Read Alpha (Alpha 1) Online, Free Novels Online, Read Book Online, Listen Novels Online. Author: Jasinda Wilder. Category: Romance. Series: Alpha. Jasinda Wilder - sirochaterfarm.ml Jasinda Wilder - Madame sirochaterfarm.ml .. Book One - Alpha (Alpha #1) by Jasinda Wilder - sirochaterfarm.ml 1. Alpha has 28 entries in the series. D.M. Turner Author (). cover image of Midnight Alpha (ALPHA 4) Alpha (Series). Jasinda Wilder Author ().
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Best Free Books Alpha (PDF, ePub, Mobi) by Jasinda Wilder Books Online for Read. Editorial Reviews. Review. "I think Alpha might be the hottest book I have read sinceE.L. James' Fifty Shades of Grey!" ~ The Little BlackBook Blog "Super Sexy . Alpha (Alpha #1) - Jasinda Wilder - dokument [*.epub] Contents TITLE COPYRIGHT DEDICATION 1: THE ENVELOPE 2: INTRODUCTIONS; THE.
It would be one thing if this were a kick-ass job that really paid the bills. But it was a temp job. Hourly, and a shitty hourly rate at that.
Barely enough to cover one bill, much less all the bills I had to pay. I turned, letting him hold on to my wrist. For the moment. I lifted my eyes to his, putting on my best poker face. Just like that? That easy, huh?
See a Problem?
Suck you off, and you'll let me keep my job? Let you fuck me over the desk, and I'll get the permanent position, too, I bet.
I'm sure we could come to an agreeable arrangement. An agreeable arrangement. I forced down my revulsion for a few more seconds. He made short work of his belt, and I heard the telltale zzzzhhrip of his zipper going down. I didn't look, didn't want to see what he'd just pulled out. I felt my breasts loosen a bit, no longer quite so constricted. His eyes devoured the expanse of cleavage. But,,,how about a bit more?
And then, without warning, I snapped my head forward, felt my forehead connect with his nose, felt cartilage break. I stepped away as crimson blood sluiced from his nose. I shuddered as I caught an accidental glimpse of his wrinkled, veiny, now-flaccid penis hanging over his zipper. God, I could've gone the rest of my life without seeing that. I opened his door and walked out, glanced down at my shirt, and cursed as I realized I had a few droplets of blood on my blouse.
I stopped in the women's room and dabbed cold water onto the stain, then retrieved my belongings from my desk. I didn't have much to get, a few granola bars, some spare tampons, and-most importantly-my framed photo of Mom, Dad, my younger brother Cal, and me.
It was taken several years ago. Before Dad was murdered. Before Mom got sick. Before I went from innocent, naive, privileged college girl to primary breadwinner for three people, one of whom didn't even recognize me most days.
Before life went completely down the drain, putting all my dreams out of reach, leaving me desperate, exhausted, stressed, and frustrated. I stuffed my things into my purse and walked with as much dignity as I possessed toward the bank of elevators, hiding my mirth as I saw Mr.
Edwards being escorted out by security. His pants were buttoned, but not zipped, and his once-impeccable suit was spattered with blood. Two more security staff members were going from cubicle to cubicle, looking for me, I supposed. I took the stairs and exited the building.
Since my temp agency never had any parking spots available, I caught the bus over to their offices, hoping I'd be able to find another job right away. My contact, Sheila, tapped on her computer for several minutes, then turned to me with a slight frown. I'll take anything. Literally anything. I'm so sorry. Maybe try again in a few weeks. Things are tight. What can I tell you?
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I can spare you-" I stood up. I'd skipped lunch today, just to have a bit more cash to go toward the rent. But I wouldn't take pity charity. I started it, and then remembered that, because I'd just been fired, I wouldn't get my parking slip validated. There went another fifteen bucks I couldn't spare. The drive home was long in more ways than one. I'd been working in an office downtown, but I lived more than forty-five minutes away in the suburbs north of Detroit.
My car was running on fumes by the time I got home, and my stomach was empty, rumbling and growling and gurgling. I struggled to hold back the tears as I checked the mail. I was fumbling through the envelopes, muttering " fuck,,,fuck,,,fuck " under my breath at each new bill.
Claire - handwritten in neat black script in the center, along with my address. I tucked the other bills into my purse and stuck the envelope between my lips as I inserted my key in the lock. That, of course, was when I saw the white notice taped to my apartment door. Eviction Notice: pay rent or quit within 3 days. I was still a hundred dollars short on rent.
Or rather, short of the one month of rent I could scrounge up. I had been hoping to avoid eviction long enough to be able to catch up on the past due amount.
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The main set of doors were open, revealing the cavernous interior with a loft up near the top and an open space beneath. Workbenches lined the perimeter of the outside walls, tools hanging on the walls and resting on the surfaces. As well, there were several red Craftsman tool chests beneath the workbenches.
It seemed that every available surface was covered with parts of one description or another—on a long metal table near the plane he was working on, bigger ones on the floor, some in the corners or stacked along the walls.
Nick was shirtless, wearing a pair of tight, faded blue jeans and a pair of old, scuffed, battered tan combat boots, and a black A1S ball cap. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Ripped, lean and hard. Toned muscle, shredded abs, a wicked V-cut that I absolutely loved to lick, thick biceps, corded arms. It made him look a little older, but that was fine. He was just goddamned sexy with a beard. Not real long or thick, what I would call extreme scruff. A month or two worth of growth, at most, and he trimmed it to stay at that length.
Now his dark brown hair had enough length to it that he could actually style it if he wanted, which he rarely did. If he was working an event, he could clean up really well, but I liked him casual and messy.
Beta by Jasinda Wilder
Just like this. He had the radio on blasting Led Zeppelin, the hood part of the airplane engine open, twisting a wrench by feel, his cheek resting against the side of the cowl, eyes unfocused. The muscles in his back rippled as he worked the wrench, and I took a second standing in the doorway just to watch him and stare at him. I let myself work up a nice burning yearn for him.
Extreme stamina, and even more extreme sex drive. Which is good, because mine is off the charts. All I had to do was watch him work, watch his muscles flex and ripple, think about his mouth on my pussy, my hands on his long, thick cock… Fuck yeah—I got all drippy just thinking about his cock. Only he had the music too loud, so I had to try again, louder. And then he did a double take, like a cartoon character.
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Pretty sure his jaw actually hit the ground and his eyes turned to big red pulsing hearts. I was wondering how long it would take you.
He took a step toward me, his jade-green eyes blazing. He was prowling, that slow, sleek, predatory way he had, like a puma stalking through the grass. I held my ground, letting him come to me.
His gaze raked over me, top to bottom, twice. And then fixed on my tits, visible in glimpses through the brass of the shells. Down to my core, also just barely but not quite covered by the bandoliers. And then to the M4 in my hands. I nodded. Figured it only counted as fulfilling your fantasy if I was carrying your special assault rifle. The car chase? You told me you had a fantasy involving me in nothing but a bandolier, with your M4.
He was just staring at me, as if memorizing the sight of me like this. Cold as I was, I let him look. This was about fulfilling a fantasy, after all. He must have noticed me shivering.
It is April, and I am outside naked. When the doors were shut, lights flickered on automatically, bright LEDs suspended from industrial hanging fixtures.
He moved back a step. Instead of coming closer, though, he stayed where he was, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and took several photos of me from various angles. Fine by me; I knew he was the only one who would ever see them, so let him have photographic evidence. Besides, this was fun, drawing it out. I removed a layer of bandoliers, and struck a different pose. Another layer, another pose. Yet another layer, and now there was only one bandolier, which I hung around my neck.
It covered nothing, so I was completely bare for his perusal. And peruse he did, both with his eyes and his cell phone camera. And then I returned the favor, and then we fucked. He grabbed me by the wrist, stopping me.I found myself wanting to skim over the most intimate scenes between them, making me question my own sanity in the process.
I needed this job. Cupped his heavy sack in my hand and massaged it with gentle fingers, using my other hand to press a finger against his taint, taking him into my mouth and blowing him with all the skill I possessed.
Yes, I know, there have been a ton of books that came out since that I loved even more. View all 4 comments.
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