The Alpha’s Desire 1(16)

 

 

 

“Really?” He asked not hiding his surprise.

 

 

 

“What, you don’t think me capable?”

 

 

 

“Shit, no, not at all, it’s just…it’s just that we are both writers then. I didn’t expect to have so much in common with you. Tell me more about your writing since you’ve already heard about all of mine.”

 

 

 

“Um, well…” I stumbled, unsure now that I couldn’t take the admission back.

 

 

 

“Oh, don’t clam up on me now, word girl,” he prompted.

 

 

 

“There isn’t much to tell,” I admitted. “Secretly, for years, I’ve written short stories, fearing I couldn’t get through writing a whole novel. Though I wish desperately that I could. I have boxes of stories from before my laptop days, and stored files of them now. Not a soul has ever read a one of them, so I’ve no idea if I’m even good or not. But I love it. And, I keep my crappy job because it’s nine to five. Then I’m free to write. I couldn’t survive without it. Sorry to burden you with all of this.”

 

 

 

“Burden me? What kind of word is that to describe what you just told me? I’m honored to be the first to know.”

 

 

 

“Do people often bare their soul to you? Maybe it’s a symptom of feeling like you’ve bared yours to them with your songs?” I questioned, and then bit my lip as I awaited the answer.

 

 

 

“It happens from time to time,” he chuckled. “I think more, with us, you told me writer to writer. You’ve probably never met another one have you?”

 

 

 

“No, I guess I haven’t.”

 

 

 

Some of that weight lifted from me—not just the one that I’d added by confessing so much to him, but the one that I’d carried for years with the secret I bore. Of course, having a secret life had its appeal, too. My next bite of pizza tasted better. The beer sliding down my throat had never felt so good. Everything about my life looked better through his eyes. I wouldn’t question this gift. I’d merely give myself over to it.

 

 

 

By the time we finished eating, having talked about our writing now for more than a half hour, he moved in closer to me on the couch. He studied my face as I sat there mesmerized by not only his attention, but his eyes. The tones of browns and gold in this low light had an appeal, a hypnotic property that kept me entranced. Self-consciousness of being studied so closely evaporated with each slow inch he moved closer to me.

 

 

 

His hand reached up to touch my cheek. First with just his fingertips, he traced the outlines of the right side of my face. Pausing a moment, he then moved over my lips. Fingers parted, his pressure increased as he moved his fingers back and forth in still the gentlest fashion over my slightly parted mouth. When he pulled his hand away I licked my lips as if I’d be able to taste him there.

 

 

 

His hands came up to cup my face then, and he pulled me in, stopping me mere inches from his own.

 

 

 

“Is this okay?” He whispered the question. “I’ve been thinking about kissing your full red lips all night.”

 

 

 

Warm breath with a mix of Italian spices and hops moved over my face. Still, I got a better whiff of him, the musky scent of his skin. My stomach did a small flip-flop as I nodded my head to agree to his kiss. In seconds, his mouth took mine. He moved his head from one side to the next, granting me soft butterfly kisses over my lips. Moments later, my skin tingling with need, he kissed me wholly so I could play along, too. His tongue separated my lips. I allowed him in willingly, wanting all I could get of him. As our tongues tangled together in a dance like none I’d ever experienced, I let my own hands move to his arms.

 

 

 

The muscles I’d watched flex all night as he played bunched and released under my touch. The impact of this awakened every nerve ending, all the way up my arms until my heart seemed to flutter along with the electric pulses. Just a kiss, and a hell of a kiss at that, had me under some sort of spell. This guy defined animalistic attraction for me.

 

 

 

Soon his lips moved down to my neck. He kissed and sucked and bit his way along the sensitive skin there. I groaned and stifled a few giggles intermittently. My clenching up, trapping his mouth between my chin and collarbone, only seemed to encourage him. He pressed me back against the couch cushions and dug in more.

 

 

 

My giggles increased, as did my groans. I struggled as he pressed; the fight and play of it all made me wet, taught me something new about myself and my sexual preferences. The guy knew me better than I knew myself. When I’d neared the point of wheezing, he moved down to my chest. His tongue ran along the edge of my dress. Before long, he pressed it down, revealing for him the tops of my lace-covered breasts. His hands still gripped my arms hard, so he used them to push himself away from me.