking her, tugging her, pressing her ever nearer to my flesh.

  “Please, Jason.”

  “Please, what?” Don’t say it. If you ask me to fuck you, I’ll be ruined. I’ll destroy us both. I can’t stop. There’s no way I can resist your succulent virgin hole if you beg me to take it.

  “Smack my ass again.”

  I laughed. That I can do. “Like this?” I landed so hard my palm stung. Ah, the wavy laugh that left her was delicious. I rubbed away the sting for both of us.

  “Exactly like that.”

  “You’re such a freak.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She bit my pecs, and I pulled her back up to my lips.

  “Kiss me, freak,” I demanded and claimed her like I’d die without her kiss. I might. We made out again, locked together, rubbing wildly, and our mouths ignited with slick heat. I’ve never done this. Ever. I just take whatever the hell I want. I had no clue I was missing out on something so mind-blowingly sensual. Though excruciating, let’s be honest, I never knew restraint could also be so lovely or that not having sex but edging ever-so-close would flood me with a different kind of delight and satisfaction.

  For once, I wasn’t just letting jizz blow or dominating without a sticky concern. I was completely and utterly relishing another soul, body, mind. I was drinking her in, living, feeling, breathing. Today, in this virgin’s gripping, grinding hold, without sex or flogger flicks even, I was born. And yet, it also felt like a huge part of me was dying.

  I sure as hell didn’t want to die.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Shayna

  Sleeping in Jason’s arms was bliss. But in the morning, he was in a funk, so that soured my mood. I was almost afraid to ask, “Can I make us breakfast, Sir?”

  He was sitting in the breakfast nook in a daze. My question drew his attention. “Huh? Yeah.”

  “Why ya bein’ all cold-shouldery again?” I fired up a griddle for blueberry pancakes and spread on some Crisco.

  “I don’t like being out of control of my emotions, and for some reason, you shred mine and turn them upside down. I’ve just been thinking about how stupid all that kissing and groping was. It felt good in the moment, really good ... wonderful … but I feel like shit now ’cause we’re not happening. And I don’t wanna give you the impression that I’m claiming you as mine. We’d implode or destroy each other as soon as we started, you know that.”

  Although I still had chills at, “wonderful”, I nodded. He was right. “I know. We probably shouldn’t be exchanging oral either. I love it, but it’s so intimate, ya know? More than straight-up sex almost.”

  “And what would you know about straight-up sex?”

  I scooped six perfect circles onto the griddle. “Well, I know that it’s special. It is to me at least. It’s not something I want to or intend to throw around as some people do.”

  “Okay. No oral then. Damn.”

  He didn’t talk to me while I got the pancakes golden.

  When we were finished chowing them down, I said, “What’s your music under?”

  “Excuse me?” He stabbed a loose blueberry with fork prongs and ate it.

  “Your name. I don’t even know your last name or how to find your tunes. What do I look up? What’d you think I meant?”

  “Oh, J.D. Delaney. What’s your last name?”

  “Davenport. Are you really Irish?”

  “Aye, lass. My hard-to-label music blurs genres, so I’m never sure what to tell people. One album’s singer-songwriter with a stripped-down, chill-rock, bluesy feel. My other three are sultry jazz-rock. I don’t like to be boxed in or have a pigeon-holing label, which is probably why it doesn’t sell like hotcakes. People like ya to have a defined niche. I prefer to be free and unbridled.”

  “In more ways than one. You sing too?” Yummy.

  “Yeah, but these days I prefer to write music that speaks without words. That way it’s universal.”

  “Hmm. Your music does do that. I like that, how you can evoke messages so deeply and movingly without words. But I’m itching to hear you sing too. As it is, your speaking voice gives me chills.”

  “Chills? While steaming you up? I’m quite the acrobat then, the ultimate thrill provider of dual bliss.”

  I stared at him, blinked.

  “Doesn’t it?”

  Blood rushed from my head. “What, Sir?”

  “Steam you up?”

  “Definitely. And makes me angry mostly, not the sound, but the bile that comes with it.”

  He looked off to the side and laughed under his breath. “Sassy brat. Seems like getting under someone’s skin isn’t all one-sided.”

  “No, apparently not. Did you like my pancakes?”

  “Not as much as your pussy, but anything you touch ends up sweeter and yummier.”

  I laughed, feeling my face flush.

  “You’re like a confection fairy.”

  “I’d rather be a kink fairy.”

  “In leather and on your knees?”

  “You know it.” The energy zapping between us made me warm and buzzy. “Are you gonna dominate me tonight, like, in an actual scene? We don’t have much time left together before this video is done and the fall semester starts for me.”

  “Dominate you. Love when you say that. Sure, I’ll rock your socks off and make you obey me. There’s a BDSM club on campus. Maybe you can find a good match in it.”

  “There is? How did I not know that?”

  “It’s your college. You should know. Maybe you can find a Dom there who can meet your needs.”

  “One who won’t mind waiting?”

  “Yeah, I dunno. You could find someone who just wants to get freaky without getting sexual at all. It’s how I play at XX. Those Doms are hard to find though.”

  “I assumed that.” Feeling hopeless, I put more muscle into scrubbing the dishes clean. My eyes grew teary and my throat scratchy. When finished, I asked, “Can I take a shower and get dressed, Sir?”

  “You may. I’d like you in the black bra and panty set, and your ballet shoes.”

  “Thanks for allowing me to wear clothes, Sir.” Though strange, I liked asking him permission for things. A craving to respect and honor him welled up inside. I wanted to do my best to make him happy. When I left to get dressed,
I walked back out to ask him if we were still doing suspension today, and I heard him talking on the phone.

  “No, I’m not tapping that little subbie bitch. I told you, she’s a fucking prude. It won’t happen.”

  I gritted my teeth in indignation. What the hell! I’m not a prude or a bitch. I’m not. And I’ll prove it. I returned to the guestroom and grabbed the pen and notepad I saw on the nightstand. I took a deep breath and scratched, Hope you have time to play with me today, Daddy. You promised you’d show me what you really like. I signed it, ~ Your Little Freak.

  Though I cringed at the insta-nausea assaulting me, my pulse sped. I whooshed into his room and placed the note on his pillow. I almost snatched it back but spun on my heels and walked out. Whatever that led to, I hoped and prayed it wouldn’t make me puke. That whole dynamic grossed and freaked me out, but I yearned to prove to him that I wasn’t a prude.

  When I was clean yet pretty slutty in my matching underwear, I couldn’t find Jason anywhere. I slunk down to the basement with my shoe ribbons and toe pads in my fist.

  A guy with tattoo sleeves was looking through one of the cameras. It startled me and I took a step back. I wasn’t expecting company. “Uh … hi,” I said, crossing my arms over my nearly naked chest.

  He looked up from his task. “Hey. I’m Jeff. I’m here to record the suspension shots.”

  “Oh, he didn’t tell me anyone else was coming.”

  “Problem, sweetheart?”

  “No, not at all, you just startled me.”

  His gaze scored over my body. He had warm eyes, like melted caramel. “Hmm. You’re different than his usual models.”

  “I am? How?” Not drop-dead gorgeous?

  “You’re not flaunting your stuff and treating me like shit.”

  “I don’t like treating anyone like shit, except for Sir, sometimes, ’cause it’s fun.”

  “Oh, so you’re actually a sub? Who’s your Sir?”

  Okay, apparently Jason had us both in the dark. “I mean, I don’t really have one. Not yet. I meant Jason. He’s training me in BDSM in exchange for dancing in this just-about-porn flick.”