In Control (In With The Pack), page 2
“You like playing with fire?”
“Only when the pyromaniac in question has good manners.”
I hear the zip of his fly and he wraps my legs around him.
“I’m going to fuck you now … please.”
I can’t help a laugh. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
He nibbles at my throat. The head of his cock nudges at my entrance. “Please,” he tries again, his voice softer with what I could almost believe is a whine.
“Hmmmm.” I slide down onto his waiting cock. In the dark, I can’t see how big he is, but I can feel. He’s big. Very big. The way he stretches me and my entrance causes me to gasp.
“OK?” he pants.
“Yes,” I pant back. “Don’t stop.”
His fingers sink deeper into my arse cheeks and he thrusts further inside me. Stars roll across my closed eyelids and I moan.
“You like that, little one?”
“Yes. Keep going.”
“You’re very tight. Not built to take me, are you?”
“I can.” I inhale and exhale, forcing myself to relax around his sheer size, groaning as he pushes even further.
“Never been with an alpha,” he says.
I want to argue with that damn presumption. I’m no innocent. No shy wallflower. I’ve been with plenty of men and women.
But never an alpha.
With a grunt, he bottoms out, his hips flush against mine.
“Fuck, fuck. You’re tight.”
“Move,” I beg. “Move.”
“You want to be fucked?”
“Please,” I say, feeling desperate, remembering how much he seemed to like that word.
“Shit,” he mutters, and then he’s thrusting into me. His entire body is solid and strong, and he drives all that power into me.
It’s overwhelming. Overwhelmingly good. Like nothing I’ve experienced before.
I’ve fucked hundreds of times before. But I’ve never been fucked like this. The pace is relentless and demanding.
He drives sensations from deep within me that I’ve never experienced before, and, just like before, there’s no polite build up to my orgasm, no coaxing it slowly from my body. He demands it. He rips it from me. Tears it straight through every nerve like I’ve been struck by lightning. All I can do is cling to him, cling and ride every wave of electricity.
“Your cunt feels so good when you come, little one. Flutters around me like it can’t decide what the hell to do.”
“I … I …” I’m lost for words. I can’t find them. They are usually there, right on the tip of my tongue. I’m always ready with a retort, armed with a quick response. Not now. Now there are no proper thoughts left in my mind. I’m all feeling and sensation as he pounds me against the wall.
I’m surprised the damn thing hasn’t collapsed. I’m surprised the entire theatre hasn’t come crashing to the ground. He’s that big. That powerful.
“Can’t knot you,” he pants, his face damp with sweat. “Want to knot you. Want to knot you so bad. Damn it.”
I’m tempted, sorely tempted, to throw caution to the wind and beg him to knot me.
I’ve always been curious. Like every other beta, I’ve wanted to know, to experience, this thing that sends the omegas and alphas crazy. The knotting. Locking his cock inside my cunt and pumping me full of his seed.
But fantasy and curiosity are one thing. A trip to A&E with a rip in my pussy, another.
Nope, as hot as this is – as hot as he is – I’m not taking that risk.
“You can’t knot me,” I tell him. He nods as he continues to fuck me; those dark eyes a little wild now. “But you can come in my mouth.”
“Fuck! Fuck!”
He thrusts into me once, twice, three more times and then with a pained moan he withdraws, placing me back onto my feet.
I drop to my knees, kneeling on the silk of my dress. It’s going to be creased to fuck, and what with the alpha’s scent smeared all over me, there’ll be no doubt what I disappeared off to do.
I smirk up at him as he glides his fist up and down his long shaft.
I open my mouth and he mutters a string of obscenities under his breath before thrusting his cock between my waiting lips.
I don’t even have to suck. He’s coming into my mouth with a violent grunt immediately. His hot spend runs over my tongue and it tastes different. It’s salty, sure, but it reminds me of that scent. An Omega will go mad for the taste of their alpha’s come, and though I don’t have their kind of tastebuds to appreciate his flavour, I like it nonetheless.
I gulp him down, my eyes locked on his, glinting in the darkness.
“That’s it, good girl.”
He takes my hands in his and squeezes my fingers around his expanded knot. It’s hard and hot and big, three times the width of his cock. I flinch, imagining the pain of that ripping into my entrance. But at the same time, another one of those shivers of desire dances through my body.
I’m holding an alpha’s knot in my hands, his cock in my mouth, his come in my belly. It’s incredibly erotic and … powerful. Yes, there’s that feeling of power again. It maybe me on my knees, but this alpha is at my mercy.
When I’ve drunk the last drop of his seed, he’s still hard in my mouth.
As if reading my mind, he says, “I’m not going soft yet, little one.”
I hum around his cock and he chuckles. “It requires a little more work being with an alpha.”
I raise my eyebrows. I’ve never been averse to hard work. I suck at him, hollowing my cheeks and taking him deep inside my mouth, until his knot hits my lips. It’s too big for me to suck, but I like the way it pulses against my mouth.
“Fuck, that is a sight,” he says from above me.
I run my tongue down his length, then do the same with the slight tease of my teeth. It has him sucking in air, his eyes black as night.
Then he strokes my cheek and steps away, his cock leaving my mouth with a wet pop.
“Stand up.”
“I’m not an omega. You can’t order me–”
“Stand up so I can put on your dress.”
“I don’t think it will fit you.”
The side of his mouth hooks up in a smile. A half smile that makes his eyes twinkle with mischief. My damn stomach somersaults.
I climb to my feet and he crouches down. Finding the crumpled silk, he draws it carefully back up my body, hooking the straps over my shoulders.
I run my hands over the creased material as he tucks his softening cock in his trousers and zips up his fly.
The room we’re in stinks of sex and beyond the door I can hear the rumble of the orchestra.
The alpha takes my chin in his hand and kisses me. This time, it’s more gentle, more lingering and my body starts to respond, wilting under his attention.
But all too soon, he pulls back.
“I think you’re going to remember me, little one,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk.
“No,” I tell him, stepping to the side and reaching for the door handle. “I think you are going to remember me.”
2
Sophia
The lecture hall is packed and stuffy, and although some people wear eager expressions on their faces, most of the faculty look irritated. We’ve been dragged into the lecture theatre by a three-line party whip. The Physics department’s newest member of staff is here to deliver a summary of his work. We aren’t allowed to miss it.
I slump down on a seat at the end of a middle row. I’m in the irritated camp. This is the third year of my PhD. I'm so close to finishing I can almost taste it, and being dragged from my work has me royally pissed off.
Especially to hear yet another elderly man drone on for an hour about areas of physics I have no interest in.
Yes, I know I should care. As a scientist, I should be excited and enthusiastic about all fields and new areas of research. But three years of study have ground me down. I’ve gone from enthusiastic to cynical and snarky. In fact, I don’t know what I’m going to do when I finish this PhD.
I nod at my supervisor sitting in the front row and wave to a couple of my friends who nabbed seats in the back row; somewhere they can play on their phones undetected. Lucky bastards.
I cross my arms over my chest and sink low in my seat, stifling a yawn. I was out last night at a bar, and though I didn’t drink too much, I still stumbled to bed in the early hours of the morning.
I’m sleepy and as the lecture hall lights dim and a round of polite applause echoes around the cavernous space, I wonder how I’m going to stay awake.
The applause dies down, but there’s no sign of the professor. He’s probably some doddery old fool, transferred from one of the other universities to wile away the last few years of his career in the prestigious surroundings of Crestmore University. He’s probably forgotten he has to do this gig.
I slide my phone from my pocket and flick through my messages. There are two from this guy I’ve been trying to ditch for the last couple of weeks. Another from a man who works in the lab next door who seems to be ignoring my very obvious hints that I’m not interested. There’s one from Rosie, my best friend, asking me round for dinner, and the last one is from my mother, reminding me about some do at the weekend.
I’m replying to Rosie, when the microphone echoes as it’s switched on and I hear someone clear their throat and ruffle their papers.
I yawn again, wondering what turgid hell we’re about to be subjected to.
And then the man speaks.
His voice is deep, like a growl. A growl dipped in honey.
It can’t be!
But my body knows. My body knows it is, every muscle and tendon freezing.
I swallow and drag my eyes upwards, my gaze falling across the people sitting in the rows in front of me and down to the man illuminated at the lectern below.
Tall, large, well-built, with mesmerising eyes.
It’s him. The alpha from the ballet.
It’s been two weeks since that night and I haven’t stopped thinking about him.
I’d strolled out of that room in the theatre, expecting him to catch my arm and demand my number. He hadn’t and so I’d kept walking. As I sauntered across the dim foyer in my wrinkled dress, reeking of his scent and his seed, I thought he was playing another of his games. He’d let me get so far and then he’d hunt me down.
He’d insist on seeing me again.
But he didn’t and as my feet carried me further and further away, I understood. This was a one time only thing. I am a beta. Of no interest to him.
That hasn’t stopped me thinking about him. Fuck, dreaming about him.
I’d considered tracking him down. But that’s not my style. Besides, what did I even know about the man? I didn’t even have his name.
Now I do though.
Professor Cole.
His slides flick on behind his head, bathing him in a blue-tinged light and he talks through his work with that self-assured confidence and dominance he’d displayed at the theatre. He stands with his feet hip-width apart, facing the audience of professors and students face on. He betrays not an inkling of nerves, although he doesn’t smile. His face is serious, all business.
I watch him, transfixed. As entranced as I had been when he’d locked eyes with me in the theatre.
The outfit he wears today is less formal. Jeans, a shirt and a dark blue blazer. The cotton of the shirt strains across his broad chest and the denim stretches across his thick thighs.
I’ve been dreaming about this man and yet I’d forgotten how exquisite he is in the flesh.
I can’t help remembering that voice in my ear, those hands on my hips, that body pressed against mine.
He hasn’t spotted me – we’re all bathed in darkness – and I have no scent for him to identify.
I can ogle him all I want. I rub my thighs together and float in the dark rumble of his voice.
At the end of his presentation, the lights flicker on for questions.
Sitting up straight and running my fingers through my hair, I raise my hand.
His gaze hovers over the faces in the audience and my heart pounds faster as his gaze edges towards me. Closer and closer until our eyes meet.
There’s a flicker across his brow, but apart from that he makes no sign that he’s recognised me. In fact, his gaze drifts on and he picks someone else to ask the first question.
As Tony from Professor Browne’s group asks a long-winded question, the alpha’s eyes dart back to me, sweeping over my form in a way that seems to heat his gaze. Then his eyes flick away.
He knows who I am. He recognises me.
I wait patiently. He picks three more people to ask their questions, but although he appears determined to ignore me, his eyes nonetheless can’t help but be pulled back my way.
Finally, there’s only me, my hand still raised.
He peers at his watch as if to say he has no more time.
“It’s only a quick question,” I call out. He meets my eyes and I’m back there, back in that room with his fingers doing wicked things to me.
“Fine,” he nods curtly, folding his arms across his chest.
I reel off my question, and he shifts on his feet for the first time. Bet he wasn’t expecting me to ask him something challenging.
He lets out a puff of irritated air and leans his weight on the lectern.
“Miss …” he gestures towards me.
“Sophia,” I tell him.
“Sophia, you may think you’re being smart to challenge that assumption, but I can assure you that far greater minds than yours have scrutinised my research and found it holds firm.”
I frown at him. What the hell does he know about the greatness of my mind? He’s just like every other arsehole. Just because I have a pretty face, they think there’s nothing between my ears. My mother insists this is why I decided to study physics.
“Oh Sophia,” she’d said, rolling her eyes at me in that languid expression I’ve learned to copy, “you always want to prove yourself. Who cares what they think?”
I do care. I’m as smart and hard working as any of them, even if I have lost my love for the subject in recent months. It doesn’t mean I don’t know my science. My question was a valid one and he knows it.
I stay in my seat as the other members of the faculty filter out of the lecture hall, some chatting together as they do, a couple stopping by the lectern to talk to the new professor as he packs away his notes.
His eyes continue to dart to me, sitting in my seat as he does, and soon it’s just the two of us, the door slamming behind the last student.
The professor adopts that pose again. Arms crossed, legs firm. He stares up at me.
I rise from my seat slowly and saunter down the steps. His eyes roam over me for a second time, taking in the pleated skirt and silk blouse I’m wearing.
“Hi,” I say, stopping in front of him. I’m wearing flats today and he towers above me.
“Hello again.” There’s a slight tightness to his jaw and his shoulders that wasn’t there the last time we met. “Miss …”
“Sophia.” I curl my hair behind my ear. His scent is discernible this close, and it makes the man all the more appealing.
“You’re a student?”
I cock my head to one side. “I’m a PhD student in my final year.” His shoulders loosen a fraction.
“Right.” He swallows. “Then I apologise for the other night. If I had known–”
“You wouldn’t have fucked me.”
His eyes dart to the door at the back of the lecture theatre. Then back to me. They darken and his voice lowers. “No, I probably still would have fucked you. You looked delicious in that dress. But it would have been very foolish of me.”
I take a tiny step towards him. He’s magnetic. “Don’t I look delicious now?”
He glares at me. “I think you know you do, and I also think you know I’m not going to do anything about it.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“Miss …”
“Sophia,” I tell him for the third time.
“Let’s keep this professional, please.”
“Please?” I smile up at him and I swear his hands twitch.
“I’ve worked hard to win this position at Crestmore.”
I wonder what that means. He thinks I’m going to ruin it for him.
“You’re married,” I say.
“No.” He frowns at me. “You’re a very attractive woman but–”
“But …” He smells so good and I never got to explore what lies beneath all those clothes last time. “You’re a one-time only kind of man.”
“I am.”
I study his face. He’s younger than I assumed at the theatre. Early forties perhaps. He is clearly a big shot if he’s secured this professorship at such a young age.
“Shame,” I say, reaching up on my tiptoes, my fingertips brushing his taut torso as I whisper up at him. “I’ve been thinking about you. I was hoping we’d meet again.”
He grabs my hand in his, yanking it away from his body. His grip is tight on my fingers and for a moment it seems as if he’s caught in indecision. For a moment, I think he intends to drag me onto the row of seats. Instead, he pushes me slightly away from him.
“Sophia,” he says and god my name sounds electric in that deep growl of his, making me tingle all the way down to my toes.
But he’s telling me no. It’s clear in his tone, in the dominance of his stance.
I snatch my hand away.
“It was a perfectly reasonable question.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “The one you asked after my presentation?”
I nod, folding my arms over my chest.
“Perhaps.” One corner of his mouth curves. “But I suspect you were being deliberately provocative.” Something else my mother is always accusing me of. “I think you were deliberately trying to seek my attention.” The half-smile falls from his lips. “I assure you, you already have it.” He spins and collects up his satchel. Then he pauses and peers at me over his shoulder. “I assume I can rely on your discretion about the other night.”
