Filthy Alpha

Filthy Alpha is out now!

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“So, we need to fuck,” Blythe said, walking into Jase’s workshop.

Jase dropped the metal piece he’d been holding, which he’d been getting ready to screw into the waiting table top perched against the sawhorses.

“What?” he asked.

Hell, he was down, but she couldn’t have actually meant what she said.

“Have intercourse.” Her tone was patient but businesslike. “Sex. Make love. Screw. Do each other. Make some hanky panky—”

“I got it.” He stared at her, at the way her flame-red hair framed her face and made her green eyes shine. Make some hanky panky. Had she really just said that? “I just don’t understand where this sudden desire to jump my bones has come from.”

She was already lifting her shirt over her head, revealing her tits. Fuck, she wasn’t even wearing a bra. His dick leapt to attention.

“Barnum was asking questions,” she said simply, her green eyes blazing as she dropped her shirt on the floor. She took several steps toward Jase. “If he figures out we’re supposed mates who aren’t even fucking, I won’t be protected here any longer.”

Her breasts were smaller than a handful, and her nipples were a soft shade of pink against her creamy skin, which was lightly freckled.

She stopped in front of him. Her tits were eye level. He salivated, swallowed, longing to take one of those hardened nipples into his mouth. Did she have any idea what kind of effect she had on him?

“I can give you head, first,” she offered, “if you’re not in the mood.”

“You—you mean right now?” He was half-ready to rip off his pants. Then he stopped, clenched his fists on his thighs. “No. Stop it, Blythe.”

“Why? Don’t you want me?”

He was thankful as fuck that humans couldn’t sense dishonesty, because there was only one thing he could tell her that would convince her to drop this nonsense. “No, I’m not interested.”

She huffed a sigh of exasperation. “Why the hell not? I’m assuming you haven’t gotten laid in a long while. I know I don’t have a lot to offer in the curves department, but I’m sure fucking me would be better than jacking off.”

“It’s not that,” he said, swallowing again. “It complicates things. We’re mates, and that should be good enough for all the guys here.”

Frowning, she marched back to where she’d dropped her shirt. Every cell in his body screamed no as she put it back on, hiding her gorgeous body once more. That shirt was a crime against humanity.

“I disagree,” she said. “But I’m not going to beg. If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll be at our cabin, writing.”

She walked out of his workshop, her tight little ass swaying gently in those jeans, and he groaned aloud.

He wanted nothing more than to rip off her clothes, bend her over the smooth metal he’d perched on the sawhorses, and slide inside her heat. But it wasn’t just about getting his dick wet. It was a need to touch her, to make her come, to make her his.

And when she came to him wanting sex, he wanted it to be because she wanted him, not out of some need to keep herself safe from the others. Was that too much to ask?

Maybe, but he couldn’t help it.