The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

Broken 

On Tuesday morning, Jane woke beneath Baron, his body over and within her, as all their brief periods of sleep through-out her heat had been spent, and found that, in her sleep, she had put her arms around him, her palms against the skin of his back, holding him tightly to her, and her face was turned in to his, her cheek against his and her lips against the point at which shoulder met neck.

She stayed still, her eyes closed, luxuriating in the feel of him against her. This was, she thought, how lovers and mates lay, wrapped, and tangled in each out, skin to skin, body to body, cheek to cheek.

His phone began to chime, and after a moment he groaned, and reached out over her towards the bedside table without moving his body. She reached up and pulled it down to where he could reach it. 

"Thank you,” he said against her neck, before answering it. “Yes?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr Western,” the woman on the other side of the phone apologised.

He sighed heavily. “Yes, Judith?”

“The paperwork on the purchase of the brewery has arrived and is ready for

signing, the jeweller has sent through an estimate on that piece you ordered, the Gleesons have asked to reschedule for tomorrow, the architect has plans on the extension ready for review, an invitation has arrived for a masquerade ball at the Adairs, and the bank called about the…”

he pushed himself up. He rolled over onto his back. “I can come into

Mr Western.”

and rolled to face Jane.

“Yes,” she agreed.

and rolled away, out of the bed. He pulled

sheets against her chest, and fought

showered and viewed the contents of her closet

and heels, before catching up her bag. She would go shopping, she decided. It was not as if she had anything better to do with her day, anyway. In the weeks since marrying Baron, her days had become echoingly empty of activity and people. At least, whilst she had been on heat, she thought, she’d

and parked

not register as a serious shopper. Inevitably they would zero in

a dress caught her eyes, not because it was something she would normally buy or wear, but because she could see Angelique in it. She set her shoulders, bit back on her teeth, and marched in, finding her size and took it through to the dressing

pile of clothing passing in and out, and a hanger already devoted either to purchases or rejects, Jane did

creeping across her face. Not such a plain Jane in the right dress, she thought turning to see her reflection at different angles, her hands stroking the dress down her thighs. It fit like a second skin, the sheer lace overlay intricately walking a line between underwear and evening wear, the cut-out panels across her torso revealing

a woman said. “Knowing that