Page 46 of The Alpha Escort Agency
Alice whines right at the back of her throat when she’s close, the muscles in her stomach tightening and her clit pulsing and quivering like a thing alive. Possessing the power at the tip of his tongue to draw these reactions from her feels like some voodoo ability. Especially when she writhes and wriggles against him and then comes, a blush blooming right across her chest and her body appearing to melt into some unseen bliss. He lifts his head to watch, knowing he did that, he lit the fuse and created that explosion of pleasure.
He comes back to lie next to her on the pillow and she smiles up at him in satisfaction.
“I could get used to this,” he says, and she snuggles up against him.
Chapter 13
The bed is unfamiliar but warm, and there’s that scent, the one that seems to sink into her skin and heat her blood that has her purring like a cat. She rolls over; her eyes fluttering open and the room creeping into focus.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
She raises her eyes and finds him bending over her. “Mmmm, morning.” She reaches up and tugs his mouth towards her. When he kisses her, his mouth tastes of mint and his skin smells faintly of odourless shower gel.
“Come on, time to get up,” he says, peeling back the bedcovers, “I want to take you out for breakfast before you go to work.”
She takes a fist-full of his t-shirt and attempts to drag him into bed. He closes his eyes and exhales.
“Come back to bed,” she says, sliding her other palm down the plane of his chest. “I can skip breakfast.” She skipped most of last night’s sleep too. He’d been unable to leave her alone and she’d caught only brief snatches of slumber.
“No, I’m sending you to work on a full stomach. And I know you well enough now, Alice, to bet you hate being late.”
“Yes, you’re right. I hate it.” She sighs, releasing him and falling into the pillows. “But that means no breakfast — I need to get home and get changed. I can’t wear that dress to work.”
“Wear one of my shirts,” he says, his face neutral but amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Humph.”
“I’m serious. I’ll show you a trick.” He turns toward his wardrobe and makes his way along the row of hanging shirts, pulling out a large blue one.
“I’ll drown in that,” she says, sitting up and swinging her legs to the floor.
“Wait,” he tells her, and she can’t help smiling, a rush of affection for him washing over her. She likes the care and attention he gives to everything, the gentleness and affection he shows her. Every little thing he does, every gesture, is like a carefully crafted gift.
He scoops up her dress from the chair where he'd lain it and yanks the thin belt from its loops, then crooks a finger towards her. “Come here, Omega.”
She bites her lip, aware of how naked she is compared to him, and tiptoes towards him. He helps to guide her arms into the sleeves and threads each button through its hole, travelling down the front of the shirt, his fingertips brushing over her breasts and causing her nipples to harden. He grins as he rolls up the sleeves, then he reaches behind her, and ties the belt around her waist, yanking it tight so that she topples against him.
“See?” He takes her by the shoulders and positions her in front of the mirror. The shirt reaches all the way down to the bottom of her thighs and swamps her shoulders, but the way the belt pinches in the waist gives it the appearance of a shirt dress.
“Not bad.”
He nuzzles her ear. “And you’ll smell like me all day.”
“That sounds like torture.” She tilts her head, allowing him to rake his teeth down her neck.
“But a good type of torture.” He kisses her shoulder and then suddenly, without warning, jams her against the mirror, pressing her into the smooth surface and gripping her hands above her head, creeping up the hem of the shirt to expose her bare backside and stroking his hand back and forth over each globe until she’s panting and parting her legs for him. There’s the sound of his fly before he’s plunging inside her, hard frantic thrusts, pounding her into the mirror, his fingers tight at her waist. “Open your eyes, Omega,” he tells her and she finds the reflection of his gaze, possessed and wild in the mirror, and she’s caught by it. He watches her as she comes, and he comes too, the taut tendons in his neck and his jaw relaxing and pleasure swimming across his face.
When it’s over, he collapses down onto his knees and stays there, gazing up at her for several minutes, before scraping his teeth over the flesh of her arse and smearing his come over her thighs. Then he stands back up and twists her towards him, kissing her mouth.
“I’ll get the shower going for you. The Victorian plumbing means the temperature can be a little temperamental,” he says.
She expects him to take her to a greasy spoon around the corner, but instead he travels with her on the tube into London and to a smart restaurant outside Victoria station. The building looks like it was once a theatre but the stage has vanished, replaced by a well-polished floor and clothed tables with leather-cushioned chairs.
“This is a bit more swanky than I was expecting," she whispers into his ear as they wait behind four businessmen at the entrance.
“This place does the best eggs benedict in central London.”
“I love eggs benedict.”
