Exposed (The Alpha Stranger) Book 2

Exposed (The Alpha Stranger) Book 2

By C.T.Sloan

The following work is for private use only and may not be re-published, all or in part, without express written consent of the publisher.

Copyright 2013 MC73 Publishing

I wake up at 6:30 a.m. The first thing I see is my digital table clock. The second thing I see is that receipt I found in the wastebasket from my second rendezvous with my anonymous lover. I pick up the receipt and stare at it. Yesterday, the object of my affection purchased his coffee at 7:30 a.m. at the Starbucks at 428 North Beverly Drive. My hunch is that he buys his coffee at the same location at the same time. From there, I can follow him and learn a little more about my mysterious lover.

I quickly hop into the shower, thinking about how crazy the past couple of days have been. Even though I have had less than six hours of sleep, my body is fully energized. A little crazy sex and lots of curiosity will do that to a girl! I get out of the shower and get dressed. At first, I put on my jeans, then I remember that it is a workday. That’s right. After I make my way over to Beverly Hills, I will have to head directly to work in downtown Los Angeles. The last thing I need to do is lose my job over my stalking hobby.

As I leave the apartment, I almost forget the receipt. I grab that telltale piece of paper and head to my car. It’s 6:50. I have about forty minutes to get to Beverly Hills from Culver City. Now, that should not be too much of a problem if I don’t hit any traffic. I am about ten miles away from this Starbucks location. However, with LA traffic, you never know what’s going to happen once you hit the road.

I decide to take the 405 Freeway up to Santa Monica Boulevard. Big mistake! The freeway is a parking lot. I check the clock. It’s already 7:05 and I have not even moved out of Culver City! Wonderful. At this rate, I’ll get into Beverly Hills by 9:00. Screw this. I’m going to have to take some evasive action. I get off at the next exit and decide to take the side streets over to Beverly Hills.

I speed up to Santa Monica Boulevard and head east to Beverly Hills. At 7:25, I hit North Beverly Drive and start searching for the Starbucks. Two minutes later, I find the packed coffee shop. I park across the street and scope out the place. It’s now 7:30. Made it just in time! In about thirty seconds, I see about ten people walk in and out of the coffee shop. They are doing some serious business. However, none of them resemble my anonymous lover.

A couple of minutes pass, I see an exotic car pull up near the Starbucks. It’s the kind of car that would turn your head on the Freeway but it’s completely normal in Beverly Hills. It looks like a Ferrari but I am not an expert in those kinds of cars. All I know is that it is all black and must cost more than the average house. The driver’s side door of the exotic car opens and out pops my anonymous lover!

My heart stops. I was totally right. He must come to this Starbucks location every morning. And that must mean that the handsome stranger lives somewhere in Beverly Hills. The thrill running through my body makes it hard for me to sit still. I watch as my anonymous lover walks into the Starbucks with a dapper dark blue suit draped over his perfect body. For a moment, I think about walking into the Starbucks and accidentally “bumping into him.” No, that would be way too creepy.

This makes the hurried trip out to Beverly Hills well worth it. There is something exciting about “watching” and “stalking” my lover whose name I don’t even know. For a moment, I entertain the possibility of following the handsome stranger to work. After all, we both spend the day in downtown Los Angeles so it wouldn’t be too hard for me. I stare at the front door of the Starbucks. Every time it opens, my heart jumps. A few people exit the coffee shop. But none of them are the handsome stranger.

About eight minutes pass when the Starbucks front door opens. The handsome stranger walks out with his Venti coffee. He walks over to his exotic car. I just stare at him with the biggest smile on my face. As the handsome stranger opens the door to his car, he looks across the street. All the blood drains from my face. My anonymous lover begins looking over in my direction. Oh fuck.
He is looking right at my car.
I duck my head, peeking every so slightly out of the driver’s side window.

The handsome stranger gives my car one more passing glance and then he gets into his vehicle. Alright, I’m scared. I’m actually shaking. I can barely put my hands on the steering wheel. I nervously start my car. My anonymous lover pulls out and begins to drive towards downtown LA. I start my car and begin to drive towards downtown LA as well. But I am not following him at all. I just want to get to work. No more stalking for me. That was a close call.

I take Beverly Drive towards the 10 Freeway. As I pull up to a stoplight, I see my anonymous lover’s car just ahead of me. Dammit! I see a giant Ferrari logo on the back of the car. Then I look into the driver’s side view mirror and see his face. If he looks into his side view mirror, he will totally see me! I lower my head until it is barely above the steering wheel. The light turns green. I don’t move. People behind me are honking like mad. I slowly accelerate my Honda and then I pull to the side of the road and kill the engine.

My body is shaking so hard right now that I can’t even drive. I lower the window and turn up the radio. I know I am going to be late for work but I don’t care. I need some time to recover from the morning’s insanity. It takes a good five minutes just to get my heart rate below one hundred beats per minute. When I feel calm enough, I start up the car and head to work.

I look at the clock. It’s about 8:00. So, I’ll make it to work on time. But I’m still shaking from that close call with my anonymous lover. This is going to be a long day. I turn on the radio and listen to some music. Then I turn on the air conditioner. As the cool air blows through my car, I notice the stranger’s Starbucks receipt bouncing around the passenger’s seat. When I get to the parking garage, I tear up that receipt into at least ten different pieces and toss it into the garage can. If I had a lighter, I would have burned that damn piece of paper and scattered the ashes.

***

I finish my day with the thoughts of this morning’s terror long gone from my mind. When I get back to the parking garage, I am excited to see another message from my anonymous lover. When I come to think about it, he probably didn’t even see me this morning. It was just my overactive imagination playing games with my head. I open up the piece of paper and find a key card. I read the hotel name on the card - The Beverly Hills Hotel. A big grin spreads across my face. I remember the stranger saying that this is his favorite hotel. The third time’s the charm! I read the message on the note –
10 PM. Don’t Be a Minute Late.

I rush back to my apartment and start to deliberate what to wear. I want to wear something hot. And there it is, in the back of my closet. It’s a little black dress that I have never worn before. I purchased it on a whim online. When I tried it on, I realized that the dress was way too “inappropriate” and revealing for me to wear at a club. Well, I think this is the perfect night to break this sucker out!

I put the dress and on my goodness. I just look like a slut. My tits are ready to spill out of the top of this thing. The skirt is about as high and as tight as a skirt can look on me. I put on some heels and head out of my bedroom. And wouldn’t you know it, my roommate is right there in the living room waiting for me.

“Yes, I know what you are going to say,” I tell my roommate.

“Really. Because I am at a loss for words.”

“We are on our third date,” I explain as I adjust my body in this tight little number.

“Yes. And you still don’t know his name,” Deb jokes.

“Trust me. I don’t need to know his name.”

“Just be careful.”

“I am. Look, the guy is nice. He just doesn’t want to complicate things with conversation. Actually, it’s a pretty good idea. This could be my best relationship ever!” I proclaim as I leave the apartment.

I hop into my car and head back over to Beverly Hills. As I drive up to the hotel, I catch a view of my cleavage in the vanity mirror behind the sunshade. Boy, the folks at the Beverly Hills Hotel are going to think I will be “renting a room by the hour.” Then again, this is LA. I’m sure there are thousands of girls going out dressed like this.

I get to the hotel and find myself in a line of cars waiting for a valet. In front of me is a Rolls-Royce and a Lamborghini. I’m pretty certain that I am driving the only Honda that will pull up to the valet this evening.


“Welcome to the Beverly Hills Hotel. You have arrived!” the doorman says as he opens the driver’s side door for me. The valet hands me a ticket and drives off in my crappy car. Lucky for him. I walk into the elegant hotel and admire the classy looking lobby. And much to my surprise, I am not the sluttiest girl in the room. There is an 80 year-old man there with a blonde who can’t be more than 25 years old. Ah, Beverly Hills. You never disappoint.

I look at the keycard.
Room 321.
I take the elevator up to the third floor. This time, I kinda know what to expect. I’ll walk into the room. The handsome stranger will jump me and have his way with my body. Before, I was scared. Now I am downright excited. I don’t think I could end my day properly without a nightly spanking and head blasting orgasm!

I find the room. I slide the key card inside and open the door. It is completely dark inside. Perhaps I am early. I close the door behind me and look for the light. As I reach out for the switch, I feel my body get lifted up off the ground. Alright, now I’m not excited. I am scared. I let out a scream. I feel a hand close over my mouth. I am carried to the unlit bedroom. I start to kick and lash out. My hands are cuffed and I’m thrown onto the bed.

“What is the number one rule of this arrangement?!” the stranger asks me.

“The what?!”


“What was the number one rule?!” the stranger repeats in a more forceful tone.

Tears begin to stream down my eyes. My lower lip quivers. “We aren’t supposed to know about each other,” I mumble. Fuck, I’m so scared I can’t even muster a coherent answer.

The lights turn on. The stranger turns me over. I look into his eyes. He is not happy. “I saw you across the street from Starbucks this morning,” he says.