Page 9 of The Alpha’s Promise (Alpha Doms #3)
“I’ve got guys trying to kill me, I’m being held semi-prisoner by a wolf who spanks, and I can’t meet with clients or show houses, so I may miss out on some important deals. Is that enough to make my voice tight?”
“It’s something about Cody. I know it is.”
Damn. Sisters were hard to fool.
“He’s hot. And grumpy. He unnerves me. I can’t quite figure him out.
One second I decide he’s a cocky redneck laborer and the next he’s comforting me or doing something thoughtful and all the while he’s turning me on, making overt sexual come-ons that should totally piss me off, but instead have me soaking my panties .
It’s just all too much. I don’t know what to do with it. ”
“Wow. I wish I’d met him. I don’t know whether to advise you to stay the hell away from him or not.”
“I think I should keep my panties on and my legs crossed. He’s got the same kind of appeal as Jeremy, and you know how badly that went.”
“Ugh. Yeah, I do. Then you’re probably right. Steer clear. Don’t provoke his dominance, because sexy times will just complicate things.”
“I've arrived at the same conclusion.”
“Ben’s working on this end to get things figured out with that asshole who’s after Jeremy. He will pay him off or his buddy will arrest him. Either way, they’re taking care of it, ‘kay?”
She exhaled, releasing some of the stress she’d been carrying around. “Thanks, I feel a little better. I’m sorry if this is ruining your honeymoon.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m on the beach getting a tan and drinking a banana daiquiri, but if you want us to come back, we’ll be on the next plane home.”
“No. Please, stay. Hey, Ash?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want Jeremy to get killed. Could you tell Ben and his friends that? I know they don’t give a crap about him, and this is his fault and everything, but…”
“What, you still feel like you owe him something for saving your life?”
“Yeah.” She knew Ashley would get it.
“Okay, I’ll relay the message. Take care of yourself.”
“You too. Have fun with that wolf of yours.”
“I will. Hasta luego, hermana .”
Melissa laughed at the horrible accent. Her sister’s Spanish sucked. “Talk to you later. Love you.”
She hung up smiling and flipped open the Chromebook Cody had bought her.
It was surprisingly easy to set up and in no time at all, she had accessed her email and listings.
Maybe working from Cody’s wouldn’t be all that bad, so long as she could conduct all business over the phone, rather than in person.
And working in her pajamas wasn’t half bad either, although she was ready for a shower. She stood and stretched, grabbed the bags of clothes Cody bought, and headed to the en suite bathroom.
Like the rest of Cody’s place, the bathroom could use a good cleaning. She wrinkled her nose at the mold growing in the corners of the tile and the ring around the tub.
Nasty. She wasn’t setting foot in that thing until it had been disinfected at least three times.
She looked under the sink and found cleaning supplies. With a pair of rubber gloves pulled up to her elbows, she broke out the Ajax and got on her hands and knees with a scrub brush.
An hour later she deemed the bathroom passable, and took her shower. Of course, the shampoo was total crap and there was no conditioner. Plus, she hated— hated —deodorant soaps. Yuck. Now she would smell like sudsy grass all day.
She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body before dumping the bags of clothing on Cody’s bed.
She snorted when she picked up a four-pack of the ugliest set of pastel granny panties she’d ever seen.
He must’ve been joking with those. Maybe he was hoping it would kill the attraction between the two of them.
Oh wow, purple leggings. She laughed out loud when she saw the tanktop that read Princess in fuchsia across the boobs. “Very funny, wolf man,” she muttered.
Some normal stuff was in the pile, too. He’d bought jeans in a size five and seven—she supposed he didn’t know which size would fit her.
Several solid colored t-shirts and cute cotton panties that actually might fit.
Nothing she would ever buy on her own, but it was better than wearing his shirt and boxer shorts.
She held up a very long pair of black and white witch socks that would probably serve as thigh-highs. He must’ve bought this stuff on purpose to goad her.
Perfect. If that’s what he wanted to see her in, she’d give him a show.
Cody unlocked the front door and pushed it open. And then stopped dead. Melissa was scrubbing his kitchen floor on her hands and knees wearing… holy shit.
He swallowed, his body temperature rising five degrees just looking at her. Melissa wore a pair of black and pink panties, which tragically covered most of her ass, but the backs of her thighs flashed bare above the long black and white socks he’d bought.
She turned and stood up on her knees, looking over her shoulder like a pinup star.
On top she wore the Princess tank top with no bra, the peaked tips of her nipples plain through the thin fabric.
She’d pulled her hair into pigtails—pigtails, dammit—and she rocked the Harley Quinn Suicide Squad thing to a tee.
He groaned, readjusting his cock in his jeans to ease the ache.
She twirled one pigtail and affected an innocent voice. “Were these the clothes you wanted to see me in, Cody?”
His mouth went dry. He backed against the door, not trusting himself to get anywhere near her. “I warned you what would happen if you played this game, didn’t I?” His voice rasped scratchy and low, hands tightened into fists at his sides, fingernails dug into his palms.
“It’s clearly your game. You dressed me.”
“You’re going to get yourself fucked so hard you’ll forget your own name.”
She stood up, lifting her chest, the perky tips of her breasts pointed directly at him. “You bought the clothes.”
Well, she was right about that. Except he’d bought them as a joke. Never in a million years had he imagined she would turn them into a sex kitten getup that would keep him perma-hard.
Do not move from this door. He willed his body to stay in place.
“You have three seconds to run for the bedroom and lock the door. Don’t come out until you’ve changed into…” he cleared his throat, “something I can handle seeing you in.”
She didn’t move, her blue eyes wide.
“Stay here and I’ll have you bent over the arm of that sofa with my cock buried between those fucking gorgeous thighs in less than five. Go. ”
She edged sideways, keeping her eye on his face. When she reached the bedroom, she threw herself inside and slammed the door. Not until the rattle of the handle told him she’d locked the door did he breathe.
He stabbed his fingers through his hair. Fucking hell.
“Don’t come back out,” he yelled at the door.
Not for a week, at least. He didn’t know how he’d get rid of his raging hard-on.
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to erase the image of her scrubbing the floor in that outfit, which had been permanently burned on his retinas. He wanted her so badly.
He stared at the bucket and scrub brush on the floor for a long time before he realized she had actually been cleaning.
That hadn’t just been for show. A quick glance around his place revealed vacuumed carpets, dusted surfaces, papers straightened into neat piles. Even the furniture had been vacuumed.
Well, I’ll be damned.
He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the hard-working housecleaner with the stuck-up snob who sneered at clothes from Walmart.
She’d busted her ass to clean his house, which he appreciated.
He had to admit he didn’t do a good job around his own place.
If he lived with other people, he would pull his own weight, but since it was just him, it hardly mattered.
He spent all day fixing up houses for other people, making them perfect.
He didn’t feel that inspired about doing it for himself.
But now, seeing his place through her eyes, he cringed.
It had been pretty bad. Certainly not the place you’d bring a girl to impress her.
But he’d done absolutely nothing to impress this girl, had he?
He headed out the back door to fire up the grill. He’d bought a couple of steaks and the idea of cooking for her after she’d cleaned his place suddenly seemed important.
“You can come out now,” he called out when he returned, pulling the steaks out of the refrigerator and slapping them on a plate to douse with seasoning and Worcestershire sauce. “ If you’ve put something else on,” he added hastily.
She emerged, dressed in a pair of jeans and a bold, hot pink t-shirt. He winced. “I see.”
She folded her arms across her chest. She had a bra on this time, saving him from the pain of staring at her nipples. “What do you see?”
“I should have let you pick out your own clothes.” She still looked hot—because clothes didn’t make or break a female like her—but the outfit didn’t fit her right; the jeans were too big and the shirt too small.
She laughed softly, a gorgeous smile lighting up her face.
“Come here, Melissa.” He crooked a finger, half expecting her to tell him to fuck off.
She didn’t, though, and the swing of her hips as she sauntered over undid all the effort he’d put into calming his raging libido.
He caught one of her wrists and spun her toward the kitchen counter, placing her hand, along with its mate, on the edge of the countertop. “Spread your legs, baby,” he murmured in her ear.
Shockingly, she obeyed.
He brought his hand down hard on one jean-clad cheek.
She gasped, but didn’t break position.
He smacked the other side, just as hard. “You know what that’s for, princess,” he growled. With far less force, he brought his palm up to spank her pussy.
“Oh!”
He shoved his hips up against hers, reaching around and rubbing the seam of her jeans against her clit. “Thank you for cleaning my house,” he murmured against her ear, then nipped it with his teeth. “That was nice of you. I’m sorry it was a mess.”