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 fucking 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 fucking wrong. Fuck, it is wrong, wrong, wrong.

My tits are aching, my nipples 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 nipples.

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 cum moaning and panting for him, “Yes, Alpha, yes, yes, Daddy. Take this whore. Claim me, please.”

Like a shameless Omega whore, I beg and cry for more, rubbing my clit 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 pussy, 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 pussy.

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.

I want to scream at him, yell in his face, “I’m fucking nineteen. I’m an adult, and I know damn well what I want.”

But this is better too. I’m entering his territory. His space. His home. His club.

I didn’t even blink before saying yes to Rikky when she hit me up about the vacancy at the bar.

Reno Pub.

His club bar.

I screamed yes into the phone. Rikky almost had a heart attack. She thought I was just super excited, but she didn’t know it was more than that.

She doesn’t know that I accepted the offer because of him, my guardian, who has been taking care of my mom’s and my finances.

The man I shouldn’t want. I shouldn’t think about. But I can’t stop.

I see the signage of the club, rearing its name above the close buildings, boldly written in black.

“We’re here, bitch,” Rikky breathes, winking at me and tonguing out.

Her tongue piercing glints in the light. I shrug, blowing her a kiss, my heart racing, pounding wildly in my chest.

Wetness dampens my neck. I start to feel hot all of a sudden.

The road narrows as we approach the club grounds. No gates. No warning signs. Just a long steel pole stretched across the driveway like a warning line.

Two uniformed guards flank the sides of the pole, both dressed in black, from their pants to the fitted vests on their bodies, with their club patches and ranks displayed.

Sergeant at Arms.

Tall. Muscular. Armed.

Their faces are blank and hard, a deep scowl on one of their faces.

My pulse ticks, and I swallow at their imposing frames. They have the “I’ll-make-you-disappear-if-you-trespass look.”

The scowling one grabs a rope, and the pole lifts straight up until it stands tall against the sky.

Metal groans. Muscles strain.

Rikky drives through. “Max,” she calls to the other guy on her side. He narrows his eyes.

I could have sworn there’s something hidden in his look, but I can’t be bothered with them right now.

The pole slams back down behind us with a dull, final thud.

My heart squeezes. My spine straightens.

This is it.

Yes, yes. Finally.

The car drives down the long, narrow road into the wide-open space behind the tall two-story building.

The infamous bar.

The abode of all unhinged pleasures and desires.

Rikky parks the car and kills the engine, snatching off the keys like she’s got a grudge with it.

We get out of the truck, the doors squeaking.

Cold afternoon air hits my skin, palming my almost naked ass hanging out beneath the shorts. My grip on my bag tightens, my legs trembling in the black stiletto heels.

Rikky turns to me, her small perky tits swaying, the long line of piercings on her ears and nose dazzling. Her tattooed right arm flexes as she toys with the keys.

“Ready to dive into the filthy, dirty side of the world?”

I snort.

Classic Rikky.

The only filthy world I’d dive into is Ronan’s, but she can’t know.

She tilts her head toward the road that leads to the front of the bar. “Come, dirty Omega,” she teases, walking forward.

Her perky round ass stretches in the tight shorts, bouncing with her movements.

Every step toward the bar makes my stomach sink, my heels dig deeper. My muscles clench. My fat ass swings heavily, threatening to spill out of my jeans.

My heart hammers against my ribs, pounding so violently it’s like it’s fighting for its life. My palm heats, prickling with sweat.

I know there’s no turning back once I enter through that door. I’m going to turn his world around while riding him.

There’s nothing he can do, even as my Alpha, he won’t be able to stop me.

I’m an adult, I’m nineteen. I know damn well what I want and it’s time he starts to see me for who I am, because I won’t let go until I have him right where I need him.

It’s too late to turn back now.

Not when I can feel him already.

Not when my body has decided for me.