Alpha Read Online Free PDF Page B

I?”
    Harris lifted a shoulder. “There is always a choice.”
    I searched myself. Could I do this, knowing what would likely be expected of me?  
    I lifted my chin, summoned my courage. “I agree.”
    Harris nodded once, and then moved behind me. I felt him place the blindfold over my eyes, the white cloth folded several times so I couldn’t see a thing. He tied it gently but firmly behind my head, and then I felt his hand on my back, the same three fingers he’d used to nudge me onto the jet. I heard a door handle turn and the faint hush of a door sliding across thick carpet.
    A push, and I made my feet carry me forward. Two steps, three, four, five.  
    “Until the next time, Miss St. Claire,” I heard Harris say behind me, and then the click of the door closing.  
    It was a decidedly final sound.  
    I stood, shaking, trembling, blindfolded, waiting.  
    I heard a footstep off to my left. “Hello?” I asked, my voice tremulous, breathy.
    “Kyrie. Welcome.” The voice was deep, smooth, lyrical, hypnotic, rumbling in my bones and thrumming in my ear.  
    A finger touched my cheekbone, warm, slightly rough. The fingertip scraped ever so gently across my cheek, up over my ear, brushing a loose tendril of hair away.
    “Please, don’t be afraid.” He was close. I could feel the heat emanating from him. I could smell him—spicy, masculine cologne, soap. His voice, God, his voice. It made me shiver. Confident, almost kind, warm. “I have waited a long time for this moment, Kyrie.”
    “Who—who are you? Why am I here?”
    A pause.
    “You don’t need my name just yet. As to why you’re here?” His voice lowered, hushed, a growling murmur that made my stomach clench. “You’re here because I own you, Kyrie.”
    “What—what are you going to do to me?” I hated how weak, how afraid I sounded.
    “Everything.” His voice was thick with promise. “But nothing you won’t enjoy.”

2

    INTRODUCTIONS; THE ARRANGEMENT

    I gulped, probably loud enough for him to hear. “If you won’t tell me your name, what do I call you?”
    He chuckled, and the sound of his laughter caressed me, mocked me. “You and I are completely alone, Kyrie. If you speak, it can only be to me. You need call me nothing.”
    “So I don’t have to call you ‘sir,’ or ‘master’?”
    His voice went sharp and cold. “I am not a dominant, Kyrie. You are not my slave, nor my submissive.” He moved, now standing behind me. He was close to my ear, and I felt him at my spine. “I own you, but you will submit to me willingly.”
    “I will?”
    “You will.”
    “Why?” I wanted to turn, to touch him, to take the blindfold off. Something prevented me, and I didn’t dare examine what it was.
    “For the period of one year, I mailed you checks for ten thousand dollars, one every month. You cashed and used them all. You spent my money, Kyrie. You lived on my generosity. My reasons for this will remain a mystery to you…for now. But you are in my debt. You would have been homeless and starving without me. Your mother would not have received the care she needs without me. Your brother would not have a home or an education without me. So…I don’t just own you , Kyrie. I own your mother, and your brother. They are both wholly dependent on you, and thus, on me.”
    I swallowed again, blinked away tears. “What do you want from me?” The words were barely a whisper, almost inaudible.  
    “Kyrie…Kyrie…” His voice soothed and stroked me, deep and soft with tenderness. This man, his voice…it was magical, so expressive, so changeable. The power in his voice terrified me. He could manipulate me with the mere tone of his voice, frighten or calm me with mere words. “You need not be so afraid. Allow me to reassure you somewhat. As I said, I am not a dominant. I do not derive pleasure from inflicting or receiving pain. I derive pleasure from control, from obedience. You will do what I say, comply to my wishes but, I promise you,