Page 64 of Rocked By the Alpha
“You could’ve spanked it anytime you wanted,” she whispers into his ear, “All you had to do was ask.”
The wheel starts to spin, the white ball bounces over the numbers and the red and black bleed into one another. He doesn’t give a shit if he’s won or not. All he wants to do is bundle her straight up to their suite. But her eyes are locked on the ball, and wide with excitement.
The cranking noise of the wheel grows louder as it begins to slow and the ball bounces one, two, three more times before settling into one of the numbers. The wheel grinds to a halt and he can see the number it’s landed on.
He slides his hand down to the curve of her ass and gives it a firm squeeze. “Seems this was a win-win situation for me.”
“And me,” she says.
Fuck, the woman is encourageable. And he doesn’t need any more encouragement. He has them into the elevator in a matter of minutes, not bothering to say goodnight to any of the others.
“I was enjoying the party,” she whines, leaning against the mirrored wall of the ascending box, arms crossed and lower lip pouting.
“Time for our own private party.” He crosses his own arms and leans into the opposite corner. “Besides it was a pretty tame bachelor’s party.”
“It was pretty tame. I thought parties forThe Packwould be much wilder.”
“Oh yeah, what were you expecting?”
“Strippers, drugs, a TV thrown out the window.”
“You want to throw a TV out the window, you can do that.” He motions for her to go first as the doors slide open and follows her along to their suite. “Drugs we don’t do anymore. Not since we lost Dan.”
She nods. None of them talk about it, no matter how many times shitty journalists try to bring it up, but you can’t know about the band and not know that piece of history. He’s like a ghost, a shadow, still there, haunting them. Especially Ash.
Unlocking the door with his key card, he ushers her into the suite, dim lighting glowing to life as they step through into a huge open plan room decked out in dark wood, polished marble and black leather. A wall of windows stands opposite them looking out over the strip and she strides straight there, her fingers resting against the glass as she peers down at the steady stream of traffic and the hundreds of people milling about.
“Wow, it’s weirdly beautiful.” He strides up behind her, pressing his body into hers and bending down to bite her shoulder.
“I’m going to fuck you against this window for every body below to see.”
She spins around in his arms. “I’ve got other plans first.”
“I’m the one doling out the punishment this time, Omega.”
“I think you are going to like this better than you would’ve winning all that money.”
“That’s a big claim.”
“But I think I’m beginning to know you better, West Stone.”
She takes a hold of his wrist and pulls him over to a wide leather arm chair, ultra modern and square. Reaching up to his shoulders, she presses him down into the chair and he concedes with an amused grin, keen to see what she has in store. Her knees rests in the space between his thighs as she leans forward to snare his lip between her teeth. He closes his eyes, happy to surrender to her, grabbing her waist to yank her into his lap, but she scurries away.
“No touching,” she says firmly.
He quirks an eyebrow at her. “No touching?”
She turns her back towards him, and peers over her shoulder. “A bachelor’s party needs a strip show.” She bends her arm behind her, capturing the zipper of her dress between her fingers and lowering it slowly down her back, the red material of her tight dress parting to reveal her back and the sprinkling of falling stars that descend her spine.
“And you’re going to give me one?”
She smiles at him coyly and instantly his cock hardens.
“I can’t promise not to touch.”
“That’s the rules.” She shimmies her dress over her shoulders and down her arms, then glides it down her body until it pools at her feet.
“You know I’ve never been interested in following the rules,” he says, finding a remote by the arm of his chair and turning on the stereo, choosing something smooth.
