Lisia Alfy

Lisia Alfy

Ms Nauti

84.5k Words / Completed
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Introduction

*Podoba ci się to, co widzisz?* Zarumieniła się, wiedząc, że jej myśli są tylko jej własnością.
*Owszem, podoba mi się.* Jego gładka odpowiedź odbijała się echem w jej zamglonych alkoholem myślach.

Zaledwie na kilka sekund spotkała wzrok tego gorącego nieznajomego w klubie, a już wiedziała, że za pięć dni zostanie przez niego zdobyta! Niegrzeczna lisica Myra spotyka dominującego Alfa Króla Sloana, a gra pokus jest gotowa do rozpoczęcia.
. . .
(Ta historia zawiera treści dla dorosłych, mocny język i opisowe sceny seksualne, które nie są odpowiednie dla osób poniżej osiemnastego [18] roku życia)
. . .
Wszelkie prawa zastrzeżone (c) Nauti.Bear (lipiec 2020)
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About Author

Ms Nauti

Chapter 1

Myra

„Tato,” Myra zawołała, zbiegając z sypialni, narzucając brązowy kardigan na białą koszulkę.

Przy drzwiach wejściowych walczyła z zakładaniem butów, wołając ponownie.

„Tato, jestem tak spóźniona...” Spojrzała na swoje odbicie w lustrze w przedpokoju, próbując związać swoje niesforne, kręcone włosy do połowy pleców w niedbały kok. Nałożyła trochę balsamu do ust i wysłała całus do swojego odbicia.

„Hej, tato, możesz??” Zaczęła pytać pustą kuchnię. W domu panowała złowroga cisza, więc przestawiła się na swoje wyostrzone zmysły; wszystko, co usłyszała, to delikatne brzęczenie lodówki i lekkie kapanie wody z kuchennego kranu.

„Cholera!” Wykrzyknęła, gdy zdała sobie sprawę, że nikogo nie ma w domu. Wyciągnęła telefon komórkowy i wybrała numer ojca, próbując jednocześnie włożyć dwie kromki chleba do tostera.

Odebrał po drugim sygnale. „Myra?”

„Tato, czemu mnie nie obudziłeś?” zapytała, dotykając dzbanka z kawą, żeby sprawdzić, jak ciepła jest jeszcze kawa.

„Jesteś jeszcze w domu?” Zdziwił się, „Przepraszam, kochanie, mieliśmy dostawę z samego rana i musiałem odebrać Benjiego,” wyjaśnił, a w tle słychać było głośne hałasy. „Poczekaj chwilę.”

„Tato... argh!!!”

Wyciągnęła swój ulubiony kubek termiczny i nalała do niego świeżą kawę.

„Kochanie, przepraszam, że cię nie obudziłem, ale jesteśmy teraz zajęci. Porozmawiamy później, dobrze?”

Klik

„Cholera, tato!” Przeklęła, patrząc na rozłączone połączenie. „Dwadzieścia jeden lat, bez samochodu i beznadziejna... to ja.”

Próbując uspokoić swoje pędzące, gorączkowe myśli, poczuła zapach przypalającego się tosta. Szybko go wyciągnęła, ciężko wzdychając, smarując go masłem. „Mam dwadzieścia minut przed rozpoczęciem zajęć, mogę się przebrać i pobiec... ale będę spocona i gorąca przez cały poranek. Może mogę zadzwonić po zastępstwo na rano i mieć leniwy poranek albo po prostu zadzwonić, że jestem chora.

Oparła się o wyspę kuchenną, gryząc tosta, marnując czas na rozważanie różnych opcji. Nagle jej telefon zawibrował, a na ekranie pojawiło się imię Megan.

„Hej, suko.”

„Cześć, dziwko, potrzebujesz podwózki?” Megan zaśmiała się.

„Nie wiem, jak to czasami robisz... ale kocham cię teraz tak bardzo. Jak długo?” Zanim zdążyła dokończyć pytanie, klakson samochodu zabrzmiał z zewnątrz. „Już idę.”

„Nie potrzebujesz mężczyzny albo zabawki, żeby to osiągnąć?” Rzuciła złośliwie, a potem się rozłączyła.

Myra pokręciła głową, szybko chwyciła swoją torbę do pracy wiszącą przy drzwiach wejściowych i wybiegła z domu.

„Jesteś wybawicielką.” Myra przywitała się z ulgą, wsiadając do Range Rovera Megan. Pochyliła się nad konsolą środkową i pocałowała Megan w policzek.

Megan uśmiechnęła się, wrzucając bieg i wyjechała z podjazdu. „Możesz mi się odwdzięczyć, przychodząc dzisiaj do klubu.”

Myra próbowała uniknąć prośby, zmieniając temat. „Jeśli dzisiaj pracujesz, to jak to się stało, że jesteś na nogach o tej nieludzkiej godzinie?” Myra zażartowała, spoglądając na swoją najlepszą przyjaciółkę. Zauważyła, że Megan nie miała na sobie makijażu tego poranka, a jej naturalna, jasna oliwkowa skóra lśniła w porannym słońcu. Miała swoje czarne jak smoła włosy związane w wysoki kucyk, a okulary przeciwsłoneczne odgarniały jej grzywkę z twarzy.

"Tata zapomniał swojego lunchu; rozmawiałam z nim przez telefon, kiedy twój tata mówił do ciebie. Pomyślałam więc, zagrajmy dobrego Samarytanina, a może uda mi się namówić ją, żeby wyszła dzisiaj wieczorem." Megan uśmiechnęła się, zauważając, że Myra próbuje unikać tematu.

"Namówić to dobre słowo."

"Poza tym, stolarnia Gallaghera dostarcza do domu Jamisonów, a te wilki mogłyby mnie schrupać w każdej chwili." Megan westchnęła marzycielsko.

Myra uśmiechnęła się złośliwie do Megan. "Myślałam, że to Baron Anderson cię teraz chrupie? Czy to nie dlatego nie może znaleźć części do mojego Jeepa?"

"Hej, dziewczyna potrzebuje różnorodności... i to nie moja wina, że nie potrafi robić dwóch rzeczy naraz."

"Dziewczyna potrzebuje pasa cnoty..." Myra mruknęła pod nosem.

"Ale mam ciebie."

Myra udawała zaskoczenie, "Suka."

Wkrótce zapadła między nimi wygodna cisza, gdy muzyka z iPhone'a Megan grała przez głośniki samochodu. Myra uśmiechnęła się do siebie, myśląc o ich przyjaźni.

Megan była jej najlepszą przyjaciółką od dziesiątego roku życia, kiedy jej ojciec zaczął pracować dla stolarni Gallaghera. Oboje rodzice Megan są zmiennokształtnymi wołami, jednak Megan była adoptowana i była w pełni człowiekiem.

Razem z Myrielle, starszą bliźniaczką Myry, były trójką muszkieterów, zawsze wpadających w kłopoty, zarówno w szkole, jak i poza nią. Kiedy dorosły, Myrielle poszła na studia z rachunkowości, podczas gdy Megan i Myra zdecydowały się studiować pedagogikę. Myra ukończyła swoje szkolenie i teraz była nauczycielką drugiej klasy, podczas gdy Megan rzuciła studia pod koniec drugiego roku. Odkryła, że taniec przynosi więcej pieniędzy, a nocne godziny uwalniają jej dni.

"Jak tam Myrielle?"

"Ciężarna i wygląda coraz bardziej jak wyrzucona na brzeg wieloryb... po szkole idę ją odwiedzić i zabrać jej trochę zakupów."

"Zamężna i ciężarna. To przerażające, ale znalazła sobie przystojniaka, więc kto mógłby ją winić."

"Zapomnij o wilkach Jamisonów, które mogłyby cię schrupać... Myrielle pierwsza by cię zjadła, gdyby usłyszała, że tak mówisz o Benjim."

"Tak, tak... partnerzy mogą być obsesyjni i ochronni. Może jestem człowiekiem, ale mama i tata nauczyli mnie, jak zachowywać się w towarzystwie sparowanych par." Megan powiedziała od niechcenia, skręcając w ulicę, przy której znajdowała się szkoła Myry.

"Jesteśmy na miejscu... z trzema minutami w zapasie." Skomentowała, parkując na szkolnym podwórku.

Na terenie szkoły było pełno dzieci w różnym wieku, a także kilku rodziców i nauczycieli nadzorujących je przed pierwszym dzwonkiem.

"Dzięki, kochana. Jesteś moją bohaterką."

"Nie ma sprawy. W duchu dobrego Samarytanina, myślę, że po drodze do taty zahaczę o warsztat Frankiego i poproszę ich, żeby przyspieszyli z tą częścią do twojego Jeepa."

"Po prostu powiedz, że masz ochotę, żeby Baron cię podrapał." Myra westchnęła, zbierając swoje rzeczy. "Przynajmniej jedna z nas byłaby obsłużona."

"Z tymi wszystkimi eufemizmami na seks, jak myślisz?" Megan mrugnęła.

"Idź podrap się, kochana."

"Och, zrobię to. Miłego dnia, panno Myro... i zadzwoń do mnie, zanim wyjdziesz od Myrielle."

Pocałowały się na odległość, gdy zabrzmiał pierwszy dzwonek.

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