Adrian (Filthy Rich Alphas)

“Oh Carmen, baby.”

Once I dried up and put on my clothes, I sat at my desk and told myself to write. I had to do something. Nick wasn’t answering my phone calls. He barely did anymore. I wasn’t that excited about discussing this matter with him, but a conversation needed to be had.

“Oh, Carmen. I dreamed you’d be this good.”

Sighing, I figured I could just turn on my new laptop and type out a story like I’d planned on doing all day.

“Like that, Carmen.”

This was the moment when I would start a new novel. Excitement ran through my body at the thought. I’d hoped to explore a mystery within a high-fantasy setting and had a large new notebook to prepare all of the world building. It would be my best work ever. My hands would create a bestselling fantasy novel today.

“All over that pretty face. That’s where I’ll paint you.”

Instead, all I typed out was sex. Lust and heat glittered across ever chapter, paragraph, and sentence. Adrian had knocked me so far back that now, I couldn’t get him out of my head. Even my artistic side was affected.

With horror, I looked at my computer screen and read what I’d written today.

Prologue

A god stroked himself within the privacy of the forest, right as the sun lathered the dark sky in golden hues and the tired moon made its way to sleep.

Although he sat on the ground, his pale, bald head reached well over the tops of trees. All humans far and high could see those blue lips as he groaned into the wind, blowing out a black gas that reminded most of the scent of burnt cloves.

His turquoise eyes reflected sunlight that glowed along the hills.

It caught the attention of a shepherd off in the distance. He covered his young son's gaze while they sat on their horse, herding the sheep up a mountain. The boy didn't dare move his father's hand as he imagined the many things a god would be doing to make such noises—yanking an enchanted sword away from his chest after a great battle in the heavens, or perhaps he mourned the death of all the goddesses.

The god stroked himself and groaned again. Birds rushed from the trees near him. The land rumbled with the sound.

“What is he doing, Father?” the boy asked.

“What Gods tend to do now that all the goddesses are gone.” The shepherd spit on the ground, moved his herd along, and made sure to keep their backs to the god's lewd activities.

“Which God is it?” the boy asked.

“Kroll.”

“He's my favorite of the four.” Excitement surged in the boy's chest. “Will there be more goddesses one day?”

“I pray to the Mother that none will come and that these gods will wither away soon.”

“Well I miss the goddesses and hope the gods don't go too.”

When the goddesses died, the very essence of feminine magic fled their sliced bodies, traveled on the furious winds, and hid in the most unusual places on earth. Only four gods remained. They did not chase the essence.

Perhaps, they should have.

Because the essence had seeped into the very forest where Kroll masturbated.

Trees formed into the image of women, their trunks curving into hourglass shapes. Bark softened into silky textures and tantalizing hands. Branches arched into sensual positions and reminded many of bending female bottoms propped up in the air to be stroked.

Soft giggling traveled through the leaves.

When it rained, the trees wept. When the storm calmed, they danced, branches swaying and dipping to the music of the breeze.

When the sun hit the leaves just right, they sparkled and shined, causing the average human passing by to pause from his journey and recite a native poem on love. Floral fragrances radiated from the fertile soil. Even the dew on the blades of grass smelled of sweetness and beauty.

And deep within the forest, sixteen warlocks hid, ready to kill any creature created from the god’s sperm.

“Oh come alive.” The god, Kroll pointed his hungry length toward the forest's canyon. It was carved out between two cliffs that expanded like a goddess’s hips. Sparkling blue waterfalls gushed out the center. Once again, the forest had formed into a moist opening that the god wished to pound into.

Kroll licked his lips and thrust into his hand faster. “Oh, how I wish you would just come alive.”

Cool wind streamed through parted branches that arched toward him to get a better view. He glided his closed fingers down the length of his hardness, slipping the soft pads of his fingertips along the throbbing blue point and gasping out loud from the tingling sensations of it all.

His moans stirred many humans out of sleep. The sounds were loud, yet harmonious, ear-splitting, but vibrated desire through their bodies just the same, motivating many to roll over in their straw beds and ravish their mates.