Alpha’s Temptation: A Billionaire Werewolf Romance (Bad Boy Alphas Book 1)
Alpha’s Temptation: Chapter 3

It’s been three days, and I haven’t once seen Jackson King. Not since he threw me out of his office. Three days of reliving our conversation over and over. I tell myself to get over it, but I’ve been obsessing over King for years, and this crush has bloomed since the encounter in the elevator.

Work drags on. Stu keeps me busy with setting up new firewalls and other boring stuff.

Meanwhile, I’ve been wearing skirts and heels in case I see King again. Not that I want to impress him. I just want that big jerk to see what he’s missing.

Oh, who am I kidding? I still want him to notice me. To come into my office and growl at me, bend me over my desk, flip up my skirt, and…mmm.

Holy horniness, Batman.

“Kylie? Are you okay?”

Stu and the rest of the team peer down the conference table at me.

“Of course.” I sit up and try to remember the last few minutes of the meeting, but all I have are fantasies of Jackson King. Dammit. “Didn’t mean to go on screensaver. I must need more coffee.”

Someone laughs at my screen saver comment, but it’s not a nice sound. I stiffen. I’m the youngest of this team, but I work as hard as anyone else. Maybe harder.

So much for replaceing my tribe.

“You were sighing a lot.” Stu refuses to drop it.

“My heels are killing me.” Which isn’t a lie. I kick them off under the table and rub my feet against the legs of my chair. I’ve got to go back to the normal geek-wear of jeans and Chucks tomorrow. Screw King. I don’t dress for any man.

The meeting ends, and I keep typing on my laptop, only closing it when Stu leans his hip against the table in front of me.

“Settling in all right?”

“Sure.” I keep my smile cool. I like Stu, but his constant hovering is getting a little on my nerves. He keeps trying to make friends, but I get the feeling he only wants me around because he thinks I’m hot.

I guess that explains why he wanted to hire me.

“Bossman get you down?” Stu says, and I snap upright like he’s thrown ice water over me.

“What?”

“I know he stopped by your office a few days ago. You haven’t been as happy ever since.”

Holy Stalker, Batman. Not that I’m one to judge, but still.

“You my big brother, Stu? Always watching?”

“No, uh.” He flushes. Poor guy. He’s obviously into me but trying to stay professional. Which is more than I’ve done with Jackson. “Just trying to show you the ropes. I feel responsible, ’cause I got you hired.”

You hired my boobs. My snark self rears her head. My brains are just along for the ride.

“I know Jackson King is a big name, but he’s not a nice guy. Kinda a jerk, actually. He’s got a reputation around here for being a royal dick. The ladies always fall for him.” Now, Stu sounds whiney and jealous. “But he treats them the same as any employee. Barely says a word that isn’t rude.”

“I’m fine, Stu. He didn’t say anything rude. And I like working here, so far.”

“Well, great.” Stu casts about. “Got any plans for the weekend?”

Groan.

“Hanging with my boyfriend,” I lie cheerfully.

Stu pushes off the table, away from me. Of course, I’ve been sending I’m not interested vibes for days, but now that he thinks a man has claimed me, he’s finally taking a hint.

Jerk.

“Right,” he says. “Well, I’m off to the meeting with Finance. We’re setting a project to test their structure before the next 10-Q filings. Which is in a week. I might need you on it.”

“Great.” I fake enthusiasm at the promise of overtime and mentally upgrade Stu from jerk to dickhat.

“Okay.” Stu shoulders his laptop case. “I’m heading up, now. You want me to hold the elevator?”

“No, thanks.” I fight back a sarcastic reply. “Gonna take the stairs. Need the exercise.” I let out a sigh when his footsteps fade away.

“Is Stu bothering you?” A low voice makes me jerk and almost spill coffee all over myself. King prowls in, looking like he’s ready for the cover of GQ. “I’ll have a word with him if he’s being inappropriate.”

“No. He’s fine.” Lordy, I’d forgotten how broad his shoulders are. “It’s fine.” I’m babbling. “He’s just awkward. All geeks are.”

“Are we?”

I arch a brow. “You, especially.” Crap. Here goes the truth serum again. “The last time I saw you, you told me to leave. No explanation. No nothing. You tossed me out and didn’t tell me why.”

“You know why.” His deep, quiet voice makes my cheeks flush and my pussy purr.

To hide it, I roll my eyes. “Stu just asked me the same thing about you. Wanted to make sure you weren’t bothering me or being rude. Apparently, you have quite the reputation, Mr. Mean.”

“What’d you tell him?” His jaw is clenched tighter than normal.

“I told him you huffed and puffed but didn’t blow my house down. Relax.” I smirk, and the tension in him eases a little. “I left out the part where you told me it wasn’t safe to stay.” I glance around the empty conference room. “Which reminds me. You said we shouldn’t be alone.”

A group of people pass the open door, chatting loudly.

“We’re not alone. And we shouldn’t.” He fixes me with a look, and his tousled hair falls over his hollowed cheek. It should be illegal for a man to be so beautiful.

“I think I can handle you.” Maybe.

Something flickers across his face. He looks away. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’ve never dated anyone,” I blurt, mainly to distract him from the thought that put the pain in the expression.

“So you’ve mentioned. You still stalking me, little hacker?”

“No.” Yes.

He smirks as if he knows it’s a lie.

I grin back. “Thank you. I can handle Stu. But it’s nice to have someone check on me.”

“If anyone here harasses you, I want to know about it. Understand?”

A thrill goes through me, but I hide it.

“Wonder Woman today?”

“What?” I blurt, before I realize he’s talking about my shirt. “Oh, yeah. Well, you’re Clark Kent.” I nod to his suit and tie.

“Ouch,” he grimaces. “He was a nerd.”

“He was Superman,” I correct. “And you are a nerd.”

He shrugs. “Billionaire nerd.” A grin hides just out of sight on his mouth. He’s handsome now; he’d be breathtaking if he’d smile. “Like Iron Man. Or Batman. He’s more my style.”

“Or Lex Luther. Maybe you’re not a hero.”

The smile lurking in the corner of his mouth disappears, to my dismay. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m definitely the bad guy.”

“I was kidding. You’re not a villain.” I step closer, put my hand on his arm before I remember myself. “You act big and bad, but I know what you’re really like. You’re the one who comes to the rescue. I remember what you did for me in the elevator.”

“No,” he says. His eyes drop to my hand and up to my face. I remove it and step back, flushing a little. “You’re mistaken.”

My whole body heats from his nearness. He keeps shutting me down, but the fact remains, he’s still standing here. I know he has a thing for me. He just has too much integrity to act on it. “So why are you here? Marking your territory?”

“Me? You’re the one who set my secretary back on her heels.”

“I did not,” I sputter, then grin. “That was just a little cat fight. And she deserved it.”

He holds up his hands. “All right, kitten. Sheath your claws.” Smirking, he strides off, looking almost…happy?

What was that all about?

~.~

Jackson

My wolf whines a little as I walk away from my little superhero, but he behaves. He wanted me to close the door and mark her with my scent so the likes of Stu will stay away, but he’s satisfied that we got to see her at all.

I shouldn’t risk getting near her, but I can’t help it. At least I proved to myself I can be in the same room without jumping her. I love that she’s not afraid to tease me.

You’re Clark Kent.

If she only knew.

I skip the elevator, take the stairs two at a time.

My secretary gives me a bewildered look as I pass. I realize the strange feeling on my face is a smile.

“Mr. King?” I turn, and my secretary’s perfume hits. The downside of having a sharp nose.

“Yes, Vanessa?”

“You have a call from Garrett. No last name. I wouldn’t bother you, but you said to put him through—”

“I’ll take it.” Ever since Kylie sparred with her, my secretary’s been subdued. I still get rock hard when I think of the encounter. If Kylie was a shifter, she’d be an alpha female. Perfect for my wolf. Strong enough to stand up to my rule, sexy enough to keep me wrapped around her little finger. Sweet enough to keep me hard, just thinking of putting my cock in her. Of long nights running under the full moon. Just the two of us at first, but, one day, there’d be pups…

Shaking my head, I pick up the phone. I must be moon mad if I’m thinking about pups.

“King?” The Tucson alpha sounds like he’s making his voice deeper. At twenty-nine, he’s one of the youngest alphas in the states. It helps that his father runs a big pack in Phoenix, and backs Garrett’s claim of the territory. “Just wanted to check in.”

Most alphas have a protective streak. Garrett is no different. But I’m not one of his pack. If any alpha tried to claim me, I’d be obliged to make it clear I’m no one’s wolf. Quickly and violently. My wolf tolerates Garrett’s “check-ins” because it thinks of the young alpha as a kid brother, kinda like Sam. Still, Garrett and I are careful in our interactions. In a fight for dominance, I’d win, but I have no interest in taking over his pack. And it’d be a shame to best him, because I like the guy.

“Garrett,” I answer. “Full moon this week.”

“That’s why I’m calling. My dad’s hosting mating games on pack land near Phoenix. Wanted to invite you to run with us.”

“You going?”

“Yeah. The guys want to sniff some she wolves. They won’t mate, but they’d like to get laid.” There are fewer than twenty members in Garrett’s pack, all young, unattached males, like him. And they all live in the same apartment building. Bit of a fraternity.

“Appreciate it, but I can’t make it. I’d send Sam, but I promised him we’d run our own property.”

“Dad says you’re always welcome,” Garrett says affably.

My money is welcome. I’m barely tolerated, standoffish even for a lone wolf. I’m dominant enough to hold my territory, but that doesn’t mean I want a pack. I’ve avoided gatherings since my birth pack banished me.

“There aren’t a lot of single females, but you might replace one you like.”

“Tell your dad thanks but no thanks. Maybe in a few years, if Sam wants a mate.” I don’t want to insult the Phoenix alpha, but I replace it best to be blunt. Maybe not the most politically sensitive, but I’m big enough, people tiptoe around me.

“Look, King, I don’t give a shit if you mate or not. Obviously, I haven’t taken a mate, either. But three males in my dad’s pack have gone moon mad in the last few years. It’s my responsibility to make sure you at least mingle with some females, since we don’t have any down here.”

What he really means is: You’re a lone wolf past the age of thirty, and a dominant, and more susceptible to going moon mad unless you take a mate.

Also, there is at least one female wolf in Tucson. Garrett’s beautiful younger sister is a student at the University of Arizona, but I can’t fault the guy for leaving her out of the equation. Not that I’m interested in her, anyway. The image of Kylie’s Batgirl stretched tits rises in my mind.

Not a wolf.

Garrett goes on, “I’m bringing up my pack to give them all a chance to at least run off some tension.”

“I didn’t know matchmaking was part of the alpha’s job description,” I drawl.

“I know your wolf is dominant. Without a pack to run, it must be dying to bring a she-wolf to heel.”

Every muscle in my body clenches, imagining bringing my little hacker to heel.

“Besides, with birth rates among shifters so low, it’s good for the pack if the most dominant of us settle down and have pups as soon as possible.” He sounds like his father. “Why put it off?”

I scoff. “Says the chronic bachelor. What, did your mother call asking for grand pups, and you decided to pass the advice onto me?”

Any other alpha might bristle and take offense at my jab, but not Garrett.

“You caught me.” I hear his grin, and it goes a good way to mollifying my wolf, who’s annoyed at having this conversation in the first place. “I figure if she has your wedding to coo over in the shifter society gossip pages, she’ll leave me alone.”

“I’m onto you now. I’ll think about it next moon. Sam should definitely get a girlfriend.”

“All right.” Garrett laughed. “We’ll look for you. See you around, King.”

“One more thing, Garrett.” I drop all joviality. With my wolf’s newfound attraction to a human, I’m suddenly not so certain about my own stability. “If I do ever go moon mad, promise me you’ll protect Sam. And bring your whole pack in to stop me. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Garrett vows. The silence hangs cold and serious between us. We both hang up without saying goodbye.

I drum my fingers against the desk, the warning a weight in my chest. Garrett did the right thing, bringing up moon sickness in the most tactful way possible. It irks me that it took this reminder to make me back off Kylie. The animal inside me is dangerous and just looking for a moment of weakness so it can break free.

No more tests of my control. No more games like today. I have to stay away from Kylie. For her own good.

I open my laptop, ready to immerse myself in work, when the chat pings.

Batgirl4u: Hey

For a second, I catch my breath, thinking I’ve found my nemesis at last—Catgirl, the hacker who broke my code years ago.

But no. It’s Batgirl, with a B. And it’s on our intranet, the private network my employees use. Except I only allow connections with my executive team. Which means I’ve been hacked.

King1: Who’s this? I type, although I can guess.

Batgirl4u: Who do you think?

I shake my head.King1: Cute trick, kitten. But if you have time to hack our intranet, I need to get Stu to give you more to do.

Batgirl4u: Just proving my worth. You could send me that code you wanted to show me

The cursor blinks at me.

This isn’t a good idea. I want to watch over her, but I can’t. Today, I had a weak moment. I have too many of those around her. Like it or not, I am dangerous. Deadly. She thinks I’m not a villain.

She’s wrong.

I power off my computer. Time for another run.

~.~

Kylie

After an hour waiting for King’s reply, I power off my laptop and head home. I shouldn’t have taunted him like that. I was showing off, and, if I’m not careful, he might connect the dots some day and figure out I’m Catgirl.

Infuriating man. One day I think he’s going to bend me over his desk and fuck me senseless, the next he’s throwing me out of his office. Then he’s back to flirting. And then he ignores me online. I can’t keep up.

“Holy mixed messages, Batman,” I mutter as I close my front door and pull off my heels. One thing’s for sure, I’m not wearing these shoes for him again.

“Mémé? You home?”

A note on the table in my grandmother’s loopy scrawl tells me she’s run to the store, so I pick up the mail, pulling out the large manila envelope with no return address. I pry the flap with my thumb and rip it open.

A thick packet of papers emerged, with a typewritten cover letter.

Oh fuck.

My heart stops beating.

We know who you are, Catgirl, and have the proof to put you away.

To ensure our silence, you have twenty-four hours to install the code on this thumb drive into the main drive of SeCure.

If you do not comply, if you corrupt the files on the thumb drive in any way, or if you speak of this to anyone, we will send this packet to your new employer and the FBI.

No.

I struggle to breathe as I flip through the rest of the pages of the packet. They include all the evidence from my break into SeCure years ago, as well as IDs and photos of me and my parents under various aliases.

None with my real name.

Hell, even I’ve forgotten that.

My head throbs, and the room spins away. Someone found me. Maybe not him, but this is a huge threat.

First things first. Is there anything in this packet that can put me in jail?

I flip through the pages again.

No. But it will raise flags. SeCure will fire me, for sure. I’ll lose the chance to work with Jackson King, not that it looks like we’d be working closely, but still. Goodbye to my chance at being normal.

But I can’t do it and stay. If I give in to these guys, I’ll be their bitch forever. Next, they’ll ask me to hack into the credit card vault. Then somewhere else. I can’t do that. I have to disappear. Like I’ve done a million times before.

I stomp to the bedroom, grab a suitcase from the closet, and fling it onto the bed. Without thought, my hands move, packing the necessities. Black clothes, one pair of each thing. A simple bag of toiletries.

Running again. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to outrun Catgirl and my parents’ legacy, the past always catches up with me.

But what about Mémé? We’ve moved so many times, I don’t want to drag her on the road again. This time, our lives aren’t in danger. It’s not fair to make her pick up and move. Can I leave her?

She’s the only family I have. Ditching her to keep her safe feels like what my father did to me, when he tried to stick me in boarding school after my mom died. I wouldn’t let him, and I’ll bet Mémé won’t like being left behind, either.

Okay, so we’d both move. Mémé can make soup anywhere.

We have to run. We have to hide. What other choice do we have?

So much for my chance at normal.

I wrench open my drawer. The Batgirl shirt stares up at me.

“I can’t,” I say. “I’m not a superhero.”

I’m definitely the bad guy, Jackson told me. If only he knew. I’m his arch-nemesis, as bad as they come. I thought I was clear of my old life. I thought wrong.

In the past, I’d hack my way out of any problem—mine or my dad’s. We were in it together. Always on the run, but together. I’d felt safe. Powerful, even. But the Louvre shattered that. Stabbed in front of my eyes, my father gone forever. I almost died in that air-conditioning shaft, suffocating on my own panic. I’ve never felt safe in a tight space again.

Except in the elevator, with King.

I remember the pressure of his arms around me, the triggering of the calming reflex. I’d looked it up when I got home. All I found was reference to yoga postures that involve locking the chin into the sternum for calming.

Jackson’s big hands had been so much better than a yoga pose. They’d radiated warmth and safety.

If anyone harasses you, I want to know about it.

It’s not real. It’s not safe. I can’t trust him.

But what if I can?

I shove the papers back in the envelope, write a quick note for Mémé and run to my room for a new outfit before I can change my mind.

I’ve built my life on lies.

Maybe it’s time to try the truth.

~.~

Jackson

The moon shines silver, lighting the mountainside. I usually run and hunt most of the night when the moon is so close to full, but my instincts screamed to go back early. It wasn’t because of the rain, either.

Sam chases me, nipping at my hind legs, but I turn and snarl at the young wolf, causing him to tuck his tail and whine. I don’t want Sam’s company—I never do, but the kid is my self-appointed permanent shadow. When we reach the back side of my property, we both freeze. The rain makes it impossible to scent anything, but the high-pitched tone set at a frequency only canines register tells us my alarm system has been tripped.

Sam snarls, his upper lip lifting to show fang. He charges forward, rounding the corner.

I fly inside, through the dog door in the back, to check the interior. I scent nothing unusual. I shift and yank on clothes as I jog to the control room to look at the security feed.

A lone bike stands propped outside the iron gates that surround the front of my property and a small dark figure trudges through the rain toward my front door. A growl reverberates, low in my throat.

Who in the hell?

Sam arrives at full speed, fangs gleaming, and leaps through the air, his front paws landing on the intruder’s shoulders and knocking him or her to the ground.

Take that, motherfucker.

Dark fury pumping through my veins, I leave the control room to confront the unwelcome guest. I jog down the slippery steps and across the rain-soaked gravel.

“Easy Cujo.” The shaky sound of her voice shocks me like a live wire.

Kylie.

A jolt of fear tremors through my body. “Off. Get back,” I snap.

Sam doesn’t move, his wolf side not giving way to human reason, his instinct to protect and defend his home turf too strong. Thank the fates, Sam hasn’t torn her flesh.

My little hacker’s smart—she’s gone perfectly still beneath Sam.

I grab the scruff of my pack brother’s neck and haul him back. “I said off.”

Sam gives his head a shake and tucks his tail at the sound of his alpha’s angry tone. He takes a few steps backward.

I gaze down at our intruder. Even soaking wet, in a sweatshirt and jeans, she’s beautiful. She lies in the mud, not looking nearly as afraid as she ought to.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

She groans and starts to move, but winces, reaching for the back of her head.

Well, hell. A good-sized rock lay near her. She must’ve struck it when Sam knocked her down.

“I had to talk to you,” she croaked.

Anyone else, I’d grill right there, while they lie on their back in the dirt at my feet. But not Kylie. That new, strange prickly heat takes over and screams at me to protect her—from Sam, from the rain, from the rock, from myself.

I pluck her from the ground and set her on her feet, forgetting to pretend she’s heavy.

Her eyes roll, unfocused, as if the movement pains her head. “Ugh. Wow.”

I reach around and cup the back of her head, fingers questing until I replace the growing goose egg.

She flinches when I touch it.

“You’re hurt.” I turn and glare at Sam, who ducks his head.

She eyes my housemate, too. “Good thing you were around, or I think Cujo would’ve eaten me. Is that even a dog?”

“He’s part wolf.”

“Part wolf, part what? Gargoyle?”

I suppress a smile. I love that she pulls out the wry wit despite her injury. But then, it’s her default defense mechanism, as I learned in the elevator.

I study her. I ought to call the cops, or somehow scare her into respecting my boundaries. “Are you going to tell me why in the hell you broke into my place?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, if I was breaking into your place, I wouldn’t trip the laser sights to announce my presence. Forgive me, but I didn’t see the doorbell out there.”

What woman knows about laser security systems? And doesn’t scream when a giant wolf pins her to the ground?

“I don’t recall inviting you. How the hell did you even replace me?”

“I’m a hacker, remember?”

“Or a stalker.”

“Same thing.” Her hand goes to the front of her sweatshirt, and I hear the crinkle of paper. “I have something to show you. It couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

I take her elbow and lead her up the slick Italian tile steps and inside the mansion. Kylie moves stiffly, as if more than just her head hurts from Sam’s attack. It doesn’t stop her from looking around my place as I escort her to the guest bathroom on the second floor. Somehow, I doubt she’s missed a thing, either. Why is she here, really?

I angle her through the bathroom door. I intended to grab her a towel and leave her to freshen up, but I replace myself gripping the hem of her soaked sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?”

I tug the fabric upward. “Getting you out of these wet clothes.”

Color infuses her cheeks, making her eyes shine bright. Strands of her wet brown hair cling to her cheek and neck, a drip of water rain runs down her throat. I want to lick it off.

She lets her arms go slack and follows the movement of the sweatshirt, letting me pull it over her head without protest.

My cock throbs painfully against the zipper of my jeans when I catch an eyeful of skin. I remove her undershirt with the sweatshirt, and she stands in nothing but a lacy red bra and wet jeans.

Her chest heaves, and she keeps her gaze intent on my face, as if waiting to see what I’ll do next.

What will I do?

I know what I want to do. I want to peel those tight, soaked jeans down and bend her over the bathroom counter. I want to plow her from behind as much as I want to get into that whip-smart mind of hers and replace out what makes the unique female tick. And dammit, yes, I want to sink my serum-coated fangs into her flesh and forever mark her as mine.

Which can’t happen.

I drop the sweatshirt on the floor and hear the rustle of paper again.

Kylie’s focus snaps to the discarded clothing, and she lunges for it, breaking the stare-down between us. Trapped between the layer of shirt and sweatshirt lies a manila folder, which she retrieves and hugs to her chest, covering those perfect tits from my view.

She licks her dry lips. “Mr. King, before I share this with you, I just want to tell you when I did what I did, I was a cocky teenager trying to prove my worth to myself and the hacker world. I never took anyone’s credit card numbers, and I never sold any information. It was simply a—”

The realization hits me like a fist in the gut. “Catgirl.”

Of course she’s fucking Catgirl. The only person who ever hacked my code. No wonder she was nervous about interviewing at SeCure. What in the hell kind of game was she playing, showing up at my headquarters, at my home, for fuck’s sake?

The one breach in security that haunted me for the past eight years just blew up in my face. Again.

I snatch the manila folder from her hands and dump the contents onto the bathroom counter.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounds small.

Dammit.

I hate hearing her diminished, even to me, a natural alpha who demands submission from everyone. Even when I’m pissed off with her.

“What the fuck is this?”

I flip the stack of papers and read the one on the top. Fuck no. Rage sharpens into a deadlier sense of awareness.

Blackmail.

Someone wants to sabotage SeCure.

Or is this some elaborate game Catgirl’s playing? Because anyone as brilliant as she could have some unseen strategy going here.

This girl’s trouble and my judgment about her has been clouded by lust.

She stands perfectly still, her small hands clenched into fists. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.

I toss the papers back down the counter. “What the fuck? What do you want? Why are you really here?”

I hate seeing tears fill her eyes, but I steel myself against my instinct to yank her into me or slay her foes. Those instincts can’t be trusted.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I don’t want anything.” Her voice wobbles on the first word, but then she regains control of it. “I just figured if I confessed, myself, the jackasses would lose their leverage. I don’t want to negotiate with terrorists, you know?

“I just offered you all the information you need to hand over to the FBI to build a case against me. Obviously, I’m hoping you’ll settle for my resignation.”

“No,” I growl, surprising myself by speaking before I knew what I was going to say.

But I’m not going to let her off that easily. In my world—in the shifter community—transgressions are dealt with head on. They aren’t handled by cops or resignations. Punishment is swift, usually physical. Or else recompense is demanded, or offered, and accepted.

She flinches, her slender shoulders sinking. “What are you going to do?” Her voice sounds hoarse.

Blood rushes to my cock at the thought of taking her to task. Firmly. I lower my voice to a dangerous level. “What do you think I should do?”

“Well”—she licks her full lips, the intelligence returning to her face— “if I were you, I’d want to catch these motherfuckers. So I might keep me as bait.”

Damn, I almost trust her. An enormous mistake.

“You know, monitor me closely to make sure I don’t misbehave, but wait to see who makes contact and put a stop to these guys.”

Yeah, I’ll monitor you closely.

Monitor the way those red lace bra cups lift her perky breasts. Monitor the scent of her arousal, the changing shape of that lush mouth. Kissable lips. “I see. And how should I punish your previous misbehavior?” My voice is definitely deep and raspy. If she doesn’t know what I’m thinking, then she’s a complete innocent.

But her eyes dilate, nipples pop through the fabric of her bra. That’s right, baby.

“No pity for the kitty?” She loses her breath on the word kitty, which makes it sound twenty times sexier.

“Right.” I spin her around and bend her over the counter. My palm connects with the wet pocket of her jeans before my brain even knew the plan. It makes a loud crack, satisfying on every level. My cock hardens at her gasp.

Kylie tosses her head, looking over her shoulder, teeth bared. She likes it. Judging by the scent of her arousal—a lot.

I smack the other cheek, harder.

Fuck, I want to pull those wet jeans off her, replace out what color panties she’s wearing before I tear those down, too. But if I see her naked ass, there’ll be no holding back the beast. Even this mild contact over her clothing has me harder than a fucking rock and my teeth lengthening.

Since she didn’t freak, I keep spanking, hard slaps that echo off the Italian tile. “You hacked me, Catgirl?” I smack her again and again. “What were you—like twelve?”

“Fifteen,” she gasps. “I never took anything—I swear—ung.”

The last sound from her lips sounds too much like I’m fucking her instead of spanking, and my vision tunnels, my wolf clawing to take over.

I stop spanking, struggling to slow my breath. I keep my hand on her ass, because, well, the thought of not touching her kills me. “Just wanted to see if you could, baby?” Now that it’s set in, the fact that she’s Catgirl turns me on even more. This girl hacked me as a teen. She’s a fucking genius, and I’m swooning for her brains almost as much as her sexy little body.

My eyes meet hers in the mirror. Her face is flushed, eyes dilated and glassy. I reach around and cup her right breast, squeezing and pulling her back up against my chest.

“Bad girl,” I whisper in her ear, and she lets out the cutest little moan.

I have to fuck her. As in, I’m going to die if I don’t get my cock inside her now. I need to own her completely. Punish her with the roughest fucking of her life until she screams my name and learns I’m the only male who will ever crack her fucking code. Then I’ll start over again, slowly. Lick the pain away. Make her come over and over again until she weeps.

But I don’t trust my control around her, so I settle for flipping her back around, picking her up by waist, and plunking her down to sit on the counter. “Did you like your spanking, baby?”

“Y-yes.”

I love her honesty. I shove her knees apart and bring my thumb to the seam of her jeans, right over her pussy.

She arches into me and catches my shoulders, her head falling back. “Jackson…” she whispers.

I push the hard fold of fabric into her seam, rubbing up to her clit.

She jerks and lets out a needy cry. Her fingers come down and cover my hand, urging me to give her more.

My mental faculties slip away. I yank open the button of her jeans and lower the zipper, parting the two sides.

Matching panties. Red lace, like the bra. I knew it.

My satisfaction is short-lived because a storm of rage blows hot on its heels. “Who’s seen you in these, baby?”

“Wh-what?”

“Who has seen you in these cute-as-hell panties?” I get right in her face, teeth showing. “Who do you wear these for?”

She pushes at my shoulders, but, of course, I don’t budge. Human female strength against shifter alpha male? No comparison. “What gives, Jackson?” There’s real fear in her eyes, and it drops me like bullet. The flash of anger evaporates, replaced by the need to soothe and protect my female.

Shit. I already consider her my female.

I lean my forehead against hers. “Sorry,” I murmur. “Is it wrong to want to kill the guy you bought those for?”

She lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re crazy.”

Because I’m a stubborn bastard, I wait, still wanting her to answer my question.

“No one’s seen them,” she mutters.

Holy hell, is she blushing? Maybe she’s more innocent than I thought.

“No one?” I’m unable to keep the incredulousness out of my tone.

She pushes again, but I’m back to my original purpose. With an arm wrapped around her waist, I pull her off the counter to stand, and delve my fingers into her pants and panties.

Hell, yes.

The moist heat of her core slicks my finger, sending a kick of lust through me so strong I have to drag in a sharp breath.

“Jackson.”

“Yeah.” She can call my name with that husky voice anytime.

I rub my middle finger along her weeping slit, spreading moisture up to the swollen bud of her clit.

I’m still pondering the blush. Is she embarrassed she hasn’t been with anyone recently? Considering the way she clings to my neck and moans the moment I touch her perfect little pussy, I think that’s a distinct possibility.

Some ridiculous male pride surges through me. I’m going to be the one to satisfy her. I force myself to slow down as I circle her clit, my free hand slipping around to grab her ass and pull her pelvis closer.

She grinds down over my finger.

“Greedy girl,” I murmur. If I had her panties off, I would have spanked her pussy, but the fit’s too tight.

Her breath stutters as I screw one finger inside her tight channel. I work the heel of my hand against her clit.

She rises up on her tiptoes and claws the back of my neck, fingernails scoring me like a female shifter marks her mate. My teeth sharpen in my mouth, and I clamp my lips closed to keep from marking her, myself.

Her pelvis undulates forward and back in greedy thrusts.

I work a second finger inside her. “You’re so. Damn. Tight.”

She stiffens slightly, even though I meant it as a compliment, but I stroke her inner wall and hit her G-spot.

Her muscles squeeze, and she grows even wetter. “Fuck…no…I mean, yes. Oh please!” She hangs from my neck, her breasts pressed into me as she pumps her hips over my fingers.

I feel like a pubescent wolf, ready to come in my pants. But this is for her—not me. I thrust in and out of her, letting my knuckles bump with force until she squeals and clamps her inner thighs together. Her internal muscles contract, and she comes all over my fingers in the hottest display of female orgasm I’ve ever seen.

I did that. My wolf grins with satisfaction.

When her orgasm fades, I ease my fingers out and claim her mouth, prying her lips open with my tongue. I wrap a hand around the base of her head to hold it hostage and plunder, command her to submit.

She does. She opens for me, presses her killer body against mine, kisses me back.

Damn.

With great effort, I break off the kiss.

She gazes up at me, beautifully disheveled from the rain and my assault. “Does this mean we’re square?” She sounds breathless.

“Not even close, baby. You owe me, and I intend to collect.”

Her gaze drops to my stiffy. “How?” She doesn’t wait for the answer, but sinks to her knees.

The creak of a floorboard in the hallway makes me curse inwardly. I yank her back to her feet before we give Sam a show. Why in the hell didn’t I shut the bathroom door?

Although the sound is soft enough I thought she’d miss it, Kylie startles, craning her neck to see around my shoulder. Every cell in my body screams for me to reach for the door knob, shut the door and tell her to please continue.

But no—Kylie is human. And my employee. Because I am keeping her on, where I can watch her.

Keep your enemies closer.

I’ve already gone way too far with her. Any further, and I’d mark her, and then I’d have a world of new trouble on my hands.

Forcing restraint, I pull a clean towel from the cabinet and toss it to her. “Get in the shower and warm up. I’ll replace you some dry clothes.”

I turn her around and propel her toward the shower stall, delivering another smack to her heart-shaped ass.

She makes a low purring sound in her throat and looks over her shoulder with heat.

I bite back a groan. It takes all my willpower to turn around and walk out, shutting the door behind me.