Happily Ever Alpha_Until Emma Page 3

  I wave my hand to dismiss my strange analogy. “Just eat slower, kid. There’s plenty of food so you can have as much as you want. Just not all in the next thirty seconds.”

  He giggles and nods his head as he chews his next bite. He’s eight, but not as well-developed as some other eight-year-olds I’ve seen. Unfortunately, I think his emotional and developmental growth was a bit stunted because of his neglect.

  “And, if you do a good job studying for spelling, we might even have time to bake some cookies.”

  Owen’s eyes grow wide as he starts shoveling food into his mouth again. Shit, that didn’t work out at all as I planned.

  “Wait, sorry. How about, while we’re studying, I’ll make the cookies and they’ll be ready when we’re done?”

  “Deawwl,” he says with an overstuffed mouth.

  We clearly have some work to do on those table manners.

  ~**~

  Owen is finally asleep, and I’m about to dig into a Real Housewives marathon when the door pops open, and Mercy comes inside.

  “You’re home early…”

  She slams the door and leans up against it as she unzips her boots. “Why are men such assholes?”

  “Oh no. What happened?” I pull my feet up under my thighs so there’s room for Mercy to join me.

  “First, he used a coupon to pay for dinner.” She places both hands on the back of the couch and leans forward to emphasize her shock. “A coupon! Then, when we walked to the coffee shop down the street, he asked if I wanted to get the coffee since he paid for dinner.”

  I have to bite my lip to hold back a smile. Mercy has had some awful luck with men lately. I feel bad for her, but there is a certain comic relief I appreciate from her stories. “Well, not everybody is wealthy. Maybe he’s a great guy who just doesn’t have a lot of cash at the moment.”

  “That’s fine.” She holds up a hand to appease me. “I don’t care about that. But as soon as we got into the movie, he held my hand for about three seconds before resting it on his hard-on. Can you believe that asshole? Dude wanted me to jerk him off in the damn movie.”

  I finally burst out laughing. “Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been the first time in that theater.”

  She rolls her eyes and then comes to join me on the couch. “If he wanted action, he should’ve thought about that before making me buy his damn mochaccino.”

  I peel myself off the couch and stretch my arms and back. “So, you working tomorrow night?”

  “Yep. Is that still fine for you?” She looks nervous as she asks if I’m going to flake on her.

  “Of course. You know I have no life. I’ll be here by six.” By day, Mercy works as a waitress for a bar and grill we’ve been going to since we were in high school. But two nights a week, she supplements her income by dancing. She started stripping after Owen moved in with her so she could afford afternoon day care and his sports classes. He’d never been exposed to team sports and having him in soccer and karate has made a big difference in his confidence level.

  But it’s also made quite a dent in her checking account. So, on the nights she has to shake her ass for a few hundred bucks, I watch Owen. In exchange for me not flaking, which I never would, she gives me ten percent of her tips for the night.

  It’s worked out pretty well for both of us.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow. Get some rest while you can.”

  She pulls me into a big hug and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, sweetie. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “To start, you would miss the chance to get felt up in movie theaters or to buy sleaze balls their girly coffees.”

  “True that!” She forces out a sad laugh as she opens the door for me.

  I give her another quick kiss on the cheek as I head out, eager to climb into my own bed. It’s been calling out to me all night from my bedroom just two doors down the hall. “Night, hon. Tomorrow will be a better day!”

  Chapter 6

  Sebastian

  I sponsor these toy programs as often as they come up. They’re not only a way for our working teams to bond, but they’re a great opportunity to give back to the community. My dad initially set them up as a tax write-off to make it look like he cared about the less fortunate. But he only gave annually when he was really forced to. I’ve increased the frequency of giving programs to almost monthly since I’ve come on board. The employees seem to really enjoy these days where they can get away from the office and do something productive for others.

  My phone rings as soon as I start up my bike. Even over the roar of the engine, the speakers in my helmet are clear as day when I answer the call. It’s Abbott, my best friend and the resident pain in my ass. “Seb, what time are you gonna get here?”

  I glance at my watch and try desperately to come up with an excuse to avoid going to the club tonight. “I’m just getting off work right now. I might bail on tonight.”

  “No way.” He must be in his office with the door closed because the background music is now muffled. “Two of your favorite girls will be in tonight. You’ll have a choice for once.”

  “I don’t know. I’m kinda tired.” I heave out a deep sigh, weighing my options. Abbott manages an upscale strip club that I co-own with him and his brother. I usually visit once or twice a week. There are a few girls I set up “dates” with when I come in. Taking them to a VIP room for a quickie is a hell of a lot easier and less expensive than trying to go out on real dates. I learned that lesson with Isabelle, and I have no interest in going down that road ever again. If I have to pay for sex for the rest of my life, that’s fine with me. At least I’ll know where my money is going, and I’ll get something I want out of the deal. Unlike when I was with Isabelle or any of the other gold diggers I’ve managed to attract over the years. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be a pussy.” He must be lonely if he’s pressing me to come in. “Get your ass in here and get a piece. The girls love when you come in.”

  I can lie to myself and claim I’m helping out a young woman who could use the extra cash. But that’s a load of shit. I go there to get off. That’s it. And I could use a good fuck. “Yeah, okay. Give me an hour to eat and change.”

  “Good man. I’ll see you then.”

  I disconnect the call and squeeze the throttle, ready to put some miles on my bike before I head home to get ready for tonight.

  After whipping up a grilled chicken omelet and taking a quick shower, I head over to Pearls, Abbott’s club. I’m an owner on paper, but I’m not an active partner. I just loaned Abbott some cash to do renovations when he first bought the place. Although, like many of my other business, nobody knows I’m involved with this place. My attorneys have created shell company inside shell company to keep me hidden from the records. If someone really wanted to dig, they could probably figure it out. But so far, it’s never come up. And now that I’m becoming more prominently known as the face of James Lighting, it’s probably a good thing that I’m not also the face of Pearls Gentleman’s Club.

  Abbott spots me as soon as I walk inside and ushers me to his table to have a drink with him. “You’re just in time.” He holds up two shots, handing me one.

  “What’s the occasion?” I take the shot and throw it back without waiting for him.

  Abbott downs his shot as well then slams the glass on the table. “Angel of Mercy is up next, but Vickie Vamp just finished her set. She’s around here somewhere. You want me to find her?” He’s already looking around the room, scanning all the faces for one he knows I like.

  It’s not even that I like these women all that much. Of course, they’re beautiful. But they aren’t my type. Which is actually what I like most about them. I know I’ll never be tempted to ask for a number or offer up mine with the women at Pearls. Not because of what they do for a living, but because I like brunettes. So, the women I’ve chosen to fool around with at Pearls are all blondes. Beautiful blondes who know how to hit it and quit it without any drama. These girls know how
to take care of a man, but they aren’t trying to get in the will.

  “I’ll think about it and let you know.” I pat Abbott on the shoulder as I get up and head to one of the reserved booths at the front. I prefer the one that’s angled in such a way that the general crowd can’t see me. But it gives me a perfect view of the stage and whoever’s on it. Angel of Mercy comes out a few minutes after I sit down, and I know what my decision will be for the night.

  Angel gives off a timid girl-next-door vibe that I’ve always liked. It’s what attracted me to her in the first place and one of the reasons why she’s usually my top pick when she’s available. She only works a few nights a week, which I also respect. She comes here to do what she needs to do, but her life doesn’t revolve around getting naked for strangers. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s probably a student trying to pay her way through college—maybe even grad school—but I’ll never know her story.

  Because I’ll never ask for it.

  The house lights dim, and all eyes are on the stage as Angel walks out in a white teddy, white thigh-high stockings, and wings on her back that appear to sprout directly from her shoulders.

  Her long, blonde hair flows across her back as she starts to dance to the slow song playing. The other men in the room wish they could have the opportunity she’ll offer me before the night is through. Not because I’m particularly special, but because very few people are allowed to “date” the dancers. Abbott is careful about keeping things on the up-and-up, so he makes sure to never use language that would imply solicitation.

  Only highly vetted clients are introduced to the dancers who are looking for extra money, and whatever happens after that is off Abbott’s books. I think he only does it so friends like me don’t become monks and so his girls don’t put themselves in unnecessarily precarious positions by taking clients outside of the club. By letting them hook up with their dates here, he knows they’ll be safe.

  As for me, I know why she’ll come to me first. Because I’m a damn good tipper. Although, no money will be exchanged here. Tonight, I’ll PayPal her $1000 as a friendly gift.

  A waitress slides a glass of scotch onto the table in front of me, but I don’t even look in her direction. My eyes are riveted to Angel. She has a way of keeping her eyes completely blank, as if they are dead to the world around her.

  I like that.

  It’s just another example of her self-control and ability to separate work from reality. Twenty minutes after she leaves the stage, she’s back and sliding onto the bench seat beside me. “How are you? It’s been a while.”

  “It has.” I lean forward and kiss both of her cheeks. “I’m good. You?”

  She smiles and scoots a little closer. “I’m keeping busy. And I’m done for the night. Do you want to head back for a little bit?”

  We both know what that means. I nod stiffly as I take another drink from my glass. “Sounds good.”

  I throw a couple twenties on the table then escort Angel of Mercy to one of the VIP rooms. There are several chairs of varying levels of comfort set up in the room. But I like to keep things simple. Instead of going to a recliner or upholstered chair, I reach for an armless wooden chair and line it up against the back wall.

  I sit down with my back to the wall and let Angel do the work. She slowly saunters toward me until she’s standing between my knees. Then she reaches for the hem of my shirt, slipping her fingertips beneath it.

  “I like this color on you, Sebastian.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, leaning forward a bit as her fingers trail up my rib cage and under my arms. She pulls my shirt fully over my head, and while I’m still leaning forward, she drapes it over the back of the chair. Digging her nails into my chest, she kneads the muscle there.

  Her fingertips trace along my tattoos as always. She’s always been fascinated by the intricate web of lines that morph from obvious graphics to indiscernible connections. Her manicured tips circle my latest piece, and her mouth quickly closes over it. She licks me before releasing the inked flesh. “Is this new?”

  “It is. Do you like it?” It’s a black rose with falling petals. I had it added after my parents died, but I don’t think I was trying to remember them as much as I was trying to remind myself that the darkness doesn’t win…and that I never want to be like them.

  Her lips cross my chest as her fingers make short work of my button fly. I never get fully undressed when I’m here. I never know when I’ll need to take off quickly, and I refuse to be caught with my ass in the air. Nothing pisses me off more than a situation I’m not in control of. So, with a few shifts of my weight, Angel has my jeans undone and is pulling out my fully erect cock, making it available for her to service.

  And service she does.

  Her mouth continues down my chest and abs until it lands on the head of my cock. She slowly sucks me in but only offers a few token licks before pulling a condom out of her bra and rolling it onto my length. Once I’m gloved up, I slip my fingers inside her thong and strip it from her body so she can climb onto my lap.

  She doesn’t take many clients here. Abbott said I’m one of two she’s been with in this way, so her experience must come from actual relationships. It doesn’t matter much how she learned to do what she does because as soon as I enter her, she sucks me right in and her body gets to work. Her hips roll and tilt as she raises and lowers herself onto me.

  I have pretty good stamina, but I don’t like to waste a lot of time here. We’re both doing this with one goal in mind. There’s no reason to delay the main event. With her nails digging into my shoulders, I find her clit with my thumb and use her own juices to get her to the point of exploding on my hand. As soon as her body begins to clench and constrict around me, I let go and allow myself this release, unloading into the condom with a low moan.

  As soon as we’re done, Angel gets up, taking the condom with her to dispose of it. She brings a container of baby wipes over to clean us both up, and then we’re done. I get dressed and give her a kiss on the cheek as I leave, promising to send her my thanks later.

  Chapter 7

  Emma

  “My feet are killing me.” Mercy’s boots are adorable but just a bit too narrow for my feet, so wearing them all day was a bad decision. I wanted to cry when the elevator was broken on my last delivery, and I had to huff it up three flights of stairs. Fortunately, the office was relatively clean, so I slipped out of them and ran down barefoot after making the delivery. But then shoving my swollen feet back into those damn things when I got to the street was a whole new level of torture. “I can’t go dancing.”

  Mercy balls her fists on her hips and stares me down. “Owen is at a sleepover, and we never go out together anymore. We’re doing this.”

  I rub a particularly sore spot on the ball of my foot as I consider my options. “I’ll go if I can wear flip-flops.”

  Her stern glare morphs into a huge smile. “Done. I have a super comfy pair that has a slick bottom, so you’ll be fine dancing in them.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure my feet will feel awesome after being stepped on all night by drunk people.” I chuckle as I heave my tired ass off her couch to go get showered. “But after a drink or five, I won’t care.”

  “Be sure to wear something slutty to make up for your footwear.”

  I shuffle to the door, waving goodbye to her with my favorite finger. “If you let me wear sweats and a t-shirt, drinks are on me tonight.”

  She laughs, knowing I’m full of shit but gives me a warning for good measure. “I’ll kill you if you try it…”

  Even though I’d love to curl up on the couch and binge-watch Netflix, I also need to get laid. Like hard and fast and make-me-scream kind of laid. Now that I’m not worried about money, thanks to a certain arrogant but sexy customer, I can focus on my other pressing needs. Like the one I’d like pressed by something other than my vibrator.

  It’s been long enough that I think I might be ready for a one-night stand. It’s not really my style,
but my style isn’t working. If I’m going to truly get past Rick, I need to distract myself with other guys.

  ~**~

  “The Stumble In? We haven’t been there in forever,” I say as Mercy walks out of her apartment and meets me in the hall.

  “Well… Don’t get mad, okay?”

  “Dammit, Mercy. What did you do?”

  She gives me her sweet as sugar smile. “It’s actually Hilary’s bachelorette party.”

  “Her bachelorette party. Seriously? I barely know Hilary. She’s not gonna want me there.”

  Mercy wraps her arm around mine, urging me to walk faster. “Of course she does. She loves you, and it’s a party. The more, the merrier.”

  I’ve only met Mercy’s manager from the restaurant once or twice when I stopped in for deliveries, but she does seem really nice. I put my hand on Mercy’s arm and dig in my heels, making her stop beside me. “Does that mean drinks are free?”

  Mercy’s grin grows even wider as she nods. “The maid of honor is covering bottle service, so we won’t be buying any drinks tonight.”

  “Okay, that changes things.” I start walking again, tugging Mercy along beside me. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”

  She rests her head on my shoulder for just a second as she laughs. “I was saving the best for last.”

  The bar isn’t packed when we arrive, but there’s a good crowd. It takes a few minutes just to work our way toward the back where the new section of private lounges are set up. Hilary already looks wasted when we slip past the velvet ropes and squeeze onto the huge leather sectional. Seven other women are already there, so Mercy doesn’t waste any time before fixing us cocktails. The glass she hands me looks like eight ounces of vodka with a splash of cranberry, but that’s okay with me. I like my drinks like I like my men. Strong and scorching hot as they pour down my throat.

  “Thank you for coming.” Hilary almost falls into my lap trying to give me a hug.

  “Yeah, of course. Thanks for letting me tag along. And congratulations on the wedding. He’s a lucky man.”