Page 22 of Rocked By the Alpha
“I’ll text you the address. Don’t be a dick and go posting it online.”
“I’m sure all your fans know where you live.”
“And yet my biggest one claims she doesn’t.”
“Who said I’m a fan?”
“You did about one minute ago when I was fucking you with my fingers.”
She smiles at him and pushes him away. “Get going will you, before I change my mind.”
Chapter 8
She stares at the back of the driver’s neck, sinking into the leather seat. The man doesn’t know who owns the house she’s being dropped at, in fact he doesn’t know it’s not hers, or one of her band mate’s. Still, her stomach won’t stop spinning with the thrill. What if the driver does know who lives here? What if he sells this bit of gossip to one of those sites that pays you for celebrity tidbits? What if they get caught?
The danger is delicious. And the thought of being with the Alpha again even more so.
It’s been too long.
She sinks lower into her seat. The Alpha’s scent coats her skin. She can smell it in her hair. Closing her eyes, she inhales and lets it slide down her throat. It’s like magic, bringing her body tingling to life. The glow of her recent orgasms linger in her belly but she’s not sated. She wants more.
So fuck the consequences, she’s going to be with the Alpha she can’t seem to stay away from.
The car glides down the darkened streets. She’s been to this part of LA a few times before — for lunches with music executives or parties with magazine owners. The roads are lined with grand houses hidden behind high security fences. What did she expect? He’s a member of the biggest band on the planet. Of course, he’s going to live in some mansion — but it still shocks her.
West is so laid back, so easy — he’s wealthy but he’s not dripping in it. He’s turned up to her place in worn-out sneakers and a hoodie that looked about ten years old. It’s easy to forget the man is worth a fortune.
“We’re nearly here, Ma’am,” the driver calls over his shoulder.
“Okay, I’ll get them to open the gate.” She swipes the screen of her phone. He’s already messaged her twice. The Alpha really wants her in his lair, and the buzz in her stomach intensifies. She hits dial.
“Are you here?” he asks after the second ring.
“Nearly, can you open the gate?”
She hears a buzz from down the line.
“See you in a minute, Omega,” he growls, and she bites her lip to stop herself from growling right back.
The driver pulls up alongside a gate and almost immediately it draws back, revealing a long drive and sculptured lawns.
Floodlights cast the mansion in an off white and fans through the prongs of huge palms that frame the main entrance. The building is modern. Curved lines sweep across the exterior interspersed by huge panes of glass, and a balcony runs around the first floor, leafy vines adding greenery.
West waits in the doorway, illuminated by the warm light behind him and framed by two white columns. His hands rest in his pockets and his eyes are trained on the car as it comes to a stop. He steps forward and opens the door for her, then reaches inside to offer a hand. Even that feels electric, just the simple touch of his fingers curled around hers, supporting her weight as she climbs out of the car. He kisses her cheek when she stands.
“Go inside, Omega. I’ll talk to the driver.”
She nods and steps through the massive doorway and into a wide hallway. There’s a mirror with an elaborate frame hanging against one wall and on the other a painting. She steps forward and examines the art work, not sure what else to do while she waits for him. The house smells intensely of his scent and it makes her skin prickle with excitement. Part of her wants to dash from room to room and burrow through his things, the other half daren’t move without his permission.
It’s because she’s getting closer to her heat. Her Omega instincts to obey, to submit, become more powerful. Occasionally she embraces it, happy to give herself over completely to someone else’s control. Most of the time she fights it.
The door clicks and West stands looking at her, his hands back in his pockets. He’s surveying her like she was just examining the painting mere seconds ago, as if she is a particularly fascinating and elaborate piece of art. Her cheeks warm.
“What did you need to talk to the driver about?” she asks, twisting to face him. Her gland is thrumming on the back of her neck, wanting his mouth back there, wanting his teeth buried in her flesh. She scratches at it, trying to remind herself that it’s not what she really wants at all.
“Ensuring he doesn’t go blabbing.”
So she’s not the only one who cares about keeping their dirty business off the front pages. Although it surprises her. He’s always seemed to embrace his womanising reputation. It’s why she’s always trodden so carefully when it comes to him.
