Surrogate For Alpha Dom

Cora

I’m gasping as we burst through the door of the motel, Roger quickly turning to force it closed behind us as the wind batters us, making his job hard. I pant, looking around, my eyes settling on the startled eyes of the gnarled little man sitting behind the front desk. I work hard to give him a polite smile as Roger grunts, finally forcing the door shut behind.

“Nasty weather out there, ain’t it,” the desk attendant says, giving us a toothless grin.

“Bit of an understatement,” Roger murmurs, straightening and looking anxiously over his shoulder as he moves forward to the desk. I follow him, my hand pressed to the papers under my shirt. Some of them the outer ones, I think – are probably ones feel dry against my stomach…

– are probably ruined, but the inner

“Well, you’ll be good and dry here,” the attendant says, giving us a happy little nod. “You lookin’ for a room?”

“Sure,” Roger says, shrugging and glancing at me. I nod and shrug back. We could wait it out in this lobby, I guess, but as I look around and take in the patchworked chairs and the musty smell…honestly, being able to sit down somewhere a little cleaner sounds good to

“We got room six,” the attendant says contemplatively, turning to point at a set of keys on the wall. “That’s our best room, but you gotta go out into the storm to get to it.” He points to a set of keys labeled “12” next. “Twelve ain’t as nice, but it’s just in the back of this building,” he says. “So you can stay inside, if you don’t want to get wet…” he turns back to us then and grimaces a little. “Or, well…wetter.”

“Twelve,” Roger and I say in unison, our faces serious. The attendant smiles at us and hands over the key. Roger nods and takes his wallet out of his back pocket, sliding some cash out and pushing it across the counter to the man.

Seeing the line of green bills left in Roger’s wallet, the attendant’s eyes light up. “Will you be needing any room service on top of that, then?” he asks.

“No,” Roger replies firmly and I’m grateful for it, thinking about what kind of delicacies a place like this might serve up. My stomach turns over a little at the thought of it. The man nods and tosses the key to Roger, who catches it in the air. Then, he takes my hand and

a polite smile and he returns it with a naughty little wink which makes me realize –

leads me firmly down the hall towards the rooms at the back of the main building. That guy thinks we’re a couple… that we’re going in here to…

motel with Roger Sinclair. And that we were going to go into a room, alone. With beds. To wait out this storm. Suddenly my heart. begins to pound as I follow Roger down the hall. Roger, perhaps hearing the change in my heartbeat, or smelling some physical change in my body’s scent, looks over

puts the key in the lock and twists it, pushing the door open to

ideas of scandal wiped from my mind as I go rigid at the sight of the water-marked ceiling, the rug with the mysterious stains, the television that looks like it might actually be

threat that it might just give up at

to the ground. There are windows at the far side of the room next

to the parking lot outside and a set of woods

clearly shows that the storm

kind of like it,” Roger murmurs, looking around, his

gasp,

with a little grin. “It’s very true crime, very ‘will they or won’t they get murdered.’ I like a motel room with a little bit of an edge. Keeps

somehow manage to roll my eyes and glare at him at once, dropping his hand and sweeping into the room. Roger laughs behind me as he closes the door. I quickly approach the slim bed in the center of the room, leaning over to take a good look at the stained.

the top.

it to the floor, revealing what actually looks like a set of crisp

crosses the room and sits on a wooden chair by the window, pulling off his soaked shoes. “I always took you for a girl

I murmur, pulling the papers out from under my shirt and placing them, along with my phone, on the bedside table. Then I turn my back to Roger and sit down on the bed, working at my own shoes then, wanting very much to be dry and warm Roger just chuckles and says nothing, though I feel his weight on the other side of the mattress as I pull

sock still dangling from my fingers. I can’t help myself, though, from glancing at the contours of his abs, which I haven’t seen. since that night when he cried in my arms. My mind flashes suddenly to that moment, the intimacy of it – but that’s all wiped away when

jumping up and turning towards him. “Where are your clothes!?”

little frustrated, gesturing to

floor and tossing his shirt on top of them. “They’re soaked.

me, then I think pleased to see how much he’s unsettled me with his nearly-naked body. Then, to my shock, he leans back. against the headboard, lifting one leg lazily

little bit as the first thought that pops into my mind is that he looks like a damn underwear model, laying there like