Alpha (Alpha 1)

This one was not. It was hot, hungry. It demanded my attention, demanded that I give in, that I give back. I kissed him back, and I did so because I wanted to. I wanted his kiss.

But…his hand. It was resting on my hip, fingers pressing into my flesh through the fabric of my dress. Bunching, gripping. Our kiss continued unbroken, and I had to turn toward him, to pivot my body to face him. I reached out and clutched at him, tangled my fingers in the material of his coat and shirt, pulling him closer. He moaned, a vibration in his chest, an approval.

The heel of his palm slid low, over my hip, over my belly. I pinched my thighs together, breaking the kiss. I wanted to ask what he was doing, but I was afraid of the answer.

His fingers crawled over my thighs, fingertips brushing the material of my dress, a feather-light touch. I was shaking, my forehead against his, breathing raggedly, my hands fisted in his dress shirt.

“Roth?” It was all the question I could manage.

“Kyrie. Don’t make a sound. Okay? Keep quiet for me.”

“Keep—keep quiet?”

“Yes. I’m going to make you come.”

“You’re…you are?”

He didn’t answer. At least, not with words. His mouth found mine, and I was taken away again, transported by the skilled power of his kiss. His hand rested on the space between my thighs, over my dress, an inch from my core. I felt his fingers curl against my thighs, slide upward. My legs were pressed together, and my dress was tight. But yet, when his fingertips grazed over my core, even through the dress I felt it, and I shuddered. Another brush over the apex of my thighs, and I felt my legs fall apart, just slightly. His lips on mine were demanding, unrelenting, stealing my breath, his tongue swiping over my teeth and tangling with my tongue, tasting my lips.

His fingers pressed in, and I gasped into his mouth.

“Oh, Kyrie. So beautiful. And I haven’t even really touched you yet.” His voice was a low murmur, his breath hot on my lips. “You want me to touch you?”

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know how. I did, yet I was afraid to let him. I knew if I did, if I let him touch me, let him make me come, that I’d be even more lost to him, to his game. But I already was, wasn’t I? I’d given in to him. I’d let him blindfold me. Let him kiss me. He’d seen me braless, in a T-shirt and underwear. I was already aching for his touch.

“I asked you a question, Kyrie.” His fingers slid down my thigh, toward my knee. I felt him lean down, grasp my ankle and lift my foot. He grasped the hem of my dress. He pulled, gently and implacably sliding the fabric up, up, baring my calves, my knees, and now my thighs. “Do you…want me…to touch you? It’s a simple question. Yes or no will do. Do you want to orgasm? Right here, right now? In this theater? Surrounded by thousands of people? You’re probably already wet for me, aren’t you? A few strokes with my finger, and you’ll come apart, I bet. I’d just have to slide my finger inside you, and you’d be whimpering. I bet your clit would be so sensitive, so tender. You’d be tight, too. So tight. When you came, you’d clench around my fingers, and you’d have to bite down to keep from screaming. You want that, don’t you, Kyrie?”

I let out a shuddering breath, let my head thump back on the seat. “Y—yes. Yes. I do. I want that.”

My dress was bunched beneath my thighs now, and his hand was curled over my thigh, caressing the round muscle and sliding up, up. “Say it. Tell me what you want me to do. I need to hear you say it, Kyrie. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Unh…” I couldn’t make words form in my head, or on my lips. All I could do was gasp and breathe as his fingers drifted between my thighs—still closed together—and grazed the scrap of silk over my folds. “I—Roth…I want you to—to touch me.”

“I am touching you. You’ll have to be more specific.” His lips nibbled on my earlobe, over the shell of my ear, kissed behind it, down and around beneath it, kiss, kiss, kiss, to my throat.

I wiggled my bottom on the seat, wanting to open my thighs but still afraid to totally give in. “Oh, god…I want—I can’t say it….”

“Then you don’t get it.” His touch moved away, back to the top of my thigh.

He traced the length of my leg from knee to hip with one finger, back down. Moved in slightly, traced the same path from knee to apex along the inside of my thigh.

I moaned in frustration, trapped between desire and fear. “God, Roth.”

“In your life, at this time, those two words could be considered synonymous.” He nipped at my throat, kissed up to beneath my chin, and then his tongue flicked out and tasted the corner of my mouth. “You know what you want. Don’t be afraid, Kyrie. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to make you feel good. I’m going to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt in your life. All you have to do is tell me what you want me to do. Whisper it, as soft as you please. I’ll hear you.”

I felt his finger slide in and rest on the seam of my thong, at the very edge of my core. His touch moved down, lower, and then traced back up. I shivered from head to toe, shaking, still not really breathing.

“Touch me. Touch me there.”

“Where?”

I hesitated. “My pu**y.” The words were barely audible, but I knew he heard them. “Put your fingers inside me. Make me come. Please, Roth.”

“Ah, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Yeah, it kind of was,” I said.

He laughed, a gentle chuckle. “Don’t you ever talk dirty, Kyrie?”

“No. Not really.”

“Well, you’ll learn.” He traced the line of my opening with his finger. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“I don’t think you are. Not really. Not for what I’m going to do to you.” He kissed his way down my breastbone, and then his lips came to rest on the slope of one breast. “Remember, not a sound.”

I nodded, and then his finger slid underneath the elastic at the inside of my thigh. I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Every single sense was attuned to his finger as it neared my opening. I let my thighs open a bit, felt them shaking. I sucked in a breath, held it, waited. I felt his touch on my folds, brushing over my close-trimmed pubic hair.

“So soft, Kyrie. I can’t wait to feel you.” His words were felt more than heard, pitched just loud enough to be audible.