The Alpha's Breeder

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Fourteen : I Punched The Big Bad Alpha

I finally understood what that lady meant when she said that Alpha Eros’ room was being remodeled.

There are no windows in the room.


I assume that they were afraid I was going to climb out of the window and run so they resolved the problem by removing them.

But did Eros seriously think that taking away all the windows would stop my runaway attempts?

Because if he did, shame on him.

I glanced up at Eros’ chin in contemplation, not even realizing when he set me down onto the large king-sized bed in the center of the room until it was too late.

Panicking slightly, I made a move to stand, thinking that he was going to push me onto my back, but he didn’t.

There was a sly expression imprinted on his face when he glanced down at me as if he knew my thoughts.

He’s probably ridiculing the fact that I even assumed that he was going to do that.

My cheeks heated in mild embarrassment after thinking about how much of a mess my face is to make anyone interested that way.

What sane man in their right mind would even think to jump me?

“You can wash up first, Emira,” he said.

Eros turned away towards the closet on the right-hand side, completely overlooking me.

Like a moth to the flame, my eyes were glued onto his tall form. I watched as he unbuttoned the dirty white dress shirt with rather slow practiced movements.

His long fingers moved from one button to the next rather tantalizingly, as if he was performing a solo strip tease for me.

Before long, healthy tanned skin and completely built washboard abs came peeking out of his shirt. And I was drinking up the sight greedily with my eyes.

I must admit that Alpha Eros had the most perfect body that I have ever had the honor of seeing.

Wide broad shoulders, smooth skin, and defined muscles made him seem even more godly than Adonis himself.

He looked like a model straight out of the magazines my sister likes to read.

“The bathroom is on the left,” he reminded me.

The corner of his lips quirked upwards in a lazy smile of some sorts but his eyes were smoldering when he turned his head to look at me.

He caught me ogling him.

“I’m good,” I miraculously reply through a dry throat, although I’m sure I forgot what the question was.

“Sleeping with makeup on is bad for your skin,” he stated, eyebrows furrowing again at my defiance.

“I don’t care. I’m not going to wash it off,” I gruffly responded, daring him to question my answer.

His eyes narrow and I gulp down another mouthful of my own saliva.

Eros tossed the shirt onto the ground and headed straight my way.

My heart dropped to my stomach and I bolted like the rabbit before its predator.

But I never made it to the door. Eros’ arm wrapped around the middle of my waist and dragged me off of my feet.

I, of course, started to struggle like my life depended on it.

Eros carried me, kicking and screaming like a banshee straight into the fancy bathroom as if this had nothing to do with him.

I cussed him out in every single bad word I knew and even elbowed him in the gut several times to no effect. It felt like his abdomen was made of steel because my elbow hurt way more than any damage I thought I would be able to give him.

In irritation, I balled my hand into fists and took a swift swing at his handsome face. But before I could even touch the surface of his skin, he caught my fist and set me delicately into the bathtub.

I attempted to stand but to no avail. Each time I tried to get out of the bathtub, he would push me back down.

His left arm pushed on my shoulder with just enough pressure to keep me restrained without really hurting me. And with his right arm, he turned on the water.

I sputtered indignantly when warm water sprayed all over my body, dripping down my caked face and soaking through the fabric of my dress.

I smacked his hand in an attempt to make him back off but, unfortunately, my feeble attempts were useless.

“Will you calm down now, Emira? Or do you want me to treat you like a little child?” He voiced from the top of my head.

I didn’t reply and instead answered him with a punch to the face.

This time he didn’t block, my fist connected with his left cheek and a sharp crack of skin against skin resounded.

His head didn’t snap back from my awesome punch like I had imagined. Instead, he stared back at me with a calm expression as if I didn’t hit him just two seconds ago.

He did it on purpose.

He purposefully let me hit him so that I would know how useless it was. Eros wanted to let me know, that regardless of what I do, I would never be able to hurt him.

Why didn’t he just say something?

I put all of the strength I had into that punch and now my hand hurts like hell.

Pained tears were quick to fill my eyes and I waved my hand around hoping that would help.

His face became blurry in my vision and I swallowed down the beginning of a wail with my teeth biting hard down on my bottom lip.

He sighed suddenly and turned away from me, exasperation clear on his face.

I glared at him through my tears, chest heaving as I huffed in anger and told myself never to do that again.

It hurt too bad to reattempt that.

When he turned back to me, I turned my face away.

“Do you want to wash your face or do you need me to help you?” Eros knelt down to my level, blue eyes rested on my teary eyes before dropping a bottle of something in my lap. His sharp expression seemed to soften.

I glanced down at the purple bottle and read the label.

Exfoliating face wash.


“I can do it myself,” I growled out and grabbed the stupid bottle off of my lap.

He watched me for a good 30 seconds to confirm that I wasn’t lying before turning off the water from the shower head.

I can imagine how ridiculous I must look right now with my wet hair matted to my face and my clothes sticking to my skin almost like a drowned rat.

Eros grabbed my wrist and lifted me out of the bathtub.

He set me on my two feet and watched as the water dripped from my hair and clothes to collect on the marble floors.

Shivering, I walked over to the sink, all the while glancing at him from the corner of my eyes.

It’s obvious that Eros knows a lot more than what he lets on. He probably knew that I was hiding my appearance way before we even started that meal. That’s the only reason why he is so adamant about me washing my face.

In fact, I doubt he would let me leave the bathroom without cleaning my face off.

I clenched my jaw and slowly turned the faucet on to start the water flow.

Eros took a step back, crossed his arms and leaned his back against the door. His eyes never left my face as he waited for my next move.

I splashed water onto my face, picked up the bottle and squeezed a moderate dollop of the face wash onto my hands before applying it to my skin.

The little grains really helped remove quite a bit of the foundation and concealer without really scratching my face in the process.

After almost 2 minutes, I stopped the faucet.

"Again,” he said out of nowhere, urging me with a tilt of his chin.

I pursed my lips and had to swallow down the urge to punch him in the face again, even if it would have no effect on him.

At least then I would feel a little more relief.

I ended up washing my face 3 times before all of the foundation finally came off of my skin and drifted down the drain.

My heart was starting to pound incessantly in my chest the closer I came to exposing my true features to him.

Why am I so afraid to show him my face?

It’s not like I’m the only one who doesn’t age like normal humans. Werewolves also age quite differently compared to the average mortal, yet I was kind of hesitant.

I realized that it wasn’t about revealing my face to him, it was about revealing all of my deepest, darkest and ugliest secrets for him to inspect.

But I can’t hide it forever.

Oh, to hell with it!

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and finally lifted my head to meet his gaze.

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