he Alpha Men's Secret Club 2: Desire Games

by Dawn Steele

  THE ALPHA MEN’S SECRET CLUB 2: DESIRE GAMES

  A Shockingly Hot BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance

  By Dawn Steele

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2014 by Dawn Steele

  Cover art by Dawn Steele

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dawn Steele is the New Adult/romance/shifter romance pen name of Aphrodite Hunt.

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  Dawn Steele/Aphrodite Hunt is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Her stories have been in the Top 5 of the Amazon overall bestselling charts, the 10 of the Barnes and Nobles overall charts and the No. 1 spot in Amazon's Movers and Shakers. She is a Top 50 Amazon Most Popular author.

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  THE ALPHA MEN’S SECRET CLUB 2: DESIRE GAMES

  1

  Does he feel anything for me?

  Does he not feel anything for me?

  Kate stared at the flowing river from the embankment, letting the wind sweep up her long dark hair. It was cloudy today, and the trees were rustling in the wind, throwing off dead leaves for the cleaners to pick up. Barges floated in the water below, the people on them oblivious to her plight.

  Rust O’ Brien. Enigmatic. Secretive. Completely aloof and completely mysterious. Completely gorgeous and completely sexy and everything a girl could ever desire.

  She had his body, but she didn’t have his heart.

  After a month of torrid sex almost every day in secret places – the club, his office, motel rooms, anywhere he could get her away from prying eyes – she had been more satisfied sexually than she had ever dreamed a woman could be.

  The sex was frenetic, intense, mind-blowing. Her orgasm threshold was on a permanent nadir – so low that she was almost always spontaneously combusting. All it took from him to get her going was just a look.

  Just one look, and she would wet her panties.

  If she was actually wearing them.

  Oh. She had it bad.

  What did she want now? Were not all her orifices filled and expanded and pounded regularly into molten submission? Was not her pussy perennially sore from so much stimulation that she could hardly stand, let alone walk? Did her juices not flow copiously every day so that she wore an almost permanent stain on her inner thighs?

  That was the trouble with women. The more sex she had, the more sex she craved. She could not get enough of Rust O’ Brien. She could not get enough of his beautiful face as he looked down at her while he fucked her; that firm, frantic thrusting of his hips as he slammed into her so hard until the bed and walls shuddered.

  But now . . . she wanted something more.

  That was all she was to him, she was certain. A body. A body he seemed to desire and crave just as much as she desired and craved him.

  And yet . . . she did not have his heart. She did not have his soul.

  She was his mistress. His sexual partner in submission and bondage.

  But she wanted more. More!

  Was she unusual in wanting more? Could he see the love in her eyes as she gazed upon him – a love she did not dare betray too much lest he dump her without so much as another word?

  The only way I can still have him is to keep the status quo.

  Until he tires of me.

  Her heart wrenched in her chest. She could feel the physical pain of it turning uncomfortably, of her heart strings being tugged by her psyche.

  I want more.

  But she did not dare challenge what was between them. What if she tried for something more, and it backfired miserably? What if he threw her out on the street and asked her never to see him again?

  Kate stared miserably at the water. At the tourists on the open barge. At their guide who toted a loudspeaker, telling them about the sights to be savored, about what else was around the river bend. She was paralyzed with indecision. Paralyzed with the fear of losing him should she decide to press for more. Paralyzed with the fear of losing him anyway if she didn’t.

  She felt like throwing herself into the water and sinking to the bottom of the river, letting it cover the top of her head. That way, it would be peaceful. There would be absolute calm. They would find her body the next morning, and he would be sorry he hadn’t loved her more . . . hadn’t wanted more from her.

  He would be sorry for a twinge of a second.

  She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Look at her! She was a basket case, pining over the love of a man no one could have!

  At least she had him. At least she had his body. His rock hard body and his thick, long, erect cock.

  For now.

  That day on the embankment, contemplating wild thoughts of love and unrest, Kate had no idea how much her life was going to change.

  Again.

  2

  The trouble with Kate was that she wasn’t completely comfortable with herself.

  She wasn’t comfortable about her body or who she was. She was losing weight, and yet, she was afraid of losing weight because Rust seemed to like her voluptuous curves for what they were. She was afraid of losing her curves, because that was what he saw in her in the first place.

  Imagine! She was eating ice-cream and all sorts of fattening things to keep her weight up! Was she the only girl in the world to do that?

  She filed through the corridors to the library. She had an assignment due. Sometimes, she threw herself into her studies so that she wouldn’t think about Rust O’Brien all the time. Besides, she wanted to impress him in class.

  I’m not just an overweight fuck doll, you know. I have a brain.

  “Hey, girl!”

  Oh no. It was her best friend and roommate, Michaela. Kate had been having a devil of a time keeping her affair with Rust O’ Brien under wraps, especially since she sometimes stayed out all night.

  But still –

  Michaela loped up, beaming, her laptop clutched in her big arm.

  “Girl, I swear you’ve been trying to avoid me.”

  “I can’t avoid you. You’re, like, my roommate.”

  “That’s true.” Michaela linked her other arm around Kate’s and together they walked to the library. “I know you’ve been holding out of me and I know I have no right to ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to, but damn, girl, I miss you!”

  “But I’m right here. I’m your roommate.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Other people passing them gave them amused stares. And why not? Michaela was a humungous big black girl with her arm linked with another big, albeit far smaller, white girl.

  “What do you mean?” Kate demanded, although she knew exactly what Michaela meant. She
had been there . . . but not there.

  “I mean us talking. We used to talk all the time.”

  “We still do.”

  “Yeah, but you won’t tell me who you’ve been seeing.”

  “I’m not seeing anybody.” Kate squirmed. She had always been bad at lying. But it was one of his rules of engagement. If you want this tryst between us, tell no one. Not your best friend. Not your sister. Not your mother. And not even your shadow.

  “Liar.”

  “OK, but I made a promise not to tell anyone about it. Please, Michaela, I love you, but I did promise. Please!”

  Kate sounded so beseeching that Michaela relented.

  “OK, but you have got to tell me one day.” She spun Kate around and bored her brown eyes into Kate’s orbs. “You’re different, and I’m worried about you. Whoever this guy is, he’s not good for you. You’re too quiet these days. What’s the word for it? Pensive. Like you’ve permanently lost your dog.”

  “I am not!”

  “You are. You don’t notice things like these, but I do. You’re mooning around sometimes like you want to kill yourself, and other times, you’re just like a kid with candy at Halloween. These mood swings are worrying me, girl. You’re losing weight.”

  “I am?” Kate cried in horror.

  Michaela started to laugh. “Look at yourself. I’ll bet a month ago you would have given anything to lose weight. And right now, you should just see the look on your face. It’s like hell just froze over.”

  Kate grimaced. “I mean – ”

  Michaela was right. She was a mess.

  “Girl, if you’ve got a problem, I want you to tell me about it, OK?” Michaela turned serious. “There’s no use you pining and not doing something about it. Whatever it is – drugs, pregnancy, a guy who’s been cheating on you – you tell me about it and I’ll fix it. You hear? That’s what my Mama always said. If you have a problem, you tell someone who can fix it. My Mama always fixed things, and I inherited that from her.”

  Kate nodded. “I promise, I will. But I’m not in trouble.”

  Not yet.

  Michaela gave her a fierce bear hug, and then together, they walked into the library, the best of friends.

  *

  Funny Michaela should mention pregnancy.

  Because that was the least of Kate’s problems.

  That day – after she had seduced Rust O’Brien in his office for the second time after their tryst in the Alpha Men’s Club – he asked her:

  “Do you want to continue this?”

  Her heart leaped. She didn’t even hesitate or play hard to get. After all, she was the seducer.

  She said, “Yes.”

  “Are you on the pill?”

  “No.”

  “You have any conditions that would contraindicate you to be on the pill?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Great.” He zipped up his pants. His face was flushed and his expression was that of a very satisfied cat. A huge, striped, furry cat.

  She was pleased – though she would never say so to him – that she had given him so much pleasure that he asked her if she wanted to continue.

  “Why do you ask . . . sir?” she said. She still wasn’t sure what to call him. ‘The Perfesser’ seemed too perfunctory.

  He did not contradict her, or ask her to call him ‘Rust’. He stood up.

  “I like fucking without condoms,” he said. “If you would be exclusive to me, that wouldn’t be a problem, right?”

  Exclusive to him? The thought thrilled her.

  “Yes,” she said boldly. “But what if you are not exclusive to me? What if you . . . catch something from someone else . . . and pass it on to me?”

  Wow. She couldn’t believe she said that. But she was on a high after the sex.

  He stared at her for a long, long time. His expression was one of amusement.

  He said gently, “Trust me, Kate, when you are exclusive to me, none of that will happen.”

  None of what would happen? she wondered. That he would catch something and pass it on to her? Or that he would wear a condom when he was fucking someone else and then do it bare with her? Or that he would be exclusive to her?

  So many questions! He was turning her topsy-turvy again.

  He said, “Do you have a gynecologist you go to?”

  “Yes,” she lied. She had never gone to a gynecologist in her entire life. She didn’t have the money.

  “Because I can recommend one if you don’t.”

  “I do.”

  “So . . . you can go on the pill?”

  She nodded as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “I can go on the pill.”

  So long as I get to have you and keep on having you.

  It was a psychological game. If she went on the pill, she convinced herself, he would still be with her because he would be convinced she was exclusive to him . . . and he would get to fuck her without a condom.

  One month. All it took was one month of being on the pill . . . and then he could do it bare without the risk of pregnancy.

  She was at that impasse now.

  She looked down at the oblong pillbox of oral contraceptives.

  The one month had passed. Now they would move to the next level.

  She wondered what he had in store for her.

  Or maybe he should wonder what she had in store for him.

  3

  The lecture was over. The usual suspects scrambled to talk to Professor Rust O’Brien. Carlo Estez, who gave her a knowing look. The slutty Fiona Montgomery, still wearing ‘my boobs are so big they’re gonna fall out’ tight tees in front of the Professor.

  Maybe you should be exclusive to him, Fiona, thought Kate viciously. Then maybe he’d take a second look at you.

  Kate waited patiently at the periphery until the students had exhausted the Professor with their questions. He glanced at her significantly, but continued to field answers to increasingly repetitive and stupid questions.

  To Fiona Montgomery: (politely) “No. I don’t think penis envy could be attributed to every problem in the world. I wouldn’t put that in a thesis, if I were you.”

  Then, in his usual manner, he grabbed his laptop bag. “I’ll see you the next time. Don’t forget to hand in your assignments.”

  He walked off to calls of “Professor, wait!”

  It stung a little. Was he walking away from her? Was he running away from her? She knew she shouldn’t be reading anything into it, but damn it . . . it still hurt. His strides were long and swift as he exited the lecture hall.

  Her cheeks burned. She wanted to tell him something important.

  It’s time. I’m exclusive to you.

  But he was out of the lecture hall and out of her sight. She was probably out of his mind too.

  She felt a nudge at her elbow.

  “Want a grab a coffee?” Carlo Estes was behind her, uncomfortably close. So close she could feel his breath on her neck.

  Since she was still stinging all over from the (perceived) rebuke, she hesitated. Her first instinct was to say ‘no’. But exclusivity – which Rust O’Brien did not seem to be real interested in at the moment – did not mean she couldn’t drink coffee with a fellow student.

  So she said, “Yes.”

  Carlo grinned.

  “I know a place,” he said.

  *

  “Why are you mooning over him like a mad cow?” Carlo said as he nursed his cappuccino at ‘Betty’s Home Made Creams’ in the street outside campus.

  “Excuse me?” she bridled. “Who are you calling a mad cow? I’m not the animal here.”

  He laughed. “Sorry. But it’s obvious . . . that thing you got for him. It’s written all over your face.”

  She blushed again. He was right. She didn’t have anything to say about that.

  Carlo leaned back in his chair. He was really handsome, she thought. Before she met Rust O’Brien, she would have been very flattered by this attention from a
good-looking student. In fact, she was still flattered.

  He said, “The good thing is it was obvious before – ”

  He let it trail significantly. He meant ‘before that night you presented yourself to THE ALPHA MEN’S CLUB. The night I touched you and almost forced myself down on you’.

  “ – but it’s more obvious now. There’s a BEFORE and AFTER. Get it?” He waved his right hand and said, “Before.” He waved his left hand and said, “After.” Then he made a ‘mooing’ sound.

  She couldn’t help laughing.

  “I’m really that obvious, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  She sobered. “I can’t help it. He’s just so . . . ” She shook her head.

  Carlo studied her. “He’s not a keeper, you know.”

  It was amazing, but she felt really comfortable talking to Carlo. He was probably the only person on campus she could actually talk to about this. And it saddened her that she couldn’t talk to Michaela, the very person she should be talking to.

  “I know.”

  “So why are you mooning over him? You’re not supposed to take these kinds of things seriously.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “But I can’t help it.”

  He nodded. “You’ll only get hurt.”

  “But isn’t that the same with anyone else?” she challenged. “You can get hurt any which way. The only thing you can do if you don’t want to get hurt is to play it safe. Never give your heart. Only your body.”

  Isn’t that what you do? came the unspoken rebuke.

  “There’s a balance in what you can give,” Carlo replied. “Sometimes, the two lines blur, and you can’t tell what you’re giving anymore or what you’re taking.”

  She wondered if only psychology students talked like this or if Carlo was practicing to be on the chair at the side of the couch.

  “So tell me about yourself,” she said. “About who you are. How you came to be.”