Alpha's Private Plaything (Elsa and Drake Stone) novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Elsa

The property management office was nearly empty when I arrived. A

young beta wolf looked up from her computer.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Reeves has already left for the evening,” she said

apologetically. “He’s the only one authorized to process the contract

renewal payments.”

I nodded, thanking her before heading back to the elevator. The last

place I wanted to go was the penthouse–our penthouse–but I had

little choice. Drake would expect me to wait for the property manager

in the morning, and his black card was burning a hole in my purse.

The penthouse was eerily quiet when I entered. I was surprised to

find that Drake hadn’t ordered someone to clean up the mess we’d

made during our last argument. Books were still scattered across the

floor, a vase lay shattered near the wall, and there was a visible dent

in the plaster from where he’d slammed his fist.

I sighed, dropping my purse on the counter. Reluctantly, I found the

broom and dustpan in the utility closet and changed into more

comfortable clothes–a simple white sleep shirt and shorts I kept

here.

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I muttered bitterly as I swept up broken glass. “Ten fucking years

cleaning up his messes.”

Halfway through my cleanup, I found a pink apron hanging in the

kitchen. I didn’t remember buying it, but I put it on to protect my

clothes from the dusty debris. Just as I was collecting the last shards.

of ceramic, the doorbell rang.

Must be the night manager checking on the noise from earlier, I

thought, wiping my hands on the apron as I headed for the door.

Drake stood in the hallway, his tie loosened, eyes immediately

dropping to take in my appearance. His nostrils flared slightly as he

scented me, and his eyes darkened instantly.

“What are you wearing?” His voice was low, husky.

I looked down at myself–the pink frilly apron over my white sleep

shirt, my bare legs exposed. Shit. I hadn’t expected him back so soon.

Before I could answer, he pushed past me into the apartment, kicked

the door shut behind him, and backed me against the wall. His mouth

came down on mine with bruising force, his hands gripping my waist.

“Drake-” I gasped when he finally let me breathe.

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“Shut up,” he growled, his fingers already working at the ties of the

apron. He left it hanging around my neck but pushed my sleep shirt

up, hands hot against my skin. “Been thinking about this all day.”

His hands moved to my shorts, tugging them down my legs. “Step

out,” he commanded, and I obeyed automatically, cursing my body’s

instinctive response to his alpha tone.

Now I stood in just the apron and my sleep shirt, which Drake was

slowly pushing upward. “Arms up,” he ordered, pulling the shirt over

my head and tossing it aside, leaving me wearing nothing but the

ridiculous pink apron.

His eyes burned gold as he took me in, his hands cupping my ass.

“Going to fuck you like this,” he whispered, his breath hot against my

ear. “Just the apron.”

My breath caught as desire pooled low in my belly, despite

everything. My nipples hardened instantly as the cool air hit them,

and I could feel myself getting wet between my legs. God, I hated

myself for this weakness.

The doorbell rang again, startling us both.

“Ignore it,” Drake growled, pressing me harder against the wall. I

could feel his erection straining against his pants, hard and insistent

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against my stomach.

“It could be important,” I protested weakly, already moving toward

the door out of habit.

Drake’s hand shot out, catching my wrist in an iron grip. “You are not.

answering the door like that,” he snarled, pulling me back against his

chest. “No one sees you like this but me.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent an unwanted thrill through me, making my thighs clench involuntarily. He guided me backward, still pressed against him, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on my neck.

“Let them wait,” he murmured against my skin.

“It’s probably the property manager,” I whispered, my body still

pressed against his.

“They can wait until morning,” he murmured, nipping at my earlobe,

pulling a sharp gasp from me. “I have more important things to

attend to.”

The doorbell finally stopped ringing, and Drake’s hands resumed their

exploration of my body. I should have pushed him away, should have

maintained some dignity, but the heat of his touch was melting my

resistance. His fingers traced circles around my nipples through the

thin fabric of the apron, then pinched them hard enough to make me

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cry out.

“Why do you still affect me like this?” he murmured against my neck.