The Alpha King I Paid For

After a one-night stand, I left a three-thousand tip for a flawless male model and even set up another night that weekend.

I thought it was nothing more than a pleasant exchange between two willing adults.

That was before my overprotective, old-fashioned brother saw the marks covering me and exploded:

"Track down the bastard who hurt my sister. I want him hunted down and ripped apart!"

The police stared at the photo for a long moment before one of them spoke softly:

"Isn't this… Frederick, the Alpha King of the Bloodmoon Wolf Kingdom?"

That was when it hit me.

I had taken the Alpha King for a one-night deal.

I had paid him three thousand.

My whole body ached as if it were about to fall to pieces.

I forced my eyes open and turned to see a face I did not recognize, handsome even in sleep.

Flashes from the night before hit me. The bar. The booze. That killer scent of snow cedar.

"Are you okay?"

His deep, ragged breaths from last night still rang in my ears.

I cried, pleaded, tried to run, but he pulled me back, his grip on my waist so firm it felt like my soul was knocked out of me.

The heady mix of our bodies was somehow more intoxicating than the outrageously expensive perfume I kept at home.

Then, gazing at his calm profile, I found myself wanting round two.

My phone buzzed from within a pile of clothes on the floor. The screen lit up: Arthur.

Oh no.

My old-fashioned brother's relentless calls. My first night not coming home, and I was busted. If he found out I picked up a male model at the bar and hooked up, he would break my legs and lock me away in a tower with nuns for the rest of my days!

I had to vanish without a second to lose.

Ignoring the soreness in my waist and legs, I scrambled up and threw on my dress.

I glanced down to see my chest and collarbone littered with kiss marks; the collarbone, especially, was a dark purple, like he stamped his personal seal on me.

I stared at the man lost in sleep.

Should I just walk out? I hesitated.

He put in more effort last night, rough, but the "service quality" was top-notch.

The Jamesons did not take advantage without giving back.

I emptied my purse, three thousand dollars in cash.

Not enough.

I bit my lip and slipped off my red gemstone ring.

Worth a cool $20,000, that should square us.

I laid the cash and ring neatly on the pillow and grabbed a pen and paper.

The night was incredible, so why not make that a regular thing? I mused.

Arthur was away on business so much that I deserved a bit of personal joy.

I scribbled a note:

[Nice skills. Here's a tip. Hotel, Saturday. Be there, and be clean, waiting for me.]

The deal was done, clean and fair.