Lear: Alpha One Security: Book 5

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Lear?” I used my warning voice. “No more.”

  Immediately I was released, and I turned around to face him, eyes narrowed at him. “Don’t do that again.”

  He just grinned. “Aww, Danielle, I was just playing.”

  I wanted to stay mad, but his grin was infectious and playful. Neither of us had been hurt, and he’d stopped the moment I said so. I was tempted to point out that I could’ve gotten free, that I just hadn’t wanted to actually hurt him, but it was pointless to say so, as he clearly was well aware of that fact.

  Instead, I let a sensual smirk steal over my lips, let my arousal bleed through my irritation that he had genuinely gotten the better of me. “Are we done sparring?”

  He laughed, let his eyes linger on my exposed cleavage, a generous expanse of dark caramel skin and a hint of red lace. “I’m tempted to fight you for another button.”

  “Why fight for what you can have if you take me to your hotel room?” I asked, my voice husky—not faking at all; I was horny and wanted this man, and the theatrical, flirtatious sparring session had only whetted my sexual hunger all the more.

  “More fun,” he murmured. “I like a challenge.”

  “You said you liked making women scream in helpless ecstasy,” I said. “I think you’ll find me plenty challenging in that arena, but I don’t scream, and I’m never helpless.”

  He peered at me over the top of black-rimmed glasses, and his green eyes crackled with humor and arousal and predatory intent. “Is that so?”

  I gave as good as I got, and stared him down with as much humor, arousal, and sexual hunger as he showed. “Quit fucking around and find out.”

  There was no warning—his hand lashed out faster than a snakebite, he grabbed my wrist and slammed me up against his hard body. So hard my breasts ached from the force of them crushing against him, and hard enough that my breath left me in a surprised gasp. His lips slanted across mine, and his tongue darted teasingly against my lips, daring me to open for him. It was a sudden assault of a kiss, an ambush, and I wasn’t ready for it. Shocked by it, I succumbed. Tasted his lips, his tongue. The whiskey on his breath made me dizzy.

  It lasted for all of ten seconds, and then I yanked away—angrily, too. Arousal boiled beneath the anger, but in that moment, anger won. I stormed away, across the street. I saw headlights coming, but I was too pissed off to care. Why was I so angry? I had a vague idea, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to deal with; there was just something about that kiss which left me shaking with an anger that confused me with its intensity and, if I’m being honest, left me feeling a bit out of control…and that was something I could not deal with.

  A car horn blared, tires squealed, and a car skidded to a stop inches from me. The driver was already out of his car and in three quick strikes he was in my face, yelling at me. Seconds later he was on the ground, bleeding, and I was still walking across the street. If there was anyone watching, I was too focused and too furious to have noticed or to care.

  Fury raged through me like a wildfire and even as it did so, I fought to control the anger that was controlling me.

  I don’t kiss my sexual conquests—I fuck them till I’m sated, and then I leave. I’ll use my mouth for plenty of other things, just not kissing. I haven’t kissed anyone since…

  Ohhhh, hell, no. I wasn’t going there. Just the hint of memory was enough to fan the flames of anger into pure, unadulterated, unreasoning rage.

  The rage left me shaken, and I found myself in the lobby of the hotel, stabbing at an elevator call button. I felt him beside me, silent and curious. When the doors opened, I stepped through and his blonde-dusted forearm moved in my line of sight, pushing the button for the top floor.

  Silence, tense and whirling, filled the elevator with the fury of a tornado.

  “You nearly killed that guy back there.”

  “He almost hit me with his car.”

  “Because you walked out across a four-lane road without looking.” He was close, but not touching. I felt his confusion, and I heard it in his voice. “Mind explaining?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t looking at him, but I could hear an arched eyebrow in his tone of voice.

  “No kissing.” I bit it out. I didn’t normally have to explain it in so many words, because normally I was the alpha in this kind of situation. But I wasn’t in a familiar situation, and it had me off-balance…which was probably only adding to the heat of my fury. “It’s a personal thing for me.”

  “I can live with that,” he murmured. “For now.”

  I turned to face him, finally. “For now?”

  His eyes glinted with humor. “For now.”

  “What makes you think there’ll be a repeat between us?” I tipped my chin up to glare up into his eyes. “What makes you so sure I’ll want to see you again?”

  “What makes you so sure you won’t?” he countered.

  The elevator door opened then, and I didn’t bother answering. I just stepped off and waited for him to lead the way to his room. Which, I discovered, was not the penthouse, but one of the larger suites on the floor below the penthouse. Luxurious, modern and industrial, and of zero interest to me. My only interest was the man I was with, and what he was going to do now that we were alone.

  The moment the door closed behind us, he whirled on me, spun me around, and slammed me not entirely gently up against it. His hands went for my shirt buttons, but I caught his wrists in a vise grip.

  “I don’t think so,” I growled. “My turn.”

  He fought my hold, and I used a combination of leverage and pressure points to retain my hold, until he finally relented.

  “Fine,” he growled back, dropping his hands to his sides. “Your turn.”

  My grin in answer was as much Cuddy as it was Danielle and, deep down, that scared the shit out of me. I kept Cuddy and Danielle in separate compartments, and never the twain shall meet, especially not in sex. Sex was entirely the realm of Danielle, the woman in me, the sexual being in me. Cuddy was the professional—the killer, the hard-ass, the tough-as-nails bitch who took nothing from anyone, who had ice in her veins, razors in her soul, and a heart as black and cold and unfeeling as outer space—the professional who got off on excitement, danger, and the thrill and adrenaline high of knowing she could be killed.

  I reached for him, pushing all thoughts to the back of my mind, and focused on the here and now, on his body, and the pleasant job of unwrapping it.

  But, at the same time, in the back of my mind where my thoughts churned on, I wondered what it was about this man who seemed to bring out such strange and unexpected and powerful reactions in me.

  Reactions which were, in all honesty, not at all sexual.

  Which was what worried me about them.

  Don’t get me wrong—there were plenty of sexual reactions going on inside me in response to Lear’s presence and person, and it was those I chose to focus on. There were just other, deeper, darker, less obvious and more confusing reactions going on as well, and I was doing my best to ignore them.

  I shook my head to clear it and grinned at Lear, letting my arousal take over. That wasn’t difficult at all, and it served to help push the unwelcome thoughts further to the back of my mind.

  Especially when I got his shirt off and discovered both tattoos and hard muscle in abundance.

  And even more so when I unbuttoned his jeans and his cock sprang out, unfurling behind his underwear, to beg for my attention.

  Chapter Two

  The First Dance

  Good goddamn, the woman was pure danger personified. Hard-eyed as any of my brothers in Alpha One Security, it was clear this woman was an operative. It was given away by the way she moved, the way she sparred, but most of all by the look of cold hard distance in her gaze.

  But all that was carefully hidden…or so she probably thought. And to most, it would be. I saw it, though, and it scared me.

  Problem is, when something scares me, I have
an odd psychological compulsion to go toward it… at a run. I get a sexual thrill from an adrenaline rush, from the burst of fear that comes with skydiving, or wingsuit flying, or riding a crotch rocket down a crowded freeway at a hundred and thirty miles per hour.

  Or…tangling with a woman who clearly had the skill and capacity to kill me as easily as look at me. Or, more accurately, as easily as she peeled off my shirt.

  Her eyes, when she saw the tattoos I kept hidden even from my brothers in A1S, went wide and pleased. Or maybe it was because of the fact that I kept my body perfect—most athletes would be jealous of me, despite my status as a professional computer geek.

  She scared me shitless in a way few human beings ever have, and that includes Harris, Thresh, Duke, Puck, and Anselm. Plus she’s hot as hell, sexy as fuck, and horny as a nympho who had just discovered sex. The combination was dangerous for me.

  A woman who’s as scary dangerous as she is hot and horny? Ohhh, fuck, that could spell Trouble, with a big fat bold capital T.

  I felt anything but calm as she tossed my shirt aside and ran her hands over my abs and shoulders, but I did my best to keep it from showing. Play it cool and see what she does, I told myself. I backed up away from the foyer of my hotel room into the living room, and Danielle followed, prowling after me like a tigress stalking prey. On the way I paused, one hand on the back of the couch for balance as I removed my boots, tossed them to the side, and stripped my socks off, tossing them onto my boots.

  Danielle stood watching, hands loose at her sides, deep dark brown eyes narrowed and blazing. She was dressed to kill—tight black jeans, ivory silk shirt that hugged and cupped and flattered without being overly revealing, a leather bomber jacket with the sleeves pushed up to her elbow, silver bracelets and bangles setting off the look. Her hair was short, thick, and blacker than a raven’s wing. Her skin was caramel and mocha and mahogany, exotic and of indefinite origins. She could pass for any one of a dozen different ethnicities.

  What she couldn’t pass for, at least to my eyes, was anything other than a predator—lean, hard, shredded, a creature of pure muscle and lethal grace. It was in the way she moved, in the way she held her body even at rest. She was coiled without being tense, ready to pounce out of habit and instinct.

  Hot as fuck.

  I waited, watched, and let her make her move.

  She peeled off her jacket, carefully tugging her hands out of the sleeves and setting the garment over the back of a chair. Her shirt was sleeveless; revealing toned, muscular arms—not bodybuilder arms, just strong, powerful, and defined. Her shirt, which I’d made a show of unbuttoning, was teasing me with hints of a red lace bra, which cupped and supported a magnificent pair of breasts. Her black jeans were tight, stretched around a pair of legs that, like the rest of her, screamed predator. Thick and powerful, toned, curved—feminine, yet carved from unforgiving marble.

  I let my eyes speak for me—raking over her body with unhidden desire; I knew she saw the appreciation in my gaze. I wasn’t content to simply look, however. Oh, hell, no. I needed to touch. I reached for her shirt, and she grabbed my wrist with one strong hand.

  “If you rip my shirt, I’ll break your teeth.”

  I grinned. “Do I seem like that kind of barbarian to you?”

  A shrug. “You never know.”

  I slowly, deliberately, and carefully unbuttoned the shirt. “Well, let me put your mind at ease, Danielle—I’m not the rip shirts open type of man.”

  “What kind of man are you, then?”

  With the buttons undone, her shirt hung open, revealing hard, rippling abs beneath an expensive red lace-and-silk bra—a piece of lingerie which cupped and propped and displayed the most perfect set of breasts I’d ever seen—large and round and firm, dusky caramel skin.

  I slipped the shirt off her shoulders, and made a show of folding it precisely and laying it over her jacket. “I appreciate the finer things in life,” I said, “like nice clothing.” A slow, lustful rake of my eyes over her body, clad now in bra and jeans. “And stunning women.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Stunning, hmmm?”

  “Breathtaking. Gorgeous.” I ran a fingertip over the ridge of her shoulder and down her arm, and I didn’t miss the way she shivered, or the way goose bumps pebbled her skin, or the way her nipples hardened inside the confines of her bra. “I’ve got more adjectives.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a sure thing for at least one good fuck, Lear, so don’t go overboard.”

  “One good fuck, huh?” I stood in front of her, the lace-covered tips of her breasts brushing my bare chest.

  I traced lines over her shoulders with my fingertips, down to her biceps and back up, again and again, toying with her expectations. She held her breath, let it out and sucked in another breath—I had the feeling she was used to being in charge of her sexual encounters, so letting me take the lead was probably difficult for her. On the next path of my fingers from the base of her neck to the outer edge of her shoulder, I brought the straps of her bra down to drape loosely to either side. I was tempted to kiss her again, just to fuck with her, but I didn’t want to give up the chance to get a lioness like this naked and underneath me, so I resisted.

  I felt myself throbbing behind my underwear, my cock begging for freedom, curled painfully and at an awkward angle, and the more of Danielle’s beautiful body I bared, the harder I got. I wasn’t in a rush, though—I had a feeling she’d be gone after the first tangle in the sheets, and I planned on savoring every moment I had. Instead of unclasping the bra, I knelt and unlaced her combat boots, one and the other, loosening the laces until I could slip her feet free; setting the boots aside, I stripped her socks off, rolled them up and set them in one of the boots. Returning to her feet, I let my fingers play with the arch of her foot, and then her ankle, and up as far as her jeans would allow, and then let my hands roam over the denim, exploring her calves, the backs of her knees, and up her thighs. If I had been sure we had more time together, I’d have slowed things down even further, teasing her with gradual touches before reaching her core but, as it was, I felt too impatient to go that slowly.

  I still didn’t rush, but I let my hands explore her lower half freely. I watched her face as my hands roamed her thighs and then up to her ass, hard and taut as a kettledrum, not small nor dainty by any stretch of the imagination, but rather beautifully sculpted and powerful. She tensed under my touch, and I knew she was only just barely holding back.

  “I know you said no kissing,” I murmured, kneeling in front of her, “but I hope you only meant your mouth.”

  She inhaled slowly through her teeth as I pressed my lips to her navel, just above the button of her jeans which I then popped open, lowering the zipper to reveal crimson lace that matched her bra. She didn’t say a word.

  I tugged her tight stretchy jeans down, working them past the bubble of her ass. She stepped free once I got them to her ankles, and I folded the jeans and set them aside. Now clad in nothing but negligible scraps of red lace, I stood up and stepped back to admire her.

  “You are a work of art,” I said. “I hope you realize that.”

  She didn’t smile, didn’t answer. Not a thank you, not a shy grin, not an eager smirk, no reaction.

  I shook my head and closed the space between us once more, my palms grazing her waist, skating over her ribs and diaphragm, across the serpentine of her spine, and up to the clasp of her bra.

  Hesitating there, I met her eyes. “Unless you tell me no, I plan on using my mouth on you.” I touched her lips with one index finger. “Just not here.”

  She inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing, but still not answering.

  “Cat got your tongue?” I murmured.

  “So far you’re a lot of talk and a lot of show, and not much by way of results.” She yanked at my jeans, and they slid down. I stepped out of them to stand in nothing but my tight black boxer-briefs, the front tented by my imprisoned erection.

  She slid fingers over my abs, teas
ing her fingertips around the waistband of my underwear. She hooked the index finger of each hand inside the elastic near each of my hipbones and tugged the briefs away from my body, allowing my cock to spring upright—the tip, pink and broad, stuck out of the top of the underwear, somewhat comically.

  I smirked at her. “Why bother leaving them on, at this point?”

  She smirked back at me finally. “Part of the game. Article for article.”

  “I see.” I traced and teased my fingers from her hips to her waist, to her ribs, to her back where the clasp of her bra waited. “In that case…”

  I unhooked it, brought the cups forward and slid the undergarment off her arms, set it neatly on the pile of clothing, and then turned hungry, eager eyes on the breasts I’d just exposed. A feast for the eyes—they hung heavy and teardrop-shaped, round and full and pendulous, swaying with her breathing.

  “You must own some seriously impressive sports bras,” I muttered. “Keeping those monsters contained during an op must be a hell of a job.”

  “I usually wear two,” she answered.

  “I believe it.”

  I couldn’t keep my hands to myself any longer—I cupped her huge, soft breasts in my hands, lifting and releasing them to bounce beautifully, and then caressed them again, thumbs flicking the thick hard nipples standing on end, pointing toward the ceiling, begging for my mouth.

  I obliged their pleas, bending to fasten my mouth around one plump dark nipple, licking, suckling. I heard a sharp gasp from her, felt her fingers scrape through my hair. I slid my lips over the valley from one luscious breast to the other, and after a few moments spent worshipping there, I felt Danielle apply gentle downward pressure.

  I met her eyes, resisting the pressure. “Is that so?”

  “You said you’d make me scream. So far, that’s a lot of bullshit.”

  I laughed. “Is that so?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me, lifting her chin. “You said something about helpless ecstasy, too. So far, I’m thinking you’re full of it.”