Ruin Me, Biker Alphas

Their Private Space

~Valerie~

The stairs are steeper than they look from the bar floor. Every step I take makes the heavy leather of my boots thud against the wood, a thudding heartbeat that matches the fast pounding in my chest. I’ve never been up here. This is their private space.

I reach the landing and stop. The air up here is different, quiet, heavy, and smelling strongly of expensive cigars and gun oil. There are only three doors. To my left, a thick oak door has the word PRESIDENT carved into a heavy wooden plaque. To the right, another door bears the title VICE PRESIDENT. The third door, tucked at the very end of the hall, is blank.

I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady my hands. The weight of the tray in my grip feels like a big deal. I shift my hips, feeling the denim of my shorts bite into my skin, reminding me of exactly how little I’m wearing. I wanted this. This is my gamble.

I reach out and knock on the door marked Vice President.

"Come in," a voice rasps. It’s low, vibrating through the wood and straight into the soles of my feet.

I push the door open and step inside.

Evander’s office isn't what I expected. It’s not cluttered or messy. It’s dangerous, and cold. A large steel desk sits under a window covered by heavy blinds, and the walls are lined with maps. There’s a liquor cabinet in the corner, but my eyes don't stay on the room for long.

Evander is sitting on a single leather couch in the corner. He’s stripped off his leather vest. He’s just in a pair of dark, grease-stained jeans and a black fitted T-shirt that clings to him like a second skin.

He is devastatingly handsome in a way that makes my throat go dry. His hair is a wild, dark mess, falling over an angled brow that looks like it was carved from stone. His face is all sharp lines, a high, blade-like bridge to his nose, a jawline that could cut glass, and those amber eyes that seem to glow in the dim light of the room. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up, revealing forearms corded with muscle and covered in intricate, dark ink. He’s lean, but there’s a lethal power in the way he sits, like a wolf lounging before a hunt.

I stand there, shamelessly ogling him. My body reacts instantly. That heavy, familiar throb starts up between my legs, and I can feel the slickness beginning to pool.

Evander doesn't move. He just watches me, his gaze tracking from my messy hair down to the swell of my breasts nearly escaping my top, all the way down to my bare thighs.

"Are you going to stand there all day, Valerie? Or are you going to bring me that drink?"

I feel the heat rush to my face. I stumble forward, my boots clattering as I reach the low table in front of him. I set the bottle of Black Label and the glass down, my fingers trembling.

"I bet you’re dripping wet already," he says. His voice is a blunt, sharp edge. He doesn't move, but the words hit me like a physical touch. "I can smell you from here. The second you opened that door, the scent of you hit me like a wall. You’re such a w***e, aren't you?"

I gasp, my head snapping up. I expect to feel insulted, but the way he says it, so direct, so matter-of-fact, makes my knees buckle. It’s a cold observation of a truth I’m trying to hide.

"You’re being impulsive, sweetheart," he continues, his tongue clicking against his teeth. "You think putting on those tiny shorts and walking into a room full of hungry men is a game. You think you’re in control because we’re looking. But you’re just a rabbit walking into a den of wolves and wondering why it’s getting hot."

"I'm not a rabbit," I snap, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and lust. "And I’m not a w***e. I know exactly what I’m doing."

Evander finally moves. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The movement makes the muscles in his chest and shoulders bunch and pull against the fabric of his shirt.