The Alpha Men's Secret Club: A Scorchingly Hot BBW Shifter Romance Read online

  THE ALPHA MEN’S SECRET CLUB

  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

  1

  She couldn’t concentrate with him on the podium.

  There he was, standing tall and straight in his dark blue navy jacket and dark trousers. Kate was sitting in the front row of the lecture hall, as she always did in one of his classes, so that she could get a good, long look at him for a whole hour. Only one hour was never enough.

  Oh, but he was to die for!

  His dark hair was combed into a widow’s peak, and his eyes were a stunning green. He was rumored to be . . . what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? She didn’t care. She liked older men. And this one seemed to ripen with age. His features were as stunning as the rest of his body, which she could imagine under his cream-colored shirt. She could also imagine him wearing his red tie – which he had on now – and with nothing else on.

  Was that a spool of desire uncurling between her legs? She squirmed and adjusted her buttocks in her seat. She could make herself cum by just crossing her legs and compressing that quivering little nub between her thighs.

  Ooooooooo.

  Imagine . . . she was half-masturbating in class to Professor Rust O’Brien’s deep voice and the very spectacle of his full lecture glory.

  The screen behind him displayed something about Jungian philosophy, but it was all mumbo-jumbo to her. She only took his class so that she could get an eyeful of him. Plenty of the other girls did too. The very real possibility of flunking it also slid through her mind and was immediately gone as he turned to the screen to detail something on the slide.

  Why was his profile so fine? Why was his nose so chiseled and why were his moving lips just waiting to be ravaged . . . by her mouth?

  I want him.

  I will never have him.

  He will never look at me.

  I’m fat.

  I’m not that pretty like the other girls.

  I can only dream.

  Oh fuck.

  That was her lot in life, wasn’t it? She could only dream about guys like Professor O’Brien. Anyway, she was sure he had a girlfriend. He definitely wasn’t married, the last time she checked with the other girls. Guys like him always had a bevy of slim, beautiful blondes hanging from every limb and appendage.

  Speaking of appendages, her mind took a wild turn. Her pussy throbbed. She squirmed in her seat again.

  She had it bad.

  She was too absorbed in her own private peep show, fortified with vivid imagery, to look at the other girls around her. But she was aware that they were also similarly transfixed. She remembered everything she heard about the Professor.

  “He’s ice cold, man. That guy’s got icicles in his veins.”

  “He’s a killer when it comes to grading papers.”

  “I hear he works out at Gold’s Gym with a trainer and has a body to die for.”

  “He doesn’t remember the names of students. He makes it a point not to.”

  “Nah, I just heard it’s just for the sophomores. He remembers the seniors.”

  “He doesn’t remember the seniors either, so don’t kid yourself.”

  “He makes his grad students weep because he’s so detailed.”

  “You mean he’s anal?”

  “Well, we won’t know about that.” Suggestively. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

  The next Powerpoint slide showed:

  ‘ASSIGNMENT:

  1. Read Chapter Three of ‘Jungian Theory’

  2. Write a 1500-word essay.’

  One thousand five hundred words? That was probably the whole chapter itself! Fuck. And she hadn’t been listening to a word he had been saying.

  Her cheeks flaming, she stood up, pushing her foldable desk away. Clattering sounds of shoes on the floor echoed through the lecture hall as the students got up and made their way to the aisles. Several students, mostly females, approached the lectern. Kate hung at the edges of this crowd, as she always did. Unnoticed.

  “Professor, I have a question to ask you.”

  He was shuffling his papers and putting them into his laptop bag. “Shoot.”

  The speaker was Carlo Estez. Cuban. Olive-skinned. Almost as handsome as the Professor in his own dark, mysterious way. Carlo was known to be a brilliant student who always scored ‘As’ in all his classes. Damn him.

  Carlo said, “Why do you think Jung said that a neurosis is a significant unresolved tension between contending attitudes? Neuroses are now known to have biochemical origins in the human brain.”

  “You’ll have to read Chapter Three to find out,” the Professor replied. He didn’t smile. “And I’d expect to see your hypothesis in your essay.”

  Carlo grinned. “You’ll have it, Professor.”

  “Professor.” This time, it was Fiona Montgomery. Tall, model-like, whip-thin and blonde. Also known as the sophomore slut. As he grabbed his bag, she touched his arm.

  He stopped and glared at her hand upon his arm.

  “Yes?” His tone was dripping with acid. It clearly said, You’re encroaching on my personal space.

  A hush descended upon the gathered throng around him.

  Fiona was relentless. She did not take her expertly manicured hand off his arm.

  “Phi Kappa Beta Sorority is having a Psych night next Tuesday,” she said. “I’m the President, naturally. I was wondering if you would consider giving us a lecture on ‘Managing Libidos’.”

  There were a few titters. Kate was shocked. That was a double entrende if there was one. No one spoke like that to the Professor. No one! Everyone there held their collective breaths to hear what he would say.

  The Professor took his time. His vivid green eyes were razor sharp as they raked Fiona’s pretty, elfin face. She lifted her chest suggestively, displaying her very obvious cleavage in her tight wraparound dress.

  Then he lifted his
forearm with her hand still clinging on to it and gave it a twist.

  “I’ll be occupied next Tuesday,” he said with a condescending smile. He stepped off the podium and walked away towards the exit.

  Carlo Estez guffawed.

  “He nailed you all right,” he told Fiona. “Not in the way you want him to, apparently.”

  “Shut up,” she said, grabbing her notes and stalking off.

  The throng dispersed amid a smattering of chatter and more titters. Kate slinked off, feeling glummer than she had a right to.

  If someone as attractive as Fiona Montgomery couldn’t elicit even a sliver of interest – disguised or otherwise – from Rust O’Brien, where did that leave someone like Kate Penney?

  2

  “You’re not fat.”

  “I am fat.”

  “Oh stop. You’re not. You just think you’re fat, but what you are is slightly plump in a pleasing way. Curvy, I think they call it.”

  Kate glanced down at her large tits and bulging midline.

  “OK. Curvy it is,” she said.

  “Big, Bad and Beautiful. Though in my case, it’s Big, Baddest, Black and Beautiful.”

  They both burst out laughing. Michaela was Kate’s roommate since freshman year and they had been best friends like forever. Michaela was African American and even bigger than Kate, but made no apologies about it.

  “If someone can’t handle this Mama, it’s his loss,” she declared.

  The beauty about all this was that a lot of guys were crazy for Michaela. Maybe it was her sharp wit and equally sharp tongue, but she exuded a bustling confidence that Kate envied. Michaela was the type of girl to let it all hang out, be damned the consequences.

  “So that slut Fiona was trying to her hooks into that fine Professor’s pants, was she now?” Michaela said.

  “You should have seen her. She was practically panting with heat.”

  “I’ve heard things about the Perfesser.” Michaela nodded knowingly.

  “Who from? Gilligan?” Kate settled on her tummy in her bed and propped up her chin with her elbows.

  “No, silly. From Stacey Stack, his PA. She goes to Glenn’s after work, and guess who’s the best barista at Glenn’s?”

  Kate’s finger darted in the air and traced an imaginary circle.

  “Lessee,” she said, “that would be – ” her finger made a zigzag to point straight at Michaela “ – your evil twin?”

  “You’re asking for it, girl. Now here’s the lowdown. Do you want to listen or not?”

  “Of course.” Not that she had a hope in hell with the Professor, who had ice in his veins apparently. But it was still nice to fantasize and speculate.

  Michaela sat on her bed and crossed her legs. She was amazingly lithe for a big girl because she did Hatha Yoga twice a week. “Stacey says the Perfesser is – ”

  “Gay?”

  “Are you gonna shut yer yap or not?”

  “I’ll be good.” Kate made a zipping sound as she dragged her finger across her lips.

  “Stacey says the Perfesser is not into socializing. In fact, he’s hardly seen in the bars outside campus. He just comes to work, does his job . . . very well, I might add . . . and goes home.”

  “Where is home?”

  “He doesn’t live in the campus housing, apparently, but has his own penthouse . . . get this, penthouse . . . ” Michaela paused for effect “ . . . on Hartford Avenue.”

  “Hartford Avenue? Isn’t that ‘H’ for swank?”

  “Color me swanky, whatever that color is. The Perfesser doesn’t talk much about himself and doesn’t have personal family photos in his office. He’s quite the enigma.”

  “Is she sure he’s not gay?”

  “He’s very masculine, for sure, but she’s absolutely certain he isn’t.” Michaela winked. “You never know about these masculine types. One moment, they’re grabbing their own jock straps in the shower room and the next they’re bending over to pick up the soap and squealing ‘Fuck me in the ass, fuck me’. Anyway, she said she found this card in his jacket once.”

  Kate opened her mouth in mock horror. “She’s snooping in his clothes like a suspicious wife?”

  “No, silly. I asked her the same thing myself. She knocked his jacket off the hook and the card fell out.”

  Kate was convinced Stacey Stack, who was fifty if she had seen a day, was snooping, but anyway –

  “And you know what the card said?” Michaela said triumphantly.

  “You have it?”

  Michaela twisted her features in exasperation. “Girl, I swear I’m going to deck you if you interrupt me one more time. Of course I don’t have it. Neither does Stacey. She’s real careful, that one. You have to be if you want to keep your job in the faculty around the Perfesser. But she read what’s on the card before she put it back.”

  Kate was enjoying herself. Both her legs were bent at the knees and swaying back and forth above the bed.

  Michaela said, “Well, aren’t you gonna ask me what’s on the card?”

  “You told me not to interrupt.”

  “That I did. Damn, girl. Anyhow, the card was embossed with gold lettering. The swanky kind. And the letters said:

  THE ALPHA MEN’S CLUB.”

  Kate frowned.

  “That’s it?” she said. “The Alpha Men’s Club? That’s supposed to mean he’s not gay?”

  “This has nothing to do with him being gay or not. Plenty of gay men are alphas. The fact is . . . he’s a member of a club. A mysterious club.”

  “Why is it mysterious?”

  “Because it doesn’t show up on Google Search. I tried, and I get a big fat zero.”

  “Not every club advertises itself on the Internet.”

  “Most clubs do, even gentlemen ones. This one doesn’t appear, which means they want to keep themselves under the radar. Now why would they want to do that?”

  Kate racked her brains to think why. She must admit that she was intrigued. “Cover for secret agency?”

  “You’ve been watching too many Daniel Craig movies. More like it’s a secret men’s club.” Michaela winked. “You know . . . the type where high class hookers gather and show off their wares.”

  “He hires hookers? Why does he have to? He’s gorgeous.”

  “Maybe he has certain tastes that only hookers can satisfy.”

  Kate felt her core moisten. It was quite a thrill to fantasize about Rust O’Brien’s naked body entwined with a hooker. Who was most incorrigibly slim and beautiful, of course.

  “Anyway,” Michaela said, “I have the address.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, girl. Stacey cribbed the address on the card and the phone number, of course, before she put it back.”

  “Why would she do a thing like that?”

  “Because she’s got a thing for her boss too, like half the females on campus. And because we are all mighty curious as to his activities, you know.”

  “So what’s she gonna do?” Kate wondered. “Stalk him?”

  Michaela beamed. “No, sweetie. She’s not going to stalk him. We are.”

  3

  It was completely the wrong thing to do, of course. After all, what hope in hell did Kate have of ever landing Professor Rust O’Brien, right?

  But she found herself going with Michaela to the address Stacey Stack – who should be demoted if you went by work ethics – had given them. Her curiosity had taken seed. Besides, it was a fun afternoon activity for two best friends to bond over: STALKING THE PERFESSER 101. It was akin to waylaying a rock star at the airport or the concert dressing rooms.

  So they took the B-train and walked three blocks to the address concerned. Except that the sign above the door didn’t say: THE ALPHA MEN’S CLUB. In fact, it said: STEVE’S TATTOO PARLOR.

  Kate frowned. “Are you sure you’ve got the right address?”

  Michaela took out the slip of paper again. “It says so here.”

  “It says ‘476B’. Does B st
and for Basement?”

  A flight of steps led down to a basement establishment which did not have any signs or banners.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” Michaela said.

  At the bottom of the stairs, below street level, was an iron door. It was locked and bolted from the inside.

  “Well,” Kate said, “looks like it’s closed.”

  Michaela scrunched her face. “Or shut down.”

  “You sure it was here in the first place?”

  “Beats me. That’s the address she gave me.”

  “Maybe we should ask Steve upstairs.”

  “Hmmm. Sometimes, you do have the occasional light bulb moment.”

  They traipsed up the stairs again to Steve’s Tattoo Parlor, which was open. Inside, a swarthy guy was painstakingly drilling a tattoo of a butterfly onto the arm of a girl.

  “Are you Steve?” asked Michaela.

  “Steve’s back there.” The guy jerked his head towards a drawn curtain. “He’s tattooing someone’s butt.”

  “It’s OK. We don’t have to see Steve. We’re wondering about the place downstairs.”

  “What place downstairs?”

  “Is there a place downstairs?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  Michaela clicked her tongue in exasperation. “Is the place downstairs closed in the daytime?”

  “There is no place downstairs. Whatever it is has been shut down a long time ago.”

  “Really? What was it before? Some sort of club?”

  The guy shrugged. “I’m new here.”

  The girl who was being tattooed said, “Hey, give him the third degree on your own time, not mine, sister.”

  “Sorry.” Michaela rolled her eyes.

  They exited the tattoo parlor. But not before Kate saw the crafty look on the tattoo guy’s face. Now what was that all about?

  “Looks like it has been shut down a long time ago,” Michaela remarked.