The Virgin Alpha and the Prostitute

Paris “I don’t know why I’m letting you drag me to this place, Aaron,” I complained loudly, trying unsuccessfully to shake the wrinkles out of a shirt I’d haphazardly shoved in my suitcase that morning. Aaron poked his head out of the bathroom, a comb in his hand and his toothbrush in his mouth. “Look, bro. It’s not like you have to get laid,” he said awkwardly, the toothbrush bouncing up and down between bud lips as he talked. “It’s my cousin’s birthday tonight and the whole reason why we’re here. He calls the shots, so if he says he wants to go to a f*****g s*x club, we go to a f*****g s*x club.” “Isn’t that redundant?” I asked. Aaron blinked at me, clearly getting more annoyed by the second. “A f*****g s*x club,” I clarified. Aaron threw his hands in the air, exasperated, and went back into the bathroom. I grinned, proud of myself for having won the exchange, and looked back down at my shirt. I could iron it, but that would mean I’d have to give a s**t, I mused. And it just so happens I’m fresh out of shits to give. I donned the shirt and buttoned my jeans. Based on what Aaron had told me about this club we were going to, I’d definitely be underdressed in a Henley and jeans, but I didn’t relish the idea of putting any effort into a night that wasn’t my party, wasn’t my choice of venue, and wasn’t even my cousin. I would be a background character at best tonight, and I was going to act like it. I wandered into the bathroom and ran some water over my fingers to try and reshape a few wayward curls. “You’re seriously wearing that?” Aaron asked, grimacing at me in the mirror. I shrugged. “Jesus, Paris, I know you’ve given up on women but you don’t have to f*****g advertise it at a s*x club, of all goddamn places.” Always going straight for the jugular, that Aaron, both in physical and verbal combat. It was part of the reason he was my best friend and future Beta, but I definitely preferred that that side of him be directed at others in my defense, rather than at me and my shortcomings. “Yeah, well, I have about a million other things to give a f**k about and what I wear to a brothel doesn’t make the list.” I fussed with a curl at my forehead, pretending not to be bothered by him. “It’s not a brothel, I told you this already. Quit calling it that. You make it sound weird.” “Do these girls live there?” “Yes, but—” “And do they make their money from having s*x with people who visit the place where they live?” “Paris, come on—” “So it’s a brothel.” “It’s legal. It’s safe. It’s not skeevy. It’s also not your f*****g birthday. So just shut the f**k up and change your clothes. You’re going to look like an asshole in that if we’re all wearing dress shirts and ties and s**t. Don’t be that guy.” Aaron turned to leave the bathroom, but paused and turned back to point a finger in my face. “No one likes that guy.” I watched him storm back into the room without replying. I didn’t have a response and he knew it. I followed him, and rifled through my suitcase for something else to wear. I pulled out a gray dress shirt, just as wrinkled as the Henley but definitely more appropriate. “I’m not wearing a tie,” I said, as I slipped into the shirt. . “Like hell you’re not.” “I didn’t even pack one.” “f*****g hell, Paris. What did I say before we left? Jesus. Here.” Aaron rifled through his bag and pulled out a tie. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t do purple.” Aaron groaned. “For a prick who desperately needs to get laid you sure have a lot of f*****g dumbass opinions.” “Fine, just give me the damn tie.” Aaron tossed me the tie and proceeded to get dressed himself. I was tying my shoes a few minutes later, wearing the stupid purple necktie, when there was a loud knock at the door. “Time to go,” Aaron said, pulling on a sport coat as he headed for the door. I grabbed my wallet and phone and the door flew open as Aaron turned the handle. “Heyyyyy cousin!” shouted Harry, clearly already quite drunk. “You ready to fuckin’ do this, bro?” Harry slapped Aaron on the back, dealing a heavy arm around his shoulder. “I’m so f*****g glad you guys made the trip. You’re going to love this place. All the most influential people from town and surrounding packs come here. It’s the real deal. Just like the waitresses’ ta-tas!” I cringed before I could catch myself. Harry didn’t notice, but Aaron gave me a look that told me I better keep my opinions to myself. Harry traipsed down the hall, knocking on doors to rooms from which other nicely-dressed werewolves, mostly all ranked, tall, good-looking, and well-dressed, emerged in groups of two or three. I fell in with the crowd as we moved towards the elevator, Aaron still attached to Harry, who was getting drunker by the minute, thanks to a flask stashed in his jacket pocket, while leading the pack like some kind of back alley Pied Piper. When we finally arrived at the club half an hour later, Harry had finished the flask and abandoned it in the stretch limo. I stepped onto the sidewalk and took in the skyscraper in front of me. Aaron had told me a bit about it. Offices, restaurants, apartments, and shops apparently filled most of the floors, but the club we were going to occupied the penthouse. It was a secret haunt of many powerful wolves, and quite exclusive. The exterior of the building certainly looked luxurious. But I was still not convinced that this was the best idea. When we entered the lobby elevator, Harry clumsily produced a key card from his pocket and swiped it over a sensor next to the buttons. A compartment flipped open, revealing a keypad. Seemingly using all his concentration, Harry punched in a six-digit code. The Penthouse button lit up, and we were on our way up the 100th floor. The elevator opened up into another lobby, dimly lit with intricate, vintage wallpaper and expensive-looking chaise lounges in a deep cherry red color. A hostess greeted us at a receptionist podium at the other end of the room. The receptionist was a Lycan woman, tall and astoundingly beautiful with white-blonde hair cascading nearly down to her waist. She wore a black lace bra, which allowed just enough of her pale pink n*****s to show through to both entice and leave something to the imagination. Her skirt was high up her waist, concealing her bellybutton, but had a high slit almost up to the waistband. I wondered how she’d wound up working here, and whether she liked it. “Mr. Brown, welcome to The Speakeasy. Thank you for joining us,” she said in a smooth, low voice, smiling sensually. Harry’s code must have been unique to him, and the receptionist must’ve been alerted somehow to his arrival. “Please,” she continued, “let me show you to your table.” She pulled back heavy velvet curtains that hung on the wall next to her, and we followed her through to a large room, similarly dark, making it hard to make out faces or expressions. A live bland played jazz at a stage at the far end of the room, as people around the room talked, laughed, whispered in hushed tones, and occasionally gasped or moaned with lust. It was hard to take it all in, but as we walked I was hit with a smell that stopped me dead in my tracks. It was sweet, like vanilla and strawberries and sugar. Mate, whispered Atlas in the back of my mind. She’s here. I can sense her wolf. Not wanting to lose the group in the dim lighting and maze of booths and tables, I quickly followed them, but kept scanning the room, looking for the source of the aroma that was making Atlas and me crazy. We settled in at a table, and I sat on a corner, next to Harry and across from Aaron. Aaron must have noticed my distracted expression. “What’s the matter, bro? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “My mate,” I whispered hastily, leaning forward so Aaron would hear me. “I think she’s here.” Aaron’s eyes widened. “Here? Do you think she’s a—um—an employee?” I’d scowled at him, making him be careful what word he picked. “I don’t know. But based on how Atlas is freaking out I don’t think I have a choice about whether that’s going to be a problem.” I shot him a look, daring him to try me. Aaron nodded. “Understood. If it’s fate, it’s fate,” he shrugged. “How do you know she’s here?” “I can smell her. And Atlas senses her wolf.” “Maybe that means she knows you’re here, too,” he replied. But I barely registered his words. I had just locked eyes with a she-wolf who had taken my breath away just over Aaron’s shoulder. It was so dark in the corner where she was standing, near what must be a staff-only door that I could barely discern her features, but I knew it had to be her. I felt drawn to her like a magnet, but it was as if gravity had made me ten times heavier. So I sat there, frozen, watching her grab another girl by the arm and whisper something in her ear, never breaking eye contact. The other girl followed her gaze, nodded, and took the tray of cocktails from her that I hadn’t even noticed she was carrying. My breath hitched in my throat as she glided over to our table. She was wearing the same outfit as the hostess and other girls in the club: black lace bra and a long, high-waisted skirt with a nearly equally-high slit. As she walked, the skirt billowed out around her and a realization struck me. Oh goddess. Is she not wearing any underwear? I couldn’t see any on her exposed hip, just the unencumbered pale skin and smooth mound of her hip bone. “Oh, s**t. You found her, didn’t you?” I heard Aaron say, scrambling to turn around in his chair. “Is that her? With the dark hair?” He whipped his head back around to face me. I could only nod. The girl rounded the table and stood before me. She leaned down to meet me at eye level, her pupils wide in the dark, nearly concealing her honey-copper irises. “Well, hello there,” she said. “I think you might be my mate.”