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.”

you find nothing?” She wondered cautiously. The heat was rising, tendrils of desire curling through her, and the subtle scent of him that rose

for him. She wondered if it would be the same with a hired lover, if the need would rise as strongly and as specifically. She had never had another she-wolf to speak to of it, Alice would never, and it was not the sort of

someone earlier,” his stroking had turned amorous, responding to the change in her scent

hands on her hips encouraged her to the pace and motion

pale sheets, his dark, glossy curls tousled, and his strong jaw shadowed with stubble. His eyes, opening and meeting hers, caught her admiring him, and his strong, white teeth

what you

with pleasure, the slow ache of an

of the children’s story, the one with the maiden with skin

flattered that he

him and rolled so they

thrusting, his fingertips tracing her cheekbone and his expression gentle. “My little omega,” he murmured, and groaned as

bicep. “You still have not told me who bruised your face the other night, he murmured, tracing his fingers over her skin. “The bruise

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