The Alpha's Human Whore

Damien’s hips drove forward, and my head struck the pillow hard enough to knock a curse out of me.

“Fuck… slow down… ”

I did not mean it.

The second the words left my mouth, my legs tightened around him and my fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him back when he tried to give me the inch I had stupidly asked for. My body was hot, slick, aching, and far too eager for someone who had promised herself this was only business.

Only business. The thought barely survived another thrust.

The mattress shifted beneath us, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady, shameless rhythm. The luxury suite was too quiet for what we were doing, all polished glass, expensive furniture, and city lights shining through the tall windows while I lay beneath a man whose name I had only learned a few hours ago.

Damien Cross.

Thirty-two, if the information he had given me was true.

Ridiculously wealthy, judging by the suite, the watch on the bedside table, the black car waiting downstairs, and the envelope of cash sitting where he had tossed it before dragging me onto the bed.

He had paid for my time and I had agreed cause I was not here to fall in love with a rich man. I was not here to be chosen, rescued, spoiled, or turned into somebody’s obedient little wife. I had come because he wanted a woman for the night, I wanted the money, and I happened to like the way he looked at me.

That was the entire arrangement.

So why was I gasping like he had stolen the air from my lungs?

His hand slid beneath my thigh, lifting my leg higher, and the change in angle made my whole body jerk. A moan ripped out of me before I could bite it back.

Damien’s mouth found mine.

I kissed him badly, desperately, with my lips already swollen and my breath catching every time he moved. His tongue pushed past my mouth, his teeth caught my lower lip, and I made another helpless sound into him, which was humiliating because I had spent the whole evening acting like I was the one in control.

I was not in control. Not even a little.

His chest pressed against my breasts, the weight of him forcing them into the mattress whenever he leaned down. One of his hands closed around my waist while the other moved over my side, his fingers dragging across my skin and leaving every nerve awake behind them.

I turned my face away to breathe.

“Jesus Christ, you’re trying to break me.”

He did not answer.

Of course he did not.

Damien was not much of a talker. He had barely spoken when we met, and he had said even less after we came upstairs.

His hand tightened around my waist, and his thrusts grew harder, the rhythm turning rough enough that the words in my head scattered completely. My nails scraped down his back. His skin was warm beneath my palms, his muscles tense, his breathing getting deeper and heavier against my neck.

I felt the pressure building inside me, slow at first, then all at once, gathering low in my stomach until I could barely stay still.

“Damien, wait, I… ”

He shifted again.

My voice broke into a moan. His eyes were fixed on my face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I breathed, although I was the one staring back at him.

His thumb moved over my cheek, slow and strangely careful, while his body remained pressed against mine.

“What do you want me to do?”

His voice was low, almost rough enough to disappear beneath the sounds around us.

I should have answered with something clever.

Instead, I pulled his mouth down to mine and wrapped my legs around him.

That was answer enough.

He kissed me harder.

The room became a blur of heat and movement. My breasts ached beneath his hands, my thighs trembled whenever he pushed deeper, and the sheets kept slipping beneath me no matter how tightly I tried to hold on.

Damien’s mouth moved from mine to my jaw, then lower, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. I tilted my head without thinking, giving him room, and his breath dragged over my neck.

A shiver ran through me. His thrusts did not slow. If anything, they became more uneven, harder and less controlled.

I felt his teeth graze my skin and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Careful,” I whispered, though my hands were already pulling him closer.

His mouth paused against my throat.

Something moved through him.

I felt it in the sudden tension of his body, in the way his fingers dug into my hip, in the rough sound that vibrated against my neck. It was not quite a groan. It was deeper than that, almost a growl, and the strange noise sent a burst of heat through me even as a small, confused part of my brain wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

Then he bit me.

Pain flashed through my neck.

I cried out, my back arching off the mattress, my nails digging into his shoulders as his teeth pressed into my skin. It hurt enough to make my eyes water, sharp enough that my first instinct was to shove him away, but he was still moving against me, still breathing hard, still caught in the heat of the moment. Like he had lost himself for one reckless second.

His mouth stayed there, hot against the sting, and I could feel his breathing shake against my throat. My fingers tangled in his hair, not quite pushing him away and not quite letting him go.

“Damien,” I gasped, half warning, half plea. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He pulled back. His eyes met mine, dark and unfocused.

For a second, he looked almost as confused as I felt.

Then his hand slid beneath my back, drawing me closer, and the question disappeared beneath another rough kiss.

I forgot the bite. I forgot the money.

I forgot every sensible thing I had promised myself before walking into his room.

The night broke apart around us in a mess of tangled sheets, sweat, sharp breaths, aching muscles, bruising kisses, and my own voice rising whenever he found another way to make me lose whatever remained of my mind.

By the time exhaustion finally pulled me under, my neck was throbbing, my body was sore, and Damien’s arm was locked around my waist as if even sleep had to happen on his terms.

….

Morning sunlight spilled across the suite, exposing every ugly detail of the night.

My dress was on the floor near the sofa. One heel had vanished beneath the bed, and my underwear was hanging from the handle of the balcony door like some cheap flag announcing exactly what had happened inside the room.

I stared at it.

“Classy,” I muttered, reaching for my dress.

Every part of me complained when I moved. My thighs were sore, my breasts were tender, and there was a dull ache between my legs that made me walk slower than I wanted. I pulled the dress over my head, searched for my missing shoe, and grabbed the envelope from the bedside table.

I slipped it into my bag and walked toward the mirror, intending to fix my hair before leaving. My reflection looked wrecked, which was not surprising. My lips were swollen, my hair was tangled, and my dress sat crookedly over my body.

Then I saw my neck.

I leaned closer.

The bite was dark and angry beneath my jaw, two small punctures surrounded by bruised skin. When I touched it, pain shot through the side of my throat.

I winced.

“Fucking hell.”

I turned my head, studying the mark from another angle.

That bastard had bitten hard.

I was already imagining the extra money I would demand if the bruise refused to disappear when I noticed Damien’s reflection behind me.

He was sitting upright on the bed and staring at my neck.

His eyes were fixed on the bite as though he had never seen anything like it, and his hand had closed around the sheet so tightly that the fabric strained between his fingers.

I turned slowly.

“What?”

He did not move. I took one step toward the door.

His gaze snapped up to mine, and something cold passed through the room.

Then he spoke, his voice stripped of the calm he had worn all night.

“Stay right there.”