by Grace Morgan
Filthy Dirty Alpha
Book 1 in the Filthy Dirty Alpha Series
Grace Morgan
Copyright © 2015 Grace Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Design by Sara Eirew
Chapter 1
Lola
Bondage. Exhibitionism. Voyeurism.
The words echoed in my head.
“Any of those excite you?” he asked, his mischievous blue eyes dancing on mine.
I’d practiced my answers the whole ride over, almost running a red light as I rehearsed what I would say when asked this very question. Now, though, seated at the bar that looked like it could’ve been the centerpiece of any number of trendy restaurants or clubs in the city, the words wouldn’t come. Because this wasn’t just any bar, it was the lounge inside Second Circle, Austin’s most notorious and highly secretive sex club. I could only sit here, frozen, unable to think of a single damn thing to say.
Clearing his throat, the man tried again. “What aspects are you most interested in Miss...Lola?
“Penis.”
“We’ll get to that later, sweetheart. Promise.” He winked.
Snatching my eyes away from the impressively large bulge at the front of his pants, horror set in as I realized what had just come out of my mouth. Oh dear God. My face turned as red as a beet, and I muttered a curse. How could I be screwing this up so horribly when I’d only been here for minutes?
“Do you need a moment?” There was a hint of laughter in his voice, as though he knew how hard I was fighting to compose myself and was willing to let me give it my best before moving on.
“Ah, no. I’m sorry, I was just...distracted.”
He smiled at me, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. As co-owner of the club, Carter was gracious enough to provide an overview, but it felt more like casual flirting, something I was obviously out of practice with.
“Don’t worry, I can have that effect on women. Sometimes they just faint dead away.”
I laughed despite my nerves, and suddenly found that my voice had returned.
“That must make some of the...activities here more difficult,” I replied, pushing my long, dark hair over my shoulder to show off the deep neckline of the black dress I’d bought just for this occasion. The zipper that ran all the way up the back, just begging for someone to undo it, seemed appropriate for the setting.
“It does,” he laughed. “Which of those activities are you interested in? You haven’t told me yet.” I was sure his charm, good looks, and playful personality had urged more than one woman into indulging in a bit of naughty fun.
“Well,” I said, warming to my story, “I’m not quite sure about that yet. I was hoping that maybe some hands-on experience might help me figure it out.”
I worried that I might have laid the innuendo on too thick, but before he could say anything, another man strode into the room. Tall. Powerfully built. Dark hair. Gorgeous. And angry.
“Carter, why the fuck did you miss our call? You can’t just be involved in the parts you think are fun,” he barked.
Carter smiled warmly at me and then turned to the second man.
“Sorry about that. I was just talking to Lola here about the club. She thinks she might want to join.”
The man turned his attention on me, as though just noticing my presence. And that attention? It was a tangible thing. His dark blue eyes traveled from my bare legs up the curves well-displayed by my dress, lingering for a moment on my breasts, and then locked onto mine. My stomach dropped, and my mouth went dry. Who was this man? I’d never had that kind of immediate physical response to anyone before, much less someone who looked so unhappy to see me.
Then he spoke two words: “She’s lying.”
* * *
He was right, of course.
The idea of going undercover had been borne out of equal parts determination and desperation. I wanted to find out what had happened to a woman named Hope, and I wanted to keep my job.
There had already been one round of layoffs at the Austin Tribune when I saw a post online about a girl who had disappeared nearly eight months ago. Her dark eyes, so similar to my own, stared out at me from the screen. A muscular arm rested over her shoulders, its owner cropped out of the photo. She was gazing somberly into the camera, looking much older than her twenty-two years.
A flurry of pieces were written about her when she first went missing, but after the initial morbid curiosity had worn off, no one bothered to follow up on it. Myself included.
I couldn’t get her picture out of my mind, though. Her face haunted me. I could be in line at the grocery store or waiting for an elevator, and I’d be slammed with thoughts of what could have happened to her. I thought about her family, her loved ones, the people whose lives were simultaneously moving painfully forward, day-by-day, and yet paused, waiting, hoping she’d come home so everything could start again. Waiting for their lives to all go back to normal. I couldn’t just let it go. It was more than just the journalist in me—this was a compulsion. I had to find out what happened to her—because it was the right thing to do and because it would save my job.
I started by doing what I’d do for any story: looking through the information that was already out there. To the police and the papers, she’d been a collection of facts: young, brunette, slender. And kinky. Other reporters went into breathless detail about her personal life, her interest in rough sex and breath play, a few going so far as to suggest that maybe she had deserved what had happened to her. Between the lines, each article told the story of a girl whose sexual desires had led to her untimely, but unavoidable, demise. No matter that there was no body, no indication that her kinks had anything to do with her disappearance. They assumed that anyone who was attracted to darkness in her sexual life must have attracted darkness to her.
I saw something different—because no story was ever so black and white. My theory? Her kinks were a starting point, of course—the last place she’d been seen, Second Circle, was an underground BDSM club known for the strict punishments it doled out to its members, and the even stricter membership criteria. But I wasn’t interested in the salacious details. I was interested in the people she interacted with, the trails she might have left. I was interested in Hope’s story. And I was determined to follow every thread left by every trail.
There was only one problem: Second Circle was notoriously difficult to get into. They weren’t interested in kink tourists who were just there to gawk, or men who assumed that submissive women meant easy women. Second Circle catered to people who knew what they wanted and knew they couldn’t get it just anywhere. It’d taken a huge favor just to be granted this meeting, and I’d known I’d have to be convincing as hell to have a shot at getting in.
And it didn’t seem to be going very well.
* * *
“Excuse me?” I said, trying my best to sound indignant. “What makes you think I’m lying?”
He leveled me with an icy stare. “Well, to begin with, you’re wound up tighter than a virgin’s cunt.”
Oh hell no. My hands flew to my hips, and I straightened my shoulders, matching his harsh gaze. “Any man who speaks to me like that would be well-advised to back away slowly and cover his family jewels.”
He looked taken aback at my threat to his balls, but only for a moment. “If you can’t handle hearing someone talk about your cunt, how are you going to handle being tied up and ex
posed, with your partner tasting and teasing you until you’re begging for some relief?”
I knew he threw in that specific word—the c-word—just to see if I’d come back at him again. I didn’t want to disappoint. “How do you know I won’t be the one doing the tying up?” I challenged. In truth, I had no interest in being on either side of the equation, but his words irritated me.
“Don’t mind him,” Carter said quickly, glaring at the other man. “Burke is just mad because I met you first. You would be just the type he’d like to give a personalized tour of the top floor.”
“What’s on the top floor?” I asked, curiosity sparking as I looked from one handsome man to the other.
“My apartment,” Burke said softly. “It’s not open to club members. Not that it matters, because there’s no way in hell you actually want to join.” His eyes raked over me again, and I felt myself begin to flush. “Which is too bad, because a few of my regulars might enjoy taming a woman like you.”
No man would tame me, goddammit. I completely ignored the flood of heat his words unleashed low in my belly. I’m sure that’s just a poorly timed coincidence.
“Which is why,” Carter interjected, tossing me a flirty wink, “we should give her a chance. Show her around. Maybe even give her a demonstration.”
“Yes,” I said, grasping onto the idea. I was losing my chance, and this was the only hope I had of salvaging this disaster. “A tour. It might help me pin down what exactly I’m interested in. That is,” I continued, turning toward Burke, my confidence spiking again, “if you’ll allow me to walk through the building with an escort, sir.”
I immediately regretted the sarcasm, worried that I’d taken it too far. Something I couldn’t read flashed across his expression so quickly that I thought I’d imagined it, because all that was left was frustration.
“I need to talk to you.” Burke said to Carter, jerking his chin toward the door.
Carter nodded his approval, and gave me another wink as he stood up. I returned his smile, grateful to have at least one ally in this foreign place.
The moment the door closed, I seized the opportunity to finally compose myself and turned my attention to my surroundings. A few deep breaths, and I could actually focus on what I was seeing. There were no windows, but the room didn’t feel stuffy or confined. My nerves settling, I wandered over to the bar, which was long and sleek, moored in the center of the room and surrounded by minimalist barstools covered in a rich blue-grey velvet, a nice touch that kept things from feeling too slick and impersonal. There were low sofas and arm chairs along with steel and glass tables–conversation areas for mingling, before couples wandered off upstairs, I presumed.
I tried to imagine the room when it was filled with people. Instantly, my mind turned back to where it should be at this moment: Hope. Had she sat in these seats, exchanging glances with the person responsible for her disappearance? Had she smiled coyly when the bartender handed her a drink, telling her it was from an admirer?
On the other side of the bar, bottles of expensive liquor glittered in the low light, and I considered sneaking back to steal a sip and bolster my nerves. Whatever else I thought about the two men I’d met today, they had good taste.
And what did I think about them?
Carter was easy—he was handsome and charming, and he knew it. But not in an arrogant way. His confidence was natural, revealing itself in everything from his relaxed posture to the disheveled hair that he was constantly pushing out of his eyes. I wondered what his kink of choice was because I didn’t picture him as a Dominant. He seemed too affable—more likely to crack filthy a joke, than to take a paddle to a naughty sub’s ass. Smirking at my own description, my thoughts wandered to Burke. They were like night and day. One easy and carefree, the other hiding behind those dark, forbidding eyes, and biting remarks.
I released a heavy sigh. Burke...I didn’t want to think very hard about the effect he’d had on me just in the few moments we’d spent together. He was cocky and aloof and—even worse—he’d sized me up with just one glance. I wasn’t used to men immediately gaining the upper hand, but now all I could think about was that hand skimming across my skin as he pushed the strap of my dress off my shoulder…
Loud voices from the hallway interrupted my completely ridiculous, impromptu fantasy. Trying to keep my heels from tapping on the dark hardwood floor, I crept closer, desperate to overhear the conversation.
“So you skipped a meeting just so you could flirt with some girl?” Burke demanded. “You do understand how careful we have to be now, after everything that’s happened? We can’t just let people walk in here.”
“Jesus, Burke. Of course I know that. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t make room for new members—especially the gorgeous, sassy ones. You can’t tell me that you’re not dying to see her bent over a table.” I blushed, imagining Carter grinning at Burke as he said it.
“That’s not the point, Carter.” Burke’s voice was rough and exasperated.
“It’s a little bit the point,” Carter said, and I held back a laugh.
“The point is that you need to take your role here seriously. It’s not all about the benefits. This a working club, and that means you have to work.”
A moment of silence followed, and I wondered what was transpiring on the other side of the door. Was Carter ashamed? Angry? Annoyed? I waited for Burke’s response.
“I can’t believe you can say that to me with a straight face. You’ve known me for over half my life, and know damn well I’ve never shied away from work. This isn’t about me—it’s about you letting some girl get under your skin. That’s a you problem, Burke.”
Annoyed it was.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” His apology was simple, but the tone said it was sincere. Apparently all those years of knowing each other had taught them how to push each other’s buttons, as well as how to defuse a situation just as quickly.
“So are we going to show her the club?” Carter asked. This answer I was even more interested in hearing.
“I don’t care what you decide about her. I have work to do.”
Nice. Good to know I didn’t matter to him in the least. Then again, maybe that was in my favor—regardless of my body’s protests.
“Oh come on,” Carter said. “You haven’t been with anyone since—”
“Don’t,” Burke cut him off, but my curiosity soared. I told myself it was purely professional interest. I filed it away as something to look into later.
“Just come for the tour; maybe you’ll actually enjoy yourself. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve seen that.”
“For a few minutes.” Burke conceded. “But then I have to get back to work.”
“Whatever you say,” Carter replied, a laugh in his voice.
Footsteps signaled their return, and I scrambled away from the door, pretending to examine the tasteful abstract painting on the wall. I tried to look surprised to see them enter. It was unclear whether or not I actually pulled it off.
“Welcome to Second Circle, Lola,” Carter said, smiling broadly. Burke followed closely behind, his brow still furrowed.
“So I can stay?” The hope in my voice was blindly obvious.
Before Carter could reply, Burke jumped in, “You can tour the rooms upstairs. Carter and I will show you around, you can ask your questions, and then we’ll decide whether or not we go any further with this.”
By this I assumed he meant the membership application process. It wasn’t a resounding yes, but it was better than being tossed out the door, so I’d take it.
“Please come this way, Lola.”
Burke was being so formal, so controlled. Some latent naughtiness inside me made me want to challenge him, ruffle his feathers a little. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but the words came out anyway. “So I have to audition for the two of you?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “What if you’re not my type?”
“It’s not an audition,” Burke snapped. “And becom
ing a member has nothing to do with whether either of us wants to fuck you. We do have certain requirements that need to be met.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t give out memberships to women you’re hoping to sleep with. I don’t buy it.”
“Baby, we own a sex club … of course we have members we want to fuck. We’re sinners, not saints.” Carter extended a hand toward me and winked before continuing, “Sometimes, we even like to share.”
Share? I was in way over my head here, but I would brazen it out, dammit. I took his hand and glanced toward Burke.
“Doesn’t seem like you two would be very good at sharing.”
My brazenness appeared to be working. Burke turned to the door without answering. “Let’s go.”
The two men led me up the dark wood staircase, and I couldn’t help but admire them from behind. Both were tall and athletic, but Carter had the slim build and long stride of a runner, compared with Burke’s powerful, muscular shoulders that tapered down to a trim waist and strong legs. Half the women at the club must come just for these two, I thought to myself. Something told me that they could deliver quite the pounding.
The thought came from nowhere, and I blushed. Get your head back where it belongs, Lola. Not thinking about how many orgasms these guys could deliver. But even as I chastised myself, the heat in my belly from earlier—which had barely been banked—flared a dozen times hotter at the idea.
Forcing my thoughts to something less dangerous, I again studied the decor. Soft light emanated from the tasteful sconces lining the hallway, and our footsteps were hushed by a thick red carpet. It didn’t feel dirty or seedy at all, like I had expected a sex club would. It felt like a posh hotel—somewhere you might go when you wanted to lock yourself away from the world and lose yourself in a haze of tangled sheets and room service.
On the other hand, maybe this wasn’t so different.
“Are you ready?” Carter interrupted my train of thought. I shook myself. I wasn’t here for a getaway. I needed to stay focused on getting more information about Hope and her disappearance, and on getting the story that would save my career. But first, I had to convince Burke that I belonged here.
