The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

Chapter 33

Pillow Talk 

She woke with her cheek on his chest and his fingers stroking through her hair. The day was late and both breakfast and lunch trays were on the dresser. Like her previous heat, Jane found it hard to eat or drink, her body focused on one thing alone. Baron had summed it up crudely but accurately the first heat, she thought. She needed her alpha’s c-ck, to be filled with his seed, over and over, until her body was convinced that conception had occurred and the estrus passed.

“My father is dying,” Baron said quietly. “Cancer. The result of forty years of smoking. He won’t live to see our grandchildren.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“Hmm,” he pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her scent, a werewolf trait, she thought, seeking comfort from the scent of mate or family. “I want to give him the answer for his father’s murder, to restore our family, before he passes.”

She caressed his skin offering comfort. “I understand,” she said. It made sense, she thought, of his determination, of his risk taking, that he was pushing his agenda of revenge on such a time schedule. “I am sorry. I wish that I could help you.”

“My grandfather was a shrewd businessman,” he said. “Ruthless. People say that I am like him,” he was amused and proud of that. “But he had enemies. I have been investigating them first. Quite a list,” he sighed. “Down, now, to four. The four that I thought least likely, as they had least motive, and least means.”

desire curling through her, and the subtle scent of him that rose warm from his skin, the feel of his body beneath hers, and the sound

strongly and as specifically. She had never had another she-wolf to speak to of it, Alice would never,

to the change in her scent almost automatically, becoming

and she watched his eyes close, the tension in his face ease into pleasure as she took him into her. His hands on her hips encouraged her to the pace and motion

eyes, her big, alpha husband, his skin golden-brown against the pale sheets, his dark, glossy curls tousled, and his strong jaw shadowed with stubble. His eyes, opening and meeting hers, caught her

like what you

pleasure, the slow

the one with the maiden with skin like snow, hair like night, and lips,” he reached up, the pad of his thumb

flattered that he would compare

and rolled

and thrusting, his fingertips tracing her cheekbone and his expression gentle. “My little omega,” he murmured, and groaned as she came, clutching him to her. She felt the hot

that they were face to face, nose to nose, with her cheek on his bicep. “You still have not told me who bruised your face the other night, he murmured, tracing his fingers

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