Bitten by My Destined Alpha (R18+)

CLARISSE

“Oh, fuck, Amelia… right there.”

Her groan vibrates against my clit, a deep, rasping sound that shoots a fresh jolt of electricity straight up my spine. My hips buck, my fingers sinking deeper into the wet heat of her. The taste of her—salty, musky, perfect—floods my mouth as I circle her swollen clit with my tongue.

We were a tangle of naked limbs on the king-sized bed in our usual suite at The Grand Crest, the afternoon sun painting gold stripes across our sweat-slicked skin. 69. My favorite. There’s no hiding here. No politeness. Just raw, mutual consumption.

“You like that, baby?” Amelia gasped from beneath me, her breath hot on my inner thigh. Her fingers, slick with my arousal, stroked and plunged inside me with a rhythm that made my vision blur. “You like my fingers in your tight little pussy?”

“Yes,” I hissed, breaking my suction on her just to moan the word. “Don’t stop. Fuck me with them.”

I doubled down on her, lapping at her entrance, drinking her in, before zeroing back in on that hard, needy bud. My world narrowed to the scent of her, the feel of her, and the sounds she made.

“Clarisse… I’m gonna…” Her warning was a ragged pant. Her hips stuttered against my face.

“Come for me,” I demanded, my voice muffled by her flesh. “Come on my tongue.”

And she did. With a sharp cry that echoed off the marble bathroom, her body tensed, then shuddered. Her thighs clamped around my ears, a sweet, silent pressure as her orgasm washed through her. I rode it out with her, licking gently through the pulses until she went soft and pliant beneath me.

Only then did I let my own pleasure crest. Her fingers had never stopped moving, curling just right, and the sight and taste of her coming undone tipped me over the edge. My own release crashed into me, a blinding, white-hot wave that stole my breath and made my toes curl into the expensive sheets.

Eventually, I slid off her, collapsing onto my back beside her. Our fingers found each other, lacing together on the damp sheet between us.

“That was…” Amelia started, then just laughed, a breathy, satisfied sound.

“Yeah,” I agreed, staring at the intricate ceiling mural. “It really was.”

A comfortable silence settled. Then she turned on her side, propping her head on her hand. Her free hand traced idle patterns on my stomach. “So… when are you gonna tell him?”

I sighed, the afterglow leaching away. “Amelia…”

“No, seriously, Clarisse. We’ve been doing this for almost a year. This.” She gestured to our naked bodies, the rumpled bed. “It’s not just sex for me. You know it’s not.”

“I know.” I squeezed her hand. “And it’s not for me, either.”

“Then tell him. He has to find out eventually.”

A laugh, bitter and sharp, escaped me. “My father lose his mind. You don’t know him. To him, I’m not a daughter. I’m an asset.”

I turned to her, my heart aching. “I just want to live in this bubble with you a little longer. Where it’s just us, and it’s perfect, and no one is telling me I’m wrong for wanting you.”

Her expression softened. She leaned down, her lips brushing mine. A soft, promising kiss. “You’re not wrong. You could never be wrong for this.”

I kissed her back, deeper this time, trying to chase the cold dread away with her warmth. My tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting myself on her lips. My hand came up to cup her breast, my thumb sliding over her nipple. Maybe if I could just pull her back into the fog of pleasure, we could forget…

The click of the hotel room door unlocking was absurdly loud.

We froze, mid-kiss.

The door swung open.

And my father stood in the doorway, his tailored suit looking grotesquely out of place against the scene of our debauchery.

His face, usually a mask of cool control, went through a horrible transformation. Shock. Disbelief. Then, a rage so pure it seemed to bleach the color from his own skin. His eyes, the same shade of grey as mine, swept over Amelia’s naked form draped over me, over the obvious intimacy of our position, over the entire, damning evidence of who I really was.

For a second, there was only the hum of the air conditioner.

Then he exploded.

“What the hell is this?”

 “Dad, I can explain—”

“Explain?” he roared, taking a step into the room as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. “You are naked! With… with a woman! In a hotel room! Have you lost your mind, Clarisse?”

“This is my life!” I shot back, finding my voice. It trembled, but it was there. “My private life!”

“Nothing is private when you bear my name!” He pointed a shaking finger at Amelia. “You. Get out. Now.”

Amelia looked at me, her eyes wide with fear and apology. “Clarisse…”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, though nothing was okay. “Go. I’ll call you.”

She dressed with hurried, clumsy movements, not looking at my father, his gaze a physical weight in the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, the silence was even worse.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice now a low, dangerous rumble. “We are going home. Now.”

The car ride was a silent, icy torture. The walls of our penthouse seemed to close in the moment we stepped inside.

“I am waiting for this ‘explanation.” he demanded, throwing his keys on the hall table. The sound was like a gunshot.

I took a deep breath. The bubble was popped. Forever. “There’s nothing to explain that you didn’t see. Amelia is my girlfriend. Dad. I’m a lesbian. I love her.”

He stared at me as if I’d spoken in tongues. Then he laughed, a short, humorless bark. “Don’t be ridiculous. You will stop this. Immediately.”

“I won’t.” The words felt solid. Real. “This is who I am.”

“Then you leave me no choice.” His voice dropped, becoming chillingly businesslike. “You will stop this… this craziness. You will end whatever this is with that woman. And you will marry my business partner’s son.”

The ultimatum hung in the air. My future, reduced to a transaction.

“No!” I shook my head, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. “I will never be with a man. I’ve never wanted to. I can’t.”

His face hardened into the expression he used to fire incompetent executives. “Fine. Then you are no daughter of mine. You will be cut off. Disinherited. Not a cent. You walk out that door with nothing but the clothes on your back.”

“Then I guess I’m walking.”

His eyes widened, just for a second, before narrowing again*. “So be it.”*

I didn’t go upstairs. There was nothing in that gilded cage I needed. I turned on my heel, walked to the front door, and pulled it open.

“Clarisse!” he called out, one last time.

I paused, but didn’t look back.

“You’ll be back,” he said, and I could hear the smug certainty creeping back into his voice. “When you’re hungry and cold and realize what you’ve thrown away. You’ll come crawling back.”

I stepped out into the hall, the heavy door swinging shut behind me with a soft, definitive thud that echoed in the empty, lavish corridor.

And for the first time, I was free.