Mated To The Female Alpha

SORAYA

My mother always told me never to waste a good outfit on a boring and useless day. And I completely understand her, because imagine wearing Chanel just for you to not go anywhere while wearing Chanel; you just sit at home watching a movie, eww. Or wearing a Hermes to go out with friends and they cancel at the last minute.

Or you do your best to look your best to get ready for a date just for your date to ghost you and leave you stranded, and you're left looking stupid at a fancy restaurant while wearing Dior and drinking wine you did not plan on paying for.

Luckily, I did not get ghosted by my date. In fact, when I came in, he was there. I was scared for nothing, but I had my reasons because there have been loads of stories of women being stood up by their dates. I thought mine would stand me up and I'd be forced to look like a fool in front of everyone.

But he didn't. He came looking fresh and more handsome than he is in his pictures.

A six-foot-tall white man with his raven-black hair all gelled up, his nice full lower lips already make me think of kissing him; he smells really nice, of deodorant and aftershave too, and he dresses nice as well.

What he wears impresses me immediately.

He's in a cream jacket over a white tank top, paired with loose black trousers, chunky black shoes, and layered gold necklaces. The look is sleek, masculine and effortlessly cool.

He's a classic man, and I'm so happy that he's not a catfish because even in our conversations he sounded like a gentleman. He's a gentleman.

He helped me with my chair when I arrived, and I've got to say he's doing great so far.

He also complimented my look, and of course he did; even women outside the restaurant complimented my look; they always do.

I'm in a light yellow floral dress. The dress features a fitted corset-style bodice with spaghetti straps, delicate yellow floral embroidery, and an asymmetrical high-low skirt lined with tiered ruffles. I complete the look with strappy cream heeled sandals, simple gold jewellery, and a cream shoulder bag.

I always strive to look my best.

I actually wanted him to fuck up so that I could go back to not dating and being the ambitious girl my family and friends know and love.

But it's too late now. My two friends Diana and Celeste got me into a dating app, and surprisingly I didn't encounter any creeps as they did, and most women did. George and I clicked as soon as we matched, and I loved his vibe, and he loved my style.

I was in love with the fact that he knew how to dress, how handsome he is, the way he chats with so much intelligence and the fact that he's a rich man. Not that I care that he's rich; I can be a rich man too.

"So you've always wanted to be a fashion designer," he says, and I put my wine down after taking one sip from the glass.

"Yes, it has been my dream since I watched the Met Gala with my mom for the first time when I was eight. Before that, I was always making random sketches and imagining myself in outfits you never see in little kids, like outfits that will make me mog the other kids."

George giggles.

"It wasn't until I watched the Met Gala, seeing all those celebrities in nice outfits, that I knew this was what I wanted to do. Fashion is my calling. People at school had always admired the way I dressed so extra; I had loads of friends because of that. And my mom got me my first sewing machine when I was thirteen; I remember being so happy. I was finally going to bring my designs to life."

"That must have been the happiest moment of your life." he takes a sip from his red wine.

"It was, it really was." It feels like it was only yesterday that it happened, and oh Lord, I miss that era so much. "I have always wanted to create my own fashion brand, to see people wearing my outfits, people fighting for my clothes in the mall. Having my own fashion show, being my own boss."

"Wow, seems like you're a dreamer."

I giggle. "I am. I always have been. But I've got to say, my ambitious streak has put me in a pickle."

"How so?"

"My romantic relationships. I was too engrossed in my studies and my ambition that my relationships never ended well. I had my first boyfriend at sixteen, and I didn't really like him. I was only his girlfriend because my friends were dating, but he didn't really feel like he was my boyfriend. I wasn't even giving him attention; I was putting all that attention on myself. And because he didn't feel loved by me, he cheated on me."

"Whoa, I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be. That's the thing, I wasn't sad about it. I didn't really like him, remember?"

"Oh yeah." he nods, understanding.

"I think he was pissed off at the fact that I didn't care he cheated. He literally said my heart was made of stone."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, a lot of people called me the soulless lady in high school, but it didn't get to me; I didn't care." I shrug. "Now, my second relationship was..." I giggle. "Oh my God, I actually regret hurting him, and I really liked him, but ya know."

"Your ambition got in the way."

"Exactly, I literally forgot his birthday because I was too busy stalking Roxanne Vander Woodsen so I'd at least work as her assistant. I got the job, and I went to tell him."

George hisses. "On his birthday?"

I cringe at myself because every time I think of that moment, I do cringe. "I know, I know I wasn't thinking." I shake my head. "He yelled at me before breaking up with me," and I remember feeling really bad. I really liked him. That was the moment I realised I didn't care about anything else but being successful."

"Wow."

"I know, right? You probably want to run away right now, right? I laugh nervously, then I drink from my wine.

"Nah, not really. I completely understand because I've been in your shoes."

I drop the wine glass. "Really?"

"Yep, I'm ambitious too, and I've gotten dumped by women for not giving them attention."

Wow, imagine dumping this hot specimen of a man simply because he has goals to accomplish. People really don't understand us.

"There's no place in the dating market for us ambitious people. We're usually advised to date each other and leave the... not so ambitious people-"

I laugh because I get what he's saying.

"Well maybe they're right."

"They are, and I believe..." he takes my hand and rubs his thumb on it. I look at how nice his nails are and his fingers. God, this man is perfect; he's the man of my dreams for real, but it seems too good to be true. If he gets down on one knee right now asking for my hand in marriage, I'll say yes. And I know for a fact that I won't get married until we both get what we want, especially me, who has always wanted to be promoted by my boss.

"We are very compatible, and it feels like fate that we found each other. That's if you believe in that kind of thing."

I shake my head. "Not really, but with you it seems like I can make an exception." I wink, and then I'm also rubbing my thumbs on his hand. His hand is so strong, and I wonder what those hands can do.

God, I haven't had sex since Toby and I broke up. I wouldn't mind having sex with him right now.

"Uh, do you want to get out of here?" he asks.

Now, I don't know if making out with someone on the first date is seen as ethical, but I do know that both of us are in sync, and as he said, we are compatible after all.

His initial plan was to take me to his penthouse, but he just couldn't wait, so we've found ourselves making out in the alleyway close to the restaurant.

My panties are on the floor, and my dress is way above my knees. He's kissing me on my lips, while his long fingers grab the back of my hair. I moan so loudly, not caring who might hear or who might catch us. As I said, I haven't had sex, and I haven't had an orgasm in a long time.

And Georgie right here is making up for it.

My mom always says to never waste a perfect outfit on a boring and useless day.

I, on the other hand, think that if the perfect outfit is going to be taken off your body, then it should be taken off by a very hot man who knows how to kiss, and this man knows how to kiss.

Our tongues dance with each other, and our lips play a game of tag; he's inserted his long fingers into me, and I shout as he goes round and round, in and out.

I don't just want his fingers in there; I want him, and from the feel of his bulge, he's big, very big.

Am I about to have sex with this man here, right now?

He goes to my neck and plants kisses all over my neck. I moan softly, and I grab his ass while he does it.

He begins to bite, sending shock waves through me.

But then I no longer feel like bringing his pants down; I feel like shoving him away because of the way he's biting, biting and biting. I wince, and when I feel more pain, I shout, but not in the best way.

I manage to shove him away.

"What the hell-" I stop when I see what's in front of me. His lips are covered in blood, and his eyes are pitch black, but then his teeth- his teeth are what grab my attention the most. They're sharper than anything I've ever seen.

He doesn't look human anymore; he looks like a monster.

Once I register what's in front of me, I scream.