Rocked By the Alpha by Hannah Haze
“Man,” West says, rolling down against the mattress and hooking his hands behind his head. “You have a really fine body.”
Ruby doesn’t answer him. She’s standing in the window of the hotel room. Behind the heavy curtain, the early grey light of morning is visible. Reaching down to the floor, she picks up her panties and slides them up her legs.
“Can I keep those?” he asks.
She turns her head to scowl at him over her shoulder. “You’re such a pervert.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining about that just now.” He lunges across the bed, making a grab for her wrist. “In fact, I think you can’t get enough of my perverted ways.”
His fingers skim down the outside of her arm and her scowl turns to an exasperated smile as she rolls her eyes.
“West, I have to go!” she protests as he pulls her towards the edge of the bed and sweeps her platinum blonde hair from her neck.
“Stay just a little bit longer,” he whispers into her ear, making her shiver and then resting his lips against the heat of her gland.
“Hmmm,” she hums and he knows she’s closing her eyes. He knows what she likes. They’ve done this enough times now. And every time only seems to get better — as far as he’s concerned, anyway. He just wishes the time together was longer, that he could persuade her to stay. But he hasn’t been able to work out how yet. He can persuade her into bed, but he can’t keep her there.
Still, it won’t stop him trying. Trying is part of the appeal.
He scrapes his teeth against the delicate flesh of her gland, tasting her skin against his tongue. Her scent is most intense there and he thinks he’d happily bury his nose here and spend hours inhaling her sweet aroma. When she goes, he’ll lie out on the bed for as long as he can, floating in the smell of her.
He rests his hand on her waist. She’s a curvy little thing and he could write whole albums about how good it feels to run his hands up and down these curves.
“You’re being cruel,” she murmurs. “You know I have to get back before I’m missed.”
“Will you miss me?” He slides his fingers under the waistband of her panties.
“West,” she moans, leaning into his touch and her stomach tighten under his palm.
Maybe he can persuade her to stay a little longer. Every minute with this woman is electric.
But then she seems to collect herself, shaking her head and unhooking his hand from her panties.
“I’ve really got to go. Natasha and the others will wonder where I am if I’m not back soon.”
He flops back into the bed. “So tell them. Tell them you’re with the best lover you’ve ever had and are finding it hard to walk straight this morning, so you’re gonna be late.”
“You think a lot of yourself.” She turns to look at him while she buttons up her dress, and he runs a palm over his chest and abdomen.
“Are you denying it?” he grins.
She shakes her head. “You really are an arrogant jerk.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing, baby.”
She stalks towards the bed and leans over him with a wicked smile. He sucks in a breath, waiting for whatever is coming next, but she nips at his shoulder and then strides away before he can retaliate.
“It is a bad thing and I don’t know how the hell we ended up here again,” she mutters. “This is the last time I’m doing this.”
“I don’t know how the hell we ended up here again,” she mutters. “This is the last time I’m doing this.”
“You said that last time.” He grins. “And the time before. I’m just too fucking irresistible.”
“You’re an asshole, that’s what you are!”
“You’re pretty obsessed with my asshole, if I seem to recall.”
She snorts. “You’re the one with the asshole obsession.”
“Because your ass is something I dream about.”
“Sure it is. Is that a line you use on all the girls?” she deepens her voice, “I dream about you sweetheart, you’re so divine.”
He feels the tips of his ears burn. Had he said something like that to her last night? When she’d been grinding away in his lap, driving him wild in the back of the cab? Ruby was a cock tease when she wanted to be. She may be playing it cool now, but she was the one making all the moves last night.
“Only some.” He tugs up the sheet and flips onto his side, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. The screen blinks on when he presses his thumb to the device and a long list of missed calls and messages flash up.
“Seems my absence has been noted.”
“What are you going to tell them?” she asks, slipping her feet into her leather sandals. They have dried flakes of mud stuck to the soles and he wonders if anyone ever told her to wear boots to a British festival. This isn’t LA. But this is the first festival her band has played at. They’ve only just hit the big time, whereas he’s been doing it so long nothing feels new anymore.
“I met some girl. I got laid.” He tosses the phone back onto the bed.
“Some girl?” She raises an eyebrow.
“You want me to tell them the truth?”
She frowns. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“What the hell does that mean?” He runs his tongue across his teeth, knowing what’s coming next. She rests her hand on her hip and jabs a finger towards him as if she’s firing a gun. Straight at his heart.
He grins. They’ve had this argument countless times. It’s one of his favourites. “You liked it?”
“Everyone thinks it’s about me. I had Natasha all up in my face, interrogating me. Luckily, it didn’t take a lot to persuade her you were just fucking with me.”
“Exactly.” His grin widens. “I’ll fuck with you some more if you come back to bed.”
She hesitates and her eyes fall to his groin, the outline of his hard cock visible beneath the sheet. Her chest expands and he knows she’s torn. She likes to protest, but he knows there’s something electric between them in bed that she can’t deny.
He seizes his opportunity, leaping off the bed and making a grab for her. Hooking an arm around her waist, he flings her backwards onto the mattress. She giggles, legs flailing, and he cages his arms around her face.
“I’m kidnapping you.”
“And what’s the ransom?” she asks, reaching up to stroke his cheek.
“What can you offer me?”
She lifts her head and kisses him. Her mouth tastes sweet and warm and her tongue slides slowly against his. He can’t help a little groan as he closes his eyes, savouring her soft touch. But it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Just as he relaxes, she pushes against him hard, rolling him over and slipping away.
“Just don’t do any shit like that song again.”
“You didn’t like the song?” he asks again. He wanted her to like it.
Her cheeks flush and she swallows. “I … no one has ever written me a song before.” Her gaze lifts to him before falling away. “But I didn’t like the way it landed me in shit.”
“I don’t understand the big fucking deal. Who cares who you sleep with?”
“Natasha! Natasha cares who I sleep with and it’s her band.”
“She’s a control freak,” he mumbles.
“She’s not. She just hates your guts.” She stares at him. “For good reason.”
He ignores that. The woman’s vendetta against him and his band mates is becoming something of a pop legend and he’s never believed it’s actually genuine. Ruby, however, does.
“The song was meant to be romantic, you know.” He stupidly didn’t think anyone apart from her would know who the song was about. “And if you’re so worried about it, why are you here?”
She doesn’t respond, ducking her head to peer into the mirror at the vanity table and clearly avoiding his question.
Although he has a fair idea. This woman likes to play with fire and, however much she may protest, the danger of getting caught is half the appeal. The other half: him.
“Shit! I look a mess. I hate doing the stupid walk of shame thing,” she mutters.
“Then take a shower. Call down to housekeeping and order a change of clothes. At least stay for breakfast with me.”
She sighs. “I don’t have time.” She swipes at smeared mascara under her big brown eyes and then brushes her fingers through her hair, scissoring them to untangle a knot.
“I like what you did with your hair,” he says, watching her, trying his best not to let his disappointment show on his face.
“The purple highlights? You like them?” He nods and the side of her mouth quirks. “I don’t know. It was Natasha’s idea for us all to get them done — her stylist persuaded her they were the next thing or something.”
She stands up straight and rearranges the neckline of her dress and he takes an appreciative glance at how good her tits look in the floaty summer dress. Usually she’s all ripped jeans and boots or a tight mini skirt, but she’d chosen something lighter for the festival and it suits her. She looked good up on stage in it and he’d known despite their agreement to avoid one another, he wouldn’t be able to help seeking her out, even if he had made it look like an accidental encounter.
She hesitates and looks at him with what he could almost believe is a wistful expression. “I hope there’re no paparazzi hanging about.”
He rubs his hand down his face. “No one saw us come here, Ruby, and I tipped the dude on the desk handsomely to keep his mouth shut.”
“The papers would pay him more.”
“We’re not that interesting. We’re not the lead singers.”
She tosses her head, her hair shimmering against her shoulder. “They write all sorts of shit about our bands.”
She draws the curtain open, standing behind it so she can’t be seen from outside, and the grey light of dawn spills into the room.
“The cars pulling up.” Her fingers linger on the curtain.
He wants to ask her to stay again, but there’s only so many times an Alpha can ask. He considers tuning up the aggression, appealing to her inner Omega, commanding her to get on her hands and knees and crawl back to the bed. But though he thinks she’d fucking love it, it wouldn’t win him any favours in the long run. She’d call him an asshole afterwards and refuse to answer his calls.
No, he needs to play it cool. Come on too strong and this Omega will bolt.
She heads towards the door and pauses with her hand on the door handle.
“Call me,” he says.
She peers over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip, and then nods stiffly. He tries not to grin.
“How many times?” he asks her. He’s lying out flat again with his hand back behind his head. The sheet has slipped down to his groin.
“How many times what?” she asks with a hint of exasperation.
“Did I make you come?”
“Not enough,” she snaps, and opens the door. Then she halts. “You really are an asshole and maybe I’m not doing this again.”
“Sure, Omega, sure.”
She lets out a huff through her teeth and then the door clicks shut behind her.
He sinks into the pillows, closing his eyes. Her faint footsteps on the wooden floorboards are just audible and outside the engine of the waiting car hums.
The curtain has fallen shut and in the room it’s grey and empty. His clothes are scattered across the floor, reminders of how things played out last night. It’s cold too, the air crisper than it should be given the time of year, and the furniture seems worn.
He hates it when she goes.