The Alpha’s Tempting Mate

Foxfire

As the doorbell echoes through my house, the big guy pinning me to the floor shifts so he’s holding most of his weight instead of smooshing me into the hardwood. Which is pretty considerate of him. I appreciate that sort of consideration, even in a man who burst into my house under the false pretense of pizza.

The doorbell rings again.

“Well?” My words come out muffled under his hand. “Are you going to get that?”

He moves his hand. “Are you going to behave?”

I lick my lips, and his gaze snaps to my mouth. He moves again, and suddenly I’m very aware of his impressive manhood pressed against my foxy bits. He’s a big boy. Very big.

Oh my god, are we having a moment? I stare up at him. Strong jaw, firm lips. Heavily muscled body pressed to mine.

My tongue darts out to lick my lips, and his eyes follow every move. The weapon in his pants jumps against my leg.

I try to wriggle out from under him, and his grip tightens, reminding me that he’s a foot taller and a helluva lot stronger than I am. I could scream, but that might put the delivery man in jeopardy. And I’m pretty sure it would make Mr. Wrestling Champ mad. The result: bad things. For me, for the delivery man, probably for Amber. And I won’t get pizza.

For some reason, I’m not afraid of him. He smells… right. When it comes to people, I tend to trust my sense of smell. As weird as that sounds, it works.

Besides, I’m Foxfire Hines. I’m not afraid of anything, except toilet snakes.

The doorbell chimes again.

“I’ll behave,” I say, “If you pay for the pizza. But only because I care about Amber. And I’m hungry.”

“You mean it?”

“Pinky swear?” He’s pinned my wrists to the floor by my head, but I still can wriggle my baby finger.

The dude studies me a moment. I smile all sweet and innocent. Trustworthy.

He sighs and rises. “No funny business.” He points a warning finger at me. “I’m not here to hurt you, but if you cause trouble, I will punish you.”

My foxy bits quiver. I’m not turned on, no way. My nipples tent my top because it’s cold. I wrap my arms around myself, just in case.

My giant unwanted guest is at the door, exchanging bills for a white-and-red square box. Not screaming was the right call. The delivery man isn’t nearly as big and tall, and hasn’t hit the gym in a while. Mr. Muscles looks like he lives in one, and sleeps on a bench press machine in between reps.

“Don’t forget the tip,” I call.

A scowl, and my unwanted guest angles away from me. Yowza. The back is just as tight as the front.

I must have zoned out a little perving on the guy, because the next thing I know he’s coming back toward me, pizza box in one hand, catching my elbow and propelling me to the couch with the other.

“Sit,” he orders, and I do. As soon as my butt hits the couch, I reach for the pizza.

“Not so fast. First, we talk.”

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” I blurt.

He gives me another what the hell? look, which I easily ignore. I get those a lot.

“Well, it is unusual. And cruel. I’m hungry.”

“I’m gonna feed you. I need to ask you some questions first.” He puts the pizza in front of me on the coffee table and props his boot on the edge between me and the object of my desire. Of course, this gives me a full on view of his crotch, displaying another potential object of my desire.

No! Bad Foxfire!

“Your friend’s been talking about us. I’m here to see how much you know.”

“Us? Who’s us?” Reluctantly, I raise my eyes to his face. Now that I think of it, he does look familiar. Another neighbor of Amber’s? Garrett’s whole gang seems to live in the apartment building he owns. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Tank.”

Tank. I don’t question the weird name. Pot, kettle and all that. Besides, don’t gang members all get badass nicknames when they go through initiation? I’d ask him, but I doubt he’s up to fielding questions about gang life. And since he’s built like, well, a tank, I’m going to let him get his way.

For now.

“All right, Mr. Tank-”

“Just Tank.”

“Just Tank,” I correct, and he closes his eyes in frustration. Excellent. “What do you want to know?”

He takes a deep breath. “Earlier today you confronted Garrett outside Amber’s apartment. You accused him of being a werewolf.”

“Yeah? So?”

“I need to know what she told you about us.”

“She didn’t tell me anything. We were talking about her bad date. You guys were just mentioned in passing.”

“What exactly did she say?”

“I can’t tell you that. It would break the girl code.”

“Miss Hines,” he growls.

“Call me Foxfire.”

“Miss Hines.” His voice gets even more deep and growly, “I don’t think you understand how serious this is. Amber learned some things about us, and was sworn into confidence by our leader, Garrett. Because she talked, she could be in trouble.”

“I thought you said she was okay.”

“We don’t like outsiders talking about us. Her level of punishment depends on how much she told.”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

There was that word again. Punishment. I love it a little too much.

“You motorcycle types are pretty intense.” I don’t call them a gang because maybe that’s offensive. Or maybe it isn’t because they definitely are a gang. A bunch of big dangerous guys covered in matching tattoos, riding motorcycles, sticking close together, and following some sort of bro code. Their leader owns a bunch of businesses, and they all work for him. I haven’t heard a whiff of criminal activity, but I’m not going to ask.

“Just tell me what Amber told you.”

The jingling of little bells interrupts us.

“Is this your phone?” Tank picks it up before I nod. He closes his fist around it and squeezes. When he opens his hand, pieces of cell phone fall to the floor.

“Whoa,” I breathe, staring at the pieces.

“You need to start paying attention, Miss Hines. I’m here to find out what you know, and neither of us is going anywhere until I’m satisfied.”