The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

Strawberries and Sex 

When Baron returned to the bedroom, he brought with him a fresh tray of food, and another pot of tea. Jane had returned to the pretty gold and cream bedroom after her walk around the house, and had tried to tidy the bed, though it was impossible to disguise how well the bed had been used over the course of the night. 

She opened the windows to let in fresh air and out the rich scent of sex, and leaned against window frame looking out over the green lawns and garden beds heavy with roses. The smell of come and sweat from the bed had caused the heat to rise again, and she pressed her thighs together, trying to control it.

She knew the moment he walked through the sitting room door, her instincts immediately identifying the arrival of an alpha, the heat craving him.

He placed the tray on the dresser. “You went out,” he said.

“Yes,” she flushed, wondering how he knew and immediately felt guilty that she might have been seen loitering under his open office window like a spy.

*That was,” he sighed heavily, unbuttoning his cuff links and setting them into a decorative plate on the dresser. “Very reckless. You are still on heat, and I only employ staff from the pack. If you have encountered any of our servants or gardeners, your scent might have led to something unfortunate.”

“Oh,” she cringed inwards and edged towards the bed, sitting onto the mattress, chastised. “I didn’t think…”

crisp whiteness as he opened it made the heat curl and dig claws into her belly. He eased it off his shoulders and hung it over the back of the chair as he toed off his Italian leather loafers. “It is your first heat; it takes time to adjust. By

she accepted the tea.

my first mate,” he seemed surprised by

taking a sip to disguise the tremble that

introspective. “Angelique takes a suppressor,” he said at last, turning away from her and lifting a cloche from the food. “On

what Angelique made of it. A suppressor was not birth control, though it certainly had the side effect of it as it was during estrus that a she-wolf ovulated. But a suppressor did not just prevent conception, it prevented the release of an egg and the hormones that went

her and brought two bowls over to where she sat on the bed. In one was piled strawberries and blue berries, in another whipped cream. “You have not eaten since Saturday,”

food against her mouth. It was ripe and fresh, the flavour bursting over her tongue, and

He stood, but instead of returning to the tray, he pulled her to her feet, and loosened the ties that held her robe closed. “Starving in fact,” he observed as he let the robe slide from

and draping them over the chair. He picked up the

the styling paste and careful combing, it formed thick, glossy curls that tumbled around his face, the perfect frame for the strong, regal bones, and his bright blue eyes. His was the sort of masculine beauty that had inspired artists and sculptors

the cream but instead of taking a bite, he drew a line of cream between her breasts to her