Alpha's Sun

Prologue Sunny “You’re so hard.” Titus grunts under me. His big body splays out on my massage table, his face hidden, resting on rigid biceps. I’ve been kneading his shoulders for a half an hour and he hasn’t relaxed once. If anything, he’s gotten more tense. I run a hand over the breathtaking expanse of his back, tracing the black vines of his tribal tattoos, scratching lightly. A breath rattles out of him, half growl and half something softer, gentle. A purr. “You can turn over now,” I suggest delicately, and hold up the towel to help him turn with modesty. I never sneak a peek with clients, but with Titus, I can’t stop myself. The solid curve of his buttocks, the ridge of his hip, the barest glimpse of something fat and long nestled in a base of wiry hair— He flops on his back and the source of his tension becomes clear. “My. You are hard.” He’s either erected a flagpole between his legs under the towel, or he has the most massive erection I’ve ever seen. He’s been lying on that all this time? No wonder he’s uncomfortable. I lick my lips, staring at the tented towel. I should start rubbing his legs—kneading the powerful thighs, working my palm into the ridge above his knee, but there’s no point. Not with that marvelous c**k saluting the sky. He won’t relax until someone takes the edge off his arousal. That someone is me. Hurrah! I pull a stretchy bracelet off my wrist and tie back my hair. I’ve already removed my boho shawl, baring my arms and freckled cleavage in my spaghetti-strapped top. “Let me make you more comfortable,” I murmur and reach under the skimpy towel. Sweet goddess above, he is a handful. I grip the pulsing base with one hand and whip off the covering with the other. His flared crown is leaking and I swipe my tongue to taste him— A fierce growl and Titus knifes up, catching my chin. “You do this for all your clients?” His normally gray eyes blaze bright, bright blue, clashing with the orange and red in the corona around his head. His aura really is amazing. The passion, the heat—flames crackling with heat—so intense— “Sunny!” I blink. He’s talking to me. Asking me something. Something important… because the red means— “You’re angry,” I breathe, awed by the shimmering sunset colors. He growls again but his hand on my jaw is gentle. He’s so big and powerful, he could break me without a thought. He doesn’t, though. He’s infinitely gentle, wincing when my table creaks under his massive, muscular bulk. He spent the whole afternoon under my bus, banging wrenches and snarling curses until the motor purred like a kitten. The massage was meant to be a thank-you. I knew we had chemistry… but I never realized how much. “Answer me,” he orders. So bossy. “Do you give all your clients blowjobs?” I color a little. I believe in free love, but if another man said what he’s implying, I’d slap him. Instead, I raise a brow. “Do you get erect whenever you get a massage?” His chest rises and falls, his breath blowing back the loose tendrils of hair around my face. In a minute he’s going to blow. So much anger. I’m not frightened by it. No. What would that amount of passion be like in bed? “No,” he snarls. I cross my arms over my chest to show him I won’t be bullied. His eyes drop to my breasts, soft and clearly outlined under my light tank top. Titus gives me a look so wild and desperate I take pity on him. “I don’t give my clients blowjobs. Not even ones who help me when my bus breaks down.” Or protect me when some bad s**t is going down with my daughter. I touch his rigid thigh and the giant muscle jumps under my small hand. “This is for you, Titus. Only for you.” The light around his head flares bright gold. “Mine,” he rumbles in a voice so deep, I barely make out the word. Before I can protest, he’s on me. His giant hand slides under my tank top, over my flat stomach to cup my loose breast. “No bra. I knew it.” “I never wear bras,” I inform him. “Or panties.” He makes a helpless noise and drops to his knees on the floor. His large hands flip up my flowy skirt before he leans in, presses his face to my bare p***y and inhales. Oh my goddess. I lean back on the table, my legs too weak to hold me up. “Titus—” “Quiet.” His left hand, still under my tank, squeezes my breast hard. “I’ve had just about enough of you prancing around, flaunting your tight little bod—f**k!” The fingers of his right hand glide into my sopping p***y. “How are you so tight?” “Yoga,” I gasp. “Lots of yoga.” “I mean here,” he rumbles, finger-f*****g me. “p***y squeezing me like it’s gonna snap off my fingers. f**k!” “Ah, oh… that? It’s been awhile—” How long has it been since I’ve gotten laid? I’m totally s*x-positive, but I’ve hit a dry spell. “There’s been a lot going on. The mafia, my daughter in trouble—” “Shut up,” he murmurs against my p***y, not unkindly. “This is how it’s gonna go down. I’m going to eat you until you scream. Then I’m going to f**k you ‘til you scream some more.” He licks up my slit and my knees buckle. “Titus,” I sigh. “That’s right, baby. Say my name. I’m the one f*****g you. No one else.” Ah, so delightfully possessive. I would laugh but there’s an edge to his words. The tightness in his jaw speaks of pain. Someone hurt this big, beautiful man. I settle my hand on his jaw. “Tonight, I’m yours.” With a growl bordering on a roar, he picks me up and strides to the bedroom, kicking the door. Three days later… The soft light of day falls across my face. I slither out from underneath Titus’ giant tattooed arm and slip off the bed without waking him. His face is more relaxed than it’s been this whole week. Since the attempted massage, we’ve barely left bed, only leaving to visit a barbecue with Titus’ son Tank and their motorcycle club. For a biker, Titus is pretty uptight, but now he’s sleeping like the dead. Good s*x will do that to a man. I mentally buff my nails on my shirt. I did that. I tiptoe to my bag, wincing as the bed creaks. It’s sagging on one side—broken. Oops. I slap a hand over my mouth before I giggle like a girl. Titus is uptight and controlling as they come, but when he lets loose? The bed isn’t the only thing feeling the force of his passion. I’m going to be sore for days, but I don’t mind. It was magnificent s*x. Unbridled, wild, rough. I think Titus even scared himself with how badly he wanted me. How much he needed to claim me. So hot. But all good things must come to an end. I pull out one of my hand-painted cards—a watercolor of Cathedral Rock up in Sedona—and flip it over. On the back I use a black calligraphy pen to write: Titus, Thank you for everything. I gnaw on my lower lip, remembering the pain that crossed his face. A woman hurt Titus, and I might be a pacifist but I’d claw the b***h’s eyes out if I met her. But it’s not my fight. I tap the pen against the card. What to write? Wish you were ready for a relationship? Call me when you figure your s**t out? Instead, I pen: I hope we’ll meet again soon. Love, Sunny. There. Short and sweet. It says everything I have to say to him. I creep out of the apartment the motorcycle club provided for me this past week and shut the door gently. I’ll ask my daughter to pick up my massage table and store it for me until I return to Tucson. She put down roots and found her soulmate here. She’s safe now, living with Titus’ son. Foxfire and Tank were meant to be. Titus and me… that’s another story. I don’t know what our future holds, but leaving is the right thing to do. Titus and I have chemistry—lots of it. But I’m way too much for the guy. Story of my life. Titus is like his spirit animal—the wolf. He’s meant to roam free. He’s a hunter, but once he caught me, he didn’t know what to do with me. And I’ll be damned if I stick around where I’m just going to get hurt again. If we’re meant to be, the Universe will throw us back together again. I’m sure of that. I tiptoe down the sidewalk like a college girl doing the walk of shame out of the frat house and climb in Daisy, my VW bus. It starts right up, thanks to Titus. The road blurs as I drive away, but I don’t look back. I can’t. Leaving is the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurts.