This Is Wrong
~Valerie~
My thighs press together. Quivering. Soaked. Sticky. I exhale slowly, my body trembling as I lean deeper into the car seat.
Rikky’s gaze shifts toward me, her amber eyes scanning my face for a second as she drives, then returning back to the road, but she doesn’t know.
No. She doesn’t know the nasty, filthy thoughts in my mind right now. She doesn’t know that her friend is dripping in a f*****g mess, she doesn’t know that my panties are creamily soaked right here in her red deadbeat truck.
But I can’t help it. I can’t help myself.
It is f*****g wrong. f**k, it is wrong, wrong, wrong.
My t**s are aching, my n*****s are hard and straining against the stretchy tank top I’m wearing. I can smell my arousal despite the thickness of the jean shorts I’m wearing, even as the rush of afternoon air blows through the open windows.
I can still smell myself.
Soft. Musky.
I hope Rikky won’t notice. I pray she’s too busy thinking about arriving at the bar early to notice my n*****s.
There’s only one person I want to notice. I want him to see me. To smell my arousal.
Alpha Ronan Kane.
The overly built, tall, and grumpy man with more blood on his hands than the number of his age.
My pack leader. My late father’s friend. My guardian. My new boss.
He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m about to shatter his control. I’m going to walk into his biker club bar like I own the place. I’m going to command every attention.
Yeah. Because I own it.
Getting admirers hasn’t been an issue for me, it’s just him that dismisses me every time.
Every damn time he comes over to our house to check on my mom and me, I would rush downstairs just to see him, to catch him in that little moment before he leaves. To hold onto something for my hidden fantasies, where I always have him to myself, fulfilling all my desires.
Every night, I touch myself to his image. I moan his name into my pillows as I thrust my fingers into my tight, creamy hole.
I c*m moaning and panting for him, “Yes, Alpha, yes, yes, Daddy. Take this w***e. Claim me, please.”
Like a shameless Omega w***e, I beg and cry for more, rubbing my c**t till I’m sore, till my fingers are drenched in the warm, slick wetness.
I always rush to see him, to catch a glimpse of him while waiting, waiting and waiting for him to notice me. For his expression to slip again, like it did last year when I ran down the stairs in just my tiny, thin towel.
He was sitting with my mom in the sitting room. Their conversation carried weight, heated and strained, but the moment he saw me racing down the stairs, he growled.
Low. Inaudible.
But I caught it, because my focus had been on him even as I rushed down. The sound traveled through me, vibrating through my p***y, ripping through my skin.
My legs trembled and I almost embarrassed myself, but my hands quickly tightened on the rails. His eyes flashed silver, no longer the dark, stormy gray. His muscles tensed, bulging under his black sleeveless biker vest, his patch with his title imprinted on the left chest.
President.
President of Killer Wolves Motorcycle Club.
Before I could reach the bottom of the stairs, he stood up and left.
I gasped. My body shook, my thighs quivering as I walked back upstairs to my room. Slowly. Measured. But it wasn’t because of my mom’s disgusted look or her cussing.
No.
It was because I didn’t trust myself not to fall to my knees with how weak my legs were. It was because I knew I would come right there, before my mom’s eyes, if the pressure in my cunt intensified.
I entered my room and shut the door, locking it behind me, and discarded my towel. I parted my thighs and dipped a finger into my p***y.
My body convulsed, twisting and shaking as I fingered myself through my orgasm. I replayed his heated look, that scene, that moment, over and over and over.
I never forget. I didn’t miss a part out.
Now, I’m tired of waiting for him to notice me. I’m tired of pretending to be the innocent little girl, waiting for his attention.
