First Taste: A Collection of Hot Alpha Doms

by Sidney Bristol

  But Keira was different, very different. And in ways he suspected she didn’t even realize herself.

  He prided himself on his ability to keep his intensely personal life just that—personal. No doubt his colleagues at the college would be shocked to learn of his lifestyle off campus. A dominant lover, he worked damn hard to make sure the lines between his professional and personal life were kept clean, clear and distinct.

  Keira was a true danger. He was walking a tightrope without a net and every step closer to her threatened to send him crashing to earth. He never approached women sexually outside his set of acquaintances because he knew there was no way someone untutored, unfamiliar with the practices of D/s could handle him in the bedroom. He confined his relationships to women who craved bondage, a strong hand, submission. He wasn’t about to initiate a novice into that lifestyle.

  Leaning his head back against his leather office chair, he closed his eyes and saw Keira’s lovely face in his mind’s eye. In his world she would be considered an innocent. Regardless of her past sexual experiences—and he suspected even those were limited—she wouldn’t understand his need to tie her up, spank her, control her.

  Or would she? Her constant blushes, her reluctance to return his gaze—always keeping her eyes averted—screamed of a submissive nature. Most telling had been her comment about his desk. Had she imagined herself leaning over it, her cheek pressed against the cool surface? The image of seeing her in such a position sent a surge of blood to his already full cock as he played the scene out in his mind.

  He would command her to remove her pants—dammit, he hated jeans, and yet on her, the denim clung to her soft curves in such a way that made his fingers twitch at the thought of peeling the material off her.

  Once she was bare from the waist down, he’d gently push her forward over his desk…

  She gasped at the feeling of the cool wood against her delicate cheek.

  “Do you want me?” he asked.

  “God, yes,” she hissed.

  “I’m going to take you, Keira. Fuck you. Make you mine.”

  She moaned softly at his words, her palms pressing tightly against the desk. As he slowly entered her tight pussy, he slapped her lovely ass, surprised by her response. Pushing toward him, she silently begged for more as he bent over her back, covering her slight frame with his larger body. “I’m going to fuck you hard and you’re going to come for me—several times. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Say it out loud, Keira. Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to fuck me hard,” she whispered. “Spank me.”

  Resting his head on her shoulder, he tried to process her request.

  She would accept his spanking, his powerful thrusts, and he couldn’t wait to introduce her to even more. How would she respond to bondage? He pushed his cock into her tight sheath.

  “Yes,” she whimpered as he began to thrust inside her faster, harder. The sound of his thighs pounding against hers as loud as—

  The knocking on his office door recalled him to the present.

  “Professor Wallace?”

  Shit, he’d been a minute away from actually coming in his pants like a fifteen-year-old boy—from an inappropriate daydream about a student. He was in worse shape than he realized. He moved forward until the lower half of his body was concealed beneath his large desk.

  “Yes,” he called out.

  Jennifer Smythe entered. “I was hoping I could talk to you about my courses for next semester.”

  He nodded, working overtime to resume his calm, cool advisor demeanor, forcing the fantasy of fucking Keira Collins out of his mind.

  “Of course, Jennifer. Please come in. Have a seat.”

  It was going to be a damn long day. Hell, it was going to be a long two weeks.

  Chapter Three

  “Keira, why don’t you call it a night? You’ve been working your ass off the past couple of weeks and you look like dog shit.”

  “Thanks, Tris. Great compliment.”

  Tristan flashed his typical annoying brother smirk then poured a glass of merlot, setting it on the bar before the blonde who’d planted herself right under his nose earlier in the evening. The woman was working overtime to catch her brother’s attention and, for some reason, he wasn’t taking the bait. Keira had begun to wonder if Tristan wasn’t interested in someone else. In the past, he’d been the ultimate womanizer, never passing up the chance to charm the pants off a lady, but lately she’d noticed he kept to himself. She sighed. Just one more thing she hadn’t had time to think about since struggling through this semester’s courses.

  For the past two weeks she’d been living on virtually no sleep. Working at the restaurant, studying for finals, revising her English papers and fantasizing about Professor Wallace had sucked up every available second of her life. Her family had taken a backseat and the idea that she was letting too many things slide in regards to them was bugging the hell out of her.

  In addition to Tristan’s sudden disinterest in women, Sean’s graduation from high school was coming up in a month and she’d yet to begin plans for a celebration. Her father was still working too hard and she wasn’t even sure he was taking the medication the doctor had prescribed. Teagan had a nasty cold, which had curtailed her singing and put her out of sorts. Riley was going through some sort of bizarre Hell’s Kitchen phase, pissing off all the kitchen assistants and causing them to quit, which was driving Ewan insane as he was in charge of hiring replacements.

  The Collins siblings were heading toward a major blowup and Keira felt responsible for the heated tension hovering over the pub.

  In the past, she’d been the counselor, the voice of reason, the calming influence. Since her decision to go to college, the past two years had cranked the treadmill of her life up to top speed and she felt helpless as she watched all the people she cared about getting tossed off the track.

  “Earth to Keira.” Tristan waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s Thursday night and the place is dead. Joyce and I can take care of things. Go get some sleep.”

  She shrugged, aware that sleep wasn’t something she seemed capable of anymore. She’d walked out of Professor Wallace’s classroom for the last time yesterday and all she could hope was that eventually her intense fantasies about the man would die down. Until then, she seemed doomed to restless sleep that left her body aching and needy in ways she couldn’t begin to understand or attempt to explain to her brother.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Tristan asked someone who had walked up to the bar.

  “I was hoping perhaps this lovely woman could wait on me. Good evening, Keira.”

  She turned slowly, surprised to find the man tormenting her dreams standing behind her.

  “Professor Wallace.”

  For two weeks, she’d reported to his office every morning at nine. During their sessions, he’d challenged her to express her feelings, her emotions in her writing. Used to playing her cards rather close to her chest, she’d struggled at first to reveal so many personal thoughts. As more time passed though, she’d found their sessions almost therapeutic—a fact that would probably annoy him to discover—as she talked about her concerns for her family, her difficulties dealing with her mother’s death and her decision to pursue a college degree. With each session, she’d found her infatuation for the man growing and solidifying.

  Why is he here?

  Her mind raced over the possibility that perhaps her interest in him hadn’t been one-sided. There had been just a few moments in his office when she’d thought his attention toward her had been more than that of pupil and teacher. He’d never made any improper advances, never said anything untoward, but sometimes she would catch a look on his face or he’d say something in a tone that made her think, made her hope that he liked her too.

  Dear God, please let that be true.

  “You’re no longer my student, Keira. I think it would be perfectly fine for you to call me by my firs
t name now. It’s Will.”

  Her lips twitched. “William Wallace?”

  He chuckled and acknowledged her joke. “Neither of my parents finished high school. Unfortunately, I think they must have dropped out just prior to any mention of Scottish history. My mother’s father’s name was William and—for better or worse—I’m his namesake.

  “Well, it’s a very prestigious name. Let’s hope you meet with a better end,” she teased.

  “Amen to that. I have to say the name was never much of a problem until Mel Gibson decided to make the movie Braveheart. It’s been kind of downhill since then.”

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Tristan repeated, his tone a bit less friendly this time.

  Keira glanced back at her brother, surprised to find him still hovering.

  “I’d like a Guinness,” Will replied.

  “Um, Professor Wallace…I mean, Will. This is my brother Tristan. Tristan, this is my creative writing teacher from the college.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Will extended his hand to shake her brother’s. Tristan returned the gesture but Keira could see her younger sibling assessing the man’s worth. She fought against rolling her eyes. At least Tristan’s twin, Killian, was serving with the army in Iraq or she’d be dealing with identical bulldogs. She’d spent far too much of her life watching her brothers visually dissect and scare away potential dates. It seemed that in the eyes of her brothers, no man would ever be good enough for her. Tris was the worst; he seemed to assume all men wanted one thing and one thing only.

  If he noticed Tristan’s intense study, Will ignored it and turned back toward her. “I was hoping perhaps you could join me for a celebratory drink. Toast the end of the semester with me.”

  She nodded, taking off her apron. “As luck would have it, my shift just ended. I’ll have a Guinness too, Tris.”

  Her brother narrowed his eyes but poured the two beers, placing them on the bar. Keira grinned at his attempts to keep her close and decided to throw a wrench into Tristan’s plans. “Why don’t we grab a table?” she suggested.

  Will picked up the beers and led her away from the bar. She started toward one of the tables in the center of the room, but Will steered her instead to the corner booth. The idea of being in such a dark, isolated corner with him sent needy shivers of unease down her spine.

  She’d resisted making a fool of herself in his office, managing to avoid flirting with him and—God forbid—making an outright play for him. She suspected now that he was no longer her teacher and they were on more even ground, it would be next to impossible to hide her undeniable attraction.

  Placing the drinks on the table, he gestured for her to sit first. It was a circular booth and she’d expected him to sit down from the opposite side. When he followed her into the booth, she tried to ignore the fact that he’d planted himself right next to her, sitting far too close for her tenuous willpower. His thigh brushed against hers as he reached for the beers, handing her one of the glasses.

  “To the end of another successful school year,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.

  She smiled and took a sip. “Do you have any big plans for the summer?” she asked.

  “Actually, I’m going to have a little bit longer than the summer off,” he replied. “I’ve requested and been approved to take a sabbatical next year. I’ve been approached about writing a textbook on creative writing.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said. “God knows you certainly have a talent for teaching the subject. Look at how much you helped me improve.”

  He took another sip of beer before setting the glass down in front of him. “Yes, but I’m afraid in many ways, you are the exception rather than the rule.”

  “How so?”

  “You, my lovely woman, have a desire to learn, to improve. English isn’t even your major and yet you attended every class determined to glean every bit of knowledge and skill I could offer. My success with other students, not unlike your Roy Decker, was considerably less.”

  “God, please don’t ever mention that name to me again. Don’t get me wrong. He was a likeable guy, but if I had to read one more paper about him getting wasted or laid, I think I would have thrown myself off a bridge.”

  Will laughed and she soaked in the sound, aware that she hadn’t heard it before. Though he was very free with his smiles, she’d never seen him in the midst of a full-blown laugh. Her heart melted a bit at the sight. He was simply breathtaking.

  “I decided several years ago that it’s nearly impossible to teach students who don’t want to learn. That doesn’t mean I don’t try, but it’s hard for me to stress the importance of writing to nineteen-year-old boys just getting their first taste of true freedom. Sadly, alcohol and girls win nearly every time.”

  “Nearly every time?” she asked with a grin.

  “Okay, you got me. Alcohol and sex win every time. It’s one of the reasons why I enjoyed our morning sessions together. You genuinely wanted to learn and I found your enthusiasm and willingness to go the extra mile quite intoxicating.”

  She acknowledged his compliment with a shy nod, picking up her beer, thinking perhaps a bit of intoxication would make it easier to sit beside him without thinking very naughty thoughts. His gaze sharpened on her face and she wondered again if he could read her mind.

  “So,” she started, desperately trying to find some way to draw the conversation away from her, “will you go away somewhere to write or stay here in Baltimore?”

  “I’ll stay here. I’m afraid extensive travel isn’t necessary to write this particular textbook, so that wasn’t budgeted in. Not that I didn’t suggest it,” he joked.

  “I can’t imagine being holed up in an apartment for an entire year just writing.” She forced a false shudder, pretending to be horrified.

  He shook his head. “I don’t intend to drop off the face of the earth. Actually,” he looked around the pub, “I like to do my writing around people, in public settings.”

  Her mind whirled over the idea of Will sitting in this booth, day after day, ordering meals and drinks from her while he wrote. She’d never break free of her obsession at this rate. “You do? I wouldn’t be able to concentrate,” she said.

  “One of the reasons why I dropped by tonight was to check out this special place of yours. Pat’s Irish Pub seems like the perfect place to write. Named for your father?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Originally, way before I was born, my father only owned this half of the building and the place was just a bar. Then the restaurant next door went out of business and Pop decided to expand.”

  “I’m assuming the restaurant is through those doors?” he asked, pointing to the left.

  “Yes. First thing Pop did when he took over the entire building was cut that opening in the wall,” she said. “It’s actually a rather large building. This half of the bottom floor is the pub side. People can come in here to have a drink while they wait for their table or just to hang out and watch the game on TV. The restaurant is technically called Pat’s Irish Restaurant, but my mom was the original cook and the locals started calling this Pat’s Pub and the restaurant Sunday’s Side.”

  “Sunday?” he asked.

  “My mom’s name.”

  “I like that.”

  “She used to complain about it, but I think deep down, she liked it too. Anyway, the name Sunday’s Side stuck. It’s not on the sign, but that’s what everyone around here calls it.”

  “And your family lives…?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “I have to admit I’m impressed by the size of the place. I didn’t picture such a grandiose old building. I imagine the location doesn’t hurt you either.”

  “Not at all. We have lots of regulars, but we aren’t so far off the waterfront that we don’t pull in a decent crowd of tourists as well.”

  He leaned back and placed his arm along the back of the booth behind her. “Your brother is very protective of you.”

  She glanced toward
the bar and watched Tristan glower at her. She laughed lightly as she turned to face Will. “Yes, he is. Actually, all of my brothers are.”

  “Ah yes, as I recall, you have several.”

  “Four, to be exact.”

  Will nodded. “I wonder how your four brothers would react if I leaned over and kissed you right now.”

  Keira literally felt her heart skip a beat at his comment. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, a tiny part of her daring him. “Perhaps you should be more worried about my reaction to a kiss.”

  Where had that flirty comment come from?

  He smiled and leaned closer. “I know how you’ll react.”

  She mimicked his movement, inching toward him until she could feel the breath that accompanied his words. He was going to kiss her. Holy crap, he was going to kiss her. “You do?”

  “Mmm-hmm. You’re going to go off like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.” His lips were so close she could’ve sworn she felt them brush against hers as he spoke.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re arrogant?” she asked.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?”

  She closed her eyes and marveled at the fact they could still be talking when her body was practically shoving her into his lap.

  “My mother used to tell me all the time,” she whispered. “Monday’s child.” Her lips rubbed against his as she spoke, but neither of them moved any closer into the kiss.

  He placed his hand on her cheek, leaning back just a bit to gaze into her eyes and she wondered why he’d broken away without kissing her. “Is fair of face?” He finished the first line of the familiar nursery rhyme, a question in his voice.

  She nodded. “I was born on a Monday.”

  He pressed his forehead against hers.