Gambling for the Virgin
Author: Angel, Dark
Date: 2017-05-16T07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: com4; done12; Romance; ident; JeanneP
Description: Her body's for sale. But I want her soul... She wants to sell her body to me for cash. Says I'm the only one with enough power and money to help her. And how can I resist saying yes? With my wealth, I can buy any damn thing I want. And God, the things I want to do that body... I can't tell you out here how I'm going to turn her around and squeeze those delicious globes of hers and run my thick python lust muscle between her cheeks as we look out the window at the city I own. Or how I'm gonna shoot her into orbit five or six times as a warm up before I take her to levels of bliss so powerful th
Publisher: Naughty Angel Publishing
Rights: Copyright 2017 Alexis Angel. All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

- Epilogue - Ashley
- Epilogue As Told By Brittney
- Second Epilogue - As Told By Brittney
- Epilogue - Fiona
- Description for Gambling The Virgin
- Also by Naughty Angel Publishing
- Dirty Lil’ Angels
- A Note From Alexis and Lana
- Another Word From Alexis
- Lucy
- Gian
- A Note From The Authors
- Daddy Please
- Tara
- Marcus
- Yay! You just finished Daddy, Please!
- Scandalous: A Secret Baby Dark Romance
- Lance
- New York Daily Journal
- Jocelyn
- Michael
- A Goodbye From Lance
- Scandalous is done! Now on to Client 5!
- Client 5: A Bad Boy Next Door Dark Romance
- Arsen
- Ashley
- Client 5 over, on to Man Chaser!
- Man Chaser: A Secret Baby Dark Romance
- Ethan
- Brittney
- Time For Some Cocks…Err I mean Cox
- Fiona Vs. Football Player
- Fiona
- Danny
- And Finally, More Gian and Lucy
- Gian and Lucy - The Honeymoon

Gambling For the Virgin

A Dark Billionaire Romance

Alexis Angel

Naughty Angel Publishing

Contents

Description for Gambling The Virgin

Also by Naughty Angel Publishing

Dirty Lil’ Angels

A Note From Alexis and Lana

Another Word From Alexis

1.
Lucy

2.
Lucy

3.
Gian

4.
Gian

5.
Gian

6.
Gian

7.
Lucy

8.
Lucy

9.
Lucy

10.
Gian

11.
Lucy

12.
Gian

13.
Lucy

14.
Lucy

15.
Lucy

A Note From The Authors

Daddy Please

16.
Tara

17.
Tara

18.
Tara

19.
Marcus

20.
Tara

Also by Naughty Angel Publishing

Yay! You just finished Daddy, Please!

Scandalous: A Secret Baby Dark Romance

21.
Lance

22.
New York Daily Journal

23.
Jocelyn

24.
Lance

25.
Jocelyn

26.
Jocelyn

27.
Lance

28.
Jocelyn

29.
Lance

30.
Jocelyn

31.
Lance

32.
Lance

33.
Jocelyn

34.
Lance

35.
Jocelyn

36.
New York Daily Journal

37.
Lance

38.
Jocelyn

39.
New York Daily Journal

40.
Lance

41.
Jocelyn

42.
Lance

43.
New York Daily Journal

44.
Jocelyn

45.
Jocelyn

46.
Lance

47.
New York Daily Journal

48.
Jocelyn

49.
Lance

50.
Jocelyn

51.
Lance

52.
Jocelyn

53.
Lance

54.
New York Daily Journal

55.
Jocelyn

56.
Lance

57.
Michael

58.
Jocelyn

59.
New York Daily Journal

60.
Jocelyn

A Goodbye From Lance

Scandalous is done! Now on to Client 5!

Client 5: A Bad Boy Next Door Dark Romance

61.
Arsen

62.
Ashley

63.
Ashley

64.
Arsen

65.
Ashley

66.
Arsen

67.
Ashley

68.
Arsen

69.
Ashley

70.
Arsen

71.
Ashley

72.
Arsen

73.
Ashley

74.
Arsen

75.
Ashley

76.
Arsen

77.
Ashley

78.
Arsen

79.
Ashley

80.
Arsen

81.
Ashley

82.
Arsen

83.
Ashley

84.
Arsen

85.
Ashley

86.
Arsen

87.
Ashley

88.
Epilogue - Ashley

Client 5 over, on to Man Chaser!

Man Chaser: A Secret Baby Dark Romance

89.
Ethan

90.
Brittney

91.
Ethan

92.
Brittney

93.
Ethan

94.
Brittney

95.
Ethan

96.
Brittney

97.
Ethan

98.
Brittney

99.
Brittney

100.
Ethan

101.
Brittney

102.
Ethan

103.
Brittney

104.
Ethan

105.
Brittney

106.
Ethan

107.
Brittney

108.
Brittney

109.
Ethan

110.
Brittney

111.
Ethan

112.
Brittney

113.
Ethan

114.
Brittney

115.
Ethan

116.
Brittney

117.
Ethan

118.
Brittney

119.
Brittney

120.
Epilogue As Told By Brittney

121.
Second Epilogue - As Told By Brittney

Time For Some Cocks…Err I mean Cox

Fiona Vs. Football Player

122.
Fiona

123.
Danny

124.
Fiona

125.
Danny

126.
Fiona

127.
Danny

128.
Fiona

129.
Danny

130.
Fiona

131.
Danny

132.
Fiona

133.
Fiona

134.
Fiona

135.
Danny

136.
Fiona

137.
Danny

138.
Fiona

139.
Danny

140.
Fiona

141.
Epilogue - Fiona

And Finally, More Gian and Lucy

142.
Gian and Lucy - The Honeymoon

Gambling For The Virgin

A Dark Billionaire Romance

By Dark Angel

Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

Join the Dark Angels Newsletter and receive personalized bonus chapters each week!

Description for Gambling The Virgin

Her body’s for sale. But I want her soul…

She wants to sell her body to me for cash. Says I’m the only one with enough power and money to help her. And how can I resist saying yes? With my wealth, I can buy any thing I want.

And God, the things I want to do that body...

I can’t tell you out here how I’m going to squeeze that heart-shaped rear and run my cock between her cheeks as we look out the window at the city I own.

Or how I’m gonna shoot her into orbit five or six times as a warm up before I harass her so good that she can’t walk the next day.

But I will tell you this…

She’ll be coming back for more.

Because she wants it. She says she doesn’t. But I know she does.

When she’s around me, she can’t control herself.

But I want…more.

It’s not enough to just own her body.

No, I want something more. Something that she can’t sell. Something that she has to give.

I want her heart.

All of her. Everything. Every dang word, deed, and thought.

Till death do us part…

Dedicated to Lara

Also by Naughty Angel Publishing

Wicked Lil’ Brat

Man Chaser

Red & Blue

Scandalous

Client 5

Jailbait

Python

Men of the House

12 Inches

Woman of the House

D.I.L.F.

Dirty Daddy

Dirty Lil’ Angels

Hi ladies!

If you’re like me, once you finish, you’re not going to want the story to end!

To receive exclusive sneak peeks, (before anyone else!), bonus content not seen anywhere else, giveaways, and tons more swag, visit me and my Naughty Angels on Facebook at Dirty Lil’ Angels.

We’ll make it worth your while…

:)

Kisses!

Alexis

A Note From Alexis and Lana

Well hello there, ladies!

If you’ve read any Alexis Angel, Mona Cox, or some other titles from Naughty Angel Publishing, then you know that we’re all about fun and the sexy sexy.

But there is a part of us that likes sexy sexy and still wants to be dark. Like pink and fluffy is only fun when we also explore the cold and dark parts of us, ya know?

So just be aware here, that the pages ahead are not going to be the happy go lucky sex romps that end in sweet love stories like you’ll find in other Naughty Angel Publishing books.

Sure, there is a HEA and no cheating or cliffhangers. But there are some dark and mature themes here that have potential triggers and it’s good that you know. It’s definitely a lot more dark in it’s tone, but we enjoyed putting it together and hope you like it as well.

Kisses!

Alexis xoxox

Lana xoxo

Another Word From Alexis

Hey babes!

Amazon has a problem with Page Flip. If you’re hitting the end of this book, and it asks you to go back to the first page, then PLEASE DON’T. If you’re reading on Kindle Unlimited, none of the pages will get counted as a read.

Even if it’s asking you to go to the beginning and review, please close the book at the page you end at after the story - there is a bonus book after this - and then review if you need to.

The Page Flip issue seriously kills page reads for me, so I’m thanking you in advance!

Love!

Alexis xoxoxox

1

Lucy

My small apartment feels safe to me now because I don’t want to leave the four tiny walls of my bedroom.

Not dressed the way I am. The scent of freshly laundered clothes clings to my nostrils, and sets me further on edge, rather than comfort me. I can’t feel at ease leaving home with what I'm about to do.

I can't possibly do this. I won't. That’s what I try and tell myself, because accepting this is hard to do. I grew up without role models. Without parents, for much of my life. No one tried to instill a sense of self-worth in me because no one was around to do it. The remaining members of my family all died in a family reunion house fire, but I'm still fighting the battle to have dignity and to maintain it despite any challenges that life throws my way. And if I do this thing for which I’m preparing, I lose any thread of that integrity I’d hoped to retain.

But I have to think about why I’m doing this. Why it matters more that I give up my self-worth. I'm doing this for my brother. He’s spiraled down as far as I can stand to see him go. The truth is, his drug and alcohol and gambling problems are already so out of control, I don’t know if there’s any further down he can fall. Me? I have almost nothing. In fact, all I have is him. So this is the sacrifice I make because my integrity matters less to me than my brother’s life. If I don’t save him, he'll die. And because I'm poor, and I have nothing but a dead-end diner job, and because I’m not sure what else I want from life, I'm in the unique position of having just one thing to give.

I’m a virgin. I can give my virginity to one of the most notoriously ruthless, cutthroat casino owners that my brother owes the most money to. Giancarlo Sandoval is a notorious womanizer if the rumors are to be believed. I hope they are, because I’m hanging all my hope on it. The tang of fear is sliding down my throat with the chemical sweetness of lipstick further turning my stomach.

Rapping my fingernails nervously on the old wood of my vanity table one last time, I take a final look at myself in the mirror's reflection. I hope that I’ve done a good enough job with this makeup, and with this outfit, to catch his eye and make him consider my offer.

If I knew better what men wanted, I might not still be a virgin. The truth is I’ve never taken a real interest in men, in sex, or even in makeup or looking all that attractive.

Trying to help my brother has consumed the last seven years of my life, and now it has come to this. I’m staring at my too-pale face in the mirror, eyes ringed with more eyeliner and eyeshadow than it has seen in all the previous years of my life combined. A blazing red lipstick coats my lips with a luster that says ‘pay attention to me’ when all I’ve been content to do in the past was to go unnoticed. I smack my lips together, then make a kissy pout to the mirror.

I think I look exactly like someone trying to look desirable. I hope that reads well when Giancarlo sees me. I want to look the right amount of desperate, so that he’ll know I’m really willing to go this far. Hopefully, he’ll keep his word if I get him to entertain my offer.

I run my fingers through my hair one more time, tousling it so that I know it looks as good as it possibly can. I have my hair down in cascading auburn waves, the ringlets actually framing my face instead of being in their usual ponytail.

Looking over my reflection as if I’m looking at someone else, the hollow smile I spread over my face is as empty as I feel. Standing, I think about how I need to be strong. The time to be disgusted by my plan is ending now. Now I’m walking out of my apartment, and into Giancarlo Sandoval’s casino. Now, I’m the girl who’s going to try as hard as she can to strike a deal. I can’t be focusing on how badly I don’t want to do this.

The truth is that I don’t want to do this, but I also don’t want to suffer any of the consequences of not trying. I have nothing else to consider.

When I discovered my brother’s ledger, I was horrified by the story the numbers told. I saw the names, and after Googling for confirmation, I saw that all of these men owned casinos. I knew Tommy gambled. Tommy gambled, drank, slept with a ton of girls, and did whatever drugs came along for the ride. And he’d stopped working a long time ago. When he was doing well, he had tried to shower me with gifts. He bought me this vanity, telling me in one sober moment that he remembered our mother having one like it. But when things weren’t going well, he was scribbling in that ledger he kept in a small memo pad in his coat. His hair was too greasy and unkempt, and he stayed drunk, or high, or both. When he passed out in my bathroom, that ledger had fallen out of his pocket.

Circled so many times there was a hole in some parts of the pages where the tooth of the paper against the pen couldn't hold, and there was the name, Giancarlo Sandoval, and a number so large I gasped.

The numbers told me that he needed money. Well, that’s what they told me at first.

But the reality is that I need to prevent what the note written next to Giancarlo Sandoval’s name is forecasting.

‘Collecting or grave.’

Grave could only mean death. I have to do something about that. I can't let my brother get killed by some scummy whoring casino owner.

I have to stop the collection, which I know isn't going to be through angry phone calls or letters. It's going to be mobster trash, frankly, and I have to make some kind of deal.

My brother is my only family. I'll do anything for him. That's why I feel so conflicted. I know I'm going to do this. It's wrong, but because I need to save my brother—I'm the only one who can—I'm going to do something so wrong. For the right reasons.

Intention hardly matters. What matters is what I become. I'm going to offer my body to Giancarlo Sandoval. I'm a virgin, but I know brutish men look at women as a battle they get to conquer. I don't want to be a prize, a price, a payment.

I can't acquire money for my brother, but I can stop the collections. At least on this one major debt—a debt that can have such horrific consequences for my brother.

I walk out of my apartment, and when I hear the door close behind me, it isn’t like every other time I've left my apartment. It isn’t just the click of my heels on the tile outside of my unit. It's the metaphor in the sound of a slamming door that resonates with me.

People say that when life closes one door, another one opens. Well, I have no reason to believe that’s true unless I’m the one opening the doors. When my brother couldn’t take care of me, I used that chance to get a job at a diner. I used to think it would just be to afford school supplies, and clothes as I was still growing. But I’ve worked at J City’s Diner for the past five years now, and that’s just how it has to be.

Now I have to save my brother from getting his limbs chopped off by some mobster … and then I’ll figure out what to do next after that.

It's scary. I want to have a better plan. I do. But I have no idea what that plan is yet.

Those thoughts make me stop walking right here on the stairs, and I can’t breathe for a second.

But I think of my brother, and I know that if he's ruining his life, unable to stop making these terrible decisions, or get a hold of his addiction, then I'll get him free of at least his debts with the only currency I have. I work hard to be an independent woman, but in the end, it comes down to the fact that I'm still a woman. I need to use that rather than ignore it, because if Giancarlo accepts my virginity in exchange for my brother's debts at Giancarlo’s Wicked Paradise Casino, then I can turn this awful reality into something good. It just takes one vile act.

It's despicable to offer my body up for payment. An exchange of parting my thighs for a pardoning of a debt? I can’t keep gripping my steering wheel this hard because I'll squeeze it off. I hate to drive angry. Driving is supposed to be the calming activity that I do every day, and now, driving over to Wicked Paradise, I’m ready to explode with all the fury burbling in my belly.

I wonder if my brother fell apart one bad choice at a time.

Even if this leads to my own downward spiral, it's my choice to take this chance. I have to try and save my brother. He matters more to me than myself. I grip the steering wheel hard, this time because I’m parking and steeling myself for walking into the Wicked Paradise Casino. I breathe deep my last breath as a free woman.

2

Lucy

When I stroll inside the casino, it isn’t hard to find him. Some people like to be the center of attention, and that must be the case with Giancarlo Sandoval. I spot him instantly. Undeniably, that’s him.

That breathtaking jawline, those sharp features … he’s older, but age has done nothing to make him less attractive. I can’t imagine a younger version of him being any more attractive than he is now. He’s got a single gray streak in his dark, tousled hair that accentuates how sexy he is.

I have to take a moment to appreciate his face. Giancarlo is a wicked man, but his face is a thing of beauty. The lines on his face aren't etchings that mar, they're character that adds to the carved-from-marble look he has. I bet his body, obviously fit beneath his suit, is just as David's Michelangelo. Really, his whole body is worth looking at an extra second or two.

Idiot, I'm trying to keep my cool, and I'm looking at his soulful, too-charming eyes, and his devious come-mess-with-me-I-dare-ya grin.

I shouldn't be attracted to him. Mostly, he repulses me. So just looking at him now, in person and not the pictures of him online, I shouldn't be having this strong of a reaction to him just because he’s attractive. I’m not the kind of girl to care more about looks than anything else. Giancarlo may be attractive on the outside, but it's the inside that would — and should —count, and make me interested in him. The kind of man who would take me up on this offer—and there's no doubt that is the kind of man that Giancarlo is, which is not a man who I can be attracted to.

The concept of owning someone's virginity is disgusting. The idea that this is my only power as a woman because I have no money, no fancy job, and not even a completed nor fancy education, is despicable.

Right now, Giancarlo is a demon to me. Handsome and distracting and willing to take a piece of my soul … I hope. That’s not the sort of thought you have about a good man. That’s the sort of thought you’d expect to have about a man who owns a casino called Wicked Paradise. He looks devilishly good and he's oozing charm, but it's people like him who will do anything, take anything, and have anything, and that means we can't play by the nice rules of a pleasant society. He's good at being a shady mongrel, but he's far from the only shady mongrel. Men like him rule in every office, on every street, and on the board of every big company.

I'm a small person of no worth except that I have a pussy that hasn't been entered by a man.

So instead of bemoaning these facts, or begrudging his attractiveness, I have to stay focused.

Still, my mind wants to wander, stalling me so that it feels like my heels are literally dug into the plush carpet of the casino. As close as I’m standing, just a few tables away, I'm going to have to approach him soon anyway.

Scanning the room, I see women wearing outfits that resemble my own, except their outfits are several shades stronger than what I've attempted to pull off. Their heels are higher than mine. Their tops are cut much lower. Their makeup is more dramatic. I wonder if I’m doomed to fail because I didn’t quite dress the part. I can’t attribute this colossal failure on making myself up to not having a mother during my teenage years … I've completely avoided any dating whatsoever. It occurs to me that I’ve never found a man who I’ve wanted to mess.

Looking at Giancarlo makes my stomach heat in a way that I’ve never felt before, and I don’t know what to think about that. Is my body trying to cope with this horrible ordeal I want to put it through? Even if an experienced lover like Giancarlo Sandoval takes my virginity, the mental toll of having sex with him is of course a frightening prospect.

I wonder why, then, I’m a little bit excited by the idea now. It must be because he’s attractive. But that’s so shallow! I think, as I’m watching him so intently now, it's because I recognize something in him. I recognize it because I feel it, too.

Giancarlo Sandoval looks like he wants to be absolutely anywhere but in Wicked Paradise. Oh, I can agree.

I wonder why he feels that …

But I don’t want to think about that. Making him human makes me more terrified. If he’s another person in my mind, then I have to fathom why he’d be willing to accept my offer. Yes, even though I want him to, it still isn’t pleasant.

I don't have to wonder why I've never met a man I wanted to mess. I'm happy to be a virgin because I don't have the time or desire to deal with any of the messed up things in this world.

The only man I love is my brother, Tommy, and he's falling apart in front of me. Other people I've had in my life—so-called friends—called me weak when I said that my brother just needed help. Because we have no family and I'm all he has left, I have to be stern with him. It's no excuse for his behavior. His gambling, alcohol, and drug addictions are the reasons behind his actions, but they don’t remove him from needing help. They don’t erase his humanity, as if him making those choices invalidate his right to being healthy and happy. Tommy’s just having a much harder time getting there, and he needs help. If I knew what to do to help him, I would've done it. I've tried so many times to do just about anything that I can think of. My friends all fade away because they think I need to cut him from my life.

How can anyone be so callous?

So many people are ready to feel high and mighty above Tommy.

This is why I have a hard time connecting to people. I can’t relate to how shallow people can be, how completely devoid of empathy. Haven’t they ever loved someone so much that they’d love them unconditionally? Why is it so difficult for them to understand that when you love someone, you aren’t condoning all of their actions … you just love them regardless.

Well, I love Tommy unconditionally. I love him enough to do anything for him.

I love him enough to debase myself, because I don't think I'm better than him, or worth more. I'm taking the only thing I have to offer, offering it to this scummy prick Giancarlo, and I'm going to get my brother the help he needs and keep him from getting hurt.

The people who have all fallen out of my life because they already thought I should give up on Tommy, those people would judge me so much for this decision.

But I don’t feel wrong for my actions. I feel vindicated.

I'll sleep with this devil, and I’ll take the marks on my soul in exchange for saving Tommy, every step of the way that I can. And when Tommy’s well, then we'll never, ever, come near places like this or people like Giancarlo, ever again. I won't defile our lives like that. We’ll get far away from this nightmare city and live in some quiet town that gives us both a chance to start over.

After all, there are diners everywhere. I can get a new job. I can pack up and leave and find us a new place.

Tommy and I are the only family that we have. We have a right to be happy.

A few moments or hours of whatever unpleasant fate awaits me with Giancarlo is nothing compared to taking care of my brother and finally being able to see him smile again. A real smile on Tommy’s face, one that he means, one that he isn’t wearing just so that I’ll stop worrying … I’d do anything for Tommy to feel like he can smile again.

I feel the first smile I’ve had in a long time spread over my lips, despite the terror that sends a shiver through me. I watch the way Giancarlo’s hands grip his glass and I'm transfixed by it. I realize now, fear washing over me, that when Tommy is okay and doesn’t owe Giancarlo Sandoval … I have to find a way to make it look like I did anything else but harass a casino owning gangster to erase one of Tommy’s debts.

I should have a better plan, but this is my only one. He owes Giancarlo Sandoval more than he owes anyone else, so I figured I should knock down this opponent before he does something to my brother. I'll worry about the rest and make more money, pull more shifts at the diner, and get him into a rehab facility so he can get help. One step at a time, I'm going to save us both.

This is the thing about having to play dirty. I don’t want to do it, but I can and I will do it in this messed up world to make sure something good like my brother and my only family gets to exist, and not fade away because Tommy very well may disappear if I don’t do something. I can’t handle him dying. And I can't be bothered to care about what others might think of what I’m doing because I need to take care of my brother.

That includes that little voice in me that seems to get silenced when I stalk toward Giancarlo Sandoval. My mouth runs dry and I can’t believe I’m thinking about the size of those hands compared to various parts of my body. I’m thinking about what it might feel like if he touches me, and that’s so strange to me. I’ve never even fantasized about being with a man before. Now, the one man I've decided to sleep with, but who is also the last person I think I’d want to sleep with … I’m picturing what it would feel like to try and catch my breath because he's on top of me. I can’t breathe now.

I want to clear this picture out of my mind.

But maybe I should focus on how attractive this pig is. The man who would hurt my brother somehow turns me on, wrong as that is. But I need this feeling.

I can use this feeling. Use this burning under my skin that makes my pulse speed up and play the role of the woman offering herself up to him even better than I could've imagined.

I need to make him want me and I'd be lying if I told myself I didn't want him. I do. How could I not? He's cursed attractive! It's certainly a part of how he gets away with everything he does; Giancarlo Sandoval is an unholy amount of charming. His charm takes the sensible part of a person, and melts it down to their core. Seriously, it feels like someone dropped an ice cube in my panties. If they did, the heat looking at this man could melt it. My stomach still turns, and twists even further, but I find that I kind of like the way that I can’t feel myself in control. It's like my brain is just a little too hazy at the notion of him touching me. Talking to him.

I'm already wondering what his voice might sound like. I want to hear him say my name.

Use this desire to get what you want. Be just like him. That’s what I tell myself. I have to think this way, and be ruthless.

This is the only way to save Tommy from an impossible situation with an improbable plan.

Now that I'm actually doing the deal, standing right beside Giancarlo, I’m motivated to feel confident. I let myself get caught up in the moment, and now my thoughts are taking me down a winding road where I can barely see past the headlights of what's coming next on this messy road. I’m already hazy-minded with growing lust. But this sense of being less in control now, urges me to play this game with every drop of resolve that I have.

I have power, and I'm going to use it. I'm not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

I can do this.

It doesn’t feel so bad to be not as in control. There’s a thrill in me now. Somehow I’m taking the biggest gamble I've ever made in my life, and instead of being sick to my stomach, I’m exhilarated.

But when I'm close enough to smell the fresh, masculine scent of him, I’m downright terrified.

Oh goodness, can I actually do this?

3

Gian

The lights and sounds of the Wicked Paradise Casino are the sort of dull roar that doesn’t even penetrate my senses. I shove my fingertips against the green velvet of the game board. Finger the ridges of a chip. Clench my fists so hard. Hold my cold glass, my skin drinking in the condensation. The voices of the people around the table fade away, everything does.

Then one voice cuts through everything and it's like I’m feeling things for the first time.

"I'm Lucy, and I want to make a deal." A feminine voice cuts through the crowd inside my casino and directly into my ears.

I hear the sound of another person wanting something from me.

Another person propositioning me. I get women all the time who think they can get money from me, get something shiny from me, all because I have this reputation. One that I don’t do anything to discredit, but that doesn’t serve me trash because I haven’t been with a woman in a very long time. I choose not to be. I have absolutely zero interest in anything that flits in my direction.

So why does something tug at me in this Lucy’s voice? Why does her request make me interested, when it should do the exact opposite?

The air is thicker with the tension rolling off her, the shake in her voice so minor that a lesser man wouldn’t notice.

But I’m no lesser man. I’m as skilled as they come in the arts of reading people, manipulating people, and getting what I want. My skills help me hear the conflict permeating her voice. The air seems thick with it.

Lucy’s hate toward me emanates like dark curls of smoke…and I'm not interested in that. I don’t need more people around me who want something from me and openly despise me.

“If you have just a moment for me,” Lucy says in a voice that is firm, but has the faintest tremble. Why does that bring life to my dead senses?

I also hear the desperation in her voice and wonder what more there is to her story. That’s the part that interests me, and I don’t know why.

The only needs I serve are my own. I learned a long time ago that the only way to keep myself strong and safe is to ruthlessly look out for only me. That’s served me pretty dang well — I own this casino, the Wicked Paradise, and near countless other holdings in my empire that I let my accountant worry about. I spend most of my days in this casino because it's the perfect coffin for me while I drink through every rotten day and everything seems to pass me by.

It's been a long time since I cared about anything more than my empire, which I only treat as my distraction. It satisfies my urge to own things, control them, and build more power.

So why do I care about some honey-voiced girl who walks up to me and tells me she wants something?

Desperation is everywhere, and normally I pay no attention to it unless I’m actively seeking to take advantage of it. But now? Now I find myself wanting to know why she’s desperate, and I have this creeping suspicion that I actually care beyond my own purposes.

Why?

How?

I thought those parts of me died when I decided to care about nothing but my businesses. The last thing I cared about tried to destroy me. A wife, a woman, something so far in the past for me that I can’t be bothered to even think about them now. But I can’t help but see how I built everything I have by losing something I never had … and now this girl makes me start to want things that the last woman made me give up on.

I turn to look at her. I have to see what face, what body the enchantress’s voice belongs to. Thoughts I may have had about ignoring her are deleted from my mind. She's gorgeous. The most beautiful legs, luxurious dark hair, and the saddest eyes I've ever seen. Her hazel eyes want to be happy, but her body is tired. The soul behind her skin is aching. I go from not giving a idiot about her plight to feeling an intense ache to touch her. I haven't had a woman in years. I told myself that after my wife, that was a gamble I'd rather not make again. Women throw their pussies at me all the time, but I have no interest in some random idiot.

Now I wonder what long-legged Lucy wants. I can't breathe for a second when she steps closer to me, and then I catch the scent of her like winter and cherries. Idiot, I want to taste her.

"My brother owes your casino a lot of money. I'm offering you me in exchange for you erasing his debts. One night, and you cross out everything he owes, and I'll be keeping him from coming back." Her voice—she's trying so hard to be strong. But there's a pain that brings a waver. She's not asking for enough, and she's afraid I'll say no.

But this woman is offering me the very thing I have to have from her the instant I laid eyes on her. Lucy doesn’t have to know that she turned my normally rational thoughts to cinders, and all I want is to harass her. I mean, after all, she came here to offer me the one thing she thinks I care about more than anything. She’s telling me what matters to her more than anything.

Of course I’m going to give it to her. She doesn’t have to know what an easy mark I was though … I want to play with her. Knowing I'm going to help her, I want to see her struggle just a little bit more. It'll make it taste even sweeter when I erase everything that troubles her.

"What makes you think I'll just want to forget you? I can idiot any woman I want, and I want my money." I don't know who her brother is, but if he owes me enough that Lucy is offering me her pussy, I doubt it's a small amount.

"I'm a virgin," Lucy says with passion in her voice. Clearly a cover for the insecurity she faces at being a virgin — and because of that, I know she isn’t lying. That and the fear coming off her in waves. Fear that she's going to get turned down for what I know has to be her last resort offer.

She's wearing what she probably thinks is the outfit to catch the kind of man whore she thinks I am. But there's far too much class in her simple outfit to just be slutty. A pencil skirt that hugs her so tightly it makes me want to tear it off. But if she's going for hussy, it should be so much shorter. I find it delicious that she doesn’t know any better. Same with that little peek of flesh at the top of her silky blouse. This is how an attractive woman dresses, but the kind of trashy outfit you wear to get a man to forgive a huge debt is supposed to be much more sinful. It sells me even further on her purity. Either she’s the world’s best actress, or she’s desperate and unsure of what to do. My money’s on what I read, because I haven’t read someone wrong since the last woman I cared about.

So Lucy put on this outfit and drug herself to me, to beg. She's trying to get my interest, and she's managed to succeed because if I don't get Lucy out of those clothes and into my bed, I'm going to lose my mind.

I take a deep breath and feign consideration, lifting my glass to my mouth and drinking down the rum. It should burn going down. It's one of many I've had tonight. But maybe it can be my last when I close this deal. I can't come off like the eager hound I am right now. I'll maintain my own affected smoothness and accept this deal without letting her know just how much I’m on her hook already.

Idiot, what did I do to deserve such a blasted angel on long porcelain legs?

Of course. Her brother. He clearly has a problem. So it's Lucy’s pain for her brother that 'earned' me her offer.

I make plenty of money on pain. It's the driver, the currency, and the blood in the veins of my empire.

Lucy steps closer and I see the tops of her thigh-high stockings peeking from under her skirt. It's a tight pencil skirt—sexy on her and the thigh highs are a very nice choice, but it already shows she has far more taste than any of the countless women who throw themselves at me all the time.

The sight of her sexy, wrapped legs is when I know she's walked into my lion’s den and I'm going to devour her. Lucy knows she came to be my prey, but I know she has no idea what's in store for her.

Her hand closes over mine as I let go of my glass. Her eyes capture mine; her head following me down and then up. She's got me, sure, but she has no idea how trapped she is. Her skin on mine makes electricity surge through every part of me that died when I gave up on love. Gave up on sex. But idiot if Lucy doesn't revive me and revive every urge that I’ve had dead for so long. My cock is steel in my suit trousers, but erections were never the problem.

She's the first woman to make me give a single dang idiot about anything other than money. The sadness and pain in her calls me to her; her sorrow mirrors my own. I know that I’m only going to bring her more sorrow. She doesn’t want this. I’ve accepted the monster that I am, and I accept it again now. If the price for having Lucy is destroying her, I’ll accept myself for the monster I am again. I get what I want at any cost.

"Sure, I'll erase his debt,” I tell Lucy, letting my eyes cascade over her face again.

Her hands squeeze mine, and there's a grateful look in her eyes. And fear. So much fear. Her eyelashes flutter for a second. She inhales sharply.

"But that's a lot of money,” I say in a low voice, even though no one is listening to us right now. It wouldn’t matter if they were. I get everything I want, and right now I want Lucy more than anything I’ve ever wanted. “I’m not keeping you for the night. I'm keeping you permanently."

4

Gian

That fear in her eyes fights with the hope that courses through her. How can she have so much hope? I'm taking her whole life away and she's still thinking about how I'm going to help her save her brother.

Squeezing my hand again urgently, she's trying not to sound like she's begging. Her voice is smooth. But I can smell that fear, see it with the hope in her hazel eyes. She’s fighting herself, but she’s going to win what she needs. I’m winning what I need. I try to look anywhere but at her lips when she continues. “If you're taking me that long, you're clearing all his debts, and you're getting him in rehab."

Ballsy as idiot. I love Lucy's strength now; I wonder if I say no just how hard she's going to push. But I hold back making her suffer, at least in that way, right now. I take her hand and slide it into my trouser pocket.

No, baby girl, that cock so close you can feel the heat coming off it, is not what you're reaching for. Yet. I close her hand over my penthouse key. "This will get you in the room with the code," I tell her. I crook my finger indicating for her to lean down. When she does, that's when I stand so that she falls against me, and I pull her close. I can't help it; I need to feel her body now. Especially because I'm going to find out the deal with her brother before I take Lucy’s virginity. She’s mine now and I want her so bad, but I have to know what kind of a deal I’m making.

Idiot, Lucy should be confirming this. She's got this big plan and she's not even certain that I'm not just going to harass her, and then not give two trashs about her brother, or his debt.

I'm not going to do that, but she doesn't know that.

I don't think Lucy trusts me. I knew when she called me out that there was hate in her voice for me. But she has to trust me enough to believe I’m keeping my word. Well, that innocent way she hopes for the best is going to be her undoing.

For a second, that hope in her rubs off on me. I want her to enjoy me her, but grandiose ideas form in my brain because a spitfire like her could be my queen.

But that's far too much hope for a man like me to have. I can buy anything, have any woman, but when would I ever find a true partner who would trust me and matter so much more?

I know that’s never going to happen because that's something you can't buy. And I'm buying Lucy.

"The code is 9567," I whisper. That's the code that activates my cameras specifically for someone entering my penthouse with a given code. I'm a paranoid idiot, but this is certainly a much better use for the code than I ever thought I would need. "Wait for me, naked. I'll cancel your brother's debt to me now, and then I'll take what belongs to me."

I bring a hand down the small of her back. I could be so lewd, but I let it fall without touching her more. I don't want her too scared.

I’m about to leave her, even though I don’t want to, when someone breaks through the air around us. In a room full of people, I wouldn’t notice anyone else but this person is shouting at Lucy.

"What are you doing here? With him?” an angry voice slurs, obviously drunk. I can tell by the hair, the eyes, that this is Lucy’s brother.

“Tommy, look, you need help and I'm going to do the only thing I can do to help you get that--" Lucy says, and I know that’s the truth.

Tommy cuts her off. "You want to put me in rehab, I get it, but what's the point, Luce? I'm going to backslide right back into being a disaster. If they think I ain't good for the money, then I'm taken care of, too. So, just let me be out of your hands, Lucy. You're wasting your whole life on me--"

"That's enough,” I interrupt this time. I won’t listen to anyone talk to Lucy this way. And I can’t take the way I see her tremble in pain at his words. “If you had any sense, Tommy, you'd listen to your sister instead of, gambling, and drinking away what's good in your life. As of right now, you're a free dang man. Your sister can't say the same thing. She's willing to give up everything for you—and you're going to the best dang rehab there is." I put my hand on his shoulders and make him stand tall. This is pathetic, how his sister will give up everything and he'll just sooner wallow in nothing.

Lucy's pain is palpable. I can't help myself, and I turn to stroke her cheek. She doesn't recoil, which after how she reacted toward me earlier, is really shocking. I can see a look of appreciation in her eyes. Idiot if I don't deserve that trash. Lucy's a blasted angel and I'm a jerk willing to drag her down to perdition.

I look up at her from the drink I'm grabbing without thinking about it. I put it down without drinking it. I wanna be better. I do. But I rarely even think about how much I drink and now suddenly I have the willpower to set down the drink and call it a night. "I'm going to make sure Tommy is well taken care of. He'll go to the best facility. Now."

Tommy starts to open his mouth but Lucy shoots him a withering look. "What's done will not be undone," she says, and there's something faraway in her voice. The ominous way she doesn't want to tell her brother that I'm going to harass her, well, I'll let that slide without some kind of remark on my part. Lucy is making a sacrifice and I want to honor the way she feels about her family. I may never have had anyone give a idiot about me even one iota as much as she cares about her brother, but I can recognize it when I see it. I pick up my phone and I call one of my staff members.

And now that I’m thinking about something more than Lucy’s sweet pussy, I do know who Tommy is. When I see Tommy, I know his last name. I know who he is. I know how much he owes not just me, but I have a pretty good idea of how much he owes just about everyone you don’t want to owe in this city.

But none of that matters because the deal is going to be done and I’m going to have Lucy.

I'd do anything for Lucy to have one ounce of that hope she has for her brother, just one ounce to be in my direction. I'm a blasted fool, because owning her isn't the way to earn her. But I guess I'll take what I can get.

I'm foolish as idiot. I never settle. I always get what I want. And I've been okay with being alone.

And now Lucy walks in and puts her hand on me, and I'm practically wrapped around her finger. Of course, wrapped around her finger or not … she still belongs to me. I’m not exactly going to lie down and give her any power. She can’t even know the power she has over me. And when I’m done with her tonight, she’ll barely remember anything before tonight.

I’ve been out of the game for a while, but I know how to mess. And I know how to mess Lucy so well that she forgets everything before tonight. Forgets ever being afraid, maybe.

"You're taking Tommy to Sutherland, and you're to pay everything. When he has visiting and communicating privileges and visitation, only Lucy is permitted."

Antonio dutifully responds and I hang up.

I turn to Lucy. “Go up to my penthouse," I say. I let my eyes veer toward my drink. "I'll make sure everything is sorted out and I'm going to be up in a couple of hours. Make yourself comfortable." She starts to walk away and I walk toward her, deleting all the space between us a little too fast. I have to get away from my drink, and I have to tell her these words now, even if its a darn lie. "It's going to be okay," I say. I want to reach out and touch her face again. Phoo. I can't resist. I do. I see that she's gritting her teeth. Lucy doesn't recoil, but she's only letting me touch her because she has no other choice. Even if she might enjoy the touch, she doesn’t want to. A decent man would leave her alone and help her out of the goodness of his heart. But I’m all out of goodness, and I have plenty of money. That’s why I have so much more money than most everyone else. I don’t do what a good man does; I do what a wealthy and powerful man does.

Lucy’s strength only makes me respect her moxie more. Lucy is tough as nails, and she has more willpower than I'm betting myself and her brother have combined.

It's really a blasted shame I'm even in her life.

But that's about as sorry as I'm going to feel for myself now because tonight, I'm sinking my cock in her and watching her come undone around me. How much my life has changed in this one minute, no one knows. People still assume, not just Lucy, that all I do is mess around. It doesn't matter to them that I'm married. I rarely see my wife and no one—much less her—has any expectations for me.

There's no way that Lucy knows I'm married. I realize this now. She's a sweet girl, willing to do something that's pretty crazy, but I know she's going to be pissed if she finds out. I say if, but trash that people aren't supposed to know has a point of biting someone in the rear. Because I’ve got to get in front of that, I resolve that I'll tell her that I’m married. But not tonight. There's enough for her to take in and take on that she doesn't need one more crazy thing to deal with. I'll deal with that later. Is that a mistake? Sure, probably, but I don’t ask permission; I don’t apologize. I forge ahead no matter what happens. Lucy is mine. Keeping her happy isn’t exactly sunshine and roses. I’ll take care of her brother, and everything else is going to have to fall into place, no matter how messy that might be.

"I'll be upstairs in a few. I'll make sure Tommy is taken care of," I say again, letting her know that she can go ahead and go to the penthouse now. That would've been clear before, but I couldn’t keep my hands off of her.

5

Gian

The truth is, I'm not taking care of much. Tommy will be taken care of, but I'm a billionaire casino magnate and I don't need to worry about taking care of my own trash most of the time. I'll deal with a few things, mostly coordinating things, and then I'm going to watch Lucy on my cameras once the key code activates them. I want to stalk her every move. Partly because watching her when she thinks she is alone turns me on, and part of me has to watch because I have to know the truth. People reveal the truth when you’re watching and they think they are alone.

I'm a paranoid man. After what happened with my wife, well, that's wise.

But I'll be sure to vet Lucy. I agreed to this out-of-the-blue agreement, and I'm letting her go up to my penthouse. I'd be an even bigger fool than I already am if I took all this trash sight unseen. If she has any ulterior motives, then I'm sure to glimpse them before I head upstairs.

Antonio shows up in a few moments. He looks at my glass, and then looks away so quickly that he probably thinks I didn't notice. I doubt he would dare if he knew I could see him.

I'm not one for needlessly terminating my employees, but it has happened. More than once. When I terminate an employee, it's no light-handed issue. I take away everything they value, in front of them, and then theirs is the last life I take.

Now, is that a little irrational? Perhaps. But for me, it's a matter of respect. Still, my senses are now over-activated in my need to see every little detail about Lucy. I'll relax, for now. I’m not exactly a powerful man if I have to swing my toe constantly for everyone else to see, anyhow. Antonio is a good employee.

"Get me a water and get Tommy transported. Special care. No bruises, but he has to comply. I don't want a scene." Lucy wouldn't like her brother getting banged up or gathering media attention, and I trust Antonio to keep either from happening.

I call Lorenzo. "Wipe Tommy off the books, clean slate, and line up meetings with the other Heads of State, because they're taking him clean with them, too." In some ways, doing mob trash really is just running a business. When it comes to this city, we're the ones who rule it. And having an assistant schedule your meetings isn’t all that different. Lorenzo is an assistant … with a talent for strangling people I want gone, but an assistant nonetheless.

Lorenzo says the affirmative and I hang up. He's gotta be shocked with what's going down and so quickly, but of course he's not going to show it. I never let anyone know every reason why I do something, and this is no different. I keep my enemies and my friends confused, and that’s how I stay safe.

It should be fairly simple to set everything up to save Tommy, really, despite all the money involved. And that means I won't have anything to distract me from Lucy.

However, I do know one particular idiot is going to be a problem—Luke Gravos. He's not just any rich idiot, he's a dirty biker groin who has zero dang class as far as I'm concerned. He wears the suits when he needs to, but he's a dirty biker at heart. Being a rich kingpin spanning plenty of industries and supply chains ... he's not going to take lightly the notion that I'm looking to make a bargain with nothing much in it for his rear. I mean, there are things I can offer, but I know how he thinks. The honor behind it and the value behind it for me, that's whats going to set him off. I dial his number now, praying for voicemail. Surely he's burying his toe in something too dirty to come to the phone right now, and he'll appreciate that I made the effort to reach out and I'll deal with his scummy rear tomorrow.

The phone rings three times and I'm thanking my lucky stars.

"Y'llo?" the idiot picks up.

I grit my teeth but take care to relax my mouth before I respond. "We need to come to terms on something you won't like.” I make a swift turn for the camera room—not the one the regular guards use, but the one I have on a panel that takes me to the cameras for the penthouse. "We'll make it easier for you to like.”

I want to turn on the cameras right now.

Luke's breathing on the other line. He wants me to listen to him take his time, because he knows me calling him like that puts me in a position where I need to make him happy.

I figure I'll go ahead and turn those cameras on without sound. I can at least look at her. She'll be in there, soon. My cock jerks in my trousers, so ready to see her. Soon, to hear her and feel her.

"Yuh, tomorrow, four, your place. Square?" Luke sounds to be in a better mood. Distracted, even. That could work to my advantage. If he's already got nothing on his plate, then maybe I'll close this deal we'll have to make faster than I expected.

"Four's solid. Thanks," I say. I'm grateful. I hang up and look at the cameras.

She's stepping inside, tentatively. Lucy doesn't know I'm watching her, so she's not putting on a brave front. I can see she's terrified. Her body is practically trembling, but when she uses the key on the door, she's making use of a few deep breaths to steel herself.

Breathe, baby girl. I'm going to take such good care of you.

Of course, she's starting to get a little less tense, but then it rises again. This is a lot to take. Seeing her in this kind of distress makes me want to reach for a glass, but I'd rather take a drink of her than down the bottom of a bottle. I groan. Lucy is walking around the rooms. She sits on the couch. Then the bed. She can't seem to decide what to do. It's pretty clear that if she's up to something devious, she hasn't actually worked up the nerve to do it. But, really, she just doesn't know what to with herself. Lucy already laid all her cards on the table.

She's a caged animal. And I'm a sick idiot because that gets my cock rock hard.

This is the best I can hope for—Lucy will never want me because of me, she's going to enjoy me despite herself. It turns my stomach to be such a pig, but I push that down just like I push down every fiery crackle inside me until my soul is cinder and ash.

Lucy is fidgeting and can’t find out where to sit or how to be. Getting up from the sofa, avoiding the elegant wingback chair (perhaps she rightly assumes that chair is mine and it kind of touches me that she doesn’t want to sit there), and heading back to the massive bed, I watch her run her hands over the edge of the bedspread. Lucy is lost in thought. I would love to know what she's thinking.

Though I bet I wouldn't exactly love her thoughts.

I'm just so fascinated with her.

I want to see those long legs slung over the bed and I want to be between them.

Lucy bounces up and heads toward the bathroom mirror. I watch her and she's looking at herself in the mirror. Her jaw is going slack, her eyes are more hooded now. She's looking at herself with scrutiny, and there's an unmistakable fog of lust in her eyes. Her fingers tuck under her blouse and she pulls it up over her head. The cups of her silky, lacy lingerie are promising the creamy peachy flesh beneath to me.

I grip my cock over my trousers. Idiot.

She unzips the skirt and the panties she's wearing, idiot. They have a little butterfly over her pretty pussy and the rear is sheer with a peekaboo hole peeping over the top of her rear with a ribbon. Idiot. This is not slutty lingerie. The outfit, the lingerie, she's got a sophisticated taste for what is sexy and it's my dang undoing. I could have any skank out there, and even though Lucy thinks skank is what I like, she put this on to come and offer up her virginity.

Her hands are smoothing over her body, appraising every sensual inch of her. The sight of her hands gliding over her perfect body is so sexy. But she gives her body disapproving looks. Her eyes go down her long legs and she steps out of her heels. She looks away from the mirror, her sexy lips frowning with her mouth downturned in a pout. Lucy hightails away from the bathroom and rushes to the bed, crawling under the covers. She's shivering, but I suspect that these tears have more to do with her suffering than any temperature. I can't have this. I have to go to her now.

I flick off all the cameras and rush out from the panel, not caring if my exit is less than conspicuous. She's not up to anything and I've taken care of everything. I don't want Lucy crying. The tears streaking her cheeks, her knees pulled against her chest, her head resting there. Idiot. I can't have that. I want to make her feel better, even though I know that I'm why she feels this way.

Idiot, that stab makes me want to go step out of the elevator and just let her be up there, all alone, all night. I could be alone around all the people in my casino. I could ... but I told her I would be up there and if I don't come up there soon, that's just more time for her to fear my arrival. What if I try to be kind and leave her alone all night, and the anticipation just destroys her?

That’s definitely a possibility … and there’s the fact that if I don’t put my hands on her soon, I’ll lose my own dang mind with a very different kind of anticipation bubbling inside of me.

So I keep going, allowing the elevator ride to bring the surge to my stomach that the spiced rum I like to drink would do for me. I want to taste her, and not the burn of alcohol right now. I don't think I want another drink ever again. I don't want the haze that it keeps me in. I want to be clear-headed.

I'm destroying Lucy's life, sure, but I don't want to be some drunk jerk doing it. I can at least be a sober one.

Zander appears when the elevator opens on a floor just before my level. "Sir, there's an issue--"

"I can handle it in the morning," I cut him off. I want to get to Lucy now, there's unlikely to really be something so pressing that it can't wait.

"Well," Zander swallows. "Your wife," he says in a lowered voice, and pauses. "The morning, yes. I'll take care of it from here." There's something that passes over his eyes. Zander is the one who's been watching Tara's descent. If he wants to get caught up with her, that's a heck of a move. I don't harass her. Not after what she tried to do to me. I don't care if anyone else idiots her. But I'm not sure if he knows that, and yet here he is, quite possibly taking that risk. Dang. Well, he said he was going to take care of it. That's a problem for later.

I walk past Zander and he waits a beat and comes after me. "Luke Gravos. He's going to be a problem tomorrow, too."

I turn on my heel and look at Zander. I see the frustration on his face. I don't blame him. "And how do you know that?"

"Seems before you'd made your decision about Tommy, well, he'd made one too. So he's going to be more interested than you'd like. I'm on it," Zander says, straightening his jacket. I get it. He's gotta tell me, but he doesn't want to be in the position of delivering nasty news. But he's gotta let me know.

I nod and start to walk away. I don't look back to his face when I deliver the next line. "If you're Tara, that's your problem. If you wanna go there, that's your mistake to make. I won't be chopping your toe off or anything, though."

I don't have to look. I knew when I saw that face that he was planning to do something more than just make sure Tara didn't cause more problems. When he took an interest in her, I could see this trash coming from a mile away. That's his bed of snakes to lie in, I've got nothing to do. Luke Gravos better not do a blasted thing to Tommy or demand way more than he's worth for any of this. That said if it's written all over my face that I'm all wrapped up in Tommy's sister, that's the kind of trash Gravos would use. Idiot all this trash. She's up there in tears and I just want to make them go away. If I really cared about her, I'd help her with everything in my reach and I’d ask for nothing in return. I wouldn't make her give me her virginity, and especially now when I know she's so fragile.

Except, I'm cinder and ash in my soul. My heart is charred and soaked in the alcohol I drown every day in. I'm not about to do anything out of the kindness of my heart. Really, I'm not so different from Luke Gravos. He's just trashy no matter how nice his suit is. He'll be biker trash no matter how many legitimate and illegitimate businesses drown him in cash. I just happen to be able to get my riches in legal ways and I don't idiot skanks. Not anymore. Not ever again.

But my cock? About to be buried in heaven while I drag dear Lucy right down to perdition.

Goodness of my heart. Is that some kind of joke that my brain even considers that? I never do anything without getting something in return. Several somethings. I manipulate and deal my way into everything I want.

6

Gian

I'm at the door and I step in, taking care not to bust in and scare her half to death, but I wouldn't exactly knock on my own door, would I?

"Mr. Sandoval," Lucy says, hastily wiping her eyes on the back of her hands and then pulling the sheets up over her body.

"Giancarlo," I tell her. She doesn't need to call me Mister. Though it does sound sexy rolling off her cherry lips. But what wouldn't? "Come over here and let me see that gorgeous body," I say, licking my lower lip as she steps up.

Her hands are shaky and she wants to cover herself.

I capture her wrists. I’m not going to just take her. I’ll make her want me. It won’t be hard, because she’s afraid about what’s to come, but I also arouse her. I saw that behind the hate in her eyes before, and I can see it in the fear in her eyes now.

"You're not gonna cover yourself in front of me, ever, Lucy," I say. That’s just the way it's going to have to be. I can’t have her hiding herself from me. I have to have her beautiful body open for me. I want her to want it to be open for me.

She shivers when I say her name, so slightly, and then looks down at her own body. "I ... I just don't feel comfortable in this." I listen to her tentative words. I want her to talk instead of being frozen in fear. It doesn’t matter what she talks about as long as she speaks instead of shivers. Anything is better than seeing her fall apart like she was, crying in my bed earlier.

I suck in a breath. But this is what I chose to talk to her about and I can’t avoid this. I don’t want to. I need to see the fragile parts of her. Lucy doesn’t know that wanting her makes me vulnerable in a way that I never am. "How do you feel?" I know that I should be getting to the part where I harass her, because I'm going to harass her. Despite myself, though, I want her to talk. I want to know what she's thinking. I can't have her sad like she was earlier. I don’t want to harass a sad Lucy; I want to bury myself inside a woman who's beautifully bare before me and knows that she wants me in her body.

Lucy licks her lips and parts them slowly before she finally answers. ”Stupid." She admits the truth about how she feels.

I can tell by the way she tears the word from her lips that she's telling the truth, which I can appreciate. But Lucy’s dead wrong. "What you did for your brother is brave," I say, wanting her to know the truth. I don’t want her to be frightened, but I'm practically growling with the raw power building inside me at the need to let her know that she’s not some stupid girl. I want to defend her, from herself it seems. I don't know why I react so strongly to Lucy. But I can't let her think this. "Not stupid."

Lucy leans closer to me, still in my hold, but her eyes are cast downward. Her body wants to be closer to me, but her mind is still so fragile. Still, she’s not closing up and she’s talking to me. “No." Lucy shakes her head. "I feel stupid because I look ridiculous. I tried to pick something sexy but --"

I can't let her finish that sentence; I'm so shocked by it. "You don't look stupid." I force myself to stay still. I want her to hear my words and know that I mean them. Not touching her more, but keeping my hands over her has its own kind of power, and that’s the kind of power I need for my words to hit home for her. "You're so sexy and you don't even know it. You figure I idiot all sorts of skanks who throw themselves at me all the time?" I run my thumbs over the soft skin of the underside of her wrists.

I see her breath catch in her throat. Lucy is afraid of me, afraid of what's happening, what's going to happen. But she can feel the bolts of electricity connecting us now. Her body responds to mine the way mine does to hers.

"Well ... yeah ..." she runs her teeth over her lower lip, "but I don't know how to be that."

"Skanky?" I laugh. "Yeah, that's clear."

"I know..." she says, looking down, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

"I didn't mean that as an insult. Quite the opposite." I press my forehead against hers, and then lean back to kiss it. "Because you look dang beautiful. You're the most sensual woman I've ever seen. You have no idea how beautiful you are. Never feel any less than that. And for the love of all that is good in this world, don't wish to be a skank. You're more than that, Lucy. There's no one like you."

Something passes between us. She lets herself lean a little closer to me now and lets her eyes follow. Even as little as it is, she's closing some of the space between us. Lucy feels whatever this is happening now, and she’s letting herself feel it now. That’s the drop of desire that turns the entire tide of the ocean between us.

The shift between us drives me to release her wrists. I run my fingers up her arms, watching her skin react to me.

She's swallowing. Her eyes are widening.

"I want to kiss you, Lucy," I tell her and crook a finger under her chin. I tilt her face to look at mine. Those wide hazel eyes look up at me, and I don't see her fear. I see that beautiful hope lighting up her wide eyes. It destroys me. I know I'm no good for her. I'm the end of all things good in her life, in her. But I can't resist. I need her.

"I..." Lucy's voice trails off. "I thought you'd just..."

"Rape you?" I say, my voice dripping with anger despite my attempts to keep it at bay. Lucy has every reason to think that. She doesn't know me. "I don't want to take what you're offering, I want you to give it to me." It's a lie on my part. I do want to take it. But not the way she's thinking. I want to drown in Lucy, pelt myself to death with her pleasure and make her collapse in ecstasy. I want her to be spent and exhausted when we're done. I want to wrap her in my arms tonight and forget about everything I have to deal with tomorrow. That's the truth. I can't tell her that I'm so pathetic.

"I didn't think it was going to be about me at all," she says and sucks in her lips. "I didn't know you'd want to kiss me," Lucy says and looks back up into my eyes. "I want to kiss you, too, Gian," she says, and presses her face closer to mine, closing her eyes and parting her lips. The 'zhuh' in how she shortens my name. The way those wet cherry lips look parting for me.

I can't keep the animal within me at bay. I'm not gentle. I kiss her, holding her face to mine, and my tongue has her, has her mouth. I'm claiming her, taking her; I'm taking everything. The passion between us makes my cock jab into her stomach with need. I'm practically trembling with how much I need her. I'm aching for her. The current between us is a live wire. Her mouth tastes like vanilla heat, the warmth of summer, and the soul of something eternally good. I don't release her, I breathe through her. I breathe her in. I need her. I'm kissing her deep and tasting everything good in her soul. Everything wicked in mine is teasing her, touching her, claiming her. I'm covering her in my wickedness.

Lucy moans into my mouth and I can't take it anymore.

I wrap my arms around her body and hold her close to me. I run a hand to the small of her back and feel her soft skin. She's untouched, so innocent, and I have her all to myself. That moan destroys me.

Lucy breaks the kiss and gasps for air. Her eyes are wild when she looks at me. "I've never… no one has ever kissed me like that before. I'm dizzy," Lucy says, grinning. I don't know if she knows she's smiling. Her voice is confused but her face says it all.

I like you, too, baby girl. This is just the beginning.

"We've barely even started. I'm going to kiss your pussy even better, and you'll be more than dizzy." I can't help myself. I stalk toward her and close the space between us. She has to lie down on the bed. I part her legs with my knees and lower myself until my face is right next to the fabric of her lacy butterfly.

Lucy gasps. "Oh goodness," she says so quietly.

In a minute, she'll be saying my name again, if she can form words. I'm going to eat her pussy like it's the end of the world.

7

Lucy

Gian is not the same man to me as Giancarlo Sandoval. I thought he was a man who was there to destroy me. He's kinder, gentler, than I thought. But he's not actually kind and gentle. He's raggedly passionate. Gian is a fire that'll consume every inch of me.

The scary part isn't that anymore. I knew the man was danger. I feared him.

The part that frightens me is that despite knowing all of this, when he touched me, everything changed. When he kissed me, he sealed my fate. How was I ever going to breathe again after how he made me feel? My nipples burn to be touched, my pussy throbs with need, and I'm trembling. Right now, his mouth is breathing over my pussy in the lacy panties I wore to impress him.

He approves.

And soon, he devours.

I'd never kissed a man before him, but I wager that the way he kissed me was in no way at all what I could expect in just any kiss.

That's impossible.

That's improbable.

I inhale and hold my breath. Dear God, his mouth on my aching sex is enough to make me tremble, and he's only just now tucking his thumbs into the sides of these panties.

Gian's eyes meet mine. Pulling the panties down my thighs, his eyes never leave me.

I angle my toes down for him and exhale that breath I was holding, a rush of adrenaline shooting through my body. Oh goodness, this is really happening. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a virgin. Tonight, he's going to taste me before he takes me, and that's my undoing. He's not the monster I thought he was ... but he's the monster who decided to claim me. And I let him. I'm going to let him.

He stoked something within me, some flame inside me that I didn't know was burning before, and now is burning bright enough to scorch everything else out in the flames.

Gian has the power to keep my brother safe. He's actually doing it. So my plan worked—despite the hitch where I belong to this man. Oh goodness does that mean he's going to marry me?

I look back into his eyes and see a downright bemused look.

"You can stop that train of thought now or I can stop it for you," Gian says, leaning forward so I feel the heat from his mouth on my now bared pussy.

"What?" I say stupidly. I'm lost in thought one second, and now he's offering me a choice.

His tongue slides down the folds of my pussy.

A false choice.

Everything evaporates from my mind and my body glistens from his touch. I'm covered in sweat and my pussy is wet for him—not just from his tongue’s own dampness, but my increasing wetness from arousal at his touch. Gian licks, flicks, kisses, and sucks every inch of my most intimate parts. I gather the bedspread in my hands, crumpling massive wads into my hands as I cry out at the sensation. An enormous pressure builds inside of me and I have to actually try to breathe. I'm moaning, low, needy, insistent. I lean forward and bring my hands to his hair, tentatively. I want to tangle my fingers in his dark hair and rub my pussy on his stubbled face. That’s a new kind of urging from inside me that I’ve never known before, but the way that my pussy is aching, it feels like the only thing I can handle right now is more of him. That’s what causes the ache, what will solve it, and everything I need. The softness of his lips, the firm wetness of his tongue, and the tickling feel of his stubble all together burn that flame inside me so strong that threatens to consume me. I relent to my desire, no matter how strange it is to me, and bring my hands to his face. My legs shake and I lift them to rest them on his shoulders. My hands are pressing Gian’s face to me where it feels best, I let my head fall back. One of his hands reaches up inside the flimsy, wireless cup of the bra of my lingerie and captures my breast. The fireflies of sensation that travel from my clit to my nipple and back cause me to gasp. Groans erupt from my lips. I suck in one breath only to push another out, and everything makes my pussy flutter. The intensity building up inside of me keeps going until it's something more.

That pressure tensing in my stomach and flowing to my pussy is growing into something much stronger. I feel the heat surging through me melt to molten liquid, burning at my core, all the fluid and desire culminating in my lower abdomen and my pussy. I can’t believe my whole body can harmonize with what’s orchestrated on my pussy, but the waves of pleasure that Gian draws from me there are undeniable. I shiver at the intensity of it all. I’m on the brink of something I don’t understand. I know the idea of an orgasm, but the sensation is so much more intense feeling than I could've imagined. I feel the distinct urge to push, and I’m not sure why I would deny my body’s instincts. Everything within me is aching for everything Gian gives me. So if my body wants to push, and I’ve had such intense pressure, I will. It seems easier to think about it than it is to do it, though, and I struggle for a moment to catch my breath. I inhale deeply, every sensation fluttering through my pussy and making the ache grow so good inside of me. There are roots of ecstasy thriving within me. I push out with my inner walls when I exhale, and I feel waves and tides of pleasure drain my body of all energy. I inhale and squeeze with those same inner walls, and repeat this dance of desire to the rising tides of my orgasm building up within me. I'm a vessel for the most incredible sensations in my life, and I can’t believe how good I feel. The top of my head feels like it might burst off from everything my body is going through. I can feel the moisture from my pussy, flowing out through the strength of my orgasm. And I feel that wetness being lapped up eagerly by Gian.

His tongue is moving with superhuman speed, and he's using his whole face, even his nose, to make my pussy orgasm so hard I scream his name. I've never felt anything so incredible, and I feel disconnected from my body and so utterly grounded in it at the same time.

I smash my lips together, trying to vocalize anything other than the moans dragging low from my throat and rattling from my lips. Finally I find my voice usable. "Gian, idiot," I groan out in a low, moaning whimper. My fingers still entwined in his hair are squeezing and pulling him closer. My toes curl. I summon the strength to lift up my head enough to look at him. I feel so connected to him in this moment. It isn’t just pleasure I’m having; it's pleasure that Gian is giving me, and I need it so badly. So badly I need him to know what he’s doing to me.

I give him a whimper because that's the only sound I know how to make now, my voice leaving me as the pleasure is dragged out of me again and again. I can’t get down from this high, and I don’t want to. My legs are shaking and I'm so sensitive. Finally, the pleasure is cresting within me and I’m plateaued for a second before the drop of the intense orgasm hits instead some kind of afterglow that courses throughout my entire body.

Gian’s face leaves my pussy and I whimper at the loss, but I’m so sensitive that the second of relief is pleasurable, too. It's as if he’s flicked some switch within me that makes me wanton and wild.

He pulls me against him. Gian's mouth is on my neck. I'm still shaking as he kisses the column of my neck and I feel another tendril of pleasure surge through my body. His arms wrap around me, his body crushing mine on the bed. Panting, I feel the weight of his hard body, so firm against me as he's holding me so tightly. I shake, my legs captured between his, and his mouth goes from my neck to my collarbone. Gian's teeth sink into my collarbone. It should hurt, but it's not enough pressure to hurt. It feels good; it matches the ache he built up in my whole body. When I yelp and jerk beneath him it's because of the sheer power of the rasping touch of his teeth against me. His hands catch my wrists and pull them over my head. I’m aroused by the way his touch is so possessive. I want him to take charge of my body like this and show me things I didn’t know that my body wanted. I ache to be able to do every little thing that turns him on, the way that he knows exactly how to touch me.

Gian lifts his body up over me, and I can’t help letting my eyes linger over every inch of his firm, taut body. Even under those clothes, I can see the outlines of his muscles. The raw strength he has is evident in the way that he can move me around like I’m light as a feather. Or made for him to mess, the thought occurs to me and though unbidden I like how the lusty thought lights up ideas in my mind. He holds my wrists over my head. My breasts are jutting out for him the way I'm positioned. He’s hovering over me, so close that parts of him are touching me. The hard length of his cock is pressing against my still sensitive pussy, and that’s the particular part that I’m very intrigued with because I'm wanton in a way I didn't know I could be; I had no idea that I could have such intense sexual urges and I want to act on them. The hard and dirty truth is, and I can’t lie to you, is that I want Gian’s enormous cock inside me. Where did the sex fiend in me come from? I guess my body is just coping with what my reality is now? The fire he started within me is going to devour me, and whatever's left in the embers—that's a better reality. I feel so many inches, more inches than I knew were possible, covering my pussy through clothing, and I’m aching with the need for him to touch me with it. I want that cock to touch my pussy … and I want to feel what it's like for it to be so far up inside me that I might choke. I had no idea that I could want something so naughty and want it so much.

It freaks me out a little bit to be honest.

I remember having such a hard time psyching myself up to even meet Gian to ask him to make this deal.

And then Gian changed the terms I’d already agreed to … and now this? I’m one second away from begging for him to mess me like he promised. This is so messed up but I like it. I really do. I don’t understand it but I don’t have to.

I think I’m just in shock at how well things are managing to work out. The truth is that I did everything I can to take care of my brother, and things are actually going to be okay. I can handle this situation. I want to handle this, these changes and these desires. I can hope for a better future for Tommy because it's already starting. Hope is all any of us have; hoping is the best any of us can do. And if I want Gian, if I’m filled with lust for him, is that really so bad? I mean, I already belong to him — a fact that terrified me earlier this very day, and now it makes me feel so aroused I can hardly stand it.

I shouldn’t trust a man just because he makes me cum, but the truth it that before the orgasm, I already felt something. The way that he kisses me rewrote the coding of my mind. I had no idea that so much passion could live in one person. No idea that it could play out with lips, tongues, and breaths shared between two people. Gian had me from that moment. I didn’t see him as Giancarlo Sandoval anymore, not the man I’d heard about. I felt him as the man, Gian, who was so different with me.

I want him. I want him to know how much I crave him. I want him to know how badly I need him right now. So I open my mouth, no matter how terrifying being so brazen seems. "I want you inside me, Gian, now," I groan. I'm giving into every desire that courses through me and I’m letting him know. And it feels good. Most of all, I feel safe to tell him how much I want him

Gian's eyes are blazing with lust, a fierce look that I feel all over my body from just that look, and I know that he must want me as much as I want him. Dropping his hands from my wrists, my skin instantly aches for him where he touched me. He tears off my bra. Snaps the flimsy fabric, destroys it. Gian lifts my body and pulls me on top of him. Though still clothed, I can feel the outline of his enormous cock pressing hard through his trousers. My wet pussy is soaking the fabric, drenching it with the wetness of my arousal. I bite my lip, my eyes shutting in pleasure as I rub my pussy up and down his cock. "Idiot," I moan in a high-pitched yelp. I had no idea that I could act like this. That I could want a man so much. But just a taste of Gian has me desperate for more.

Closing a hand over my rear, Gian groans a low, feral sound of need that makes me look at his face. I want to see what a man looks like when he makes that kind of sexy sound. Well, that’s not completely accurate. I want to see what Gian looks like when he makes that sexy of a sound. And makes that sound because of me. A blazing surge of need courses through me and I start to tear at his clothes. I press against the edges of his suit jacket to remove it. Shrugging out of it, he stands and drops me onto the bed. He rips his shirt off, buttons flying. I sit up on my ankles and watch as he tears down his trousers and the tight boxer briefs housing a cock ... there are no words for his cock. I see it and in a heartbeat my pussy aches for it. I don't know what a cock will feel like inside me, but I know that I need Gian. Now. Eying the long shaft and purple head glistening with pre-cum with a hunger I've never known before. That massive thing is bigger than I even imagined. I thought it must've been bunched up fabric making it seem that it couldn't possibly be as big as it felt, but there’s just no way! Gian’s cock is even more enormous that it felt before. It's intimidatingly long and thick and even though twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t have known what to even do with a cock at all, now I want to figure out what to do with that monster. One thing is for sure. I want that cock inside of me.

Fist closing over his cock, I revel in how his bicep flexes with his grip. My mouth waters and I’m just in awe of this massive man. Gian's whole body is powerful. In the moment, I feel helpless. Eager, but unable to do anything but tremble when I think about his strength. The enormity of not just his body, but his presence. And it isn’t out of fear that I ponder this. My fear is so far behind me that perhaps that should frighten me. But how strong and sexy Gian is, I can’t help but enjoy how I feel like … his. His to mess. His to have. I like that he’s so much larger and stronger than me. It makes me feel small and feminine and wanted. I want him to overtake me and idiot me, make me succumb to every wicked thing he wants to do to my body.

I’m a virgin. I don’t know what I want. But Gian knows what he wants to do to my body and I want him to do it.

Before I realize it, my mouth is open and I’m speaking in a breathy tone of voice. “I need you." The words escape my lips in a quiet whisper.

I’m not sure that he heard my silly words until I see the embers of my innocence flitting through his eyes.

I'm Gian's prey, and he's predatory in how he eliminates the heated air crackling between us by launching himself toward me. His arms wrap around me, and my legs wrap around him in response. I pull him in my with ankles, desperate to have him near me. Desperate to feel that enormous cock. I’m shaking just thinking about what he’s going to do me. Lining my pussy up with his cock, I breathe raggedly. I've never done this before. There's no going back. I'm going to do this. Everything seems incredibly real now and I start to panic internally. All I know is that I want it, I want it so badly and I need him to destroy my virginity the way that he destroyed my fear.

“You’re so wet, Lucy,” Gian says with a low voice. I almost don’t hear him but I do because of how closely I’m paying attention to him. “I’m being as gentle as I can. But I need you.” I know enough to know what those words mean. He’s about to mess me. Oh goodness, yes, he’s about to mess me and I don’t care if it hurts. I need to feel Gian’s whole cock inside of me.

Gian doesn’t want to wait any longer. His eyes claim mine, and it's so intimate for a second my eyes almost shut. But I can’t look away from him. I have to watch his face, watching mine, when he takes my virginity.

Gian slams his cock into my pussy with a wet sound as I sheath him to the hilt. His balls smack against my rear. I cry out. It doesn't hurt, but my inner walls are stretching for him. The air is knocked out of my body, and I'm gasping for air. There was no more preamble to be had, and he just bottomed his cock all the way into me and I’m so glad. I’m ecstatic and overwhelmed, the sensation urging on even more new pleasures that I didn’t know were possible. My hands are wildly squeezing him and my legs, wrapped around him, are clinging for dear life. I lock my ankles tighter together and when he starts to move back, I use them to slam him back inside me. The intensity of that sensation makes my head fall back. I feel wild, like I might shiver, shake, float away from Gian.

But Gian has me. Not just impaled with his cock, but his hands capture me, claim me, and keep me in his hold. One hand cups the nape of my neck, the fingers gripping me tightly. The other hand's fingers trail softly down my back. I’ve never been held so intimately before, and, despite the fact that I’m getting messed so deep by a no-doubt enormous cock, I think this is the most intimate thing. His hands say more than lips can now; his eyes say more than either of them knows how to. There’s something raw, visceral between us, something real. I know it now, and maybe I’m being silly, but Gian’s face says the same thing. How he holds me makes it real.

Slowly, he strokes in me and out, in and out, again and again with a relentless but slow movement. He is never too far out of me, keeping me so full of him no matter what. Gian's cock stays deep in me, despite the slow strokes, and I can't bear the idea of him doing any differently. I need his cock inside me. I crave this new sensation, the way that he is claiming me; I need it more than I think I even need to breathe. Fireworks ignite under my skin in a map of the wildfire in my soul. I burn with intensity, with desire, with need. In every sensation I'm a phoenix in these ashes, reborn with lust and seemingly I'm created for just this moment. Then the next moment is just as thrilling, just as enticing, and I need him more than anything. I crave him more than anything. I don’t ever want him to stop. My lips are moving and I’m breathing but I don’t know how. “Gian, Gian," I moan out. It takes me a second to even realize that I’m saying the words. My eyes start to roll back in their orbits, the sensation all so intense.

But out of the corner of my eyes, I see Gian looking at me and I make myself focus. I can’t bear to look away from him. His teeth graze his lower lip for just a second with a rough growling sound that makes my clit twitch with arousal. When he makes a quiet sound, my body ignites with so much lust it's like it's being shouted from the rooftops somewhere. It's so sexy to see him react to having me.

Gian’s eyes capture mine; when our gaze meets, the raw emotion in his gaze rattles me. "I'm here." His voice is somehow fragile, vulnerable even. Just a moment. The power, the intensity, all come back to life and he claims me with a kiss. Soft where his other kiss was hard. But if his first kiss claimed me—and it did with every inch of his breath rewriting my life in how his tongue touched mine—this second kiss is enslaving me. Every changing sensation, every moment our lips meld and our tongues explore each others' mouths, I'm taken. I'm no longer my own person. I'm Gian, and he is me. He's rewired everything in my body to respond to his own. My back arches and his tongue smoothens over mine. I know now that what I'm experiencing is the beginning of an orgasm. It isn’t like the last one, building quickly to a maddening, quickening pulse through my veins. It's a fast rise from pleasure to the ultimate ecstasy. I feel it so close to the surface.

That's when Gian stops me from having an orgasm! He nibbles my tongue and pulls his mouth from mine. Withdraws his cock so that he's not as deep inside me. I cry out but Gian ignores this. He looks at me and I know that he intends to keep my orgasm from happening and this is part of his plan. Now I’m excited, despite the aching need scorching me, about what he has in store for me. Gian smiles, seeming to know when I give in and want this erotic torture, and puts his tongue on his lower lip, then drags it down from my collarbone to the valley between my breasts. I gasp, the feel of him licking the sweat from my skin so erotic and shocking. There’s something so primal about it. His instant taking of my body as it is, and enjoying it, makes me feel sexier than I've ever felt in my life, and I like it.

His hands gather my breasts into his hands. "Arch your back, lift your rear up, and you can have more cock," Gian orders. I can’t believe the heat that slams through my body. His commanding tone of voice makes me tremble. I feel my face heat at the idea of doing such a wanton thing that would have me on display. But I want to do anything he tells me to. I know that right away, before I hardly have time to process anything. I obey instantly.

The truth is I'll do anything Gian says right now just to feel the way the orgasms that he can give me make me feel. I lift my rear up, ignoring how this kind of movement would terrify me, and instead I let what would be fear thrill me. I love the idea that I’m on display for him.

Gian seems to enjoy it, too, and he digs his fingers into my breasts, using them as handles while he thrusts deep into my pussy. He slams hard in and then pulls completely out. I yelp. He idiots his cock so deep up into me again and I'm trembling, but I'm keeping my rear up into the air for him. Oh goodness, I don't know how much of this I can take. It feels so good, but I know I can't come. I'm so close to orgasming, and this feels incredible, but it isn't enough. I love being messed by him so aggressively. I feel less like a person and more like a sex toy, being used to rut out his every lustful movement until we’re both so sweaty and burning with desire that we’re one heaping pile of cum and horniness. I didn’t know I could even think such thoughts, but I feel utterly defiled and I love it. I crave it.

And I crave the orgasm that he didn’t let me have before. Now, I’m so close again, the pounding pressure beating through my body like a storm door in a tornado. I want to erupt.

But there’s something about the power in this room now. The power in how Gian has me. I need his permission. It sounds silly. I could just have an orgasm right now if I push, breathe, focus, and let the way he’s me take over. But that’s not what I want to do. I want to cum because Gian says I can. I want to ask him. I don’t think he’ll think this is strange. I work up the energy to be able to even form words, because I want to know.

"Gian, please," I groan, finally. My face heats and I’m terrified he’ll think I’m being strange. I can’t explain exactly why I said this.

"Please, what, Lucy?" Gian says, and when he says my name it sounds more like an incantation. He's cast a spell over my body. I know now that he understands on some level exactly what I was saying. Somehow, that changes everything. It deepens the lust that I already have, and makes me want something more.

"Please torture me like this forever," I tell him. I'm shocked by my own words. I want to beg him to let me orgasm, but I don't want this to be over. I want him to keep me on the edge forever. I don't want to go past this. I'm on the edge of something incredible, and I'm safe here when I'm not in control. When I can belong to the abandon of nothing but his cock slamming so hard into me. "Don't stop touching me, Gian, please," I whimper because I want the feel of his body taking over mine to last forever.

I look in his eyes, and I see the surprise on his face. I don't suppose much manages to shock him, and I feel flattered to have been able to do so. I can’t help it; I feel myself beaming with pride. I want to shock him, thrill him, give him even a fraction of the incredible feelings he’s created in me. “You feel so good inside me. I'm glad I'll never idiot anyone else," I say. I'm telling the truth and I can't believe I'm saying these kinds of words. I can’t believe I’m feeling them. And because I do feel them, and feel that I can say them to Gian, I feel so safe and content. The satisfaction is like nothing I’ve ever known. I’ve never felt like more of a woman than I do right now.

"That's right," Gian says, a small smile playing over the edge of one corner of his sensual mouth. "Give me everything, Lucy. You're mine," Gian says, and he brings one hand to close over my throat. His intrusion to my breathing is rough, but not so much that I'm in pain. I keep my eyes staring into his, and he keeps sliding his cock deep inside me, and then completely exiting me. Every time he slides back in, my inner walls cling to him. Beg him to stay. He leaves, but he always returns. The pleasure mounting within me stays incredibly intense. Pressure builds inside my stomach. My clit flutters with need. My nipples ache. I'm dizzy.

But I don't come.

Orgasm is just out of reach.

I tremble. My legs start to quake. But I'm not there. It won't happen. Not like this. And I love it. "Gian," I moan, for no reason other than to pull me into reality and to see how he looks at me when I say his name. This is not the man anyone else sees. I know this.

And I like being his.

“Cum for me, and only me, Lucy,” Gian says finally. His voice is thick, caught low in his throat. I love being able to have this effect on him. It truly does something to me.

“Yes!” I shout out. I don’t mean to, but the instant that he gives me permission, I’m not holding back any floodgates now. The pressure inside of me erupts violently, and I’m shaking like I’m having a seizure. My eyes roll back in their orbits and I see nothing but blackness. I reach out for anything to grab onto, grasping sheets and squeezing them hard, but there’s no purchase to be had. My ankles painfully cling to Gian’s back. My own back arches. Gian’s cock fills me up to the hilt and I feel his cock spurt his own hot cum inside of me. He pumps what feels like a gallon of cum into me while I shake hard at the sensations tearing through my body. When I finally open my eyes I see that we’re both covered in sweat. He collapses on top of me, but doesn’t let his full weight cover me.

Gian pulls me into his arms and I curl my head into the crook of his arm. I breathe him in. I cannot believe everything that happened.

And as soon as I can breathe again, I want to try it all over again.

I’m glad that I’ve never had sex before tonight. It can’t always be like this.

8

Lucy

If I'm going to belong to Gian, I really think I need to start looking like it. My attempts at clothing, and makeup, and hair to catch him were one thing … but I feel so horribly out of place.

So when Gian tells me that I have full run of the property, I want to hit the spa the instant he is off for work. “I guess I should get dolled up,” I say and I have to force myself to maintain eye contact. What I want to do is look away.

Gian makes a face, one I can't quite understand. His eyebrows knit together, then raise, and he looks at me while cocking his head to the side and I think maybe as much as I’m trying to figure out what his face means, he’s trying to figure out what my words mean. Finally, he replies. “If you like. You can have anything you like, and of course at no cost,” Gian says.

I watch his lips move, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of him. His sensual lips are almost enough to make me forget his words, but in a second, they click.

I open my mouth to protest that I don’t want any freebies. Something unsettling occurs to me. Much more unsettling than the fact that I really can’t afford to pay my own way at an upscale casino and hotel’s spa. I’m already paying for whatever I want to get done. I’m paying with my body. And before, yes, I felt comfortably horrified by this truth. But now? Now the idea reviles me like it taints the fact that I enjoy being with Gian now. That I’m not really afraid of him, or disgusted by him. So why should it bother me?

I mean I know that what our little arrangement is like is different from a normal relationship. I’ve never been in a relationship, but even I know enough to know that this is just strange. Nothing about how we met, or how we’ll come to bed together tonight seems normal. And I’m pretty sure that based on how long our so-called ‘relationship’ has been in existence, it's a strange time for him to shower me with gifts or anything.

But that’s not what me going to the spa is. I still feel so inadequate next to Gian. He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, and I want to be able to look like I actually belong on his arm.

I gulp, smiling at him as he leaves. Gian kisses my cheek — something so normal in the midst of all of our strangeness. The thought that makes me gulp? Even though Gian isn’t telling me to hide away in this room, I don’t actually know that he’ll have me on his arm. No, allowing me to go to the spa is not the same as being on his arm.

When I thought that Gian was some disgusting pervert and I was reviled by the idea of him touching me, it didn’t matter if he hid me away or had me on his arm.

Of course, I didn’t think he was going to keep me … but I also didn’t think that he was going to decide to keep me more permanently.

But now that I do like Gian, now that I do want his hands all over me, and let’s be real, now that I know I want him inside my body, it upsets me to think that I might be sequestered away. That I’m not good enough to show off.

Besides, I could be wrong about Gian. He could be frightening and only seem kind. If that’s the case, I definitely want to look like I’m anything but expendable. I need him to want me, because if he wants to discard me, then my brother might not get the help that he needs.

This morning, Gian told me that he’d bring me an update about the facilities that he sent my brother to, and I should expect it to take almost a week before they’d allow me to visit, and that even then, detox could be incredibly unpleasant. Of course I still want to see Tommy, because I need him to know how much I care about him and want him to have help.

I feel guilty worrying about my hair and thinking about the man I was worried would hurt my brother not so long ago. I think I’m still shocked at how everything has turned out so far, and that focusing on small things are the most important thing to focus on right now. I don’t have to even worry about work for another day, so all I need to focus on today is looking like anything other than a broke nobody. Because on his arm or in his bed, Gian would never have someone who didn’t look the part. He’s far too handsome to have someone who makes it look like he’s slumming. I’m downright embarrassed at how I didn’t even dress anything like the girls that I saw in the casino last night. I remember what Gian said, and he seemed pleased with what I was wearing.

Still, I want to do better. I want to feel better … look better.

Heading toward the elevator, it feels so strange making this journey without all the fear I had before. Now I’m just worried about how to fit in with my world order.

When I get to the salon, a gal there is waiting for me. “Lucy Tomlinson?” she asks when I arrive, but she already knows the answer.

“Yes, thank you,” I say nervously, unsure of what else to say.

The woman who greets me seems to be about my age. She makes me feel like a child, though, when I look at perfectly manicured nails or even just the clean lines of her outfit. I’m just wearing what I wore the night before and I feel horribly out of place.

She can practically read my mind, because she takes me to the back room of the salon and she has clothes, in my size. Jeans … jeans that cost more than my apartment’s rent. When I slide into the dark wash denim I can’t believe how well they fit me. I had no idea that a pair of jeans could make me look so different, so together. “Mr. Sandoval asked me to pick up a few things for you,” she says, waving her arm around the room. Bags of clothing, all new, all my size, colors that look good on me. I'm in awe. Someone else pops in the room and carts everything off when I’m done getting dressed, taking it up to the penthouse.

I guess I should be excited? Or maybe insulted. I’m still not quite sure how I'm supposed to feel about being owned by Gian. I’m not certain what I actually feel. I can barely breathe.

“I know this is really overwhelming, Lucy. I’m Margot by the way,” she says, and places an arm on my shoulder and rubs. It's comforting and a small smile forms at my lips despite the confusion of today. “The truth is that I’ve never seen Mr. Sandoval actually take an interest in anyone since…well, you’re a blessed girl, let’s just say that,” Margot sweeps whatever she was about to say under the rug.

She takes me to get my nails manicured, and while they are drying, Margot does my hair. When that’s done, my makeup. I look like a whole new person … and I feel like one when Margot sits with me for pedicures. For just a moment, sitting there with her, it seems like I could be hanging out with a friend. If I had friends.

“Thank you for all of this,” I say to Margot. She shoots me a beaming smile that I can’t help but return. No matter how confusing everything else is, I feel like I can really trust Margot and that’s something to smile about.

Over the next few weeks, I come to Margot at the salon each day and during her lunch break we talk. We never bring up Gian again and I find that I enjoy talking about anything random with her.

Gian shows up at one of our lunches one day, which is odd because I normally don’t see him until the evenings. He leans in and kisses me on the cheek, and my whole body heats up. I can feel the heat in my cheeks and I figure I don't need the blush that I applied today from the products that Margot gave me. Before he withdraws from the kiss, Gian whispers into my ear. “You don’t need to keep working at the diner, you know. You don’t need to keep your apartment.”

Leaning back, I see him look at my face and run his lower lip across his teeth. He’s not sure how I’ll respond.

A week of living in the penthouse and traveling back to my former life has me unsure of how I want to respond either.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly, because that’s really all I can say for now.

“I’m going to work late tonight. Do you think you and Margot could have some fun tonight? I don’t want you sitting up in the penthouse bored,” Gian says. His concern sounds genuine, and I don’t think he actually wants to work late. Of course he doesn’t. He would rather be with me.

I’m touched. I’m also wondering why he assumes that I would just sit up in the penthouse alone. He’s right, but that’s beside the point, you know?

“Am I allowed to go somewhere else?” I say, surprised by the venom in my voice. I’ve thought of Margot as my friend this whole time, and the hurt that flashes in her eyes tells me the she must feel the same.

“You’re not my prisoner,” Gian says in a gruff voice. “You can do whatever you like. I just don’t want you to sequester yourself,” he says, measuring out each word.

Is it because he doesn’t know how to say what he means, or because he’s lying?

Margot is uncomfortable with the tension and interjects. “I have just the thing for a girl’s night,” she says with a wave of her hand.

Gian smiles, a little off guard, but leans in to kiss me on the lips this time. It's just a small peck, but it makes me close my eyes and forget everything for the seconds his warmth overtakes mine. “Have fun, Lucy,” he says and turns to walk away.

It's like a hurricane overtakes me when he leaves. The air's entirely sucked out of the room.

Margot places her hand on mine. “I really do have something fun in mind, if you’re up for it,” she says. That devious grin tells me that Margot has something in mind that's probably going to make me nervous.

She’s told me before that I need to live a little, and after the way I’ve kept myself in what she refers to as ‘cloistered as a nun’ I completely trust her to help me out of my shell. I feel guilty for doubting her earlier and I want to make it up to her. And I want to move on from being such a stick in the mud.

“Let’s do it,” I say. I feel instantly bolstered. “What is it, exactly?”

Margot laughs.

“There’s more than just a spa in this casino. Tonight is amateur night in the club, and you and I are dancing,” Margot says, standing up and tugging my arm. “Let’s go hoedown and shake our rears tonight, girl.”

Well, incredible. What am I letting Margot talk me into?

9

Lucy

“You want me to wear this? And do what?” I can’t believe what Margot actually thinks I'm going to do it. I wanted to be on board, I really did. But this is insanity.

I look at a miniskirt I’m not sure will even cover my rear. The fishnets. I can’t breathe because the things she picked out for me to wear under them are even less.

“Yeah, amateur night is a real thrill,” Margot says. “I mean we aren’t going to be this young and hot forever, so why not dance and show it off?”

She’s serious. My eyebrows are so knit together I might go cross-eyed in a minute but Margot is being serious! She wants me to strip in Gian’s club!

I've never done anything like this before. I never thought I could do anything like this. And I definitely didn’t think I’d ever even have sex, much less offer my virginity up on a platter to a scary rich casino owner who could break my brother’s legs. I surprised myself before.

I kind of like the idea of surprising myself now.

“Yeah,” I say and put my hands on my hips. “Let’s do it, Margot,” I say with a giggle and I start slipping into the clothes.

“Good,” Margot says, laughing with me. “This is the best change to use the really dramatic makeup stuff you can’t wear otherwise. Trust me, this is as much fun as you’re going to have tonight with Mr. Sandoval out of the picture.”

It seems strange that she still calls him that, but Gian is her boss. I mean, I'm the only one who calls him Gian anyway. I like it, that it's something only he and I share.

Until today no one else had ever seen my body, but here I am about to dance in front of a bunch of strangers.

“Okay, so we need to stretch, too. Like that trash is not easy to do well, but even to just have a little fun, we still wanna be pretty limber.” Margot giggles more but I’m blushing furiously.

I’m blushing because I’m thinking about all the ways Gian likes to contort my body around when he’s me and it makes me think I can probably figure out how to be limber enough for a night of dancing mostly for fun. I get the feeling that Margot can read my mind and while that’s exactly the sort of thing that makes me want to lock myself in the bathroom, it's exactly what I’m pushing back against. I’m trying to take control of my life and right now I want to do that by getting so far out of my comfort zone that I don’t recognize myself.

When Margot is done with our makeup and we’re dressed, well, if you can call how skimpy our clothes are dressed, I don’t recognize either of us.

“We look hot!” Margot says.

I have to agree, and I reach out to hold her hand and give it a squeeze. “Wow, we really do. I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I tell her. I really can’t. I keep thinking any minute I’m going to lose the ounce of resolve that I have. I squeeze Margot’s hand again and she squeezes back.

“Lucy, if you can make Giancarlo Sandoval want to settle down again, well, you can shake your fine rear on stage for a little bit. You’ll enjoy it,” Margot says, the kindness in her eyes making me feel warm and comfortable.

“Again?” I can’t help but ask.

“Girl, that’s … that’s not for me to tell. But there are things you don’t know about him that he’ll have to tell you. But he’s a good man. I think you know that. When I lost my daughter last year and I didn’t know how to pick myself back up again, Mr. Sandoval took care of me when I didn’t think anyone gave a trash about me. He paid for all the funeral expenses. He got me a therapist. He let me keep my job when I couldn’t drag myself out of my bed to get to it. He let me stay here and work when I wanted to.”

Wow. I thought Gian was a good man, and I had no idea Margot had been through so much.

“And that’s just how he’s treated me as a boss,” Margot says quickly. “We never—“

“Margot, I never even thought, and,” my voice catches in my throat, imagining her loss. I think about how my family is all gone now, save Tommy, and it breaks my heart. “And thank you for sharing that with me. Gian is nothing like I thought he was before I met him … and there’s still so much more I don’t know about him. And I’m so sorry for what you went through. I’m glad Gian could help you.” I am, too. I have come to really care for Margot and I’m so grateful that Gian could help her, and could make it so I had this wonderful person in my life. She’s the first friend I’ve ever had who I felt could always be my friend. And I don’t want to ruin that by pressing for her to tell me something that Gian should tell me.

“Don’t let me bring you down, tonight. Let’s have fun tonight,” Margot says. I can hear the crack in her voice, no doubt thinking about her daughter and the ordeal of losing her. Now it seems so silly to think about doing an amateur hour at a high-class strip club, but I owe the shedding of my fear to Margot for her bravery. I’m steeling myself for doing it.

When we get to the backstage area of the club where the other girls are going to dance, I find that I’m not as afraid as I thought I was going to be. Margot and I are laughing and enjoying a little bit of champagne, and I feel plenty loosened up enough that I’m actually looking forward to getting up on the stage.

“Let’s do a song together,” I say to Margot. “If you want,” I say quickly, because I really don’t know what normal friends do together but I want to be able to have a good time with her and I like the idea of us both going up there together.

“Yeah, sure thing!” Margot says, obviously delighted by the idea, and I’m so relieved.

When the fast-paced eighties song starts up, we both turn to each other, smile, and slink out onto that stage.

The lights are really bright at first and I can’t see anyone, and I don’t actually want to see anyone in the audience right now. I know they are there, but it isn’t about that.

We take opposite sides of the stage and dance toward each other.

And I’m really enjoying the rush of moving my body with a freedom I didn’t know I could. I feel light as air, and everything seems almost natural to me. I had no idea that I could move the way I am. I can see in Margot’s eyes as we dance closer together, she’s surprised too.

When we dance across the stage to each other we both go back to back, dancing up and down in surprising synchronicity for two people making this up on the fly. “We are so doing this again!” she says where only I can hear.

“Totally!” I agree with her. I’m on top of the world with the level of exhilaration, and we both turn back and tear off our flimsy tops.

That’s when I get a good look at the audience, and I can’t believe how far my excitement drops.

The instant I see Gian, my heart plummets to my stomach and I yelp a little. But I keep dancing.

The man he’s with is dressed in leather and dark jeans. He looks strange next to Gian, who's always wearing an immaculate expensive suit. I can tell by Gian’s face that he’s not thrilled with what he’s seeing, which now that I’ve already thrown off my top, is actually quite a bit. I’m spilling out of this bra in a way that I thought I’d be nervous about. Now, the only thing making me nervous is that I’m so bare in front of so many people while Gian’s eyes are blazing with what I know is not happiness.

The man with him smacks him against the arm but Gian looks like if he was holding a glass, it would break in his hands. When the song ends, I go backstage and I’m not surprised when Gian is back there in a few seconds.

“What are you doing? What are you wearing? Or not wearing,” he says, throwing my shirt at me.

I felt timid and upset before, my stomach uneasy, but when he tosses the shirt, I feel something else entirely.

“I was having a good time with a friend, wearing things that you actually bought me or had Margot buy me. I thought I was a free woman and you didn’t own me? I didn’t even leave your palace, your highness, so what’s the problem?” I'm shocked by my own words, but I mean them.

I mean them because I realize that I felt so much better about myself to look so good and have others think I did. It's stupid, perhaps, but the whole reason I went to Margot and wanted the makeover I got was because I wanted to look hot enough to be on Gian’s arm. “I can’t believe you’re mad that I’m actually looking the part of someone that you’d sleep with. You’ve probably slept with everyone who dances here,” I say, and I know that Gian has hinted that he doesn’t actually sleep around like his reputation says, but how do I really know that? I mean, I don’t know whatever it was that Margot doesn’t want to tell me.

“What?” Gian is stunned. I can tell he wasn’t expecting what I just said.

“You told me yourself that I wasn’t dressed the part for seducing you. Maybe I didn’t want my looks to come down to luck anymore,” I say, looking away.

“Come to the penthouse now, let’s not do this here,” Gian says. I’m shocked because I thought he was angry, but there’s something in his voice that seems more hurt than angry.

Because of that, my own response is quieter than I expected. All my anger gets buried when I think Gian is hurt. I want this situation diffused. “I’ll say goodbye to Margot, then we’ll go,” I say.

Gian nods and we walk out together. I put my shirt back on and I see the man that Gian was with is grinning wide at me when he sees me.

“Dang good upgrade, Sandoval,” the man says.

Gian bristles at the words and I’m suddenly so ready to be up and out of here.

“Mr. Sandoval, we were just having fun-“ Margot says, talking so quickly.

I don’t want Gian to be mad at her, and to his credit, he smiles and shakes his head. “No worries, Margot,” he says, but the words are dismissive. I know Gian wants to get up to the penthouse and be alone more than anything.

I can’t say I disagree, though I’m still frustrated. I don’t want to argue more but I know that I can’t just ignore Gian’s reaction to what is honestly not that big of a deal. I just want this whole night to be over with.

Tonight was supposed to end without him because he’d be working late … but I get the feeling he won’t be leaving the penthouse tonight after we get up there.

10

Gian

“I only did any of this,” Lucy waves her hand down her body to indicate the clothes she’s wearing, the hair, the makeup, “because you basically had Margot load up a whole new me in those bags the night after. I'm trying new things because my life is so completely different than it was all of five minutes ago. You say I’m not a prisoner, so then when I try to figure out my life, you get mad at me. How am I supposed to know what to do?”

Incredible. Well I stepped in it. “Okay, so I don’t like the idea of you looking so hot when other people are going to see you, but I don’t want to keep you from whatever it is that you want to do, no matter what it be. And I never needed you to change. I love everything about you no matter what you’re wearing or if you’re made up, dressed down…” Idiot I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here, and I just want her to know that I’m sorry. That I’m crazy about her.

I know that Lucy is just trying to find her footing, but I can’t pretend like her words didn’t hurt me a little. The idea that I found her somehow not attractive enough isn’t just false, but it just reflects the god-awful parts about me that she has all wrong.

Not as if I can reach across and grab her face and tell her, hey, princess, there are plenty of bad things about me but those in particular aren’t right.

Well, I could, but that doesn’t exactly help either of our situations.

I know that the best thing that I can do is play the part of the consummate charmer. I have to make my every move one to make her fall deeper into my madness, to buy into the notion that she's starting to have that I might be some decent kind of man.

Of course, I manipulate people all the time. I could manipulate women into bed, or keep them in bed, if I wanted to. This plan should not turn my stomach. It isn’t an out of line action, or me. Yet, I find myself wishing I were doing anything but lying to Lucy. I think I almost want to be the person I plan to lie about being.

Well, that might have been an option a long time ago, but now I’m not capable of being that man anymore. I killed the good man inside me and let the monster live instead. The monster is wealthy. The monster only cares about himself.

So if the good parts of me are dead, am I simply remembering them to manipulate Lucy, or am I haunted by the man that I thought I left in the past?

I don’t know what to think about any of this.

But I need to stop dwelling on me. Lucy is on the menu here, and I’ve got to serve up the charming bad boy she thinks she can save. I’m too far gone … but she doesn’t have to know that. I can’t believe I’m grappling with what I know I need to do. I have to seduce her. What I want is Lucy, and being myself couldn’t possibly keep her around. No, I’m going to play the cards I’m dealt. I know that my body is attractive. My mind is smart enough to pull her in. Let the games begin, right?

Wrong. I’m thinking about Lucy, but I’m thinking about how she feels … and not just to manipulate those facts. I have to let myself mentally clear my throat, perhaps, and that’s all this is? That’s all I hope this is, because I can’t lose my edge the one time I’ve needed it more than anything.

Lucy is nervous. Despite the fact that she offered her virginity to me, despite the fact that when the time came, she enjoyed every second of what we shared … she’s nervous about the prospect of us again, and I can see that the instant our eyes meet and I approach her. That’s okay, because I know how to make a woman want me. I’m not starting a zero. Tentative desire is what’s before me. Tentative desire is just desire that needs convincing. I know how her body responds to mine. More importantly, I know that she wants to want me. I’ll have Lucy in my grasp, yet. Or should I say she’ll be grasping me soon. Feeling her holding onto me when I idiot is the sort of thing my every fantasy is made of now. Every free moment has me dreaming up her body like some kind of silly teenager or something, which is quite the sharp shift in the wind considering just how much I’ve sworn off women after what happened with my wife. Yeah … everything about Lucy and what she does to me is different from anything I’ve known, and Lucy’s just too good in too many ways for me to do anything but remove the fear that might cause her to flee. Because I gave her the option to go, and I won’t take that away. But I sure as idiot don’t want her to leave so I’ve got to put forth my best, shady effort.

I have absolutely no intention of letting her get scared off because I’m not sliding into a pussy that doesn’t want me. No, when I idiot Lucy’s tight pussy again, I’ll be doing so when it's so slippery it glistens for me.

So, to get there, I can tell I need to take a tender touch. I’m a disgusting jerk, I know, because that means I’m going to be sweet and charming and say every little thing and do every little thing that'll make Lucy trust me. When I have that, I can have anything. Her trust doesn’t have to come in miles, only inches. A taste of trust here, there, until her shivers disappear and it feels like her idea and her acceptance that leads to me buried inside her again. I’m not taking or overtly coercing. I’m planting the idea in her mind because I’m not just telling her the truth that her body already knows.

She wants me. She needs me. Lucy has already had one taste of me, and she’s not going to just let that go.

“Lucy,” I say when I reach her. She turns, her flowing brown hair cascading down her shoulders and her back in such an enchanting way that I don’t have to fake for a second how mesmerized by her I am. “I wanted to take you back up to the penthouse and let you know how good you look today,” I say, which is a bit of a risk. I need to be smooth and I’m being sleazy instead? Am I trying to fail over here?

Lucy blushes, and I know the way her body inclines toward mine a little that I haven’t totally struck out. No, Lucy likes that I said that to her because she likes what my body does to hers.

“Gian, I thought you’d never ask,” Lucy says, and there’s something in her voice that keeps me from thinking that she is putting on some kind of front. There’s a real arousal in her voice there, even around all these people. It frightens her, but it feels good to her. I’m kind of touched by the idea, but I can’t be getting sappy now. Not when I'm just trying to mess Lucy and make her feel like I’m a total monster. You know, like a manipulative monster would?

How can this girl be so new to my life and be tearing it apart. I’m trying to breathe over here, walking toward the elevator with her. My hand is at the small of her back as we walk, and Lucy slips her other hand into mine. My fingers close over hers and my heart skips a blasted beat like I’m some kind of school girl. The effect that Lucy has on me is like nothing I’ve ever felt before and I want to be able to get my head clear and get my cock buried deep inside of her. I thought those two things were connected, but now I’m not so sure. Because the way that I need to be inside Lucy, that’s the same intensity with which my feelings toward her confuse me. I’m baffled by how I can feel so much for this girl. I’m confused more than anything by how I don’t take advantage of the perfect situation to twist and turn any way I want. This girl is utterly reliant on me, and instead of taking advantage like I would in any business deal, I find myself thinking about her feelings. About the feelings that she creates in me. I need her more than I’d like to admit.

The elevator becomes a challenge. The idea of making out in an elevator shouldn’t be as hot to me as it is now, but I want to press her against the wall of this elevator the instant the doors close.

When the doors actually do close, it's Lucy’s hand that squeezes mine. I look at her, an ounce of shock ready to convert into a full gallon of surprise when her lips close over mine. Well, Lucy was so inexperienced. A virgin. Making out in an elevator is exciting for her because she’s not some tired out girl that’s done everything.

And it's exciting for me, the man everyone thinks is tiring out plenty of women in this city. I gave up that life a long time ago when I thought I was marrying someone who cared about me, and when that turned out to be a business move on her part, well, I just gave up women entirely.

How can I be going through my own soft little moment with Lucy now? Her lips on mine aren’t tentative. They're soft. Lucy is kissing me softly, almost as if she’s asking for permission. I aimed to charm her pants off, but right now she’s the one charming me. In a way that does mean that I succeeded, and I don’t think I want to keep dwelling on this. Not when her body presses firmer into mine… and then I hear the elevator ask for my card and code. Nothing like an interruption to make you appreciate what’s before you.

Reluctantly, I tear just part of my body away from her, but my hand is still in hers. My side is still pressed to her side. I don’t feel foolish wanting to touch her like this.

That’s truly the worst part, I realize as we both fade away into our kisses.

I don’t want Lucy to want me the way that she wants me. I already knew that I wasn’t good enough for her, but I’m ruining this poor girl. She’s sweet. She should be with a man who can love her. A man who can marry her. I’m just the rich jerk helping her with her brother. Her affection for me is wholly undeserved.

Still, I can’t deny the sparks that fly between us. I never understood that expression, sparks flying, until I met Lucy and a fireworks show could be going off every time her hazel eyes met mine. I want to kiss her until we both wake up in a new life and there’s nothing to be worried about. But that’s not how life works, and I know this because I'm able to buy just about anything else. But I can’t buy my way out of how wrong for Lucy I am.

Worst of all, I can’t buy myself out of the parts of me that want her no matter what. That don’t want me to let me save her.

When we’re about to walk into the penthouse door, she turns and faces me, holding my hand, smiling. Lucy’s too good for me and I just can’t take this. Well, I can. That’s what’s so rough. I’m going to take every drop of everything Lucy has to give.

What will be left when she realizes who I really am?

I smile back at her. It isn’t hard to fake being the guy who wants her so much right now. To be charming. Because I do want her more than anything. It's a hazard to us both.

The soft way her eyes crinkle when she smiles makes me need to breathe her in. As soon as we’re inside, I close the door and press her against it. Softly, gently. I’m being charming, remember?

I cradle her face, and kiss her face where her smile gives her soft little lines, trailing down her cheek to kiss next to her lips, and then to kiss her there. My other arm wraps around behind her and holds her against me. I want to hold her like this forever.

I’m fooling myself into thinking I’m just doing all of this because I’m trying to charm her. Lucy is the one who is charming me and making me into the shell of someone that I don’t even know. Where do I fit in if I want her, and not the existence that seems so empty to me now? What good is all the power to control a city of sin when all I want is heaven in Lucy’s arms?

Her soft little body is pressing against me. Everywhere she’s soft, I’m hard, and the contrasting sensations mixes up everything in my mind and I can’t think about all this melancholia drenching my throats. Lucy presses her soft lips to mine, parting them so slightly and sliding her tongue into my mouth. So gentle. So sweet. She tastes like a freedom I never knew that I wanted. This is what happens to a man who has everything. You want something more. Lucy makes me want a lot of things.

Now, my hand gripping her collarbone, I want to rip every inch of her clothes off her body and put my mouth on every soft and trembling part of her. Not exactly gentle, but I can show a modicum of restraint and get what I want. Breaking our kiss, I pull back and look into her hazel eyes. They look back at me through sooty lashes, a wide smile spread over her cherry lips. I reach out and suck in her lower lip, releasing it and dropping down to my knees. For a moment, all I want is to wrap my arms around her legs and squeeze her. So I do, holding her so tightly that she shakes in my hold. I say those words to her that I find myself saying like a prayer. “I’ve got you,” and that’s the truth for her as much as for me. I want to have her. I need to have her. And she has me so wrapped up in her that I don’t know what to do to keep control of myself. I don’t want to be in control when I’m with Lucy. I don’t want to pretend to be anything. I don’t want to manipulate her.

That’s what’s really unlocking me to the core. Lucy makes me want to be free to be whatever it is that I’ve become.

But if I was, would she even want to be near me?

I pucker my lips to just above her knee, kissing soft as a wind in spring. My other hand trails up her skirt and finds the soft vee of her cotton panties, encasing what I need but what I’ll take time to get to. Not just because of some gentle act … I have a compulsion to worship every inch of her, here and now, when she’s real and in front of me. It almost feels like if I don’t touch Lucy as much as I can, she’s going to fade away.

Her hands are in my hair, not with any particular goal and just to touch me. No one has ever touched me so tenderly and it cracks something hard in my chest that breaks free a wellspring of emotions. My fingertips sweep back and forth over her panties, inside her thighs, and back, before I sweep in and pull down her panties, in one hand, but still gentle and soft. When they slide down her thighs, down to her ankles, I don’t let her step out of them, my other hand holding her leg in place. I like having her so gently captive, at my mercy while I try to worship her with the grace she deserves.

“You have no idea what you’ve done, walking into my life, Lucy,” I whisper against her inner thigh, kissing her.

“I don’t have to know, I just need you,” Lucy says, and I realize she heard what I said.

Her words shake me to the deepest part of me, buried deep behind the mask of who I am every day.

Goodness, that woman could penetrate my armor if it was forged in the pits of torture. Some days, that’s exactly how I feel, and yet here Lucy is and she’s at my side. For now.

My teeth graze over her knees, softly skirting the flesh and not breaking skin or even being so rough to even qualify as a bite. My fingers slide over her bared pussy softly but don’t enter her yet. I just need to feel every part of her, slide through her folds and feel how wet they are, how ready for me they are. I let my thumb slide up to her clit. The bud is swollen with need and I can’t deny her what her body needs. Sliding two fingers in her pussy and working them into a curl to softly stroke her G-spot, I ghost my thumb over her clit. I have to be really gentle as I’m going right to the money spots. I want to stroke her, tease her, bring her to that point where she’s ready to fall apart in my hands. I stroke her, looking up at her gorgeous face. I see how she whimpers, little sighs escaping with her breaths. Her breathing hitches in her throat and gets more shallow, and I know she’s close. My lips on her thighs, kissing her softly, licking at her soft skin to taste her, bringing her to shiver. That’s when I know she’s close and I’m not ready to let go of her just yet. I scoop her up into my arms.

Carrying her to the bed, I lie her down like she’s so fragile she might shatter. I slide my hand from under her skirt slowly because I’m not going to let her shatter just yet. I press my fingers into her skin, cascading down her leg as my hand exits. I hook my thumbs under her skirt and slide it off. I pull her shirt up and off. Her hands are on her bra and I watch her take it off as I pull off my own clothes. I keep myself from tearing off my clothes in a mad fury. There’s a fury building so strong inside of me I would've shredded it all in a second flat, but I’m not trying to be rough. I’m being tender. Savoring every moment of tonight.

Because I know the truth. Sooner or later, because I’ve told Lucy that she can go, she’s going to see me for who I am, and when she does, she’s going to leave.

I want to remember today forever.

I’m memorizing the taste of her skin, the curves of her body. Because every night when I close my eyes, that’s all that my mind can conjure. But when she’s gone, I won’t be able to pull her tight against me while we sleep.

Lucy shoots me a mischievous look and then gets up on her hands and knees, pressing her rear up in the air and in my direction. Goodness, she has a wicked mind that I love to plumb the depths of. Not so long ago, she’d never been kissed. Now she’s inviting me to harass her from behind with the gorgeous half moons of her rear calling for my hands.

I suck in a breath and grip each of her rear cheeks with my palms, holding handfuls of her and stroking my mess up her pussy slit. Dang, she feels amazing. My cock is so hot rubbing against her pussy that if it weren’t for how wet she was, I’d be afraid we were going to start a fire.

I slam into her and harass her so deep, so hard, so fast, that neither of us can breathe for several seconds. I keep her, hard, slamming deep into her pussy and rocking my hips with every thrust to make sure I’m claiming every inch of her. My hands grip her hips and I thrust again and again until I feel just how ready she is.

“Cum for me, Lucy,” I say fast, trying to catch my breath again. My heart races at the feel of her pussy gripping my cock so hard that I groan out loud. I bury myself inside her and cum so much I can feel our cum dripping down her thighs. I like defiling that sweet pussy and mingling our cum together so much. Her legs are ready to give out, so I pull her up against me, and then pull us both onto the bed. I slide my cock out of her and hold her against me, savoring the scent of her skin while she shakes. Little tremors from the afterglow of us. My hands hold onto her so tight you’d think I was trying keep her from flying out the side of an airplane. Because losing her will crush me.

I know I have to tell her that I’m married. I know it because I want her to marry me, and that’s not going to happen unless I dump off the woman I’m currently married to. Which shouldn’t be too hard because my current wife was trying to get Lucy’s brother to kill me.

11

Lucy

Gian doesn’t bring up the argument again, and really doesn’t bring up anything for a while. We talk about how my brother is doing well and how I should go visit him soon, but not yet because he’s having a difficult time with the detox. I believe Gian, but I can tell that there’s something else that Gian isn’t telling me.

I don’t confront him about this or whatever sin from his love life that Margot doesn’t want to tell me about. I’m just not ready. I'm tense and frustrated, and right now I don’t want to drown in the overwhelming tides of my relationship with Gian. I don’t want to think about how my brother is suffering. I know he’s getting help. I know that when the time is right I’ll talk with Gian.

I realize what I need more than anything is for Margot and I to hang out tonight. I go down to the spa, and when she sees what I’m wearing, her eyes get super wide.

“We should dance tonight,” I tell her.

“Are you sure … after—“ Margot looks weary.

And I can understand why. But I don’t want to worry about anything tonight. “I need to feel unburdened and unstressed like I did before that really terrible ending to the last time we danced. I told Gian that I can do what I want with my body, and if he still has a problem, then it's with me.”

Margot looks convinced and I can tell that she would much rather be having fun than being worried.

“My brother is not doing so well and I just need a distraction,” I say quietly.

“Oh, babe,” Margot says and rubs my shoulders. “Sure thing babe. I had customers from hell today,” she whisper to me. “I could use some relief. Let me finish closing up and then we’ll go to the club.”

When we slink backstage, my stomach turns at little at how poorly the last dance ended. But everything before that was fun, and this time should be fun, too.

Margot and I pick a good ballad and tease out our hair. This is for us. The fact that our boobs are pushed up so high they might touch our noses is basically beside the point.

I already feel lighter and happier.

When the music starts, she and I go out and dance as if there is no one there to watch and it's just she and I having fun.

But I do look to the audience as our number ends … and I can’t believe what I’m seeing!

Gian is in the audience, meeting with that same man from before. And though I see Gian grit his teeth, he gives me a small smile. I know he’s trying to let me do my own thing and that neither of us wants to have another fight.

Which may have worked out perfectly fine if a guy several tables up hadn’t grabbed my rear when I got closer to the end of the stage.

It happens so fast that I almost don’t process it. Gian punches that guy right in the face, hard enough for blood to spatter on Gian’s crisp white shirt and make a loud, wet sound that makes me cringe.

Some security guys cart the guy off, who looks so shocked. I bet that guy never grabs another rear in his life, and good riddance.

But now Gian is totally pissed.

“You just don’t know how to keep your women under control. Though this situation is definitely much better than our little murderous wife cadre,” the man with Gian says.

Oh goodness.

Gian is married. That has to be what that means. But I see Gian every day and I know that he was living in that penthouse suite. I should be angrier, but I trust Gian to know that there is more to this story. I still don’t want to fight with Gian.

“Take me home, when you can,” I say to Gian.

Gian narrows his eyes at the man he was talking to. “It's done for. Square?”

“Square,” that man says, and he walks out of the club.

Margot walks over to Gian and I, and I give her a hug. “We have bad luck with hobbies, so I guess it probably wouldn’t be safe to put us near knitting needles or anything,” I say to her with a laugh.

She laughs nervously.

Gian is nice enough to smile tentatively.

“I’m going to head home for the night. Breakfast tomorrow, Lucy?” Margot says with her own weak smile.

“Definitely babe. Though I’m probably going to see Tommy tomorrow, so it'll be quick,” I tell her. That’s when the nurse on duty had said would be the first day that I could visit. I can’t wait to see Tommy, even though I know he’s been through hell. I want to see him and hug him and tell him that soon he’ll be on the other side of all of this.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Margot says and turns to leave.

“Lucy, I have to tell you…” Gian starts.

“Take me upstairs and idiot me, Gian,” I say, stepping up on my tiptoes and wrapping my arms around Gian’s neck. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to talk. I’m worried about Tommy and I just need to feel you inside me right now.”

“Hard to argue with that,” Gian says, eyes hooded with lust, his finger gliding along my jawline.

I need him so badly right now … I really don’t want to fight or talk about anything until I work out all the tension that built right back up inside of me with this incident.

I grab his other hand and see that the blood on his knuckles isn’t his, and I wipe it off on the tank top I’m wearing.

Something about this amuses Gian and we head for the elevator, time suspended from the tension at hand because we’re both thinking about how much we want to mess.

12

Gian

“I want you inside me now, Gian,” Lucy says. Her eyes are pleading. Is this a distraction because of the argument? Is this because of the argument — Lucy doesn’t strike me as that type, but there are women who enjoy that sort of getting riled and getting defiled thing. Or can this be what I truly hope it is … that she wants me?

Or worse of all, is she just saying this because Lucy is afraid of the consequences otherwise?

I'm not a gentle man when I’m wronged. Embarrassed even. Sure, there are few that know Lucy is mine just yet. I have that reputation; perhaps everyone who thinks I harassed her also thinks I’m discarding her. I'm married after all.

I don’t know what to make of any of this.

The argument inside the club has me doubting every ounce of progress that we made. I don’t want to be the monster that I know I could be. I’m losing face if I let my girl — and I want to publicly declare Lucy as my girl — prance around half naked. When I met her she was a virgin. She tells me that I make her feel sexy … and then she wants to feel sexy in front of so many people. No matter how erotic the sight of her up on that stage were, I don’t want other people to get to see it.

But I’m trying to give her a choice. Let her be free to live her own life as she chooses.

And I’m the toe who doesn’t want her to dance on stage for strangers to try and stuff dollars in her panties … but I'm not the toe who doesn’t recognize that genuine talent and athleticism that goes into actual pole dancing. Lucy has a natural gift for it. I want to be angry, but I also don’t want to crush something that makes Lucy feel good about herself. I saw how she handled it when a man tried to put his hands on her. Hearing her say that she was mine was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard in my life, short of hearing Lucy moan with my cock deep inside her.

And after I’ve yelled at her and now I have her back in our penthouse suite…do I really want to be that guy?

Worse than being the guy who is taking advantage of her is being the guy that willingly takes advantage of her when I know she doesn’t want this. That’s the thing. I don’t want her to mess me here and now if she doesn’t want this? Did I ever give her a choice? It doesn’t matter how it makes me look or what is happening, I want to know that Lucy isn’t sleeping with me because she feels like she has to. I want her more than my next breathe. I care more about sinking my cock into her than I care about if I’ll open my eyes another day. But more than any of that, I don’t want to harm Lucy. I don’t want to hurt her.

I want to ask her if she’s sure that she wants this. But whom am I kidding? I don’t want to ask her that. I took her virginity when she offered it to me and I told her that she would be in my bed. And as things are about to happen now, and she says those words, I want to ask her again. Idiot me, I’m going to be the cause of my own death.

“I mean it, Lucy. You can go right now and I’ll help your brother — I don’t want you my prisoner.” I say this as earnestly as I can, which means I have to keep my hands off of her. This makes me clench my fists. My hands don’t feel right anymore when they aren’t touching her. They aren’t my own. None of me is. I want to belong to her the way that she swore to belong to me. I’ve never felt that before and it's dangerous.

The logical part of me should know that it's downright madness for me to allow myself this kind of attachment. It makes me weak. If it can be used to hurt me, I shouldn’t allow myself to feel it and I should squash it. If I was going to be able to just keep her no matter what, I should've said nothing.

Instead, I’m looking into her large, beautiful eyes looking up at me. I don’t see fear for me — and perhaps I need to warn her again — but I see a trepidation that she isn’t voicing.

Stepping back two long strides, I have to put some distance between us. It feels like a magnetic pull will bring us back together, and I can’t have that.

Lucy steps closer to me. “Gian, I…I don’t know much right now. I’m hurt, I’m lost; I’m alone. But I know that I want you. Would you so quickly discard me? Is that it? Am I being foolish, a dumb little girl you messed and now you want to get rid of? I wouldn’t have expected the chivalry then. That’s a nice touch,” her words scratch at her throat and she lifts up her hands to press her fingers to her temples. She walks toward me.

Doesn’t she know that every second she walks near me, it erases every ounce of resolve in my body?

I can’t keep myself from her if she won’t let me let her go. “Lucy,” I groan, but her hands are already on me. This can’t be the same woman who seemed to despise me, who didn’t want anything to do with me, who was terrified of me? How can her hands be on me like they are?

Pressing her hands to my chest, her palms are flat to my pectorals and she’s gripping my shirt like she’s holding on for dear life. I can’t handle the way that she’s touching me. Foolish, I'm letting myself fall apart for some palms, but her belly graze my chest and I give myself this — any man would lose their mind at that.

“Idiot,” I hear her little voice cry out.

My hands were hovering just over touching her, but I freeze at the sound. My gaze looks up to her. “Are you—“

“Is it always like this? When you’ve had sex with someone, do you always crave them so much?” Lucy asks.

Goodness, the words are the death of me. How am I supposed to operate on a basic, functional level when she says things like that?

“Babe, it has never been like this before, not for me, and…” I don’t want to finish that sentence. I cup her face and draw her into a passionate kiss instead. I cannot bear the idea of drowning myself in thoughts when I could be deep inside her tight pussy, trapped between her thighs and letting her lay waste to me with her every breath.

Her lips close over mine and it's so sweet. Mine crush hers, but hers captivate me, soft as rose petals and sweet like a fine red wine. I can’t taste her enough. My arms pull her close to me, crushing her against me. My tongue slides over the seam of her lips and she opens for me. I’m desperate to taste her more. Her warm mouth open for me makes my tongue dance over hers, silk and sin tasting like the pain of reality could never touch us. She’s gasping for air and I break the kiss to bring my mouth to her jawline. Trail down her neck, buttons of kisses pressing sensations throughout her body. I feel the shivers she gets every time I touch her and I’m addicted to the way she inhales, a needy gasp for air before I pull her back under with the undeniable fire of my lust.

She’s mine. I shouldn’t think it. I didn’t want to be that guy. I figured I could help Lucy, and I really would let her go.

Instead, I can say the words, but neither one of us is ready to be free.

If I had any honor, I’d still push her away. But I’ve never pretended to be honorable. There’s no sense in starting now, because I don’t have the strength to let her free of my arms.

“Gian, I…” Lucy’s hands go behind her back and I realize she’s about to unhook her bra.

I growl. I would have said words but my hands claw to her back and snap off her bra instead, stealing my thoughts and my words.

“I…can’t leave. I have nothing. I am nothing,” Lucy’s voice is shallow and slow now and I’m pulled out of the heady need surrounding me.

I can’t have her think something like that. I don’t want her to stay with me because I’m her only option, either, and maybe that’s reason enough to let her dance even if I don’t want her to. But first, I have to tell her how she’s not nothing. “You’re not nothing. You’re more of everything I’ve ever seen good in the world, in one person. You’re empty because you’re always giving, and there’s no one giving anything to you.” I want to give my body to her, she captivates the parts of my heart I didn’t know could still be part of anything I had to offer, but that’s not enough. Not for Lucy. It can’t be. She deserves more than the likes of me. I start to pull away, but her hands tangle up in my shirt, thumb working over buttons until she’s freed me from the prison of not touching her. I bring my hands back to her to pull her own shirt over her head. Her arms hook out of her bra, and I see the top nude half of her and I can’t stand the idea of not being inside of her. But I want to see my cock slide deep in her pussy, slow, deep strokes where I can watch how her skin gets pinker and more flushed every time I’m inside of her. Then I’ll kiss her and feel her trembling legs wrap around me. And nothing ugly about today or ever can get to us, not when I’m inside her and she’s locking me in with her ankles.

“I want to know what you’re thinking when you look at me like that,” Lucy says.

“I want to know how you can think so little of yourself,” I say. Idiot, I could be inside her a thousand times over and I want to be. I could be cruel and push her away forever. I don’t want to, but I should do that.

So why do I say this kind of trash instead? Why can’t I stay broken and unfeeling — why do I have to tell sweet Lucy that she needs to know she’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met? What good will that do any of us? She had me pegged for who I was right away. Only my money can help her, and that’s already happening. What can I possibly hope to offer her?

“Because I have eyes,” Lucy says. “Because I’ve been sleepwalking through every part of my life that isn’t a nightmare. I have nothing to look forward to but my brother … and when that was my only goal, it was fine. I don’t mean to be selfish, I just don’t have that to worry about anymore, and now I don’t know who I am,” Lucy says, pressing one palm to my chest.

I pull her head to mine. The soft feel of her hair on my now bare skin makes me bite my lip for a second. Garbage, she’s everything soft and good in the world. She’s my world. How could I have fallen so fast? Hard enough to feel the impact shattering me.

“You’re right. When you had nothing else to worry about that was fine. But you need the freedom to explore what you want. Anything you want, Lucy, I'll make it happen. You have to figure out what your heart’s desire is,” I say. When did I become a blasted poet? I mean every word, but I feel like a blasted fool.

Lucy says nothing, so I bring her face up to mine, and I see tears welling in her eyes. Idiot.

“No one has ever wanted to do anything for me. Wanted to help me,” Lucy says with a sniffle.

Well no wonder my ability to take advantage of her is strong. Her whole family, save her brother, died, and now she’s got a brother alone to look out for her, and he’s the one who needs looking after? Of course, he’s too busy to do that. Lucy was a virgin until me. I get it now.

And I’m the monster taking advantage of that situation. If only I could help her and not hurt her. Because when she finds out I’m married, even if what Lucy and I have is real, that’s probably going to crush her more than anything. I never want to hurt her.

I just want to have her.

I can’t have her.

But I’m not thinking about that right now. My lips close over hers again. I feel the soft flutter of her wet eyelashes against my cheek and I breathe deep her scent. I need to be inside Lucy more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life. “Lucy,” I say her name like an incantation, summoning everything required to raze my soul. “Goodness, I need you so much,” I say, unable to hold back now. I need her more than I could possibly say. My hands on her aren’t enough; her lips kissing me are only pushing me for more. My mouth is bruising, passionate and rough, claiming her lips and overtaking her tongue, my mouth pressed so hard against hers it almost hurts, but I keep kissing her like I’m sucking her soul out of her. I breathe her in, drink her in, taste her, and know that I'll be hollow if I ever let her go. She had the chance to go, my thoughts growl. Those demons within me tell me that now she’s mine to claim. That I don’t need to worry about anything but making sure her skin is always under my fingers, that she’s what my lips are touching.

Lucy gasps beneath me and I know she needs to breathe. I release her lips for a moment and the instant she inhales, I close my mouth over hers again. One of my hands grabs her breasts and I squeeze a little harder than I should. Her moan into my mouth presses me on. I need her, need her in my grasp. I hold tight and tighter yet. My tongue dances over hers, and my mouth is open over hers. Her tongue makes me shiver the way she runs it over mine, and touches the inside of my mouth. The taste of her is honey and sin, innocence that I’ve been tormented by and it's erased with every bit of trouble we make together. Her condemnation is as certain as mine now. I cursed this beautiful soul moaning beneath me and I can’t help myself. So be it.

Pulling back so quickly she whimpers I have to tear off every last bit of her clothes. I do it so quickly that her clothes are in tatters; her body is pulled and bounced around like she’s a gift I’m unwrapping rather than a person I’m undressing. Goodness, she is my toy. The thing I need to play with more than I need to breathe.

I toss the fabric behind me, watch her freed skin bump up with the impact of air. I cover her body with my own, one hand tearing off my pants, then my underwear. I can’t wait a moment longer. I need my cock inside Lucy.

“Gian,” Lucy moans and I look into her eyes. They’re hooded with lust. She’s biting her tongue.

I dip my fingers into her folds, feeling her wet pussy, and I slide my fingers in.

She moans. “I need you so much,” Lucy says and those words. What am I supposed to do with those words? I’d start a war over less from her lips if anything tried to keep me from her.

Curling my fingers inside her to stroke her G-spot, I watch her face beautifully contort in pleasure and my mind is already planning some day when I’m not after her like I’m dying of thirst, I want to finger her pussy slowly for an hour, watch her legs tremble and keep her so close, keep her wet, but not let her come. She loves the feeling of being on the brink — I’ve already seen her taste for that and I want to play with her more. I could harass her a different way every day and still not be sated. I need her more than anything in my life. And right now my cock is going to dang explode if I don’t get it deep in her sweet pussy.

But Lucy’s hand reaches down and guides me toward her, and she’s wiggling her hips.

Idiot, she’s trying to get my cock in her just as fast as I’m trying to bury myself inside her. We need each other so much that we’re both desperately racing for it. Ain’t that something?

I move her pretty little hands away and drive my cock into her. We’re both watching her pussy eat up inches of my cock into her, spearing poor Lucy practically in half. My cock is so huge that I feel her stretching to accommodate me and I’m desperate to get in to the hilt. I want her pussy to take every inch of me.

I look to her face and see her eyes have rolled back in their orbits.

“You love this cock, Lucy? You love taking every dang inch of me as much as you can, as soon as you can, as deep as you can?” I ask and I’m panting. I bring two of my fingers up to her mouth.

When she opens her mouth to answer, she gets a muffled, “Yes,” out before I press those fingers to her lips. She sucks my fingers. Her lips pucker up and kiss the fingers, then she pulls them into her mouth and her tongue licks them. Her closed mouth’s suction is a warm, wet feeling that does something to me. That feeling jolts right to my cock, making me jerk inside her with an aroused twitch. Idiot, Lucy knows exactly how to touch me, how to mess me with her tongue on my fingers. I have to return the pleasure with my cock, as soon as possible.

I roll back my hips and stroke long and hard into her. I’m resisting pumping hard into her, because we could both cum so hard and so fast together…but neither of us is here for a quick idiot. We want to savor each other until we both can’t take it anymore.

Then throw ourselves off that cliff and dive further into our passion than either of us can stand.

Driving into her pussy again, the feel of her stretching and surrounding me is enough to end a lesser man. But I’m deified in my devotion to her, finding it necessary to make sure I keep her slow and feeling her, hearing her moan and whimper not from some fast pumps into her. Thrusting could bring out plenty of heavy breathing. But I’m looking to draw low breaths from her that rise up from the very depths of her body. I want to extricate every ounce of desire and draw it out to hear it all. My heart is beating so fast at being inside her that I think maybe she can hear it.

I pull my fingers from her mouth with a wet pop, bringing those wet fingers to her clit and forming lazy little circles around it, then on it, and then around again. There’s something painfully tragic in the way we both enjoy the teasing way I harass her. It's like it's mocking me entirely. Lucy’s too good to ever belong to me, and I’m worshiping at her altar all the same. Forever unworthy, prolonging not just her orgasm, but also the end of me.

Lucy’s hips shoot up when my fingers graze her clit again. I up the intensity of my fingers there, working smaller circles. I swoop down, tongue and teeth to her breast, drawing a nipple between my teeth. I scrape my teeth over the tender flesh. Lucy’s back arches and her breast fills my mouth. I suck and lick her. Keep working circles on her clit. Keep driving my cock slowly, deeply into her.

I feel her legs shaking, a slow building crescendo of need. Lucy won’t come like this. Oh, she’ll want to. She’ll try. I’m desperate to come myself, wanting to finish hard and deep inside of her. But I’m not letting that happen. Trapped beneath me, Lucy is doomed to so much more sensual torture before the night is over. This night is so far from over.

“Did you need something, Lucy?” I hum against her skin. I'm teasing her, but I don’t let that enter my voice. I make it so she thinks she might actually get to come. I want her to reserve nothing and think she’ll be free soon, free to release all this tension I’m building up inside of her…and when she thinks I’m about to let her loose, that’s when I’ll wrap her up more. I want her buried so deep in need for me that she can’t remember her own name. I want her to be consumed with need for me.

And when I finally let her come?

I want her to black out from the intensity.

Then I can hold her in my arms and not let myself think about the mongrel I am.

“Unnngh,” Lucy moans. “Please,” she says, finally finding words.

I’m still into her so slowly. Her pussy is squeezing around me. Her hips jiggle. She’s not lying particularly still, her shakes and shivers along with her wiggles and wanton arches toward me, are keeping her from that. But it doesn’t bring her what she needs.

Only I get to say when that happens.

“You’re so wet,” I say, my voice low with lust. Pulling the words from my throat isn’t easy. I flick my tongue over her nipple, delighting in her shiver. “I feel your pussy squeezing my cock.”

Lucy bites her lip and moans.

I speed up just a little on her clit. “But I’m not letting you come yet.”

Lucy sighs and her breathing gets more labored. She’s so close but not quite there, and I’m not letting her get there. I move my mouth to her other breast and I work even faster on her clit, but now I only slide my cock in some. She needs to take me deep to come. Lucy needs so much more from me to orgasm. I love that about her. Plenty of girls could come from the clit rubbing and such, and that’s fine, but Lucy needs me. Needs my permission, needs my cock, needs my fingers, needs my mouth. If I’m not consuming her utterly, then she’s letting me hold her on the brink. And I love that. I crave it. This has ruined me for anyone else. I'll never be able to mess anyone the way I idiot Lucy because no one craves me the way Lucy seems to.

Why this sweet woman who's so much better than I could even hope to be even wants me or lets me keep her, I don’t know.

I know why she messed me the first time. Curiosity continued what started out of her family loyalty. But she knows now how right about me that she was and I gave her the option. Idiot I tried to let her go. I wished for both of us that she could want to go. Instead, here we are. I’m her so slowly and shallowly that I can barely breathe. My cock is twitching and despite the agony my balls are loading up. Her body is shivering, trembling with my every touch. But neither one of us is coming. We both like being suspended in this limbo.

“Gian, idiot,” Lucy says, and I look up to see her eyes watering. “Fuuuuuck,” she moans out when I sink my teeth into her breast again. “I need you,” she says in the sweetest dang voice.

That’s how you break a spell. I don’t even think about it and I’m closing my mouth over hers, slamming my cock deep into her.

“Dang, baby girl, you kill all my resolve,” I say with a laugh when my lips ghost over hers so that we can both catch our breath. “Still not letting you come, though. I want to keep you so close. I just need my cock deeper in you before we both die.” I tell her the truth. Both parts are so true. I can’t stand not being buried inside of her. And I’m not ending this moment, how much we’re building up to the orgasm.

“Oh yeah?” Lucy says, and I hear the challenge in her voice. Her pussy clenches around me and I nearly cum right then and there. And she knows that if I orgasm, it'll set her off. That’s just how dirty my sweet little girl is. Like, Lucy was just a virgin and now she’s such a perfect little orgasm addict, I can’t handle how hot that is and she knows it.

I grab both of her wrists and cage her hands up above her head.

I slam my cock into her harder.

It looks like I'm giving her everything she wants. Like she’s winning.

But I hear that sweet little moan and I know, sure, it seems that way. But we both know she took a gamble there and she’s not going to win against me. Giancarlo Sandoval is the house, and the house always wins.

“Idiot,” Lucy cries out.

“I'm going to keep you, all night, Lucy,” I promise her. My cock is eager to come, but more eager to keep being inside her. I’m going to harass her for a long time before I let myself come. Then I’m going to harass her some more. “Goodness, I want to,” I moan low in my throat.

“Idiot me all day tomorrow. Let me cum and sleep in your arms tonight,” Lucy says.

And how the heck does a man say no to that?

“You’ve got me under your thumb, do you, Lucy?” I say with a laugh. “You’re good at getting what you want from me. And you’re good at dancing. So keep doing both,” I tell her. I meant to wait till after, but I can’t stand it anymore. I want her to know that I value her happiness above everything else. “I don’t want to keep you from anything. If you find something you love, let it take as much of your time as you like.” I pray that it means I’ll still get time with her…I don’t know how I would stay away. But this is all the strength I have to tell her that if she wants to leave me, she can. I already said as much before, but I need to reiterate that I truly mean it.

And now I have. “Now cum for me, Lucy,” I say, slamming my cock deep in her. I feel her pussy squeeze around my cock and her little screams are music to my ears.

I’m close to cumming, but this time I want to pull out and do it on those sexy belly. I can’t lie, seeing other men ogling them has left me with a deep urge to unload a gallon of cum all over them and make them solely mine for the night. She said she wanted to cum and then sleep…and I probably shouldn’t be super gluing her to me so I’ll have to help her clean it off, but I can’t help myself.

When I feel her shuddering stop, I pull out.

Lucy gasps.

Oh, baby girl, you have no idea how filthy I can be. I’ve only just started you.

I may be done for the night when I finish cumming on her belly, but so long as I'm Lucy, I’m going to show her the very meaning of sin. I’ll kiss, lick, suck, and cum all over her perfect body and hope that she never wants anyone else. I’ll never forget how earnestly she told me that she was glad she would never idiot anyone else. No way anyone will harass her the way I do. I don’t ever want us to find out.

My cock shoots ropes of cum on her belly, so much cum coming out of me that even I’m surprised. She looks so good covered in it that it almost makes my head spin a little.

Her soft pink tongue pokes out of her mouth and I don’t have to be told twice. I finish on her tongue, hearing her moan as she licks it up. I watch her lift her nipples up to her mouth and lick them.

I don’t know where the heck that idea came from, but I never cease to be amazed by how perfectly Lucy’s mind works.

13

Lucy

The cold, unfeeling letters against the stone make me glad to have asked Gian to come with me to visit Tommy. I asked him to come with me, and I’ll go into Tommy’s room alone. My fingers feel safe inside Gian’s.

“Welcome to Sutherland Rehabilitation Facilities,” a woman in lavender scrubs greets us at reception.

“Hi,” I say with a little shake in my voice. Gian puts his other hand to the small of my back. “I’m Lucy Tomlinson, here to see Thomas Tomlinson, my brother.” I already feel less stressed and more excited because I want to see his face. I've never gone so long without seeing my brother’s face. I took care of him.

I’m glad someone else, a professional, or a team of them by the upscale looks of these facilities, was able to take care of Tommy for me. For a second I feel a brush of guilt, but I know that I need to let myself have my own life.

A strange life that is nothing like what I pictured for myself…but that’s the strange thing. Until my bother was taken care of, I had never really imagined what my life might look like if I could choose. When I thought I wanted to run far away from Gian, I imagined that my brother and I would go live boring lives in some small town until we were creaky and old.

But now I've quit my job at the diner, and I don’t have my apartment anymore. I have a friend. A probably married boyfriend. My life isn’t anything like what I imagined. But now I have hope and the possibility to figure out just what I want that to be.

And the idea that someone else is married to Gian sours everything in my stomach instantly. The weight of it hits me and when I’m following the nurse to Tommy’s room, I look back at Gian with pleading eyes as he sits down in the waiting area at reception.

Maybe I can’t have the one thing I never knew that I wanted because Gian must belong to someone else.

I feel so stupid. I can’t be thinking about this now. What if the worry reads all over my face and it upsets Tommy, who has already been through so much?

I inhale deeply and look at the closed door the nurse leaves me at.

I walk in with a smile on my face. Tommy looks clean and well taken care of, but he looks utterly exhausted. He also looks pissed when he sees me, which takes me aback.

“Luce, I can’t believe you let that jerk throw me in this place,” Tommy says, gritting his teeth and looking up at me with narrowed eyes. “And if you’re him, I don’t want to believe that either. But I can’t believe I’m finally sober,” Tommy says and I hear his voice crack. “I feel like I haven’t seen myself or my own life in years, Luce, thank you so much. But there’s something that I have to tell you,” Tommy says, reaching out for my hand.

I sit down in the chair next to his bed and hold his hand. It feels warm and clean and makes me breathe so much easier.

“Lucy, Giancarlo Sandoval’s crazy wife and this other dude I owed money to, this biker Luke Gravos, they wanted me to kill their husbands. They were promising to erase my debts and make me a wealthy man,” Tommy says this, and I see him searching my eyes for something.

My reaction? To see if I knew this already?

I can’t breathe for a second and I’m so confused.

The note…it wasn’t about how he owed Gian more than anyone else. It was because that’s who these women wanted him to cross off first. The idea of Gian being hurt terrifies me. The idea that someone who should care about him — whoever this wife of his is — orchestrating the hurt kills me. And Tommy, a killer? That’s almost too much for me to handle and I can’t say anything right now. I should. My lips part and nothing comes out.

“I just wanted to give us a better life, Luce. I didn’t want to do it. I couldn’t exactly say no to them. But…Gian told me that it has been taken care of. He told me yesterday, on the phone, he told me everything.” Tommy squeezes my hand again. “Lucy, do you trust Giancarlo Sandoval? Can we trust this guy?”

I don’t know much about these deals, but I know that I can trust Gian. No matter my doubts or the dumb fights we've had, no matter how strange our courtship was if you would even call it that, I know I can trust Gian. I feel it deeper in my bones than I’ve ever felt anything before in my life. “Yes, I trust Gian. I love him,” I say, finally looking at Tommy.

Tears are welling in my eyes and when Tommy pulls me into his arms, I’m so grateful. I can’t believe that only a few weeks ago, Tommy was strung out, I was barely able to pay for my box of an apartment, and I had no friends in the world.

Gian told me that he was going to keep me forever.

I know he wanted to tell me about his wife — I know that he was going to tell me something before, after I was dancing with Margo, and I didn’t let him. It must've been easy to hold me and not say anything, because now the sadness I saw in his eyes makes so much sense.

“Tommy, I’m so glad you’re doing better. I’m going to visit you every day. I know you’ll be out of here soon and you can do anything you want. You’re free,” I tell him, kissing him on the cheek.

Tommy releases me and squeezes my hand before letting me go. “I still feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years…even though it's been like I was sleepwalking through life. But do me a favor. Don’t visit me. Enjoy having your own life, and then when I’m out of here, we can spend actual time together. I…I need time to decompress everything from the last seven years, to be honest. I haven’t been dealing with it like you have at all.”

I purse my lips together. I want to argue with that, but I also want to give him what he’s asking for. Tommy deserves this. He’s asking me to leave him alone, but it isn’t like all the other times.

“You know how to call if you need me. If you need anything,” I say, standing up. I’ll give him his space. “I love you, brother,” I tell Tommy. Walking out of that room is difficult, but an enormous weight on my shoulders is lifted, too. For the first time in my life, I know that my brother is going to be okay.

I know that I’m going to be okay.

I walk back out and see a downtrodden look on Gian’s face. He knows that I know the truth. He expects me to be angry.

“The next time I dance, I’d like to not have a terrible ending,” I break the silence.

It's a question in a way. If Gian doesn’t say something about how he’s not going to have that, well then I know that Gian has done so much good for me, but I need to be free of him. But what really makes me feel free is being with him.

“You can have absolutely anything you want,” Gian says, and I hear the emotion thick in his voice. “I thought my wife, Terry, I thought she loved me a long time ago. I didn’t think I’d ever find someone else,” he says.

I wrap my arm around Gian’s neck and kiss him. “But you did?” I ask in a whisper quiet voice.

“I have,” Gian says, kissing my nose.

“Thank you for everything,” I say. I don’t want to rehash everything right now. I just want to go home. And home? Home is wherever Gian is.

14

Lucy

After more than a rocky start and some twists I couldn’t have imagined, the day I never dared dream of is here.

I’d offered my body to Giancarlo Sandoval. I thought it would be for one night, but it was for the rest of my life.

We were both in too deep and when he said I could leave, all I wanted was to stay.

His ex-wife Terry decided to get my brother to kill him.

And now, a finalized divorce, a crazy ex-wife being considerably less crazy with someone else, and nothing to keep us from being happy, Gian and I are getting married.

“I could have taken you anywhere in the world, you know,” Gian whispered to me.

Call me tacky but I wanted to get married in Wicked Paradise. Getting married in a casino is not normally the classiest act, sure, but I found it romantic to get married in the place where we met. The place where we first kissed. The place where we both learned to open up our hearts and love again.

“I have everything I’ve ever wanted, right now,” I say, and my eyes are already watering.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest tells us, and Gian grabs me tight and kisses me so hard, so passionately, so rough and tender at once, I forget that we’re anywhere else or with anyone…I moaned.

What can I say, that’s how good Gian kisses me! The whole world evaporates, and my body responds.

My face heats up and I know I must be bright red from embarrassment, but I also can’t manage to care because I have everything.

When my heartbeat returns to normal, I look over at Tommy. He gave me away today, and I married Gian. The huge rock on my finger is weighing it down, but for the first time in my life I am actually free. Tommy gave me away, but he is more of a part of my life than ever.

I have not one but two incredible men in my life right now and I’m so grateful I could burst. I reach out and squeeze Tommy’s hand.

“You’re so beautiful, Luce. Congratulations,” Tommy says. His eyes are watering, and that makes my eyes water.

Then I look over at Gian, and I can’t help it. I totally lose it. I’m a mess of happy tears and sounds of happiness, and I jump into his arms. Those strong arms that hold me so tight, spin me, and lift me up while he carts me off to the dance floor.

“I know this is like so not kosher,” I say and bite my lower lip. “But you said Terry, your ex-wife, you said she was trying to have Tommy kill you. Did your employee, Zander, know? And are they really just off somewhere with a big pile of money?” I told myself that I wasn’t going to ask these things. Not because Gian didn’t want to tell me because I felt pretty sure he would. But still, I couldn’t help but ask.

Gian’s eyes widen. “Oh, so you wanna do this here?” He says, but he’s laughing. I can’t believe how light the air is between us with such a heavy topic. “Zander didn’t know. The reason he was so torn up is because he’s always been so loyal. So wanting to be with Terry? He didn’t know what he was getting into then,” Gian laughs, running a hand down my back as he spins me around the dance floor more.

I feel like a princess right now.

Even if I’m talking about my husband’s ex-wife. I mean, we can’t all be virgins, can we?

“Zander is still going to work for me, after they get back from a long vacation. Loyal people are extremely hard to find. Terry’s parents are the ones that pushed her to marry me. I didn’t believe in love then, but I tried to love Terry. And Terry? I don’t know that she cared or believed either, but Zander dealt with the majority of her garbage and they came out in love on the other side. Who would have guessed?” Gian kisses my forehead. “Love is…silly like that.”

I have never heard Gian use a word like silly before and it tickles me. I think I actually giggle before Gian pulls me into his arms and kisses away all my thoughts.

Happily ever after worked out surprisingly well for everyone, I guess, and I think about Tommy when I come up for air. He’s dancing with Margot…

“Oh, Gian, look who is next!” I say, pointing with my eyes.

“Your love is infectious,” Gian says in a mock accusatory tone. “Now they caught it, I think you’re right,” Gian nods, indicating how close they are dancing.

Margot is blushing. She never blushes.

We dance all night, until all our guests are tuckered out, and I’m exhausted. Gian carries me off to the elevator and I’m so beat, I fall right asleep in his arms.

To think I used to lie awake at night, wondering if I could make rent, and now I can fall asleep in the elevator up to the penthouse suite I share with my husband.

I didn’t need a big wedding. I had no big honeymoon plans. I had a very big love, and it was enough to fill every empty space in my heart.

15

Lucy

Coming back from a night of dancing usually winds me all up, but tonight is different. Because I knew that Gian was going to be busy with meetings all day, I kind of wanted to keep the home fires warm instead of doing anything else. I took a bath and read, then listened to music. It was so strange to be able to do this, but I quit my job at the diner after I saw how much I made dancing. The truth was that Gian made it very clear that I’d never have to work again. But I didn’t want that. I wanted to be able to do what I wanted and make money for me. But today I didn’t want to dance, didn’t feel like hanging out with anyone. I wouldn’t need it to be so excited for Gian’s arrival. In fact, I think that would've been too much for me. Today I needed to relax.

Because before this life I have now … I don’t remember when I could just relax. I have time to do things like read novels. Reading a whole novel can take so many hours I almost froze myself to death in the tub, lingering long after the warmth, getting caught up in the story. It's so nice to be able to relax. I enjoy rubbing fancy creams and lotions all over my body, taking care to do my hair even though I was staying inside. I even did my makeup — though not as extravagant as if I was going on stage, I found that I wanted to look as beautiful as I possibly good for Gian when he came home.

Home.

That’s what I think of this suite as. I considered asking Gian for my own place when our arrangement first began. But I haven’t really wanted that since…since he messed me like he did and showed me a side of him that I didn’t know could exist. I wanted to be near him. I like that when he’s not here and I am, the sheets still have his scent on them. I like that living in the same suite as him means that most nights, we sleep side by side. Or, as I prefer, in Gian’s arms.

I have an attachment to Gian like I’ve never had before. The truth is, I’ve never been close to anyone before Gian. I had no relationships. My brother was the only person in my life and he kept me at a distance to cope with his own problems. Never, ever, could I keep a friend for long. They thought I was weak. They didn’t share my interests.

People always have reasons for not wanting to be in my life, or I have reasons to not want others in my life.

Yet, here I am. The girls at the club, the girls at the spa…I think of them as true friends now. And Gian…he’s like a boyfriend in a really twisted way. He may not be my ‘boyfriend’ but I know that I’m his girl. I can’t believe my strange little life.

And I kind of love it.

I like having my own little world with him. That’s really why I wanted to stay in today. I took some kind of strange pleasure in the idea that today, only Gian would see me. And I don’t know if I should tell him that because I know he’s not thrilled with the fact that I’ve decided to take up dancing on a pole in his club…but even though I enjoy that, I also enjoy being his. He is as close to understanding both as I think he’s ever going to, so I’ll just not press the issue or bring it up.

When the evening starts to wind down, I expect that Gian will arrive any time now. Instead of wearing any fancy lingerie, I opted instead to be completely naked for his arrival. I think there’s bound to be some level of excitement for that on his part. I grab a glass and a bottle of wine from the bar. It's always so well stocked, but I haven’t seen Gian drink from the bar or drink alcohol anywhere else since the night I met him and offered myself up to him.

Maybe it's a coincidence. But maybe it isn’t. I put the alcohol and the wine back and opt to wait for him while opening a second novel to read. I mean, there’s no story so compelling that I won’t drop it the instant Gian walks in. Except I must've picked the most boring story in the world and I can barely hang on while reading it. Despite doing mostly nothing all day, I find myself yawning and before I know it, I’m asleep, naked, in the bed I share with Gian only now I’m sharing it with a novel from my paperback stack next to the bed.

I wake up much later in the evening to Gian’s fingers stroking my chin.

“You must be tired, Luce, you don’t have to wake up,” Gian says in a low voice. There’s some emotion that I don’t understand in his voice, and he’s never called me Luce before. Only my brother has ever called me that.

Yawning, then wiping the sleep from my eyes, I sit up in bed. “No, this book was just very boring and instead of picking a different one, I apparently let it put me right to sleep,” I say with a small laugh.

Gian looks at me, bemused. Only the moonlight illuminates his gorgeous face, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he needs me.

“What is it, Gian? What’s wrong?” I ask him. I can’t imagine what kept him so long, mostly because I don’t know anything about his business. But Gian always seems so unbothered. So in control. It makes me hurt for him to see him any other way.

“Don’t you worry about it. You can go back to sleep,” Gian says, standing.

Unconsciously, I touch my face where his hand was.

I get up to knees on the bed and look at him. “No, I want you. I’ve wanted nothing more today than to see you.

Gian’s eyes look at my naked body in the moonlight, a sliver of the silver shining over my breasts.

“Well, this is a much better sight than I’ve had all day,” Gian says. He laughs again, smiles, but there’s a heaviness in him that I wish I could erase. I wish he would at least share with me what’s wrong. “Please, Gian, tell me what’s wrong,” I say in a soft voice. I don’t want to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but the truth is that I’ll be very hurt if he doesn’t want to tell me what’s wrong.

Gian looks at me and the smile over his face breaks through the sadness in his eyes. “I don’t even like Luke Gravos, but his wife…she’s worse than Terry ever was. Luke and I convinced her to back off, but she really wanted his head. I’m so glad I have you, Lucy. You’re more than I could have ever hoped for.” Gian’s eyes drink me in.

I can’t help but smile. Gian can and did open up to me. He trusts me like I trust him. And he needs me.

Gian’s hand closes over my breast, and another goes to grasp the back of my neck, holding me as he dips to kiss me. I’m still concerned for him, but this is perhaps how Gian needs me. Physical touch shows more than Gian can ever say, even though he’s so open with me. I know that when he opens up to me even a little bit that he’s as surprised as I am. That’s both flattering and frightening. Because I care so deeply for Gian. I don’t want him to be closed off from the world. Most of all, I want him to be able to open up to me.

Right now my lips are parting for him. His knees press apart my thighs to spread my legs while he deepens our kiss. I can’t stay steady with the way he’s splaying me out for him. His hand on my neck drops to my back. “I’ve got you,” Gian murmurs into my mouth.

Yes, yes he does. The words are a siren song to my soul. Every time he says them, they become more and more true.

First, he had me because of the deal.

Then, he had me because of how quickly he took care of Tommy.

The kiss…that first kiss he gave me undid me in every way.

Now, every time he says he has me, when I might fall because of how he goes after my body, it's my heart and soul that I wonder that he doesn’t have. Gian is always on my mind. He already has me there. The other parts of me…well, right now, with his body overtaking mine, it's difficult to think about more.

Difficult, but not impossible. Well, not for much longer. I know that the way that Gian idiots me means I’ll barely remember my own name by the time he gets going.

He doesn’t even bother getting onto the bed first before getting inside me. His cock is in me so fast that I cry out at the feel of him sliding his thick rod into me. Gian presses me down to the bed, impaling me fully on his cock while he lays down on top of me and lays me down onto the bed.

“I thought only of this, all day,” Gian says against my neck. His hips roll and he slams into me with a quick, forceful thrust. I’m already aching for him and the hard way he’s started me drives me crazy in all the right ways. “I love driving my cock so deep in your sweet pussy,” Gian continues. His words make my nipples ache for him, even though he’s already pressing his body against them, I want to press into him harder yet. I need to be closer to him which, as far deep inside of me as he is, is actually difficult. But I’m groaning, aching with need. I use all the strength I have to slam my hips up to meet his thrusts. A wet sound fills the air, the musk of my pussy thick in the air. I’m so wet for him, I actually feel my arousal sliding down my thighs. That wet sound when he slams into me is unmistakable.

“I’m so wet, Gian, I wanted you to mess me all day. I waited all day for you to cum inside me,” I say with a whimper. My breathing is close in time with every thrust, making my words jumpy and urgent.

“Good, Lucy, but I’m going to forget you harder and deeper before I cum inside this pussy tonight,” Gian says and closes his teeth over one of my earlobes. It makes me sigh, squirm against him.

I like the sound of him me deeper. I imagine I’m like clay, I’m malleable and my body is so consumed by his that deep inside of my pussy is the imprint of his cock. I’m shaped just for him. I cum only for Gian. I ache for his body interlocked with mine. It isn’t such madness to think that I’m formed for him, and I like the thought even if it's silly. I blame how hard and deep he idiots me. These unrelenting thrusts clear all thoughts from my mind except how deep and hard he is me.

Sure enough, Gian makes good on his promise. He pulls back and then grabs my thighs, spreading them up and apart. His hands maintain their grip, and his hips return to their previous speed.

The pressure in my pussy is instantly so much stronger that I scream out. The sound is buried in the exertions of his cock slamming into me. Somehow this angle is so much deeper that it drowns out the sounds that claw their way up to my throat and I don’t know what to do. I can hardly breathe. The pressure is so intense that it feels like my body is going to burst. Gian has me pinned under him, and he’s me so hard I think I might black out. The pressure and the pleasure spiral together. I feel so helpless beneath him now and he’s me so hard I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk straight tomorrow. Which I don’t mind at all.

I can’t believe how slutty this thought is, but I like the idea of Gian me so hard that I walk bowlegged or something like that. I like feeling sore after he idiots me. The memories against my skin, deep in my pussy, against my soul, are little scars and badges of honor. They aren’t permanent, they aren’t forever, but when they can remain until the next time he idiots me, it makes me feel somehow more complete.

Gian and I are both glistening in a sheen of sweat beneath the moonlight. Gian switches his tack from thundering thrusts at lightning speed to slow, deep, hard thrusts that make me yelp with hunger every time he sinks so deep into me. His hands on my legs squeeze harder and he presses them up higher but also closer together. The closeness and added depth to this angle makes me grit my teeth. It's such an intense sensation that I’m gasping for air, my lungs begging to be filled up with fresh air so that I can breathe. When people talk about someone taking their breath away, this is what they should be talking about. Because this literally breathtaking sex position is the most incredible sensation that’s ever overtaken my body.

Just when I think I might succumb to madness if he idiots me like this any more, Gian pulls my legs back down and brings his hands under my rear to hold me and lift me up while he idiots into me slower. It's these maddening slow strokes that are a double-edged sword. On the one hand, they’re a reprieve from the ultra intense before. So it seems like I should be able to catch my breath and take everything that he’s offering me. But on the other hand, the hand I’m actually dealt, I can still barely breathe. My whole body aches for him to fill me up and the second before his cock is all the way in me again, time drags slow and tortures me to the point that I’m inhaling the full length of him and exhaling in a whimper with his every exit.

My hands reach out and I wrap his forearms, squeezing with all might at his arms caging around me for his purchase while he rocks inside of me and makes my whole world evaporate into nothing but need and arousal.

“You look like some kind of goddess of the night,” Gian says in a tender voice. “The moonlight looks good on you,” he says with a satisfied growl.

I’m pleased. I love when he says things like this to me. Gian is the first person to let me know that I’m actually attractive. But even though others find me attractive and I recognize that now, Gian is the only one who makes me feel beautiful. More than that, he makes me feel cherished. Cared for. Wanted. Safe.

I'm so safe in his arms.

I let out a nervous giggle. “Guess we’ll save so much on the lingerie budget,” I offer up a bit of humor, and then bite my lip when he closes all the spaces within me and idiots his cock all the way up my pussy again.

Gian’s charming grin in the moonlight actually makes my pussy tingle. My clit twitches. That’s how beautiful his face is, how handsome his smile is before he laughs. “Oh, but I’m not going to stop you in the daylight, either. Though that’s not a promise about tonight, as I don’t know how much longer I want to last in your sweet pussy tonight. I missed you.” The admission that he missed me feels warmer than all the other words. What was light becomes heavy. What was sweet becomes treasured.

I know that I’ll never forget how he said that. I wish I could tell him how much he means to me, but I don’t even know how to put those feelings into words or even expressions with my body.

“I missed you, too, Gian,” I say. The words are true but they are inadequate.

Gian says more with his body, with his words, than I could with an entire dictionary in my hands and a thousand years. The only thing more mysterious to me than what I wish I could say to Gian is what on earth it is that I feel for him.

I don’t know what being in a relationship feels like. Other than the incredible experiences that I have with Gian, I don’t even know what sex or orgasms feel like. I just know that…I don’t ever want to be without him.

Gian wants me, after all, he insisted on keeping me forever. But it feels like more and more, Gian is conflicted beyond what he feels. There’s something else, especially now with his upset demeanor when he arrived. The slower and deeper he strokes into my pussy, the more my mind obsesses over every detail I can think of.

“Where did you go, baby girl?” Gian asks. His lips close over mine, eating any answer I might've had. And I didn’t have one. How do you put into words things you don’t know and talk about the very things that you can’t put into words?

I let myself fall into a kiss. Even though he’s on top of me, the feel of his lips on mine, kissing me slow and deep and sensual as the way that he slides his cock into me is enough to make me feel disconnected from space, time, or any worries that were on my mind.

When he starts to speed up, worries are a million miles away and I’m aching with the intense pressure building up within me. The orgasm aching to be released builds up in my body and makes me want to scream out, to beg. But that’s not how this works.

I kiss Gian deeper, roll my body against his, hold him tight, and let myself be driven further and further into madness. I ache for him, long for him. I could live forever in the feeling of his cock inside me. His lips pressed against mine. His tongue sweeping over mine. Gian tastes like a home I’ve never known. The scent of him makes me feel like I’m in a private world where nothing can hurt me.

The arms wrap tighter around him. Squeezing Gian, I lighten my kiss for just a moment and inhale still wrapped up in our kiss. I want to breathe him in forever. I never want to leave his arms. My pussy is shivering. My legs tremble around him and I ache for this to never stop…and my clit is burning with the fire of an angry sun with an urgent need to cum.

It snuck up on me in the serenity of the moment, but it turns my kiss from sweet and passionate to needy and hungry. I’m devouring his mouth the way that his body and his mouth have taught me. I need release, but I have that almost fear in the moment where I get so close to cumming. I guess I’m not quite ready for the intensity of the sensations that I feel until they’re rolling over me so much that I can’t possibly control them, and then I do, for Gian. I hold back an orgasm for him to grant it for me, and that may be twisted in all the wrong ways, but it makes me indescribably happy. I long for him to grant me that which makes me feel more alive than I ever have. I want to come undone when he says so. I like when he’s buried deep within me, and that incredibly sexy voice lets me know that it's time to ride the waves we started to their highest parts. The orgasms that I have with him touching me are the only orgasms I’ve had…but they’re just too amazing for words. It's strange, but it's what I like.

I’m reminding myself of that fact while I’m tangling with the need building within me. Gian’s smile, spread across his lips now, makes me so much wetter. The feel of him smiling when we kiss is so tender and sensual and it makes me happier than I know how to say. I remember the Giancarlo Sandoval that I met not that long ago who looked like he never met a smile worth paying for. I don’t just mean women…I mean Gian looked like he never, ever smiled. Thinking about it now breaks my heart and I kiss him impossibly deeper. Let me take his breath away and he’ll get an idea of just how much I need him.

He’s smiling now because he can feel me trembling. I can’t keep kissing him, the tremors overtake me and my need threatens to overcome my body.

Gian tangles his fingers through my hair and moves his kisses to behind my ear, down my neck. “You’re shaking for me,” Gian says in a low, sensual voice. His lips touch my neck when he speaks and that nearly breaks me right there. The hum of his delicious mouth on my skin is a raw, passionate mark against the sands of my desire. With the slightest touch, Gian’s passion can touch me and draw lines where there weren’t any, and make me ache so much I think I might die.

Right now is one of those times I feel like my end might be near. I remember reading about the French calling orgasms little deaths. I understand that now, though I think I’ll suffer a big death if I don’t get to cum soon. Still, Gian’s torturing me with his mouth, and now he starts to thrust faster into me.

Picking up the pace in how he’s me is exactly the sort of thing that builds the pressure inside my pussy to a fever pitch. I’m mewling, whimpering, begging without words to be allowed to cum.

I could beg with words, but I don’t even bother trying to summon them. I don’t want to. I want to see what Gian wants to do with my body, and what he wants my body to do.

Gian is trying to kill me with his cock. There’s no other explanation. He knows how much I enjoy being on the precipice of an orgasm and he’s going to torment me as much as possible. I can’t complain. Well, I can and have, but I delight in the erotic torture. The sensual way that Gian can keep me so much on the edge of every pleasure and then draw me back… an ever-receding wave and tide coming back in makes my thoughts blur into nothing. I’ve never felt so free as I do when Gian idiots me.

Some people meditate. I find that boring and time wasted. I'm always going to start thinking about my grocery list, or what my next day at work is going to be like.

Some people turn to vices like drugs or alcohol. I’ve seen those tear my brother, Tommy, apart.

Me? I let myself get messed by the wealthy casino owner that could've chopped off some of my brother’s body parts to get him to pay up his gambling debts. I let him because I want him. It all started as some deal, but it's turned into something I don’t even begin to try to understand. Whatever it is that we have, I just know that it's something precious. Something I want to hold onto.

It's more than the sex. Incredible as the sex is. Never before in my life did I place a high priority on sex. Doubtlessly, now, I'm placing a priority on it now. But there’s something about Gian that’s so much more than about his cock or what he can do to me with it. I'm aching for him all the time, but it's more than sex. Gian makes me feel safe. I feel cared for. I know that he cares about what makes me happy, what I need.

The fact that he also seems to crave me as much as I craved being messed by him? That’s just major bonus points.

My whole life I figured I never needed sex, and I had no desire to go after it. No man interested me.

Now, no other man ever will. Giancarlo Sandoval idiots like a demon, but I see heaven when he’s inside me. Nothing could ever be so utterly sensual as how well Gian idiots me. He knows my body far better than I could ever know my own. I know I must sound like a foolish girl, but that’s just the truth. When he touches me, he creates feelings in me that I didn’t know I could have.

Right now, my eyes are rolling back in their orbits and I’m hardly able to hang on to any thought in my head. I live a pampered life now, but despite dancing for the eyes of many, or having my hair and nails done, or my body massaged like I’m some wealthy woman, nothing makes me feel like more of a queen than when Gian worships my body, keeps me on the edge of an orgasm, and then finally lets me cum. Pulls me all the way to the edge and then has me come undone for him. From his touch. The idea of orgasming for him is so erotic I might unload this pressure now just thinking about it. But that’s not what I want. I don’t want to cum until Gian says I can cum. It's strange, because taking orders from a man is so not my thing at all. In fact, I won’t do it unless I absolutely have to. But I just love when Gian controls when I cum, determines how and when I cum. It's hotter than anything I can imagine, and it shocked me as much as it did him, I think, when we harassed the first time and I wanted him to keep up his erotic torture forever. I feel safe in the space between the most intense pleasure continuing and that pleasure peaking to the utmost heights it can; I feel safe when Gian is in control of my body. I knew from the instant Gian kissed me that he knew my body and what my body likes better than me. His control of my orgasms is the purest expression of that.

Gian presses the hard wall of his chest to the soft pillow of my breasts. The feeling of him against me sets off fireworks under my skin. I feel us both slicked with sweat now from the intensity and exertion. But I don’t fire off until he’s ready. Still, I’m trembling around him. My legs are spread wide on the bed and if I had strength enough I would lock them together behind Gian’s back. But I’m using every ounce of my energy to hold my orgasm at bay until Gian sets me free.

His lips close over mine, but before I can kiss him, his teeth and lower lip scrape my lower lip into his mouth. He tugs lightly and it shocks me for just a moment enough that I’m not focused on holding back my pleasure and waiting. It trips me up and I shudder beneath him. Gian releases my lip and pulls me closer to him for a kiss. Breathing in my breath, he moans into my mouth. “Cum for me, baby,” and now it's my turn to moan into his mouth.

I shake hard enough to break our kiss, and I turn my head to the side and cry out. The intensity of the orgasm thundering through my body shocks me, and I’d been holding the sensations back. I can’t believe how much I needed this, either, because the unknown stress of the anxiety is clear to me. I had such stress from not being with him. I don’t know if that’s what bothered Gian, or something else, but I’m so content to be coming undone with his cock buried inside me. I feel that massive rod slam deeper into me, and the hot jets of cum sliding deep in my pussy. He’s unloading and I’m cumming as hard as my body possibly can. I finally make my shaking thighs encapsulate Gian and I pull him tighter in.

“I wish I could go deeper inside you, Lucy,” Gian says with a groan.

He makes a good point. That long, thick cock is messed as far up into me as it can be, but the way I’m squeezing him so tight against me is just slamming him against me in the same places because there’s simply nowhere else to go. Gian’s huge cock fills me up so that there’s not even room for air, and that fullness drives me wild. Tremors shake through my body and I feel my pussy strangle Gian’s cock, milking all the cum out of that monster until there’s nothing more to give. I’m lost in the shudders and the sighs of my own orgasm, however, because I crave Gian’s cock inside me so much that body just goes off on its own little orgasm tangent. My hands are running up and down his back, squeezing him, scratching down his back, grabbing him, and just having to touch him as much as possible. I have to hold onto him while the aftershocks of my orgasm ride through me until I’m totally spent.

I don’t even remember more than him turning us over, his cock still inside me, because I fall asleep almost instantly. My eyes are shut before I realize it — maybe I was squeezing them shut? I feel the rise and fall of his chest against my cheek, hear his heartbeat, and nothing else matters. The world around me fades and my arms pull up to hold him as he’s holding me, and I feel so safe.

I know it wasn’t an easy road here, but now I’m happier than I could've possibly imagined.

“I love you, Lucy,” Gian says, kissing me.

“I love you, too,” I tell him. I mean it. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything in my life. “You saved my brother. And you saved me. Thank you, Gian,” I say and then yawn because I’m so spent, so satisfied, so sated.

“You saved me, baby girl,” Gian says, kissing me again and holding me even closer. “Marry me, please,” he says so softly I almost don’t hear him.

“Yes,” I say with all the strength I have left. “I want to be your wife, Gian.”

He holds me tighter and I’m happier than I ever knew that I could be.

With such perfect happiness surrounding me, I can fall right asleep. A dreamless world of warmth and happiness greets me in the black velvet behind my eyes.

I’m Gian’s, and he's mine.

A Note From The Authors

We hope you liked our first foray into dark romance.

We always view novel releases like a day at the fair or something fun. At least that’s how we view it as readers - a way to spend an afternoon.

So even though this novel was 50,000 words, we wanted to give you some more content.

To that effect, we’re attached a brand new short 10K story, called Daddy Pease! Never before seen anywhere else!

We’ve also put a copy of Scandalous by Alexis Angel.

And then a copy of Client 5 by Alexis Angel.

We round out with a copy of Man Chaser by Alexis Angel!

A copy of Fiona Vs. Football Player by Mona Cox.

Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an extended epilogue!

Our goal in this is simple.

To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us closer together we feel.

Thank you so much for reading!

xoxo

Alexis and Lana

Daddy Please

By Lana Angel

16

Tara

Marcus’s tongue claims my thighs and the quivering wetness between it. Every stroke of his warm, velvety tongue against my soft thighs stokes the fire within me, making my pussy even wetter and making me want him more.

I’m begging. Daddy, please. Please touch me. Lick me. Idiot me. Make my first time with you everything I don’t even know I need.

Because this is so wrong but so perfect.

Of course, I can't really get out more sounds than some moans. Despite wanting to beg so much, I can barely breathe because Marcus is touching me.

My stepdaddy is touching me like I've always wanted him to. Marcus is touching me like I've never been touched before. His rough fingers are grazing me and strong tongue is tasting me is making my mind race. My heart races faster. How could my breathing, much less my thoughts, keep up with the pressing point of his tongue teasing me, tantalizing me about what's to come?

After all these years of telling myself not to want the want thing I can never have, it is actually happening. It is terrible to want my stepfather like this. Wrong. Dirty. Bad.

So why is it so good to imagine Marcus as mine? To imagine I’m his?

Wait, I know why it is so good. Still…I’m desperately searching within my soul and begging for it be anything but perfect.

For a few painfully confusing seconds, I let myself be conflicted. Marcus is gliding his tongue down my thighs and closer to my pussy.

There’s nothing about my stepfather running his tongue deeper between my thighs, after my mother’s funeral, that should be perfect.

But Marcus's tongue is gliding over my thighs, torturing out every breath I can manage when he touches me. I've never wanted anything as much as I want him. But now I'm not aching for some abstraction. No vague ideas about him touching me. His tongue's next lick is what I'm aching for. I'm begging for his tongue to lick between my thighs. I know exactly what I want at this moment, and I can't resist how much I need his tongue on my pussy.

My mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ while I give up on wrestling with the moral quandary of what we’re doing. I sigh out, exhausted by this new pleasure. I know that there’s no other word for the intensity of the ecstasy I feel with his touch on my skin, no better word than perfect. When his knuckles stroke over my quivering pussy I whimper. Perfect. When his thumb slides into my slick wetness and his tongue laps over my clit, I yelp. Idiot, this is what perfection means.

And when his thick bare, massive cock spears into me, unprotected and splitting me thunderingly hard, I groan loudly. All of the propriety I normally have?

Any decency?

All of that is lost.

I'm just my stepdaddy's little girl taking his huge cock in my previously virginal pussy. We didn't use a condom, and his massive cock is filling me up so much. I've never felt so full in my life. Not in this way. I can feel body stretching to accommodate him. My inner walls squeezing around him, desperate for every inch Marcus has to offer me. My head falls back, and I'm panting heavily in time with his every thrust. His teeth are scraping over my neck, one of his hands cupping my rear hard to him and the other clutching the curtain of the chocolate waves of my hair bouncing around my back. The possessive hold he has on me makes me feel more alive than I ever have.

But just like he always has, he makes me feel safe.

And that feeling is absolutely perfect to me.

Of course, I couldn't think about how this never should happen, no matter how many reasonable arguments there are for why. So many obvious reasons, and so many stupid ones. I so don't want to think about that.

When Marcus's large, roughly skinned hand closed over mine, it destroyed my ability to resist. Remnants of the sane part of me that would ignore his touch and step away from it were decimated. The appetite I had for him was awakened with new erotic possibilities. His real touch brought new, filthier thoughts. Before I'd thought vaguely about how I'd want my stepfather Marcus to take my virginity. Those thoughts were in me. Ones I had desperately tried not to entertain. Marc had been my stepfather since I was ten, a tender age of learning my way around how I felt about sex and myself. I'd always thought that the attraction I'd felt for him at such a young age…they were things that I should ignore because they were just foolish. But as I got older and he was so much a part of my life as a father figure? My feelings for him only grew. I shoved the thoughts down with the same frequency I shoved my hands into my panties when I went to bed at night and thought about what it would be like to make the sounds my mother made with him in their bedroom above mine. But his hand touching mine? That wasn't about some vague sexual urge I had for him. It inspired very specific thoughts about those hands touching very specific parts of me. I wanted to feel what those rough fingers would feel like on my neck. On my nipples. On my pussy. I was so wet for him, instantly.

Long before cancer started killing my mother, the sounds of her being pleasured by my stepfather had stopped coming from upstairs in their bedroom. I knew their marriage wasn't working, and it wasn't hard to figure out why. My mother had always cared more about her work and had a natural coldness about her. Things, certainly, that Marcus had thought were going to change for him as when they were first together they had that honeymoon phase. She'd stopped caring about what was happening in my life before Marcus, and she'd stopped caring about Marcus in even shorter time.

In some of my naughtiest fantasies, I imagined pulling him into my bedroom and showing him just how much I wanted him to get me to make the kinds of sounds that I knew he could make a woman do. I wanted to call out his name.

Marcus!

He’d corrected me, his fingers near bruising my lips with his rough touch.

Call me my full name; I love the way it sounds rolling off those soft lips.

The way he'd licked my lower lip, sucked on it after he said those words…erotic flashbacks kept playing in my mind.

Then, his rough hand touching me changed everything…

17

Tara

Marcus's rough, calloused hand comforted me, but it brought rushing through my blood every naughty thought I'd had about him. That sensual, rough hand taunted me. Tantalized me.

Leaving the cemetery, my thoughts blurred. Everything changed somewhere between the caress of Marcus’s comforting hand and lingering grope of his hand between my breasts.

First, that grope’s rough feel against the softer skin between my breasts had me wondering how a wealthy businessman like Marcus had those callouses. Callouses that seemed more like they belonged to someone who worked for his real estate development firm rather than the hands of the man who ran the company.

Sometime after exiting the creaking gates of the cemetery. After the intensive reddening of my eyes and nose from my tears and blowing my nose. Between seeing the lines of sorrow darken Marcus’s gorgeous face. His forehead creased, his eyes darkened. One look at his face and I saw that his pain only made him more beautiful to me. When our eyes connected, he must have seen how much I needed him.

Another blur, fast forward and Marcus is holding me to his broad chest.

I felt safe when he held me. I never wanted to leave those arms, unless it was to be on my knees for him.

My every thought was full of naughtiness for him. How much I wanted to belong to Marcus.

When I hugged him tighter, as he held me close and his hold on me tightened as well, I felt all of him. His gorgeous, hard body, quickly filled the distance between us. His hard abs, strong chest and huge erection were pressed, hard, into the soft curves of my body and there was nothing separating us. I’d hugged him plenty of times in the past, but when I held onto him this time as he held me tight against him, it was different.

I hadn’t let go of his hand. So now his hand was trapped between my breasts.

It had been an accident; I'd tried to convince myself.

Well, for a second. Marcus's hand was close to my heavily beating heart. My nipples got hard, doing their best to beg for his attention. In a split second, I’d felt a thick rod of hardness pressing into me, and I moaned. Such a small sound escaped my lips. So lightly, a quiet sound but he didn’t miss it. But a flickering glance of the flame between us, and everything changed. We couldn’t go back. And I didn’t want to. That sound had escaped my lips and lit a candle in the darkness of our desires. No longer could we hide the flames growing between us.

I wanted to want to go back to before when I could try and hide my feelings. But that couldn’t happen because I needed to belong to Marcus more than I'd ever needed anything in my life. When he touched me, every desire became a possibility. I wouldn’t let this opportunity pass, even if was my condemnation. I was ruined for any other future because I had to belong to him.

Marcus had walked back into our home silently. He made a pot of coffee. We remained nonverbal, not able to discuss what was happening.

I had always imagined that I’d seduce him. That I’d be the aggressor.

Of course, even when I heard my mother’s cancer diagnosis, I still didn’t imagine her death as the catalyst to my seduction attempts. Still, the events were set in motion because of what had passed between us.

When he handed me a mug of the hot elixir I should have found solace in, I closed my hand around his again, and with my other hand, I placed the mug he’d offered me on the counter. Marcus surprised me by then putting his mug on the counter.

We stared into each other’s eyes. Every second we looked deeper into each others’ souls. Our thoughts, our desires, bared between us without a single word. And, then, he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, that was…you’ve always been a daughter to me, Tara.” His gruff voice hardened my nipples into an instant peak. I hadn't thought they could be any stiffer or more alert after feeling so much of him moments ago when he'd held me.

His eyes were on my thin black dress, and I knew Marcus saw my stiff nipples aching for his touch. His face flushed and I knew this was incredibly awkward for him. Marcus was always a good man. It was one of the things that I loved about him.

Loved.

Incredible.

Wanting to bother your stepdaddy was one thing, but loving him was even worse.

“You’ve always been more than a father to me, Marc.”

He brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “Everyone else calls me that. You should call me Marcus. I’ve never liked Marc.”

“M-Marcus,” I said, shivering suddenly with a chill through me. That feeling of a point of no return.

He wrapped and arm around me, and I knew I should have grabbed my coffee and ended this situation. But this was everything I wanted.

“I’ve tried to take care of you,” Marcus said, his words stilted and obviously difficult to form because of their fumbling cadence. His voice was deeper, darker somehow then it ever was. I felt his words tingle all over me. His full lips pressed together, pursed, relaxed. He was struggling with how things were irrevocably changed between us. Any resistance that he had brought mine to a screeching halt.

This man was the reason I never had a boyfriend, never kissed a boy, never had sex. Because no one could compare to what I could never have. His voice was the only one I wanted to say my name. His body was the only one I wanted to know mine.

This was what I wanted, and I prayed for the courage to go after it rather than to resist wanting it.

"You have taken care of me. You're the best stepfather, the best father that a girl can have. But…" I felt hot tears streaking down my cheeks, and I felt like my whole body was cold and hot all at once. My knees wobbled, and my throat was scratchy and sore. I practically collapsed on him.

Those big arms scooped me, and I wrapped my legs around him, but it wasn't sexual. The sexual attraction was there, always there between us, but this was a comfort. Caring. The passion between us was wordless and necessary. Effortless, and right. He carried me to his chair in the living room, and I sat on his lap, pressed my head into his chest, and squeezed my eyes shut. Tears poured out my clamped eyes and stung my cheeks, but I wasn't cognizant or capable of the conversation or the seduction. This was nothing like my fantasy, but I wasn't fretting over that, either. I was so safe in my stepdaddy's arms that I didn't need to worry about anything. It was the most calm I'd ever felt in my life, even though I was shattering and melting with all my tears. In his arms, everything was safe. I was grounded with his strength.

I wept until I was sleepy in his arms. When I’d fallen asleep in his arms, I focused on nothing but how Marcus held me against him. And I didn't analyze, for once, anything about how he felt or how I felt about him. I just was, and that was enough.

When I woke up some unknown time later, his large thumb was brushing away my tears with a firm, possessive touch. I felt small, fragile, porcelain in his grip. Protected from my pain. It was like he could consume everything that hurt me. Calm my every wound. Marcus was strong for me, my strong daddy when I was just the little girl in his arms. He peered into my eyes, his reddened eyes deep pools of pain searching my own while reflecting his utter anguish.

The doorbell rang.

Reality crackled through the air with the trilling sound. In that instant, the intrusion was warring with the electricity sparking between Marcus and me. We shared a stolen glance, and each headed for the door, trying to compose ourselves. The magic spell around us was broken, but it couldn't be forgotten as if some invisible power held me still in his arms, and the space between reality and that truth of us pressed together was a physical pain for us both.

18

Tara

Ironically, the disturbance was the neighbor, Cathy, informing us that they’d be looking out to make sure that we weren’t disturbed. She’d collected everyone’s seemingly endless barrage of casseroles. I hustled them into the fridge as quickly as I could. My thoughts were still very much distracted. Currently, by the sharp contrast in the scent of casseroles versus the woodsy, spice, clean linen scent that Marcus always had. It was an intoxicating, male scent. It made me want to rub all over him, bury my face in his shirt, and breathe him in as long as I could. Now, I was practically smelling the salt from various condensed ‘cream of' soup creations. I would appreciate them later when I was able to think about food.

Marcus touched her arm, thanking her for her compassion. "Thank you, Cathy," he said with a sweet, heartbreaking voice that made me want to hug him. I didn't realize for a moment, but I'd reached up on my tiptoes to put my hand on his shoulder. I needed to comfort him.

I turned to Cathy, looking in her caring eyes. I was grateful that she was doing everything she could to look out for us. “We just need to be alone with our thoughts. Our memories,” I said, reaching out and hugging her. My eyes distant and out of focus. Nothing about today felt real. I wanted to thank her, but I also wanted to regain my footing in reality. After losing my mother, and gaining this new territory with Marcus, everything seemed like some macabre dream.

Cathy nodded and started stepping toward the door. The casseroles were sitting on the kitchen island next to the coffee mugs from earlier. I lined everything up against the mason jar salads I'd made previously in the week in the fridge. Usually, I'd have already eaten through the salads I had made for the week as they were my go-to lunch, yet many of them remained. My appetite had waned greatly when I knew my mother was near the end. The casseroles were a tight fit, but I made everything work in the fridge. I gave it all a cursory glance before shutting the fridge, content that we would have no need to cook or grocery shop for some time.

My appetite wasn’t the only thing that had waned. I realized I felt warmer towards Cathy, the neighbor, than I had toward my mother for some time. It hadn’t been just sadness that had pulled me away from my mother, as some coping mechanism. No, reality withdrew me from her. It was my disappointment in seeing the truth that made it impossible for me to do anything but distance myself from her. In her final days, her sadness wasn’t about missing us, her loved ones. The deep resentment she felt for having me and the fact that she had Marcus—another person that wanted to take time away from her—was never more apparent than towards the end.

I realized that, in my mother, there was a woman that I’d got my unshakable drive and ambition and focus from, but somehow, fortunately, I hadn't gathered any of her coldness. I cared deeply about my school work, for my future career, but I also cared about family. Friendships. It was something I assumed was both driven into me by my lack of her warmth for so many years, and because I’d had a father figure that was always caring, attentive, warm, and valued time with me.

Then his cock touched me, and I’d been a horrible hussy that decided to go after it. I had no shame—all those fantasies and I did the most perverse and cruel thing I could to my mother’s memory. His hardness unraveled every naughty thought I’d ever had about him and made me weak. Unable to resist how much I wanted him.

Thinking about my other right now only served to rile a resentment in me that only reminded me of the familial legacy. It was in my genes to have this coldness. All I wanted was the warmth and comfort of the one person who had always shown just that to me.

That, and I could rationalize anything for what I was about to do when I closed that door.

That was until I lose my nerve. My courage evaporated, and my mouth ran dry as I saw Marcus closing the door, thanking Cathy and turning his eyes to me as I closed the fridge.

“We’re not going to do this. Not today. Not ever.” He said in a chillingly precise manner in which I’d never heard him speak. Marcus had a deep, rich timbre to his voice that often gave me chills, but not like this tone did.

My stomach swirled uncomfortably, and my palms started sweating. Licking my lips and taking a quick breath, I found my courage again, if only to speak. “I think you know better than to make decisions for me,” I said, and we were both shocked that I would say such a thing.

I was a model student, a model daughter.

But the streak of defiance welling within me must have been the only thing I could muster while I tried to work up the courage to make him an offer that he couldn’t resist. It was dirty, wrong, calculating—I usually went about things the honest way. But something about my stepdaddy, about how much I wanted him, made me misbehave because I thought it would get his attention. If he was going to take a firm tone with me, I was going to show him how much I needed it.

The world had taught me that I needed to be ruthless when I went after what I wanted, and I was finally going to listen to the world on that one. It seemed my dear mother had taught me something.

Never let anything be too dear and precious. Nothing…untouchable.

I seemed to stand a little taller. “Your marriage has been over for a long time." My voice took on a copy lilt. “And, yet, you’ve never strayed, have you?” I asked.

He looked appalled.

My stomach burned like I'd swallowed fireworks that were going off, but I was determined not to lose my nerve. "I'm not wrong,” I said with every inch of resolve I had. I knew I was right. Marcus was a good man. Such a good man. I just needed to be his bad little girl. I pressed my back against the closed fridge, wishing he was pressing me against it. “You’re loyal.” My belly warmed when I thought about how much I wanted him to touch me. It was keeping the words coming, even though I was fighting back shaking, I was so nervous. “You’ve stuck around to take care of me, even though my mother made sure I could take care of myself a long time ago." I wanted to be his little girl, but I hadn't been a little girl in a long time. “And you…I never thought you…” Suddenly all of my nerve had evaporated. I was vulnerable and afraid and the validation that he wanted me had faded. The fortification gone, I was trembling, raw with the fact that we’d never go back from here…but that didn’t mean we’d go forward, either.

“For a good little daddy’s girl,” he said, looking me square in the eye with an intensity that made the air around us ignite. I was shivering, in anticipation, now. I couldn’t breathe when he paused, and I was gasping when he continued. “You sure seem to want to be a bad girl.” His voice was practically touching my body; I could feel the weight of his words like his fingers stroking my skin and teasing me. “You want to prey on me when I’m vulnerable.” Marcus’s words showed me another side of him new to me. His shift had brought color back to his face. He was angry. “Tara, you want me to prey on you when you are…” His loud, frightening voice since chills through me. Marcus; Isaying my name made my pussy throb with need. “I thought we talked about this when you were acting out when Helen was diagnosed.”

I flinch at my mother’s name. At the memories of how my one and only burst of rebelliousness had been handled. My mother had taken the possibly correct tack that I needed to be punished and not allowed to act out. Marcus had wanted me to feel like I had a better outlet for my frustration and grief.

Of course, Marcus had helped me. Inappropriate feelings I harbored for him were a complication in the comfort he provided me, but I definitely felt better after being able to talk to him. I was open with him. More open than most people are with their parents.

I’d told him about how I never dated. And how my friends wanted to be supportive but didn’t understand. How many of them seem to think that around college applications time was the worst time for me to have a personal crisis, and could I put this on my college applications?

I’d told him that I was a virgin.

He hadn’t reacted at all. And I hadn’t said it in any attempt to court, woo, or tempt him. I had been explaining that I was going to have no mother, start my career—the one thing my mother would possibly be interested in—and I felt so alone. I had no one to lean on.

Of course, Marcus offered himself then as someone that I could lean on. I told him that I appreciated it, and I didn't explain that my intense attraction to him was why I had resisted previously.

He closed the space between us quickly. I didn’t realize that my breathing had gone shallow until his mouth closed over mine. Then, I was desperate for air. Desperate for him. He pulled back, his fist closing my hair into a makeshift ponytail, and I blushed furiously.

Marcus broke the kiss. My stunned reaction was putting my fingers to my mouth to touch where he’d kissed me. My lips felt bruised, he’d kissed me so hard. The scruff of his cheeks against me had been visceral pricks into reality. I had none of the fire I’d hoped to put into seducing him, but I was burning from his aggressive touch.

His other hand grabbed mine.

"I'm not this kind of man. I should never have touched you." He sounded angry again. More than that. Full of rage. But beneath that I saw, in every marked line returning to his handsome face, he was hurt. Every gorgeous chisel of his jarred had an overlay of main etching sadness into his beauty. It made him more beautiful to me. It made me want to comfort him.

I knew Marcus had truly loved my mother. It had always hurt my feelings for him that my mother seemed to resent him more than anything. I honestly thought that she enjoyed him for sex but didn’t truly want another husband. Another person that wanted to take up her time and distract her from her career.

When I’d heard Helen, my mother, shout as much at him one night, it had only made me feel worse for Marcus.

But what was I supposed to do? I didn’t think my mother deserved Marcus. I wasn’t rooting for them to work out. I knew she didn’t deserve him. I buried myself in my studies and prepared myself for my career. I didn’t want to worry about what I would do when my mother passed.

I certainly didn’t think this would happen.

“I’m not the kind of girl that does this sort of thing,” I whispered. Marcus tightened his grip on my wrist.

19

Marcus

Years of ignoring my growing attraction to Tara, my wife’s daughter, were wasted. I was watching the baby-pink lips of hers trembling. I’d roughly kissed my baby girl’s lips. I was thinking about digging my fingers into her porcelain flesh until it was red from my touch. I wanted to see her marked by me. I wanted to make her truly my baby girl.

I hated myself for years for having these thoughts about a girl that was too young and too inappropriate for me to grow as close to and to admire as much as I did. But the further Helen, my now deceased wife, got not just from my cock but from my heart, the easier it became to see that stepdaddy’s little princess genuinely cared about him.

Sure, Tara had always tried to hide how she felt about him, but sometimes when they were together he could scent just how aroused she was. Little shaky inflections in her sweet voice would betray her sweet little body was so ready for me.

Everything about this made me feel like trash. Like the worst person in the world. It wasn’t just about the heinousness of betraying my wife—I was not the kind of man that thought stepping out on your wife was okay or something every man did.

I wasn’t that kind of man.

I didn’t want to be the kind of man that wanted to mess my sweet little stepdaughter, either. But here I am wondering how baby girl’s plush, plump little pussy will taste.

Here he was, in front of Tara, and that perfect little mouth said words that triggered something in him.

“I’m not the kind of girl who does this sort of thing.”

You already told me that you don’t do any kind of thing. You’re tempting me. Knowing no one had touched that beautiful body? She was my innocent kitten, and I needed to ravage her. Touch and taste and claim every inch of her. Liquid heat rushed through my pulse, urging me to crush her against the fridge. Put her ankles up as high as that lithe little body would let them and bury myself in her. I wanted to lose myself in her.

That’s what it would be right now, wouldn’t it? Was this really the crashing of the waves of our pent up emotions about each other, or just some expression of grief? I knew that it was far off base from anything remotely resembling appropriate. But when I’d started hard fisting my cock in the mornings after she went to school in some painfully demure arrangement of pastels and neutrals that were genuine innocence…well, I’d passed up appropriate when her name was always on the tip of my moans when I came in the steam of my daily shower.

“I’d like to taste what kind of girl you are,” I say gruffly, my lips close enough to graze the impossibly silky soft skin of her ear. Tara is my perfect little princess. She shivers against me, a not small gesture of just how nervous she is. Oh, Tara should be nervous because I can’t hold back the monster inside me that needs to take her, claim her, make her mine.

Daddy will take care of you, my perverse brain rings out. I can’t think of anything but having her sweet little pussy in my face. I want the scent of her all over me for days like I’m some kind of animal.

And I will be. I am the animal that’s got this little doe cornered.

I put my hand on the back of her neck and pull her against me. "You want that, don't you?" I ask her, my other hand pressing into her rear so she can feel what she does to me.

Hot tears are pouring down her cheeks. Idiot. What did I do to her?

"What's wrong baby girl?" I'm a monster; I'm the mongrel who's going to have her. But I don't' know

“I won’t be any good,” she sniffles out her tear-soaked confession.

Idiot.

She’ll be the best thing I should never have. Her pain makes my need to comfort and calm and claim her even stronger.

“There’s no real study session for this, baby girl,” I say, brushing my thumb over her jawline. But anything you want to know, my cock is dying to teach you.

I release her neck and pull Tara against me, lifting her rear up with both of my hands. I’m large and firm against her petite softness. She’s silky, everywhere, I just know it. I’ve been dying to confirm just that for some time now. Her tiny perfect round rear makes for two delightful handfuls in my much larger hands.

Tara’s legs wrap around me. She’s so wet I can feel the dampness through the flimsy fabric of her panties, her dress already hiked up from this position. I plant her on the chair and drop to my knees, reverent for what my sweet baby girl is going to let me have a taste of. I desperately want her, and I know she wants me. There’s no going back now. I run my face up to her thighs, biting and kissing that flesh that’s porcelain and satin. Smoother than my filthy fantasies even conjured. Youth is wasted on the young, no way I appreciated this fountain of youth when I was young enough for girls her age to be my age. No, when I was this young, I never appreciated the softness of their innocent. But I never appreciated anyone the way I do Tara. A youth of appreciating pretty young things wouldn’t compare to how I feel about Tara.

I never felt this way about anyone, not even Helen. Helen seemed like the sort of person I was supposed to be in a relationship with. The compatibility turned out to begin and end with the socially acceptable age difference.

I craved the kind of connection I’d always had with Tara. Our only problem was our socially unacceptable age difference. Me as her father figure. Still, no one believed in me the way she did, always cared about my thoughts or dreams the way she did. Tara had no idea how motivating or important to me she had been. Idiot what anyone else thought, Tara was always the woman I needed.

I could repay Tara, show her in some way. I knew that no one had tasted that sweet pussy of hers, ever. Even Helen had appreciated my skill in the art of licking pussy and Tara deserved to feel dang good like I would make sure she would.

Idiot. I shouldn’t think about Helen right now. Shouldn’t think about how her cold distance had her six feet under and I was about to bury myself balls deep in her daughter’s younger, eager pussy.

If I was going to perdition, I supposed I could keep my seat red hot on the way there.

I couldn’t hold back from Tara if I wanted to. I was going to lay my claim on that sweet baby girl and make her mine forever. I was going to make her first time so good it would ruin her life. No boy her age was anything but that: a boy. She was getting messed by a man. This man who could show her how much he cared and made her want to pass out from the amount of pleasure he could give her.

Already, Tara’s soft, sexy little moans and her lust-shaken thighs magnetically pulled me closer to her told me that I was overtaking her. Hesitation or nerves be darned, she craved me like I craved her.

I should be ashamed to ruin and claim something so innocent.

But I wasn't. Some prideful urge within me was thrilled to claim Tara as mine.

I trailed my kisses up to the wet seam of her panties, deftly pulling them with my teeth. Rewarded by her trembles against me, I hooked my thumbs in and yanked them down, but kept them at her ankles. "Don't let those fall off." I should have been gentle, but there was a side of me that Helen had once enjoyed. A domineering side that took charge. And with Tara's innocence and eagerness to please me, to worship me, it would be impossible to suppress that beast within me. I wanted her caged to me while her thighs quaked from my mouth devouring her pussy. She has no idea what’s in store for her.

When my mouth captures the growing bud of her glistening clit, I am relentless in how I will pleasure her, alternating pressures and suction and working my fingers over the rest of her perfect pussy until I know I’m giving her exactly what she likes.

Smugly, I think that she didn’t even know this was how she liked it at all until I sapped the nectar right out of her. She’s probably never even masturbated, and I file that thought away for future use. The thought of her touching this sweet little pussy I’m sucking on now makes my cock painfully jerk in my slacks. I have to get out of these…and into her.

But I'm not so much of a monster. Sure, she's going to come all over my cock. Of course. But equally assured, she'll be shuddering at least an orgasm into my mouth, first. I don't want to rush anything and hurt her. Tara's at once this fragile doe of a girl I've got to protect, and she's the blazing hot woman that supports me and turns me on like no one else. I’d settle for nothing short of the perfect pleasurable experience for her.

Not that I’m some kind of jerk, but she doesn’t know how much that isn’t like me. Sure, I want a woman to come when I harass her. Come a lot. But the reverence I hold her in…she knocks me to my knees with how much I have to make sure everything is perfect for her. If she only knew how much she changed me, moved me.

Inhaling her sweet muskiness while she writhed over my face was plenty affirmation for now. Putting my hand over her abdomen and applying some pressure to increase her pleasure, Tara’s sweet eyes look at me. Not questioning, not doubtful. Not uncomfortable.

Trusting.

She undoes me with how she lets me master her.

And then, I undo her. Her head falls back and her teeth are grinding into her lower lip with intensity while a mashup of moans and grunts are gasping out of her trembling mouth.

"Come for me, baby girl," I growl against her tender flesh, and I dip a finger inside her tight, virgin pussy to feel just how wet and plump she is for me. Her squeezing on my finger has me palming my cock for a second and squeezing my eyes shut for a second to keep me focused on following through.

Following through with not tearing off my slacks and burying myself so deep inside of her that the neighbors hear her scream out.

I want to think about first how I want to crush her screams with my mouth on hers, but that word neighbors stops me in my tracks. This will get louder, and I need to make sure the door is locked. A wicked thought courses through my mind, and I suppose there's some twinkle in my eyes that betrays just that. A lusty thrill shadows her eyes when she locks her gaze with mine. Stroking her g-spot, I ride out her orgasm and never break my look deep into her tender, coffee-colored eyes. The trust mingling with the pleasure on her face is like nothing I've experienced in my life. No matter what happens, I will never forget that look. I drink it in, and it quenches my dark thirst for her just enough to make my monster inside roar and demand more.

I may be ruining Tara, but she’s sure as idiot ruining me for anyone, too.

When her orgasm has died down, I withdraw my fingers and my face, rubbing some of her juices off my face, but not all of them. I kiss her so she can taste how sweet her pussy is. I don’t want to her to be anything but aroused, but I know she’s severely lacking in any sexual experience. But she has a natural, non-puritanical sexuality about her even though she’s never been touched.

You know, until me, her stepfather, planned to sink her down on his cock while I locked the door. Pressing her against the fridge door had emblazoned how good it would feel to have her against a hard, ungiving surface while on my hard, pulsing cock. Pumping into her and feeling the every quake of her body against me. I’d practically turned into a teenager thinking about it, my cock ready to bust through his slacks or at least ready to stickify them.

Slowly, watching Tara watching me, I undid my belt. Took off my shirt. Yanked off my slacks. Tore down my boxer briefs.

Oh, poor Tara. Baby girl’s eyes were wide when I stroked my huge erection and looked at her. This wasn’t just pride, I’d had girlfriends in college that told me that my cock was too big for them to take. Tara had no reference and likely thought every cock was too big for her little virgin pussy…so I was ready to harass her right out of that notion and fill her up with my massive cock until I utterly owned that pussy.

Pulling her dress over her head next, I was so pleased that she’d kept her panties on for me this whole time. I released her from their bondage, kissing and rubbing where she’s gotten little lines of redness from the pressure she’d put on them. Tasting her sweet, soft skin, I thought about other little red lines I'd mar her skin with some other time. When my lips touched her skin, my fingers, everything made her tremble. I saw her eyes hooded with lust. Her shaking wasn't about nerves anymore; it was about how I was overloading her with new sensations.

And then I grabbed that silky body and pressed her against me. I kissed her, deeper, slower, savoring her warmth and her passion. My fingers stroked from the base of her neck to the tip of her spine, up and down, worshiping every inch of her perfect skin, but when it was time to let baby girl breathe, I wasn’t going to wait anymore.

Gripping her rear firmly, I dug my fingers into the globes of her tight rear and pulled her up, then down, lining that dripping pussy up with my steel-hard cock. I walked her over to the door, pressing her against it and pressing my cock against her opening. She shivered in anticipation but didn’t try to move me from where I was. Those trusting big, Bambi mocha eyes looked up into mine. I checked the knob for locking the door, and I pressed her down onto my cock. Tara’s eyes widened again. Pressing her down further, I saw no pain, and I lowered her down on my cock until my whole cock was sheathed in her. I held that stance for a moment, kissing her tenderly and not moving inside of her. I felt her body stretching to take me, getting used to my cock filling her up. I trailed kisses on her neck, and with her pressed up against the door I brought my hands to her breasts. I cupped them whole. Ready to thrust in and somewhat out of her, not wanting to overwhelm her too much, I started a slow pump and closed my mouth over her breast. Her nipple between my teeth, I asked in earnest, “Y’okay, baby girl?”

“Y-yes,” she moaned in an overwhelmed little voice. I could unload inside of her right now, nearly, at the way she sounded. At her sweet body so completely mine.

Idiot.

Idiot.

The more okay she was the harder I started pumping into her, bringing one hand to entwine with her hair and cradle her head and the other to hold her rear. I didn’t want any bruises on this perfect skin yet.

20

Tara

"Unnh, fuuuuck," I moaned in a low, breathy voice. Marcus was so deep inside me, and it felt like I was on fire, everywhere. I could have been electrocuted with the lust permeating me. My nipples hurt, I wanted his hands on them so badly, and all my skin felt wrong without him touching it. His hands were all over me but I was grinding against him and squeezing him up. I would never get enough of him touching me.

Please, please Daddy, don’t stop. My mind cried out in unison with my body but all that escaped my mouth were moans, groans, sighs, and the occasional expletive.

I thought I might be sore in the morning, the consuming way that he pressed into me so deeply and then we slammed back together, all so fast that I was shocked that it was a human speed. Marcus was strong, I knew, but the endurance, stamina...idiot.

No one does it like Daddy. Goodness, it was a wicked thought but I liked it. Stepdaddy was the one who'd shown me everything, and now he was making my first time so, so, perfect.

Summoning some of my strength to tangle my fingers in his hair, I wiggled my rear up and held him close to me with my whole body. I nuzzled my face to the scruff of his burgeoning five o'clock shadow before pressing my lips against his and kissing him. First, it was so tender, my lips against his, our heat between us everything. Then I ran my tongue over the seam of his lips, and he let me in. My tongue lavished over his, worshiping him the way his cock was making my pussy all his.

His.

I never wanted to be anything but his, and I found new veracity in that welcome thought. I kissed him fiercely and bucked my hips against him harder, demanding he idiots me hard and deep. Never relenting, his cock filled me up so perfectly. Marcus claimed me again and I again. We breathed in each other and were so slick with sweat. I knew our hips had bruised each other, that my tailbone was probably bruised by my needless resistance against the door.

But I didn't care. I would wear every mark proudly as a sign that I was Daddy's girl.

My teeth grazed over his lip, nibbling just a little. He took the invitation and rose the stakes, nibbling, then biting, then running his tongue over my blood. I tasted the saltiness of my blood against our kiss, and I loved sharing all of me with him. My need for Marcus was primal, and he understood how I was saying it with my body.

Cresting pleasure waves overtook my thoughts and my mouth pressed against his, slack-jawed for a moment. I moaned loudly and urgently. I was going to come, again, this time with him inside me, and I was desperate to feel him inside me, surging his own orgasm into me. He pulled back and looked at my face, and I gave him a desperate look that I knew conveyed my desperation to handle the overwhelming ecstasy he'd plowed through my body.

"I tasted what kind of girl you. Now, you can," he said with a groan of pleasure. The sound of his moans, so close to his orgasm, made my clit twinge with need and I was shuddering around him. He took deep, slower strokes, inside me. Marcus milked every drop of my pleasure onto his big cock, and then he pulled out his, shooting jets of his hot come all over my breasts. Pressing his cock between them.

Taking both my hands to grip my breasts and press his cock into my mouth while I took the head in my mouth, I sucked off his come and mine, mingled between us. I didn't take my eyes off of his the whole time. The lust that seared his gaze made me feel powerful and more desired than I thought I ever could. I wasn't sure why I'd wanted to do what I did, nor was I confident that Marcus would even enjoy that, but until a few seconds ago I'd never really thought about someone orgasming on my breasts.

But Marcus had covered me in him and I'd tasted us both together, and it was so grippingly, primal sexual that I wanted to moan at just the thought. I held the length of him in my hands now, stroking the length that had given me such pleasure.

"Wow," I said, and my voice seemed a million miles away. "That...was..." I was panting from the intensity of it all, and my body was shuddering. Marcus held me up and pulled me into his arms.

"Perfect," Marcus said, kissing my forehead.

Marcus carried me to the master bathroom and sat me inside the shower to turn on the water. Hot, steaming water cascaded to the floor before he stepped in. I watched him, my mouth hanging open a little to watch the water curtain around his muscular, defined back and down his powerful thighs. When Marcus turned to me and I saw him from the front, I couldn't breathe, and I felt dizzy. His hard abdomen, his strong pecs, his broad shoulders. His whole body was literally breathtakingly beautiful.

"I love you," I murmured. He was looking at me, but I'd said what I had very quietly. If he heard me, he said nothing. His hand had extended toward me, and it didn't waver.

It seemed foolish to have said, particularly when I was ogling his incredible body. That was it, though. The incredible body was just one facet of the incredible man that I already knew that I loved. He was the one person I wanted to be like. His warmth and his hard work were something easy for me to want to be. I didn't want to be cold like my mother. I wanted her ambition but his warmth, so badly. And I'd wanted him. Now, he'd taken my first time and turned it into the most amazing experience of my life. Some fumbling high school boy could have done this, or a jockish frat jerk.

But instead I was taking the hand of the one man who'd been the only good constant in my life, and we were standing under the water together. His hands pulled me closer and the water washed away all our come and sweat. Marcus wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I closed my eyes and pressed my head under his chin. I liked when he held me like this. How he stroked my hair. I needed to be his forever.

And no matter how hot the water around us was, my blood was chilled with terror. What if this was it? What if we shared this one moment and then I never saw him again?

Idiot. Everything had happened so fast. Sure, it all felt right to me. It was everything that I had ever wanted. But Marcus had said that it would never happen.

But then it did.

They happened.

What if he really never did want to see me again?

Marcus must have known something was different, though I'd tried to stay still but couldn't find any comfort any longer with my scampering thoughts. His finger crooked under my chin and made me look up at him. Opening my eyes and leaning closer to make sure that I wouldn't get pelted by the shower head's stream, I looked at him nervously.

"You're grown up now. You're starting college, starting your career. I'm not your stepfather anymore," Marcus said, sucking in a breath. Something was different, vulnerable, in his voice. Tears were welling up in my eyes, afraid that he didn’t want. I didn't want to cry anymore today.

“I love you, baby girl,” he said, his thumb brushing the tear that had escaped. “You’re mine, just ask nicely, and you’re mine,” his voice was gruff now. I was aching for him.

“Daddy, please,” I said, sucking in my lower lip.

He captured my face, kissed me, taking my lip and nibbling it. He was mine, and I was his.

Also by Naughty Angel Publishing

Wicked Lil’ Brat

Man Chaser

Red & Blue

Scandalous

Client 5

Jailbait

Python

Men of the House

12 Inches

Woman of the House

D.I.L.F.

Dirty Daddy

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And then a copy of Client 5 by Alexis Angel.

We round out with a copy of Man Chaser by Alexis Angel!

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Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an extended epilogue!

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Scandalous: A Secret Baby Dark Romance

Scandalous: A Secret Baby Dark Romance

Just looking at him is enough to melt my panties. That’s why I’m not wearing any around him.

Lance Anders. He’s cocky. He’s arrogant.

He’s too beautiful to be real.

But…he’s entirely forbidden.

I’m in a forced marriage to his father. A prisoner in a literally loveless partnership that only exists through blackmail. I have too much to lose.

Besides, I’m 15 years older. That makes me wiser. And my brain tells me to stay far away from him when he comes to visit for the summer.

He’s too risky for me to touch. Too taboo for me to taste.
One touch of this Devil’s lips and I know I’ll be darned.

Then why am I captivated by those deep, soulful eyes?

Why can’t I get enough of that shirtless body? And that bulge in his pants. Is that really his…?

Maybe Heaven can wait…

Scandalous is a full-length standalone romance that will have your naughty bits twitching with delight. No cliffhanger. HEA guaranteed.

21

Lance

SLURP!

I look down at the sight of the nasty hussy sucking my cock greedily and I grunt with a self-satisfied air. She’s getting into it. Her body isn’t the best, but I don’t care. She’s the President’s only daughter, and she’s giving me head while my bare rear is resting comfortably on the President’s chair.

That’s right. I’m sitting in the Big Chair itself. Right behind the President’s desk in the Oval Office. It’s night of course, and no one else is in here.

Here’s a history lesson for you. The President’s desk is called the Resolute Desk because it was given as a gift to the United States from the HMS Resolute from Her Royal Navy.

If Abby doesn’t have good aim, it’s also going to be called the Lance Anders splatter pad for when I cum all over it after this blowjob.

Lance Anders, that’s me, alright. And that’s probably the only reason that Secret Service hasn’t hauled me away from here, or building security hasn’t been set on me yet.

Because I’m supposed to be here.

Allow me to introduce myself if you haven’t been keeping in touch with CNN and Politico like the other Washington DC junkies that surround this place. My name is Lance Anders of the New York Anders Family. My father is Michael Anders, the billionaire scion of the media empire bearing his name—Anders Media.

Before you think what a great man my dad is though, let me just correct you real quick. It was my grandfather who built the company to what it is today. Starting with newspapers, and then moving on to radio. Then magazines. Finally television and film. And toward the end of his life—the man worked till he died—the Internet.

My dad, well, he just built on it. Went into politics. He says it's to protect the family business. Whatever. He just probably likes the power. I don’t remember much, when he and my mom were married - I think I was 2.

Oh right, I call him my Dad because he’s all I’ve ever known. My mom died shortly after marrying that jerk. He became my legal guardian. But we’ll talk more about how I haven’t talked to him in forever. Right now I’m this jerk.

She moans again lewdly and I think I love politics. My Dad said I should go into politics too. That’s basically why I’m here as a White House Intern right after my senior year at Yale. My dad’s the Mayor of New York City, and with a few favors and a few strings pulled, he’s put his son in at a job where he can sit in the President’s chair and get a blowjob from the First Daughter.

Speaking of which, I look down. Holy trash! Abby is bobbing her head up and down my shaft like a pro. My cock is in a world of it’s own. It’s throbbing so hard, ready to cum that it must have it’s own heartbeat. Yeah, my dad definitely wouldn’t approve of this.

But you know what? He probably wouldn’t approve of a lot of things I do. Definitely doesn’t approve of the line of tattoos gracing my arms and chest that I got in college while playing football. Definitely doesn’t approve of the assembly line I do of the female species. Although, there’s nothing I can really do about that. The women, they seem to throw themselves at me.

And hey, can you blame them? I’m 21 years old. Young, with blue eyes and dimples. A ripped body. The body of a Greek god. A gladiator. 8-pack abs. I bench twice my weight easily. I have a body fat index of 5%.

But that’s what brings the ladies to me in the first place. First year co-eds, sorority hussies, graduate student assistants, professors, housewives, and now First Daughters. They coo with lust as I take my clothes off and kiss between their neck and their shoulder. Then they get my pants off.

And their eyes bug the heck out.

Because they see it.

My cock.

12 inches of lust muscle. Veiny, and thick as your wrist. With its head that turns an angry color of purple, and at first they’re afraid.

“Lance, I don’t know….” they say out loud with fear and trepidation in their voices. They try jerking it, but they usually need two hands. I get them off once with my fingers and tongue. And then no matter their protests, I get them to take just the tip.

I’ll probably only be able to sink in half way into them. But by then they’re clawing at my back and screaming for Goodness. They’ve blasted off and gone into orbit, their minds no longer on this level of existence my cock is so good. By the time I’m done with them, they’ve forgotten their names. They’ve forgotten their boyfriends, lovers, spouses, parents, you name it.

All they know is Lance Anders. All they want is Lance Anders.

I grunt savagely as Abby continues her ministrations on my cock. I need to mess, just thinking about all these women.

“Hey, get up,” I command. She looks at me for one second but them I pull her up with my arms. She squeals as I turn her over and bend her on her daddy’s desk. I lift up her skirt and yank down her panties. Idiot, I may have ripped those panties. But they were boring cotton briefs. Not really worth the loss, if you ask me.

Abby squeals again in excitement and juts her rear out. I waste no time and put on a condom and position my head into the mouth of her pussy and shove into her canal.

“Oh my goodness, Lance!” Abby moans out loud.

She starts squirming on my cock, like a bug pierced by a needle—her arms writhing all over the desk. I don’t notice because I’ve closed my eyes and I’m imagining all the various girls I’ve messed over my short lifespan.

Is it a lot? Sure. I won’t lie. But I’ve always taken care to be safe and I’ve always been honest with the girls. I’ve told them that I’m young. I’m not looking for anything permanent. Heck, I’m looking for one night. Maybe two if they’re really good and I’m in the mood. A week is the absolute max. Two weeks? Harass that. After that, we’ll be friends, but they have to remember my motto: One and done.

Sure when my cock is going in and out of them like it’s doing to Abby they nod their head and bite their tongue. But as soon as they cum? As soon as they recover from that amazing idiot? They’re getting all clingy. They’re making plans to go up to the Cape to meet their parents. They’re renting hotel rooms in the middle of the afternoon where we can go and idiot.

Listen, I don’t know what to say if you don’t believe me. Take a look at Abby right now, if you don’t think I’m telling you the truth. She’s going crazy, grunting and groaning like a animal in heat. Her eyes are clouded up with lust. Her hands are desperately trying to grab hold of something. Anything.

She hits one of the phones along the side of the desk. I don’t know which one. But whatever, she actually feels pretty good. She’s a bit of a hussy—at least that’s the word around the West Wing. She’s not tight. I’ll grant you that.

“Oh baby, I’m going to forget you so hard!” I tell her.

Is it me or is she talking in a very low voice? I bend over closer to hear her without breaking my stride.

“Oh unggggghh, baby, it’s so daaaa….good,” she moans again.

I close my eyes, and go back to imagining the women I’ve been with. So much I’ve wanted to do with them.

“Tell me how much you want it,” I tell her. I hold onto her hips and increase my tempo.

“Oooohh,” Abby coos. “Eeeeee,” she pants. At least that’s what it sounds like. I haven’t opened my eyes yet. Just going by auditory impulses.

“Tell me how much you love my cock,” I say, getting closer and closer.

“Khee bhol cho…” Abby says and I have no idea what she’s saying now, but I’m not going to lie – I’m not really paying attention. I’m maybe five seconds away from exploding. A veritable geyser of semen is going to shoot out from my monster cock.

“I’m going to cum all over your face,” I grunt as I slow down my thrusts.

“Kheee,” Abby says in a high pitch voice. She’s speaking garbage now. Unintelligible. But that’s just the effect I have on women.

I finally open my eyes and look at her. Her eyes are wide and she’s looking back at me in fear.

Three more strokes. Two. One.

Idiot, no time to turn her around.

I pull out and whip my condom off.

“I’m gonna cum,” I say with a nasty sneer of pride.

The door bursts open.

I look up.

It’s the President of the United States. He’s being followed by three Secret Service people.

But its too late for me. I’m cumming. Bolts of lightning and electricity have seized my body and paralyzed my muscles. My nuts have tightened and twisted and I feel myself spurt. All over his daughter’s rear. I unload rope after rope of thick, viscous white cum on his daughter’s rear cheeks and lower back. Despite the fact that this 22-year-old First Daughter just got caught in the Oval Office with a White House Intern’s cock inside of her, and despite the fact that her eyes tell me she’s afraid of something, which has to be my cock because she can’t help but sigh in pleasure as thick, heavy spurts of hot jizz land on her lower back and rear.

I grunt like a savage and start looking at my handiwork. The first shot hits the right rear cheek. I moan lewdly as I see it. I can’t help it. The second shot hits the left. The third rope hits her lower back and pools right above her rear before trickling down her thighs. The fourth shot hits right on her crack, dribbling downward. The fifth shot goes and smears the right rear cheek again.

“Idiot,” I gasp, as my orgasm subsides and my cock starts to dribble cum out.

In a fog of sex, I’m vaguely aware that the President has rushed to the desk. I’m slowly becoming aware that the Secret Service agents are standing at the entrance to the Oval Office.

What I don’t understand is why the President doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to Abby and I. Is his daughter that much of a hussy that he’s basically given up on her?

That’s when I notice he’s saying something.

Idiot, he’s talking into the phone.

Wait, he’s talking into the phone?

The phone was on?

“Dimitry, please understand that this in not a provocation of war!” the President yells into the phone and that’s when I snap back to reality. “America is not looking to forget you and cum on Russia’s face!”

Oh. Idiot.

“Kakvo Kazvash!” the voice yells on the other end.

“He says the missiles are ready for launch if you’re lying,” a voice says and I notice that the President’s Russian translator is behind him. I didn’t even notice him.

You remember as I was Abby and her hands were going all over the place as she was squirming?

Remember the phone she grabbed?

I’m just realizing right now. It was red.

“Dimitry, we have no desire for war! I swear to you! The US and Russia have come a long way together. Don’t let two stupid kids cost the lives of billions of people!” the President yells. Beads of sweat are forming on his brow.

My cock starts to twitch, it’s resting semi-hard on Abby’s rear. We’re frozen, all watching what's happening.

Apparently, the Russian President got put on speakerphone and misinterpreted my telling Abby the things I wanted to do to her as threats of war.

There’s a long silence.

“Daubs Vedanya!” the voice on the other end of the line says and the line clicks as it goes dead.

The President looks to his translator who nods. He sighs visibly and clutches the desk.

My heart rate slows. Idiot, that was close.

I pull away from Abby and start putting on my pants. Abby turns around to look at me. I hastily put on my pants and grab my shirt and shoes, putting them on as I start walking.

I need to put as much distance between me and the Oval as possible.

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the Executive Building,” I say, almost out the door.

“Wait just one minute, Lance,” the President says from behind me.

Idiot. I was so close to getting out of this one as well.

I turn around to face the music.

Guess dad won’t approve of me almost starting World War III now to add to the long list of other things, huh?

Oh well, I hear he’s gotten married. No time like the present to go see who he conned into his fake marital alliance.

22

New York Daily Journal

From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

Thought you were safe? Had a great day yesterday? Well, how would you like to know that we almost all died? That’s right. I’m hearing that the United States came closer than it has in a long time to a complete and all out war with the Russians. That’s right. Administration officials and the Pentagon are obviously not saying anything confirming something like this, but my spies in the White House tell me that it all started with some nookie.

You read that right, readers. Someone was getting some in the Oval Office, and accidentally pushed the wrong buttons and got on the phone with the Russians. What was said hasn’t been found out yet, but it was aggressive enough to get the Russian president, Dimitry Belevich, to put his finger on his own nuclear triggers.

Yup. We didn’t believe it at first either, but apparently the sex was so rough that the Russian president thought it was a prelude to war when he thought he was being spoken to.

Can’t believe it? Our sources swear up and down that it’s true. What’s more, a few are even telling me who the man with the nuclear libido is, and this you’re not going to believe.

Turns out the man with the explosive sex in his loins is none other than Lance Anders. That’s absolutely right. Lance Anders—the prodigal son of the Mayor, Michael Anders.

If you’re reading this on the subway and need to sit down, I’m with you, babe. I didn’t believe it at first. Lance just graduated from Yale this year and he’s only been at the White House as an intern for about a month. He was recommended to the job by both the Mayor and the Democratic Congressman from Manhattan, Vivian Hawthorne. With so much political capital by him, we thought Lance would be a shining star in Washington D.C.

But if you're having trouble breathing thinking how Lance almost caused World War III, guess who his partner in crime was?

Now for this, our sources are going deep undercover. If the White House found out they were talking to me, they’d not just be fired, but they’d probably be sued to. They’re telling me it was the First Daughter, Abby, who was doing the nasty with Lance. And was doing it so loudly and so lewdly that the Russian president who was listening thought our country was getting ready to go to war.

That’s right. Turns out America’s Sweetheart isn’t so much of a sweetheart but a sexpot. Which just goes to show that you shouldn't believe everything that those in power are telling you. Who knows what deep, dark secrets they could be hiding?

But fear not, citizens of Gotham, because Amanda Adams is always listening and always ready to spell the juiciest, dirtiest, nastiest secret for your enjoyment and pleasure. And it looks like Lance is going to be coming home to daddy so that means we’re going to be extra busy.

Which means, batten the hatches, New Yorkers, and hide your daughters. Lance Anders is coming back to town after being away for four years. He and his father have been rumored to not get along; it’s doubtful even that Hizzoner went to Yale for his son’s graduation ceremony, seeing as Mayor Anders was in Moscow at that time.

So, it’s going to be an interesting summer, to say the least. Till we find more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

23

Jocelyn

I hear Michael come through the door downstairs and I can sense my heart rate increase. It’s been six months since we’ve been married, so we’re still technically a newlywed couple.

I hear footsteps downstairs. He’s in the foyer. Most likely checking his mail. If I know Michael, he’ll check the mail, throw out to shred what he doesn’t need, and come upstairs. Once he comes upstairs, he’ll come to our bedroom. He’ll change a bit—maybe get out of the suit and tie, or maybe even just take off his coat. He’ll wash his face, put on some slippers and head to his upstairs office. That’s right. Michael has an upstairs office in addition to his downstairs study. This entire townhouse on the Upper East Side revolves around Michael. Once there, he’ll either let me know what our plans for dinner are, or whether he’s eating alone in hIs office. He’ll have people on speakerphone with the television on. Heaven knows what he does in there.

Like I said, it’s been six months since we’ve been married, but I know his after-work routine like nothing else.

But tonight, I’m going to be putting a slight dent in those plans.

I’m lying in bed. I’ve just freshly showered. I’ve shaved my legs. I got waxed a few days ago so I’m all good down there. I have my Elizabeth Arden on. Totally brand new lingerie from La Perla. A very expensive strip of lace black cloth that makes up a thong and barely covers my swollen pussy lips. A matching lace black bra. Stockings and garters. I’m lounging on the bed, my slender legs splayed out slightly, giving myself a wanton air. My face has a smoldering look; my eyes are as filled with lust as they’ve ever been in my life.

I’m dying for sex. I’m craving a cock. I need to get messed. If this doesn’t entice Michael, nothing will.

I look at myself in the mirror. I know I look good. Guys have been telling me that all my life. I mean, I try not to let it get to my head and I really hope I don’t come across as if I’m stuck up, because I’m really not. I was just blessed with some good genes, but it’s hard work. I work out every day. I get on my Peleton and join a global spin class in the mornings. I do yoga, CrossFit, and Pilates. I try to eat well, although I do love chocolate. And wine!

All that, to keep what I have. Because I’m 35, and I know these looks won't last forever. That I’ll stop turning heads one day. Men won't stare on the street anymore. They’ll be looking; they'll be leering at the next pretty young thing that comes their way. She’ll be 21 years old with nothing in her brain.

I used to be like that. I remember those days, after I graduated from Dartmouth. Looking to have fun. To party. I used to live in the city with some roommates, and then on my own. I used to model—nothing serious, but enough to pay the bills and buy makeup, champagne, brunch, and clothes as well as pay for rent. Guys came flocking. And I used to have my pick.

But no one was ever good enough for daddy. And when your father is the Governor of New York State, you kind of have to do as he says. So I waited until he started introducing me to men he considered eligible. Only they were either too old. Like 90. Or too fat. Like 400 pounds. Or married too many times in the past. I much rather preferred my generation, thank you very much.

So daddy and I fell into a routine. He didn’t like my prospects that I chose, and I didn’t like the prospects that he found. I couldn’t just elope. I had to be the good daughter.

And then came the day that daddy left the Governor’s Mansion in Albany. And an elder gentleman by the name of Michael Anders came up to the house in Westchester. I know he came over because it was Christmas and I was home for the holidays. Mom showed him to dad’s office and they spoke for a long time.

When they came out, dad’s face was white as a sheet.

“I think this will work out to both our advantages,” Mr. Anders—Michael—said, shaking my father’s limp hand before turning to me. I watched as his eyes scanned my lithe body. But he did nothing else but stare. And then he turned and left.

Over the next three years, it seemed that dad and Michael were close. He called in a lot of favors. His contacts helped Michael raise money for a successful bid to become Mayor of New York City. He helped push through legislation that required state approval by calling in and using old favors. He even appeared as a surrogate for Michael on television. It seemed that dad did everything Michael could ever ask of him.

Until seven months ago, when dad came to my apartment. He looked older than his years, although he still kept in shape at 61. He sat me down, and took my hand, looking into my eyes.

“You need to get married, baby girl,” he told me. “I need you to marry Michael Anders.”

Now, the age difference Michael and I is 15 years. He’s 51. Left to my own devices, there’s no way I would ever consent to do something like that. And sure, I argued. I told him I had control of my own life. That I was my own person.

At one point, I even asked why he would suggest that I needed to do something as vile as what he was asking. But then I saw the look on my dad’s eyes—fear, anxiety—it was the look of a man who sees everything he’s worked for his whole life on the precipice of being taken away from him.

Michael had something on my father. Something bad enough that he was able to demand his only daughter’s hand in marriage.

Always the good daughter, never knowing how to stand up for herself, and also afraid of what saying no would do to my father, I instead said yes.

That was six months ago.

But enough about me for now. I can hear Michael coming up the stairs. His footfalls are heavy, but measured and my heart starts to beat with anticipation as I see his shadow on the ground.

He enters the room and turns his head to see me.

“How was your day, dear?” I ask with a coy smile. I spread my legs a bit further apart, to give him a better view.

Michael turns fully to me and takes a few steps toward me. His eyes scan my body. I smile lasciviously, letting my inner desire come through. I don't care if he’s 51 now. I don’t care what he looks like. I need to have sex with my husband.

His eyes continue to travel my body. I let my one hand lightly brush across the material of my bra, bringing his eyes to my boobs. Let him feast on those. I use my other hand to trace a line from my belly button down to my crotch. I see his eyes travel down with me.

He’s entranced. Good. I need him to be hard. I want to unbuckle that belt of his and lower his pants. Then take his cock in my mouth and lick the shaft before taking the tip in my mouth. Get him good, hard, and lubed up. Then I want to climb on top of his cock and ride myself to an orgasm.

Just thinking about having sex—not caring who it's with—is getting me wet. As noticeably as possible, I slip one finger inside my thong and push it down, feeling the folds of my pussy respond to my touch. My lips are swollen. From desire.

Not just for this man, mind you. But for sex. In general.

You could say I’m desperate for a good. That’s what's causing me to lie there in the most vulnerable state I’ve ever allowed myself to be in in front of anyone. Nearly naked, with one hand fingering my pussy willing to subject myself to all manner of sexual objectification.

Michael’s eyes travel my body back up to my face.

He looks at my parted lips. I wonder what part of me he wants first.

He opens his mouth.

“I have a lot of work to do tonight, Jocelyn,” he says and my heart starts to beat faster and louder. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to do anything tonight.”

What’s going through me right now is probably what you’re wondering? Ever been rejected for sex before? From a man? It’s almost unheard of for women to be told no. What does that make me feel like?

Shameful. Discarded. Unwanted. Ugly.

You name it.

“But you go on without me,” Michael says coldly. “Looks like you’re doing just fine on your own.”

And with that he turns toward the dresser, takes the coat of his suit off, grabs his slippers and puts them on and turns back to the door.

All without a second glance in my direction. I’m lying there like some unwanted sex doll.

Idiot. This was all a waste. My entire marriage is a waste. My life is a waste.

But before you go telling me to cheer up, babe, let me just clue you in on why I even did all this. Why I went to La Perla. Why I basically tried to initiate this whole intimate encounter.

Had Michael succumbed, it would have been the first time in our marriage that we had actually had sex. That our relationship would have been consummated.

See, it wasn’t bad enough that I was forced into this marriage. What’s worse is that for the last six months, ever since we’ve been married, I don’t think Michael Anders has touched me once in private. Never a kiss unless it's in front of the camera. Never a stare of desire when we’re alone.

Some couples have their whole relationships based around sex.

Ours revolves around a lie.

Michael stops at the edge of the door right before walking out. Without turning to me, he speaks to me.

“By the way,” he says coldly. “Lance has gone and gotten himself fired from the job I arranged for him at the White House. So he’s coming over to stay the summer with us. I think I want to use him for the re-election campaign.”

I’ve never met Lance. Michael has mentioned him maybe once. When we were getting married and signing the papers. And today. So I guess that’s twice.

“I trust that you’ll act appropriately around him,” Michael says. “We can’t have any surprises like what you tried to pull tonight happening while he’s here.”

And almost as an afterthought, as he leaves, he adds, “I’ll be having dinner in my office. Don’t wait up.”

And with that he’s gone.

Leaving me near naked and horny in my gilded cage.

Remember when I told you I wasn’t stuck up about being told I was beautiful? You probably didn't believe me all the way. Well, this is why I don’t let my beauty go to my head.

24

Lance

Coming home isn’t supposed to be such a miserable experience, but that’s what you get when you’re fired after the President’s daughter and risking WW III. I’m lucky I’m not in a Guantanamo cell right now, so I guess it’s not that fair of me to complain.

But still, can you blame me? I’ve never been close with my father, and I haven’t even met my new stepmother. Especially after having to read in the newspaper that my father remarried. He couldn’t even pick up the phone to let me know. So, yeah, I’m sorry if I’m not overly excited with the prospect of being around two people who are only family on paper till November comes around. I mean, they’re probably only husband and wife on paper as well. My father isn’t exactly someone who cares about women, if you know what I mean. Knowing him as I do, he probably arranged the whole thing as another power move. For ol’ Michael Anders, everyone around him is nothing more than a pawn to be moved across a chessboard. I actually feel sorry for the poor woman he pulled into that arrangement.

“You can drop me off here,” I tell the cab driver as the silhouette of the townhouse I grew up in emerges at the end of street. I give him a folded fifty-dollar bill and leave the car, carrying just a backpack over my shoulder. I never liked to move around carrying bulky suitcases. Besides, this is New York City. What I don’t have, I can just get.

I walk toward the building and take a deep breath before going up the stairs that lead to the entrance. Balling my hand into a fist, I rap my knuckles against the door, cursing the day I decided to leave my own set of keys in my old bedroom. If no one’s home, I’ll have to wait here as if I were a lost pup.

If you’re from New York, then I bet you’re going to roll your eyes right now. Because you’re gonna ask yourself why I’m not pulling up to Gracie Mansion, where the Mayor of the City traditionally lives.

Well, I got news for you. My dad is so wealthy that he made it a campaign pledge to not move in. Instead, he brought the mansion staff to his own townhouse - which is still located in the Upper East Side in Yorkville.

Yeah, that’s the kind of jerk my Dad is.

Look…I’m sorry if I sound pissy, okay? You don’t know what its like having to come back with my tail tucked behind my legs. Back to a man who never cared about me in my entire life.

I almost wonder whether I’d want no one to be home.

Luckily, the sounds of footsteps on the other side of the door reach me and the door swings open a few seconds after.

“Lance, right?” a beautiful woman asks me, politely smiling. She looks radiant, in a pair of skinny jeans and a blue silk blouse that’s tucked in. She’s roughly five feet and seven inches, a slender beauty, but she has the most toned legs I have ever seen. They lead up to a sumptuous looking heart-shaped rear that’s framed exquisitely in her jeans and a small tapered waist. Her slender and flat tummy yields the most impressive set of belly that I have ever beheld; these giant breasts are struggling against her blouse and are easily D cups. They don’t sag, and don’t detract from her figure. Even her neck is elegant, long, and smooth. She has a cute face with a pair of luscious lips, slutty eyes, and hair that comes to her shoulders. In two short words: beautiful.

“Yeah… That’s me,” I manage to say rather dumbfounded. “Jocelyn?” I ask, feeling like a complete idiot now that she’s in front of me: I never even bothered to look at a photo of her before coming back home. To be honest, I didn’t do it because… Well, because I didn’t expect my stepmother to be this hot. I just knew based on what my Dad cared about that it was probably some political fake marriage. I knew her name was Jocelyn, and that she was a thirty-something woman from New York, but I had no idea that she looked like a goddess.

“Yes, that’s me,” she replies in that polite tone, smiling gently. I extend her my hand, trying to be as polite as her, but she waves my hand away. Leaning into me, she brushes her lips against my cheeks, laying a simple kiss there. The moment her lips touch my skin I feel my cock twitching, and I have to focus really hard to not pop a boner right here and now. That’d be rich, greeting my stepmother with a boner.

“We’re family,” she simply says, taking my backpack and stepping aside so that I can get in.

“We are,” I repeat after, walking into the hallway and trying hard not to stare at her cleavage. Goodness, how did my father marry a woman like this? “Is… my father home?”

“No, I’m sorry, Lance. He said he had a few meetings he had to attend, but he should be home any time now.” Of course. It’s not like my father would wait on me. Alright, sure, it’s not like I deserve to be waited on after my little stunt at the White House… But even if I did, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t bother to be home waiting for me. It’s not like I give a idiot about it; I’m pretty used to stuff like this by now. “I hope you don’t mind being here alone with me,” she continues, my cock twitching again as a response to her words. Heck, where did this woman come from?

“It’s okay,” I tell Jocelyn—my stepmother—as I run one hand through my hair. I look into her eyes, all of my thoughts turning into something no one should ever know about. I’m already imagining myself peeling the clothes off of her body, her naked figure slowly revealing itself to me…

Focus, I tell myself inwardly, trying not to make a fool out of myself. What am I supposed to say to her now? Chit chat until my father gets home? Oh, idiot no - two more minutes around her and I’ll have a boner so massive I’ll pass out from lack of blood. “I’m kinda tired from the trip. I’m just going to unpack my bag and take a shower, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, of course,” she replies, handing me my backpack again. Turning my back to her, I walk up the stairs to my room as if I were in a daze, my heart kicking against my ribcage. Holy idiot, how am I supposed to live inside this house all these months? With that woman walking around? That’s just torture, if you ask me.

I step inside my old bedroom and throw my backpack on top of the bed, slamming the door shut as I take one deep breath. I knew my father was ruthless enough to marry for political gain, but I never would have thought he’d end up with someone as hot as Jocelyn. I don’t mean to be a rear about this, but it’s not like my father cares for the beautiful sex. He never really admitted it to me—let alone to the world—but there’s no doubt in my mind about where his interests lie. Good for him if he’s into men, I guess. I just find it in poor taste to drag someone into a loveless (and most likely sexless) marriage.

I walk into my bedroom’s private bathroom and close the door, locking it. I strip naked and hop into the shower, turning the faucet on and waiting for the water to warm up. Here, some privacy to myself, all my self-restraint goes out the window. I close my eyes for a full second and that’s all it takes for my mind to dart back to Jocelyn. Just like that, I feel my cock hardening, warm blood rushing to it. Look, I know she’s my stepmother and all that, but it’s not like I can help it.

As steam starts to blanket the bathroom, I step under the running water, throwing my head back and trying to clear my mind. Of course, that’s not what happens. In fact, it’s pretty much the opposite. The moment I close my eyes I’m flooded by the mental snapshot of Jocelyn’s body, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m grasping my cock, moving my hand back and forth over it.

There’s no use in fighting this; it might be a messed up thing to do, but I’m jerking off while thinking of my stepmother. I imagine what it would be like to slide my hands under her blouse, to feel her perfect round belly under my fingers as I squeeze them… My imagination fills in all the blanks, my heart racing as if it were actually happening. I can almost taste the flavor of her mouth, her full lips pressing against mine as I cup her rear…

I start to stroke hard, my hand moving fast as I struggle to breathe. My mind produces her imaginary moans, the grip I have on my cock turning into her tight pussy. Goodness, and to think she’s somewhere in the house, waiting for my father to get home!

Then, I hear the door to my room opening and my heart almost explodes.

“I’m sorry to barge in,” I hear Jocelyn say from the other side of the bathroom door. “I just came to leave you a dry towel. I’ll let it on this side of the door.”

“That’s… Thank you!” I say hurriedly, stroking faster than ever, the sound of the running water luckily drowning out the sound of my movements. “You didn’t need to.”

“Of course I did,” she says very slowly, my cock spasming harder and harder as the sound of her voice caresses my eardrums. “We’re family now.”

“Family,” I repeat after her, straining to get the word out as I press my forehead against the wall, my cock pulsing viciously against my fingers. I explode like that, the sound of her honeyed voice still echoing in my mind as ropes of thick cum spurt from my toe.

I remain still, holding my spasming cock in my hand until I hear her leave the room. Only then do I realize I was holding my breath as I came, my lungs aching to start working again.

Looking down at my hard cock, drops of cum still dripping down my shaft, I can’t help but feel buckets of adrenaline coursing through me as I fully accept what I’ve done; I jerked off to my stepmother.

It seems like this is going to be an interesting summer, after all.

25

Jocelyn

Oh my goodness, hun. Don’t look at me like that!

I can’t believe the thoughts that have been running through my head. Lance Anders is my stepson! But I swear I can’t help but feel irresistibly attracted to him. I mean, I had seen pictures of him, and I knew how gorgeous he was… But to see him in the flesh… Now that’s a completely different thing. Ever since he walked in through the door, I can’t help thinking about those big arms. That deep chest. That flat and sculpted stomach. Those abs I got the barest of peeks of.

And that bulge. Oh, my. Is that his…

No. It can’t be.

It’s so big.

Closing the door to my bedroom, I lay back down on top of the mattress, sighing heavily as I stare at the ceiling. Michael is still in his study, working as usual, as if nothing could ever disrupt his workaholic routine—not even the return of his only son. He and Lance only traded a few curt words over dinner, and I took it upon myself to make the younger Anders feel welcome here. But I should be careful. If I don’t keep a cool head, I might do or say something stupid. It’s not as easy as it seems, though. Every time I’m close to him I feel my pulse quickening, my eyes taking in his perfectly built body.

I’ve been without sex for far too long, that’s what’s going on with me. And now I’m under the same roof with a young, sexy-as-sin man. That’s an explosive combination. But I need to think straight. Sure, I’m stuck in an ice-cold marriage, but I still have a ring on my finger. And, of course, that perfect man is not only my stepson, he’s also far younger than I am.

But, hell… Is there any harm in just fantasizing for a while? I can let my imagination run wild for a few minutes. What’s the harm in it?

It feels perfect just laying here, my pussy growing wet as I let thoughts of Lance flood my mind. I can't seem to stop thinking about him... About taking off his shirt. About licking his nipple with my tongue. He's at least a foot taller than me, towering over me with that imposing frame of his. I'd love to stare up at his icy blue eyes as I lick that amazing chest of his. As I run my hands down his abs. Those chiseled and intense abs. I wonder how often he works out.

Lance has gone from wearing jeans in my head to now just wearing boxer briefs. They're nice and tight, showing me a perfect outline of his cock. It's thick and bulging, hanging between his legs and holding promises of mind-numbing pleasure.

What is going on with me? I feel really hot and I'm flushed, my insides clenching as desire courses through my veins. The warmth that was permeating my nether regions has now spread all across my body, and while it's not a bad feeling, it's not comfortable either. It demands more… It demands release.

I can't think straight. He’s my stepson... But he's also so gorgeous. So hot.

I want to go down on my knees and take off those boxer briefs. Goodness, I bet that cock is enormous. I wonder what it would taste like. I wonder if it would fit in my mouth.

My mind is thrashing about as I picture running my tongue along Lance's shaft, but he stops me. He's got big, strong hands, and he lifts me up and puts me down on the bed. He lifts me like a feather, the muscles in his arms coiling as he moves.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I give up. There’s no use in trying to control myself right now. Breathing hard, I move my hand down and over my tiny nightgown, reaching between my thighs with just my fingertips. There’s one last moment of hesitation, but then I slide my fingers under the fabric of my black lace thong. A shiver goes up my spine as I press down on my clit, rubbing it in hurried circles as I picture Lance's naked body, his cock pointing upward as it pulses with desire for me.

With my free hand, I squeeze my right breast, caressing my hard nipple and pinching it gently between my thumb and index finger. I keep doing it until I feel my body boiling, imagining that my hands are Lance’s.

I can't feel my toes. I mean, I can feel them—as in I know they exist—but I'm feeling tingly all over. I know if I keep this up I'm going to cum soon. There are three points of absolute bliss in my body. My nipples and my pussy. I feel like leaving my tongue hanging out and drooling. Just letting the pleasure wash over me. This feels so good. It might be wrong, yes, but I deserve this. If my own husband won’t take care of me, I have to do something about it… Even if I’m using my stepson to fuel my fantasies.

Oh my goodness. A wave of pleasure goes through my body and I involuntarily shake all over. I'm shuddering and alternating between this nice warm feeling and an earthquake of ecstasy that's gripping me. My limbs feel heavy, and even breathing is starting to feel like a hard task. I feel like just giving up. I should really stop thinking.

I think it's only been a few minutes, but when I look at the clock next to me, I realize that the ability to figure out how much time has passed is beyond me at this point. All I can think about is Lance pushing his cock into me. In and out. Thrusting with his long, thick, hard, cock. All I want is to feel his enormous length deep inside me. Filling me up.

Goodness, what am I doing? Am I really touching myself while thinking of Lance, my own stepson? He is part of my family now! This is wrong… Completely wrong. But that's what makes it feel so good. Oh my goodness. So good.

I imagine myself going on all fours, Lance pushing his cock inside of me as I moan, and I realize I need to go harder. I slide my fingers further down, pushing them past my pussy lips and sliding two of them deep inside of me, my imagination turning them into Lance’s shaft.

My entire body shakes; waves of pleasure cascade through my brain, my eyes roll up in my head. It’s a sweet delicious pain, one that blends with relentless pleasure. It feels so good, so right… Oh goodness, I can barely believe what I’m feeling.

I'm going to come soon. I know it. I'm trembling and I'm thrashing. My legs have a mind of their own and my fingers are feeling the folds of my pussy. I readjust my fingers and move my hand to bring my thumb over my clit.

And then I explode.

Pleasure rips through my body and I arch my back, moaning hard through my gritted teeth while I try to be as quiet as possible. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I've forgotten everything. I can't feel my body, I can't feel my face. I've left my body. Waves of sweet ecstasy clear my head of everything. I can't remember who I am. All I can do is revel in the seizure that has gripped my entire body. But it doesn't stop there. There's no way to come down.

Tears are coming from my eyes at the agonizing pleasure that's coursing from my pussy. My nipples feel like they’re burning in the most delicious fire. I can't breathe. My back is still arched, my body coiled like a spring.

My clit is throbbing, sending waves of delight up my spine. I push my fingers a little deeper, scared at what's going to happen. Just the slightest push.

IDIOT! OH, IDIOT!

My eyes are closed, but I see stars explode. It's like my brain has shut down completely. I don't even know what I'm doing at this point. My entire body is on fire. My soul is on fire. My spine is tingling and shuddering and every single nerve in my legs, my throat, my hands, my face, my breasts, and my thighs is tingling with electricity. I'm crackling. I'm lightning. I might as well be dead.

I don't know how, but I manage to keep breathing as wave after wave of electricity rushes through my skin. I'm shaking and trembling and moaning and I don't know what’s happening. All I know is that I might not come out of this river of sweet pleasure alive. I might be lost in it.

Eventually, I'm able to grasp thoughts. I'm breathing heavily. I'm panting. I'm gasping. I'm drenched in sweat.

I'm exhausted. And all because of Lance Anders… Goodness, it might be painfully hard, but I need to control myself, to do what’s right. I can’t do this again, fantasize about him… Nothing good will ever come out of it. Even if he wasn’t my stepson, I’m 35 while he’s only 21.

Sighing, I huddle under the sheets, and only then do I realize I have a smile on my lips. Sure, this was wrong and I won’t be doing it again… But it felt good. I needed this. Oh, I needed this badly.

No other man has ever affected me like that. Ever.

I need to find out more about him.

But how?

But he’s already made my body shake too much for now. In another minute, I’m off into a dreamless sleep.

26

Jocelyn

I wake up and look at the clock. It’s already 7:30 am. I yawn and get up, wondering what fresh source of sexual frustration today is going to bring.

Don’t look at me like that. If you tell me you’re sexually frustrated too, hun, I’m just going to roll my eyes. I swear.

Sure, maybe your husband or boyfriend isn’t as active as he used to be. And if you’re single or widowed now, I truly am sorry.

But I’m not. I’m married to a man. A very powerful man who should be exuding confidence and control due to his position as mayor of the greatest city in the world. But he doesn’t touch me. Not once. Not ever.

My fingers can only do so much. A vibrator can only do so much. Do you remember that phrase we used to toss around when we were girls and used to be silly? I say we, as in collectively, this generation of women, by the way. What was that phrase – oh yeah. ‘Dildos are great, and vibrators are fun…but nothing can beat the almighty tongue’.

Remember that one? I think when I was in college my friend was the one who quoted that to me—Joyce Walker—and I used to live by it. Why use something battery operated or made of plastic when you could get guys to get you to paradise?

At least until I got married. That’s when Michael came into my life and completely erased any notion that my husband would be my sexual partner in life.

Maybe I could have walked that road by myself, but one of the first things Michael ever did after I moved in was to take my drawer of dildos, vibrators, and bullets, and throw them out.

“They have no place in this house, Jocelyn,” he told me harshly. “If the staff ever discover them or word gets out that my wife is using toys to pleasure herself, then the scandal could be disastrous.”

“Then why don’t you pleasure me?” I remember asking him, taking a step closer. I used the cute pouty face that had worked wonders for me in the past—everything from getting me out of having to watch football with a boyfriend, to an A+ from a professor in Comparative Literature in college.

“Because, quite frankly, I have more interesting things to do with my life,” Michael said as I stopped and realized my come hither look wasn’t working. “You’ll just have to go take a cold shower. I’m late for a meeting anyways.”

That’s been my life for the last six months. Sexual drought.

I’ve gotten very good at running and exercising—although it gets me horny at times looking at other people’s bodies. I’ve tried to take up sewing. I’ve done a lot more cooking. Heck, there are some afternoons I just self-medicate and drink a bottle of wine by myself, trying to forget.

Everything seems to make me hornier.

So, anyways, that’s what I mean when I say I wonder what frustration is going to happen to me today. Because as bad as it was before, it’s honestly only gotten worse.

Since he moved in.

Who? Come on, babe.

Who do you think.

Mr. Apollo himself. Lance Anders, with the body of a god and the face of an angel. An angel of lust that is.

I put on my robe over my teddy and head down the stairs. Michael has already left for work and against my better judgment I’m curious to see what Lance is up to.

He’s not on the first floor when I get downstairs, and that’s when I hear a thud.

He’s in the gym.

I know I shouldn’t go down there. The gym and pool are in the basement of the townhouse—it’s a New York thing for people who don’t have backyards—and Lance working out is guaranteed to get my hormones raging.

But maybe, that’ll be a good thing. Maybe I can use that to go for a run, or something.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I race up the stairs, wash my face, put on a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra and put my hair back in a ponytail.

I pause to put some color on my face before heading downstairs.

What? I’m just looking a bit presentable. If I’m going out for a run through Central Park, I might as well look the part too.

Besides, if Lance notices, maybe he’ll….

He’ll what? Take you in his arms? Take his new stepmom and wrap his arms around her? Harass her? Please. I’m behaving like a silly girl.

Nevertheless, the butterflies in my stomach are in full force as I head to the lower level.

The basement at the townhouse doesn’t look much like any other basement—it’s well lit and looks like the hallway of a hotel. I hear music playing from the gym and I walk to it and open the door.

There he is. He’s on a bench, shirtless, lying on a towel. He’s got a pair of basketball shorts on and some sneakers, but that’s all the clothes he’s wearing. I watch as he lifts a barbell loaded with weights and benches it. I watch as his muscles strain, his pecs flex and his abs contract.

Those are 8-pack abs. I’ve never seen any before, but that’s the very model of muscle definition. He’s got a perfect V-cut going down his abs. The look of intense concentration on his face is amazing; he doesn’t even realize I’m standing there until he finishes his set and gets up for some water.

He gives a start as he sees me, standing there, staring at him.

“Jocelyn…” Lance says, as he looks at me. I can tell his eyes are travelling my body, just as mine are travelling his.

I’m shameless in how I devour his body. I look at his nipples and wonder what it would be like to run my tongue under them. I’m sure he’s looking at my tight fitting yoga pants but I can’t be sure he’s thinking what I want him to think.

I might just be an old lady to him. Someone past the age of consideration. He was caught the President’s daughter, of all people. Lance must be used to 21 year olds—he’s probably got an age limit on the girls he sleeps with.

“Can I help you?” he asks me, and I realize I’ve been staring. Too long.

So long it’s starting to look improper.

I need to say something.

“I’m going for a run, just wanted to see what you were doing,” I manage.

“You’re running on the treadmill in here?” he asks me, nonchalantly, taking a step closer.

No, I can’t be anywhere near him. I need to leave now.

“I’ll be running in the Park, around the Reservoir,” I tell him, backing away. He takes another step and all of a sudden I know that if I stay I won’t be able to control myself.

I head as quickly as I can to the exit located on the other side of the gym that leads up to 88th Street.

“Jocelyn,” Lance says again, but I don’t stop, my legs pump me up the stairs and before I know it, I’m in fresh air. I start jogging at a slow pace west, toward the Park.

That was really stupid of me, the way I acted back there. Don’t worry, hun, you can say it.

I’m 15 years older than Lance and I’m acting like a teenager. Worse than a teenager. Like a lovesick little girl with a crush.

Except I’m not a little girl. I’m a 35-year-old grown woman who’s acting like a fool in front of her stepson.

You can’t see me, but I’m mentally kicking myself as I enter the park and start running around the jogging path around the Reservoir.

I need to stop ogling Lance around the house. I need to stop lusting after his strong back muscles when he walks around shirtless.

I need to focus. My life isn’t that pretty right now. And that’s probably why I’m transferring this lust onto him. I’m being blackmailed into staying in a marriage to a man who obviously doesn’t love me. But I can’t do anything or else my father’s legacy crumbles.

I need to stop thinking about Lance and start worrying about what I’m going to do. Maybe this run will clear my head. Maybe it’ll—

I don’t know what happens but all of a sudden I’m falling and hitting the ground. Before I can even register what’s going on I’m being picked up by a pair of strong hands.

“Shut up, or your dead, jerk,” a gruff voice tells me.

Now, as the Mayor’s wife, I’m entitled to NYPD security when I go out. But more out of practicality I’ve never used the protection service. I’m a born and raised New Yorker, I can handle anything.

I open my mouth and raise my hands, and get ready to scream.

Without realizing what happens the side of my face all of a sudden starts to sting and I realize I’ve been slapped.

“No screaming, or you’re dead!” the voice tells me with urgency. “You’re too pretty to kill before I get a chance to forget you!”

I look around me, desperately trying to figure out what’s happening.

A man in a black hoodie, with his face covered is holding onto me. His skin is dark, but I can’t tell what nationality. He’s got loose sweatpants on and I can smell liquor on his breath.

With one strong grip, he’s holding my hand. The other one he reaches over and places on my rear, giving it a squeeze.

I feel like throwing up as a shudder of disgust goes through me.

The man doesn’t waste any time. There’s no joggers running by me to call out for help, and he starts dragging me toward the bushes.

“Like I said, don’t scream, or this will end even worse than its going to, understand?” he asks.

I can’t move. I realize I should yell. I should kick him, but he’s too strong. And he’s dragging me at an insane angle.

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

But just because I don’t have a good vantage point now, don’t think I’m beaten, hun.

When a man tries to take advantage of a woman, remember what we’ve always been taught. Just bide your time, be patient, and when ready, kick them in the balls extra hard.

I just need to find my opening.

27

Lance

I don’t know what came over me, but the moment I heard Jocelyn walking up the stairs I was already lacing my sneakers and putting on a shirt. I’ve already ran fives miles on the treadmill before moving on to the weights, but I can’t fight against this urge to go after her.

When my eyes found her, tight yoga pants and all… One look, and that was all it took for me to become hard. Idiot, could she be any more irresistible? I almost dropped my jaw to the floor when I saw her.

But she’s my stepmom. I can’t do it.

Welcome to my head the last few days. Looking at her tight rear as she bends over and getting hard. Then realizing who she is and hitting myself. Watching her belly jiggle. Then realizing she’s married to my Dad and I don’t want to mess with that trash.

It sounded like a good idea: get to the basement, work myself to exhaustion, and hopefully I’d have a clearer head afterward. Yeah, not a chance. By now my mind is already busy weaving the most indecent kind of thoughts it can; I can already picture my fingers tracing her perfect curves, my hands on her rear as I pull her into me… Heck, I’d give an eye and a arm to have her on her knees, my cock halfway in her mouth as she looks up at me. Now that’d be a sight. Of course, if that happened… That’d only be the start of it all. What, do you think I’d be able to stop once she had her lips wrapped tight around my shaft?

Out of control as I am right now, I know I should stay put, but I just need to see her again. I’m not thinking straight, but to be honest, I couldn’t give any less of a idiot about that.

I hurry up the stairs, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She has a head start, but I figure I can catch up with her easily. There’s a breeze as I step outside, and my skin prickles as I feel the cold air of New York’s morning. Rubbing my hands together, I start jogging down the street, heading straight to the Park.

There, a few morning souls are already running around the lake; I ease my pace, looking around for Jocelyn, but she seems to have vanished. Idiot, I hope she didn’t decide to go somewhere else. Maybe she thought I’d follow after, and if that was the case, she nailed it, and decided against coming this way.

I’m almost ready to turn the heck around and head back home when I catch a glimpse of a woman running in the distance, following a trail that sneaks its way among rows of imposing field maples. I squint my eyes, taking in the distant shape of the runner; it’s her, no doubt about that. Even though I’m too far away to see her face, I’d recognize that sweet rear anywhere. Idiot, just one look at her and my cock is already twitching.

I pick up the pace, running after her with a spring in my step. I don’t even know what I’ll say to her once I catch up, but hey, what’s the harm in jogging with my stepmother? That’s not a crime, last time I checked. We’ll just bond as stepson and stepmother. Oh, idiot, who am I trying to fool? I didn’t leave the house because I wanted to “bond,” whatever that means. I did it because… Idiot, I have no idea why. After seeing her this morning, yoga pants hugging her slender legs, her sweet lips almost begging me to rest my cock between them... I just knew I had to come after her.

I’m already within shouting distance but I keep quiet, deciding to surprise her. And that’s when I see him—a guy in a black hoodie, a kerchief covering his face, jumps out from behind the trunk of a maple tree and pushes Jocelyn to the floor. She loses her balance and goes down fast; her knees hitting the ground as the man takes one wide stride toward her. He grabs her by the hair and pulls her into a hedgerow, making me lose them out of sight. Idiot, idiot!

My heart starts to race, and for a moment, all I see is red. There’s murder in my veins right now. Whoever that mongrel is, he has no idea about the world of pain he has just stepped into; he has just signed his death sentence.

Running like a train, I chase after the two of them. My feet hitting the floor at an anxious frantic pace, I cover the distance between me and the hedgerow in just a few seconds. I stop, and looking around, notice movement between two bushes. Moving like a bullet—and as murderous as one—I jump into the bushes, my hands turning into fists.

The mongrel has her pinned down on the ground, struggling to part her legs and rest his body on top of hers. The idiot is trying to rape her! I feel rage coursing through my veins, my muscles tensing as I hurry toward the two of them.

Jocelyn is putting up a fight, though. She has the flat palm of her hand on his face, trying to claw his eyeballs out, but the man simply pushes her arms to the side. Then, he reaches behind his back, pulling a knife out from his back pocket. Idiot.

“Hey, let her go!” I shout as the man presses the blade against her neck. I lock eyes with Jocelyn, fear making her eyes wide as the man turns to look at me. His eyes bore into me like nails, suddenly realizing that he has a problem on his hands. He has no idea how big of a problem.

Right now, he has one choice to make, and I can see the gears turning inside his head as he considers his options; he either lets her go and bolts, or tries to get rid of both of me and Jocelyn, eliminating all witnesses. As he gets up and turns to me, his fingers curled tight around the knife’s handle, the choice he made becomes clear as crystal to me.

“You’re dead, boy,” he hisses, lunging at me and trying to slice me across the chest. Boy? Goodness, he’s already trying to stab me, did he really have to call me boy? That just makes me want to knock his lights out even more.

I take one step back, getting out of his reach, but he comes after me, the sun reflecting on the blade as he moves it above his head and brings it down. Idiot, I can’t dodge him forever; if I simply keep getting out of reach, my luck is going to run out and I’ll end up with that knife buried five inches deep in my chest.

“Idiot,” I curse under my breath as my back hits the trunk of a large tree. Death in his eyes, the guy in the hoodie closes the distance between me and him and changes his grip on the knife, grabbing it underhandedly. He raises his arm and then brings it down again, aiming for my heart. This is it; I can’t dodge him anymore.

Moving fast, I take one step toward him and raise my arm up in the air, trying to block him. His forearm hits mine as he presses down, the tip of the blade hanging two inches above my head.

“Who did you call a ‘boy’?” I ask him with a grin, gallons of adrenaline raging through me. He wasn’t expecting me to be so bold, so I take his moment’s confusion to ram my closed fist into his face. There’s a nauseating crunching sound as my hand crashes against his nose, and the man tumbles back, letting go of the knife and bringing both hands to his ruined face. His kerchief is turning red, soaking the blood from his broken nose.

“You’re dead,” he hisses again, rage burning in his eyes. Like a madman he throws himself at me, trying to grab me by the neck. I sidestep him easily and punch him again, this time my fist landing on the side of his face. He tumbles onto the ground, falling flat on his rear. I take the chance and jump on top of him, pummeling him with my close fist. This idiot tried to rape Jocelyn, and if I wasn’t around... Idiot.

“Lance, stop. He’s out,” I hear Jocelyn say. She’s sitting back against a tree, her voice weak and fearful. If it weren’t for her, I’d keep punching until there was nothing left, fury guiding me as I remember this mongrel’s intentions. Adrenaline still coursing in my veins, I get up, leaving the unconscious idiot sprawled on the ground, and walk toward Jocelyn.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, looking into her eyes. Her lips are dry, and there’s an expression of pure terror in her face, as if only now her close call started to sink in. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m… I’m…” she starts, but the words get lost as a violent sob takes over her. I reach for her, taking her in my arms as she starts to cry. I place one hand under the nape of her neck, gently caressing her.

“Hey, hey… It’s alright. I’m here now,” I whisper into her, and she hugs me tight, her head resting on my shoulder. I close my eyes, just holding her close and waiting for her to calm down.

Her belly are pressed against my chest, and I have to take a deep breath to focus on what’s happening. It’s not that easy, though—her warm skin, her breasts, the way she has her arms around my chest… That mental image from before, my cock deep in her mouth, hits me again, and I have to take a deep breath.

Idiot, I just want to lean in and kiss her. I feel warm blood surging toward my cock, and I start getting hard. And, idiot, I’m only wearing basketball shorts. If I pop a boner right now, there’s no way I’ll be able to hide it from her.

Breathing deeply, somehow I manage to regain a semblance of control. I should get a medal for this: Zen Master of the Year.

“Let’s go,” I tell her. “I’ll take you home.” I stand up, pulling her up to her feet; with one arm over her shoulders, we head out from the bushes and into the trail. I almost want to leave the mongrel there, choking on his own blood; he sure as idiot deserves it, but saner thoughts prevail. Grabbing my cell phone, I call 911 and inform them of what just happened. The dispatcher asks me to remain here, waiting for the police, but there’s no way I’m going to be hanging around this place with Jocelyn. I’m taking her home right now. The NYPD can get our statement there, as far as I’m concerned.

“Thank you, Lance…” she whispers, grabbing my arm tightly. There’s real gratitude there; I simply smile, not knowing what else to say. I’m just glad I was around, because if I wasn’t… Idiot, I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.

“Let’s just get you home,” I say, hailing a cab the moment we leave Central Park. What a messed up way to start the day.

Already sitting inside the cab, Jocelyn leaning against my shoulder, I breathe in deeply and try to settle my nerves. Idiot, the moment I saw her being attacked, I just lost it. I never felt anything like it; I lost all control… I could have killed that mongrel. And all because I can’t stop thinking about Jocelyn.

Idiot, I’m going insane.

28

Jocelyn

“What the heck were you thinking?” Michael shouts, slamming his fist on the desk as he goes to his feet. “Going out by yourself… Don’t you have anything inside that head of yours?”

I should have been expecting this. Somehow, I naively thought my husband would have a comforting word for me after finding out that I almost got raped. Of course, I couldn’t be more mistaken about that.

“You’re supposed to be helping me with this campaign, not being a liability, you stupid jerk!” Michael yells.

I have the urge to take the glass vase and hit him over the head with it. The frustration is immense just being in the same room as this man. This isn’t a marriage. This is torture. Every day.

But whatever he has on my father - whatever could destroy a storied career and get him to come to me with fear in his eyes makes me stay. Because Michael scares me. Every day. With his cold demeanor. His calculating strategy.

Michael got home at the same time the NYPD officers were leaving; they got here an hour after the incident to get a statement, and he immediately asked me what was going on. We went to his office, and he listened to me without interrupting once, but I could see a vein pulsing in his temple, rage building up inside of him.

“It wasn’t my fault…” I try and tell him, but he won’t have any of it.

“It wasn’t your fault? You left the house without your security detail! You never take them anywhere! Of course it was your fault! Walking along in tight clothes…” he says, shaking his head. “Of course you’d be jumped on. You’re still a stupid little girl. We’re not in Kansas, anymore,” he sneers.

I can hardly believe that he’s laying all the blame at my feet. You’d think that a high-society man like Michael Anders would be more forward thinking, but no… Like many other men, he just prefers to blame women for everything. But unlike other men, he won’t ever touch me. How does he know my clothes are too tight and I’m flaunting myself if he feels nothing for me?

“What’s going on?” I turn on my heels as I hear Lance’s voice. He has opened the door to Michael’s office and has stepped inside, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“What’s going on is that you two are idiots, that’s what’s going on!” Michael continues, the tone of his voice growing more furious by the second. “It wasn’t enough that Jocelyn got attacked, you had to go and give a beating to the guy! Do you have any idea on how that might play out in the media?”

Lance simply looks at his father, an expression of bewilderment taking over his face.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he starts in a low tone. “Your wife almost got raped, and you’re wondering about how that will affect your election? Are you kidding? What kind of man are you?”

“I’m the kind of man who has fought for everything that he has. This house, the job I got you at the White House… Everything came from my hard work. From my sacrifices. That’s the kind of man I am. Not that you can see it, Lance… You know nothing about hard work or sacrifice.”

“This is your wife, Dad,” Lance says with sarcasm in his voice. “You might want to take care of her.”

“Don’t tell me who to take care of,” Michael shoots back. “If I had any sense, I should have let the state keep you after your Mom died. You’re nothing but an embarrassment to me now. This campaign is your one chance to redeem yourself.”

I feel Lance tensing up, and as he opens up his mouth to speak, I grab his arm, stopping him. When he looks at me, I simply shake my head. Escalating this won’t help matters.

“I’m going back to my office,” Michael says curtly, walking between Lance and I without glancing at us. We stay there in silence, hearing the click of Michael’s shoes across the hallway, and then the door opening and slamming shut.

“That mongrel…” Lance whispers to no one in particular, heading out of the office as if he were in a trance. He’s seething; even though he won’t show it, I know that his father's words have gotten to him. I follow him to the living room, trying to forget Michael’s words as I get out of his office. They hurt, sure, but I’m used to his coldness by now.

Lance is sitting on the couch in the family room, staring blankly at the TV. There’s some old movie from the early 00s going, a romantic movie of sorts, but I doubt he’s actually seeing any of it.

After a few minutes I hear Michael walking down the hall and opening the front door. He slams the door and I hear his motorcade start up and drive away.

I have no idea what to say to Lance, but I sit down next to him all the same, placing one leg up on the couch as I turn to face him.

“Thank you,” I say, looking him in the eyes and trying to steer the conversation away from his father. “I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t show up when you did…” I shudder, the memories of what just happened flooding me again.

“Hey, don’t worry… It’s over, that’s all that matters.” His expression softens as he speaks, a smile dawning on his lips. Goodness, I could kiss him right now… I could just lean in, take his hand in mine and press my mouth against his. It would be so easy. Too easy.

I turn to face the TV, my heart beating fast. Breathing in, I try to calm myself and watch the movie on TV, but much like Lance, all I can do is stare absently at the moving pictures, unable to focus on whatever’s happening.

We sit in silence for a long while, simply staring at the TV—there, a half-naked young Keanu Reeves is kissing Charlize Theron. Even though I’ve already watched it when I was younger, the name of the movie simply alludes. Then, suddenly remembering it, I squeal like a young girl, grabbing Lance’s arm.

“Oh, I love this movie… Sweet November!” I lay down on the couch, placing both my legs across Lance’s lap.

“Never saw it,” he responds, smiling as he sets his forearms across my legs. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his skin on mine, but I try and push forbidden thoughts to the back of my mind, tucking them away. It’s harder than it seems, though.

“You should,” I respond, grabbing the remote and pulling the movie back to the beginning. “And you will,” I add with a grin. Oh goodness, what am I doing?

“You’re really making me watch a romantic comedy?” he asks, raising one eyebrow playfully.

“Of course,” I tell him. “And it’s not a romantic comedy… It’s a drama, actually.” I’m speaking, but I can barely hear my own voice. All that I can think about is that I’m on the couch with Lance, and we have the house completely to ourselves.

“Oh, even better,” he says, rolling his eyes with a smile. I sit up briefly, flexing my abs to punch him lightly on the shoulder, my heart tightening as I feel the hard contour of his bicep, and then turn my attention to the TV. I lay there as the opening credits roll by, suddenly feeling extremely self-aware of the fact that my legs are sitting on Lance’s lap. He has his hands resting on them, his long fingers spread over my tanned skin… Thank goodness I changed into shorts when I got home... Oh, what am I saying? Pull yourself together, Jocelyn!

Easier said than done, of course. The warmness of his fingers spreads up my legs and into my thighs, and I start breathing harder. Slightly moving his fingers, Lance starts massaging the muscles in my upper legs, rolling his hands back and forth over my skin. His touch is an innocent one—at first—but I start to grow wet all the same, my whole body burning from the inside out. There’s just no way I can control it, so don’t try to blame me.

“That feels good,” I purr, smiling at Lance. He looks at me, his hands still moving back and forth, massaging my legs, driving me completely insane… “You sure know how to use your hands.”

“You have no idea,” he replies, and I can’t help but imagine his fingers crawling up my leg, brushing against the growing wetness between my thighs.

“Maybe I do,” I tell him, slightly parting my legs and allowing his fingers to slide over and above my knees. My mind is burning, and I can already feel my thong growing damp.

When I move my legs over his lap, my mouth turns dry as I feel Lance’s hard cock—it’s tenting his pants and pushing against my legs, making my insides burn even more fiercely. I want to look at him, to let my eyes wander down to his crotch, but I still myself; I don’t dare do it, afraid of what might happen, so I keep my eyes glued to the TV. By now, all I see is a blur in front of me. My brain is busy with trying to picture his cock, imagining how it would feel rolling down my lips...

My eyes might be frozen in place, but I can’t say the same about the rest of my body. I move my legs again, opening them even more as I lift my knees and rest my feet over his lap. My heart is racing now, my feet so close to his crotch that all I need to do is move them an inch to feel his hardness. I almost feel nauseous, rationality and desire locked into a bloody fight inside my brain. Whatever it is that’s happening here, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to stop it. Or if I’m going to want to stop it.

While I’m struggling internally, Lance’s fingers keep massaging my legs, drawing closer to my inner thighs with each passing second. My unconscious pulling the strings of my body, I part my legs wide, allowing Lance’s hands to start rubbing the tanned skin on inner thighs, his fingers pressed on the line where the hem of my shorts and skin meet. My goodness, I’m so wet right now. My fingers twitch slightly, and I almost grab his hand and press it against my pussy—somehow, I manage to restrain myself, my heart on the verge of bursting.

His fingers go just one inch above the hem of my shorts, and my feet start moving as if they have a mind of their own, rubbing Lance’s leg over his jeans, much in the same way he’s doing to me. My feet roam dangerously close to his crotch, but he says nothing. Neither of us wants to be the one to break, but if we keep going like this… It’s going to happen, sooner or later.

I’m aching to let my feet move just an inch upward, to feel his hard cock pushing against me… More than anything I have ever wanted in my life, I want to do it. Take a hold of yourself, Jocelyn, I hear the voice of reason whispering at me. Get out now! It continues, act your age! Lance is young, and young boys can’t control themselves, but you can, Jocelyn. You can.

Look, I know, I know: he’s my stepson, and he’s fifteen years my junior. I know all that. But after so long without feeling a man’s cock getting hard for me… After so long without feeling someone burning with desire for me... There’s only so much that I can resist. But I need to do the right thing, and I need to do it now: I grit my teeth and try to command my body to move, to get out of the couch. For a split second, I almost think I’ll be able to do it, but at the last moment, what my body does is allow my feet to brush against the steel-hard shape under Lance’s jeans.

Do you know why people fear heights? It’s not because they’re afraid of falling; it’s because they’re afraid of jumping down, the pull of the abyss too much for them. And that’s exactly what I’m going through in this exact moment, but there’s no fear anymore, because I’ve already jumped down. Like I said, the pull of the abyss can be overwhelming. Especially when the abyss looks so irresistible.

I let my feet wander over to his crotch and I hold my breath as I feel his thick shape straining against the rough fabric of his jeans. Remembering to breathe again, I use both my feet to gently press down on his erection, softly rubbing on it. I move them in a back and forth motion, massaging his cock and feeling it pulse against me. I can hear the distant whisper of rationality inside of me, but I’m too far gone to listen to it. I’m all out of brakes now - and I’m on a collision course with sin.

Lance says nothing for a long while, his fingers still moving over my inner thighs, but I feel his muscles brimming up with tension. Finally turning to me, he cuts through the silent tension, his words coming at me heavy and coiled.

“What are we doing?” he says, his eyes on mine. I have no idea what we’re doing, but I know what I want to do right now.

Run, run, I hear that little whisper inside of me. Leave now while you still can.

Without saying a word, I take my feet out from his lap, my eyes never leaving his.

Go now, the whisper continues. Go now and don’t look back.

But it’s already too late. I lean over to Lance, and pressing my lips against his ear, I purr.

“Can you keep a secret?”

29

Lance

“Can you keep a secret?” Jocelyn asks me, and I see a wicked gleam of desire running through her eyes. It takes all my concentration to not cum in my pants right there with her body straddling my lap. Her pussy rubbing itself on my erection.

I nod my head, unsure of what else to say.

Before I know what’s happening, Jocelyn leans forward. I can smell her perfume and my nostrils flare up.

She’s looking directly at me. But as she’s looking she’s using one hand and all of a sudden I feel her trace the outline of my pulsing cock through my jeans.

She begins to squeeze it lightly. Up and down. Until she reaches the tip. She’s like an expert shoe salesman. Only she’s not. She’s my dad’s new wife, and as much as I hate him, she’s still his wife. That makes her my stepmom.

But that’s not enough for me to stop her. My cock throbs in sweet pleasurable agony at this point and I can feel precum leaking out as Jocelyn massages the tip through my jeans.

My eyes open in amazement at the sheer licentiousness of the situation as she squeezes length of my shaft up to the top, where she runs her palm around the head.

“Goodness, Lance,” she says with a sharp intake of breath. “Your cock is huge. I’ve never known anyone that has a cock this big.”

That’s what they all say. Twelve inches, remember? Twelve inches that I told you if you had met me, you’d even want to put inside of you.

I can’t help it. I’m getting carried away in this situation. Lust is clouding my thoughts.

My face contorts into a nasty sneer of pride. “It’s even bigger out of it’s jeans, baby,” I say without thinking. It’s not my stepmom in front of me anymore. It could be any girl.

Although no girl could be as hot as her.

“I could tell it was big,” she says, drawing her words out in a breathy whisper. “Just not this big.”

Jocelyn bends in closer, this time with a nervous anticipation on her part and begins to unzip my fly. She slowly slides it down and undoes the button.

I cannot believe this is happening. I lift my rear a bit as she gives my jeans a tug.

Okay, this is insane. My stepmom is leaning over so close now that I can see down her shirt that she changed into after we got home.

I can see her magnificent belly swinging freely, not sagging at all and I could die happy right there.

My jeans are relatively loose enough that Jocelyn is able to use one hand to pull them down to my knees.

And that’s when my cock, loosened from the constraints of my jeans, pops up, pushing my boxer briefs out. It creates a lewd tent inches from her face.

“I can see someone is a bit excited,” she says, looking at me with a smile. “Are you sure you can keep this a secret?”

I nod my head. “Oh yeah,” I moan as she raises herself over me. This time, I’m staring right at her chest. The time for hiding my interest in her is gone. I bring my right hand over and rest it on her rear, squeezing it through her black yoga pants.

“Can you follow directions?” she asks me.

“Depends on whether I like them or not,” I tell her with a smirk. “Can you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, almost distracted by the sight of my cock. “Do you like my hand on your cock?”

“Yes, I do,” I say to her, wondering what her game is. “Do you like my hand on your rear?”

She nods her head, not saying anything.

“It’s so tight, I just want to rub my cock all over it,” I tell her, not believing the words coming out of my mouth.

This is like some twisted dream. Way beyond anything I could ever jerk off to. My Dad’s new wife sitting on my lap, straddling me, with her hand around my cock.

Her eyes are focused on my cock, as her hand moves up and down, carefully jerking me off. I’m still wearing my boxer briefs, but I’m not complaining. Nor am I making any move to take them off. Whatever she wants to do. This situation is too crazy as it is.

I’m silent, watching her. Her breathing is coming in gasps.

I’m going to cum soon. No way I can sit here and take this from an angel like her.

That’s when I hear a clatter in the kitchen. Both of us look toward the sound, her hand coming off my cock in an instant.

There’s a pause and then muffled feminine cursing in Spanish.

It’s Rosa—part of the cleaning staff for the townhouse.

Goodness.

Jocelyn gets off of me and stands up in a heartbeat. She looks at me, and I see a flash of despair go over her eyes.

It’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling right here. My cock is so close to erupting. But it’s out of the question with Rosa in the other room.

Sighing, I stand up and put my boxer briefs back on, and zip up my jeans.

Jocelyn’s already left the room without another word.

It takes several deep breaths before I do the same.

I need to calm down.

That trash was close. Any minute we could have been found out. No way Rosa would keep something like that quiet. The tabloids would pay a pretty penny for a story like that. And that would be it for me. And Jocelyn.

No, I want you to listen to me as I tell you this. Because this trash is important.

I can’t let something like this happen with Jocelyn. Ever. Again.

If you see something like this happening, just tell me to get the heck out of this situation, okay?

I’m dancing on the edge of the fire here. And I need your help before I get burned.

30

Jocelyn

I go into the townhouse through the back entrance, not wanting to cause too much of a fuss. I don’t need the footman, the bellman, the doorman and the various members of the staff to stop what their doing and set it down to wish me a happy birthday today. I don’t want to be a bother to them.

Besides, if I really wanted to give myself a birthday present, I should try and do what I’ve been doing the last three days since the incident with Lance and I on the couch. That is, to avoid him completely.

Although in my case, the only way I’ve been able to avoid him has been to spend as much time away from the house as possible.

It’s doable. With Michael’s campaign not getting into full swing for a another couple of weeks, it gives me time to myself.

Sounds easy enough, right, hun?

Nope. And before you get upset at me that I may have tricked you into answering, please let me just say that I love the fact that you’re here and listening to me. I’ve never had someone like this who I could talk to about anything and everything.

Even my girlfriend from college who I met for lunch at 40 Carrot today for yogurt couldn’t understand what I was complaining about.

“So he doesn’t forget you, this Michael,” she said as we began to scoop our yogurt and looked at the people walking into and out of Bloomingdales. “You better count your blessings, girl.”

“It’s not that, Cheryl,” I told her with a sigh. “It’s just that Michael seems to despise not just having sex with me but everything about me.”

“I don’t know, girl,” she says looking at me. “Why would he do everything you say he did to marry you if he’s not even going to talk to you or try to paw at your beautiful body? And don’t tell me it was to win some election.”

But that’s exactly what it is, I think to myself as I replay Cheryl’s words as I walk into the darkened townhouse. That’s exactly why he kept me around. The optics of a beautiful wife are much better than being single.

Oh, right, I forgot to mention that I went to lunch with Cheryl to celebrate my birthday. I officially turned 36 today. Married to a man who doesn’t love me. In a marriage that I can’t get out of.

Well, I guess it could be worse. Mom and dad are probably pretty aware of the fact that I’m not going to be able to give them grandkids anytime soon. So thankfully they don’t hassle me about that.

But still, I’d like to be able to someday. I don’t know if that’s something to realistically plan for anymore, though. Not with Michael at least.

I walk through the darkened house. Michael is probably at a work function or a campaign related event. I don’t know where Lance is. But that’s more of a relief than a worry.

If Lance were here, I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself. Not today, of all days.

That’s when a single light goes on in the living room. I turn around and gasp.

I really should make sure things are as they are before telling you about them.

Because there stands Lance, in front of the window overlooking Carl Schurz Park. I didn’t spot him at first because it was dark, but I see him quite clearly now.

He’s standing next to a table with two glasses of champagne and the bottle in a chilled ice bucket. Next to the bottle and ice bucket is a multi-layered tray, holding an assortment of delectable items—canapes, chocolate covered strawberries, grapes, mini-quiche.

I gasp.

“Happy birthday, Jocelyn,” he says, taking a glass and walking up to me.

I hadn’t expected this.

I hadn’t expected anything.

“How did you know?” I manage to ask as he walks up to me and hands me the glass. “I never told you.”

I can smell his cologne. I can feel the warmth of his large, hard body as he stands next to me and we clink our glasses before taking a sip.

“Come on,” he says teasingly. “You’re a public figure, I looked you up on Wikipedia,” he says to me with a smirk.

I blush. I don’t know what to say. What does a girl say in this instance?

“Oh?” I manage, completely off balance. “And do you Wikipedia everyone you know?”

Lance shrugs. I was curious.

That’s it. My mind is spinning at a mile a minute.

Why did he look up my age? To see if anything with me was appropriate? Could he be interested in me?

Well, of course, he must be interested in me. I had his cock in my hands the other day. I was sitting on his lap. Making a fool of myself.

“Hey,” Lance says, taking a step closer to me. He bends his knees, bringing his face more on level with mine. “You okay?”

I close my eyes, trying to keep the tears away. Goodness, does he know just how much I want him? How when I leave the house to go to the gym nowadays I keep imagining his body that day that I saw him working out? How every spare moment I think back to Central Park and nestling my head in his chest after he rescued me.

“It’s nothing,” I tell him, shaking my head and opening my eyes and trying to smile. “I’m just sad I’m growing old,” I lie.

He takes my champagne glass from my hands and places it on the table. While there he pushes something on his phone and the speakers in the living room come to life, playing soft, smooth, simple jazz.

“Age is just a number, Jocelyn,” Lance tells me. “It’s what you do with your life that tells people how old you are.”

“And when did you become so wise?” I ask him with a teasing smile as he comes close to me once more. “You don’t sound like the Lance Anders I know.”

“Is this what you want?” he asks me and takes another step closer, looking down at me from his height.

I giggle. I can’t help it.

“The one who takes what he wants and doesn’t let the word no stop him?” I ask, batting my eyes.

I don’t know if I’m the one who takes the step closer or if it’s him, but all of a sudden I can feel my body pressed into his.

It feels so right, feeling my breasts press up against his chest. Feeling his arms encircle me. Once having made contact, I want more. I can feel myself pressing against him as I continue to look up at him.

“Why did you do all this, Lance?” I ask him, the thought going through my head that this is some elaborate prank for some reason. I don’t know why I’m thinking it, hun. “Why the whole fancy setup?”

“Why the heck not?” Lance growls down at me, looking at me with smoldering eyes as we start to sway to the gentle music in the background. “It’s your birthday, Jocelyn.”

“I’m your stepmom,” I say back to him.

I don’t know why, okay? I don’t know why I feel awkward around him, when he’s done something so sweet as put together this surprise for my birthday.

Fine, fine, you got me, it’s not awkwardness I’m feeling. It’s nervousness. I’ve seen his giant cock. And I want it inside of me.

But standing here close to him, as he holds me, I’m starting to feel something different too.

What is it?

“No, you’re not,” Lance replies back. He’s calm. He’s collected. “Tonight you’re just a woman, Jocelyn. And I’m just a man.”

What exactly does that mean?

Are we just a man and woman who are friends? Relatives? Lovers?

Goodness, I can’t believe I had his cock in my hands. Through his jeans, but still.

Why can’t I just close my eyes and enjoy the moment? Why am I trapped in his stare, looking up at him and only vaguely aware of the world around me?

“I’m so much older than you, Lance,” I whisper. “And I’m really sorry about the other day. We can’t let something so crazy ever happen again.”

It’s true! Can you believe the scandal involved with something like that?

He brings his face closer to me. “Don’t be sorry,” he hisses. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

What? He can’t get me out of his head?

“That’s sweet,” I say to him, my panties melting as I think back to being on his lap, legs wrapped around him, looking at his cock. I can tell I’m more than wet at this point. If Lance wanted to take me, I don’t think I would stop him.

No, I most definitely wouldn’t stop him. I’d spread my legs and let him pull my thong down. Then I’d wrap my legs around him as he put that giant cock inside of me. His eyes would go wide at what I’d do and say. I’d be the last thing from boring to him.

“What are you thinking?” Lance asks me, a smirk playing across his face.

“It’s a secret,” I say with a coy smile.

“I think I can guess,” he tells me. I squirm my body against him a bit more. His cock is hard and it’s rubbing against my inner thigh. It feels so good.

“What, then?” I ask, hoping beyond all hope that he’s in my head. “Don’t keep a lady waiting.”

“You’re no lady,” he says with a grin and as I give him a mock pout, I see that he truly is in my head. Because he leans over and brings his mouth to mine.

And we kiss.

31

Lance

Holy trash. What the heck is going on?

I can’t believe this. My tongue is literally opening up Jocelyn’s lips. Far from being the invader, her tongue lashes out and it’s wrestling mine in my mouth now. I feel her tongue massage mine. I reciprocate.

This is so much hotter somehow than the other day. This feels more intimate. More real.

This feels more like love than lust.

I don’t even realize but my hands are pulling her closer. They’re squeezing her rear. Running up and down her back.

She’s grinding her crotch over my cock.

And yet, we still continue to kiss.

I’m not gonna lie. It was awkward after the other day. After Rosa inadvertently interrupted us on the sofa.

I mean, give me a break. She only had my cock in her hands, jerking it off. There was only one way that situation was going to go. With me exploding with thick, white ropes of gooey cum all over her.

We both knew that’s where it was headed. I saw it in her eyes. They were filled with desire. Her entire face was contorted with lust that afternoon. She just didn’t give a idiot how old she was, how young I was, who we were, or where we were at. She just wanted my cock. And I wanted her entire body.

But the real world came and intruded on us. We had to call it off.

The last few days I haven’t seen her around as much. But incredible, when I discovered today was her birthday, I knew that I had to get past any sort of awkwardness that we had with each other.

Idiot, it didn’t seem like this morning that anyone else was going to celebrate her birthday with her. Dad probably doesn’t even know. Or if he does, he just wants to actively show he forgot to bring out the sentiment that he doesn’t care. Because he’s a sociopath.

So that left me. I had the day, and the townhouse staff to help me whip something up.

And now, because of it, she’s holding onto my arms and kissing me passionately.

I’m rubbing her back and running my fingers through her hair. I’m hard. Painfully hard. As in my cock is going to break if we keep this up.

Are we headed to sex again?

But it’s different this time. Last time we were in a similar spot, we weren’t kissing. That was just pure lust.

This time, there’s something different.

I feel her tongue trace the outline of the roof of my mouth and then come back down and gently massage my tongue. I return the favor.

This time, we are kissing. This time it’s gentler. As if we’re falling for each other.

Incredible. That’s even worse.

And then, as is our fate, I hear the front door slam open.

“I don’t care if the Teacher’s Union doesn’t like the changes we’re proposing, tell them after the election the voters forget about everything anyways,” dad’s loud voice comes through. He’s either talking to an aide or into his phone.

A light goes on in the hallway.

Jocelyn pulls back immediately. So do I.

We disentangle ourselves from each other. Her chest is heaving from holding her breath in this long. I’m looking at her.

“I don’t give two trashs about the MTA funding right now,” dad says. He’s definitely talking into his phone.

I see Jocelyn turn her head as the footsteps come toward the living room. She doesn’t bother looking at me, but rather collects herself and briskly walks out of the opposite exit to the living room. She wants to avoid dad.

She’s gone not a second before he comes into the room. He sees me standing next to a table filled with food and champagne.

“What are you doing here?” he asks me.

I didn’t really plan this excuse out, but it just comes naturally to me. “Today’s Jocelyn’s birthday,” I tell him.

He stares at me blankly for a second. I hope he’s not trying to figure out which Jocelyn I’m talking about.

“So?” he finally asks. “That’s what all the food and champagne is for?”

“Want to join us?” I ask him darkly.

What a horrible idiot. I mean, sure, I was just kissing her a few minutes ago so maybe I’m not saint, but I didn’t go about marrying her, and if what she says is correct, never touch her in the whole time I’ve known her.

No wonder Jocelyn is crushing all over me. For the first time in a long rear time, someone is showing real, genuine, affection for her. Someone is showing desire for her.

“I think joining you would be a waste of my time,” dad says, turning around after hanging his top coat in the closet. “I have plenty of better things I could be doing with my time.”

“Dad,” I paused and watched him as he froze at hearing me call out to him. “At least go upstairs and wish her a happy birthday then.”

Dad seemed to consider, but then shrugged his shoulder. “If that's all it takes for her to feel better, then I’ll leave that to you, son,” he tells me. “No one is better than you in winning people over.”

“Goodness,” I say. “She’s your wife.”

“She’s a political prop,” he says to me. “And don’t you dare talk to me like all of a sudden you’re my son.”

I’m silent. Seething.

“You’re nothing more than an orphan that I bought with my credibility. You’re more like a window dressing for me. Never forget that,” he says to me, looking me in the eyes, telling me he’s deadly serious.

He turns, having gotten the last word.

And with that, he’s gone.

32

Lance

I curl my arms in another set of bicep exercises and watch my movements in the mirror. I look good. I don't care how vain you think I am. I'll admit it. It's no wonder I've banged nearly every type of woman there is—co-eds, professors, housewives, and even the President's daughter, which I now sort of regret.

Besides, after the last two days since Jocelyn’s birthday, I need to clear my head.

We’ve been too close to the fire. Twice. The first time, I could understand. Her fight or flight response was kicking in and she was going through adrenaline after her close call. I was there.

The second time, on her birthday. That was a different animal. We kissed. And held each other close.

No, I need to shake myself of her.

I look around the gym at the odd mix of people. Even though this gym offers up a strange, and sometimes annoying blend of gym goers, I never miss a day of working out. Let's face it; you don't get the ripped body of a gladiator by just sitting around, right? I'm a machine, and I plan to keep it that way. As I'm curling my rock-hard muscles, I overhear a couple of teenagers next to me.

"No way. Steroids are expensive. You know what you need bro?"

"What?" the other kid asks.

"You need some McDonald's in your life."

"Now you're trippin'."

"Here me out. I'm not kidding. Just eat the chicken nuggets every day. There's a lot of growth hormones in those nuggets; it's borderline unnatural. Those chickens are all breast and no legs and trash. It's an easy way to get steroids. I'm telling you."

I chuckle a little as I hear their conversation, and then my eyes immediately fall on a group of women standing a few feet to my left. I overhear them talking too.

"I don't like lifting weights. I'm afraid I'm going to lose my breasts," she says, slightly massaging them with her fingertips.

"That's a misconception. Weight lifting is one of the best ways to stay in shape. You don't want BMI problems, do you?"

"Girl, I definitely don't have BMI problems! I've got 99 problems but my rear sure isn't one of them."

When she says that, I can't help but check her rear out. She's right. Her rear is nice. Not as nice as Jocelyn's rear, but still nice. Incredible. There I go again. I really need to stop thinking about my dad's wife—my stepmom. But I can't. She's way hotter than I ever expected. But my mind is jolted back to reality when I overhear some of the worst pick-up lines that I think I've ever heard in my life.

From a sweaty, hairy-chested middle-aged guy on the bench press to a woman nearby: "We should train together because I hear it's good for bone density."

And then from another man: "My personal trainer told me I had to come talk to you."

This line seems to work for a minute because the woman stops, and gives him a confused look, and then the man continues, "He said I should talk to you for a few minutes as part of my routine. If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you share your training regimen with me?" And then it dawns on her that this guy is talking out of his rear, and she walks away. I swear, these men are clueless—it's embarrassing. And you know what? That's fine because it gives me a leg up. They should watch me in action and learn a thing or two. I decide to do one more rep before leaving, and as I reach for the weight, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and see her. That perfect outline of the female body could only be one person. It's Jocelyn.

"Hey stranger," she says. "What are the chances? I had no idea you worked out at this gym."

She's being cordial, and I appreciate that. She could've easily seen me, and quickly slipped out the back door, or at least out of sight.

"I guess New York isn't so big after all," I shrug with a smile.

"It might not be as big as some things," she replies, and I swear she takes a quick glance at my cock. Did that really just happen, or am I imagining it?

Are we really going to go down this road a third time?

"I guess you could say that," I say, deciding to play along.

There’s only one way to find out. I’m going to give her an opening and see how far she wants to take this.

"So tell me. Is the rumor true?" I ask.

She doesn't respond, but just furrows her brow, so I continue, "Do all women really love retail above all else?"

The confusion dissipates from her face. "Retail therapy is a thing." The way she responds with her head cocked back, and a slight smile parting her thick, juicy lips, makes my cock twitch. Dang. She's something else.

"Then I have a proposition."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I say we get out of this place and indulge in a little retail therapy."

Sometimes you've got to be bold. I watch as she determines whether or not this is a good idea. I can almost picture the inner workings of her brain. One side urging her to stay at the gym and do the sensible thing—get her workout in and not fraternize with the ill-behaved stepson. The other, wilder side of her brain—and I'm now beginning to think she has a wild side—urging her to leave. I begin to wonder which side will win when she responds.

"Sure, let's blow this joint." I can't believe my luck. And did she just emphasize the word blow?

"Let me grab my things from the locker room," she continues. "I'll meet you out front."

I watch as she walks away, her perfect rear sashaying across the gym and I can't believe she's agreed to hang out with me. I drop the weights and quickly grab my things from the locker room as well. By the time I walk outside, I see her standing there, carefully applying lipstick. I feel like I'm on a roll, so I say, "I have an idea. Let's count shoulders."

"What are you talking about?"

"Watch me," I say, standing directly in front of her. I start counting, tapping my shoulders first. "One, two…" and then I move my hand to her shoulders, "Three, four." And now that I'm done counting and I've created an excuse to touch her—see what I just did?—I drape my arm across her shoulders and say, "Let's go."

She smiles, but pulls away. "Easy there," she laughs. "I'll give you credit. You are bold. I like that in a man."

Good. At least she sees me as a man, and not a kid. I know there's a sizeable age difference between us, but it's no different from the one between her and my dad. "Would you expect anything less from the Lance Anders?" I reply.

"How much woman can you handle?"

Incredible. The way she just asked that made my heart leap into my throat. I can't even answer that question, so instead I smile and order an Uber for us. She watches as I pull the app up on my phone.

"What kind of ride are you? Long or short?" she asks.

"I'm the longest ride you'll ever need." Like I said, two can play this game.

She raises an eyebrow and simply smiles.

We take the Uber to Saks Fifth Avenue. I figure I can't go wrong with this store—there's designer apparel at every level—shows, accessories, housewares, and when we step out of the car, I see her face light up and I know I've definitely made the right choice. I follow her into the building as she walks at a fast clip to the women's clothing, her heels clicking against the floor. She changed at the gym and is no longer wearing yoga pants. She's wearing a tight black dress and heels, and honestly, I can't keep my eyes off of her. Does she always go the gym with an extra change of clothes? I wonder to myself.

"Here's what I'm looking for," she says. I look around and see we're standing in the women's blouse section. "What do you think of this one?"

I honestly think any blouse would look amazing on her, but I simply say, "I like it."

My answer doesn't seem good enough because she gives it another critical look. She holds the shirt in front of her, one hand on her hip. "I think I should try it on."

I nod my head and follow her to the dressing rooms. I find a bench and sit down.

"I'll wait right here," I say. I lean back and check my phone—no calls or texts, which is good—and I wait.

"Lance? Can you come here?"

I make sure no one is looking before heading into the dressing rooms. Are men even allowed back here? "Where are you?" I ask, just above a whisper.

"Right here."

I look to my left and I see her holding one door open slightly ajar. I slip inside. The room is small and it's forcing us to stand unusually close to each other. I watch as she starts to unzip her dress.

"I just need your opinion."

With her dress unzipped, I watch as she pulls it off of her shoulders. Her perfume fills my senses. My heart is seriously in my throat. It's beating at a frenzied pace and I can't believe this is happening. The top of her dress is now completely off and hanging at her hips. I can't help but gaze transfixed at her perfect breasts. Those two perfect scoops cupped in a lacey bra. Do I dare touch her?

I immediately think back to the question she asked me at the gym. How much woman can I handle?

33

Jocelyn

The moment my shirt comes off, I know I have him.

More than I had him on the couch the other week. Or during my birthday.

There is no stopping now.

I’m going to do this, hun. No stopping me.

I’ll probably go to perdition afterwards.

His eyes are on my cleavage, and he seems hungry to feel my breasts. He closes the door to the dressing room and I look into his eyes, my heart drumming wildly inside of my chest. I could get used to having men look at me like this, insatiable hunger flickering behind their eyes. After months of sharing a bed with a husband who doesn’t even look at me, there’s no way that I’m going to let an opportunity like this slide by me… He’s my stepson, sure, but so what? One hard look at him and my pussy grows wet, desire raging through me. He looks young, handsome… Delicious. No wonder he has such a reputation. As his stepmother, I think it’s my duty to find out if the rumors are true... Oh, why are forbidden things the most irresistible ones?

My pussy is already wet, my drenched underwear sticking to my skin. There’s a whisper inside of me, one that tells me to stop, that what I’m doing is wrong… But I just push it to the back of my mind. The blood that runs through me is charged with lust and sinful thoughts, fanning flames of wickedness in my mind and making me forget all about right and wrong.

I tried to avoid this. I knew how dangerous it would be for me to be near Lance. He’s simply too irresistible—handsome, wicked, relentless. But here I am now… And there’s no going back. There’s no stopping what’s about to happen. I’m going to have him, come hell or high water.

“Come here,” I whisper, taking one step forward, my eyes never leaving his, and I grab him by the scruff of his shirt. Pulling him into me, I press my mouth against his, parting my lips and brushing my tongue against his. I start unbuttoning his shirt, my eager fingers flying down the fabric as I expose his chest. My eyes take in the perfect shape of his pectorals, the irresistible ridges in his abs.

With one hand on my waist, he takes the other to my hair, grabbing it viciously. He pulls my head back and, leaning toward me, starts kissing down my chin toward my neck; once there, he starts nibbling at the soft skin gently. I close my eyes as I feel his lips against my neck, my rational mind slowly drowning in an ocean of pleasure.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time I saw you,” he whispers into my ear, a shiver going up my spine.

“I know,” I tell him, grinning. “Do you think I don’t know what you were doing when you went to take a shower?”

With jerking movements, I tug on his shirt and make the rest of the buttons pop out. I run my hands over his chest, feeling his warm skin under my fingertips. It's absolute perfection. I just want to feel every single inch of his body and surrender myself to him. And there’s no stopping me now. Screw the consequences, whatever they might be.

“What I was doing…?”

“Yes,” I continue, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and pulling it down his shoulders and throw it to the floor. Grinning, I take one hard look at him, my eyes wandering over his chest once more. I can’t even hear my own thoughts over the loud drumming of my heart. “You were thinking of me, weren’t you? Thinking of bending me over and having your way.”

“What if I was?” he asks me, breathing heavily. “You wanted me to be thinking of you…”

“Yes… Yes, I did.” Smiling, I let my hands slide down his chest until they meet the hem of his pants. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly, sliding my hand down his pants and caressing the bulging shape that’s tenting his underwear. I start stroking him over the fabric, my fingers curled tight around his cock. He’s gigantic, his member pulsing against my hand in such an intense way that my insides clench in anticipation. But what else was I expecting? A guy with a reputation like Lance.... Bad attitude and a huge cock; it seems like these two things go hand in hand. And he’s still so young, so delicious ...

Leaning into him, I lay my lips against his, and then start kissing down his jawline. I trace the contour of his neck and go down to his chest, feeling his hard and ripped muscles against my lips.

Guided by unconscious cravings, I go down on my knees then, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down as I do it. I want to see what he’s hiding between his thighs. His cock springs free in a heartbeat, jumping eagerly into my hand. My fingers curl around it once more, feeling its warmness against my skin. A shiver goes up my spine as I realize how big he really is, my delicate fingers barely able to grip him. But I start stroking him all the same, my eyes locked on his as my hand goes back and forth at a low teasing rhythm.

I open my mouth wide, leaning forward and taking his glans in my mouth. Sucking on it, I let his flavor—a salty and manly one—inundate me. My eyelids droop, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m moving forward, his whole shaft sliding inside of my mouth. I start to suck, bobbing my head back and forth and twirling my tongue around his glans. It tastes amazing, the scent of manhood crawling up my mouth and lodging itself on my brain like a perfect blanket.

Cupping his balls as I suck him, I caress them and roll them over my fingers. Then, as he kicks off his shoes, I push his pants and underwear all the way down and throw them into the corner. Pulling back for an instant, I stroke him as hard as I can, my eyes widening as I try to comprehend the huge member right in front of me; it simply goes beyond anything I have ever imagined… For once, real life is better than any late-night fantasy. I can’t help but wonder how well a young guy like Lance can wield such a huge cock.

My skin prickles as, slightly leaning forward, he places both his hands on my shoulders and, very slowly, slides them to my back. My skin prickles as I feel the warmness of his fingers; then, finding my bra’s hook, he unclasps it, letting it fall down my arms and onto the floor. There’s no need for instructions; the moment my naked breasts come into view, he grabs them gently, his fingers brushing over my hard nipples.

I lean forward so that I can start sucking him again, his shaft rolling over my lips easily. With my hands on his buttocks, I start bobbing my head back and forth as fast as I can; matching my own rhythm, he starts thrusting, his fingers running through my hair as he ravages my mouth. I close my eyes, half-expecting him to not resist the way I’m sucking him. I wouldn’t complain if he came inside my mouth, not at all. But, of course, young men like Lance are never satisfied with one simple blowjob. They still have so much energy inside of them… They want more, always more. And that’s exactly the kind of attitude I need right now.

“Stop,” he says suddenly, the word coming out of his lips like a groan. He grabs my wrist, making me stop my stroking motion, and gently pushes my head back. I let his cock slide out of my mouth, and then allow him to pull me up to my feet. “My turn,” he says curtly, placing his hands on my shoulders and pushing me back against the wall. I go willingly, simply looking at him as he pushes his body against mine, his naked chest pressed against my breasts. We kiss again, our tongues dancing around each other as his hands go up and down my side, exploring the curves of my body as if I was the most wonderful woman on Earth. And, the way he touches and kisses me, I just know that he’s never been with a woman such as myself. A woman my age. Oh, sweet Lance, he’s just now realizing that he has wasted his time with the girls his age…

I part my legs slightly so that he can fit between them, his hard throbbing cock pressed tight against the front of my skirt. I hike it up to my waist as his hands go up my leg, his fingers caressing my inner thigh and dangerously reaching for my thong. The moment he presses his hand against my pussy, the wet fabric of my thong the final frontier, a violent shiver of desire goes up my spine.

“Like it?” I grab his wrist and make him press his hand on me harshly, my pussy becoming even wetter as I succumb to that sweet pressure.

“I love it,” he blurts out. Taking the lead, he flicks my thong to the side and, kicking patience to the curb, slides one finger inside of me. I feel a scream climbing up my throat, but I grit my teeth and stop it just in time, remembering where I am. I can’t even begin to image what Michael’s reaction would be if Lance and I were caught right now; he’d go insane, knowing he had a scandal on his hands. He just doesn’t see that scandalous things are the best ones. His wife his son… I can already imagine a vein popping in his brain.

Lance brushes his fingertip against my G-spot, darts of pleasure hitting each and every one of my nerve endings. My eyes are closed, and I can’t hear a sound; my brain can only process one thing, and that’s the pleasure he is inflicting on me. Which is exactly what I want. I need all of my brain power to be solely devoted to pleasure right now. After all, why would I want to focus on anything else when I have Lance right here? He’s so much younger than me, and so eager to please me… When pleasure knocks at your door, you answer it, especially if you’re in a situation like mine, one where pleasure has became a distant friend.

I place my hands on his back, sliding them down to his buttocks and grabbing his rear hard, my fingers digging into his flesh as his cock pulses against my body. As I feel the perfect curves of his rear, he starts to slide his finger in and out of me at a vicious pace. My pussy is boiling, an eruption of pleasure threatening to overwhelm me. Actually, it isn’t a threat: it’s merely a fact. I know it’s coming. And when it does, I don’t even have time to moan. I simply surrender to the avalanche that overtakes me and pulls my rational mind down into the depths of a decadent and sinful world.

My fingers turn into claws and I hook them in his buttocks as I come; driven by instinct, I bite down on the tender flesh of his neck, my whole body twitching from the sudden orgasm. He keeps going, sliding his finger in and out of me, without even allowing me to catch my breath. Stopping for one second only, he uses it to grab my thong and pushes it down my legs; he then does the same with my skirt, leaving me naked against the wall. He takes one step back, his hungry eyes wandering over my body, and I shudder in anticipation. It's amazing what two people can do in such a tight space.

“You look even more beautiful than I imagined…” He says, a hungry smile dawning on his face. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

“Then don’t,” I tell him with a wicked grin, anxious to feel his mouth against my wetness. Leaning in, he starts kissing my neck, his lips tracing a downward line over my body. I feel his mouth between my breasts, and then his lips wrap themselves tight around one nipple. Arching my back, I let a low moan tumble out of my lips as his mouth moves down to my stomach, laying gentle kisses over my navel as it continues its downward trajectory.

Much in the same way I did before, he goes to his knees, his mouth dangerously close to my pussy. He starts to kiss my inner thighs, teasing me mercilessly as I squirm. Goodness, I want to feel his mouth on my pussy, his tongue on my clit… I want him to eat me, to devour me as if I were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his whole life.

I tangle my fingers in his hair and reel him in, forcing him to press his mouth against my wetness, his tongue lapping at my clit eagerly. I lift one leg up and place it over his shoulder, allowing him to easily fit his head between my thighs. Opening his mouth wide, he sucks my drenched folds, taking my juices in his mouth as his tongue starts to jab at me, parting my inner lips and sliding in and out at a maddening pace.

I rest my hands on his, feeling dazed by the way he moves his head. Grabbing locks of stray hair, I keep pulling him into me violently while I thrust my hips against his face, rubbing my pussy all over his mouth. Relishing it, he redoubles his efforts, sucking and licking in a way that turns a never ending sequence of hushed moans into a long drawn out one. I have to bite my lips and remember where I am, trying to focus so that I don’t moan louder than I can. I’m actually surprised I haven’t lost all semblance of self-control. But I’m close… Really close.

The moment he focuses on my clit, his lips wrapped around it as he presses down with his tongue, my whole body shakes as I come. I pull on his hair as hard as I can, throwing my head back as I grit my teeth, suppressing a wild scream of savage pleasure.

I’m still shaking when he slides two fingers inside of me, moving them in and out in a matching rhythm to that of his tongue. He’s not even eating me out; he’s me with his mouth. And it feels so right… After months of frustration, this seems like Heaven on Earth.

I don’t even know how it’s possible, but the first orgasm still hasn’t died and I’m already coming again, cresting the peak of pleasure’s mountains as my body is consumed by burning intense pleasure. My limbs are flailing and I’ve lost all control of my body. I’m like a puppet, carnal pleasure pulling the strings and guiding me toward another dimension… One where only ecstasy matters.

Guided by the desire to achieve that carnal transcendence, I take my hands to his face and make him look at me, locking my eyes on his.

“I need you in me. Right now,” I tell him, the tone of my voice a commanding one. Lucky for me, I don’t have to command or beg; he’s ready to give me what I want right now. He goes to his feet, a devilish grin on his lips.

“You don’t need to ask. There’s nothing that I want more,” he says, pressing his body against mine. He grabs his cock with one hand and presses its thick head against my inner lips; gently swaying his hips, he rubs his glans against me, my body and mind buzzing with excitement as I bury my fingernails in his back. With my fingers acting like hooks, I motion for him to thrust, to pierce me with his cock and idiot me like I’ve never been messed before. But he takes his time; he keeps on gently rubbing his cock against me, never allowing it to go more than a few centimeters inside of me.

“Why are you trying to tease me?” I whisper into his ear. “You’re just teasing yourself, Lance… You want that cock inside of me as bad as I do.”

“I do,” he whispers, and then, the whole world explodes. He thrusts violently, his thick shaft sliding inside of me with one single stroke and scorching all of my nerve endings. His cock stretches my inner walls as it goes, making me wonder about how it's possible to have something so huge inside of me. I might not be young anymore, but I still pride myself on having a pussy as tight as a virgin.

He starts ramming it inside of me harshly, his fingers going down my back and nestling under my buttocks. He pulls me up and into him, lifting me off from the floor, and I lock my legs around his back. With my arms over his shoulders, I pull him in and make him move even more viciously, each thrust of his like a stab of pure pleasure, a mind-numbing high that would put any kind of drug to shame. In fact, just two thrusts and I’m already an addict. I’ve always been partial to big cocks, that’s true, but with Lance it feels like this is my first time… I mean, is there anything better than experiencing something like this? Even if it’s as wrong as original sin. Oh, screw that—this being forbidden makes it even better.

Rocking his body against mine in a back and forth motion, our bodies fuse into one, our muscles moving as if we are part of the same machinery. My brain is working overtime trying to process all the information that my nerve endings send it, but it’s almost impossible; there’s a limit to how much pleasure I can handle.

It doesn’t take long for me to come again, my pussy tightening around his cock as I claw at his back. I do it hard, my fingernails sliding across his skin with enough strength to draw blood. A grin dawns on my lips as I imagine how he’s going to look after I’m done with him. When he looks into the mirror tonight, he’s going to have the memories of what we’re doing here etched right into his skin. He’ll remember how he harassed his own stepmother, how she moaned into his ear...

A violent scream climbs up my throat and I purse my lips, throwing my head back against the wall as I order my brain to keep my mouth shut. I have to watch myself. We're in a public dressing room. Even so, I can’t stop a moan from escaping into the cool air of the room, my body burning up with orgasmic violence.

I tremble, shiver, and twitch, all of me burning in ecstasy.

“I like hearing you moan,” he whispers against my ear, his lips seductively brushing against my skin. “Makes everything even better.”

“Then why don’t you make me moan louder?” I tease him, no actually knowing if I can survive this. Have I ever felt this much pleasure? If a moan like that escapes my lips, will security be knocking on the dressing room door?

“Oh… Don’t worry, we’re just starting.”

He pulls back, my skin prickling as I feel his cock sliding out, and puts me down. With a grin on his lips, he places his hands on my waist and turns me around. I place my hands against the wall, shoulder height, and jut my rear back at him. His hands run down my side and he moves them over the curve of my rear, grabbing my buttocks hard. He presses his body against mine, the warmness of his skin spreading through me; with his cock firmly pressed between my buttocks, I start rocking my body, grinding against his cock.

I exhale sharply, ready for what’s to come; I reach for his cock and, grabbing it, push it down. Placing the tip against my folds, I let go and place my hand back on the wall.

He eases into me gently, my pussy resting against the tip of his erect cock. As he moves, I have to grit my teeth as he pierces me, my inner walls once again accommodating his long thickness. When he’s in me to the hilt, he starts to move with a slow and gently rhythm. But I don’t want to move slowly. I want to go fast. I want to go furious. I start jutting my rear back, moving my hips with a ferocity I didn’t know I had in me.

“Harder…” I tell him harshly. “Idiot me harder… I’m your stepmother, do what I tell you to,” I find myself saying, not even capable of filtering my own words.

“Bossy…” he whispers with a smile. He starts me hard all the same, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me in as he thrusts, my mind almost destroyed by the intensity of his thrusts. My back arches as I succumb to the hard sway of his hips, my body sandwiched between a man that’s half a decade my junior and a slab of concrete, no escape possible. And, really, why would I want an escape? He should be the one wondering about escaping, because I’m not letting him go anywhere—at least not until my body is utterly and completely spent, that is.

Holding me against the wall, his rhythm starts to grow into a mind numbing crescendo, his cock hitting me so fast that I can already feel the blood inside my veins starting to boil. I moan through gritted teeth, closing my eyes as all existence starts to fade away. I can’t see or hear, I can only feel. The whole universe seems focused on the place where our bodies meet and fuse, his cock pounding my pussy without a single hint of mercy.

I come once again, my body completely electrified. I rest my forehead against the wall, hitting it repeatedly as I try to cope with the raging joy that courses through me. This is Heaven. Transcendence. I’ve never been religious, but this is almost mystical.. Think I’m exaggerating? I’m not. I’m out of control, I know, but that’s just a side effect of being messed like this. And, really, it’s not even a bad side effect; who doesn’t want to lose control from time to time?

It’s like that, without any kind of mental brakes or whatsoever, that I let a loud moan tumble out from my lips. I almost don’t even care if anyone hears us. Sure, if Michael ever found out about this, both Lance and I would be in deep trouble… But who cares about that right now?

He pulls his cock out and places his lips against my neck, kissing me tenderly. Then, he makes me turn on my heels, my back against the wall. My hands go to his chest and, clawing at his pectorals, I smile mischievously.

My hands slide up to his shoulders and I push him back, motioning toward the small bench in the corner of the cramped cubicle. He doesn’t complain as I guide him there, making him sit as I look upon him, hunger making my eyes widen. He licks his lips, his eyes never leaving mine, and I climb on top of him, my legs open wide as I sit on his lap. My hands slide down his chest and, once again, his cock is in my hands.

Guiding his thick member to where I need it to be, I let it pierce me like a spear, his shaft going in easily. I don’t give him time to process what’s about to happen. I simply start rocking my body against his, my buttocks slapping his legs as I go up and down, back and forth. I move wildly, still out of control, and close my eyes as he reaches for my belly, grabbing them eagerly as I idiot him in abandonment. He has messed me the way I wanted him to; it’s time for me to show him that a woman my age also knows how to please a man.

I ride him hard, and I ride him fast, punishing his cock with all my strength. I feel drops of sweat pooling on my forehead, but these only make me go faster. My muscles are already aching, but I don’t care. I’m a woman on a mission, and I won’t be denied. I grin as I feel sweat dripping down my back, down my face and into my lips, the salty taste of it coating my tongue.

Acting on instinct, I get up in a rush and, before he can do anything, I turn my back to him and ease myself down on his cock again. His hands go down my back to my rear, and he slaps my cheeks hard as I start riding him in a reverse position. My rear bounces up and down, slapping his body again as I try to survive the onslaught of pleasure that rages through me like a wildfire.

I feel my mind starting to dissolve, pleasure the only remaining thing inside my head. Goodness, I needed this… Forbidden as it might be, Lance is me like I’ve never been messed before. To say he knows what he’s doing is putting it lightly.

He slides his fingers further in over my rear cheeks, his fingertips brushing against my crack. A shiver goes up my spine as he presses on my jerk, gently caressing it as I keep on riding him. Pressing down, he slides his finger one inch inside my rear, and then starts to move it back and forth at a steady rhythm. With him fingering my rear, I feel closer to oblivion than I have ever been.

I clench my jaw, breathing through my nose as my muscles start to spasm. I don’t even feel the need to scream anymore; my body does all the talking now, my muscles jerking as I come once more. I might be coming, but I’m too far-gone to stop. I keep riding him with violent movements, my buttocks bouncing up and down as his cock ravages me, his finger flying in and out of my rear faster now. Somehow, though, he still manages to resist my assault.

But not for long, that I can promise you.

He allows his finger to slide out of my rear as I go up to my feet, towering over him like the Queen of Wickedness. He looks at me with a grin on his face, sweat on his forehead, and I grab his hand.

“Lay down,” I whisper at him, my voice holding promises of pleasure. Like a good boy, he knows exactly what I tell him to, lying down on the cramped floor, his cock pointing up at me.

Guided by instinct, I immediately plant each feet on the side of his thighs. I squat down, grabbing his cock and pointing it straight up. I brush it against my pussy lips, his glans rubbing against all of my length, and only then do I go lower. I go as slow as I can, his shaft gently lodging itself inside of me. Then I start to jump and down over his cock, moving as fast as I can and pushing through my exhausted muscles. I might be tired, I might be spent, but I’m not a blasted quitter. I will see this through.

It happens fast.

Before I know it, his cock starts to spasm and I feel a warmness inside of me. He starts to cum, his semen gushing inside of my pussy like a fountain, filling me to the brink and dripping down his cock. It goes on for what seems like forever, an endless torrent of thick cum inundating me as I finally ease myself down and stop moving, allowing myself to savor the sweet ecstasy that courses through us both. Still cumming, he hooks his fingers on my waist and thrusts upward. I let out a surprised moan as the tip of his cock goes as deep as possible, yanking one final orgasm out of my system. I lean forward, grabbing his ankles as flames of indescribable pleasure crash against my body and turn my mind into ashes.

I roll to the side, completely spent, and smile as I feel thick strands of cum dripping out of my pussy and down my legs. Looking at him, I realize he’s still cumming, thick strands of his white juices shooting up in the air.

He’s literally cumming in quarts.

“Come for me, baby,” I whisper, and then I correct myself. “Come over me.” Gritting his teeth, he goes up to his feet, his cock spasming out of control. I kneel under him, opening my mouth and allowing his semen to coat my tongue. Filling my mouth to the brim, his cum starts dripping down my chin and onto my breasts. I grab his cock then, and I point it at my belly; his warm juices hit my skin in a heartbeat, completely covering both of my breasts.

Using both of my hands, I smear his fluids all over my chest, my fingers sliding easily over my skin. And still he keeps cumming, almost as if to confirm that this is, in fact, reality and not just a wild dream. Yes, this is very real. I’m my stepson, someone deliciously younger than me. Don’t judge; being married to a man like Michael makes someone like Lance completely irresistible.

When his cock finally stops, I lock eyes with him, my lips curling into a devilish grin.

“I can’t leave here like this…” I tell him, still rubbing my own breasts with his cum. “You’ll have to take care of it now, Lance.” As if my words were a whip, he goes down to his knees in front of me.

“Did you think I wouldn’t take care of it…?” He presses his mouth against mine, and we kiss as if tomorrow would never come, swapping all of the cum in my mouth and letting it drip down both of our bodies. He sucks on my tongue, taking all the cum into his mouth, and then licks all the drops hanging on my lips. “I wouldn’t let you leave without tasting every single inch of your skin…”

He keeps going further down, his tongue following along the lines left by his semen. When he gets to my breasts, he takes his time, licking them eagerly, his tongue lapping at my cum-coated lips frenetically. I throw my head back as he runs both his lips and tongue all over my chest, scooping every last drop of cum into his mouth and licking me dry.

When he’s done with it, he reaches for my pussy, brushing two fingers against my folds and taking into his hand the cum I still have there; then, he takes his fingers to my mouth and presses them over my lips, thick drops of cum going down from his fingertips into my lips. I open my mouth and let him slide his long fingers in, sucking them dry. Slowly, he takes them out of my mouth, a delighted smile on his lips.

“You’re not done yet…”

“Who said I was?” Almost growling, he places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down onto the floor; he’s on me before I even know what he’s doing, his mouth hungrily pressed against my pussy. He devours me again, making sure that every single drop of cum in my body goes into his mouth.

When he takes his mouth off of my pussy, I’m grinning as if I were a young girl again. I sit up on the floor, my heart still racing, and look up at Lance..

“This was just...” he starts, the expression of ecstasy on his face somehow making him look even more handsome… and younger. I know exactly what he means, so I just nod, still breathing hard. His lips are still glistening from all of the cum he took in, a perfect memento of what we’ve just done. This was perfect, and wrong. Very, very wrong.

Oh, garbage, what am I doing with someone so young? Someone who’s my stepson?

Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing, hun. I’m living. The way I want to.

For the first time since I’ve been married, I’m doing something that makes me happy.

34

Lance

“Let me get another one, Mike,” I say to the bartender, holding out my pint glass and taking the final sip of the beer.

Idiot, I don't even know if the guy’s name is Mike still. I mean, the bartender behind the counter when I came in this afternoon was called Mike, but I can’t remember what he looks like now. I’ve been drinking pretty heavily, if you can’t tell.

It’s now night, around 8 pm, and I’ve been here a few hours at the Village Pourhouse—a giant sports bar off Union Square. It gets a good NYU crowd, but more than that, the drinks are reasonably priced and people leave you alone if you just want to get blasted, watch television, and be by yourself.

And right now, the only two things I want in this world are to drink to forget and be by myself.

Yeah, okay, I know this isn’t the best thing to be doing in the world. The media catches me getting wasted in a bar, they’re going to have a field day.

But I need this. I don’t care what the heck is going on.

I mean, you would be doing a lot worse if you were in my shoes, okay. Don’t even try to tell me that you would be all calm and collected after you ended up the hottest girl you’d ever met in the fitting room of a Saks Fifth Avenue.

And not just any woman off the street.

No, that would make things too easy. Then it would just be sex—and hey, you know me, I’m cool with having just sex, remember?

No, this is going too far.

This time I’ve crossed a line that I don’t think I can come back from.

This is my stepmom we’re talking about here. Just recently married to my stepdad—the Mayor of New York City.

It’s not that I’m worried that I’m in trouble or anything. I mean, I’m not even related to my dad, so there’s no way I’m related to her.

But the optics of this situation. She’s my dad’s wife. I have never, ever, ever had sex with a woman who has been in a relationship. I’ve never cheated on any woman I’ve been with and I’ve always drawn the line on sleeping with women who were in relationships.

I mean, look at me. This body gets me enough girls to mess. I’m able to pick and choose and till now I’ve always picked to not be a home wrecker.

Until today. Until the hottest woman on the face of the planet threw herself at me with the power of a tornado. I didn’t even have any free will in this situation. It was almost like I was just there for the ride.

But afterwards, when my feet came back down to earth, I began to realize what I was doing. And now I get that what we did this afternoon—we can never do it again.

You got that right. You heard me. Look at my face. I’m serious. I am never going to lay a hand on Jocelyn Anders. Ever again.

I slap my hand down on the bar, and immediately draw the looks of the bartender. But phoo. I’m getting out of my seat and getting out of the bar, anyways.

It’s close to 9 pm by the time I get off the uptown 6 and walk the one block from the train to my dad’s townhouse. Most Mayors of New York City move into Gracie Mansion, the dwelling reserved for the person who wins the office. But my dad, Michael Anders, is different. First off, his townhouse that he owns on his own is much larger than Gracie Mansion. So it never made any sense for him to move. Secondly, the amount of money he makes on interest in one month from his inherited holdings is more than the annual salary of the position—so he basically only accepted $1 as a token salary four years ago.

I gotta hand it to the guy. He knew how to play the people and the media. Both events went down with great fanfare and people looked at him as this benevolent leader. I think that's the image he was going for. And more than that, they looked at the fact that he wasn’t getting paid as a way to reinforce in their heads that he already had enough money that he wouldn't be swayed by any special interests.

That’s the kind of cunning mastermind I’m going up against if I keep his wife.

But I don’t need to worry about that because I’m never doing something like that again.

I walk inside into the lobby of the townhouse and see Jocelyn walking up to meet me. She’s gotten home and she’s wearing a black skirt that comes five inches above her knees, showing off her gorgeous legs. She’s got a silk blouse that's maybe one size too small, hugging her stomach and belly like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. To top it off, she’s got these pearl necklaces and when I see them, the only thing that goes through my head is how much I’d love to cum on her neck and give her another kind of pearl necklace.

Goodness. My cock has started twitching as she walks over. She looks at me.

“Hi, Lance,” she says, clearing her throat a bit.

“Where’s dad?” I ask, looking her into the eyes. She meets my stare.

Idiot, with as fast as my hearts beating, with the fact that my cock seems to have it’s own heartbeat, how is it that I’m not just staring Jocelyn in the eyes, but meeting her stare and not looking away.

“Your father’s in the living room,” she says, gesturing her head back. “I wanted to talk to you.”

I’m silent. I’m not sure what there is left to say.

Jocelyn takes a step closer to me.

All I have to remember to do is not move from my pledge. I’m not going to lay a hand on my dad’s wife. This is sick. It’s wrong.

But she most likely never took a pledge like that. She places her hand on my arm as she takes a step closer. I can smell her perfume.

“Lance, what happened today,” she says and pauses. Of course we were going to talk about this. There’s pretty much nothing else to talk about. I just met this woman. It’s like the only memory we have together. “What happened today was a mistake and can never happen again.”

Wait a second.

Did she just say what I think she did?

“What do you mean?” I ask. Incredible. That didn't come out right. I just need to nod my head and then go upstairs.

“Lance, I’m married to your father,” Jocelyn says. “And it’s a marriage I need to protect because other people are counting on me.”

I never knew this. Is she telling me that she was forced to marry dad?

“It’s just that, I hadn’t had sex in over six months,” Jocelyn says and looks into my eyes as if imagining just a few hours ago. “I think we both got a little carried away.”

Oh, thank the Lord. She’s not going to make things difficult. This is going to be okay. Hopefully, we’ll be able to file this away and never have to think about it again. We can move on and not let this affect us.

Then why does it feel like she just punched me in the gut? I mean, I’m supposed to be feeling relieved right? Why does a part of me feel terrible?

But Jocelyn takes my silence for consent. She smiles.

“I’m glad we got this sorted,” she says and smiles even more. “I just wanted to make sure we talked about it, before it got…weird.”

Well guess what, Jocelyn. It’s already weird. There’s no way it can get weirder.

After a moment, Jocelyn looks at her watch.

“I think I’ll head to bed then,” she says. She’s looking at me and I can tell she’s debating whether to give me a hug or a kiss. She decides against it when I just stand there silently. I’m not trying to be mean. If I touch her, or she touches me, I’m not letting her go.

I know that if she tries to hug me and feels my throbbing 12-inch cock pulsing against her thigh, she’s going to go crazy.

I know that if she runs her hands down my abs, I’m not going to stop. Nothing is going to keep me from my goal of ravaging her again and pumping obscene amounts of my semen all over her gorgeous body.

So she instead looks away and turns her back toward me, walking to the stairs.

I can’t say that I don’t spend the next two minutes watching her rear sway back and forth as she climbs the steps.

Is there even any way that a woman can climb steps sensually? Is that even a thing? Because if it’s not, then my stepmother has just made it one.

Goodness, just saying that makes me feel like I’m doing something dirty. It makes me stand there like an idiot for at least 5 minutes after Jocelyn’s disappeared down the hallway.

Eventually, I climb the stairs myself and head to my bedroom. I strip my clothes off, grab my cock, and think about jerking off. To those big titties of Jocelyn's. That round, perky, juicy rear. Those slender legs.

No. I need to stop this.

Tomorrow morning, I’m going to call some of the hussies I used to bang in high school. Work out all my issues by literally the trash out of them. Making sure they can’t walk afterward by them so hard. That’s what I’ll do.

A bit relieved at my plan, it doesn’t take long for the alcohol to do it’s work and put me to sleep.

***

And it seems like just two seconds later my eyes are opening up again, looking around. It’s morning. Already.

I yawn, and notice that my cock is still hard.

What the heck is going on? I know it’s probably morning wood, but I’m really hoping that my toe took a break between when I sort of passed out and this morning. I’m hoping it took a breather, and got some sleep before rising to attention for me this morning. Because last night, I hit the epiphany.

I need to just harass this thing I have for Jocelyn out. I need to find a girl. Any girl. And I need to harass the living trash out of her.

It’ll lead to a much happier family life.

Believe it or not, this actually brings a smile to my face. I’m going to give the cock a good workout, and it’s not going to involve my dad’s wife. And then I’ll be good to go. Not distracted at every turn by Jocelyn Anders. Heck, if dad asks me to campaign, which I’m pretty sure he will, I’m going to need to mess whatever girl I find to make sure I have a clear head during the day.

I finally have a plan. Yesterday….that was just hormones taking over. I’m the master of my domain.

I put on a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt and head downstairs.

It’s still early enough that dad and Jocelyn will probably still be having breakfast.

I walk down the hallway to the kitchen and breakfast nook of the townhouse and I hear voices coming from there.

I step in. Dad’s reading the newspaper and a series of whatever on his iPad. He’s not really paying any attention to Jocelyn.

He’s a fool. Because she’s sitting there in a pair of black yoga pants that barely come up to her waist. And a black sports bra. Literally, that’s all she’s wearing. She’s having a cup of coffee and I look at her bare midriff and her flat tummy and curvy rear. Her belly are gorgeous and my cock, which was getting ready to take a break, is back at being rock hard again.

Idiot.

“Oh, you’re up,” dad says to me as he notices me standing there. “Since you don’t work anymore, I’m going to need your help on my campaign managing social media,” he says.

I stand there watching him.

“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need to take a conference call,” dad says getting up and walking toward the opposite end of the kitchen, past the large island and refrigerator and stove. It’s like one of those cavernous kitchens with two entrances, usable by a large staff if needed to entertain. “Once I get done with my call, we’ll talk, Lance,” dad says as he steps out.

Leaving me with his gorgeous wife who’s barely wearing anything.

Idiot. What was that promise I made yesterday?

35

Jocelyn

This is insane. I’m insane. Lance is insane. We’re all going to Perdition.

How was I even thinking I would get away with this?

And what is wrong with me? Putting something like this on? After what I did with him yesterday?

I cheated on my husband. I’ve broken the sacred vows of marriage. I bet that’s what you’re thinking when I talk to you now, isn’t it?

I know you probably hate cheating. I do too. I have a subscription to Kindle Unlimited and I’ll stop reading right there if my story has cheating in it.

At least two days ago, that’s what I would have told you. Because after six months, I forgot what sex tasted like. What it felt like. I forgot what it felt like to have a man want me. And if that man was as gorgeous and hot as Lance, well I would have never comprehended that something could happen like that to me.

Even if we left a bit awkwardly, all day I couldn’t stop thinking about Lance yesterday after what happened at Saks.

I woke up this morning and my pussy was wet from dreams I’d been having. I can still remember them. They’re burned into my brain. How I’m in something cute, like a lacey white bra and panty set, but I’m giving Lance a blowjob.

That’s right. I dreamt of giving my stepson a blowjob. Go ahead. Judge me, ladies. Tell me I’m nasty. I’m perverted. That I’m rocking the cradle. That he’s only 21 and I’m taking advantage of him at 36. That just makes me wetter when you tell me I’m not supposed to do that, okay? It makes the thoughts that I’m having in my head of turning toward Lance and spreading my legs for him to enjoy the body feel even more delicious and taboo.

Fine. I know. I’m sick. I’m twisted. Maybe I could even go to jail, who knows. Although, he’s not really even my stepson. He’s Michael’s stepson—not related to Michael at all. But just the fact that he looked at me as he was me and said, “Don’t tell dad what we’re doing,” has gotten me all wet again. I can tell my cheeks are turning red.

He’s looking at me. Michael’s not here. It’s just me and Lance in the kitchen.

I hear Michael press the speakerphone on his phone in the office. The dial tone comes on. I hear numbers being pressed and then the voice of a man. Michael’s on a conference call.

He doesn’t even think to shut the door. Sure he’s down the hall but he has the volume on so loud I can hear all the way in the kitchen.

He never even considers me.

Lance is eyeing my body. I can tell. The way men used to eye me wolfishly before Michael married me.

I need to stop this. I need to stop him. Technically, we’re family.

I get up from my chair and turn around. I start to walk to the counter, feeling his eyes on me. The last thing I saw before I turned around was the bulge in his basketball shorts. He was tenting. That foot long cock.

Oh goodness, did I just wiggle my rear for him? Did I just shake it for him? Do I still want him?

What am I doing, hun? Why am I acting like this?

There are millions of women who haven’t had sex in six months, right? Marriage is about more than sex, right? Michael’s never so much as kissed me on the lips. In public, it’s always a pretend peck on the cheek. He’s never touched me. I’m pretty confident he blackmailed my father into forcing me to accept his marriage proposal.

But sure, that was wrong. But does it excuse my cheating on him?

No. I need to stop this. I’m at the kitchen's island. I put the coffee mug down and close my eyes. I hear Michael speaking from his office.

I bend over the counter, jutting my rear out. Toward Lance. I know he’s still there. I know he’s looking at my rear.

Yes, okay, I know. Shake your head at me, dear. Tell me I’m a hussy, if you want. I honestly am so confused.

I’m swaying my rear in front of a young man’s cock and telling you I don’t want to cheat.

Maybe I need to just go somewhere else?

That’s when I feel his hands on my arms. I feel those strong hands first.

Then I feel his rock hard cock against my rear crack. The yoga pants are thin and I gasp as I feel his monster toe running over my rear. I want to whimper in delight.

“Lance, we can’t do this,” I say with noticeable shudders. I want it so bad. “I can’t cheat on your father.”

Just thinking about what I said as Lance runs his mess up and down my rear is enough to get me close to cumming. What is it about this guy? I’m not usually into younger guys. I like older men, D/s type stuff. This is just so insane.

“I know Jocelyn,” Lance says in a deep voice and I feel his abs and chest against my back. His body is pressing up against me. He’s shirtless and I feel where his abs are rubbing against my bare back. Oh goodness. I close my eyes.

“I can’t cheat,” I say.

“Do you love him?” Lance asks.

I don’t answer. I can’t tell Lance the truth. That I didn’t even know Michael six months ago. That I haven’t learned anything about him since.

“Does he get you wet, like I do?” Lance asks me. I’m thinking about that question when I feel his hands leave my arms and wrap themselves around me.

I need to put a stop to this. I need to…

His right hand travels to the waistband of my yoga pants and not even hesitating, dives in. I gasp as I feel his fingers go underneath my thong. Two fingers press down to the entrance of my pussy. Rubbing me delicately. Back and forth.

“Idiot, Jocelyn,” Lance says into my ear. “Does dad do this?”

Michael has never done anything like that to me in our entire marriage.

“I didn't think so,” Lance says. “He’s not someone who likes pussy.”

My eyes are half closed. My head lolls back into his. He leans over and kisses my neck right above my shoulders.

“You don’t…know that,” I manage to say. My breathing is coming in shorter gasps now as I feel Lance and his finger gently rubbing the hood of my clit, pressing down on it. He’s going to make me cum.

“I do,” Lance says back strongly. “Because I think my stepdad is gay.”

Wait.

What?

What did Lance just say?

“That’s right,” Lance says softly into my ear, rubbing his tongue against it. His cock is grinding against my rear. His tongue is tracing outlines in my ear. His fingers are flicking my clit. And his voice is permeating my brain. It’s a wonder I’m still standing.

Am I just hearing what I want to hear?

“My dad is most likely gay, Jocelyn,” Lance says softly. “He doesn’t love you. And I’m willing to bet he’s never messed you. In fact, he would be disgusted if you tried.”

All those times I’ve tried to seduce Michael. All those times he looked like he could care less.

How did I ever miss this?

How could I have been so blind?

Does this make what Lance is doing right now okay?

I don’t know, but for the brief moment my brain has given me a reprieve, I feel the tension exit my body.

I’ll figure out later whether this is still cheating.

Right now, I’m going to cum. I’m going to enjoy this so much.

Lance’s hard body is pressing even harder against me. His pecs are pushing into my back. His left hand is now squeezing my belly hungrily. His mouth is planting kisses on the nape of my neck and he’s dragging his tongue up and down my upper spine.

And his fingers. Oh goodness, his fingers are smacking, flicking, and twisting my clit.

Michael can’t see us, of course. He’s too busy talking loudly to know what’s happening in the kitchen. How his stepson is defiling his wife.

And how she’s enjoying it.

Just another few flicks. Another set of kisses.

Just another few seconds of that foot-long cock pushing into my rear and I’m cumming.

It’s his fingers that really push me over the edge. Like a slow burning fire, I close my eyes and give myself over to it. Within seconds, my body is burning. I momentarily don’t care if Michael walks in. I forget all about Michael. I can’t hear his voice. I can only feel the pressure against my clit. And it’s like my whole body feels it. My whole body, engulfed in pleasure.

Wave after wave of seizure inducing pleasure.

I lose track of everything. I can’t even tell you if I was breathing.

But I can tell you that when I open my eyes again, I see that Lance is holding me up. My legs must have given way.

He has his left arm under my shoulder and he’s easily holding me up with no effort. He could probably bench me with one arm.

I turn my head and look at him.

If he’s right, if Michael is gay and this marriage is just a sham, then Lance may have been my savior. In more ways than one.

I need to find out as quickly as I can.

So that I can properly reward him.

36

New York Daily Journal

From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

And they’re off. The New York City Mayoral race has begun yesterday with the current Mayor, Michael Anders squaring off against the Democratic ex-Mayor of New York City, Jim Jenkins.

You’ll remember Jim Jenkins as being the mayor four years ago, defeated in a speaker of an election.

Sources close to the Anders campaign concede that the last election had razor thin margins chiefly due to the fact that the Mayor was seen as lacking any family. In fact, if you remember the man we call Hizzoner today was seen more like a billionaire dilettante who inherited his father’s business and kept it running, had an estranged son, and had been a widower for pretty much the last two decades. Those same sources are telling me that four years later, Michael Anders is a changed man. He’s close with his son and has a new wife who he is very much in love with.

So everything should go fine, right? Not so, say advocates of Jim Jenkins who are willing to talk to me. They say that the current mayor has plenty of holes and areas where things don’t add up. They think the whole thing is more of a sham and they’re out to prove it. But before they can do that, they all pretty much agree that they need to define their candidate.

Four years ago, the city was reeling from massive unemployment, sky-high crime, and a wave of homeless people blanketing the city. People blamed Mayor Jenkins for a falling quality of life in the city. But the ex-Mayor plans to show the pendulum has swung the other way. His campaign is going to try and make the point that Manhattan has turned into a giant mall that only very rich people can live in, cops have gotten to the point where they’ve started harassing citizens for minor offenses, and the job market is so tight that businesses are leaving the city because they can’t find any workers.

But at the heart of the matter, I think both sides can agree that it was always a question of who was able to portray the greatest job as a leader. The family man with the ability to let a sprawling city of 8 million get out of his control, or the billionaire scion of a media company who brings a corporate mentality to everything he touches.

New Yorkers are going to have to make a choice and they have about six months to do it. Those six months are going to be crucial to figure out what kind of man the citizens of Gotham want leading their city.

Keep your eyes open to this paper and your ears to the ground, my fellow New Yorkers. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

37

Lance

There are cheers coming from the crowd of supporters. Posters with the words "Anders for Mayor" are being waved. I watch as my stepfather takes the podium, waving to the crowd. "Thank you! Thank you all for your support," he says into the microphone. "I am joined today by my loving family," he says, pointing to both Jocelyn and I with his palm outstretched. "My beautiful wife, Jocelyn, and my son, Lance, I love you both, and as we gather here today I know there are many things on all of our minds—National Security, the economy, advances in technology, among other issues, but I want us to never lose sight of what is most important, and that is the love and devotion of family."

With that, the crowd cheers even more and I try my best not to roll my eyes. Who is he trying to fool? When was family ever his top priority? But I get it. He needs to play this up to win favor in an already tight mayoral campaign.

And then he continues, "It's been said before, but is worth repeating here. The love of family is life's greatest blessing. Love, trust, sacrifice, helpfulness, respect, and commitment should not be taken lightly, but valued and held high. Today, and every day, you should be thankful for your family. Your family is priceless and being a part of it means that you're a part of something very special and wonderful, and bigger than yourself. Strong, healthy, loving, and nurturing families form the basis of our future! Let's never forget that New York!"

I see he's really laying it on thick—like peanut butter thick—and the crowd is going wild. I mean it. They're really eating this trash up. Especially with the thin margin of victory during the last election, he knows he needs to push this issue not just with his supporters, but with his opponents as well, to cover his rear. I look over at Jocelyn to see if I can detect any hint of emotion from her face, but she's standing stoically, looking ahead, smiling, clapping, and for all outward appearances, playing the part of the Mayor's happy and devoted wife. She looks perfectly put together. I don't blame her. Play the game or get eaten. But she notices that I'm looking at her and she whispers, "We can't keep doing this, Lance."

It's what I don't want to hear. I mean, I know she's right, but I can't seem to bring myself to admit it. Why is it that I want this woman so bad? I can have any woman I want. Why this one?

"I know," I whisper back, but even when I say it, we both look at each other in a way that suggests we only half believe what we're actually saying.

"I'm a married woman; we need to take a break from each other," she continues at a soft whisper.

"But how do you stay with him? I've seen the way he doesn't even look at you at home. It's like you don't exist."

"I owe it to my father to make this marriage work. It goes beyond just Michael and I, you know. Like I said, a lot of people are depending on me. And besides, Michael isn't a bad man. I don't have a terrible life with him."

"So, you're saying you're happy living in the same house with a man who doesn't love you? A man who refuses to show you the affection you deserve? A man who won't so much as touch you?"

As soon as I say that, I regret it. I know I've struck a sensitive nerve because there's a pained look on her face.

Instead of answering my questions, she says, "You're young, so much younger than I am. What could we possibly have in common, in the grand scheme of it all? And besides, you're my son. Albeit, my stepson, but can't you understand that this is an impossible situation that we've found ourselves in?"

Of course she's right. I know she's right, but it kills me to admit it. I hate it. Instead of responding, I let her words sit in my mind and I look ahead and listen as my stepfather wraps up his speech, driving home his point even further, "Instead of just talking about family values, let's start really valuing those closest to us and make a difference in the generations to come. As your Mayor, I promise to uphold these values both publically and privately, and together, I know we will bring the real meaning of family back to modern families here in New York."

Hearing him say these things is almost unbelievable. I know as soon as he gets home tonight, he won't heed his own advice. He won't so much as look at Jocelyn and I. He'll have the TV on, or disappear into his study. I watch as he waves to his supporters again amid cheers, and then steps away from the podium. Staffers are now making their rounds through the crowded room, handing out handshakes and pats on the shoulders to supporters. I see that my stepdad has his eyes on one staffer in particular, a young, dark-haired man. He must be new because I don't recognize him. He's broad chested with well manicured hair, and he stops him for a quick moment. They are standing a few feet from Jocelyn and I.

"Do you work for UPS or something?" he asks the staffer.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir?"

"Well, I could've sworn I saw you checking out my package just now," he says in a bold and brazen tone. He's smiling so big that I can see his teeth.

"I see," the staffer says, smiling in parallel when he understands the euphemism. He seems to immediately warm up, "In that case, I just may be the delivery driver you're looking for."

I can hardly believe what I'm seeing and hearing. A minute ago, my stepdad was pointing to Jocelyn and I, talking on and on about family values, and now here he is, hitting on a staffer. Actually, I shouldn't be surprised at all. I mean, I know him all too well, but what's shocking is that he's willing to do this at a public event, and risk making himself look like a jerk. I'm trying not to stare. I mean, honestly, if he wants to continue to mess up his marriage and throw away a woman as gorgeous as Jocelyn, I say let him. I'll gladly step in, but I can tell Jocelyn is hurt. She's hearing this too, and is trying to pretend as if she isn't, but it's pretty obvious as we continue to hear him. It only confirms what I've already told her—Michael is gay.

The staffer extends his arm and ever so slightly brushes his hand against my stepdad's suit. "By the way, I love this suit; it looks great on you, but I must admit, I'm curious to see what it would look like crumpled on the floor of your limo. My name is Kenneth, in case you don't remember… I'm sure you'll be screaming that out later."

Michael is licking his lips, and I don't mean that figuratively. He's really licking his lips. He responds with a hungry smile, whispers something into the waiter's ear, which elicits another smile, and then he walks over to Jocelyn and I.

"You two go ahead and ride in the next limo together," he says, only giving us a cursory glance. "I'll go ahead and catch the one right after."

We nod, but don't respond. I mean, what's there to say? We all know what he means by that, but Jocelyn and I do as he says and proceed like nothing is amiss.

A limo pulls up within minutes. I open the door and usher her in first. She steps in, one slender, heeled foot after the other. She hasn't said a word for a while, and instead keeps looking off into the distance as if she's deep in thought, but as soon as the door closes, I watch her push up the divider that separates us from the driver. As soon as she does this, my heart begins to hammer in my chest. What's she doing?

I don't know what to say, and I honestly can't keep my eyes off of her—her perfect breasts cupped in a sexy back dress that hugs her like a second skin, and her legs that beg me to run my hands between them. Idiot, my cock is twitching just looking at her. It has a mind of it own. And then she does the unexpected; she sits right next to me, and carefully places her hand on my thigh. He right breast is nestled against my arm, and I can feel her warmth and smell her perfume—a delicate rose fragrance that only heightens her femininity. My entire body is buzzing with anticipation.

With her hand moving between the tender insides of my thighs she whispers, "Forget what I said earlier. I don't think we should take a break at all."

38

Jocelyn

I can’t believe that after a speech like that Michael would take the limo with that staffer of his. Family values, yeah, right; they only seem to matter when they benefit his career. But why am I surprised? Lance was right. Michael is gay, and I’m nothing but a pawn to him…

Why should I restrain myself when Michael doesn’t? If he can do whatever he wants, so can I. And that means, of course, Lance. What else? Even after telling him all about the reasons we couldn’t possibly be together, I still crave him. How could I not? After our first time together, I can barely think of anything else.

Closing the divider between the driver, and us I move closer to him in the seat, my eyes on his. I can see it all there—desire, hunger, lust. Everything that my husband denies me, his son has in excess.

I’m breathing hard already, my cheeks flushing as I realize that I won’t be able to control myself. Reaching for him, I lay my hand on top of his and squeeze his fingers gently. We’re sitting side by side, looking at our reflection in the mirror that faces us.

“Take me,” I whisper, turning into him and looking him in the eye; Lance’s lips curl upward into a slight grin and I don’t need to explain myself further. He leans into me; electricity pulsing between our lips when they press together. Both his hands are on my face, his lips brushing against me softly. “I want you to have me,” I pull back, looking into his eyes. There’s a mischievous expression on his face, one that tells me he already knew I wouldn’t be able to resist him.

“If that’s what you want,” he smiles then, his hands going to my lower back as his mouth presses against mine once more. I grab his jacket and, with all the patience in the world, take it off of him; my fingers then go to his collar and I start unbuttoning his shirt, anticipating how it will feel to brush my fingers over the smooth skin of his chest.

“It’s what I need,” I tell him as I come up for air. Sliding his hand under the opening in my dress, he rests the tip of his fingers over the dimples in my lower back, in that narrow patch of naked skin just before my thong. A shiver goes up my spine at his touch, my mind burning as I succumb to desire. So what if it’s wrong? What if it’s scandalous? Sometimes we all need a bit of scandal in our lives. Particularly if it involves someone as young and handsome as Lance.

His fingers go around my hips and he rests them over my waist, tracing the contour of my thong as he goes. My heart is already beating fast, and it’s not because of lust and desire. Sure, there’s that too, but somehow it’s different now. It’s something more powerful, more… wickedly sinful. As we touch, the alchemy of our bodies turns wrong into right, forbidden into mandatory.

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and brush my fingers over the hard lines of his abs, tracing their contour as if I’m taking measures. I let my hands climb up to his chest and then they go to his neck; his own hands go up my side and, grabbing my face gently, he parts his lips and slowly brushes his tongue against mine.

How is it even possible to crave someone so much?

His hands go up my body, settling on my shoulders as he hooks his fingers on the straps of my dress. He pulls them down my arms, the front of the dress drooping over my breasts and baring my bra.

He looks at me, licking his lips unconsciously as he looks at my almost naked chest, and then pulls me back into him once more. My naked skin brushes against his, and I can feel it prickling, goose bumps all over me. Trapped in his embrace, I feel his fingers on my back as he unhooks the velvety bra I still have on. I let it slide down my arms, my hard nipples sending a ripple of electricity down my torso as the cool air of the room laps at them.

I sit still, letting Lance take a good hard look at me. He isn’t smiling or grinning; he just sits there, by my side, looking at my body as if I’m the last woman on earth.

“You can’t imagine how much I want you. How much I need to feel my cock inside of you,” he says as I grab at his shirt and take it off his body, running the open palm of my hands down his arms. I smile at him, and without taking my eyes off of his, I let my fingers trace a slow and tortuous line over his chest and abs, and then down to his belt. Hooking my fingers around it, I pull Lance into me, our foreheads resting against each other. I reach for him with my mouth and tenderly bite his lower lips.

“I can imagine it,” I say, “I need it as much as you.”

His hands go down over the curve of my backside and he grabs me there, our bodies pressing against each other. With my naked breasts against his chest, I swear I can almost feel his heart drumming away.

I unbuckle his pants and then I pull the belt out from its loops. My heart’s louder now, almost racing. As softly as I can, I brush the tip of my fingers over his crotch, feeling the shape of his erection straining against his pants. To feel his desire for me is almost magical.

Taking my time, I unbutton his pants, his length pressing against the back of my hands as I do it. My body is already aching to have him in me; but why rush? I want to take my time. I deserve this.

His pants unbuttoned, I brush my fingertip from the base of his cock to his tip, over the smooth fabric of his boxer briefs. He’s pulsing with desire, but he has no other choice but to let me take the lead, allowing me to drive him insane before he finally snaps.

I keep on brushing against his cock just like this, the tip of my finger going up and down, up and down in an endless loop. I look at him and he’s gritting his teeth, hunger flashing behind his eyes. He’s under my spell... as much as I’m under his.

I grab the hem of his boxers, and careful not to touch his cock, I lower them. His massive erection springs free, pointing up and straight at me as if accusing me of tortuous teasing. Just like I love it.

Still without touching it, I grab the hem of his trousers and slowly start pulling them down his legs as I go down to my knees on the limo’s carpeted floor. I look up at him, a grin on my face, and I know he’s bursting with anticipation.

He kicks off his shoes hurriedly, and then I pull both his pants and boxers off, my hands then brushing against his lower legs and up. It’s almost as hard for me as it is for him. I want to tease, yes, but with his naked body so close to me, I’m teasing myself as well.

My hands climb up his legs and to his waist, my eyes not leaving his for one simple second. His cock is throbbing, almost jumping in place as if begging for me to touch it. It’s almost impossible to resist.

My fingertips go around his waist, and then I lower them to his inner thighs, feeling the warmness of his skin as his breathing starts to grow anxious. I lean into him, his cock just one inch away from my parted lips; but I remain in place, still not touching it. His body is tensing up, and I know how hard he’s resisting the urge to simply grab my head and thrust his hips at me.

I open one hand, and with my open palm, I caress his balls, feeling their weight. They’re full with his seed, and I can barely wait to have him panting, his cock shooting his load deep inside me... Just by touching him there, his cock starts pulsing, thickening even more than what I thought would be possible. I let go of his balls and let one single finger brush over his cock all the way from his root to his tip; I then take it off and go back down to the base, repeating the process over and over again. I’m actually surprised by the way he’s resisting his own wild urges. I know I wouldn’t be able to.

I tilt my head sideways, and leaning down, I plant my lips on his shaft. My kiss is soft, my mouth barely touching him, but even so I can feel the warm blood that runs through his cock furiously.

I part my lips slightly, feeling more of his flesh on me, and I suck gently, kissing his shaft on a downward line all the way to his balls. I then go back up, stopping just one inch away from his tip. Pulling back, I look at him and let my tongue slowly escape my lips and reach for his tip.

His hands go to my head when my tongue touches him, but he simply lays them there, not moving at all. I start tracing circles around his tip, smoothly brushing my tongue over his glans. I know he can’t wait for me to start sucking on him, and I just love how the anticipation is almost palpable.

“It feels so good…” He whispers, his voice loaded with anxiety.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Without even grabbing his cock with my hand, I open my mouth and carefully engulf his whole tip, pulling back slowly over it. He tangles his fingers in locks of my hair, and when I look up at him, I notice he has his eyes closed.

“I just love how you handle my cock…” He says, breathing harder than before. I do it again, his glans inside my mouth, and then I slowly start lowering myself, his cock rolling over my lips and deep into my mouth. I press his thickness upwards with my tongue, and the moment I feel him exhale sharply, I grab his cock with my right hand. His hands on my head jerk a little, almost as if he has been shocked, and I can’t help but feel my pussy becoming moist and dampening my thong.

Pulling back over his cock, I accompany the motion with my hand, and when enough of his cock is out of me, I grasp the rest of it with my other hand. Like that, I slowly start bobbing my head; I close my eyes then, his flavor and scent completely taking hold of all of my thoughts and pushing me toward a frenzied state.

I start going faster, grabbing and caressing his balls with one hand while I suck him. I never imagined I would take so much pleasure out of sucking a man, but then again, I have never been with a man like Lance…. Goodness, who would have imagined that having your mouth filled with a cock this massive would be one of the best feelings in the world? And I’m just talking about having him in my mouth, because when his cock is sliding deep into my pussy… How much better can all this possibly get?

I’m going as fast as I can now, and I’m not even using my hands. His fingers on my head guide me as he thrusts, my mouth working with complete abandonment. I go like this until I feel the muscles in my neck starting to hurt; I pull back, his cock popping out of my mouth, but I don’t allow him any rest. I immediately start to stroke him, moving my hand so fast I’m surprised I can even do it at all.

I notice he’s grabbing at my hair harshly, but I don’t care. I continue to suck him, and when I realize it, I’m already moaning. I always thought that women who moaned during a blowjob were pretty much making a show out of it. Well, let me assure you right now, that’s not what’s happening here. If I’m moaning, it’s not because I want to; it’s because I need to. And believe me, if you ever have a cock this thick and long inside your mouth, you’ll be moaning too.

Taking his cock out of my mouth, I stop to catch my breath; then I tilt my head sideway, and lick the side of his shaft until I reach its roots. Going further down, I kiss his balls, sucking one in; it pops into my mouth easily, and I roll it over my tongue, my lips not allowing it to escape. When I finally let it go free, I turn my attention to the other one, lapping at it with my tongue before sucking it in. They’re massive and heavy holding all his delicious semen inside of them…

I just can’t help but open my mouth as wide as I can, taking both of his ball inside of me. I suck on them hard before I finally turn my attention to his shaft. I slide my tongue in a straight upward line, stopping for a heartbeat on his tip, lapping at it with my tongue and just sucking his glans with my eager lips. I hear him grunt slightly, and the sound of it sends shivers up and down my spine.

He starts thrusting wildly now, and my mouth is open wide as his cock slides in and out of me. I’m not big on cursing, but there’s no other way to put this: he’s my mouth, and it feels amazing.

“Idiot…” he grunts suddenly, his pace winding down. He’s close to coming, and he’s trying to resist the urge to do it… Well, it’s not his call. I always liked to take the lead and be the dominant one. And I’m his senior… A boy like him has no other choice but to submit to my whims.

“Come for me, baby… Just do it…” I whisper, taking his cock out of my mouth just to get the words out. I dive into it again, and even though he’s pulling his hips back, trying to get his cock out of me, I accompany his motion and push my mouth even further down. He tries pushing me back with his hands, but I push back against the hold he has on me; he has nowhere to run to, there’s no escaping me and he knows it. I’m the predator and he’s my prey. He’s mine.

Grabbing his cock by the base tightly, I start sucking with as much effort as I can muster, bobbing my head back and forth as if my life depended on it. It doesn’t take long for his cock to start pulsing against the inner side of my cheeks, and knowing that he’s close, I push through the pain on my neck and keep going as hard as humanly possible.

“Idiot!” he blurts out again, this time louder. His fingers curl against my scalp, and with one mighty thrust, he cums into my mouth. It’s warm and salty, and as it gushes in a torrent over my tongue, I can feel my skin prickling. I remain still, his spasming cock inside of me as he shoots his seed, filling my mouth until it can’t hold anything else, both with his cock and his cum.

When his fingers on my head relax, I start pulling out, tightening my lips around his cock on the way out. I look up at him then, making a grimace out of it as his cum is still filling my mouth; he’s breathing hard, but there’s a grin of satisfaction on his face.

Still looking him in the eyes, I open my mouth, showing him all of the cum I have in my mouth. His face lights up with a devious grin and he takes my hand in his, pulling me up and into him. I let myself go willingly, feeling my knees sore from all that time kneeling at his feet. Not that I’m complaining—oh, not at all.

As soon as I’m at his level, I lean forward and press my mouth against his, parting my lips and letting his tongue in. I feel his semen starting to drip down my chin as we kiss, but I couldn’t care less. He sucks on my tongue, and then rolls his inside of my mouth, stealing back all of his cum. The moment he pulls back from me, I wipe my chin with the back of my hand, swallowing whatever’s left inside of my mouth. Grinning, he does the same, his Adam’s apple moving up and down as his own fluids go down his throat.

“Don’t think that means we’re done,” he says, that lustful grin on his lips. He takes his hand and places it right over my crotch. “Now’s my turn.”

My heart thrashes inside my chest as he says it, and my pussy almost bursts like a dam. I become so wet that I start to feel even my dress becoming damp. And no, I’m not exaggerating.

“I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me,” I tell him as he pushes me back against the seat, sliding his fingers under my dress; he pulls me into him, crushing his mouth into mine. We kiss in abandonment, Lance’s tongue brushing against my lips and cleaning it dry of the drops of cum still hanging there. His hands keep going up my legs, and he slides them under my body, cupping my rear cheeks harshly as he gently bites on my neck.

“Keep it hard for me, baby,” I whisper into his ear, grabbing his cock and stroking. I didn’t need to worry, he’s still as hard as concrete. Even though I’ve teased him to no end and forced him to cum inside of my mouth, he’s still hard! And he didn’t even need five seconds to rest and recuperate. Oh, the world does belong to the young ones, it seems...

His fingers rub my rear cheeks, his thumbs going over my crack and pulling at my thong. With his hands over my underwear, he forces his way around my waist, bunching up the fabric of my dress, and plants one hand right over my pussy and thong. I’m so wet that his fingers slip over my crotch, as if I’m covered in oil. Pressing his open palm there, he rubs it against me until I throw my head back and start moaning hard.

He takes his hand out for one quick second, just the amount of time necessary for him to push my dress up to my waist. As his fingers brush against my skin, I feel them wet and slippery, completely covered in my juices.

Once more, he presses hard against my pussy, and I start stroking him in a backhanded motion, my hand moving over his length almost too clumsily.

My eyes are closed, so I don’t see him leaning into me—all that I feel are his lips wrapping themselves tightly around my nipples and sucking hard on them, one hand of his cupping my breasts and pulling at them.

I don’t know how that’s even possible, but I’m becoming even wetter. I can already feel my fluids dripping down my inner thighs; such is the mess my loins are in.

I moan in anticipation as he starts tugging on my dress, pushing it down my legs in a hurry; I kick it off, lying back against the seat just in my completely drenched thong. Exactly the way he likes it, I bet.

He grabs my rear, squeezing hard while he pulls at the small string that covers it. He pulls and tugs at the part of my thong that goes around my thighs, slowly sending it down on one side and then on the other. Soon enough, only a small wet patch of fabric is covering my pussy.

Lance goes from one nipple to the other, licking and sucking, and taking his time with my belly. I grab his head and force him to suck on my nipples harder, the flesh in my breasts molding to the pressure of his mouth. Softly, he pulls on my right nipple with his teeth, biting on it with a kind of careful and tender pressure. My mind stabbed by pleasure, he finally starts to softly kiss his way down to my belly, going to his knees like I did before. There, he takes his time, kissing around my waist as if that un-tanned line of skin marked border territory. But eventually he goes over it, his lips seductively kissing my groins. I’m fighting hard not to thrust my pussy against his face, but if he had the mental fortitude to resist me, I can do the same.

Or, well, I can try.

Pulling me into him with his hands on my rear, he presses his mouth over the small patch of thong that still covers me, sucking eagerly over my pussy. I can’t help but sway my hips as he does it, knowing that my out-of-control wetness is now on his lips and tongue, and that my most secret scents and flavors are now his to taste.

He opens his mouth and slowly closes it, as if he’s trying to devour my pussy; then, suddenly becoming tired of not having me completely naked, he bites on my thong and pulls it down my legs with his teeth, rubbing his hands up and down my side.

I look at him, his cock still proudly standing between his legs, waiting for its turn to ravish me. I feel his eyes crawling all over me, enjoying every valley, hill, and curve of my body, mentally ravaging every single inch of me.

He takes his thumb and presses it just one inch above my clit, applying downward pressure, and I feel that electric tingle coursing through me. I don’t even understand how he can possibly know my body so well. Even I, alone in my bedroom and having some me time, can’t touch myself the way he’s doing right now. Someone as young as him shouldn’t have this kind of experience… But he has, and I’m the luckiest woman around.

He continues rubbing my clit, all while stretching his fingers and brushing one of them gently between my pussy lips in a coming and going motion. I slowly move my hips in his direction, barely able to control myself; he just applies a bit more pressure on my clit and I stop immediately, my whole body feeling an intense current of electricity running through every single fiber in it.

I can’t control myself. It’s impossible to resist while he tortures me like this.

I grab his wrist with one hand, and I push it against my pussy, trying to force him to do anything—press against it, finger me, lick me. Anything! I need him; I need his body… Fingers, mouth, cock—I need everything in him.

But he’s strong, and no matter how much strength I apply, his hand doesn’t budge. He simply looks up at me, grinning as if he knows exactly the kind of maddening torture he’s putting me through.

“If you want my cock, you’ll have to wait,” he tells me, and I almost want to scream in frustration. The good kind of frustration, of course. I know that the more he tortures me, the more I’m going to explode, but I just don’t want to wait. Like a kid on Christmas, I don’t want to wait until it’s midnight to unwrap my presents. I want it now, all of it!

“Lance… I…” I stammer, running my hands through his hair back and forth, summoning whatever endurance there’s in me to resist his touch.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, slowly stroking my clit as he looks up at me. “Tell me.”

I look at him, but my mind is completely blank. What do I want him to do? How about everything? He jumps in to help me then, that grin full of mischievousness dancing on his lips.

“Maybe I should do this…?” He leans into me, and without touching me with his mouth, he simply lets his tongue press right over my clit. The muscles in my legs tighten and I start pulling at his hair, not knowing what to do. “Or maybe this?” He slides one inch of his finger inside of me, and I immediately try to thrust my hips upward so that he goes all the way in. “Someone’s very, very eager...”

I pant as he slides his finger all the way in, curling it in a hooking motion and stroking somewhere inside my pussy that makes sparks fly behind my eyelids. With his finger nestled there, he simply rubs it against my insides; he leans into me, his lips wrapped tight around my clit, dancing with it as he flicks his tongue in precise maddening motions.

I’m trying hard not to moan, but it’s getting harder to resist. Really hard.

Sucking while his tongue laps at my clit, he starts rubbing with his finger faster, and I can feel my insides boiling and clenching. I’m pulling at his hair desperately and, thank the gods, he has eased his hold on me and now I can sway my hips freely. I place my legs over his shoulders, locking him in place and reeling him in while I press his face against my pussy, rubbing myself against him, my mind completely devoid of any semblance of rationality. In this precise moment, I’m just existing.

One harder flick of his tongue against my clit and a thunderstorm consumes my mind. I pull him into my pussy so hard that I can even feel his teeth against my flesh, and I come just like that. My whole body trembles as I thrust at him, goose bumps all over my skin.

He pulls back, leaving only his finger inside; instead of taking it out as I come, he keeps on fingering me without mercy. My whole body is trembling and there’s a violent pressure mounting on my insides. Something inside of me is clenching and I try and grab Lance’s hand; he looks up at me, a grin on his face, and redoubles his efforts.

“Lance, I think I’m…” I think I’m what? I don’t even know what I’m feeling! But, judging by the look on his face, he knows exactly what he’s doing. I grit my teeth, close my eyes and… Oh goodness, what is this? My whole body is contracting, and it seems as if I’m about to explode. Really explode.

And that’s exactly what happens.

My pussy clenches around his finger and an orgasm spreads through me like a flood. And I mean that quite literally; I’m gushing! I’m… I’m squirting! Oh goodness, I really am squirting, and in a way I never thought was even possible. The pleasure is so intense I feel all of my muscles burning. More than three decades in me and I never experienced anything like this. Warm fluids shoot out of my pussy and drip down my folds, pooling between my thighs on the leather seat.

My limbs flailing, I throw my head back against the seat, breathing hard. He comes up, sitting by my side, and touches my cheek, caressing it, and lays his lips against mine. I can still taste my pussy on his mouth and by the heavens I love how it feels.

But he isn’t done yet. His finger is still inside of me and, instead of pulling it out, he starts sliding it in and out of me. He starts slowly at first, almost as if he’s trying me, but I’m as wet and ready as I can be. He goes faster, faster, faster, and soon I’m pressing my legs together, locking his hand into place as he fingers me toward insanity.

When he pushes one more finger inside of me, I have to grit my teeth. My body is still trembling and shaking, and even so, I can already feel that storm of pleasure building back, the roar of delight inside my mind.

He starts biting at my neck, pinching my nipples at the same time with his free hand. I throw my head back, my hair falling over my shoulders, and I choke down a scream as something explodes inside my mind. I come... I come really hard. But he doesn’t stop. This time, I know he’s not going to allow me any kind of rest.

We’re going for it all the way. No brakes, no nothing.

I grab his cock, and wanting to have him inside my mouth just once more, I lean toward him and engulf him with my lips. He pushes his cock down my mouth, pushing through his last inches until my lips are almost touching the root of his length. It’s hard to believe that I can actually fit all of his impressive length in my mouth.

But, more than having him in my mouth, I need him inside me.

“Idiot me, Lance… I need it now,” I simply whisper. Before I know it, he pushes me back on the seat, laying me down; pushing my knees apart, he settles his body between my legs.

“Oh, you’ll get everything you need from me,” he tells me. I look in anticipation as he edges closer to me, his thick glans reaching for my inner labia. I shudder as he presses it there, rubbing his tip along my pussy and up to my clit. He then slaps his shaft against my pussy—once, twice—and I almost bang my head against the door in my madness.

“Then give it to me… Because I need your cock right now,” I say, opening my legs wide. I cover my mouth with my hand as I let out a scream: he enters me fast, his shaft sliding deep inside of me and sending shards of absolute rapture from my pussy to my mind.

He thrusts at me like that for heaven knows how long, his body pressing on mine; I lace my legs behind his back, not locking him into place but allowing him the freedom to move in and out at will, which he does. His thrusts are so strong and violently delicious that I feel the car start to sway from side to side, almost like a plane going through light turbulence.

He continues until all strength leaves my body, my legs sliding down from his back to the floor as all muscles in my body become taut. He pounds me even strongly then, feeling my weakness, and I have to bite hard on my forearm so that I don’t scream as I climax again. The car keeps on swaying harder with each passing second, but Lance either doesn’t notice it or doesn’t care.

I want to scream. I want to do it loud and mindlessly. Only heaven knows how I’m still capable of controlling myself right now.

Any other man would have stopped by now, succumbing to exhaustion. But not Lance—young as he is, there are no brakes on him. He won’t stop until his hunger is sated, and I bet that even then he’ll still be aching for more. How do you even satisfy someone like him?

My limbs flailing and my mind burning, he keeps on ramming it inside me; with the last ripples of ecstasy still receding from my mind, a new and bigger wave crashes on me, numbing not only my body and mind, but my soul as well. Everything in me is on its knees and praying for rapture.

I don’t know how many orgasms he wants to inflict upon me, but I want to turn the game around. I escape from under him, and before he can even realize what I’m doing, I’m on all fours on the seat.

He doesn’t need to be told what to do. I don’t even have the time to breath out; he’s already behind me, slapping my rear and rubbing his thick fat glans over my pussy as I wiggle my backside. He rams it in me in an instant, and before I can even control myself, I let out a violent scream. He’s ramming me so hard I lose all notion of where I am. I don’t care about anything anymore. My universe is pleasure, and pleasure is Lance.

His body moving in a frenzy; I have to place my hands on the door’s handle so that I don’t fall forward. He keeps ravaging me, his thrusts turning the sway of the limo into hard rocking. I feel the car’s body going from side to side, the metal screeching subdued as it moves. It feels as if we are not in a limousine, but on a boat during a storm.

I let myself go and, as my pussy tightens like a vice around his cock, I cum my brains out all over again. I have to grit my teeth as hard as I can, my lungs begging for me to scream out.

“Sir? Is everything okay?” I hear the driver say through the intercom. I look back at Lance over my shoulder, my eyes widening as I realize that the driver noticed the ruckus we were causing. How could he not? We almost turned the limo into the Titanic! “The car… Well, something was happening to it right now.”

Lance doesn’t seem fazed by it, though. He simply shrugs and reaches for the intercom, pressing down on the main button.

“We noticed it as well,” he manages to say, a fake calm on his voice. “That’s not normal at all… You should take this limo for a check-up once you drop us off. This car is in no condition to be driving anyone around.”

“Yes, sir. Will do,” the driver tells Lance. He looks at me with a carefree smirk and whatever fear I had of being caught vanishes away immediately.

I jut my rear back at Lance and start thrusting back in his direction. He grabs my hips and starts pounding me again, this time not even bothering to start slowly; he just goes all in right from the start, his whole length sliding in and out of me so fast I’m seeing white lights behind my eyelids. The car starts to rock from side to side again, but this time the driver doesn’t say a thing. Maybe he suspects what’s happening in the back, maybe he doesn’t. By now, I couldn’t care less.

I want to scream, and this time, I almost do it. I moan, my voice quivering as Lance idiots me senselessly. The screams trapped inside my body travel all the way to my brain, almost making me explode.

“You’re going to come…” he says, slapping my rear with the back of his hand. “And you’re going to come hard.”

“Make me…” I reply, rocking my backside against him with the same brashness he’s pounding into me; no more than thirty seconds and I go from my hands to my elbows, hair falling down on my shoulders as I feel the thunder of climax drawing close.

Sweet pleasure courses through my veins, but I don’t stop. Somehow, I think that Lance’s insatiable hunger is rubbing on me; he just makes me feel younger. I push past all my limits and continue thrusting back at him until I can feel an ungodly pressure mounting inside of me; if I don’t come soon, I’m going to really explode. But before I can come, he laces my waist and pulls me back.

Still with his cock in me, he lies down on the seat as I roll into a sitting position over his cock, my back turned to him. I let the orgasm come then, grabbing Lance’s ankles while I sway my hips back and forth, left and right, all over his cock. Electricity and flames devour me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Only when my body becomes completely spent will I do it, and only because I won’t be physically capable of carrying on.

“So good…” I moan, not even knowing if my heart's still beating. “I want more.” Instead of swaying my hips, I stop doing that and prepare to use what little energy still remains inside of me. I start jumping on his cock, and I do it hard. He’s cupping my rear as I go, and I lean just a bit forward, slightly bending his cock down and imagining the pressure he’s feeling right now.

“Idiot,” he exhales sharply, slapping my rear again.

His whole body becomes rock solid and I can’t help but jump on him with all the strength that I have in me. Suddenly, he hooks his fingers on my waist and pulls me down onto him. I sit on his crotch as his cock goes as deep as it has ever been inside of me.

Oh my goodness!

OH IDIOT!

Suddenly, I become nothing.

Pleasure rages through me in a way I’ve never felt before, utterly consuming my mind. I’m high on sex; I’m high on Lance. And as his cock spasms again, his load shooting deep into me, I moan so hard that my voice starts quivering. He keeps cumming for a long while, the seconds ticking away as a torrent of semen takes hold of me.

Only when he becomes still, do I roll to the side and lay back against the seat, my limbs sprawled. I didn’t even notice it, but I’m covered in sweat, locks of hair plastered to my face. I want to speak, I want to move, but there’s not a single reserve of energy inside of me. I gave it my all, and in return, I’ve been sacrificed at the altar of pleasure.

Lance turns to me and kisses me on the cheek.

“Just lay back… I’ll take care of you.”

“Yes...” I nod, Lance’s lips travelling down my neck. His mouth hikes down between my breasts and over my stomach, only stopping when he has his head right between my legs. Tenderly, he starts licking my folds, taking care of the cum that’s dripping down my thighs. Pushing his mouth into me, he sucks my folds in, wrapping his lips around them and taking in every single drop of cum I have on my pussy.

Satisfied, he goes up, lying back with his body pressed against mine. “There… Much better now,” he whispers, smiling at me. I run one lazy finger over his lips, an errant drop of cum still hanging there.

“Yes… Much better.” With him, everything’s better.

I close my eyes and smile, taking a wicked sense of pleasure in knowing that Michael is riding the limo in front of us, completely oblivious to what just happened between his son and I.

Serves him right, I think with an exhausted grin.

39

New York Daily Journal

From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

If you think this election is getting nasty, you’re not the first to think that and you’re not the only one. Cheer up though; every day that passes is one day closer to the election. But, one thing everyone is thinking and asking me is this: If we’re already so low less than a month into the election, how much lower and dirtier is it going to get before we get to the voting booths?

Let’s do a rundown of what we’ve seen so far.

The campaign of Mayor Anders has accused Jim Jenkins of being a Socialist, scaring voters into thinking that should Jenkins get elected, police will no longer be able to use guns as they patrol the streets. Mayor Anders' campaign surrogates said in speeches all last week that Jim Jenkins is so opposed to gun control that he would ensure that police start doing their beats with TASERS, night sticks, and stun guns.

Not to be outdone, at a major campaign speech, Jim Jenkins suggested that should the Mayor get another term, his policies would include shutting down public schools that run on taxpayer money in support of private schools, raising the price of educating our little New Yorkers in training.

“Do you want to have to choose between a broken, burned, and underfunded public school, or a private school? Because that’s the choice under Michael Anders!” Jonathan Franks, the campaign manager for Jim Jenkins was quoted as telling this paper afterward.

The Mayor's campaign shot back that Jim Jenkins' policies would include not prosecuting most crimes and opening up the prisons and letting out hardened felons.

“You want that man locked up for being a child sex offender to start looking at apartments next to public schools? Because with Jim Jenkins as mayor, they’re going to be able to do just that,” the Anders campaign manager retorted when asked for a follow up.

With Jim Jenkins being portrayed as a soft-on-crime bleeding heart liberal and Michael Anders being portrayed as a corporate fascist, voters aren’t left with much of a choice of picking the better man. Instead, they’re left with finding the least of two evils. That’s right, fellow Gothamites, it’s not about who we love anymore. It’s about who we hate the least.

But one thing is becoming pretty abundantly clear. With the policies being twisted so badly, both campaigns are relying more and more on their families to burnish their credentials and raise their favorability ratings. Jim Jenkins showed up at Coney Island on Saturday with his wife Martha and their daughter Jennifer to eat at Nathan’s Hot Dogs and ride the Cyclone before taking some pictures.

And Mayor Anders has brought out his family plenty of times, bringing his son and newly married wife to every single one of his campaign rallies and making a big show of taking them out to dinner at Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Factory in Times Square.

So, it looks like this campaign is going to be won or lost based on who is hated the least. And a lot of that can be based on who has the most lovable family.

That’s all for today, but we’re digging up as much as we can about both families. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

40

Lance

I knock on the door to dad’s office with a weight in my stomach. It’s been three days since the limo. Since I was balls deep into Jocelyn. Just thoughts of my hands holding her supple, curvy, lithe body inspire my cock into a frenzy of twitches. Idiot. I can’t be thinking like this because while my cock doesn't seem to care, I’m dying of guilt here.

That’s right. I’m feeling guilty. I hope that doesn’t surprise you.

I’ve never in my life done anything like this. This goes way beyond just unbelievable married woman. First, she’s older than me. I’m 15 years younger than her. I would have never considered anything like this before coming back to the city. Second, she’s married to my dad. That makes her technically my stepmom.

Now hold on there. I know based on everything you’ve seen so far, you’re going to tell me to calm the heck down. That 15 years is nothing. You probably know a couple where the woman is 15 years older than the man and they have a happy marriage. And then you’re going to move on to tell me that Michael Anders married my mother after I was already born. That when she died a year later, he assumed the role of guardian, but he’s not technically my biological father.

Fine. From a technical standpoint, no one is related, okay. You got me.

But we’re not talking about technicalities here.

This is the man who paid others to raise me. The man I resented my whole life for always being busy and never having time for me. The man who was always wrapped up in his life and viewed me as an accessory to trot out to make him look good by talking about how he was raising the son of his dead wife.

In short, he’s the only father I’ve ever known.

And so what do I do? I harass the one woman who maybe he thought he would find happiness with? Really? Is that what I’ve come down to?

Have I messed so many women in my life that now I need to do things that shock the senses? Has normal just gotten too boring for me?

“You going to stand there or are you going to come in, Lance?” dad asks from his desk. He's staring at me, an annoyed look on his face. He’s got two tablets and a computer open in front of him and it’s obvious he’s busy. The television is on in the far corner of the room and he puts it on mute.

I step into the office and walk to the desk. What am I even going to say here? Hey dad, how’s the mayoral race coming? By the way, I’m Jocelyn. Just thinking you should know because it's the right thing to do.

How do you even go about telling another man you’re sleeping with his wife?

“What do you need?” dad asks, cutting through all the clutter in my head and going straight to the point. “I’m busy so I can’t give you that much time. So be quick.”

I sigh. He looks at me with sharp eyes.

“I wanted to talk to you about Jocelyn,” I say after a moment.

He looks at me and sighs as well. Does he know?

Dad leans back in his chair. “Sorry I didn't invite you to the wedding, Lance,” he says and takes off his glasses. “But there really was no wedding.”

“Yeah, but you know, there wasn’t even any advance notice,” I reply back to him.

Dad looks at me for a moment. “Lance, you’ve been here for quite a few days now and you’re just coming to me with this question?” he asks. “What’s prompting you to ask now? If you were really this upset about not knowing, this would have been the first thing you asked me.”

What the heck? Leave it to this guy to search for the ulterior motive.

Although, to be honest, don’t I have the ulterior motive here? I mean, I’m making this conversation because I feel guilty about Jocelyn. He’s right to an extent.

“I’m just asking you because it seemed like a good way to get into the conversation,” I tell him, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s not like we’ve gotten much time to talk since I got back.”

He appears to consider this.

“But I mean, that’s the usual, though, isn’t it?” I ask, adding that one last bit in.

It seems to convince him that I’m legitimate. He sits back upright and places his elbows on the desk.

“I knew her father. You were away at school and you’re old enough now that you’re not really much of an asset to someone who’s looking to portray being a family man. Plus, your…antics aren’t really going to endear any of the demographics I need help with. And the only grandkids I’d have would all be illegitimate. So I needed a wife.”

I’m silent, processing everything he’s just said. It sounds so cold. So calculating.

“So just like that, you what? Introduced yourself and got her to say yes?” I ask him.

Dad sighs again, as if stalling for time.

“Let’s just say,” he says and pauses, considering his words. “Let’s just say it was in the best interests of Governor Carter to give me Jocelyn’s hand in marriage.”

Whoa. What the heck is dad just telling me right here. Best interests?

“Wait one second,” I say, forgetting the guilt for a moment. “Best interests of the Governor? Are you telling me this is some sort of payment?”

“I’m telling you that this is none of your business, Lance,” dad says, a hard edge of steel hiding behind his voice. “And it’s in your best interests to drop this.”

“I’m not dropping something when you basically tell me that you may have coerced someone to spend their life with you, dad!” I say heatedly. “Especially when there’s unanswered questions about…”

But I can’t finish because dad whips his head in my direction.

“Unanswered questions?” he snaps at me. “Unanswered questions about things we shouldn’t be talking about?”

I’m quiet as I watch him bring himself under control. Then, with an almost deathly chill in his voice, he says to me. “Be careful how far beneath the surface you want to dig, son. I’m used to this world. I have no problem burying anyone. Especially someone who’s past his useful life as my son.”

Was that a threat? Are we going to war?

“Work on the campaign and help the family and I promise you, you’ll be rewarded,” he continues. “But start bringing up the past or stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and don't be surprised if you start getting burned.”

This man did not sit here in his ornate office and threaten me. I’m the closest thing to a son that he’s got. This would just be a dark wood-paneled room with an old man if all the trash that I’ve suspected comes out. The late night visits with Kenneth. Seeing the two of them kissing on the balcony.

No, I can’t let this man bully me here and now and not respond back to him.

“If you want to sit there and threaten me, Dad,” I say to him as I stand up. “Then I’m ready to take this to the next level. But I’m not leaving till I get some answers as to why Jocelyn felt forced to marry you.”

“Oh, give it a rest, okay? Your dad seduced the Governor, kept the evidence, and then when he was ready, went to Governor Carter and has been holding it over his head since then,” a voice says behind me. I turn around and see Kenneth Loomis standing there with a grin on his face. “Don’t tell me you never suspected, Lance?” he asks me as he steps closer.

I turn my head to look at dad. At first there’s a momentary flash of annoyance and concern on his face. Then that changes to annoyance.

But apparently my own father thinks I’m not worth the effort required to lie.

“You…you harassed the Governor to marry his daughter?” I ask, turning around to face dad. What kind of man is my father? For maybe the millionth time, I’m so relieved that I’m not related to him by blood. That I’m really just his stepson.

Dad, yeah I know, but I’m used to calling him that by now—he just shrugs. “I didn’t do anything to marry Jocelyn, son,” he says to me, raising his head to look at me.

“That’s right,” Kenneth says coming over to stand by dad’s side. “That woman was just a fringe benefit. An afterthought to the real goodies that the Governor helped him get.”

I’m still trying to comprehend. Dad, blackmailing the Governor. Getting heaven knows what from him. Favors? Power? But Jocelyn Carter, probably the single most beautiful woman I’ve ever met ending up as just a afterthought.

Holy Goodness.

My world is in a state of complete numbness. Shock.

Just kill me now. A forced marriage that was just icing on a much larger cake.

This is too much. I can’t believe the callousness. The waste. I get up from my chair.

“Close the door on your way out, will you please?” Kenneth says to me as I stalk to the door. I turn around to look at him. His hands are on my dad’s shoulders, a lascivious smile playing on his lips as he brings out his tongue to lick them. “We’re going to be a little…busy…in here.”

I don’t have the strength to argue.

I do as Kenneth asks, close the door, and go toward the front door.

I need fresh air.

I need to find Jocelyn.

41

Jocelyn

I've never considered myself a great cook, but looking at the dinner spread on our dining room table, I'm proud. I went all out, planning four courses for the evening—an asparagus, green onion, cucumber, and herb salad, a mushroom and leek soup with thyme cream, grilled lamb chops with a sweet chutney sauce, and to top it all off, I even prepared a rich and decadent chocolate lava cake. You know, the kind of warm cake that oozes in the middle.

I'll admit that I had some help from the housekeeper, Rosa, but I still feel like I pulled off a miracle. I've been harboring guilt, and I needed something to re-direct my attention to, and today that something happened to be a four-course meal. Michael doesn't seem impressed though. He's limply picking at his plate of salad, his fork pushing the vegetables from one side to the other, but Lance is devouring it all. "You outdid yourself," he says to me. "This is impressive."

His hands are dancing from the soup, to the salad, and back again, but he also seems to be holding something back. He's lifting his eyes to me in cursory glances. What I wouldn't give to be inside of his brain right now.

Then he looks up, clearing his throat. "I wanted to say something," he begins, and a momentary wave of panic washes over my chest. What is he going to say? "I've decided—" he pauses and I can almost feel myself holding my breath. "—I've decided to go to Europe for the summer."

Europe? For the entire summer? Why is he doing this? I don't respond and I work hard to stifle my surprise. I casually continue to take small and calculating sips of the creamy soup, allowing the earthy flavors to dance around my tongue. Michael merely shrugs his shoulders and wipes his mouth with his napkin, "That's nice Lance."

I can detect the disappointment in Lance's face. He was expecting something more out of his father. That much is clear. But as quickly as that disappointment appears, he replaces it with an air of indifference. He's trying not to let his father get to him. "I've decided to take a direct flight to Heathrow airport next week."

I look over at Michael to see if he's going to say anything else. Perhaps he'll ask Lance what his plans are? Why London, of all places? But no, he doesn't say another word. It seems like he's refusing to engage in any kind of conversation with his son. Maybe he doesn't care at all why he's leaving. Instead, he continues to take uninterested bites of his food, his eyes cast down on his plate. I watch as a small sliver of cucumber gets stuck on his bottom lip. Maybe this is what Michael wanted. I'm too shocked to say anything. I never anticipated this happening. So instead, I simply nod at Lance when he glances in my direction. And really, what can I say? There a lot of things that I'd let spill from my mouth, but not in front of my husband.

Michael takes a few more bites of dinner and then excuses himself from the table, his chair squeaking against the hardwood floor. Lance takes his cue and leaves as well. I watch them both walk off, and with everyone leaving I start to clear the table. As I'm carrying dishes to the kitchen, Michael re-appears. He is slipping his arms into a coat, and seems to be in a hurry.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Out. Don't bother waiting up for me."

He says it with such finality that I don't bother asking anything else. And just like that, he grabs his keys and walks out the front door.

I decide I've had enough emotional ups and downs for one evening, and I head upstairs to soak in a bath and then go to bed. I walk into my master bathroom, and start the water. Bathing is a ritual that I enjoy, and I look around for the perfect accent. I see it—a purple and white-swirled, lavender-scented bath bomb. That sounds relaxing—the perfect remedy to clear my head—so I undress and drop it into the water, watching it spin and fizz until the water is frothy and the entire bathroom smells like I'm sitting in a field of lavender flowers. The warmth of the water stings my skin—I like my baths hot—the hotter the better, and I slowly sink my shoulders down further into the perfumed heat of it all. My noisy thoughts die down and become hushed, and a sense of tranquility settles over my body like a familiar, comfortable blanket. And it's only when my fingertips become wrinkled raisins that I decide to get out.

I finish preparing for bed, and when I finally find myself slipping in between my sheets, my mind begins to race again. I shut my eyes and try to drown it out. Go to sleep, I tell myself, trying to will it to happen. But it doesn't work. I keep hearing Lance's words replaying in my mind, " I've decided to go to Europe for the summer." What made him decide to go to Europe? And why for the entire summer? Is he trying to end things between us? Is he trying to avoid me? Or did something happen between him and his father? Things seemed sort of strained between them at dinner. If so, why not just come out and tell me that's what he wants? Does he think I can't handle the truth? As much as I don't want to admit it, the idea of not having him here makes me feel lonely. I'll be physically and emotionally starved. What am I going to do without him? I crave his strong touch. My mind goes back to that first day in the dressing room at Saks Fifth Avenue… and the day in the limo… both close quarters… his strong, rock-hard body so close to mine. My pulse quickens just thinking about it. I also think about his icy blue eyes, and the way they can pierce through me in unexpected ways, and his massive manhood—the way he fills me up like no other man. I grow wet just thinking about him.

Then I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. It's Michael. I can smell his cologne, and judging by the way his feet fall in uneven movements, I know he's drunk. I can even hear his shoulder dragging against the wall for upport. He's trying to steady himself. It's amazing he even got himself home. I wait and wonder if he's going to come into my room. But when I hear him walk past my door, I know he is heading for the couch in his study and he isn't going to say anything to me. I hear him flop down in his upstairs study and within moments he is snoring.

What am I doing? Maybe Lance was right. It's like I don't exist to Michael. I'm just a means to an end. How can I be happy living in the same house with a man who doesn't love me and who refuses to show me affection? He didn't even once thank me for tonight's dinner. And with Lance in the house, I crave affection even more. I crave Lance. His touch. His body. His manhood. I need him. There's no way I can fall asleep right now.

I decide to do something that I never thought I'd do. I quietly step out of bed. I don't know why I'm being so quiet. Michael is passed out. There's no way any amount of noise will wake him up tonight. But I continue to take light steps down the hall until I reach Lance's room. I lean toward the door trying to detect any sounds, but there's nothing. He must be asleep. I slowly turn the knob and push the door open. I see him, with his full figure; the light from the hall illuminated the chiseled muscles of his chest. He's asleep. I walk in toward the bed, and then I lift the comforter and join him.

42

Lance

I open my eyes as I feel the door cracking open, soft footsteps making their way toward my bed. My eyes try and adjust to the darkness in the room, but all I see is a silhouette walking toward me and sitting down on the bed, the mattress shifting under the added weight. That’s all I need, though. I could recognize these feminine curves everywhere.

“What are you doing here, Jocelyn?” I whisper as she pulls softly on the sheets, getting under them. She nestles her sweet body close to mine, the touch of her warm skin waking up that old hunger. I turn to her, laying one hand on her waist as my eyes meet hers. Just touching it almost makes me lose all control.

“I just had to come,” she whispers, my eyes following the movement of her full lips. She just had to come? Oh, I’m going to make her come, alright.

She places one hand over my bare chest, her fingers sliding down toward my stomach and over my abs. It doesn’t take long for my cock to twitch and harden, desire pulsing in it; by the time her fingers go over the hem of my boxer briefs, they’re already tented over my bulging. Turning her hand, she curls her fingers around my member, pressing her body tightly against mine. “I need this,” she says, softly squeezing my cock.

“You came to the right place, then,” I reply, a smile taking over my lips as I move my hand up her side, her nightgown hiking all the way up to her waist. I let my fingers climb to her shoulders, and I slowly peel the nightgown off of her body, losing it somewhere among the sheets. My forearm brushes against her naked breasts as I undress her, and I realize she’s not wearing a bra; after I took her nightgown off, the only piece of clothing on her body is a black lace thong. Just the way I like it.

“I know. The right place is… wherever you’re this close to me,” she murmurs, pulling my boxers down. My cock jumps free immediately, slapping her across the back of her hand. Kicking off my underwear, I sigh heavily as she curls her fingers around my cock, her soft breathing against my neck filling my blood with the unstoppable rage of lust. Could she be any more perfect?

Inching closer to me, she crushes her mouth against mine, her tongue sliding past my lips as she starts moving her hand back and forth over my cock. She’s stroking me softly, her hand moving in a patient up and down rhythm, her petite fingers delicately hugging my thick shaft.

Closing her mouth, she nibbles at my lower lip, pulling it harshly; letting go, her lips move down to my neck, laying soft kisses across my skin. With her free hand, she throws the sheets back, her mouth moving down my stomach in a maddening line of lustful promises. With her tongue, she traces the contour of my abs, licking them as if she needed to taste my body to know that I’m real and not just a figment of her imagination. Oh, I’m real… As real as I can possibly be.

My hands are on her head, my fingers running through her silky hair as her lips draw close to my pulsing cock. Kicking and punching, my heart beats faster, anticipating what’s to come. She wraps her luscious lips around my tip, slowly sucking as she keeps on stroking. I close my eyes, savoring her mouth on me and let delight overtake me.

“Deeper,” I groan, pushing her head down. I don’t even give a idiot; instinct and desire are running the show. She goes willingly, parting her lips wider and allowing my cock to slide inside of her mouth and over her tongue. Feeling the warmness inside of her mouth, my cock pulses harshly as she keeps on going deeper; she goes until her lips are touching the skin at the base of my cock, and then she holds her position for a few seconds, pressing on my shaft with her tongue. Only when I sigh heavily does she roll back, her lips once again wrapped tight around my glans.

I leave one hand on her head, but I move the other down her back, reaching for her rear. I squeeze one cheek, the flesh molding to my fingers; flicking one finger under the string of her thong, I caress the crack between her rear cheeks. As I touch her dangerously close to her jerk, she starts to bob her head up and down, keeping a steady but unbridled pace. I move my finger inside her rear, and slowly build up its rhythm; it doesn’t take long for me to be fingering her rear at the same pace she’s sucking on me.

“You’re so good…” I whisper, the fingers in my free hand curling into hooks and grabbing her rear harshly. She responds by picking up the rhythm, moving her head so fast I can’t help but groan in pleasure. Instinct taking over me, I push my finger deeper between her cheeks, sliding it further inside her rear. I move it back and forth as fast as I can, her inner walls squeezing tightly. “Come here… I want to taste you too,” I find myself saying, pulling on her waist. I need to taste everything in her, every single inch of smooth skin… Her lips, breasts, pussy and rear—everything’s fair game to me. My cock pops out of her mouth as she raises her head, but she never takes her hand out of my shaft.

Turning her body around so that her rear is turned to me, she lifts one leg and moves it over me, her knees on the side of my head. One of my hands on her waist, I use the other one to flick her thong to the side; I raise my head then, pulling her down at the same time. My mouth pressed tight against her soaking wet pussy, she leans forward once more, pushing my cock between her lips.

I breathe in her sweet scent, letting it go all the way up to my brain. Sucking on her folds, I run my tongue over them, her fluids coating my tongue shamelessly. She tastes divine, and it doesn’t take long for me to lose all control, using both my lips and tongue to devour her. I push my tongue past her inner lips, jabbing at her insides as I keep her still with my hands firmly resting on her hips.

We please each other with our mouths, working on one another in a feverish state of frenzied lust. With my eyes closed, I surrender to pleasure, sparks of electric sin like thorns on my mind. She is grabbing my cock harshly, moving her mouth and hand in unison; her tongue is moving erratically, almost as if she couldn’t control herself. I figure that’s right, judging by the way she’s moving her hips and pressing her pussy against my mouth. Eventually, she takes my cock out of her mouth, a throaty moan cutting through the silence as she arches her back.

Leaning back, she’s now sitting on my face, my fingers hooked on her hips and keeping her in place. Still, she keeps on stroking, now more furiously than ever. If I weren't concentrating on how delicious her pussy tastes, I probably would have already cum. Now that’d be a waste; I’m far from done.

Jocelyn grinds against my face, her fluids dripping down my chin as I keep on sucking eagerly. With one hand over her right leg, I reach for her clitoris and press my thumb over it, moving it in fast circles. I can already feel her body tensing up, electricity pooling in her muscles. It won’t take long for her to explode. I still have a trick up my sleeve, though.

Moving my tongue back over her folds, I reach for her rear, and then start to lap at her hole eagerly. I feel her shivering, my mouth working on her rear with the same eagerness I ate her pussy out. Goodness, why does everything in this woman have to taste so good? I keep on licking her until I feel her on the edge, a strong violent orgasm preparing to burst inside her body. If she’s on the edge, I’m ready to pull her off of it. Licking her rear furiously, I drive her utter and completely mad; she’s moaning louder now, and I just know she’s about to explode.

And that’s exactly what happens; a few quick jabs from my tongue and I feel every muscle in her body tightening up, a whispered moan of pleasure bouncing off the walls of the room. The sound of her voice caresses my eardrums and travels all the way up to my brain, making me lose whatever self-control I still had in me.

Her body is still trembling when I push her off of me; she falls on the mattress with her stomach down, and I go on my knees behind her. I take one second to look at her perfect shape, the curves of her body calling to me. Gritting my teeth, I feel my cock desperate to harass her, but everything in due time.

I inch closer to her, and grabbing her thong, I pull on it as harshly as I can, against her outer thigh. The sound of ripping fabric comes immediately after, and I throw her torn underwear to the floor. I place my hands on her rear, squeezing and grabbing, and then I smack her as hard as I can with the back of my open hand. A muffled cry of pleasure reaches me, and I look down, seeing her with her head buried against the pillow, trying to silence her need to moan.

This isn’t exactly the smartest thing we could be doing, while my father is asleep on his own bed… But what the heck, it’s not like he’s going to find out about us anytime soon. He’s probably happy to have the bed all to himself.

I don’t get it; how can my father marry a woman like Jocelyn just to keep her trapped in a marriage like theirs? Sure, he might be gay, but what the heck? To keep a woman like this without sex should be illegal. Phoo; if my father is happy to have his bed all to himself right now, I’m also happy to have his wife all to myself, as messed up as that may sound. Yes, I said it. I couldn’t be happier to be my own stepmother. Sue me.

I lay on top of her, one hand moving under her body and grabbing one breast while I position my cock against her rear. My fingers gently playing with her hard rosy nipple, I place my lips against her ear.

“How bad do you want it?” I whisper, pressing my cock between her rear cheeks. She immediately starts to thrust back, grinding and stroking me with her cheeks. “Tell me.”

“Bad,” she murmurs, turning her head to the side. “I want it so bad, Lance.”

“Are you sure?” I tease her, grabbing my shaft with one hand and pressing it down, moving it between her thighs so that my tip is brushing against her wet folds. I have to take a deep breath so that I don’t thrust right away. It takes all my willpower just to keep talking. “I’m not hearing you beg.”

“Please…” she mutters, struggling to get the words out. “Please… I want you to mess me. I need you to.” I oblige, pleasure washing over me. But I don’t go all the way in. I only feed one inch into her pussy, her folds hugging the tip of my cock as she tries to thrust her hips back. “Please… I need you inside of me. Idiot me… As hard you can,” she purrs, each of her words feeling like someone is driving a knife through my heart. I can’t resist this anymore. No way. Teasing time is over.

I grit my teeth and thrust hard, my shaft burying itself deep inside of her. I go all the way in, closing my eyes as I feel the warm embrace of her pussy. My hands are on her rear, grabbing it as I start to rock my hips against her. She has her mouth on the pillow once more, moaning against it as I thrust. The sound of her muffled voice caresses my eardrums like a spell, and I feel my rational mind shutting down. My mind goes blank, and my thought process turns into incoherent whispers of decadent lust.

I don’t even bother with building up the rhythm: I go hard right from the start, my thighs slapping her rear as my cock ravages her. My shaft goes in and out of her incessantly, beads of sweat starting to pool on my forehead; I just ignore them and keep moving, her as if I had never been with a woman like her. And it’s true; I’ve messed my way through countless, nameless women… But I’ve never found someone like her. Never.

Maybe it has something to do with the age difference; after all she’s much older than I am… Older and delicious, that is. Or maybe it has to do with the fact that she’s married to my father. Whatever. I don’t give a idiot about the why; all that matters is that she’s here, her pussy aching for my cock.

“Oh goodness…” she moans, turning her head to the side and grabbing at the sheets. “Please, don’t… Don’t stop!” she cries, breathing loudly through her gritted teeth. I do exactly what she asked me, and I keep her until her pussy tightens around my cock like a vice. Her muscles start to twitch, and I feel the delicate, and yet violent, spasms of her pussy around my shaft. I remain in place as she burns in pleasure, only sliding my cock out when I notice her breathing returning to normal.

Rolling to the side, I lie on my back and turn to her, placing my hands on her waist and pulling her into me. Moving with fast cat-like movements, she climbs on top of me, straddling me while she grabs my cock with both of her hands. I have to hold my breath and close my eyes so that I don’t come right here and now. Somehow, I manage to resist.

“You can’t go,” she whispers, her eyes locked on mine. Her lips are slightly parted, an expression of anxiety on her face. I feel the gears inside my head starting to turn as I try to decode her words.

“What?” I ask, having no idea about what’s she talking about all of a sudden. I’m not going anywhere; you’d have to drag me out of the bed for me to leave right now.

“Europe… Don’t go.”

“Why not…?” Europe, so that’s it. Of course.

“Because if you go…” She raises her hips slightly, angling my cock so that my glans is rubbing against her pussy lips. “Then who’s going to take care of you like this?” She continues to rub my tip against her pussy, moving it up and down with slow teasing movements. I can feel desire pulsing through me, my cock straining against the grip she has on it. “If you leave, then you won’t be able to be in me like this any longer.” As she speaks, she lowers herself over my cock, allowing one inch to slide inside of her.

She’s getting back to me, teasing me just like I did before… But, in a sense, this isn’t teasing at all. Although her voice is honeyed and sensuous, her words couldn’t be any more honest. If I leave, there’s no Jocelyn anymore… No more of her body, of her pussy and belly. No more mind bending orgasms, and no more of that tender warmness I feel inside my chest whenever she looks at me...

I thrust upward, trying to ram my cock deep inside of her, but she resists.

“No,” she says, a commanding tone in her voice. She’s torturing me and she knows it. “If you have to leave, maybe we should stop right now… It would only make it harder for you, to remember how it feels to have your cock in my tight pussy.”

She has a point in everything she’s saying, but it’s not like it’s going to make me stop now. I hook my fingers on her hips and pull her down as hard as I can, thrusting upward at the same time. My cock pushes past her folds, and straining against her inner walls, goes all the way in. Jocelyn throws her head back, her hair cascading down her shoulders as she sighs heavily.

I reach for her breasts, squeezing them both as we start to rock our bodies against one another. She places her hands on top of mine, making me grab her harder; swaying her hips wildly, she then takes the lead and rides me as if this is the last time she’s going to be with a man. My cock nestled deep inside of her pussy, I close my eyes as I feel her body moving, my hands going down from her breasts to her rear. I slap her cheeks—once, twice—and then I squeeze them both as hard as I can, moving my hips upward and trying to match her movements.

It only takes a few seconds for the motion of our bodies to match, almost as if we were one. She leans into me then, locks of her hair brushing against my chest, and presses her lips against mine. We kiss as if our mouths were drawn to fit in one another, our tongues dancing in circles as I start to thrust harder.

“You’re not getting rid of me this easily,” I whisper into her ear, suddenly realizing that I can’t just pack up and leave to Europe. Not now… Not after Jocelyn. It’s dark, and all I can see is the vague outline of her figure, but I can feel her smile. A wide one. A happy one. She starts riding me harder, moaning louder as if she didn’t care any longer if my father hears us. “I’m staying,” I say, this time out loud. I’m saying it to her as much as I’m saying it to myself. I’m actually staying, and I’ve decided this with my cock twelve inches deep inside of her.

What else can I do? Leave the States after meeting a woman like Jocelyn? Sure, it doesn’t look like our situation is going to improve much more, but still… I just can’t move on as if she didn’t exist. I can’t be that stupid.

“You’re staying ...” she whispers, bucking her hips with such viciousness that I can’t help but groan. “Here...” she continues, getting the words out despite her hard breathing. “With me!”

With that, she explodes again, her pussy spasming and massaging my shaft as she digs her fingernails into my chest. Breathing heavily while her body convulses, she claws at my chest, her fingernails leaving red marks across my pectorals. I keep thrusting while she comes, feeling my own body close to the breaking point.

Two hard thrusts and I’m almost ready to join her, my cock spasming harshly against her inner walls. In a heartbeat, I’m gushing a torrent of cum inside of her, each spasm of my member sending electric waves of pleasure up my spine, every single muscle in my body tensing up to the point of ripping apart. It’s almost unbearable.

“Idiot…” I mutter through my gritted teeth, fireworks going off behind my eyelids. I keep cumming for what seems like forever, thick strands of semen dripping from her pussy and onto my shaft.

Sighing, she waits for my cock’s spasms to subside, and she finally climbs down from my body. But instead of simply rolling to the side, she goes on her knees and leans forward, her parted lips meeting my now sensitive glans. She takes it in her mouth and sucks hungrily, moving her lips down my shaft and cleaning it dry. As she goes back, my cock pops out of her mouth; she grabs it gently, tilts her head sideways and starts licking the whole length of my shaft before finally scooping up all the cum that pooled at the base.

I lay back as she licks me dry, still trying to catch my breath. I say nothing; idiot, I can’t even think straight right now, pleasure still coating my mind. Jocelyne goes to my side as she finishes, one arm across my chest as she inches closer to me. I turn to her, and she loses no time; she presses her mouth against mine, the salty flavor of my semen hitting me immediately.

We kiss as if there was nothing else in the whole universe but us, the cum in her mouth dripping into mine as our tongues wrestle against one another. When she pulls back, there are a few drops of cum on my chin, making their way down my jawline; smiling, she scoops them up with the tip of her tongue.

“I’m not the only one in need of some cleaning up,” I whisper, my heart still beating like a idiot. My hands on her waist, I turn her around and pull her into me; she doesn’t take long to realize what I intend to do, and climbs on top of me, easing herself down on my mouth. Swaying her hips, she rubs her drenched pussy against my lips, cum dripping down from her folds and into my open mouth. I open it as wide as I can, feeling my warm semen sliding from inside of her and down to my tongue.

We remain like that until her pussy is dry, my mouth brimming with cum. Only then does she roll to the side, looking at me with anxious eyes. I know what she wants, and so I just go ahead and do it. I swallow, the saltiness of my load clawing at my throat on the way down. Jocelyn… This woman drives me insane, that’s a fact. Every time I’m with her is like Christmas.

Throwing herself back on top of the mattress, she presses her body against mine. We say nothing for a long while, simply staring at the ceiling as we hear our own ragged breathing, exhaustion lacing our bodies.

Then, hesitant, I feel her reaching for my hand. She grabs it, gently squeezing my fingers, and I squeeze back. We remain in silence, the long shadows in the room tumbling over our bodies as if they were trying to caress our naked skin. I’ve never been what I’d call a romantic, but this… This right here, this is perfection. Forget everything you have ever heard about poetry, music or paintings; the only art form that can explain love is good old hard. Trust me.

“You’re right…” I finally manage to say, the words coming out of my mouth as if I wanted to say them all along. “There’s no way I’m leaving. No way.” She responds by squeezing my hand harder and I smile absently, knowing that for once I did the right thing. “I can’t be away from you.”

“Neither can I,” she says, whatever there is between us suddenly becoming very real.

43

New York Daily Journal

From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

That’s right, New Yorker, the people have spoken and apparently you can’t get enough of Lance and Jocelyn Anders.

At least that's what internal tracking polls have shown within the Anders For Mayor campaign. Sources inside the campaign are confirming for me what the majority of us think when we’re alone and watching the television: Hizzoner’s bad boy son is hot. And his new wife of less than a year isn’t too bad either. In fact, the photogenic family is one of the major reasons that Mayor Anders is retaining a slim 5-point margin of victory in most head-to-head matches against his mayoral rival, Jim Jenkins.

That’s right. Bad boy Lance better get a car for Christmas, because his good looks and hot body, on display at his father’s side throughout the campaign are attracting New York City voters and propping up his dad’s campaign. His stepmom, Jocelyn, is doing her own good among male voters as well.

When asked in a Fordham University poll who the sexiest person out of both the candidates and their families were, New Yorkers had no divisions among them. 89% agreed that Lance Anders was the sexiest man involved in the mayoral election. An even greater 94% of respondents agreed that Jocelyn Anders was the sexiest woman involved in the race.

49% of New Yorkers even admitted that the reason they showed up to events or tuned in to the news was to catch a glimpse of Lance or Jocelyn Anders.

In fact, my spies inside the Anders campaign tell me with numbers like this, they’re a bit concerned how much people must dislike Hizzoner for the margin of advantage to only be 5% over Jim Jenkins.

We’ve always known that Lance was a bit of a handful. As the prodigal son of the mayor, his biological mother died when he was only 10 years old, and his stepfather has raised him. Over the last several years, the two have been estranged according to family sources, but they’ve seemed to put whatever issues aside for the election as son has been next to father every step of the way. In college, sources tell us Lance lived up to his bad boy credentials, partying and living it up in a big way while also excelling at his studies and playing varsity football for Yale. After college, he went to work at the White House as an intern, but you’ll remember he was caught having sex with the First Daughter and almost started World War III, leading to his dismissal.

Jocelyn, on the other hand, comes from the politically connected Carter clan. Her brother is planning on running for Governor of New York State in two years time. The marriage between Jocelyn and Michael was certainly a whirlwind, and the two tied the knot in a private ceremony in Westchester. While they’ve been seen in public together, a few close to the family hint that there may be troubles beneath the surface between Hizzoner and his wife. But nothing that we’ve found out enough to confirm and print.

But whatever the case, we know we’ll all be watching Lance and Jocelyn as they stand behind Michael. Will that be enough to lead us to vote for Michael? Only time will tell.

That’s all for today, but we’re digging up as much as we can about this election. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

44

Jocelyn

Four.

That’s how many months ago Lance Anders set foot into Michael’s Upper East Side townhouse. How many months since I opened that door and set my sex-starved eyes on that gorgeous body of his. That’s roughly the number of months since I tried walking into his room when he was in the shower. Since I almost gave up on the sofa after he rescued me in the Park. Since my birthday. Since I saw him at the gym and went over to touch his shoulder. Then invited him to my dressing room at Saks. Four months since he first put his giant cock inside of me and shot me into orbit. It’s like I haven’t come down since.

Zero.

That’s how many times Michael has asked and wondered why Lance is still here even though the election is just shy of a month away. Lance was supposed to only stay the summer. But Michael doesn’t care about anything except staying as Mayor. Who knows what he has planned after that, he doesn’t tell me.

Zero is also the number of times that Michael has tried touching me. He just doesn’t care about me. I know I’m beating a dead horse and you get it—Michael may not be into me. Michael may be gay. You’re aware. But listen to me, hun, because this is important to me. I need you to understand this. I’m not the kind of girl who goes around cheating on her husband. I’m not some hussy who sleeps with her stepson because there was nothing good on television during the day. If Michael hadn’t been cheating on me, and it’s pretty obvious nowadays when he walks in, or if he hadn’t forced my father to give me up for marriage, or even with all that, if he had shown me even the slightest bit of affection I would have never looked at Lance as hungrily as I do now.

OK, well, let me rephrase that. I would have looked at him hungrily. I mean, he’s young. And he’s so hot. But I would have controlled myself. I wouldn’t have flirted at the gym. If Michael had even given me a hug in the six months we were married. Forget about. I don’t even want a kiss. A hug. Or a caress. Even a nice word of affection. Anything.

Can you imagine what it’s like to be treated like an employee in your own marriage? To sleep next to a stranger? And if you wake up with your arms and legs wrapped around them to have your partner look at you with disdain and scorn? So much so that you put a pillow between the two of you so it doesn’t happen again?

When I cum my brains out on Lance’s cock, I’m not just doing it to have sex. I’m doing it because I haven’t found love anywhere else in this world. And Lance gives it to me unconditionally.

Five.

That’s how many points separate Michael’s lead from Jim Jenkins. Everyone is confident it should be enough to carry the day. I don’t really pay much attention to it. Lance and I are usually having sex. But we both know we need to keep this relationship a secret till after the election. The public can’t find out. I don’t think Michael would really care at all if he found out I was sleeping with someone. But he would kill me if he lost the election because of me. Then he’d kill my father. Then Lance would most likely kill him. I can see the fire in both men’s eyes. They may not be related to each other, but it burns brightly the same.

Two hundred.

That’s where I lost count when I try to think of all the times that Lance and I have…been together. Ah, we’re all grown up here, right? That’s the number of times he’s messed me. And trust me, multiply at least three orgasms for each time and that’s how many times I’ve cum. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced or felt before. There are simply no words. I’ve quite literally become addicted to Lance Anders. I know there’s an opioid addiction problem in the country now, but to me, Lance is my drug of choice.

At least once a day, sometimes two or three. If Michael is travelling, then even more. The benefit of youth I’ve discovered is that Lance is ready to go at a moment’s notice. And once he’s done, he’s only needing maybe another 15 minutes before he’s ready again. And each successive time the sex is longer and stronger.

You name it, we’ve done it. One afternoon, not long ago, he found me lounging next to our pool in the basement. I was wearing a cute new two piece bikini. Lance had just come back from the gym.

“It’s new,” I said to him, looking at his reaction.

He didn’t hide it, but adjusted himself to show me his huge erection that was tenting his sweat pants. “Looks like you like it,” I said to him, feeling lascivious. I don’t know how I get like that but he completely brings it out in me.

He didn’t say anything that time. Just got on his knees and began to lick my belly, moving my bikini top to the side. Then he proceeded to take his clothes off and idiot me so hard while I ran my fingers and my tongue over those chiseled abs. Those pecs. Those 8-pack abs. I must have cum at least half a dozen times by the time he finally told me he was getting close. I still remember that afternoon because he must have cum in quarts, because he spurted for what felt like forever onto my belly. Imagine your belly covered in warm, hot, gooey, cum. Then imagine yourself using your finger to scoop it up into your while he watches and gets hard.

You can guess what we did after.

Thirty.

That’s how many days ago Lance and I basically went from having sex before we realized that there’s something a lot more real to this relationship. It’s not just him me. I mean, that night when I snuck into his room to keep him from going to Europe—we both sort of knew then. But aside from that one time, we never really talked about it. Until a month ago.

“How many women have you been in love with?” I asked him one day. We had just showered together. He had surprised me while I was in there. But I didn’t mind. I lifted my leg onto the wall and he took me while soaping up my belly. It was a good thing he held me, because when I came, my knees gave way. He ended up holding me as he messed me, completely in control—treating me like a total sex object. I loved it.

But afterwards, as we lay in bed together and watched the sun rise to high noon, I wanted to know more about this young man. I already knew a lot. How his mother died when he was ten. How with no surviving relatives, his stepfather became his primary guardian. The courts allowed it and expedited the process—anything for an up and coming Congressman it seemed. But Lance quickly realized he got a guardian—not a father. His life was a series of boarding schools and visits to New York when photo-ops were needed.

I know about the wild period that Lance had, from high school through college. How he did anything at all to get attention, having been neglected his entire childhood.

“None,” Lance answers my question and pulls me closer to him. “I’m not the falling in love type of guy.”

“Everyone is at some point or another,” I told him. I can’t believe I’m asking him, a man 15 years younger than me. I sound like a teenager! I don’t know why I was so determined to hear him say that. I should be over such things.

“I agree,” Lance said, and looked into my eyes. “I’ve never been in love with any woman.”

I looked back at him, nodding. I could live with the fact that he just viewed this as sex, if it came to that.

“But I’m in love now,” he continued, apparently not noticing my near complete emotional collapse a second earlier. “With this amazing girl I know.”

And, yes, hun. He really did just call me a girl. Not a lady. Not a woman. A ‘hot girl’.

I should have stopped him there, but he wrapped his arms around me and turned to his side. “She’s cute, and funny. She makes my toe so hard I think it’s going to break,” he said to me.

“So romantic, geez,” I said back, rolling my eyes. But I was blushing.

“She’s sweet, kind, and makes me want to protect her,” he kept going, not bothering to care what I said or did in response. “And I want to be with her for the rest of my life.”

“Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?” I asked him, smiling.

“No,” he replied to me and then grinned. “But I lick my stepmom’s pussy with it all the time.”

I gasped. It still puts shivers down my spine as I imagine him telling me that. It’s sinful. But so delicious. It was noon. The sun was streaming in onto our naked bodies. And he was telling me he loved me.

But he was also smirking. And without another word, he pivoted his face lower, showing me with kisses as he traveled down my body.

He kissed down my breasts. And my stomach. Until he reached the folds of my pussy. I sighed. Then gasped.

All of a sudden, he stopped, and looked up at me.

“I love you, Jocelyn,” he said to me. And I still remember the giant smile that went through my face. “In case you didn’t get it from before. You’re that girl.”

I can’t remember much more after that because he made me cum so hard I think I blacked out for a few moments. But I do remember that. And that’s all I need.

Three.

That’s how many days ago Lance and I were out, having lunch at Per Se, when a reporter from the New York Daily Journal stopped by.

“You’re Mrs. Anders,” he said. “Mind if I take a picture with you and your lunch date?”

I know that it was a common term. Lunch date doesn’t have to mean a romantic date. Two people can enjoy lunch together and make a date of it. But is that how Michael would interpret it? Would it hurt the campaign?

All of a sudden, the feeling of absolute joy that I felt a month ago as Lance told me he loved me began to evaporate. Instead I saw the scandal. The newspaper headlines. Michael divorcing me. Running my name through the mud. One thing I knew for sure is that Michael excelled in the politics of personal destruction. And Lance. He would try to go after Lance. And Lance would fight back.

They say there’s a big reason you shouldn’t cheat. I honestly don’t consider myself to be cheating, hun. But I still lied, I think. And it made me feel sick.

I barely managed to excuse myself and make it to the bathroom where I ran into a stall and threw up, heaving until I was exhausted. It wasn’t till at least twenty minutes later I came out again.

One.

That’s how many hours ago I realized that I may have gotten a panic attack three days ago and gotten sick, but it didn’t explain the next morning. Or this morning, for that matter. And I know my body, I can tell when something is different. And the fact that I’m late.

Ten.

That’s how many minutes ago I checked the pregnancy test I bought at Duane Reade. It’s the second one I’ve checked. I went ahead and went downstairs and bought them an hour ago after feeling like it was something I needed to do.

Zero.

That’s exactly how many ideas I have as to what the heck I’m going to do now that I’m pregnant.

45

Jocelyn

It's been an entire week of worrying myself sick, and honestly, I'm physically sick even without all of that worrying. If I smell coffee—something I normally love—it has me running to the bathroom with wave after wave of nausea. If you've never experienced morning sickness, consider yourself lucky. Seriously. It's brutal. Why do they call it 'morning sickness' anyways? Morning, night, afternoon—it doesn't discriminate. It'll hit you whenever and where ever it wants to. And let me tell you, even ordinary things like toothpaste and my favorite perfume make me sick. I tried to set up a spa date with one of my old friends—I thought that maybe I needed to get out, get my thoughts cleared, pamper myself a bit, and re-connect with the people I've been close with—but I couldn't have been more wrong. I had to apologize to the massage therapist for vomiting in her waist basket when I knew I wouldn't make it to the bathroom. I swear, the smell of all those candles with the fragrant lotion just sent me over the top. It was overkill.

I wish I could describe that smell to you, or any smell that gets jumbled to your senses when you have morning sickness because I know what you're probably thinking—spas smell great—and you're right, they do unless you're suffering from an extreme case of morning sickness. But do you want to know what my body thought of the scent? My body treated it like it was the smell of belly-button lint on a hot summer day, or the cognitive dissonance that happens when you think you smell a slice of peperoni pizza, but realize it's someone's body odor. You see what I mean? Not good. Not good one bit. All I can say is that this last week has been a total life adjustment, and the constant worrying just amplifies it a thousand times. I've been feeling so sick every single day that when I saw Michael reading the newspaper this morning during breakfast, it hit me. I have to tell him. I can't put this off any longer. He thinks I've just had a touch of the flu or something all week. How long can I keep that ruse up? You can only lie for so long before it catches up with you, and besides, you want to step off a sinking ship before it's underwater, right? I'd rather sit down and tell Michael what's going on, than have him find out some other way. Honesty is the best policy. I've always believed that. I know you probably don't believe me, given everything that's transpired between Lance and I, and I can't blame you. But I mean it.

I can hear Michael sitting at his desk in his study. My heart is thumping in my chest like a rabbit caught in a steel trap. I'm quietly pacing the hallway. I know I need to just do it. I need to gather every ounce of courage I have and walk into his office. It's now or never, but every time I reach for the door, my hand shakes and I pull it back. What's wrong with me? I've always prided myself on being a strong woman. I need to pull it together. I need to own up to the truth of the matter and speak honestly with my husband. Right now. Do this Jocelyn. I have no idea how he's going to react, but I can't worry about that right now. I step toward the door again. I can hear that he's just finished taking a call and has said goodbye to whoever was on the other line. Now's my chance. I need to step in before he's distracted with something else. I take a deep breath, ignore my hammering heart, and I push the door open.

Michael looks up from the book in front of him. It's a self-help book of sorts about effective leadership. I can tell he's confused. I never walk in here, so I'm sure he's wondering what the heck I'm doing in her now.

"Can I help you?"

The way he asks is so impersonal. It's as if I were walking into a store and a clerk asked me the same thing. It's like we're strangers—guests living under one roof and sharing a bed, but outsiders to one another.

"We need to talk," I say. As soon as I say it, I wish I had used a better set of words. Whenever someone says they need to talk, it casts an ominous shadow over a conversation before it even starts. But I couldn't help it. It was the fist thing to tumble out of my mouth. Can you blame me? It took every ounce of courage I could muster to even get this far. And sure enough, I see Michael frowning. His brow is furrowed into a deep crevice across his face.

"What could you possibly need to talk about right now? Can you see I'm busy? This campaign requires my full attention, Jocelyn."

I feel my entire body twisting into knots. I see that small talk isn't going to work with him, and besides, I don't know how much longer I'm going to last under his penetrating gaze, so I just come out and say it.

"I'm pregnant."

It's like an intense weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and for what seems like an impossibly long amount of time, there's silence. It's a deep and troubling silence. The kind of utter silence that you get on a dark, snowy night where the wind has stopped and no living thing can be heard or seen. I've been told that snow absorbs sound, and now I also feel that words can absorb sound too. I want Michael to say something. Anything. But my confession is met with an unsettling calm. I sit down in one of the chairs and watch the emotions written on his face. There is a moment of total clarity where he truly understands that this baby isn't his. It's impossible, he knows. But then I can see another moment where his mind is working overtime; trying to figure out whose baby this belongs to. There is a moment of pain when he feels the sting of my infidelity, but that's so fleeting that I almost doubt that I saw it. His face then morphs a final time, and this transformation is terrifying. It's hateful and exacting. He folds his hands together on top of his desk and leans back into his chair, carefully keeping his eyes locked on mine.

"Well then, this is cause for celebration—I'm going to be a father again."

At first I don't know what to say. Do I need to remind him that this baby isn't his? I mean, that goes without saying, right? What kind of a game is he playing?

"Michael, I—"

He cuts me off. There's a sharp glint in his eyes. "This is my baby."

"No, this—"

"Our new son will be named Michael Anders Jr. and this is my baby," he says, banging his fist down on top of the desk, his lips snarled.

"And what if it's a girl?"

He ignores my question and continues. "If I ever hear you say otherwise—if you so much as make a hint otherwise—I promise you'll regret the day you met me. I can, and will, bury you."

I’m silent. Michael leans forward.

“And if you ever want to keep any semblance of a father - one who hasn’t been publicly humiliated worse than you can ever imagine, with a wife that’s left him in his old age - if you want to keep your parents as the darlings of society, then you’ll keep your mouth shut, dear wife,” Michael says quietly.

That was the final dagger. It's no use arguing. This will be Michael's baby, and no one will ever think otherwise. I know Michael's a powerful man. He has wealth, power, prestige, and connections. I don't want anyone to get hurt—especially not my father or Lance. There's no way I'll ever tell him that this is actually Lance's baby. He can't know. I don't even want to think about what he'd do to Lance if he knew. I'll take this knowledge to my grave.

"It's no secret that I don't have any interest in you whatsoever," he says. His voice is cold and distant, and even though I've known this to be true for our entire marriage, it still hurts to hear him say it. "But it's important that we keep up appearances for the public—for the sake of this campaign. You will not compromise my bid for mayor."

I watch as he pulls a cigar from his desk drawer and lights it. I never see him smoke anymore. In fact, I thought he quit. I watch as blue smoke fills the room. On the one hand, I'm relieved to no longer be hiding and carrying this secret from Michael, but on the other hand, I know I've only been partially honest and that still sits inside of me like a boulder.

He exhales and continues, "You can't go public." He's like a lion that has cornered its prey. He can feel that power, and it spurs him on. He's opportunistic, and he's out for blood.

"I understand," I say, resigned and submissive.

"Good. Now let's have this baby."

46

Lance

I have a bad feeling. A bad one. Deep inside of me there’s something gnawing, something poking holes in the happiness I’m feeling. I’ve never been a superstitious kind of guy, but I can’t help it… I’m worrying and I don’t even know why. It’s just a bad feeling.

I have no reason to feel like this, though: I’ve met the perfect woman and everything’s going just great between the two of us. We had a rocky start, that’s for sure, but things are better now. Sure, it’s not a perfect situation, with my father and all… But as long as we have each other, everything will work out. Right? Yes, that’s right.

Of course, life never does what you expect it to do.

Worry turns into a sinking feeling in my stomach the moment I get home; Jocelyn is leaving my father’s office, looking down at the floor with an expression that tells me there's bad news coming my way. She shuts the door behind her and heads down the corridor, not even noticing I’m here. I reach for her, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her to me.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong? Something happened with my father?” She stops, dead in her tracks, but doesn’t even look me in the eyes. “Are you okay?” Slowly, she raises her eyes and faces me; her pursed lips a distant impression of her smile.

“Everything’s okay, Lance,” she says, ice coating each one of her words. She takes one step back, forcing me to let go of her. “I just don’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I ask, not liking the direction this conversation is taking. What the heck is going on?

“It’s over, Lance. It was good while it lasted, but…” She licks her bottom lip, pausing while she tries to find the right words, but then just repeats herself. “It’s over.”

“Over? What are you talking about?” I reach for her again, pulling her into the kitchen and slamming the door behind us, making sure that we’re out of my father’s earshot. We can’t be over! What is this nonsense?

Looking at me, Jocelyn manages a faded smile. “We’re over. It’s time to put an end to it. I know you can’t, so I’m doing it for you.”

I stand there like a jerk, looking at her with an expression of pure disbelief on my face. Why is she saying all these things? This doesn’t seem like her.

“Why?” I ask her, the sound of my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. This can’t be happening. She opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it again, almost as if she doesn’t know what to say. Running one hand through her hair, she bites down on her lower lip, and I see her eyes starting to water. I try and reach for her, but she turns her back to me, looking out the window. I don’t even know what to say, so I just wait for her to regain her composure.

“Just go, Lance. You wanted to leave, didn’t you? To go to Europe? So go. There’s nothing holding you here.” She couldn’t be any more wrong about that. How can she even say this when she was the one that asked me to stay?

“I can’t leave. You know that… I can’t leave you,” I say, my heart racing, and this time it isn’t a pleasant feeling. There’s fear in my bones, fear of what’s happening right now. Fear of losing the best thing that has ever happened to me.

“Not anymore, Lance. Just face it: this was fun, but it’s time we both face the real world. You’re just a kid, and I’m your stepmother. What did you think would happen?”

I take one step toward her, and grabbing her arm, make her turn to me. There are tears streaming down her face, and I brush the back of my hand over her wet cheek. Just seeing her cry makes my heart tighten up, rage coursing through me. I just want to punch whomever or whatever is making her feel like this, and the worst part is that I don’t even know where to direct my rage.

“Do you want to know what I think? I think that I love you. I think that I want to be right here, close to you.” She shuts her eyes, and I feel her close to the breaking point. Somehow, she manages to hold her own, even though she’s on the verge of sobbing. I pull her into me, putting my arms around her and holding her tight, my hand on the back of her head. We remain like that for a whole minute, standing in silence as I hear her heart steadily beating against my chest. “It’ll be okay,” I whisper, not knowing if I believe my own words. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay… I love you, that’s all that matters.”

She remains in silence, but then two heartbeats after my words, she pushes me away. Brushing away her tears, she looks me in the eyes, an icy kind of determination there. I feel as if the whole world is crashing around me and I can’t do a thing about it. I’m powerless.

“But I… But I don’t love you. I never did,” she says, the words cutting through me like a knife. My heart tightens inside my chest, and I feel my blood turning into ice. It can’t be true… It’s just not possible. She loves me, I know it.

“You’re lying… Why are you saying these things?” I ask her, feeling as if someone was trying to pull the ground from under my feet. This can’t be happening.

“Lying? You’re just a kid, Lance. I never loved you,” she repeats, the words hitting me like a brick again. If someone ran over me with a tank and then shot me in the chest I wouldn’t feel half as bad as I do right now. “You’re nice to look at, and you sure know what you’re doing between the sheets… But that’s all there is to it. What do you think I was going to do? Throw away a stable life because of a fling with a kid?”

I stand there, my feet glued to the floor as I take in her words. I’m listening, but I do not comprehend any of it. Why the heck is she saying all this? And why the heck is it getting so hard to breathe?

“Then… why did you pretend? Why did you fake it all this time?”

“I never thought you’d actually believe all that. It was just… a fling. Something to keep myself busy. A fantasy. Nothing less, nothing more. And now, it’s time for it to be over.”

With that, she walks past me, hitting me with her shoulder. I don’t turn as she leaves the kitchen, not even bothering to close the door. I remain there for what seems like forever, not knowing what to do. Everything was going so great… And now this.

I think of going after her, but to what end? She seems hell bent on crushing what we had, and I can’t force her to love me.

I take two steps toward the counter and uncap one of the whisky bottles my father keeps around. Reaching for a glass, I pour myself a hefty dose, downing it in one single gulp. Then I pour myself another, giving it the same treatment. It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to rage through my veins, a soothing sensation taking over me.

What the heck do I do now? I was a idiot! What the heck was I thinking? She’s right… Whatever we had between us, it was doomed right from the start. She’s my stepmother, for idiot’s sake! Did I expect my father to give us his blessing? Did I expect the whole world to applaud as we broke all sorts of taboos? How could I be so naive?

But then I remember the first time I saw her, every curve in her body calling to me, her beautiful face like a mirage… Maybe it was wrong, but it was bound to happen.

I leave the kitchen and head to my room, walking up the stairs as if I was in a daze. There, I close the door and sit on the edge of the bed, my eyes wandering to the corner of the room: the suitcase I thought of taking with me to Europe is still there, staring back at me as if it were mocking me.

Maybe she’s right… Maybe I should just pack up, leave, and put everything that happened behind my back. London, Paris, Berlin—all cities brimming with beautiful women… I can go anywhere I want.

But it’s not that simple and, deep down, I know it. I can’t wipe my memory clean and go on about my life as if she had never crossed my life. Because she did. She did...

And now that’s she gone, I’m lost.

47

New York Daily Journal

From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

Well if you ever wondered whether the stork that brings babies had any party affiliation, we now know he may very well be a Republican. That’s all because of the rather timely press release from the Mayor’s office today that he and his wife, Jocelyn Anders, are expecting a child.

That’s right, New York. Hizzoner is going to be a father.

The news of Jocelyn Anders being pregnant is expected now to burnish an already stellar view that the city has of him as a devoted family man. Who can resist a tiny baby wrapped up and looking cute?

It also comes with the added bonus of being impervious to any of the attacks that Mayor Anders’ rival, Jim Jenkins, has thrown at him in the past in terms of politicizing his family just to score points with the voters. You can bet that Michael Anders isn’t going to hesitate bringing out a pregnant Jocelyn to every ceremony and campaign stop now.

But what about the other male Anders in the family? The hot, bad boy? My sources in the Anders campaign confirm he hasn't been seen in the last couple of days, but here’s a bit of juicy gossip for you. Deep cover sources tell me that there was some sort of blow-up between the now pregnant Jocelyn and Lance. Can the pregnancy of his stepmother be vexing for the Mayor’s prodigal son? Well, we don’t know for sure, but it sure looks like it. Is someone possibly getting jealous that they won’t be getting all the attention from his parents? Well, New York, I’ll tell you this; if Lance ever needs attention or thinks he’s being neglected, I’m sure there are a million women in this city who will be more than happy to show him a good time and take care of his every need.

With about a month left until the election, it certainly looks like the Mayor has his re-election in the bag. Since his announcement of his wife’s pregnancy, he’s launched a vast array of proposals designed to better support the working women of the city—a demographic that he’s struggled with in the past. Is it going to be enough to push him over the edge? Well, let’s just say this; if the Mayor plays his cards right, he may actually end up not just winning, but winning with such a landslide vote that he’ll go into the next term with the people of the city united behind him.

But before you start getting comfortable and thinking that it’s time to move on to the next thing competing for your attention, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn’t say that I think there’s still questions that need to be answered. Isn’t it just a little too convenient that this baby is on the way right before the election? And does Hizzoner have any secrets that could end up coming out at the eleventh hour that might take away from his baby bump? A lot can happen in a little under four weeks—and there’s still a lot of balls in the air, so don’t get too comfortable, Gotham. Till we know more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

48

Jocelyn

“This city was built on the values of family,” Michael says to an approving audience. “And it's gotten us through the tough times. We will only be great by continuing to cherish our values and holding ourselves to a higher standard!”

I look toward the clapping and cheering audience. They’re enthusiastically holding signs that read “Bring Back Our Values” and “Anders - Character Counts.”

If they only knew.

“I pledge that my second term in office will see the restoration of the old values that made this city the center of the world,” Michael declares. “And that people who flout those values don’t get a free pass while the rest of the city follows the rules and plays fairly.”

People nod and clap. Michael looks over in my direction. It’s just for a second and it’s a fleeting glance but I know he’s checking on me.

I bring my hands to clap and give a weak smile. It should be enough to let me continue to blend in the background.

Besides, I’m the pregnant wife, remember? I can be excused for having to leave. Or wanting to sit down.

Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.

Every. Single. Morning.

Just saying that I can’t make it due to the pregnancy. That I can’t stand next to this man and smile and clap while he tells the people of the city how much values are important to him.

“My friends, if every one of us cherished the same family values that are under assault, we’d have a stronger, more vibrant city without spending a single cent!”

The crowd loves this. Not surprising. They see a charismatic leader with his pregnant wife standing next to him and they think he’s figured out this world. Well, he's figured it out alright. He’s figured out the art of manipulation. Of blackmail and deceit.

“I know that I personally am a stronger candidate since Jocelyn got pregnant,” Michael says, running out the tired phrase all over again. He’s got to remind New Yorkers about his pregnant wife. In case they missed it on the ads that are on the subways, buses, and taxis. Or the commercials playing on television. “She tells me I have to be home by 8 pm so you know what it makes me do? It makes me work harder and get up earlier. So I can be there for her exclusively in the evening.”

Yesterday Michael didn't even come home in the evening. I only saw him this morning, wearing the same clothes. He looked well rested and I knew he had been with someone else. He didn’t even think to explain it to me. He just nodded in my direction and went to shower as I watched him silently.

As he was showering, I looked at his clothes. I still remember the smell of the cologne. It took me all of two seconds to know where I’ve smelled it before—that’s Kenneth’s signature fragrance.

I mean, how many times has Lance told you about Michael cheating on me. How many times have I?

But I’m sorry, hon. I don't mean to come across like what I just sounded like. I’m not trying to be a jerk.

And before you tell me it’s okay, I’m not upset that Michael is cheating on me with a man. I’m really okay with that part, if you can believe that. I mean, God works in mysterious ways. If Michael is attracted to Kenneth, or to another man, me spreading my legs and flashing my belly isn’t going to work on him. Considering that he’s never even kissed me, I don’t really feel betrayed or hurt.

No, what really riles me more than anything else is that Michael gets to go have his fun while the one man that I want—that I crave—is out of my reach. The one man…

“Lance, my son,” Michael booms and just hearing that name snaps me back to reality. I don't really care what crock of trash Michael’s feeding them. I want Lance. I want his arms around me. I want him squeezing me against his hard body. I want to feel his giant cock pulsing against my pussy as he grabs my rear and squeezes it. I want that salty semen of his to fill me up, like it has so many times. I want to ride him until he makes me cum and the world’s problems melt away.

And then afterwards, I want him to hold me as I bask in contented satisfaction. In his arms, I know that I was happy.

“Lance,” Michael continues. “Couldn’t be here today, because he's doing some important work for the campaign in the Bronx, but I’m sure that even he would agree that his life has turned around greatly since he’s come home and had the stability of family.”

Now that’s a low blow. Michael not only neglected his stepson to the point where Lance acted out. But now he’s taking credit for Lance’s turnaround?

You know what, I really don’t care anymore. I miss the man who's the love of my life. But I can’t be with him because I’m blackmailed into staying in a loveless marriage. To have a baby for a man that’s hiding his identity from the world.

“Lance would be the first person to agree that a happy, trusting, and honest home is what makes him successful,” Michael says.

I can’t help but scowl. There are times that I hate this man. They seem to be happening more and more frequently. If there was only some way to get out of…

“Not liking what you hear?” a voice whispers into my ear.

It’s too low to be caught by the crowds or the cameras.

I turn around slightly to see Kenneth standing next to me.

My first thought is if it looks odd that Kenneth is talking to me during Michael’s speech. But after doing plenty of these campaign stops I realize that form the crowd it’ll only look like logistical discussions between members of the campaign. They’re fixated on Michael’s oratory. Not on me.

“Did you not hear me, Mrs. Anders?” Kenneth asks again. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of the Mayor.”

Now my body freezes. I don’t know if it’s fear. Kenneth isn’t one to inspire fear. He’s more catty than anything else. But there is caution. And wariness. Whereas Lance could kill someone if he got angry enough, I know Kenneth could meticulously plan their complete destruction.

“Your posture is telling me that you can not only hear me, but that I’m right,” Kenneth says and this time I turn toward him.

“What do you want, Kenneth?” I hiss under my breath. I can hear the audience break out into cheers and applause at one of Michael’s lines and I only hope that I wasn’t supposed to be smiling and waving.

But the moment passes and Michael continues on. Kenneth simply looks at him. “I want what’s mine,” he says to me. “I want to be with the man I’ve fallen in love with, and the man you’re trying to take away with that fake pregnancy of yours.”

“What makes you think this baby is fake, Kenneth?” I ask him.

He smiles at me sardonically. “Silly rabbit, I know you’re really pregnant, but I know that’s not Michael’s baby.”

Now the hairs are rising on the back of my neck. If Kenneth knows that this child isn’t Michael’s then who else knows. And if Michael thinks I told, then all bets are off. He’ll go after dad as easily as he throws away garbage.

The look must be translating across my face because Kenneth lowers his voice.

“Relax, Jocelyn,” he says to me. “No one gossiped, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It is. But if no one has been gossiping, then who could…

“As far as everyone knows, you and Michael are in so much love,” Kenneth says. “And you're expecting that child like two proud and happy parents. It makes me sick.”

How does Kenneth know?

“And in case you were wondering, I heard about your baby straight from the horse’s mouth,” Kenneth says, his eyes traveling to Michael. There’s an inescapable look of lust in them. Michael has just finished a line and the crowd is clapping again. He turns his head slightly and sees Kenneth and I speaking. “That’s right. Straight from the horse’s mouth. As he was me doggy.”

I cringe at the thought of my husband having pillow talk with this man. He’s so slimy.

“And Michael told me it was a secret, sure,” Kenneth says, gently touching me on the arm. But there’s no warmth to it, despite what it may look to the crowd. “But I don’t like it.”

At last, I get the courage to reply back.

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter if you don’t like it, hun,” I tell Kenneth. “If that’s what Michael wants.”

The fingers squeeze harder on my hand.

“Michael doesn’t know what he wants half the time until I tell him,” Kenneth says. “He doesn't realize that you don't deserve him. He doesn't understand that the population of this city doesn't care who he’s sleeping with.”

I remain silent as Kenneth continues. “But that’s fine. He doesn’t have to make the hard choices. That’s why he has me. And I’m making the choice for how he has to deal with you, Mrs. Anders.”

“What do you mean?” I ask Kenneth. His eyes are looking at me coldly, evaluating me.

“You’re no good for him,” Kenneth says to me matter-of-factly. “If anyone ever finds out that baby isn’t his, it could mean ruin politically for his future. We’d be stopped at the mayoral level.”

“We?” I ask, with an arched eyebrow.

The crowd cheers again and Kenneth waits until it dies down.

“You need to leave him,” Kenneth says to me.

I shake my head. I can’t do that. He doesn't know the conversation Michael and I have already had.

“I don’t think you understand, Jocelyn,” Kenneth says to me, looking at me shaking my head. “Michael may have threatened you, and he may carry through it, but it’s nothing compared to what I’ll unleash on you if you don’t leave him.”

Now I’m curious. What's worse that Kenneth could do?

“I’ll not only expose your father, but I’ll pull enough strings that when you finally do have that baby, Social Services will come take it away because you’ll be an unfit mother,” Kenneth hisses. “And Michael will be long gone after that trash comes out. He won’t be able to protect you.”

I’m frozen as I hear the words that my baby might be taken away.

“Sure, you’ll be able to deny that the baby isn’t yours, but once Michael starts getting hit, he’ll throw you overboard to save himself. And then no one will be around to defend you, dear,” Kenneth says, taking a moment to pause and look into my eyes.

“You won’t win in this situation, so it’s time to make sure you end up losing the least,” he tells me. I’m still frozen. In shock. Awe. Disgust. Revulsion. “But Mrs. Anders, if you cooperate with me and do exactly what I tell you to do, maybe you can mitigate some of those losses.”

I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. My baby is being used as a bargaining chip.

“If you leave Michael, and do it convincingly, and make the world believe you guys split,” I’ll not only not hurt you, I’ll help you land on your feet after Michael starts destroying your father.

I stare at him.

“But you only have one week to end things with Michael,” Kenneth concludes. “One week to break off your ties to that man.

I wonder if I’m in a weird twisted dream brought about by pregnancy. I can’t believe just a few weeks ago I was routinely enjoying mind-numbing sex with Lance. And now, this?

“Why?” I ask, simply. That’s all I need to know.

Kenneth seems to consider a moment before answering, “Because I love that man in ways you would never understand,” he replies. “And I want what’s mine without you taking it away from me.”

I try to reply, but Michael finishes his speech and the crowd goes wild. News reporters and bodyguards crowd around us with the reporters asking questions or taking pictures and the bodyguards ushering off the stage.

I know Kenneth wants to speak more, but he just looks at me and says, “One week,” before a bodyguard comes over and ushers me off the stage and toward the waiting limo.

One week in which to end a marriage.

And lose my soul at the same time.

But anything to protect my baby.

No, our baby. Lance’s and mine.

Our baby.

49

Lance

Since Jocelyn broke up with me that I haven't been the same. How could I? It might be a dumb thing to say, but she ripped my heart out and stepped all over it. And I still can't take her out of my mind. I'm going crazy here, that much I can tell you.

I thought of packing my trash up and catching the first plane out of the States, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not yet, at least. Not while my mind is in tatters. Before I make a decision, I need to unwind, and what better way to unwind than to be in a place packed to the ceiling with hot hussies? That's exactly the reason I'm out tonight. Yes, that's right; Lance Anders is back, ladies. At least for today.

"Whisky, neat," I ask the bartender, leaning on the counter and scanning the dance floor. The nightclub is completely packed, and since I've chosen one of the most exclusive venues in New York, it's packed with hot young ladies. Just what I need right now—women, bright lights and loud music.

A few of the women on the dance floor are already eyeing me, but I don't feel like going up to them. If they're that interested, they can be the ones to approach me, and they can also buy me a drink, once they're at it. It’s a brave new world, ladies, idiot chivalry. Yeah, I’m in a foul mood, in case you still haven’t noticed. Can you blame me? Thought so.

"You're Lance Anders, aren't you?" I hear someone say from the side. I turn toward whoever is talking to me—a twenty-something blonde wearing a dress so tight it should be illegal. Her belly are almost jumping out of her bra, and her eyes tell me everything that I need to know; she's on the look for some action tonight, and she has set a target on me. Maybe she thinks I'm famous, maybe it's because I'm better than all the chumps in this place. Whatever it is, I don't give a idiot. She’s hot and has the curves to prove it, so she gets my acknowledgement.

"That's me. Lance Anders," I tell her, gulping down the whisky the bartender has set in front of me. I point to the glass and ask him for another one. He could just leave the bottle, as far as I'm concerned, but I don't want to look like a drunken jerk, even though that's probably what I am right now: a drunk with his heart in pieces. Yeah, yeah, I’m a cliché, get over it.

Moving subtly, she comes up to me, laying her hand on my arm. She's trying to reel me in, and I might just let her do it. I mean, why the heck not? It’s not like I owe it to someone to be faithful. Not anymore.

"I've heard about you," she tells me, a lewd smile on her lips, a hint of white teeth showing. Her eyes wander all over my body, and I can almost bet the hussy is picturing me naked. If I had a dollar for every time a woman looks at me like this, I’d rolling in money.

"Yeah, what did you heard about me?" I ask her, turning my attention to the whisky in front of me. She's hot, I'll give her that, but it's not like I'm interested right now. It's weird, to be honest; if this were happening before Jocelyn came into my life, I'd already be taking her to the bathroom so that I could harass her brains out. I’d make her moan, I’d make her come; I’d spray my cum all over her face without even worrying about how she’d look like when leaving the club. Yeah, I’m a jerk, didn’t you know that already? I'm not saying that something like it won't happen, but it's going to take a lot more than her just knowing my name. I'm flattered, sure, but please try harder.

"I've heard... rumors," she says, licking her lips wantonly, almost as an invitation to slide my cock deep in her mouth. "I was wondering if there's some truth to them."

Rumors—yeah, they spread like wildfire. My mind automatically translates what she's saying, and the true meaning behind her words is twofold: is my cock as big as people say, and do I want to harass her? The answer to the first question is yes, to the second one is maybe. Hey, I’m not ruling out a thing.

"My name is Samantha," she tells me, replying to a question I didn't make. I look at her, expressionless, and take a sip of my whisky. She doesn't seem taken aback by my silence and, in fact, takes it as encouragement. "I live just around the corner. Five minutes by cab." Well, this one is as blunt as they come. I like that. I mean, I would like it more if I could get Jocelyn out of my mind, something that's starting to look more and more like an impossible mission.

Idiot! I need to man the heck up, and I need to do it right now. Why the heck am I sitting here, wallowing like a little girl? I'm Lance Anders, and I'm better than this. It’s time go crazy.

"Do you have a goldfish?" I ask her, grinning as I take the whisky to my lips. Her eyes widen, and she finally seems taken aback, surprised by my response.

"A goldfish? I... No, I don't have one," she replies, not knowing what else to say.

"That's a pity. Because if you had one... You could take me to your apartment... so that you could show it to me. I have a weak spot for goldfish." Her eyes widen some more, but then she smiles, realizing what I'm saying. Yeah, it's true; these girls will go for something as dumb as what I just said. It's not like I needed to say it, though, she was already down for taking me to her place... But why ruin the fun? I just love to mess with cock-hungry women like her.

"Oh. I was being silly. Of course I have one... I completely forgot about. And I'd love to show you my goldfish." Oh, I bet you would... I bet you would. Maybe seeing her, ahem, goldfish is exactly what I need right now.

"Well, lead the way," I tell her, downing the rest of my whisky in one single gulp and giving the bartender a neatly folded bill, tip and all. She grabs my hand and pulls me in, turning her back to me and guiding me through the crowd. I follow after her, and a few girls stop dancing as we go through—first they eye me, and then they turn to Samantha, jealousy flickering in their eyes. Nasty creatures, women.

Finally emerging on the other side of the dance floor, we go past the bouncers and out the door, into the cold air of the street. She holds my arm as if I were her boyfriend, her body close to mine. I hail for a taxi, and we get inside; she tells the driver the directions, placing one hand on my knee as she leans toward the opening in the divider. I'm definitely in a off mood; if this was any other day, I'd already have my hand on her pussy, and I would make her cum at least once before we got to her place. Well, at least I’m going to her place, so I guess that's a victory.

Just like she said, five minutes and the taxi stops in front of an apartment building. I pay the driver. a rastafari guy with a thick accent, and he gives me a wink and a nod, knowing that I'm about to score. Thanks, random taxi driver, I appreciate the support.

Samantha and I leave the taxi and I follow after her as she gets inside the building. She calls the elevator and we step inside as the doors open with a subtle ding. Inside the cramped metal box, she grabs my arm again, looking up at me expectantly. I simply smile, not giving her the reaction she's expecting. If this were a good day, she'd be having her second orgasm of the day before the elevator reached its destination. As it is, all I manage to do is smile at her. Pathetic.

We get inside her tiny apartment, and she doesn’t even bother with turning the lights on. The moment she shuts the door she’s on me, her huge belly pressing against my chest as she looks into my face expectantly. Her eyelids start to droop, and she parts her lips, waiting for me to lean in and kiss her. Goodness, why is my heart racing? Idiot, and it isn’t racing because I’m getting hard, let me tell you that. It’s racing because this is wrong! What the heck am I doing here? Idiot!

I take one step back, pushing her away from me. Her eyes widen, confusion taking over her face.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks, fear settling in.

“Yeah,” I say at once. “Where’s the goldfish?” With that, I turn on my heels and bolt.

I leave her there, completely stunned, and enter the elevator without even bothering to look back. This was harsh of me, I know, but idiot…! When she pressed her body against mine, one name echoed in my mind: Jocelyn’s. I love her. What the heck was I thinking, going out at night looking for trouble? The woman I love is at home.

She told me it was over. She told me I was nothing more than a fling. But her words don’t ring true, and idiot me if I’m going to give up on her without going to the bottom of this!

As I step out into the cold New York streets, there’s a look of determination on my face. I feel renewed. My head is clear, my heart is in the right place: I’m not giving up on the woman I love. The situation might be a messed up one, if I take my father into consideration, but I don’t give two idiots about that.

For the first time in my life, I know what the word love means. And it means everything.

50

Jocelyn

This is my first major appointment. Where is he? I take my phone out of my purse and tap it on. The screen comes to life and my eyes scan for the time. 2:15. Michael's late. It looks like he isn't even going to show up, and I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He wasn't particularly interested in joining me today, but during breakfast this morning, he opened his newspaper and without so much as looking in my direction, he agreed to come to keep up appearances. "Maybe a reporter will see us walking out of the office," he said, almost to himself. Is that really all he thinks about?

"Mrs. Anders, we're ready for you." My mind snaps back to the present.

I look up from my phone and see a nurse holding a clipboard. Well, it looks like I'll need to handle this appointment solo. He's definitely not going to show up. I gather my things—phone, keys, and purse—and head back. The nurse begins by taking my vitals—weight, temperature, and blood pressure. She asks me an assortment of personal questions, such as when my last period was, and whether or not I smoked or drank prior to conception, and if I'm taking pre-natal vitamins. It almost feels like an interrogation. I'm not used to this. After answering, she instructs me to undress and put on an unflattering paper gown—it' a far cry from the dresses in my wardrobe—and then she says that the doctor will be with me shortly. As I'm lying on the exam table, my mind starts to race again. I mean, here I am, pregnant with another man's baby, and to top it off, that man happens to be my stepson. How did my life take this turn? But before I can mentally answer that, I hear a soft knock at the door, and my OBGYN walks in. He's in his mid-50s with a bushy white mustache. He has a jovial twinkle in his eyes.

"Are you ready to see your baby today?" he asks with more enthusiasm than I expected.

Wait. I didn't realize I was going to see anything at this appointment, and I'm immediately nervous. "I am," I say, simply. Shouldn't I be feeling more excited?

"There won't be a whole lot to see, but because you are at approximately the 6-week point, we should see a heartbeat."

"Oh wow."

"Pretty great, right?"

I nod my head.

"But before we take a look, I'd like to review your chart with you. I see that you're 36 years old. I don't want to scare you, but we consider that advanced maternal age, so we need to closely monitor things."

Did he just say 'advanced maternal age'? What is that supposed to mean? Am I really that old? He notices my alarm and quickly finishes with, "But you look fantastic. I see you're in great physical health and I don't foresee any problems, so let's go ahead and take a look. Lie back. I'm going to use this wand. We call it a 'magic wand.'" He says this and chuckles. I'm not sure whether to laugh or not. Is he planning to stick this wand inside of me? I watch as he rolls a condom down the wand and lubes it up. Yep, he's definitely sticking this inside of me. I try to relax and keep my eyes on the small screen to my right side. Within a few moments, a black and white image appears, followed by a fast, rhythmic sound that seems to glow white.

"That's the baby's heart beat."

I squint my eyes and gaze at the screen. There, right in the middle, is a small image that resembles a gummy bear and sure enough, there is a beating heart. I'm not an overly emotional person, but when I see that, I cry. A mixture of emotions are surging through me—love, fear, resolve, courage—you name it. I wipe my eyes, carefully avoiding my mascara.

"It happens to everyone," the doctor says. "The first appointment is always emotional."

"You can say that again," I laugh. I wonder what Michael would've thought or felt, standing in this room today. But now I'll never know.

Once the appointment is over, I drive back home. On the seat next to me is a printed sonogram picture. The doctor gave it to me so that I could share it with Michael, although I doubt he'll care. I keep this picture in my hand as I walk into our home. The hall light is on, which is strange. Michael must already be here.

"Hello?" I call out. There's no reply. I walk upstairs. I still don't hear anyone, but I can smell a hint of cologne and there are a number of different lights on throughout the house. It's not Michael's cologne that I smell, but still something familiar. Where do I know that smell?

I walk toward his study. There's a light on. He must be answering emails or reading one of his books. I turn the knob and push the door open. What I see in the middle of the room makes me drop the picture in my hand, and it flutters to the ground.

"Oh idiot, yes," Michael says. He's sitting in his chair, and there's a man's face in his naked lap. His hands are buried in the man's dark hair, and he's rhythmically pushing it down on his cock. I recognize the man as Kenneth. Now I recognize the cologne.

"Come for me," Kenneth growls. I can hardly believe what I'm seeing. I knew Michael and Kenneth were having an affair, but I never thought they'd bring it here. Michael grunts and cums hard into Kenneth's mouth until he's completely drained, every last drop. It seems I arrived just in time for the finale. His cock spasms, and I watch as it dies down. I can see thick strands of cum drip from his mouth, and coat his tongue and lips. Kenneth is still on his knees and gets up slightly, placing his hands affectionately on Michael's chest. "You can have this every day—you are I, pure bliss—just say so. We can be happy together," Kenneth says, and then leans in to Michael, pressing his lips to him. He brushes his tongue against his lips, and Michael sucks it eagerly, cleaning it of the cum that covers it.

It is only at that point that both men notice my presence at the doorway. They both pull away from each other and gaze at me, wordless. There is a thickness to the silence, and for a moment, no one knows what to do. Kenneth seems pleased that I've just witnessed it all. A sly grin dances across his face. Michael is stunned, and debates how he should respond. I can almost see his mind working overtime. Then he finally speaks, "Really now, Jocelyn. Don't look so surprised." He bends down and picks up his pants, carefully pulling them on, one leg at a time.

"You were supposed to be at the doctor appointment with me today."

"I changed my mind," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. "And besides, this was only a fair turn of events. While you go off and idiot—who—no, I don't even want to know—whoever it is that you're, I'll get mine."

I look at Kenneth and he nods his approval. He looks ecstatic and casually runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place. I bet this was his idea to be here, in this house, with Michael today. It would make sense.

"As you wish," I say, all emotion hidden. I tell myself that I shouldn't care. This was always a marriage of necessity. A favor for my father. I've never loved Michael and he's never loved me.

Michael clears his throat and says, "Good, now if you know what's good for you, you'll close that door and run along."

51

Lance

Sometimes, love means letting go.

I swear, I tried. After that awful night out, I went home ready to take on the world. I wouldn’t let anything get in the way—in my mind, Jocelyn and I were meant to be together, and I wouldn’t allow for that not to happen. Of course, that was nothing more than a childish thought. It hurts to put it like this, but she was right: I’m nothing more than a kid, and I was living nothing more than a fantasy.

But there’s one thing that I won’t let go of: I love her. I love her. With all my being. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever love another woman like this. It’s just impossible. So why am I not going after her? I’m astonished that you still have to ask. Have you read the newspapers? Have you seen the news on TV? She’s happy. Happy. Swear to heaven, it hurts like a idiot to say it, but Jocelyn is happy. And she’s carrying my father’s child. Let me put it like this so you can understand it: I’m going to have a brother. How can I come crashing into her life now? How can we ever be together like this? Idiot, I’d do anything to have her with me, but I won’t ruin her happiness… I won’t. It might cost me my own happiness, but I don’t give a idiot. As long as she’s all right, the world will keep spinning on its axis…

That’s why I left in the middle of the night, not bothering to tell a soul that I was leaving. I packed my trash up in a duffel bag and called a cab. Half an hour later I was checking in at the Plaza, laptop propped up on my knees as I booked a flight to London.

Yeah, that’s right, come tomorrow morning, I’m getting the heck out of New York. Maybe being on the other side of the planet, as far from her and my father as I can get, will help. Or maybe it won’t. Whatever, I’ll take the British night by assault and I’ll work through everything by going back to being good ol’ Lance Anders.

Yeah, sure, I know what you’re thinking. Things didn’t exactly go the way I intended the last time I tried to work through things like that. But, listen, this isn’t the way I wanted things to go. But what do you want me to do? Try and break Jocelyn and my father apart, now that they’re waiting for a child? I’m a jerk, sure, but I’m not a evil mongrel. I have limits. It might not look like it, but there’s a conscience inside this pretty head of mine. Don’t believe me? Well, forget you then.

Laying here on the bed of my hotel room, my head is racing, going at an hundred miles per hour. My mind is brimming with scattered thoughts, a big gaping hole in my chest. Inside my heart, there’s emptiness. I never felt like this. Never.

There’s a knock on my door, but I don’t even bother with it. I’m crushed right now. Sprawled on top of the bed, I’m just staring at the ceiling while the seconds go by. It’s not like I’m busy, but I won’t let room service interrupt me. Besides, I have the “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging outside the door, so these jerks can go harass themselves.

There’s another knock, this time louder. Goodness, do not disturb means do not disturb, what’s so hard about it? I sit up on the bed and, sighing, go up to my feet and walk to the door. I’m already in a foul mood, and having someone knocking at the door isn’t helping. While I’m crossing the room, whoever is on the other side starts to knock more insistently. Hell.

“I’m on my way,” I say, feeling more and more pissed by the second. What the heck? Can’t I wallow by myself for one minute? Let a man be, for idiot’s sake. Seething, I grab the handle, turning it. The door swings open and my heart almost stops beating.

“Hello, Lance.” I have to blink twice in order to be sure that I’m not dreaming. Jocelyn? What the heck is she doing here? “Going somewhere?” Yeah, the other side of the planet.

“London,” I tell her without thinking. I’m still dazed by the fact that she has managed to track me down. “How the heck did you find me here?”

“Your father’s name carries some weight,” she says with a smile. “That and you left a booking note on your bed stand.”

Idiot.

“Yeah, alright. That doesn’t explain why you came halfway across the city to bang on my door,” I tell her, stepping aside and letting her walk into the room. I turn my back to her and head to the bed, sitting on the edge while I prepare for her speech. No hard feelings, yada yada, and some trash more. I’ve given that speech countless times, but I never actually thought I’d end up on the receiving end of it. Karma can be a jerk, let me tell you.

“I came to stop you.”

“Stop me?” I raise one eyebrow at her. Does she think I can stay in New York, living under the same roof as her and my father? I’m not a masochist, thank you very much. I’d jump out of the building before I let that happen.

“You can’t leave,” she insists, an expression of desperation taking over her face. Her beautiful face. Idiot, I just want to take her into my arms right now. Okay, be strong, Lance. You can do this.

“I sure can. I’m leaving in the morning. And before you ask, I didn’t buy a return ticket. One way only.”

“You can’t,” she repeats, a sense of urgency in her words. She’s desperate. Why? She takes two steps toward me, looking me in the eyes. “I love you, Lance. Please don’t go.”

Goodness, what the heck is going on? Where the heck is this coming from? I look into her eyes, trying to decipher if she’s playing me, tugging on my rope just to string me along. But what I see there has nothing to do with that—there’s only truth there.

“But--”

“I know,” she says, cutting me short. “I said awful things. Terrible things. I meant none of it. And I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Lance. I wish I could take it all back.”

“Then why the heck would you say those things?” I ask her softly, still not sure where the conversation is going. Even if she loves me… She’s carrying my brother in her belly, for idiot’s sake. And if she loves me, that makes it all even more depressing. Because now there’s no way we’ll be able to be together.

“Because… I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do. When I found out that I was pregnant, I… I told your father and… I had no choice, Lance. He was so mad over it…”

Mad? He was beaming during the pregnancy announcement. The old mongrel was over joyous, telling the whole world he was going to have another heir. The prick hates it that I’m his only son, a burden to his political aspirations. Unless… Oh, idiot. Oh, idiot. It can’t be.

“Don’t tell me that…?” I ask her, my heart racing. Goodness, I think I’m going to be sick. She simply nods, hesitant. Holy idiot, am I dreaming? Please tell me that I’m not dreaming. “I’m going to be a father?”

“You’re going to be a father, Lance,” she tells me, a tender smile lighting her face up. Suddenly, the whole world stops spinning. I’m going to be a father! My heart is ready to burst. Happiness floods me and I smile, going up to my feet. I grab her by the waist and pick her up, spinning her across the room.

“I’m going to be a father!” I laugh, overjoyed. Can you imagine it? A little Lance running around, peeking under the girl’s skirts! Or maybe a little Jocelyn, ready to dazzle the whole world with her looks and smarts! Idiot, this started as the worst day of my life—and it became the very best one.

“I love you. I love you so much,” I tell her, placing my hands on her cheeks as I put her on the floor.

“I love you too,” she whispers into me, that desperation no longer on his face. There’s only happiness there, making her even more beautiful, as if that could be possible. I press my mouth against hers, the touch of her lips marking the best day of my life.

I’m going to be a dad!

52

Jocelyn

“I love you. I love you so much!” Lance says, his words like honey and wine. They’re curt and perfect, and above all, they are everything I need to hear. After everything that I told him, after trying to drive him away… That’s the thing with love, I think. He can’t be driven away when it really exists.

“I love you too,” I tell him, my heart brimming with happiness. “But I want you to prove it to me,” I say with a smile, taking one step toward him, our mouths just two inches away from each other. Smiling back, he brushes the back of his hand against my face, tucking a stray lock of hair over my ear.

“I’ll do more than that,” he tells me, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. I feel that familiar spark of pleasure running through me, the touch of his mouth on mine is one of the sweetest things I have ever experienced in my entire life. “Close your eyes,” he says, pulling back from me.

“Why?” My heart is starting to beat faster, anxiety crawling under my skin as every fiber of my body starts to ache for him.

“Just do it.” I comply, my eyelids drooping before he even finishes speaking. There’s something in the tone of his voice. He showed up in my life as young brash boy, but he’s maturing. He’s shaping up into a man, one who towers above all other mortals. But, in the end, it doesn’t matter how much he grows up: he will always be my Lance.

I hear him walk across the room, his sure footsteps taking him away from he. He rummages through something—one of his travel bags, I assume—and then walks back toward me. I tremble slightly as he presses something over my face, soft fabric brushing against my skin. He places it over my eyes and runs it around my head, tying the slender piece of fabric tightly. It’s a tie, an expensive one, judging by the smoothness of it.

“Now, turn around,” he whispers into my ear, his lips so close they almost brush against it. I turn on my heels, still feeling his warm breath against my neck. My skin prickles as I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on my back, sliding over my shoulder blades until they meet the zipper on my dress, right below my neck. Slowly, he grabs the fastener and starts pulling it down, the sound of it like a melody. My naked back turned to him, he places his hands on my shoulders and gently pulls the straps down my arms, the dress drooping and falling over my chest, hanging by my waist.

I say nothing. I simply lick my lips in anticipation as he runs his fingers up my arms, hooking them on the straps of my bra and pulling them down just like he did with my dress. He unclasps it and lets it fall from my body onto the floor, my naked nipples pulsing with raw desire.

Breathing softly but at a growing pace, I’m covered in goose bumps, desire burying its long fangs. Lance is taking his time; we’re not hiding or rushing anymore, and that makes me even more anxious for his touch … for his body.

“You look lovely,” he whispers, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. Sliding his fingers over my back, he hooks them on the bunched up fabric on my waist, carefully pushing the dress down my legs. As I feel the fabric hitting the floor, I step out of it, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever. I’m only wearing my tiny lace thong and my heels and I feel more naked than ever before. He has seen me naked countless times, but I could always look into his eyes, take in his reaction. Right now, there’s only darkness—that and the warm maddening touch of his fingertips.

“I want to see you,” I say, suddenly realizing that I’m breathing way harder than I expected.

“I know,” he runs one lazy finger over the contour of my thong, moving it around my waist and then tracing the curve of my buttocks. “But there’s nothing for you to see now… You can only feel.”

There’s a wetness building in me, one stemming from the desperate need for him that’s pooling in my mind. I feel vulnerable right now … Vulnerable and wet. Could there be a more perfect combination?

Grabbing my hands, he moves me across the room; I follow after him, almost as if I were on a leash, and stop when he does.

“Sit down,” he says, and my body responds immediately, my knees bending at the sound of his words. I have no idea where I’m standing, but I trust him… Who wouldn’t trust Lance? I sit down, my buttocks finding the soft mattress underneath them. It shifts softly under my weight, and my mind starts to imagine how it would feel to be pinned down between the sheets and Lance’s body. “Now lay down,” he continues, no longer touching me. My heart beating faster and faster, I climb on top of the bed, lying back as he instructed me to.

There are a few seconds of silence, and my head starts to spin; it’s maddening to have no idea what’s going on around me… In a good way. A very good way.

“You can’t imagine the view I have,” Lance says, the sound of his voice telling me that he’s standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at my almost naked body.

“You can have more than just a view,” I say, my lips curling into a smile. As far as I’m concerned, he can have whatever he wants. I might be much older than he is, but I’m more than willing to make all his wishes come true. How could I not? Just being here with him, wearing just a thong, heels and a blindfold… This is a dream come true right here.

“I intend to.” I feel the mattress shifting again, his weight now added to mine as he climbs on the bed. Still, he doesn’t touch me. His sweet breath is on my neck, and I can almost sense the electricity between my skin and his lips. I sigh heavily, anxious to feel something—anything.

“Patience,” he whispers, brushing one finger over my outer thigh. He slides it up from there to my shoulders, tracing the same path back down. I pant, my body as warm as if I were lying in a bed of coals. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I don’t want to wait,” I blurt out, feeling my heart pounding inside of my head. I can barely think straight.

“Well, what other choice do you have?” He lays his lips against my neck, my skin prickling as a response. “None. None at all.” Tracing the contour of my jawline with his lips, he finally brushes them against my own. He pulls on my bottom lip with his teeth then, placing one finger between my breasts and running it down to my navel.

This is absolute torture. The sweetest kind there is. He knows I want him desperately, that both my mind and body are boiling with desire, but he won’t bend to my whims; he keeps moving his finger up and down my body, his tongue softly darting between my lips as I struggle to keep control. I’m already grabbing at the sheets, my hands balling into fists as I do my best to keep still.

“Don’t move,” he says, almost as if he could feel the inner struggle raging inside of me. “Don’t make me tie you up… Because I will.” My insides clench at his words, and I wonder how good it would be to have both hands and feet tied up, my naked body his to use as he pleases… I’m growing wetter by the second, my thong feeling sticky as it hugs my soaked pussy.

He starts to stroke my skin with his finger, gently caressing the patch of skin between my breasts. I’m aching for him to grab them, to squeeze them firmly under his hands… But he keeps teasing me, circling the base of my breasts in the most torturous way, never going over the curve that leads to my nipples.

“Please,” I mutter. I’m on the verge of begging now. Oh, I know it’s coming, but the wait has me knee deep in the insanity of lust. My nipples are aching, the hard rosy tips screaming inwardly for release. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to restrain myself. I’m tugging at the sheets as harshly as I can, bunching them up in my hands as my body squirms.

“Please? Begging already?” he asks me, and I can picture the wicked grin I know he has on his delicious lips. “What is it that you want so much?”

“I…” I start, but I have no idea on how to finish the sentence. What do I want? Where do I even start, and is ‘I want it all’ a valid answer? Because I do want it all. I want to feel his lips wrapped around my nipples, his tongue and fingers on my pussy, his cock over my tongue and then sliding down my pussy. I want everything, and I want it now.

“You… I want you. All of you,” I finally manage to say, the words falling off of my lips like the most genuine thing I have ever uttered.

“I’m right here,” he says, slowly moving his fingertip over the curve of my right breast. “You already have me.” His finger hikes all the way up, stopping just before it touches my nipple. I sigh again, almost delirious as he starts to trace slow tortuous circles around my hard tip.

“I bet no one ever made you come like this,” Lance continues, his finger inching closer to my nipple. His words sound like a promise, one wrapped in sin and lust, one that I can’t wait to see fulfilled. “One touch and you’ll be gone. Moaning. Begging for more.”

“I want that… I want it so much.” The words leave my mouth in a hurry, my voice quivering as if I were already moaning, and that’s probably because I’m really close to doing it. My muscles are tense, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I can’t focus or think clearly, desire brimming in my mind and pushing out everything else. I’m on a cliff of ecstasy, my feet dangling over the edge… All I need is a push; it doesn’t matter how small.

“Do you?” he asks me, moving his lips down my neck.

“I do!” I say, my voice pregnant with urgency. “I do! Please.”

It happens in half a heartbeat. He wraps his lips around one nipple, pinching the other one between his fingers. He does it harshly, the sudden harshness contrasting with the gentle torture of his teasing.

It was the push I needed. I tumble over the edge. There’s thunder and lightning, and there’s fire and chaos—all I know is that my mind has exploded. Fire consumes my body before I can even process all of it.

“Oh goodness…” I moan. “Oh goodness!” My back is arched, my spine electrified by the high voltage ecstasy running through it. Self-restraint goes out the window and I let go of the sheets, holding Lance’s head with both of my hands, pressing him down and making him suck on my nipple as hard as he can. He obliges, lapping at it with his tongue and pinching my other nipple even more harshly.

My mouth is open wide as I try to breathe, my mind still reeling from the sudden orgasm. Goodness, how was this even possible? To come like this… I’m the older one here. I should be the one holding the bag of surprises, not him! And still, in the brashness of his youth, Lance is the one teaching me new tricks. I’m not complaining; it’s fun to be a student at my age, especially when the classroom is located between the sheets.

“You were right…” I say, sighing, “No one has ever made me come like this.”

“I know… But what did I tell you about keeping still?” He snaps back, moving fast and grabbing me by the wrists. He pins my arms against the bed, and I bite my lower lip as he does it. “You didn’t do what I told you to.”

“I didn’t…” And now I can’t wait for his punishment. “What are you going to do about it?” Silence is his only reply. I hear him get out of the bed and walk across the room, stopping for a short while as he looks for something in his bags. Then he returns back to the bed, grabbing my wrists and pulling my arms over my head.

“This is what I’m going to do about it,” he tells me, roping another tie around my right wrist and tying it to the bedpost. He goes around the bed and does the same with my other arm. When he’s done, I tug against the fabric, testing his knots. My pussy clenches as I realize I’m not getting out of this unless he wants me to. I’m at his mercy… And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Is this it? You’re just going to tie me to the bed…?” I tease him, tugging on the ties again, playfully trying to free myself. The more I pull, the tighter his knots become.

“What do you think?” He climbs on top of the bed again, and I feel his weight sinking onto the mattress right between my legs. With his hands on my knees, he forces me to spread my legs wide; I can almost sense his hungry eyes on my pussy, his fingers eager to peel the thong off of my body. “You’re all tied up, almost naked… I can do whatever I want now.”

“Whatever you want,” I repeat after him, my pussy so wet that my fluids start to drip down my inner thighs. He leans over me, laying his lips on my stomach, and then slides them down to the hem of my thong; there, he moves his tongue across the line separating fabric from skin, his hands softly resting on my outer thighs. I’d give anything to look at him right now, to see the hunger and desire in his eyes as he draws closer to my drenched pussy… Somehow, though, being deprived of my vision makes it all better. I’m forced to rely on my other senses, all of them working overtime to amplify every little thing he’s doing to me. Without the crutch of sight, imagination runs wild and free.

“I can’t wait to taste you,” he continues, his tongue now moving down from my waist to my inner thigh, slowly tracing the line of my groin. I start to lift my rear up from the mattress, trying to have his mouth on my pussy, but he simply grabs me by the waist and presses me down. “I can’t wait to tear this thong off…” Ignoring my outburst, he moves his thong to my outer groin. “To run my tongue over your pussy…” Goodness, if he continues saying these things, I’m going to come again before he even has the chance to take my thong off.

He bites on the hem of my thong and starts to pull it down slowly, using only his mouth to do it. I bite on my bottom lip, squirming as I feel the fabric sliding down my legs, the cool air of the room lapping at my wetness.

The moment the thong comes off, he places both of his hands on my ankles and runs them all the way up to my waist, leaning over me as he does it. I can imagine him looking down at my pussy, licking his lips as he prepares to devour me… But instead of going for it right away, he starts kissing my inner thighs, his lips seductively brushing against my skin.

Forgetting that I’m tied up, I try and reach for his head, eager to force his mouth against my pussy. But all I manage to do is move my arms just a few inches, the wooden sound of the posts echoing through the room.

“Whatever I want, remember?” he says, his words caressing my naked skin on their way to my ears. “You have no other choice.” Goodness, I just want to grab his head and push him down as I thrust, to feel his mouth against my wetness, his tongue over my clit… But he’s right; I’m his for him to do whatever he wants. There's no other choice but to submit.

“I need it, Lance… Please,” I moan, swaying my hips. He lays one forearm across my waist, keeping me down.

“You’re in luck…” He inches his tongue closer to my pussy. “Because what you want … is what I want too.” He reaches for me with his tongue, tenderly brushing it between my folds and circling my clit. He does it two, three times, and then he dives into me, his open mouth fitting against my pussy.

Even though he’s still holding me down, I can’t help but try and thrust, wanting to feel the sweet pressure of his mouth. He teased me slowly and gently, but now he’s using his tongue harshly, running it up and down my length as furiously as possible. His mouth is open wide, and as he sucks my folds in, I can’t help but let out a loud moan.

“Oh goodness…” I moan, rubbing my pussy against his mouth. Without warning, he uses his thumb to press down on my clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure there—not too much, not too little. Taking his forearm from my waist, he places his free hand under his chin, two of his fingers carefully parting my folds. I grit my teeth as I prepare for what’s about to happen, but I don’t even have the time to gasp. He slides his fingers in quickly, moving them into me in a hook motion and curling them upward until they meet that sinful spot deep in my pussy.

Two fingers on my G-spot, his mouth on my folds, and his thumb on my clit, he’s leaving nothing to chance. I would thank him for it, but the only thing I can do with my mouth right now is moan as if I were at least a decade younger. Nothing better than a young man to make you feel alive again, that much is true.

He keeps working me until I can’t take it anymore. My back is arched and my muscles are tensing up to the point of snapping. Feeling the waves of climax coming for me, Lance redoubles his efforts, licking me even more eagerly as he starts to rub my clit deftly.

It hits me like thunder, pleasure exploding inside of me, blinding every single one of my senses. The fact that I can’t see makes it all so much better. All that my brain can process right now is pure unbridled ecstasy, the fast pace of my heart making it rage through my veins and boiling my blood.

Lance allows me to wind down slowly, lapping at me with his tongue until the waves of climax start to subside. Once my brain starts to work properly again, he pulls back from me. I see him in my mind’s eye, my fluids dripping down his chin, and the desire to taste him too takes over me.

“I want you,” I manage to get out between breaths, “In my mouth. Right now.” I’m not begging, nor am I commanding. I’m simply stating what’s going to happen. He probably sees that in my voice, because he climbs on top of me, placing each of his knees by my side. He leans in, and running his hands through my hair, reaches for the knot behind my head; undoing it, he pulls the tie out, the dim light of the room almost too strong for me.

I squint my eyes as they adjust to the brightness, the lines of Lance’s body forming in front of me. He’s on top of me, kneeling and still dressed, and has that familiar wicked grin on his face.

“Tell me, again,” he starts, “What do you want?”

“Your cock … my mouth,” I say, whimpering, my eyes darting to his crotch. I can already see the shape of his erection pushing against his pants, tenting it as if his cock was about to rip through the fabric at any minute now.

He takes both his hands to his belt, unbuckling it as my eyes follow each and every motion he makes. Pulling the belt out of its loop, he throws it to the floor and then starts unbuttoning his pants, undoing each button with a maddening slowness, fully knowing that I’m aching to have him inside of my mouth. He pulls his pants down to his knees, only his black boxer briefs standing in the way now.

“Is this what you want?” he asks me, curling his fingers around his cock and over his boxers.

“Yes… Yes,” I whimper again, my mouth feeling dry with anxiety. Goodness, I don’t think I have ever wanted a man’s cock inside of my mouth this much. Hooking his fingers on the hem of his boxers, he pulls them down, allowing his cock to jump free and into sight. I lick my lips unconsciously, my eyes wandering over his thick veiny shaft, the tip already glistening with a hint of precum.

He inches closer to me and grabs his cock, angling it down so that its tip is hovering right above my lips. I try and reach for it, but he moves it out of reach. Then, grinning, he slowly pushes his cock down, brushing his glans over my lips.

“Is this it…?” he teases me, rubbing his tip against me, but still keeping it far enough away from me so that I'm not able to take it in my mouth.

“More…” I simply groan, still trying to crane my neck. Obliging, he lets me place my lips around his glans, and I wrap them tight, cleaning it dry of his precum with the tip of my tongue. Inch by inch, he slowly feeds his cock into my mouth, his thick shaft rolling down between my lips. My eyelids droop by instinct, and I feel my whole body trembling as he pushes his cock toward the back of my throat. He holds it there for a brief moment, and then slides it back until only his tip is inside of me; repeating his motion, he starts to build a rhythm. It doesn’t take long for him to be thrusting fast and hard, filling me with his flesh as he idiots my tight eager mouth. “What you want, you get,” he whispers between hard breaths, tangling his fingers in my hair and holding my head in place.

I suck and lick as if there was nothing more important than this in the whole world. Right now, only his cock and his pleasure matter to me. It’s a selfish feeling, really; his pleasure is my pleasure. And that’s the way it should be. Because we are one… And it feels so good to think it without feeling fear or shame. We are one.

My eyes are still closed, so I don’t see it; I only feel him untying the knot that binds my right hand, freeing my arm. I lose no time. I reach for him at once, cupping his balls and rolling them over my fingers as he eases his pace. When he stops thrusting, I take the chance and start bobbing my head back and forth, not wanting to lose any momentum as he unties my other hand.

Finally free, I start sucking him with redoubled effort, massaging his balls as I curl the fingers of my other hand around his shaft. Stroking him while I suck, I keep this pendulum motion for as long as I can, pushing through the pain in my neck. It doesn’t take long for his cock to start spasming inside of my mouth, and he grabs my head almost immediately, making me stop.

“No…” he says, popping his cock out of my mouth. “Not yet. I want to cum only once…” He continues, locking eyes on me. “Because when I do it, I want to do it all over you… I want to see you covered in cum, head to toe.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply, my heart skipping a beat at the thought. “But first I have to get you there.”

“You do.”

Grinning mischievously, I place my hands on the collar of his shirt and tug on it as violently as I can, forcing the buttons to pop out. I repeat the procedure until his shirt is completely ruined, his naked chiseled abs right in front of my face. Pushing the shirt down his arms, I let it fall on top of the mattress, not bothering to throw it out. Every second counts now, and I place the flat palm of my hands against his pectorals; I push him back and he goes down willingly, falling flat on his back.

Moving like a cat in heat, I climb on top of him, tugging on his pants and boxers and pulling them off viciously.

“Much better,” I purr, looking down at the gloriously naked young man underneath me. Skin on skin, I feel the heat between our bodies increasing. It won’t take much for us to reach the boiling point. I grab his cock, never taking my eyes off of his. Slightly raising my hips, I angle his shaft so that it’s pointing straight at my pussy; I go down, but I don’t go all the way. Much in the same way he teased me, I start rubbing his glans against my folds, torturing him.

“Payback,” I tell him with a grin, threatening to slide his cock in but never actually doing it. He grins back at me, and I just know he means trouble.

“Not really,” he says, placing his hands on my rear. “Remember… I can do whatever I want,” and then he thrusts upward with no warning at all. I try and escape, but it’s impossible; he hooks his fingers on my buttocks and pushes me down, impaling me on his cock. I throw my head back and let out a violent scream, the sound shrill enough to break glass.

He doesn’t even let me reel from the first impact. Thrusting violently, he starts to mess me in such a way that I feel my nerve endings going numb, pleasure coating my mind and choking out every ounce of rationality that lives inside of me. I’m all lust and sin right now.

One hand still on my rear, he takes the other one to my breasts, squeezing eagerly. I throw my head back, my hair cascading down my shoulders, and start to rock my hips, trying to match the fierceness of his movement. The sound of flesh on flesh starts to fill the room, blending with my moans and creating a melody of pleasure and delight.

With the melody of our bodies guiding me, I let one hand run down my chest and I flatten it right above my pussy, reaching for my clit with the tip of my middle finger. Lance eases down then, laying back and succumbing to the sway of my hips. I ride him fast and hard, rubbing my clit at the same time.

Losing all notion of time, I let the movement of our bodies build that sweet madness inside my muscles, coiling them and setting them up for release. I feel them cramping up, but I don’t care; I’m way past caring. Riding Lance into oblivion, I only stop when fireworks go off behind my eyelids.

“Oh, idiot…” I moan, my pussy cramping up around his shaft as I come. I lean forward, my fingernails digging into his pectorals as I hiss through gritted teeth. I’m trembling and twitching, and I can’t even open my eyes; there’s really nothing I can do now but submit and let pleasure wash over me.

Lance doesn’t afford me the luxury of waiting, though. His hands on my waist, he rolls me to the side without even taking his cock out of me. The moment he’s on top of my body, I’m still coming, my body barely able to respond.

“Spread your legs. Wide,” he commands, my body reacting to the firm sound of his voice. I do more than just spread my legs, though; I lift them up, placing them over his shoulders as he leans into me. I want to curse, moan and hiss, but I just can’t. When he presses his body on top of mine, raising my legs with his shoulders, he drives his cock as deep as it has ever been inside of me. It hurts and it pleases… It drives me utterly and completely insane. And he’s not even moving yet.

Bending my legs, he leans further in and crushes his mouth against mine. The moment our lips touch he starts to thrust, driving nails of pleasure deep inside of my brain. I pull back from his kiss, screaming as loud as I can. He’s thrusting so hard that the bed starts to rock back and forth, accompanying the sway of his body.

My mind is coming apart, my body is burning up, and still he keeps going harder with each passing second, pulling me down into oblivion. I try and tell him that I’m close, that I need him to keep going as hard as he can… But the only thing that leaves my mouth is a weak groan of pleasure. Luckily, he doesn’t need my words to know what I need; as if he could read my mind, he keeps pistoning harder into me.

I come undone with a moan, the muscles in my throat working hard through sweet release. He holds his position the moment my pussy tightens around his cock, keeping the tip pressed tight against my G-spot as my body trembles and twitches. My hands are on his back, my fingernails buried in his chiseled muscles like claws.

I don’t even know how, but every orgasm with Lance feels different. It doesn’t matter how many times I come, it’s almost like the first time I’m with him. And it’s just perfect.

Coming down, I pant as he takes my legs out from his shoulders. He leans back, his cock sliding out of my pussy, and I lay on the mattress, whimpering as sparks of electric pleasure make my muscles twitch erratically.

“Tired already?” he whispers into my ear, lying by my side.

“Never…” I manage to say, my chest rising and falling quickly as I make the effort to get the words out. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Makes two of us then,” he grins, placing his hands on my waist and making me turn to the side, my back to him. He presses his chest against my back, running one hand down my side. His long fingers go over the curve of my rear cheeks, caressing my crack and further down, finding their way to the wet mess between my thighs. I feel him grabbing his cock and he angles it down, pressing his tip against my folds. “It feels so good…” he whispers, sliding his cock just one inch in, another dazed whimper leaving my lips. “I love how tight you are.”

I want to say something, anything, but the only thing I manage to do is thrust back against him, forcing his cock to sheath itself to the hilt in me. He groans into my neck, pressing his lips there and nibbling at my skin, and then curls his fingers on my waist. Holding me in place, he starts to thrust, the coming and going motion of his body making me grab at the sheets.

It doesn’t take long for him to be thrusting so hard that he rolls me to the side, climbing on top of me. As I’m lying down on my stomach, he places his hands on my side, supporting himself as he keeps rocking his body against mine. Soon his hands move from the bed to my rear, and he squeezes my cheeks hard as he idiots me, pistoning into me with the fury of a man possessed by lust.

“Oh goodness,” I moan into the sheets, feeling my heart beating so fast it might just burst any minute now. I push back against Lance, using the support from my hands to lift my body up from the bed and go on all fours. He accompanies my movement easily, going to his knees without even taking his cock from inside of me. “As hard as you can…” I beg him. “I don’t want to feel my legs once you’re done.”

“That can be arranged,” he says, running his index finger over my rear crack. “Once I’m done… You won’t even know your name anymore.” He keeps moving his finger back and forth over my rear, goose bumps going through me each time I feel him stroking close to my hole. He isn’t moving his cock yet, but I already feel a storm brewing on the horizon. Pressing his fingertip over my rear, he slowly pushes it in, my back arching as I feel him in me. Slowly, he starts to move his hips, using his finger in a matching pace. A few heartbeats in and he’s fingering my rear and my pussy, the pendulum motion of it almost too much for me to bear.

With his free hand he tangles his fingers in my hair and yanks on it, forcing me to throw my head back as a throaty moan fills the room. Holding me by the hair, he drives his cock deeper into me and holds still, only his finger moving. He moves it around inside my rear, my pussy tightening around his cock as I start to feel like a dam about to burst.

“Come for me,” he whispers, picking up the pace with his finger. He pushes it in and turns it around, moving it in such a way that I can’t help but do what he tells me to. I come hard, grabbing at the sheets as if I didn’t know what to do with my hands. “Good…” he continues, slowly pulling his finger out. I remain still as he squeezes both my rear cheeks, running his hands over my fleshy curves as his cock pulses inside of my pussy.

I can’t even hold my head up anymore. I have my cheek pressed against the mattress, my body still up only because he’s grabbing my rear. He doesn’t care. With one hard smack across my buttocks, he hooks his fingers on my waist and starts to thrust.

This time he doesn’t build up the pace. Oh, no, this time he goes hard right from the start, like a man aching for a knockout before the bell rings. He’s moving so fast I can’t even tell when he’s sliding his cock in or out… All I know is that he’s completely demolishing me, tearing both my mind and body apart.

The sound of his hips slapping my rear fills the whole room, like a violent song of ecstasy, one that climbs in through my ears and claws at my brain like a drug. And, just like a drug, it makes me oh so high.

“Don’t stop … Don’t stop,” I start repeating, like a mantra, these two words the only ones I can still pronounce. “DON’T STOP!” I finally yell, coming undone as if my body was being dropped into boiling water. I collapse on top of the mattress, feeling Lance’s weight on top of me as my limbs move erratically. I’m flailing both arms and legs, the electric current going through me severing the connection between brain and body.

I tremble as he takes his cock out from me and rolls to the side, a whimper on my lips. Making a mighty effort, I turn toward him, smiling weakly as I open up my eyes; I rest one hand against his chest, and sliding my fingertips over his abs, I grab his thick cock.

“You promised me something,” I say, stroking him with soft but deliberate movements. He grins mischievously, reading what’s on my mind.

“I did, didn’t I?” I simply nod in response, letting go of his cock, and my hand going to his chest, pushing him off. He rolls off of the bed and goes up to his feet, towering over me in a way that makes my insides clench in anticipation of what’s to come. Reaching for his cock, I wrap my fingers around his shaft again; our eyes are locked as I stroke him, my hand moving like clockwork in a steady back and forth motion.

Never letting go of his cock, I get out of the bed, my knees buckling under my weight as my feet touch the floor. Oh, well, I go down on my knees right in front of him, his cock just a few inches away from my mouth. I go for it, parting my lips and forcing his shaft to go over my tongue and deep inside of me.

Just like he did while me, I don’t build up the pace. I start sucking him as hard and as viciously as I can, moving my head until my neck starts to burn. I keep stroking him all the same, both my hands around his shaft as they travel up and down at the same pace of my mouth.

While he has his hands on top of my head, Lance doesn’t take the lead; he lets me keep moving at this frenzied pace, pushing him closer to the edge. And when I feel him there, his cock spasming inside of my mouth, I give one final push and make him explode.

“Come for me, baby,” I say, looking up at him while his cock pops out of my mouth. My hands are moving at a frenetic pace and he finally lets go. He groans, his fingers running through my hair as a thick rope of cum shoots from his cock, hitting me straight on the face. I open my mouth as wide as I can, trying to get as much of his semen on me.

“Idiot…” he groans, his muscles taut and hard as if they were made of steel. His cock is spasming hard against my fingers, shooting so much cum I don’t even know how he could hold it all inside of him. Strands of it hit my face, coating my cheeks and tongue and dripping down my neck and chest. I can’t help but smile as I feel his warm juices coating my skin, his cock gushing an endless river of semen and drowning me in it. I keep stroking through it, only stopping when I’ve milked him out of every single drop, and by then, I’m completely covered in his seed. Even my hair is ruined, but I don’t care. Why would I?

I lean toward him, my tongue reaching for his cock; with gentle movements I lap at him, cleaning his tip and shaft of the few drops still hanging there.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” I tell him, grabbing my breasts and smearing his cum all over my body. I run two fingers between my belly, and scooping up a thick strand, take them to my mouth and suck them dry, my eyes never leaving his.

“Mess? I don’t see any mess,” he says, going down on his knees in front of me. “You look beautiful like this.”

“I do, don’t I?” I run my fingers through his hair and pull him to me, his mouth going straight my belly. He wraps his lips around my cum-coated nipples, and using his tongue, starts licking me eagerly. “I love you so much,” I say, throwing my head back and closing my eyes as I feel his tongue running all over my chest.

“I love you too,” he tells me, his tongue sliding all the way up from my neck to my chin. He goes further up, pressing his mouth against mine; I slide my tongue inside his mouth and he sucks on it, taking every last drop of cum inside of his own mouth.

I look at him with a wide smile, lips glistening from all of the semen. He’s smiling back at me, the kind of smile I know he saved for a woman like me.

I rest my hand against his cheek and lean in for one final kiss. “What do we do now?” I ask, not wanting to let the real world back in, but knowing that I have to do it all the same. Stroking my hair, he simply smiles.

“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

53

Lance

When you love someone, and I mean really love someone, there are no limits to what you'll do for that person. And now that I love two people—Jocelyn and my unborn child, my heart feels like it's ready to explode. Back at the Plaza, where happiness flooded my entire body when I learned I was going to be a father, I smiled and scooped Jocelyn into my arms, spinning her across the room. I was euphoric. One minute, I thought I was losing the love of my life, getting ready to pack my entire life into a suitcase with a one-way ticket to Europe—it was like first being in a room where the walls are literally crumbling all around you—and then the next moment, when I learned I was gaining it all back and so much more, my entire emotional landscape was reversed. I had never been happier. I promised Jocelyn that I had a plan. I wasn't lying, and now I'm ready to execute it.

I walk into my dad's house. I still have a spare key so there was no need to knock. When I enter, I don't see or hear anyone, but I know he has to be home. He's always home at this time. And when I called his office, I was told he wasn't there. So I decide to walk to his study—slowly, carefully—I don't know why I'm trying to be so quiet. Once I walk down the hall toward his door, I see that sure enough, the light is on. I hear him fishing a conversation on the phone and I wait until he ends the call. I don't want to interrupt. I need his undivided attention. Now's my chance. I take a deep breath, turn the knob, push the door, and enter my father's study. The room is filled with swirls of blue smoke, and I can see a cigar smoldering on his desk, smoke curling around it's tip in lazy half circles. Since when did he pick up smoking again? As a kid, I remember he'd smoke cigars in his study, sipping a glass of scotch. His study was always off limits. That was his personal, private zone and everyone knew better than to breach it. But I thought the smoking ended years ago. He must be stressed. It was always a nervous habit of his.

These days, it seems as if he's always here, networking and either buried in email, or nose-deep in a self-help book. He's throwing everything he's got into this campaign and he seems tired. The bags under his eyes give it away. He looks up at me, momentarily annoyed that I've broken his concentration.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I need to talk to you."

"Lance, can't this wait? I'm in the middle of an important project."

"What's new? You're always busy. The mockery of your entire campaign is that family has never come first for you. Please tell me that irony isn't lost on you?" I say.

"If you were planning on telling me how awful of a father I've been to you over the course of your life, spare me the sob story."

"Look, this can't wait. It's urgent."

The word 'urgent' catches him by surprise. I now have his full attention, so I take my hands out of my pockets and sit down, and I steady my nerves and continue, "I have a confession."

"Go on," Michael says slowly.

"It's about Jocelyn… and the baby."

I watch as Michael sits up in his chair, his body erect. The muscles around his mouth are rigid. His eyes look like broken glass and are hinting at violence, but I continue, "her—and I—we—" I'm stumbling, trying to find the right combination of words.

"You can't be serious," he says, cutting me off.

"I love her."

"You don't know the first thing about love," he growls. "You've dipped your toe into anything with two legs and belly. Who are you kidding?"

"You're one to talk—sitting in this house married to a woman you never loved. What kind of marriage is that? It's one of the greatest charades I've ever seen."

"You have no idea the sacrifices I've had to make. Not just for me. For this city. And for you."

I understand more than you think, and Jocelyn's pregnancy—well, that baby is mine, and I plan on being more of a father than you've ever been."

Michael slams his fist down on his desk, flashing his teeth at me. "You ungrateful little prick! I invite you into my house; I feed you, I give you a place to live, I give you work, I introduce you to my network—some of the most influential people in the world—even after you nearly cause WW III with the president's daughter, and this is the thanks I get? You have some real nerve."

"I didn't mean for any of this happen. I swear it on my mother's grave."

"Ha! You should watch what you say. Do you take me for a fool Lance?"

"No, I don't. You're too manipulative for a fool. Even I know that. Let's face it, we're all pawns in your master plans."

“You’re all too stupid to even be pawns,” he snarls at me. I can’t believe there are times when I alternate between thinking of him as Dad instead of just Michael. “You’re all a weight on my feet, dragging me down.”

“You’re the only weight on yourself, Dad,” I say, raising my voice. My blood is pumping. “Maybe if you were more open and honest people would help you more.”

Michael bows his head and rubs his hands against his temples. His body language changes, and he seems resigned. "It's a tough pill to swallow when the world isn't willing to accept you—perhaps can't accept you, or isn't ready to. Do you think it's easy to live a lie? To wake up every day and don a series of masks? No, of course you don't. You've never had an ounce of real responsibility and sacrifice in your life. You don't know the meaning of it."

"I do now," I say, and when it comes out of my mouth, I mean it. "I have a family to take care of."

"I may not have been in love with Jocelyn, but I was good to her. I hope you understand that. I tried. I really did, but then I met Kenneth, and with him, I slowly felt my masks come off."

He stops for a moment and looks pensive, like he's struggling to find the right words.

"There's something you should know about me."

"I think I already do."

"I'm gay, Lance."

Of course, this revelation comes as no surprise. I've known this about my stepdad ever since I was a kid—at least I suspected it. I always saw the way he looked at other men.

"I know," I say.

"You do?"

I nod my head yes as if it's the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, you should also know how important this job is to me—and this election."

"I know that too."

His eyes resume their fire and he gives me an intense gaze. We hold the gaze for a few moments, but it feels like it might as well be an eternity, and then he speaks again.

"I can forgive you for sleeping with Jocelyn—with my wife—but I can never forgive you for costing me this election."

"I don't understand."

"Then listen closely because I will only tell you this once. If you cost me this election, you will be dead to me, and that is exactly what will happen if you and Jocelyn are together."

"But I love her—I—"

"Consider what I'm saying to you right now."

"I hear what you're saying. Believe me, I have no intention on costing you this election. I want you to win and I know you can. You're my dad—the only dad I know. You've always been there for me."

Michael doesn't expect the sentimental spiel and I can tell it has caught him off guard, but I continue because I mean it. It's the truth.

"But I do love Jocelyn and she loves me. We're going to start a family—together. And I promise you that it won't ruin your mayoral campaign."

He laughs. "Oh to be young and naïve. That's such a foolish thing to say. Lance, listen to yourself for just a minute! A scandal like this will rock every news site there is. Reporters will have a field day with this story, don't you see? They'll be licking their lips as they watch me bleed and run my name through the mud. My entire campaign has been built on family values. This will be seen as the biggest joke of all."

"That won't happen," I say. "I have a plan."

54

New York Daily Journal

From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

With two days to go before the mayoral election, it seems we’ve started to see some balls start coming out of left field.

First we have rumors of a major rift opening up between the Mayor and his pregnant wife, Jocelyn Anders. Sources inside the Mayor’s campaign talking on condition of anonymity because this is super secret confirm to me that the Mayor and his wife are not, and have not been sleeping in the same bedroom for months. It could be even before the election.

But wait, wasn’t this the happy family? Wasn’t the mayor all about family values? In fact, wasn’t his wife getting pregnant in the middle of the election?

Yep. All of that was supposed to be Hizzoner, but deep cover sources are telling me that a lot of what we think we know is very, very different from what’s actually happening.

Second curveball. Just when things were starting to go right, it looks like our bad boy heartthrob has fallen off the wagon. Reports have been surfacing for a few days that New Yorkers are starting to see Lance Anders—the son of the mayor—back to his usual antics. He’s been spotted at the VIP section of Pasha—the high end Chelsea nightclub, partying into the early hours of the morning.

Sources also tell me—again under complete anonymity—that he’s moved out of the Mayor's townhome. That’s right. Something must have happened between the Mayor and his son that was so bad that Lance moved out. He’s been spotted at the Plaza and I have two sources confirming that he’s been staying there. Not just that, but this whole thing may be revolving around a mystery lover that Lance has. Does daddy not approve of whoever Lance is dating? Is that why he moved out? This story is getting juicier the more layers we dig.

Third and final curveball. Jocelyn Anders has announced a press conference for tomorrow. At the time of this printing, we have no idea what she plans to speak about, but we’re willing to guess based on the information that we have so far. We think it has to do with the same reason that our sources are telling us that there’s marital discord between what we thought was the happy couple. In fact, it could even deal with the baby itself. Oh, this could end up being bigger than we even thought, New York. In a rare step, the Mayor’s wife has also agreed to open up the press conference to the public.

She’ll be speaking at noon tomorrow on the steps of City Hall.

One thing we know for sure, Jocelyn Anders hails from a political family. If she’s coming out in public then something has gone on behind the scenes that's big enough to rock the boat a few days before the election. And whatever it is, you can bet that we’re going to get you the full story behind what they say. Till tomorrow then, New York. This is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

55

Jocelyn

The press are lined up in the front. The photographers are snapping pictures. I can’t understand how they even manage to look like they’ve gone through a full day when it’s still only 10 am.

Yeah, hon, you guessed it. I’m so nervous. I almost decided to call the whole thing off today when I woke up.

I mean, can you blame me? I’m going to go in front of 8.5 million people in a few minutes right now and tell them that I’ve been a bad wife. That not only that, but I’ve seduced my own stepson. Talk about chickens coming home to roost.

I was literally five seconds away from sending Michael an email today.

But then I felt Lance’s arms around my shoulder. He pulled me closer to him in bed and I felt his cock grind against my rear. We’ve been sleeping naked every night I’ve spent at the Plaza now that Michael knows. It suits Michael just fine—Kenneth and he have been romping around I’ll bet.

This marriage is over. That’s for sure. But we’re not out of Michael’s crosshairs until we get this sorted. Lance and I can never be happy until I go do this.

All that doubt that I was feeling in the morning? As soon as I felt Lance’s strong arms hold me tightly against him, as soon as I felt his hard, cut body behind me, as soon as I thought about how much he loved me and stood by me while I figured this entire situation out, and yes, as soon as I felt that massive cock of his, I knew that I had to be in his life.

And there’s no way I can continue to be in his life if I don’t do this.

I take a giant sigh and walk to the podium.

Michael and Lance have gone over all the details. For the purposes of this press conference, Michael has felt it absolutely essential that Lance not be there while I speak.

“We need the media to focus on Jocelyn,” Michael apparently told Lance. “We have one chance to come clean and get them on our side. If it looks like we’re trying to play them, this could spiral out of control. And being there with her makes this whole thing look way more orchestrated than we want to let on.”

Of course, Michael was orchestrating this. Of course every detail had been gone over with painstaking detail. Literally, the election for mayor of the greatest city in the world is lying as the stakes.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Lance asked this morning as we dressed. There had been a savage protectiveness to his lovemaking in the shower, as he bent me against the wall and took me from behind as the water pelted our bodies. “Or stand by you when you go on in front of the press?”

“Michael said it was for the best if neither of you guys…” I had started but Lance wouldn’t let me finish.

“Idiot what anyone else says, Jocelyn,” he cut me off. Then he brought his arms around me and made me take a step closer. “All that matters to me in this whole world is you. Idiot everything else.”

Honestly, just him telling me that at that moment made me realize that no matter what, I had to be brave and get this done. Because this was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. So what if he was 15 years younger than me? So what if he had been my stepson? All my life, I’d gone from man to man, being told how beautiful I was that I never really knew what it meant to be cared for by someone. Michael gave me neglect and contempt under a shield of status and power.

Lance gave me love. He gave me his body. And I wanted to give him my soul.

That’s literally all I’m thinking about as I get onto the podium. How after this, I want to go bury my face in Lance’s chest. How I’ll be able to do that without having to worry.

Maybe we’ll get some lunch at The Spotted Pig. I hear they make a great burger. Maybe after that some shopping. Bergdorfs? No, I know just the place. Saks Fifth Avenue. Maybe we could go back to the dressing room where it all started…

The flash of a photographer brings me back down to the here and now. I need to focus. There won’t be any lunch with Lance if I don’t do this. There won’t be any dressing room shenanigans if I mess it up.

“Thank you for coming today, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, looking down at the prepared notes I have. I’ve memorized them, but it helps to look down. The press in the front grow silent. I can see a large crowd assembled behind them. Ordinary New Yorkers, coming to see what the big deal is. Hoping to find a moment in history. I continue. “I will have a prepared statement, after which I will take any questions from the media.”

More photographs. People must be speculating what I’m going to say. Well, I’m about to drop it. I wonder who will be left after the dust clears.

“As many of you know, I’ve recently found out and am overjoyed by the fact that I am pregnant,” I say into the microphone and take a deep breath. “Despite reports and statements made to the press, I am here today to set the record straight. Michael Anders is not the father of my child.”

If I had told them that I was a Martian who had been secretly gathering data about the human race in preparation for a future invasion, people may have looked less stunned.

In fact, there’s maybe a second or two where the photographers are too stunned to do anything but look at me. Of course the cameras are rolling, but the flash bulbs literally die down.

And then they come back. With a vengeance.

It seems like the brightness of a thousand suns descends onto the steps of City Hall as the photographers furiously begin to take pictures. I can hear the reporters right behind the photographers decide to dispense with my earlier rules and shout out questions. I feel overwhelmed.

But there’s only one way through this.

“Like all marriages, Michael’s and mine faced troubles,” I begin and seeing that I’m continuing, the camera flashes begin to die down. The reporters also eventually stop shouting questions, realizing they won’t be getting answers. “Unfortunately, the problems we faced seem at this point to be insurmountable.”

I pause and look to the audience. They’ve settled down a bit. Their still chomping at the bit, waiting for me to finish, but they’re giving me the courtesy now.

“I have moved out of our townhome for the time being, in an effort to allow Michael the utmost concentration in his bid for re-election,” I say into the microphone. “At the end of the day, it was the job that came above all else for him. While it was bad for our marriage, I believe it will only lead to good things for our city. While he may not be my husband, he shall continue to have my vote.”

The last bit was put in by Michael himself. Slick. Way to turn every last thing about our sham marriage into a political point. Even as I announce how I’m leaving him, this is bound to get him a few points in the polls with people who think how dedicated he must be—that he’s willing to sacrifice everything.

“Michael and I are thus planning an amicable separation,” I conclude. “With a termination of our partnership to be decided at a later date.”

If I could, I would divorce him today. But Michael wants to do it quietly. A year or two into his next term. Lance and I will have to stay under the radar, but at least we’ll be able to openly see each other. We won’t be able to get married though. His child won’t have a father.

It’s the price we have to pay for our love, I guess.

“That concludes my statement, and I am now ready to take questions,” I finish and close my eyes for a second. Here it comes.

There’s a cacophony of voices but eventually one emerges.

“Ms. Anders, who is the father of your child?” a reporter for the New York Herald asks.

I’m fully prepared for this question and we’ve rehearsed it a thousand times. “At this time, I’d like to protect that information and would ask you to respect my privacy as I transition to becoming a private citizen,” I say calmly. I can’t show them if I get flustered. That only feeds the beast, apparently. “Next question?”

“Mrs. Anders, any date on when you and the Mayor plan to finalize your divorce?” a reporter from the Tri-State Gazette asks out.

I shake my head. Prepared for this one too. “At this time, I’m focused 100% on helping Michael win this election and then transition into his second term. While we both agree that we shouldn’t stay married, I want to stress that I still believe in him as mayor and the tremendous good he is capable of doing for this city.”

“Mrs. Anders, will you have any role in the new administration if the mayor is re-elected?” another faceless reporter asks.

I shake my head again. “The public spotlight is partially to blame for the collapse of our marriage and right now I want to transition to being a private citizen again,” I answer.

I’m starting to calm down. These questions were all predicted and prepared for. I may get out of this thing alive.

That’s when a reporter raises his hand from the front and asks a question.

“Mrs. Anders, what is your relationship with Lance Anders, the Mayor’s stepson?”

I freeze for a moment. The reporter is looking at me, and I realize this might just be a standard question that a curious journalist might ask.

“The Mayor’s son has been helping his father campaign after moving to the city,” I answer a bit weakly. I remember the advice Michael gave me. If I can’t answer the question, answer something and attempt to move on. Don’t get bogged down.

But I get bogged down and pause a little too long. The reporter follows up immediately. “The two of you have been seen on numerous occasions outside of campaign events. What is the nature of your relationship?”

Now I pause, thinking back to the advice desperately and as quickly as I can. Michael instructed me to not lie. Always be as truthful as possible. Don’t answer if I have to, but do not lie. But he also said to keep it focused on the election and do not let anything else dominate the discussion, otherwise this could spin out of control. Fast.

“I think that Lance is a fine young man…dedicated, strong, and more than capable…” I start, not knowing what else to say before I’m interrupted. I realize I broke another rule given to me. Always know what you’re going to say before you answer the question.

“Yes, but let me rephrase that question,” the reporter interrupts and everyone around him quiets down. They sense the blood in the water. “Is your relationship with the Mayor’s son platonic?”

There’s murmuring from the crowd. Of course there’s murmuring from the crowd of reporters.

“I…I don’t understand the question,” I somehow say. The truth is I understand the question completely, but I’m stalling for time. I’m trying to figure out what the heck to say!

“Let me rephrase again,” the reporter says, obviously aware that he is the center of attention at this point. “Are you having an affair with the Mayor’s son, Lance Anders?”

Now the photographers just let their fingers fly and if it was ten thousand suns before, the glare is just too strong now. It hurts my eyes.

I need to fight back.

“I don’t think that’s a fair question…” I start. But again, I’m interrupted.

“It’s a fair question because it begs the question as to whether the child you’re carrying is from a sexual relationship with the Mayor’s son,” the reporter cuts me off.

“Stepson,” I say and quickly add. “He’s not related to the Mayor.”

There’s a pause and I see the reporter smile. He’s got his story.

And I’ve just well admitted to sleeping with Lance while married to his father.

This situation is now out of control. I’m about to be burned at the stake—figuratively, but heck, maybe even literally.

“Is the child Lance’s?” a random reporter shouts out.

“How long have you been having sex with Lance?” another reporter yells out.

“Did the Mayor know?” yes another reporter asks.

They’re all clamoring for the juiciest story in years. And I just handed it to them on a silver platter.

How could we not have prepared for this question?

And then I see him.

Michael. He’s standing at the back of the crowd, but I can recognize him.

Did he set this up?

Did he set me up to crash and burn? Is this some twisted game to win the election and get rid of me?

I can tell I’m panicking on the podium. I’m frozen.

I have a lawyer who’s with me, but that’s it. I don’t do public appearances. I don’t have a PR person or Chief of Staff. Kenneth set everything up for me.

Where is Kenneth?

I’m about ready to faint, when I hear another voice.

“Goodness, do you think you guys could learn some manners?” the familiar voice says out and I snap my head to the right.

Dressed in an impeccable suit that hugs his body like a glove is the 21-year-old love of my life and father of my child. Lance Anders.

He apparently didn’t bother to listen to his father or to me and he’s here anyways.

“If you’re done picking on my girlfriend, I’ll take the rest of her questions and tell you whatever you want to know,” he says with the confidence of just being a superior human being to most men. Then he turns to me and says, “Don’t worry, I’m here now. Everything is gonna be all right.”

And I just know that no matter what happens, I’m going to be okay.

We are going to be okay.

56

Lance

Yeah, yeah, I know I’m not supposed to have been here. I’m not supposed to steal the thunder or whatever the heck it is that I’m doing right now. Well, I’m here. So sue me.

“If you’re done picking on my girlfriend, I’ll take the rest of her questions and tell you whatever you want to know,” I say to the gaggle of journalists who were getting ready to tear into Jocelyn.

Besides, it looks like she actually is appreciating the fact that I’m here.

“Don’t worry, I’m here now. Everything is gonna be all right,” I tell her. She nods to me. She’s overwhelmed by what she had to go through—she hasn’t had something like this that she’s been thrust into ever. It takes a lot of balls to do that.

If I ever had any doubt that she loves me, it’s all gone now.

Now it’s time for me to save the day.

“Get your cameras ready folks, because that baby, as far as I know, is mine,” I say into the microphone.

And boom. The photographers just let that trash fly. They’re taking so many pictures of me I’ll probably be on every single magazine and newspaper cover in the morning.

They’ll probably put the most controversial headlines they can. Think about it. The son of the mayor of New York City just admitted to his wife.

Only let's get one thing straight right from the get go here, folks.

I am not related to Michael Anders. Or to Jocelyn Carter.

That’s right. It’s about time we start using her maiden name because by the time I get done, there won’t be a person in this city who will want her to stay married.

“Did your father know at the time the baby was conceived?” a reporter from the front row asks.

“Are you ashamed of yourself?” another reporter asks over him. I turn to him on that one. It’s the same guy who brought out the whole line of questioning as to whether or not the babe was mine—the one who torpedoed a perfectly good press conference.

This is the guy who I’m gonna destroy first.

“I’ll take that question…sorry, I don’t know your name,” I say into the microphone, looking at him.

“Carson Maddox, from the Downtown Metro,” he says back to me.

I nod. Here I go.

“Well, Carson Maddox, you asked a pretty crazy question. Am I ashamed for what I did?” I start and the reporters quiet down. “Absolutely not.”

The commotion picks up again. Along with the camera flashes and more questions.

But I’m not done yet and I start speaking into the microphone.

“And I’ll tell you why not,” I begin and the hubbub starts to die down. “When I first came back to New York, I was the Lance Anders that the Daily Journal had gotten used to. Hard partying, chasing after anything in a skirt, and ready to fight for anything.”

People start to quiet down and listen to me now that they realize I’m not just talking in a sound bite.

“I have to be honest, that kind of life is great if you want to go through life protecting yourself from getting hurt,” I tell the crowd. “But if you ever want any sort of relationship at all where you care about someone, it’s not going to be possible.”

A few photographers snap pictures. I continue.

“I was a master at protecting myself. Not just from women. But from my own family. Ever since my mom died, I’ve been building walls around myself. So much so that what little family I did have left I was able to effectively sideline. I did that so well I didn’t even know what was going on in my stepfather’s life till I got to his house,” I say talking directly into the cameras in the back. “But when I did finally arrive, I didn’t see a marriage between dad and Jocelyn. I saw two people who were unhappy with each other.”

Now I got their attention. Time to bring it home.

“I’ve always operated according to my own personal code of honor, folks,” I tell the press. I’m serious about this too. “I would never break up a happy home or a solid marriage. But what I saw wasn’t a happy home. And it sure as idiot was not a solid marriage.”

People are starting to soften. I can tell just by looking at their faces.

“Over the course of time I came to realize that not only was there no love in this marriage, but it was an union that would be better off it were dissolved,” I conclude. Let’s see what counterpunch the news has.

“Does your father share that opinion?” a reporter from the back asks me.

“First off, he’s my step-father, as Jocelyn said,” I reply without missing a beat. “And secondly, yes, by his own actions my stepfather had conceded that this marriage was not suitable for him. Don’t get me wrong, we still had a argument when I brought this up, but it was something that we all knew was under the surface.”

“Do you think this will help or hurt Mayor Anders in the campaign?” another reporter from the crowd asks.

“I think without having to be tied down with a marriage that wasn’t working out for either of them—and without going into the specifics let me assure you that it really wasn’t working out for either—I think this can only help my stepfather do his job as the best Mayor in the history of this city,” I say all in one sentence. I have no idea if dad will turn out to be a nasty mayor in his second term or not, but I need to play nice right now. I’m backed against the wall enough as it is without needing to take on someone who makes Machiavelli look like a little kid.

If you’re shaking your head at me, hear me out, okay? Can you really deny the possibility that Michael Anders—who we already know is capable of seducing a man and then blackmailing him about it for the rest of his life, including to force him into giving him his only daughter’s hand in marriage so he can carry on a charade—wouldn’t stoop to the level of setting this whole thing up to blow up in our faces?

I’m sorry to start throwing conspiracy theories out there, but it’s gotta be said. Who’s to say that Michael didn’t just plant a reporter in here to ask Jocelyn the question that got her tripped up? If you’re thinking the election, think about how many pity votes he could come out getting as the husband who’s wife cheated on him. How many women would vote for him based on the fact that they don’t like cheating? And we know he polls not so well with women.

That’s why despite all the planning, I still wanted to be close in case anything like this went down. Because when push comes to shove, I’m going to protect Jocelyn over my stepfather.

“At the end of the day, Michael Ander’s first and true love is public service and holding office,” I say into the microphone. “He’s better suited than his wife. He lives and breathes for something like that. Neither Jocelyn and I are like that.”

The cameras continue to roll and I can tell it’s time to bring it all home.

“Let me be clear and make this final point,” I say in a commanding voice. “I was rescued from my aimless and stagnating ways by this woman standing next to me. It takes a lot of courage to come up here and admit you did something wrong, and she did that with class, grace, and humility. I admit that I did wrong as well. I’ll probably have to atone for my sins one day, but right now, I want to move on with my life and I’m sure she wants the same. There’s nothing nefarious going on in that.”

“Lance,” a female voice shoots out. “Did the estrangement of several years cause you any contributing desire in addition to your attraction for going down this path and potentially torpedoing his campaign?”

She thinks I planned this out?

“I think you give me too much credit,” I quip back sharply. There is a light ruffling of laughter. “All I did was find two unhappy people when I entered their lives.”

I look to Jocelyn and she smiles at me. “Hopefully by the time I leave at least one of those people is happier with me.”

“But you still engaged in an improper affair, did you not?” the reporter follows up. She’s not letting this one go.

I sigh. “Is it cheating if there is no love in the marriage?” I ask.

There’s several murmurs of discussion and the voice replies back. “If there was truly no love, why didn’t your father and Mrs. Anders file for a relatively simple divorce? Why go through the pitfalls of cheating on a spouse?”

Idiot.

Where did that come from?

In my pause, the reporter pounces. “In fact, isn’t it true that the only reason you’re standing here today is because Mrs. Anders got pregnant? That if she hadn’t, you would simply carry on as before.”

Idiot, he’s just backed me into a corner.

Michael made it explicitly clear not to air the dirty laundry, but I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do now to defend Jocelyn and me. I can’t talk about the specific cases where the marriage looks fake, because it’ll make dad look bad. And he’ll retaliate with enough overkill to steamroll us.

But on the other hand, I can’t talk about knowingly cheating, or helping a woman cheat.

Seriously, this smacks of a Michael Anders setup, doesn’t it?

I look to the right of me and see Jocelyn standing there, placing her complete faith in me.

I just wish I knew what to say.

That's when another voice comes from behind the crowd.

“He didn’t cheat, because the marriage was never proper to begin with,” the voice states with commanding authority.

I can’t see who it is, but I see the people part—similar to how Moses parted the Red Sea.

And out of the corner of my eyes, I see the front row begin to split up in different sides.

And my dad comes walking out.

He turns his back to me and faces the cameras. “Maybe I should say some words now too, give my side of the story.”

Yeah, he’s definitely up to something.

I just wish I knew what.

57

Michael

Well, I guess you never expected to be hearing from me now, did you?

Come on, I figure the least you can give me is a chance to get my side of the story in, if that. This is going to be the one and only time I get a chance to talk to you, and I guarantee you that a few things will happen.

First, you will see why I’m better than those two. Better than Jocelyn—sure she’s pretty, but she’s a child. Doesn’t understand how the world works. Thinks that people are inherently good. This world is a nasty, brutal place. I take what I can and I try to keep you from taking it from me. The whole concept of family or friends that we’ve created is a luxury. At the end of the day, all you have is yourself. And nothing else matters. The murderer sleeps as peacefully as the person he murdered when they’re both dead.

Yes, I’m better than Lance too. Sure, he’s got that body. He’s got a good heart. Bless him, he is a good person, I don’t deny that. He even has the killer instinct. No one else would be able to turn that press conference around if they didn’t. But he could be so much more. Instead he chooses to waste it all by thinking with the wrong head. He falls in love. Love is for suckers.

I’m going to leave you with that for now because I think you’re not being completely receptive to what I have to say. Figures. You probably want Lance and Jocelyn to end up together, don’t you? They’re two stupid human beings and I have no time for anyone who doesn’t understand or see that.

I climb the steps to the podium as Lance looks at me. He’s wondering what I’m up to. Well, he’s about to find out how a real master handles this. I don’t even bother looking at Jocelyn. She’s probably staring at me with those cow-like eyes of hers, wondering what’s going on. Honestly, I can’t believe I had to spend as many months as I did tolerating her. Her constant need for affection. Her constant attitude of needing love. It’s sickening.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say into the microphone, giving the press a wide smile. “You’ve certainly had a roller coaster of a day today, haven’t you?”

There’s isolated pockets of laughter. That’s how you need to do it. Lance and Jocelyn, in their typical fashion, just bungled the whole thing.

But then again, they were never supposed to get this far. Not with those questions I had planted about Jocelyn’s relationship to Lance and about cheating.

That’s right. I planned it. I sabotaged them. I wanted them to fail.

Why?

Just pay attention and find out.

“Everything you’ve heard today has been true. My stepson has carried on a relationship with Jocelyn Carter, and she is pregnant by him,” I say. Cameras flash. I’m used to it and I continue. “I can honestly say that the two of them deserve each other. They’re perfect for each other.”

There are a few people in the crowd who smile. They don’t realize I’m speaking out of contempt.

“But Jocelyn hasn’t cheated on me, folks,” I say to the audience, drawing them in. “And Lance hasn’t betrayed me. And I’ll tell you why I can say that.”

Now they’re hooked. I have them right where I want them.

“It’s because,” I say as I reach into my coat pocket and pull out an envelope. “This marriage was never formally signed off on.”

There are murmurs. Apparently the press is clueless about marriages lasting less than a year in New York State. Let me break it down for them.

“In the State of New York, both parties upon entering a marriage sign a marriage certificate with the magistrate who performs that marriage,” I begin and people begin nodding. “I never gave the certificate to Jocelyn to sign.”

Now there’s a hushed whisper going through the group. They’re wondering why I would do something like this and which way this press conference is going.

“That’s because at the time, I wasn’t sure that marrying Jocelyn was the right course of action, folks,” I say to the crowd. “You see, I wasn’t attracted to her, but I wasn’t ready to tell everyone my secret either.”

Even the cameras stop. You could hear a pin drop if you listened hard enough.

“You see, Jocelyn and I never consummated our marriage because there was no way I was attracted to her. No way I was attracted to women in general when men were much more agreeable to me,” I say, bringing a mask of pained resolve to my face. These media sheep are eating this up. I’m going to control the narrative for the next two days if I play this right.

“All my life, I’ve struggled with this double life, being someone who my parents wanted me to be while inside I just wanted to let my true colors shine,” I say into the microphone. “But I’m here today to tell you, to tell the world, that I identify as homosexual. And if you’ll have me, I’d like to be the first openly gay mayor of New York City.”

That does it. Those cameras that were silent? They pop up and begin their flash. I smile in a bittersweet fashion. I practiced it this morning as I got ready for my arrival.

I had thought that I had scared Lance enough to stay away. That by the time I entered, Jocelyn would be floundering and would be looking like a mess. That I’d come in and save the day. And get back at her for all the time she’s wasted of mine in doing this. Couldn’t keep her legs closed, could she?

Yes, I was very surprised to see Lance. But I have a feeling I’ve saved him too.

“From this day forward, New York, I promise to be proud and open about who I am with not just my family, but to the entire city as well,” I say, raising my arms. People actually start to clap and cheer. Idiots.

I notice Lance clapping next to me as well and he takes a step closer.

Oh, he wants to play that game, does he?

“I know my secret may have caused a lot of hurt and pain to my immediate family, but I want to take this opportunity to let them know that it was their pain that I saw I was causing that finally prompted me to come out today. There was no way that I could let a good and decent and intelligent woman like Jocelyn Carter continue to believe that she was doing something wrong,” I say into the microphone. “She hasn’t cheated on me technically because she hasn’t broken any marriage vows. All she’s done is fallen in love with a much younger gentleman in my son. And I think after this long on the campaign trail, I can vouch for his character.”

The crowd is eating it up. Now is where I turn to Lance and take a step close to him. I wrap my arms around him and he pulls me close.

He leans into my ear and whispers, “Congratulations, dad, you’ve just admitted to committing fraud by perpetuating a fake marriage.”

I freeze momentarily.

He’s right. But he doesn’t stop there. “And I have enough on you and Kenneth from the last couple of days to throw this election into the toilet for you, just to let you know.”

I don’t know what to say at this point.

“Makes that heartfelt speech of coming out to save your family look like trash when they see camera footage of Kenneth you on the staircase,” he finishes and pulls back to give me a broad, beaming smile that the cameras will pick up. They’ll think those were words of encouragement. But they chill my blood.

Maybe this is my son more than I thought.

Is that a bit of pride there I’m feeling for him?

Depends on how he plays it. Let’s see.

As if sensing this, Lance leans in one more time.

“I’m not getting off this podium and I’m releasing all this trash tomorrow unless you publicly take care of Jocelyn right now,” he says. “And don’t worry, I’ve gotten video footage stashed away pretty securely. I knew you’d try to double cross us as we planned this so I was ready to fight back.”

This time when Lance pulls back, I’m smiling.

So, the big oaf is capable of learning something after all. I taught him to think a few steps ahead.

Granted, he’s still playing checkers when this is chess, but at least he’s stood up to me, backed me in a corner, and is getting what he wants from me.

I turn back to the podium.

“I want the world to know that I wish Lance and Jocelyn all the happiness in the world,” I say as I turn to Lance and hand him the envelope with the unsigned marriage certificate. “That’s why I want them to know that I have a private chartered plane to take them anywhere in the world they want to go, as well as an executive position for Lance in Anders Media for when he wants to come back to work for his old man.”

People watching this are literally beaming now. They think I’m a generous old man.

“And Jocelyn, you’ll always be taken care of, dear,” I say, turning to her and giving her my fakest smile. She’s looking at me more in shock. Stupid woman was never a good liar. I can’t imagine how she pulled off this affair for so long. “I want you to be comfortable, so you’ll always have a monthly allowance of money to keep you in the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.”

That last one is going to hurt I can tell and it’s the only one I feel regret for. That’s at least several hundred thousand a month. But the moment I make those promises, I see Lance’s eyes soften, and I know he’s gotten everything he’s wanted.

“New York, I pledge to always be open and honest with you, and if you still want me as your Mayor, please go vote in two days!”

The crowd cheers. I mean the reporters are cheering. This election may just be in the bag because of this little stunt. And my concessions to Lance and Jocelyn – I think that’s what swayed the voters.

I turn towards the two of them on the podium and approach them.

“Are we good?” I ask. No microphone can hear us.

“I never want to see you again,” Jocelyn says with a smile.

“Just take the money and you’ll never have to,” I say back.

“Don’t interfere in our lives, or I will hunt you down,” Lance says, beaming with good cheer.

“I promise,” I say and I mean it. I don’t need to be bogged down by these two. I have my Kenneth. “Feel free to take the jet whenever.”

“We’ll be leaving tonight,” Lance says and hugs me.

Jocelyn tries a smile, but she can’t do it. That’s fine. I turn to the crowd with Lance and we both put an arm over each other’s shoulder and wave.

The crowd gives us adulation to an extent I had never felt before.

Maybe I underestimated Lance.

Maybe you underestimated me. But I’m still the Mayor of New York City. And it looks like I’ll be winning another term. Easily.

Michael Anders. Remember that name.

And considering how many stories are set in this city, you’re going to be running into me again.

I guarantee it.

58

Jocelyn

It worked. Lance’s plan really worked. I can hardly believe it, but this is real: I’m finally free to be with him, the man I love. I’m free of Michael. No more hiding, no more secrecy. I can live my life the way I want to.

After the conference was over, we didn’t even bother heading back home. It’s Michael’s home after all, and that phase of my life is already over. Lance and I are going to get our own place as soon as we can, but right now a hotel room will work just fine. To be honest, anywhere would work just fine, but I want to savor the moment over a proper mattress—I have a surprise hidden in my purse, after all, and it requires a bed.

We check into the Plaza, barely able to keep our hands off of each other. We rush through the check-in, and almost tumble inside the room the moment we get through the door.

My hands on his chest, I push him back until his knees meet the edge of the bed. I force him to lie down, and then I climb on top of him, moving like a cat. Barely capable of thinking straight, I can’t tell if because of how happy I am… or how wet—I lean in, pressing my lips against his and kissing him softly.

“You’re mine now, Lance,” I purr into him, running my fingers over his chest, his tight shirt delineating the contour of his muscles. One hand on my face, he smiles, allowing his fingers to roam over to my neck and then tangles them in my hair. He yanks, forcing my head back.

“You’re mine too… Forever,” he says, craning his neck and placing his mouth on my cleavage, his lips softly brushing against the soft skin there.

“Is my little boy turning into a man?” I tease him, locking eyes with him.

“He is. You made me into one.” With that, he pushes the straps of my dress down my shoulders, baring my black lace bra. Hooking his fingers on one cup, he tugs it down, my hard nipple jumping into sight. Before I can prepare for it, he presses his mouth there, his lips wrapped tight around my hard rosy tip.

“Mm,” I purr, a tickling sensation of delight under my skin. “I have a surprise for you…” I whisper, grinning wickedly. Oh, he has no idea what I have in store for him.

“I like surprises,” he says, his fingers squeezing my half-naked breast.

“Then close your eyes.” He does so dutifully, that delicious smile of his almost making my heart melt. I climb down from the bed and reach for my purse; I open it and take something from the inside: something metallic and shiny. Yes, if you were thinking “handcuffs,” you guessed right. They clink against one another, the low sound making him raise his eyebrows, but he remains faithful to what I told him and doesn’t open his eyes.

I go back to him, sitting on his lap and straddling him.

“Put your arms up,” I tell him, and he does it dutifully. Before he has the time to react, I hold my breath and move as fast as I can, closing the metallic brace around his wrist and locking the other end on the bedpost. He opens his eyes almost immediately.

“What is this?” he asks me, trying to push against the locked handcuffs. “You’re a wicked one, aren’t you?”

“You can’t imagine how wicked.” I place the other handcuff on him, locking it on the bed. I finally look down at him, taking in the scene; here he is, unable to move and escape… Mine to do as I please.

“You have no idea what I’m going to do to you once I’m out of these handcuffs,” he tells me, my pussy growing wet at his words. It almost makes me want to let him go right away, but I hold strong.

“Oh, is that so? And who says I’m ever letting you get out? I might just keep you here forever, mine to use and abuse…” I continue, placing my fingers on the collar of his shirt as I slowly start to unbutton his shirt, revealing his hard pectorals.

“Doesn’t sound that bad to me,” he shoots back. I can already feel his cock growing hard under me, straining against his pants. Feeling his hardness, I start a slight sway, moving my hips as I rub my crotch against his.

His shirt finally open, I lean in, my lips pressed against his neck. I start kissing him in a downward line, my mouth travelling down to his chest. I part my lips and let my tongue out, lapping at his nipples while I let my hands wander over to his belt; I unbuckle it, unzipping his fly immediately after, and continue kissing him down his chest. My tongue runs over his abs dutifully, their hard contour enough to make me go mad.

When I get close to the hem of his boxer briefs, I lay gentle kisses around it, my eyes darting to the thick shape tenting his underwear.

“Is this for me?” I ask him, running the tip of my index finger over his member.

“Just for you,” he tells me, grinning. The moment his words hit me, I curl my fingers around his cock, gripping it harshly.

“It better be,” I tease him. “Because I’m insatiable… And I don’t like to share.”

In response, his cock pulses firmly against the palm of my hand. I start to stroke him over the fabric of his boxers, my eyes locked on his.

“Insatiable works for me,” he chuckles, his arms unconsciously moving as he tries to reach for me, but the handcuffs keep him in place. I raise my eyebrows at him, biting my lower lip in a teasing way; I let go of his cock then, and start pushing his pants down. When they reach his ankles, I take off his shoes and socks, and then take his trousers out. My hands run back up his legs until they’re over his boxers again, his cock pulsing under the fabric. I almost pull his underwear down, but I decide against it—first I have to drive him insane… I want him aching and burning for my touch.

I stand up on top of the bed, each of my feet on the side of his waist. Unblinking, I push my dress down to my waist and then I unclasp my bra, pulling its straps down. The cups droop over my belly and I take my fingers there; I take my time as I pull them down, his hungry eyes widening as both my breasts come into sight.

Throwing the bra on top of his bare chest, I push my dress further down, making it slide down my legs. I kick it off, my heart beating fast as his eyes take in my almost naked figure. They widen even more as he glances over my tiny lace thong, and I can feel him mentally ripping it out of my body.

Sitting down on top of him, I place my crotch right above his. I rest my hands on his chest and then start to sway my hips, moving them back and forth and stroking his cock over his boxers. I feel it hardening even more, and I start becoming desperate to have him inside of me… To be on all fours while he idiots me, to be stretched wide by his huge member… But there’s time for everything. Right now, I’m under the spotlight and it’s my turn to shine.

I grind against him harder, moving my hips ferociously; I lean into him, kissing him as I move. I wonder if I’d be able to make him cum just like this, but I don’t have the mental fortitude to remain in this position for that long… So, feeling his cock pulsing against my pussy, I go lower on his body, hooking my fingers on his boxers; I tug them down his legs and throw them somewhere far off in the room. Sliding my hands from his ankles to his thighs, I lean into him, my eyes locked on his as my lips reach for his cock. I stop right before my mouth is on him, my smile turning into a grin of wickedness.

“Come on…” he groans, his cock jerking.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg… Maybe I’ll drive you crazy until you can’t take it anymore.” I love teasing him. I just do, one look into his eyes and I can almost see the flames of desire there, bright and wild and threatening to consume whatever’s in their way.

“Hell…” he sighs, closing his eyes; I take the chance and, as soon as his eyes are shut, I grab his cock and keep it in place as I roll my lips down his shaft. Twirling my tongue around it, I go as deep as I can; only stopping when his glans is pressed tight against the back of my throat. Going back up, I start bobbing my head back and forth as fast as I can, ravaging his cock with my mouth. “So… good…” He says, the words hanging heavily in the air.

His words make me go even harder, and I cup his balls with one hand, massaging them gently and feeling their weight against my open palm. Warm and heavy, they are busy with his seed, and I can’t help but be impressed by the amount of cum they always manage to produce. My mind harkens back to the Plaza, where I knelt in front of Lance and let him cover me from head to toe with his seed… Goodness, that was amazing. I know I’m not exactly young, and I’m not a naive virgin girl… But, heck, I never thought I’d be doing stuff like that before Lance showed up at my doorstep. Being close to him frees the beast inside of me. And what the beast inside of me needs right now is to have his cock inside of my pussy.

Sliding my mouth back out, I lick his whole length and then position myself better. Grabbing his cock, I point it upward, lift my hips up, and then start easing myself down. His glans brushing against my thong, I flick it to the side and let it press against my folds. I hold my position—once again, he strains against the handcuffs, desperate to grab me and impale me on his cock. But I’m holding all the cards here, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“See? I can do it too…” I say with a grin, slowly allowing one inch of him inside of me. My heart is racing like mad, and I know my words are hollow: I’m not teasing him as much as I’m teasing myself. So I do the only thing I can, which is going down as fast as I can, his cock pushing past my inner lips and lodging itself inside my pussy. A moan tumbles out of my lips as I feel his thickness straining against my inner walls, my body allowing instinct to sit behind the steering wheel—without bothering with the build up, I start swaying my hips back and forth, his shaft massaging my insides as I go.

Throwing my head back, I slide one hand down my chest and place two fingers over my clit, rubbing it as I idiot him. It feels good to say it; I’m him… It’s so easy to get lost in the semantics, but this time it means I’m the one in charge. It makes sense, really; I’m the older one in this room. Goodness, just thinking of it is enough to make me squirm.

“Harder,” he groans, gritting his teeth and trying to thrust at me. I obey dutifully, raising my hips and letting them down in a flurry of movement, jumping up and down on his cock. My rear is bouncing and slapping his legs, and the more I do it the faster my fingers start to rub on my clit.

It doesn’t take long for my muscles to tire out, but I just ignore it; it’s still early, and there’s lots to be done. Screw exhaustion. I push through the pain and only stop when my body starts to tremble, the spark of delight igniting inside of me. My hands start to twitch and I press my fingers against my clit, holding them there as I let out one loud moan. I close my eyes, savoring what I’m sure is just going to be the first orgasm of many. Really, I’ve been with Lance so many times, and I never came just once… Goodness, I knew about multiple orgasms and sex marathons, but this is on a whole different level. Welcome to the Sex Olympics, I’m the reigning champion.

Breathing out heavily, I let ecstasy rage through me until it finally subsides, leaving that pleasant tingling feeling inside of me. Raising my hips, I slide his cock out and move my body back. He’s looking at me expectantly and, while I think of what my next move is going to be, my body reacts of its own accord.

I lean in, my lips parting as I take my mouth to his cock once more. I want to feel my scent on his cock, his shaft wet with my fluids… And that’s exactly what I do: my mouth open wide, I take his whole shaft inside my back, rolling my lips back as I suck him. The sweet scent of my pussy is coating his hard member, and that just makes me lose it completely; I start sucking and licking as if I were possessed, desire blanketing my mind and pushing all other thoughts away.

Driven mad by pleasure, I take his cock out of my mouth, wanting to feel him once more inside of me. I mean, here is, handcuffed to the bed; it’d be a shame if I didn’t use his cock as much as I want, for as long as I want. I stand up and turn around, my back to him as I ease myself down over his cock; squatting over his waist, I grab his cock and point it up at my pussy. I could take my thong off, but I don’t want to waste any time with that; I just flick it to the side again. This time I don’t bother with the teasing; I just guide his thick hard member inside of me. I squat down, my body swaying as I drive his cock to the hidden depths inside of me.

Jumping up and down, I let myself be pulled into oblivion. I see nothing, I hear nothing. All there is in the universe is his cock, my pussy lips wrapped around it. I bounce on him for as long as I can, losing all notion of time. Really, I don’t know how much time has passed, if one minute or one hour… All I know is that I feel pleasure pooling around the edges of my mind, threatening to overtake me completely. Knowing that I’m close, I start to go even faster, jumping head first into an ocean of mind-bending ecstasy.

“Oh goodness!” I cry out as my pussy clamps down around his shaft, slight spasms taking over of my body. I go on my knees, straddling him in reverse, and push through the orgasm. Still moving, I ride myself into a chain of orgasms, letting one build up inside of me while the last one is still raging through my mind. Like a mad woman, I scream, coming for the second time in a row in a matter of seconds. Leaning forward, I grab his ankles, keeping my body still as I try to catch my breath. Goodness, I’m breathing so hard I don’t even know how my lungs are still capable of functioning. This is almost too much for me to take… And that makes it so much better.

“Tired already, baby?” I hear his voice, his cock slightly spasming inside of me. Smiling, I pull his cock out and turn toward him. His expression is one of pent up desire—like a caged tiger, I have no idea what he might do once I let him loose. But, oh, I’m so anxious to do it.

“Tired? We’re just getting started,” I meow at him, biting at the corner of my lip. I get out of the bed and amble down to where I left my purse; taking the keys out, I go back to the bed, climbing on top of it. As I reach for the handcuffs, ready to set him free, I see his anxious grin and stop. “Maybe I can use you a while longer…”

“Use me all you want. That’s what I’m here for,” he says, cementing the idea in my mind. I place the key on the bed stand and go up on my feet again. Seductively swaying my hips, I hook my fingers on the side of my thong and start pushing it down. The wet fabric slides down easily, and I bend over to pick it up. Sitting on the bed by his side, the tiny piece of wet fabric in my hand, I smile at Lance; I take my thong and brush it against his lips, teasing him.

“I want a taste of that. Right now,” he growls, a furious storm of hunger and lust raging in his eyes.

“Taste me? And how would you taste me?” I tease him, sliding the thong down his chest and onto his cock. I wrap the fabric around his member and start stroking him slowly, his mast pulsing softly against my fingers.

“You know how,” he grins at me. Oh, I do know how. Licking my lips, I go over his body and inch closer to his face, his head pressed between my thighs. I look down at him wantonly, but he doesn’t look back, his anxious gaze is on my pussy, his parted lips waiting for it to be against his mouth. Who am I to deny him what he wants? Well, what I want. Moving even closer, I press my pussy against his face as I grab the frame of the bed; he starts sucking immediately, his lips pulling on my drenched folds as he uses his tongue to explore my insides.

I close my eyes and moan deeply, swaying my hips as I rub my aching pussy against his mouth. I have absolute control right now, and there’s no better feeling in the world… Asides from giving up all control, that is. With Lance, control or no control, it’s all perfection. Sweet frenzied perfection.

Going hard, I angle myself so that he can lick my clit; I slow down, swaying my hips gently as I let him set the pace with his mouth. Soon enough I stop moving completely, succumbing to the maddening strokes of his tongue. Hissing between gritted teeth I take one hand to his hair, dishevel it and yank on it, forcing him to press his mouth harder against my wetness.

Fierce moans tumbling out of my lips, I finally come against his mouth, tightening my thighs around his head. Still he keeps sucking, sending shards of electric pleasure up my spine while I tremble and moan. I hold my position until the orgasm finally washes over me, and only then do I get out from where I am.

My fingers are trembling as I reach for the bed stand and grab the handcuff keys. I struggle to get my hands where I need them to be, but I finally manage to get the key inside the lock. The moment I turn it and the handcuff opens, his hand flies to my rear, his fingers digging deep into my flesh. I think of torturing him and keeping the other handcuff on, but I decide against it; I don’t want to torture myself as well. Getting his other arm free, I prepare for the inevitable: right now he’s a hungry predator, and I’m letting it out of its cage. He's going to pounce on me like a tiger, and he won’t stop until he has me completely spent and devoured. It’s the law of nature, and it sounds just about right.

Both his hands on my rear, he pushes me on top of the bed, laying me down. He climbs on top of me, his body between my legs, and presses his forehead against mine. We stay in silence for a whole eternity—a second—our eyes locked.

“You have no idea how hard I’m going to forget you,” he whispers, my heart tightening inside my chest.

“What are you waiting for then?” I don’t need to say more: his hands go to my knees, and grabbing them, he pushes my legs apart. His fat glans pressed against my pussy, he thrusts without waiting, his cock sliding inside of me in a hurry. I grit my teeth and lace my legs behind his back, urging him to go as hard as he can. He doesn’t disappoint: his thrusts are furious right from the start, his cock pounding into me so fiercely that a sweet numbness starts to spread through my body.

I take my hands to his back and dig my fingernails on his muscles; he still has a few red marks on his chest from the last time we were together, so why not give him an equal memento on his back? I claw at him, and that makes him piston into me even harder. Turning my head to the side and parting my lips, I start nibbling at his ear, the soft cartilage hugged tightly by my teeth. I bite down harder than I should have, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. With my tongue I trace a downward line to his neck, and then I bite him there too, hard enough to leave a mark. He groans slightly, but I’m not sure if he has even registered where the pain has come from. He’s lost in a whirlwind of lust, me as if he was born with that single purpose in mind.

“Oh, idiot!” I blurt out suddenly, his cock driving deeper into me. A sharp pain goes up my spine, but the moment it reaches my brain it has already turned into sweet pleasure. I open my mouth to moan, but I end up screaming; ecstasy whips me, and I come so hard I start to see dark spots on the edge of my eyes. I have to take a deep breath so that I don’t pass out, the raw energy that roams free through my body almost too much for me. Almost.

“This is going to be good,” Lance whispers into my ear, slowing down his rhythm. Goodness, I’m trembling all over and he still keeps me, not allowing me a minute’s rest. He works me with his cock until my fingernails are like knives on his back, stabbing his chiseled muscles as madness takes over me. There’s a hard pressure mounting inside of me, but there’s also a weird feeling on my insides.

“Lance, I--”

“Shh… Just let go,” he whispers. I’m not sure if he knows what’s going on inside my body, but his words have a soothing effect on me. I do exactly as he tells me to and just let go. The moment I relax, I go thermonuclear—my mind goes blank and I feel my pussy spasming and gushing at the same time. I moan, a wild laugh climbing up my throat. Sweet Goodness, I’m squirting! I feel the fluids dripping down my inner thighs to the sheets, drenching them in the juices of sinful ecstasy.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” I whisper into his ear, feeling dizzy. I take my legs out of his back and sprawl myself on the mattress, completely spent. He takes his cock out of me, slowly, and then lies down by my side.

“No, I won’t be the end of you,” he says with a chuckle, running his hand up my side. “You’re woman enough to take it.” I turn to him, a tender smile on my lips.

“Yes… And I’m your woman, Lance,” I tell him, enjoying the sound of the words on my mouth. He smiles back at him, gently, and brushes his hand against my cheek.

“I’m lucky I found you,” he says, running his hand through my hair. “You’re… perfect.” My heart melts at his words. Here he is, a 21-year-old with the world at his feet… He has his whole future ahead of him, and there are countless young hot women throwing themselves at his feet… And yet, here he is with me, whispering me promises of love. By the time I turned 36, I had almost given up on love; I never expected for it to come knocking at my door like this, in the shape of someone almost young enough to be my son.

“We’re perfect,” I correct him, softly brushing my lips against his and running my tongue over them.

“We are,” he agrees. Then, looking into my eyes, his smile turns into the Devil’s grin. “And do you know what’s also perfect? What I’m about to do to you.” He sits up on the bed and I do the same; he grabs me by the waist and makes me go on all fours, kneeling behind me. He squeezes my cheeks gently, his long fingers over my rear. Then I hear him hold his breath and I brace for impact: he smacks me hard with the back of his hand, my cheeks bouncing as he touches me. He does it over and over again, the loud sound of his smacks filling the whole room. The sharp pain makes me grit my teeth, but it makes me ache for his touch even more… There really is something to be said about using pain to cause pleasure.

Stopping, he runs the tip of his middle finger over the length of my crack, stopping right before my jerk. I sway my hips from side to side, urging him to go on, and he presses his fingertip over it. My insides clench and, a heartbeat after that, he starts to slide his finger in, slowly prodding my insides.

“Mm,” I moan, my mind numbed by the feeling.

“This right here,” he says, sliding his finger in and out of my rear, “it’s mine. It’s mine and I want it.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for doubts: he’s going to take my rear, and I don’t have a say about it. Which suits me just fine, knowing that he wants to mess me there is enough to make me desperate for it. My cheeks become flushed as I think about it, and there’s a deep sense of urgency inside of me. It’s high time to feel his cock inside my rear. “But you have to beg for me to do it.”

I don’t even need for him to say it twice.

“I want you…” He twists his finger inside of me, and I gasp. I have to take a deep breath before I can continue. “I want you to mess me… I want you to mess my rear. Please.”

“Good,” he whispers, leaning forward. He takes his finger out of my rear, and grabbing his cock, rubs it along my crack, moving his glans so that it’s pressing against my hole. A needle of anxiety prickles my mind then—is he going to fit? Is it going to hurt? I mean, to have a cock as huge as his inside of my rear… It’s already an impressive feat to have him inside my pussy. “Don’t worry,” he says, almost as if he could read my mind, “I’ll take it slow.”

“I trust you,” I tell him, looking over my shoulder at him. He winks mischievously at me, and I close my eyes, looking down at the mattress as I prepare for it. His cock is still drenched in my fluids so, as he presses it against my rear, I feel the tip sliding in, stretching me wide. “Oh goodness!” I gasp, his thickness straining to get in. “Oh goodness!” It’s almost too much for me to bear, but I don’t want him to stop. I want his cock all in me, stretching me wide and me in such a way that I won’t be able to sit up straight for days. This is going to be intense.

He takes his time, sliding inch by inch as slowly as he can. I moan all the way, a thunderstorm raging inside my head. Keep it together, keep it together, I think to myself, breathing heavily and trying not to pass out. This feels too good. Sure, it hurt a little as he slid it in, but the pleasure I take from it… Oh goodness, the pleasure. Every woman should feel this much pleasure, at least once in their lives. You just don't know you’re alive until you have a twelve-inch cock sliding down your rear. And, right now, I’m as alive as I could be.

“Are you alright?” he asks me, almost all of his twelve inches inside of me.

“I’m… I’m…” I can’t speak, sweet Goodness. “I’m fine… Idiot me, Lance. Just idiot me.” I beg, grabbing at the sheets as I prepare for an avalanche of ecstasy to overtake me. Still moving slowly, he starts to rock his hips, making his cock slide in and out of my rear. “Idiot!” I cry out loud, my rear straining to survive his thrusts. Oh, but who cares about survival? I start to thrust back, pushing through the sweet pain and urging Lance to unleash all of his wickedness upon me. He takes the hint pretty quickly: his hands on my waist, he holds me in place as he starts to pick up the pace. I moan incoherently as he idiots me, completely destroying me. My insides are burning, the sweet drug of climax coursing through my veins.

“HARDER!” I shout as loud as I can, my throat aching to let the words out. I’m so close to coming I can already feel it bubbling up to the surface. Like I told him to, Lance starts to go harder, his thighs slapping my rear incessantly until my whole body grows numb. “Idiot, idiot…” I hiss through gritted teeth, my muscles tensing up only to start twitching immediately after.

I don’t think I have ever come this hard. I’m screaming so hard my throat feels raw, and it’s like flames are lapping at my skin from the inside out. My mind is an incoherent mess of rambling thoughts, and it feels as if I’ve descended into a world of insanity. Tears are going down my face, and I can feel their saltiness as they go over my lips.

Lance pulls his cock out, carefully, and I collapse on the bed, stomach down. I don’t think I have ever felt this exhausted in my entire life. Opening my eyes, I try and force myself not to drift off; after all, we’re not done yet. How could we be done if I still haven’t tasted his seed yet?

Rolling to my back, I reach for his cock, summoning whatever strength is left inside my body as I start to stroke him. My arm moving fast, I’m jerking him almost too violently; he doesn’t seem to care, though. His head thrown back and his eyes shut close, he’s groaning loudly, completely lost in pleasure.

Lost in a daze, I don’t even notice the signs of his impending orgasm. I only realize he’s about to come when he grunts, breathing out sharply through his gritted teeth. Before I can take my mouth to his cock, thick ropes of cum gush onto my face. I barely have the time to close my eyes, his gooey semen coating every inch of skin on my face as I open my mouth wide. His salty flavor hits me at once, coating my tongue and filling me up to the brim. I don’t even bother to wait for him to finish: I swallow all the semen inside my mouth as he keeps cumming, his fluids covering everything in their way. From my hair to my belly, nothing is safe.

Then, with a growl, he leans in and places his hands on my waist. Harshly he forces me to lay down on my stomach, his cock always spasming as he goes about it. Gushing like a fountain, he covers my back, and angling his cock, starts to aim at my rear. His warm juices drip down between my rear cheeks, completely covering my crack and pooling over my jerk. I remain like that for heaven knows how long, feeling heavy drops of cum hitting every square inch of naked skin.

When he’s finally done, I turn to look at him, but he acts quickly, with his hands on my waist again, he keeps in place, lying down on my stomach.

“Don’t move,” he orders me, “I’m not done yet.” And then, with no explanation whatsoever, he leans in. I feel his tongue on my neck, licking all the cum there, and then he moves it down to my back. He doesn’t stop, tracing a perfect straight line toward my rear and picking all the cum on the way there. He only makes a small detour to kiss the dimples on my lower back, sucking in all the cum that has pooled there, but soon he is on his way again.

Shuddering, I feel his tongue moving over my crack. When he’s close to my hole, he places both hands on my buttocks and pushes them apart, clearing the way for his mouth. He dives in then, pressing his lips against my jerk and scooping up all the cum that has accumulated there. My muscles twitch as he licks me, ripples of pleasure still travelling up and down my spine, and I let out a loud moan as he starts using his tongue to lick my crack, stroking me softly. I shudder and tremble; soft whimpers on my mouth as he licks me dry. He only stops when there’s not a drop more of cum on my rear.

Finally done, he comes up, lying down by my side; I open my eyes, taking in the beautiful sight of his cum-coated lips. There’s semen all over his face, dripping down his chin and neck. I grin and inch closer to him, pressing my mouth against his; with an electric touch, our tongues dance around one another, swapping whatever cum we still hold inside our mouths.

Pulling back, we smile at each other, and without feeling the need for words, we swallow. I watch as his Adam’s apple rises and falls, his own cum going down his throat.

If anyone came inside the room right now, they’d see two people lying down side-by-side, their bodies covered in cum. One would be a young man, the other would be a woman closing in on her forties. It would be an unlikely couple, sure, but what they wouldn’t realize is that love doesn’t care about details. It doesn’t care that he’s younger, or that I’m older. It doesn’t care that our sex is hot and dirty. Love only cares about the truth. And the truth, my friend, is that I finally found love.

And I found it in Lance Anders, my hot young lover.

59

New York Daily Journal

From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.

Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:

After an election with more twists and turns than a roller coaster on Coney Island, the city has finally decided on it’s mayor for the next four years.

That’s right, New Yorkers, the post of Hizzoner will be once again held by Michael Anders. Mayor Anders becomes the first openly gay mayor in the history of New York City and New York City becomes the largest city in the world with an openly gay mayor.

Already, Hollywood executives are rushing to City Hall to buy the rights to the story—something that seems like it could come out of a racy romance novel rather than reality.

Perhaps most striking in transformation is the Mayor himself, who gave a much more subdued acceptance speech once all exit polls were closed, calling for unity and compassion between all New Yorkers—no longer the firebrand of moral righteousness that he was on the campaign trail.

The Mayor, who had been accompanied through most of his campaign by his wife and stepson, spoke alone this time around.

Sources are telling me that Lance Anders and Jocelyn Anders left by the Anders' private jet to London shortly after their gripping press conference two days before the election. Sources inside City Hall were not able to confirm whether the pair had in fact voted.

Mayor Anders, in addition to his conciliatory tone that he took throughout the final days of his campaign after the what many are deeming the ‘press conference to end all press conferences’ is putting in place plans that are a vast departure from his traditional ‘family values’ principles he put out during the summer. Instead, campaign and administration officials stressed that the first year of Hizzoner’s second term will be focused on job training for displaced workers, as well as luring more manufacturing and specialty jobs back into the city that have been lost through automation and factory closings. The mayor is apparently also considering an across the board tax cut for middle income and low income families that will assist those who are currently struggling in the city’s economy.

While critics of the Mayor, who state that he can sometimes run roughshod over his enemies, have stated that only time will tell if his startling admission to being gay will mean a kinder and gentler politician, already many in New York who felt alienated by Michael Anders are celebrating.

“I hate to say anything good about the man, considering I spent the last several months saying bad things, but it looks like after that doozie of a press conference, we’ll see a more open and honest Michael Anders,” Jim Jenkins, his opponent commented to me after his concession speech. He went on to state, “Whereas before, if you were unemployed, elderly, poor, a single mother, working in manufacturing, or just basically not wealthy, you had cause for concern, it seems that the Mayor coming clean about his own skeletons has made him say and do some very, very different things.”

Only time will tell what the relationship with Mayor Anders and the City of New York will be like. During that time, many of you in Gotham will undoubtedly be wondering what happens to his estranged stepson who seems to have for the moment absconded with his wife.

“Since the Mayor and Jocelyn Carter were never truly married it turns out due to the form not being properly signed, there’s no real reason for a divorce,” his Chief of Staff Kenneth Loomis stated when contacted about this issue. “The Mayor wishes them both every happiness and hopes that they will keep him abreast of news of his grandson. But in all honesty, he’s probably going to be more focused on running the city.”

Citizens polled during Election Day stated overwhelmingly that the Mayor’s burst of honesty was what had made them finally favor him. Many stated that holding back such a key facet regarding his personality had affected him in other areas in how he presented himself to the public, which all coalesced to create such low approval ratings for him despite his photogenic family. I think that once citizens learned the full story of their Mayor, we began to realize that we may not like him as a person on some levels because he’s so busy, but the job of Mayor requires someone who will give it their all and sacrifice everything else. And that made him the top choice, by a margin of 63% to 37%.

That about does it for my coverage of this election cycle. I either need a vacation from politics, a long, hot shower to feel clean again, or both.

I can’t wait till Lance and Jocelyn come back to New York though—they’re currently in London—and you can bet that as soon as they have their baby that this newspaper will be all over them, getting the facts for your reading pleasure. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

60

Jocelyn

Epilogue

The limo glides next to the curb of our new home in the city. I get out, and Lance comes out from the other side, holding the baby carrier.

I look up briefly. I can’t see the top of the tower to One57.

“How did you say you came to a decision to live here, again?” I ask him.

He shrugs as we walk into the ornate lobby. “I got a buddy who lives here,” he says.

“Someone from your wilder days?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

I can’t help it. Lance looks very cute carrying little Lola Grace in the baby carrier. A bad boy, certifiably with his tattoos, now a daddy.

“A buddy of mine from a while ago, actually, Arsen Hawke,” he says.

The name rings a bell for me. “The porn king?” I ask.

He nods. “His dad was the porn king, but he met some girl and they run it like a business now.”

“The guy who’s making webcams come into the mainstream?” I ask Lance. I’m a bit skeptical. “He’s not going to want to film Lola Grace or something, is he?”

Lance laughs. “Nah, but he’ll probably be down to him us.”

I give Lance a look. He looks at me and smiles and whatever withering stare I may have tried vanishes. I love this man too much to even be fake mad at him.

You know that feeling, hun? Where you’re mad at your significant other for being too cute to not let you be mad at them? Like you try to be mad at you, but then they just smirk or smile, or touch you somewhere and you stop being mad? And then you get mad that they were able to take away your anger?

Let me just say that I’d rather be mad about this, than where I was one year ago. Right before the election.

We open the door to the apartment and walk in.

It’s already furnished rather tastefully. I hired someone while we were in Europe to make sure that the apartment was ready for us.

What? I would have loved to do it myself, but it’s really hard when you have to have sex three times a day and take care of a baby.

Although, hun, the sex part - I don’t have to do it. It’s just that my body seems to want it that often, is all. Like I’ve been walking in a desert, and now I finally have all the water I could drink.

Besides, the $10 million a month that Michael pays me as a settlement lets me not have to worry about these things. Combined with Lance’s trust fund, I’d say we’re doing pretty good. Considering where we were.

There’s a knock at the door.

“That must be Michael,” Lance thinks and I’m almost tempted to say speak of the devil.

It’s funny. I want to stay mad at Lance, but I’ve already forgotten what that’s like. But Michael. I’m not mad at Michael. It’s just a chill that runs through me when I see him walk in the door.

He doesn’t have the human feelings that are supposed to be in people. Something like that. No way else to explain any of this…

“Hello,” Michael says walking in. “I just wanted to stop by, welcome you to my city, and visit my granddaughter.”

Lance shakes his hand and I bite back the urge to tell him he’s not related to our little family in any way. I was never married to him. He was never Lance’s father. But I stop.

“She’s beautiful,” Michael says bending over and examining Lola Grace.

The baby looks up at Michael, in a few minutes she’ll be crawling around the apartment, exploring. But for now, she’s content to stay bundled up where she is.

Michael gets up and turns around.

He hands Lance an envelope.

“Come back to work for the company and the campaign son,” he says to him. “Here is everything I have, and I think I’ve met your conditions.”

“The media hitting you that badly, huh?” Lance asks.

Michael shakes his head. “Not at all, actually,” he says. “They’ve embraced this whole breaking barriers thing I’m putting up at them. Really taking the narrative of the first openly gay mayor to heart.”

“Then why do you want me back?” Lance asks with suspicion.

Michael shrugs. “Well, considering that I have no need for a family, having the two of you there associated with me can only help in the polls,” he says. He looks out the windows. “I mean, with the city the way it is and problems always cropping up, you can never have too few positives on your side of the table.”

Lance looks at Michael for a second. There’s a lot of history between those two men. A lot of anger. Pain. Hurt.

Finally he nods his head. “I can give you another chance,” he says and Michael smiles.

The two shake hands. There’s a moment.

Then Michael turns to me. He knows better than to take a step closer.

“Jocelyn,” he says. “I’ve given Lance copies of everything I had on your father. He’s free and no longer ever has to worry.”

I nod. It’s going to take time for me to trust Michael. But if Lance is willing to try, I can match.

Michael says his goodbyes after a while and I turn to Lance. He grabs me in his arms, and the two of us walk to the floor to ceiling windows of One57. Of our new home.

Our new life. Together.

Just the way I want it.

A Goodbye From Lance

Jocelyn really wanted to be the person that got to say goodbye to you. But I got here first, and since it’s only really one of us that talks to you at a time, I guess this is my turn.

But no, really, I wanted to tell you how awesome I think you are for making it this far. Most novels are 40,000 to 50,000 words. If you’re reading this, babe, you’ve just digested 82,000 words of story. Actually, wait, that’s pretty much what it was, wasn’t it? A story about? Or a story?

Whatever, listen, this is all I came to tell you and I wanted to tell you a bit about the chick who wrote this because she doesn’t usually like doing things the normal way.

So her name is Alexis Angel and she usually has all this trash she puts down about how she likes having fun and trash and whatever the heck girls talk about they like to buy, and Jocelyn even gave me a list of things to say but I forgot. It’s not my fault. Jocelyn got these black yoga pants from Lululemon and I was just staring at that rear. Wanted to bury my face in those cheeks. And slap that rear while I was rubbing my face in it. Got my cock so hard I swear to heaven its a wonder I’m even sitting here talking to you instead of her right now. But I gotta do this first because Alexis took the time to write about us that Jocelyn won’t forgive me if I forget.

What am I even talking about? Oh, right. So, you can reach Alexis at alexis@naughtyangelpublishing.com if you want to email her about anything. She loves all the normal trash that girls do, but I sometimes think she’s a dirty girl too at heart. I mean, she made us describe the sex we had in such detail. Like, ‘where did you move your hand after that? How hard did you squeeze her nipple? What did it feel like when her tongue was at the tip of your cock? What about when it was on your shaft?’

I swear, it’s like I should have invited her with the two of us, she seems to know every thing about our lives.

Anyways, Alexis is on Facebook right now where she’s probably talking about me. You can friend her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/alexis.angel.754. But she’s also got a page where she took pictures of me and Jocelyn and put it on a cover. Her page is at: https://www.facebook.com/author.alexisangel/.

Ok, so that’s everything right? I forgot her Twitter and trash, and seriously, Jocelyn can’t expect me to remember everything when she’s shaking her rear like that in my face. I swear to heaven.

I think I’m going to go harass her now. It’s been a couple of hours and I’m horny. Oh, you haven’t read about our wedding in Europe, have you? If you want to read about how we started, or the trash that you didn’t get to see - and trust me, you’ve seen more into my life than me at this point, I think - then you can do all that by signing up for the Naughty Angels Newsletter, here.

But seriously, do whatever you got to do, just know that it was good having you. And I’m serious, if you had met me before Jocelyn, or if you ask Alexis really nicely, I will totally come over and forget you. Yeah, you read that right. I’ll come over and rub my 12-inch cock all over your belly before I suck on them and make you sigh. Then I’ll eat your pussy till you squeal. Then I’ll stick my cock inside of you till you pass the heck out.

You just gotta either be part of her Naughty Angels or ask her on Facebook. Don’t believe me? You already saw my rear on the Prequel, didn’t you?

See you around.

Scandalous is done! Now on to Client 5!

So Scandalous is pretty dirty, huh?

Now comes Client 5. It’s not as taboo but really sexual

And then we have some new stuff!

We round out with a copy of Man Chaser by Alexis Angel!

A copy of Fiona Vs. Football Player by Mona Cox.

Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an extended epilogue!

Our goal in this is simple.

To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us closer together we feel.

Thank you so much for reading!

xoxo

Alexis and Lana

Client 5: A Bad Boy Next Door Dark Romance

Client 5: A Bad Boy Next Door Dark Romance

There isn’t a woman alive that I can’t buy…and I’m rich enough to pay.

I knew I had to have Ashley since the night I saw her. She was so f*cking gorgeous.

I know it’s only a matter of time before she’s mine. With my 8-pack abs, chiseled face, muscles, and tats, I’ve never met a woman whose panties didn’t melt just by looking at me.

Take the pants off and ain't nothing in the world gonna save her from Arsen Hawke.

Sure, she can say whatever she wants to pretend she’s got a choice.

She can say she doesn’t fall for bad boys.

She can try to scare me off by saying she comes with a high price tag.

But none of that f*cking matters to me.

Because I’ve already fallen for that curvy body of hers. For that beautiful face and soft lips. And I’ll pay anything to ravish her. Even if it means agreeing to pay the ultimate price…my heart.

Client 5 is a full-length standalone romance with a guaranteed Happily Ever After, no cheating or cliffhangers.

61

Arsen

“Oh baby, I love sucking this huge cock of yours,” Sophie says as she runs her tongue up and down my shaft in the way that only a stripper can. “It’s getting me so horny.”

I can hear the steady beats of Lil’ John playing through the club as I look down through the glass at the main stage of the strip club. It’s a pretty crowded evening, and I idly wonder if some of the patrons—those poor, lonely schmos with no place else to be—realize that the mirrors they’re looking up at are really one-sided and that I can look down from them at any point. Including times like now, where I’m completely naked getting my sucked by a blonde stripper as a brunette one rubs her hands all over my body.

But just as soon as I wonder, the brunette—I think her name is Heather?—starts twisting my nipples and I decide it’s a stupid thing to wonder about and I should just concentrate on the task at hand. That task being namely to harass the living trash out of these two strippers—new girls to the club, but definitely old hands at this game. They know what’s what, that’s for sure. The moment they started at the club, I could tell they were eyeing me. Deciding if it was in their best interests to mess me or not. Could they advance their careers by boning the owner?

Let me take a moment to introduce myself, since it’s clear we haven’t met and you’re just now popping into the picture as I have my cock going in and out of one woman’s mouth and my hands roaming the fake belly of another.

My name is Arsen Hawke.

Yes, I know what you’re saying to yourself right now.

That Arsen Hawke. Yes. The 30-year old son of the billionaire smut lord of America. The son of the man the nation knows as the Corrupter. Collectively, my dad is responsible for putting out 83 Internet live web cams, 23 Pay-Per-View channels, 3 magazines, and 5 different streaming porn services through the Internet. All beamed directly into your home for your little son or daughter to consume when you’re not looking – further destroying what little of the moral fiber is left of Western democratic values.

That Arsen Hawke that you read about in the tabloids. The same one that you see on E! Online. With the chiseled 8-pack abs, rugged face, icy blue eyes, and tattoos designed by some of the most gifted artists of our time. Idiot, I don’t even know why I’m describing myself. You know everything about me. You know that I’m good looking as idiot. That on the off-chance that I decided to stop by your town or city, you would probably tell your husband that you were going out so you could see me signing autographs at the mall. Just catch a glimpse. Maybe you’d hope to see me take off my shirt. Maybe you’d even get close enough to see my ripped physique. Idiot, maybe I would make eye contact with you and flex my pecs for you. Tell you to come closer so you could see my 1% body fat body. You’d be pretty close then, maybe I’d even touch you. That’s when you’d go crazy, because that’s what I do to every girl around me.

You’d try not to at first, but you wouldn’t be able to help yourself from looking at the bulge in my pants. That 12-inches of pussy pleasing pistoning that you’ve read about. Fantasized about. You’d be so close to touching it. Tasting it.

If I told you to get in the limo with me, you wouldn’t even think about anything else. Idiot life. Forget every obligation you ever had. All you’d want to do is get in for maybe the most illicit and exciting moment you’d ever have with someone who is larger than life.

Once inside and in private, I’d take your hands in mine and tell you that this is temporary and it’s nothing permanent. You’d agree. Anything to have a taste of me. Anything for a feel. You’d nod your head, and I’d take my pants off, showing you my thick, pulsing, veiny cock.

And idiot if you wouldn't go crazy. Sure, I’d let you suck it like these two strippers right now, who are both taking turns running their tongues around the tip of my cock. But then, I’d turn you over on all fours and I’d harass the living trash out of you. I swear to heaven you would cum enough times that by the time I was done with you, you would be nothing more than a quivering mess of flesh on the seat. Sex coma? Talk about sex amnesia.

And you would do anything for another taste of that cock. Anything I wanted you to do. That’s why I’d want to get the heck away as soon as possible. But I would leave you with memories that would last a lifetime as I flew off to my next destination. Maybe Singapore. Or, maybe London. I hear it’s nice this time of year.

So, yeah, that Arsen Hawke.

But there's so much more that you don’t know about me. What about the fact that I haven't talked to my dad in 6 years, ever since my mom died of cancer and got no help from him since he had already divorced her. That I’ve been living on my own, at the age of 30 at One57 on Billionaire’s Row in New York City. That despite my body and looks and my cock, I have a brain. Harvard MBA, baby. But, no. You don't know that about me. And quite honestly, I’m not surprised.

“Arsen, I want your cock inside of me, baby,” Sophie moans in her most slutty voice. I look down at her. She sees the look in my eyes and smiles lusciously and takes Heather. The two trade a wet, sloppy kiss for my benefit, and then turn away from me, facing the window overlooking the club. They're both naked—harass their strippers—what do you expect? But what really blows my brain is when they both bend over, jutting their rears out at me.

“Which one of us do you want to mess first?” Heather asks, her eyes twinkling with this lust game that their playing for me.

I’m only human, okay? I tear open the condom wrapper and sheath myself as I grab Sophie’s waist with both hands, and push my quivering cock into her pussy. She’s wet, I’ll give her that. But not really that tight. Phoo, it’ll get the job done.

Within seconds, I have a good, steady clip going, pistoning in and out of Sophie’s canal as she moans lewdly. To further stimulate me, Heather starts licking and sucking Sophie’s belly. I’m building up my tempo, increasing my pace, and I can hear my balls slapping against the underside of Sophie’s rear in tune with the music.

“Idiot me, harder, Arsen!” Sophie screams and I oblige the hussy, pounding into her with enough force to topple someone over. It’s a good thing she has the window as leverage, steadying herself as I go mercilessly at her groin.

Another few seconds and I can tell I’ve gotten Sophie past the point of no return. Three more strokes, two, one, and bingo. Her pussy clamps up around my cock like a vice and I feel her entire body shudder.

“Oh idiot!” Sophie screams and I can tell that her body is being wracked by an orgasm as her muscles clench and unclench.

“My turn,” Heather says and uses her hands to play with my tennis-ball sized balls as I slow down. Heather guides me out of Sophie and leans her back on the window, lifting her leg and giving me easy access inside of her. I slide in, slick with Sophie’s juices and begin the process again as she wraps her arms around me.

I feel Heather’s belly against my chest. Sophie is still quivering and shaking next to me as the new song starts up.

And that’s when I see her.

The new dancer that gets on stage.

She’s new. I know it. I’ve messed so many of the strippers in this club, they should seriously give me some sort of award for not catching any STDs. But then again, I always protect myself to the max.

But this girl. I’ve never seen her before.

Or have I? She seems so familiar, and she’s so beautiful I feel like I know her.

She’s got blonde hair that comes down to her shoulders. Idiot, her face is so gorgeous. With the sweetest most innocent eyes and the most beautiful face. But so what if her face is sweet and innocent looking; her body is sinful. Belly that are perfectly shaped and big. A perfectly tapered waist. Slender legs. A jerk that's…

Idiot, I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum so hard. I need to calm the heck down. I can usually go forever. What the heck is wrong with me?

“Baby, I just felt your balls tighten up,” Heather says with a wicked grin. “It’s okay, I know my pussy’s tight.”

Actually her pussy is the opposite of tight. I might as well be unbelievable plastic bag, but I somehow don’t care at this point in time.

I’ve maybe only messed Heather for five minutes now but I pull out, and toss off my condom as if in a daze.

It’s because I am in a daze. I’m staring at that girl as she twirls around on the pole.

My heart rate is increasing. I’m not going to last much longer.

Both Sophie—who’s calmed down and returned back to earth—and Heather get on their knees and start jerking me off. They use their tongues to rub the underside of my cock.

And more stimulating than what those women are doing, I look down and I see the stripper from Heaven bent over on the pole, shaking her rear.

Holy Goodness.

I can’t take anymore.

I explode.

I shoot out arcs of cum. Rope after rope of cum is leaving my body and I feel electric impulses go from my nuts to my brain, paralyzing me. My muscles freeze and I can only experience the convulsions that tear through my body.

I watch as my semen lands on Heather's forehead, her chin, inside of her mouth, on Sophie’s belly, and on her nose. As I come back to reality, I can hear myself breathing harshly. I look down to see my cum dripping from both of their faces and chins onto their bodies.

Normally, I’d be pleased at my handiwork. But today, I search desperately for the stripper.

But apparently, her song is over because she’s leaving the stage.

I need to go downstairs. I need to talk to her.

But that’s when the phone rings.

My personal phone. My cell phone. Never ignored, because it’s always important.

And only one person usually ever uses it to call me. It’s no surprise that it’s on the windowsill behind the strippers. I reach over and grab it and turn it on. This better be quick. I need to go downstairs and find this girl.

Oh, what about the ones in front of me, you’re wondering? On their knees, cooing and purring and licking my cum?

Whatever. I don’t care what they do tonight. I’m done with them.

“Gerard?” I say into the phone. He usually doesn't call in the evenings. He doesn't usually want to interfere whatever—or whoever—I’m doing.

“Arsen,” the calm off-English voice of Gerard comes through. “You need to meet me at the Plaza Hotel immediately. Your father just died of a massive heart attack.”

It’s like I hear the words, but don’t understand them.

“Arsen,” Gerard says after a pause. “Your father, Sloane, is dead. You are now the sole owner of Hawke Media and you need to come over. Now.”

Well, idiot.

I need to get the heck out. I need to go to the Plaza and meet Gerard.

Oh, listen, if you’re still here. This seems like it’s going to be a fun ride. You’re welcome to stay along. If it’s not your cup of tea, no harm, no foul. But if you stay on and move onto the next page, then take my advice and go somewhere you can be by yourself. And maybe take your panties off if you don’t want to do laundry. I won’t have time to remind you because I gotta get to the Plaza. Like now.

62

Ashley

Every other stripper in this club will hate me, but I've got to say it anyways. I like it when I’m on stage. But not for the reason you think. Sure, I’m getting naked and sure I’m getting "rained on." When the customers “make it rain” the club actually changes a $100 bill for them for 100 singles and then lets the customers throw the bills over you, in effect making it rain.

It makes it a jerk to collect though. But I can deal with that.

No, I like being on stage because I don’t have to hustle and work the main floor. I can be by myself. Most dancers—we prefer dancers and not strippers—prefer earning the lap dance cash from the clients one to one. I like being up on stage. Most dancers only use the stage as an advertisement, to catch a man’s eye so when they go down to the floor, people remember them. I wish I could stay up here forever.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I can’t get anyone to agree to a lap dance. It’s actually the opposite. Guys just flock to me. Sometimes they stand in line for me to grind on them.

No, I hate this part of the night because I have zero respect for the guys that come in here.

I mean, if they’re married, what the heck are they doing in here by themselves? Creeping me out is what they’re doing. I bet their wife or girlfriend will really appreciate them coming home smelling of cheap body spray at the end of the night.

If they’re here in a group, well, that’s slightly better, but still, kinda skeeves me out. I mean, they’re here watching each other get hard as some girl rubs herself on them. Sure, I’m okay to go out with my girlfriends and hit on guys while they’re there. But with women, we know it’s just harmless fun. These guys in the club—they have this glint in their eye and they’re crazed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some innocent little virgin who’s never been told the facts of life. I mean, I work in a strip club, right?

But something about the patrons just causes me to want to stay on stage.

Maybe it’s the hundred times a night I have to make sure guys know that they can’t touch me. I can touch them. Or how they’ll try to buck their hips as I’m grinding on them, just so they can go a little deeper.

Maybe it’s because at the end of the day, they’re judging me based on my looks and putting a monetary value on it.

That’s probably it. When I go out with my friends and we talk to guys, I’m not putting a dollar value on how much I’d pay to talk to the guy or flirt with the guy. Even if I make out with him or go home with him, it’s not like I’m asking him how much it costs. But these guys think that they can have me just because they’re carrying fat stacks of $20 notes.

Sure, that’s what I’m here for. Technically, the more I can make them think that, the more money I make, and the more I can pay off the student loans that funded my Art History degree from Yale. The degree that still hasn’t landed me any sort of meaningful job.

It’s been roughly one year since I graduated. I’m now 24 years old, and this is my second month stripping. It got to the point where I had to decide whether not stripping was worth not paying rent and moving out of the city and back home with my parents. I must have sent out at least seven hundred resumes by then. Gone on dozens of interviews. But ended up with nothing.

Not the sexy things you thought were going through my head as I rub myself on the crotch of some 50-ish Wall Street guy with a receding hairline and a pretty big paunch, is it?

I turn my head back toward the guy a little to give him some attention. “You like that, baby?” I ask with a slight pout. Inside, I’m wondering if his wife knows where he’s at. I saw the ring on his finger. I wonder if he has a son or daughter and if he’s put away enough for college. Will his kids have to take out student loans because Daddy gave me their book money this semester?

“Could you, uhm, maybe turn around a little bit, darlin?” Mr. Wall Street asks me, bringing his hands up, but remembering what I said about touching. “I kinda want to see, uhm, your breasts.”

Sure. They all want to see my breasts. They want me to mash it on their faces. They want to stick out their tongues so they can play with my nipples. Whatever.

“I like it just fine sitting here,” I say to him and turn back, grinding my rear on his crotch a little faster.

There have been a few times I’ve made a guy cum just by grinding on him. That’s been funny. He’s had to walk around with a giant wet spot. Especially if his friends were here. Once it was just a guy. He came in his pants. I seriously didn’t even know he did until I felt his pants get all wet. I mean, his cock must have been tiny because I couldn't feel anything. Anyways, he just went back to his table and ordered another beer. Sitting in his own cum. That’s the kind of people that come to these clubs.

“But, your breasts…”

I don't let the man finish. I need to establish who’s boss.

“Do you see that line over there, hon?” I ask him, gesturing my head to the line of guys waiting to ask me to give them a dance. “If you don’t like this, you can go back to the end of the line.”

Surprisingly, Mr. Wall Street has more self-worth than I give him credit for. He pushes me off gently as I feel his hands on my back force me into a position where I’m standing.

“That’s fine,” he says. “Can I have my money back?”

The song isn't even half over and he’s got a legitimate point. But it’s people like him that attract the attention of the floor manager and the House Mom. I know all eyes are on me as I reach into my heels and pull out the wad of cash I’ve collected, peeling off a $20 note and turning around and walking away toward the bar. I can hear the collective groans of at least half a dozen people as they watch me leave. Guys who were waiting their turn to get their cocks stimulated by my hot rear.

Whatever. I seriously don't have any idiots left to give them right now.

I order a glass of wine at the bar, and sip it contentedly for a minute.

“Misty,” a voice says and I don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. “You left a lot of guys unhappy on the floor.”

The face associated with the voice sits down next to me. It’s the House Mom—Yasmine. Every club has a House Mom. We tip her out at the end of the night. In return, she takes care of the girls. She gets us dinner. She makes sure we don't get too drunk. Sometimes she helps with our outfits and tells us when we’re up on the main stage. But more than anything else, she makes sure that we make money for the club.

“It’s not really the best idea to just walk away when you have people lined up for you – especially when some girls have no one to dance for,” Yasmine says again.

I shrug and take a sip of my drink. “I needed a break,” I say.

“You’ve been needing a break since you started, Misty,” Yasmine says, using my stage name again. My real name is Ashley Lane. But on the floor, it’s like I have a pen name. And it’s only professional for her to use it. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

That’s the rub, isn’t it? I graduated cum laude from Yale University. Sure, Art History may not be Engineering, but it’s still Yale. What am I doing at a strip club?

“I need the money, Yasmine,” I say to her for the millionth time. “You know that.”

“Isn’t there anything else you could be doing to make money instead of making yourself miserable every night from 8 pm to 4 am?” Yasmine asks, as she too orders a glass of wine. “This can’t be good for you.”

It’s not a question I haven’t asked before.

But there is one unavoidable truth in America for a woman today that is kind of depressing but still hard to escape.

That truth? Sex will always sell.

No matter what you end up looking like, women can always make money selling some form of sex. Which is basically what I’ve been reduced to because of my financial situation. A sex worker.

“I just wish I could find something that pays like this that didn't involve…” I begin, looking for the proper words, but struggling.

“Having to deal with men?” Yasmine asks, as if she’s in my head. I look up at her because she hit the nail on the head. She smiles at me.

“If I didn’t have to deal with ugly guys all night, I could still do this,” I tell her. “Heck, I could do a lot more.”

Yasmine pauses for a moment, as if thinking to herself. I wonder what’s going through her head.

Finally, she reaches into her bra, and pulls out a business card. I had no idea she kept things in there, but she hands it to me.

“Take the night off, darling,” she tells me as I take the card. “And call these people in the morning.”

“Simulated Pleasures LLC,” I read aloud.

“Same owner as Scorcher’s,” Yasmine says nodding, referring to the strip club. “Only you can work from home and it’s a phone sex line. They could use someone with as much imagination and intelligence as you.”

I look at Yasmine, grateful. This could totally be it!

“Thank you, Yas—” I’m about to say, but Yasmine has already gotten up from her chair and interrupts me.

“Now go home,” she says. “I’m serious. You’re no good here.”

***

It’s nearly midnight by the time I get my makeup off, tip out the DJ, the makeup girls, Yasmine, the waitress, as well as the club.

I’m waiting on 6th Avenue for a taxicab but tonight, they’re hard to come by. Finally, I see one that stops and I go to get in.

Just as I get inside, the door opens from the other end. A man gets in.

This is my cab! What the heck!

“59th and Fifth Avenue, please!” the man literally shouts at the driver. I can tell he just came in from the club.

“Hey buddy!” I yell at him and he turns to me. His eyes widen and he looks at me as if he knows me.

I can’t lie. He’s cute. More than cute. He’s gorgeous. He’s muscled and he’s got a smirk and if he wasn’t coming out of the club, I would totally be crushing on him right now.

“This is my cab,” I manage to finish.

It takes a moment, and finally the guy speaks.

“Listen, uhm, Miss,” he says. “My dad just died and the cab is already on its way…”

Whatever. This is the last time I’m going to have to deal with people from a strip club.

“Just make sure you give me the money before you get out,” I say and pull out my phone.

I put on my earbuds and turn on my music. I would have loved to just stare at the guy, but his stop comes by way too fast—in like 5 minutes—and he hands me a $100 note before rushing out.

“34th and 8th,” I tell the cabdriver, wondering what kind of people I’ll be dealing with on the phone sex line.

Regardless of what they’re like, at least I’ll be safe from people like this guy who just tossed me a C-note.

I’m okay if I never have to go inside a strip club again. Or deal with the people who frequent them.

Well, I mean, I wouldn’t mind if I run into the guy who got off at the Plaza again, though.

Just saying.

63

Ashley

The taxicab is taking me past the Plaza, where Gorgeous Jerk got off, and is heading onto 8th Avenue. I look at my watch as we approach Times Square.

It’s just barely midnight. I can see Peter’s apartment on 50th Street.

“Stop the cab!” I yell to the driver who stops with the characteristic lack of surprise based on having seen everything most likely in his tenure as a New York City cabdriver. I pay the fare and get out of the car, heading toward Peter’s building on the corner of 50th Street and 8th Avenue.

Peter lives by himself in a 4 story walk-up, and as someone who graduated from college a couple of years ahead of me, the fact that he has a job and an apartment to himself makes him a pretty big catch in the dating pool of New York City.

I reflect on this as I take the keys to his apartment out of my purse and open the front door.

That’s right. He’s given me a set of keys. I think he gave them to me last month – after we’d been dating for two months. I know what he sees in me. He thinks I’m hot, or whatever. I mean, I try to work out and look good. I save up for things like dresses or heels or yoga pants. I don’t spend obsessively going shopping all the time, and I’m not vain, or anything. But I try to look cute. And I guess he appreciates it. I mean, if you ask me, there are a thousand other prettier girls you can find at any given moment—I’m not anything that special, but Peter always likes showing me off for whatever reason.

But then again, aren’t I kind of doing the same thing? I know that's what you were thinking maybe, weren’t you? When I said the fact that Peter has a job and his own apartment makes him a catch, I did my own aspect of superficial judging there I think.

I mean, on paper, that’s great. But he’s not perfect. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect guy. He’s okay to look at—he’s tall enough, and he’s not like super hot, but he’s not ugly. He’s just … average.

We have sex. I mean, it is what it is. It’s not like super-crazy sex or anything. Like I’m not yelling at the top of my lungs. Sometimes I don’t really cum. I mean, everyone knows that to be a girl means sometimes a guy’s cock isn’t going to do it for you, right? And Peter isn't a big fan of going down on me, so sometimes I just fake it to make sure everything is going well. I mean, a part of me is really turned on and gets really wet knowing what I can bring him to. What I can do to him.

That’s what I’m thinking about tonight. I’m thinking I want to have sex. I want to mess. But is his 5-inch cock going to satisfy me tonight? Some nights I’m lucky. If I’m coming from the club, already kind of horny, then sure, I can get off no problem. But some days, 5 inches, no matter how hard, doesn't really do it for me.

Maybe if Peter worked out a bit more. But every time I ever bring it up, he talks about how busy he is from work and how much he needs to decompress. I guess I can understand that. I mean, the guy who shared the cab with me today—he was hot. Obviously doesn't miss a gym day. Gym day is every day for someone like that.

I wonder what having sex with someone like that would be like as I finish climbing the four sets of stairs and open the door.

Maybe tonight I can close my eyes and pretend that Peter is the Gorgeous Jerk. If I keep my eyes closed and not think about the body I’m feeling—the slight man boobs and bit of a potbelly—I guess I could pass it off.

“Oh idiot, baby, that’s so good. Just like that,” I hear Peter say from his room. He’s got a one-bedroom apartment in Midtwon West and I know he basically pays an arm and a leg for it, with very little left over to afford.

But that’s not what I’m thinking about as I hear him again.

“Oh idiot, idiot baby,” I hear him.

Is he jerking off? Maybe I should have texted him instead of just coming up here like this.

I don't know why I make my footfalls softer.

But then again, I also don't know why my heart is beating so hard.

I’m at the threshold to his bedroom. The door is closed. I hear the bedsprings squeak.

Someone is in there with him.

I give myself a moment to close my eyes and prepare for the worst.

I mean, I thought we were good together. That this was as good as it gets. But maybe I was wrong? Maybe I wasn’t good enough for Peter? I don’t know, okay. Have you ever been in a situation like this? Because I haven’t. I don't know if I’m thinking right.

I open the door. I don’t even both knocking.

The reaction is almost immediate.

Peter is on top of someone and he stops while he's raised up. He twists his head back and sees me. His eyes go wide.

“Ashley!” Peter exclaims.

I just stand there as he looks back down to whoever it is below him and then to me, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Ashley, what are you doing here?” Peter asks again.

I say nothing. No, that’s not true. I think I shake my head.

Yes, I’m shaking my head.

“Ashley,” Peter says again, as if saying my name again is going to mitigate what I’m seeing.

And what I’m seeing is searing into my memory. I see Peter get up off of whomever he's with. His toe is hard and slimy.

He tries to cover himself, but the woman grabs the blanket and raises her head.

She’s blonde like me. She has huge boobs. Not so slender. Kind of a messed-up face.

Yes, okay, I’m being unfair. Whatever. I have the right to be unfair right now.

“Ashley!” Peter says again.

I wish there was something I could do to make everyone see what a jerk my ex-boyfriend is.

I’m not thinking. That’s why I pull out my phone.

I turn on Facebook. I select the option to go live.

Sure, I’m young. I have thousands of friends on Facebook. So does Peter. We have so many mutual friends in common. People from Peter’s work are my friends.

I push the button and voila. We’re live on Facebook.

“Everyone,” I say pointing my iPhone toward Peter who is standing there frozen, his toe is hard. “Say hello to my ex-boyfriend. He used to be my boyfriend, but I just got home from work a few minutes ago. I’m about four hours early. And I found him in bed with…”

The woman doesn’t seem fazed at all. She gets out of bed and I wince as I see her belly sway. Did he cheat on her because I don't have as big of belly as her? I mean, I have D cups. She’s definitely older.

She looks to me.

“Hey, love bug,” she says with a wave as she picks up a pair of panties. “I’m Laura. You can find me on the corner of 42nd and 8th Avenue. I charge $100 for the half hour. $150 for the hour. Do you want my website or something?”

A hooker?

A hooker?

Peter Theller, my boyfriend, was cheating on me with a hooker who stands outside of the Port Authority Bus Terminal?

“Peter Theller,” I say, surprisingly calm. “I just want to make sure all my friends know, so they don't have to ask when they find out why we broke up, that I caught you cheating on me with a hundred dollar whore that you found outside of the bus terminal!”

I zoom into his face. He’s sputtering.

I move the camera down.

Peter’s cock, which was as hard as a 5-inch cock could be, starts to deflate. Despite myself, I can't suppress a smirk. This is insane.

“Ashley, turn that off!” Peter says angrily.

Doesn't matter. He can try to turn my phone off. Heck, he can break it if he wants. It's already gone live. And it’ll play forever. And ever. Till the end of time.

“I have nothing else to say to you, you stupid, selfish, piece of trash,” I say to him. My voice is even calm. Still.

Am I acting crazy? The jury’s gonna be out on that one, babe. But I don't work 8 hours grinding my rear on other guys’ cocks not to be able to roll with the punches. And I’m not gonna put up with this trash.

Not when there are guys who look like the Gorgeous Jerk walking around out there.

I turn off my phone and turn around.

“Nice to meet you!” the hooker calls out. “I’m Laura. In case you didn't get that.”

I don't know how, but I’m out the door.

Peter is calling out to me. But I couldn’t care less at this point.

I run down the stairs. They go by in a flash. All of a sudden I’m outside. I run across the street and down the stairs into the subway.

I catch the downtown C from Port Authority. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m glad that at least I’m headed home.

I sit down on the bench in the train car and I think about crying. But no. No tears for him! Never for him!

I will survive this. I will survive!

64

Arsen

“I’m sure that had my father been here at this point, he would've been the first to join me in congratulating the Board of Directors of the Metropolitan Museum of Art on their opening of their new Impressionist Wing,” I say to the polite applause and some knowing laughter. “I’m sure he would've been particularly taken with the nudes.”

The laughter is a bit lighter now, people more at ease.

“On behalf of the Met, I am honored that his last act was to grant this gift,” I finish and this time the applause is spontaneous.

Of course it is. People will take money from anyone, no matter how wealthy they already are. Never mind that half the people in this room would've never allowed my dad to come near their daughters when he was alive. And could you blame them? I couldn’t. The guy literally made billions of dollars selling smut. I must've had at least six stepmothers in my life. I lost track after a while. Each one came all giggly, then watched as they fell into neglect as their bodies aged, until they left with their suitcases that they came with, and a fat settlement check.

Now they’re dedicating a wing of the Met to him. Don’t get me wrong. It cost money. But it’s the least I could do, allocating a portion of the money from the sale of the live sex webcams that he controlled and writing a check to the Met.

That’s right. It’s only been ten days and I’ve already started selling pieces of my dad’s smut empire.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to mess. I mean, the first time you saw me, I was two strippers, remember?

“You’re father would have been very proud of you,” some random old guy says as I descend the podium. I have no idea who the heck he is, but he takes the stage after me. I navigate around all the leeches that surround this place. As long as I’m making a name for myself by distancing myself from my dad’s smut kingdom, and giving away some money to them, they’re content to come let me inside. But the moment I start going against their rules, they’ll pull back the red carpet and leave me out in the cold.

I find Gerard waiting for me outside the Met on the steps. He’s looking through his phone, checking emails. Always a good lawyer. Always on top of things. Heck, he basically raised me after my Mom died and Dad started marrying women left and right. When I moved out of the house before college because I just couldn’t get into Dad living with three other women, it was Gerard who made sure I didn’t go off the deep end. Sure, I like to party. I like to get wild. But trust me when I tell you that I’d be having a lot more than tattoos on my body if Gerard weren’t there to bring me back when I started to stray.

“Luca Gianoni’s left two emails and a voicemail while you were inside,” Gerard says. “He’s still talking about the rest of the strip clubs as being on the table.”

Great. Does no one in this city buy into the sex business except the mob? I’d rather not sell to them if I can help it, but if no one else is at the table, I can’t really help it.

“We have no more other offers?” I ask, incredulous. “The strip clubs bring in close to five hundred grand a night when you combine them.”

Gerard shrugs. “They also cost roughly three hundred grand a night combined when you add it all up,” he says.

He’s got a point of course. Strippers aren’t cheap. In fact, they’re expensive. But oh my goodness, what a great expense to throw money at.

I’ve always been a fan of strippers. But I swear it’s like ever since that night a week and a half ago, I can’t get strippers out of my head.

I sigh as I get into the car and Gerard gets in next to me.

“You thinking of heading to Scorcher's again, Arsen?” he asks. He’s got a touch of pity in his eyes. I can’t blame the guy as I nod.

“I got to find this girl,” I tell him. I’ve been searching high and low for the stripper who was on the pole. I don’t know her name. I don’t know when she works. No one else at the club seems to either.

You want to know the complain about the whole thing, though? It’s that same night I shared a cab with her. I could've asked her for her name at least that night.

Don’t you knock me for being quiet that night. I’m sorry, it was just that my Dad had just died, okay? Sex wasn’t really going through my head at that point. This isn’t like some plot hole or something you can mention in the review. You try getting news that your estranged family member has just hit the bucket and you have to manage a sprawling multi-billion dollar sex empire and see if you remember the small details.

The car pulls up outside the strip club where I had first seen this gorgeous, blonde haired, perfectly curved woman ten days ago. With a name like Scorcher's, I’m not sure what I'm going to find instead. But phoo. If I come up empty, maybe I can idiot another stripper.

Way to look at the bright side, eh?

I walk in, and instantly I’m greeted by the House Mom, Yasmine.

Yasmine’s been eyeing my cock for years. She’s got to be the oldest one in this joint. And a vet too, seeing girls come and go.

“You’re here for another one of my girls tonight, Arsen?” she asks me with an arched eyebrow.

“I’m looking for someone,” I tell her. Sure she’s been eyeing me, but I’ve never really given it up to her. Never really know why. Just the circumstances weren’t right probably.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Yasmine says as she turns around. I look at her rear flex and instantly I’m reminded of the blonde. Yasmine turns her head back to look at me. “To your office.”

I follow dutifully. Phoo, if I don’t try to get my toe hard thinking about boning Yasmine. But it’s like every time I think about rear, or belly, or pussy, there’s just one image that keeps coming into my head.

Yeah, you guessed it. The blonde goddess that I saw last week.

We get upstairs and the music is a bit more subdued.

Yasmine slides over to me, rapidly erasing any personal space that I may have had. But I don’t mind. I wrap my arms around her back and squeeze her rear.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Arsen,” she coos. “I knew you were coming tonight. You’ve been here every night. But ever since you had Sophie and Heather, you haven’t taken any other girl. I think I know why.”

Maybe this is going to be my lucky night. Does Yasmine know?

That explains it! She didn’t want to mess me, but that’s what she had to make it look like to the other girls.

Goodness, I’ll never figure women out, you know?

“You’re done with those girls, aren’t you, baby?” Yasmine asks. I don’t know why, but I nod.

“You need someone who’s finally caught your eye, don’t you?” she asks. Idiot, she’s on the money.

“You need someone who will treat you just right,” Yasmine says.

She couldn’t be more clued in if she tried.

“You know where I can find her?” I ask and Yasmine smiles. Her hand comes to rest on my crotch.

Wait a second!

“What do you mean, babe?” Yasmine asks, a glint in her eyes. But I’m too caught up and I don’t pay attention.

“I think she was what? 5’ 7”. Blonde hair. Body like a goddess. Last time I saw her was ten days ago, the night I had Sophie and Heather up here,” I tell Yasmine.

Stifling a look of disappointment, Yasmine backs off.

“That’s where I saw her for the first time, and then I actually shared a cab with her, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to her much,” I say.

Yeah, I’m a jerk because Yasmine looks completely disappointed. I guess she really did want to mess me tonight, huh?

But you know what? I’m going to be the first one to admit that in reality I am a jerk. I got nothing to hide. So there. I’ll be completely honest about it with you as to who I am.

I mean, I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings, but would you rather I lie?

“You’re talking about Ashley,” Yasmine says quietly.

So this Stripper Goddess has a name! Finally.

“Is she working tonight?” I ask her.

“She doesn’t work here anymore,” Yasmine says and I think I see a glint of pleasure at the total look of devastation that wracks my face. "Her stage name is Misty, but her real name is Ashley Lane. Don't tell anyone that I told you."

Just my luck. The one woman I obsess about ends up being the one who doesn’t work here anymore.

But Yasmine has a heart of gold, because her next words are, “She started working at Simulated Pleasures last week.”

Bingo!

Good thing I didn’t sell that place yet.

First thing tomorrow, I’m stopping by there and finding out how to get ahold of this girl.

I rush over and kiss Yasmine on the lips.

Heck, I break it off before she wants more. I know what I do to women. And I don’t want to go down that road now with anyone but Stripper Goddess. Wait. I mean Ashley.

“Thank you so much, Yasmine,” I say and she just looks at me in a daze as I rush down the stairs.

I got to get ready for tomorrow.

It’s going to be a great day. I can feel it.

65

Ashley

It's been exactly one week of taking calls and I've learned a few things: never ask permission questions, never asked if they're married, and hot girls aren't bored. So when the phone rings, I immediately snap into character. I lower my voice almost to a whisper. I finger the lace of my bra—Agent Provocateur—and then run my hands up my stockings. I know some people can do this job while they're washing the dishes, or mopping the floor or something, but for me, I have to be all in. I can't multi-task. I think it should feel authentic, and wearing the heels and lingerie instantly gets me into character. I even turn down the lights. I find that the darker the room is, the more I can focus on the voice on the other end of the line.

I answer the call and sit back on my bed. I whisper in a soft, sultry voice. The secret is to keep your voice smooth as a stick of butter. "Hi, this is Misty. Who am I speaking with?"

I hear a man clear his throat. "Mike."

I wait for more but it doesn't come. "That's my favorite name for a man," I purr, urging him on. "You sound strong and handsome."

"You can say I'm strong. I work construction—concrete pump operator."

"Oh that's good because I could use a few pumps of your hot concrete. I'm so glad you called. My neighbors have been all day and listening to them has made me so horny…"

"That makes two of us," he says.

"And I've got a secret to tell you. I'm not wearing any underwear."

"Is that right?" he replies, and I can almost hear a smile in the way he asks.

"I've been so horny. I can hardly stand it. I haven't had sex all day and it feels like forever. I have myself so worked up and hot that I'm lying in front of a fan, and the cold air is making my nipples hard. Do you like hard nipples, Mike?"

"Mm hmm," he mumbles, and I continue.

"What kind of girls do you like?"

"Young, blonde, and busty," he says without hesitation.

"Well, you're in luck. I'm 18, and I have long, blonde hair that goes down to my tiny waist. I wish you were here with me right now," I say, just above a whisper, and Mike lowers his voice as well.

"What would you do to me?" he asks, as if it were a shared conspiracy.

"Oh Mike, I'd make sure my lips touched every manly inch of you. I'd start by nibbling on your ear—playfully, but then I'd get more serious and move my lips down to your neck and I'd touch your strong chest—I can tell you have a strong chest just by your voice. And I'd run my tongue over your nipples, circling them a few times."

"And what else?" he asks.

"I'd let my mouth move down your body even further, my tongue resting in the deep V above the waistband of your pants. I can even taste the salt on your skin and it leaves me wanting more—so much more."

"Is your pussy wet?" he asks.

"Oh yes, you make me so wet. I'm soaking wet—it's your voice, your body—you have me so turned on, Mike. My pussy is throbbing for you. I'm in the mood to mess."

"Cut or uncut cocks?" he asks.

"I love all cocks."

"What would you do to my cock?"

"I'd unbutton your jeans after you've had a hard day at work, and I'd slip my hand over your cock. Both of my hands would work their way up and down your shaft until you're nice and hard and then I'd place my lips on it. First kissing the tip, and then slowly basting it with my warm, wet tongue, moving up and down your manhood."

"Mm hmm, I like that," he says.

"But I wouldn't stop there. I'd wrap my lips around your cock so tightly and take you deep into my throat. I'd take it so deep that I might gag. Would you like it if I gagged on your cock?"

He doesn't answer, but I can hear him breathing heavier, so I continue.

"Do you like it when I suck on your cock like this?"

"Yes—mm hmm—more," he answers at a whisper…or is it a whimper?

"Good, because your cock tastes so good. I can hardly stand it," I say, and I can hear him jerking himself off—skin slapping skin.

"Mike, my pussy is so wet—I want to ride your cock. I want you to give it to me. I'm going to straddle your lap and lower my pussy onto your thick, hard shaft with my breasts in your face. I want you to take my nipples into your mouth."

Then I hear Mike coming, his breathing overtaking the conversation, so I decide to enact my own climax as a spectacular finale.

When his breathing slows, he asks, "Can I get your phone number?"

"Oh Mike, I'm so flattered, but my dad would kill me if I gave out my number. I'm still in high school. I'm 18, remember? Let me give you my four-digit calling code so you can call me again in private."

He agrees, somewhat reluctant, and we end the call. I lie back and stare at the ceiling. Yasmine is right, I think to myself. This is much better than stripping. At least I can use my imagination during these calls. At Scorcher's, what you saw is what you got. There's no masking the fact that you're on a stage being judged. But during these calls, the people on the other end of the line have to use their imaginations too—which is also great because it eliminates my old routine —waxing, makeup, manicures, pedicures, and you name it.

I think about putting on a pair of yoga pants and heading to the gym, but then my eye travels to the stack of bills piling up next to my bed. Incredible. Unlike Scorcher's, this job also doesn't leave me with cash in hand every night. I better go pick up my paycheck from the phone sex company headquarters, Simulated Pleasures LLC.

I quickly dress and hail a cab outside. When I tell the driver where I'm going, he gives me an odd look. Is it a look of judgment, or something else? I can't tell. I decide to ignore it and place my ear buds into my ears and stream music through my phone, drowning out the outside world.

After 20 minutes, the cab pulls up to a large, non-descript white building. If it weren't for the address, I'd never know that this is the headquarters for one of the largest phone sex companies in the country. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I'm still listening to my music, and decide to leave my ear buds in. I hand the driver the money and give him a curt smile. As soon as I leave the cab, I walk toward the building, rounding a corner.

And then I feel it—like taking a bowling ball to my back. I'm struck in the back and I try to turn around but my arms are pinned behind my back. Without my hands, I can't remove my ear buds or stop the music streaming through my phone, so it's impossible to hear what's going on around me. I'm screaming and thrashing my head from side to side, and the movement causes the ear bud on my right side to fall out. I can now feel a man's hot breath on my neck, "Shut up! Just shut up right now!" He's placing his hands over my mouth, muffling out my screams, and I bite down as hard as I can. It's my only option and it's instinctual. I feel the flesh of his fingers pinched between my teeth, and that's when he hits me; he hits me hard enough on my head to shut me up. I'm feeling dazed, but when I finally get a look at the man's face, I'm shocked.

"Peter?"

"Shut up! Just shut the heck up! You want to humiliate me on Facebook live and then ignore all of my calls for a week? Well, I'll show you what I'm going to do about that!"

The look in his eyes is one of pure rage and a battered ego. I'm also surprised at his strength. He was never one to work out much, and I attributed his soft body to weakness, but he's stronger than I anticipated. It's shocking, really. Without saying another word, he brings his hands around my neck and squeezes. I place my hands on top of his, trying to pry them loose, but it's not working. I can feel myself running out of breath and in a tiny voice I manage to squeak, "You're hurting me, stop!"

And just when my entire world starts to fade to black, he stops. I can't believe it. I open my eyes just in time to see another man between us now. He's big—tall, muscular, and broad shouldered. He's not the kind of guy you want to mess with, and I watch as his fist crashes into Peter's face, breaking his nose.

"If I ever see you around here again, I'll kill you," he growls, clenching Peter by the collar of his shirt, and when he lets go, Peter turns around and runs, not bothering to look back.

"Are you okay?" the man asks.

As he looks down at me, I get the vague feeling that I know him from somewhere. I'm rubbing my throat and besides being emotionally rattled, I'm fine. "I want to thank you—what you did—most people wouldn't get involved, but you saved my life." When I finish talking, I look into the man's eyes again, and I realize where I know those intense icy blues from—the cab ride from the club.

"Wait… I've seen you somewhere," I say. "You're the guy who tried to steal my cab outside of the club the other night."

"It was an emergency. I don't normally jump into other people's cabs."

"Look, I appreciate your help but I have to go."

"Wait. I'd like to take you to dinner, I—"

"I'm sure you're a nice guy and all, but I hope you'll understand that I'm in no mood to be setting up a dinner … not after my ex-boyfriend just tried to murder me."

"Forget him. He no longer matters. Just say yes."

I look at him—his eyes the color of perfect weather, his strong, broad shoulders, and gentle smile—and even though I'm feeling bruised and frazzled, and I promised myself I'd never go out on a date with a man who frequents a place like Scorcher’s, I surprise myself and say yes.

66

Arsen

With a last look in the mirror I close the locker door and head out of the locker room at the New York Athletic Club. Sure, it’s filled with the same fancy people that I spoke to at the Met—some of these people are still scandalized that I’m in their precious little club of theirs. But guess what? I’m now worth at least $5 billion dollars. If I want to go around joining all the most exclusive clubs in Manhattan, I have the money to buy my way in. They don’t. They’re sitting on their piles of reputation and fake integrity that’s as hollow as a clam shell. Probably got their house mortgaged five times over and a mountain of debt. They’re probably just hoping that they die before the bill comes due so everyone will at least think they’re prosperous and dignified now. Who the heck cares once they’re dead, right?

Well, harass that. I told you once before when I was with Yasmine at Scorcher's and I’m telling you again. I’m always going to be honest with you. You may not like what I have to say or how I say it, but I don’t give a idiot.

I hand my gym bag over to the attendant at the bar, who takes it to the cloakroom.

“I have a young lady who will be meeting me outside the Club,” I tell the maître d and he nods and proceeds to go check.

That’s right. I figured what better way to put Ashley at ease than by asking her to have a drink with me while we’re surrounded by a bunch of rich old men. Oh right. Let me clue you in on a few things. Gorgeous Stripper from Scorcher's whom I rescued a few days back—her name is Ashley Lane. Used to work at Scorcher's but literally, it was her last day working on the first day I met her. Now she works at Simulated Pleasures as a phone sex operator. She has no idea who I am or the fact I own the whole thing. And honestly, I’m not in any mood to tell her.

Just seeing me in the gym would've made you laugh hysterically. There I was with my tattoos squatting hundreds of pounds. Benching the weight of some people. And these ancient men, with their big egos out in the real world just stared at my physique as they walked on a treadmill. Each of them looked at me jealously. And when I went to shower, I knew all eyes were on me. Well on me, and my foot long pleasure stick. It dangled from my crotch like a sex snake.

If you’re rolling your eyes at me thinking it’s lazy that I invited a girl to have a drink with me at my gym, then you can stop. The New York Athletic Club is more than just a gym. It's got 2 bars, 3 dining rooms, a drawing room, 3 libraries, hotel rooms to spend the night, and two formal ballrooms for events.

It’s also got a swimming pool, gym, shooting range, and art gallery. A art gallery. So yeah, you could say that it might be a nice place to take a girl on a date. Especially if it’s a private club that she normally wouldn’t have admission to.

“Your lady friend is waiting in the lobby, Mr. Hawke,” the maître d informs me and I nod my head and walk out toward the foyer. Yes, I’m hurrying. Because I want to see her, okay? Told you I’m honest.

And Goodness, this girl does not disappoint. She’s standing there in a black dress that’s tight without being indecent. It ends just above the knees. She’s got stockings and black heels on. Her hair is made and she’s got makeup on and it makes her look sexy.

I feel my cock twitch just by looking at her gorgeous body. The way those slender legs are holding up her frame. I want to suck them one at a time until she squeals. That waist. Idiot, that rear. The dress is just tight enough to hug her curvy rear and I want to take each rear cheek in each hand and squeeze them. God dang it. Those belly. Her dress ends in a wraparound strapless top but it showcases those marvelous belly like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

“The way you’re looking at me, its like you’ve forgotten what I look like naked,” she says to me with a smile as she walks up to me. She hesitates and I decide for her, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. I can smell her perfume. It’s intoxicating.

“It’s like seeing you for the first time,” I tell her. You notice what I did? I didn’t swear. See? I can be civil if I need to.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Hawke,” she tells me with a teasing smile.

“Then what about vodka?” I ask, taking her hand and walking her into the bar that I came from. “Because this place makes the best dirty martinis in New York City.”

Ashley gasps as she sees the interior. Yeah, this is how the other half lives all right. The bar is plush. The wood at the bar is polished to perfection.

And literally every face turns to the two of us. To the son of the smut lord and the gorgeous woman on his arm. Women stare at us hungrily, and their husbands look at me jealously. Harass ‘em.

“Let’s get a table?” I ask Ashley, but I’m not really asking because I lead her over and sit her down.

“It’s a nice place,” Ashley says as she looks around. “I’m surprised.”

“Surprised that I would come here?” I ask.

“Surprised that you’re going through the effort,” she says and smiles at me. “Oh don’t get me wrong. I totally appreciate it and love the fact that we’re on a real date.”

“What the heck would we be doing otherwise?” I ask. I’m sorry but I can’t help myself.

“Idiot,” she says, and her eyes are looking right at me. I’m silent. “A part of me thought we’d get right down to that and this was some elaborate hotel so you wouldn’t have to go far.”

“I live at One57,” I tell her. “So I’m literally a block away.”

Ashley rolls her eyes. “Well that makes sense now,” she says.

“You think someone like me isn’t able to take girls on dates?” I ask a bit curious where this conversation is going.

“You stole my cab,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “Coming out of a strip club. Which is all I know about you. Sorry for not expecting more out of you.”

I laugh. She smiles at me. You’re probably looking at me thinking I’ve gone crazy. Laughing at what she said.

But don’t forget. I’m the one in control here. Not her. My laughing is just a sign that I’m not threatened. Because I’m not.

“Then what the heck are you doing here?” I ask. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re going to say. But she said ‘idiot’ first.

“Waiting to see how you’re going to try and idiot me,” she says and leans back as the waiter brings our dirty martinis to the table. He gives her a sidelong glance, obviously hearing the last part of our exchange. Ashley smiles and twirls her hair in one finger absently.

“What do you do?” she asks me.

I raise my glass. “Steal cabs from women outside of strip clubs so I can rescue them from ex-boyfriends during the day.”

She smiles and raises her glass and we click in a toast. “Thank you for the other night,” she says to me.

“Don’t mention it,” I tell her. “I was just passing by.”

“I hope you know that it doesn’t entitle you to sleep with me or anything like that,” she says to me, staring into my eyes.

“I don’t think it entitles me to anything,” I say to her and she looks at me with curiosity. Where am I taking this, she’s probably wondering. “But I know you’re still wondering what it would be like if I messed you.”

If I’d gotten up and whipped out my 12-inch cock and waved it around, Ashley wouldn’t be any more surprised it seems like.

“That’s what I’m wondering?” she asks me, her eyes wide.

I nod my head. “Since you got on your way over here. You’re also wondering about these tattoos you can faintly see underneath my shirt the way your eyes are moving.”

Ashley takes a sip of her martini and leans closer on the table toward me.

“What else am I thinking?” she asks, this time into a bit more of a smile. “I’m curious because you seem to know so much better than I do.”

“You’re thinking if my apartment is only a block away, how you can legitimately end up giving me an opportunity to ask you to come up,” I reply back to her, not breaking her stare.

“So you can idiot me?” she asks, pretending to make sure.

“So you can cum till you pass the heck out,” I clarify for her.

“That good?” she asks back with an arched eyebrow.

“Even better,” I parry back to her.

She pauses for a moment. “So didn’t you just give me the opportunity to legitimately give you the chance to ask me to go to your apartment?” Ashley asks with a twinkle. “When you brought up the whole fact of bringing it up, can’t I take it?”

I smile. This was easy I think to myself as I beckon the waiter and get up. But unlike most girls, this one knows what she’s doing. She might end up being quite a bit of fun.

We’ll see. Like I told her—and you—my apartment is literally a block away.

She gets out of her chair.

“Are you taking me up on my legitimate chance?” she asks with amusement. “Are we going to your apartment?”

“I figured I’d show you around,” I tell her. I know what I’m doing. I’m the one in control, remember?

“Then maybe I should do this,” she says and takes two steps over.

She reaches over and grabs my head with both hands and pulls my mouth close to hers. In a moment, I’m kissing her. Our lips part and our tongues meet as our eyes close. She massages her tongue gently over mine and I’m in heaven.

Before I know it, she’s pulled back.

“I’ll meet you outside,” she says and turns around. I watch her hips sway and her rear cheeks flex as she walks out.

Every eye in the restaurant is on me. I literally have no idea what to do.

But I do know one thing though.

I’m a idiot if I ever thought I was in control with this woman.

I can’t wait to find out what happens next.

67

Ashley

One57. I never thought I’d actually step foot into one of the most exclusive condominiums in the world. But here I am, riding in One57’s elevator, arm in arm with a drop-dead gorgeous man, Arsen Hawke. The place looks amazing, but to tell you the truth, I don’t pay much attention to it. By the time he opens the door to his apartment, there’s only one thing dominating my mind: sex. There’s something about him that tells me I’m in for quite a ride …

I step inside his apartment, and the moment I hear the door closing behind us I’m on him. I turn on my heels and press my mouth against his. Our lips touch and my soul starts to boil. It’s all it takes really—one taste of the Devil’s lips and I know I’m cursed. Whatever he wants to do to me, I’m his.

I part my lips slightly, my tongue reaching for his and dancing in slow soft circles around it. His hands are on my waist, his long fingers firmly planted on my hips. We kiss in abandonment, my fingers running through his hair and disheveling it as my heart beats faster and faster. I let my hands fall down to the side of his face and I trace the hard lines of his jaw, the warmness on his skin calling to me.

“I’m going to forget you,” he suddenly says, taking one hand to my neck and yanking on my hair, forcing my head back. I open my eyes, locking them on his, and I stop breathing for a whole second as he continues. “I’m going to forget you so hard you won’t even know your name when we’re done.”

Each word that leaves his lips is like opium, traveling from my ears to my brain and drowning it in numbness. I try to think of an appropriate response, but all I can do is mouth an anxious “yes.” He takes one step forward, pushing me back and pinning me against the wall. My heart is drumming so hard I half-expect it to claw its way out of my chest anytime now.

“I own you. Right now, you’re mine,” he says, leaning in and whispering in my ear, his full lips brushing against my skin. My heart rises and falls at a hurried pace, my lungs working overtime as his eyes seem to devour me. Impatient with my silence, he yanks harder on my hair, his lips turning into a hard line. “Say it.”

What is going on? If any guy treated me like this in the strip club I’d have the bouncers kick his rear in the blink of an eye. Heck, I wouldn’t tolerate this from any of my past boyfriends! But, somehow, his hard eyes locked on mine, I find my brain shutting down, my unconscious hidden thoughts crawling out of their cages.

“I’m yours,” I find myself saying, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

“You are,” he grins, the way his lips curl upward makes him look even more beautiful. “And you’ll do everything I tell you to.”

“I will do everything you tell me to,” I repeat, my mouth turning dry. Of course, as my mouth goes dry, my pussy becomes wetter than it has ever been—maybe there’s some correlation there.

Still with one hand on my hair, he takes the other one to the hemline of my dress, the tip of his fingers brushing against the naked skin above my right knee. I feel my skin prickling as his fingers hike up my leg, gently lifting the dress in the process. The closer he gets to my pussy, the wetter I become, a wildfire of desire spreading inside of me. I almost reach for his wrist and force his hand against my pussy, but I’m so entranced by his touch I simply stand still, the perfect victim to his teasing.

Unblinking, I stare into his eyes as his fingers close in on my groins, my insides burning with anticipation. But instead of simply going for it, he simply traces the contour of my thong with his index finger, going back and forth over both my groins without actually touching my pussy. Guided by unconscious desire, I find myself bucking my hips at him, aching to feel his hand on me. The moment I do it, he takes his hand out from under my dress and yanks on my hair again.

“Stand still,” he tells me, deviousness flickering in his eyes. I nod, pursing my lips and trying to ignore my own instincts. Stand still, I repeat to myself, the words echoing inside my head. In an instant, his hand is under my dress again, his index finger gently running along the place where fabric and skin meet. He goes like that for what seems like an eternity, although it couldn’t have been more than a minute. It’s easy to lose track of time when you’re so wet your juices have soaked your underwear completely. Then he finally turns his wrist and flattens the palm of his hand over the front of my thong. I can’t help but gasp as I succumb to the pressure of his fingers on my pussy. I throw my head back and close my eyes, a sweet numbness embracing every single one of my nerve endings.

Arsen starts rubbing my pussy softly, his fingers pressed tight over my wetness. A purred moan leaves my lips as he does it, the whole world fading away around me. With a flick of his fingers he pulls my thong to the side and brushes one fingertip over my labia, his touch making my brain almost explode.

“You’re so wet,” he says, his finger going back and forth over my drenched lips. “I love it.”

“Please,” I mutter, not even understanding what I’m asking for. I want him to slide his finger deep inside of me, I want to feel his cock pushing past my inner lips and lodging itself inside my pussy. I want it all, and I want it right now.

Before I can even react, he parts my inner lips and slides his finger in, moving it inside me like a hook and pressing his fingertip in that sweet hidden spot. I moan again, this time louder, and he presses harder against my G-spot. I swear to heaven, I’m so delirious with desire I have no idea how I’m managing to stand still.

He starts to move his finger in and out of my pussy, each time his hand moves the rhythm growing. Soon enough his finger is moving so fast I’m no longer moaning, I’m just trying to keep breathing through the avalanche of sensations that rages inside of me. Letting go of my hair, he takes his other hand to between my thighs and presses his thumb over my clit, applying just enough pressure to force a moan out of my lips once more.

Working on my clit with his thumb, his index finger flying in and out of my pussy, he guides me to the edge and, with a simple word, throws me off of it.

“Come,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “Come for me.”

Just like that, I go off. I close my eyes again, breathing hard through my gritted teeth as all muscles in my body become tight and hard, uncontrollable tension pooling in every single fiber of my being. Like a bomb, pleasure explodes inside of me, my muscles letting go of all that tension as a forceful scream leaves my throat. My voice quivers as he stops moving his finger and just presses it hard against my G-spot, rubbing it there with the mastery of a man who knows women almost too well.

I press my back against the wall, trembling as he slides his finger out of my pussy and looks me in the eyes.

“This was just a taste,” he grins, that sweet mischievousness in his lips driving me completely mad. “Plenty more to come… If you behave, that is.” As he speaks, he brings his fingers up to my face, and lays the one he had inside of me against my lips. The scent of my own pussy climbs up my nostrils, and I find myself opening my mouth gently, allowing him to slide his finger in. He slides it all the way in, my tongue running along its length and licking it dry of my own juices. Tasting myself I grow even wetter, wanting much more than to just be fingered. I mean, if he can make me feel like this using only one finger and one word, what else can he do? Oh, judging by the look in his eyes, I’m going to find out pretty soon.

My instincts taking the wheel, I reach for his crotch, anxious to feel him and find out what he hides under his expensive clothing. But, the moment my hand is just an inch away from him, he moves quickly and grabs my wrist.

“Not yet,” he tells me firmly, letting go of my wrist and taking a step backward. “You’ll have to earn that.”

I lick my lips, anxious to do whatever’s necessary to earn it. I still can’t believe I’m letting him act like this, dominating me as if I were nothing more than a naive innocent girl … But he’s so intoxicating. And I’m not just talking about his good looks; no, it goes deeper than that. One hard look into his eyes is enough to realize that Arsen Hawke is more than just a man; he’s almost from a completely different breed. Standing here, in the presence of a man who seems so perfect it’s almost unbelievable, what else can I do than obey every single one of his words? Sure, I won’t let him push me around forever … but my body demands me to do it right now. I can’t help but submit.

Arsen takes another step back and loosens his tie, opening the top button of his shirt as his eyes wander all over my body. I feel him devouring every single inch of naked skin in me, and I know he’s aching for more.

“Turn around,” he tells me, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. The moment his words caress my eardrums, I’m turning on my heels, my back to him as my heart thumps louder against my chest. “Your dress, take it off. Slowly.”

I take one deep breath, moving my hands to my shoulders and pushing the straps of my dress down my arms. I feel the fabric drooping over my breasts, and I pull on it until my dress is hanging around my waist. Hooking my fingers on it, I sway my hips from side to side, slowly letting the fabric fall down my legs into a heap at my feet.

His shoes click across the floor as he takes one step toward me; I fight against all of my urges and remain in place, every fiber in my body screaming for me to turn around and face him. I feel his fingertips over the dimples in my lower back, and then he runs them all the way up to my shoulder blades; he moves his fingers across the edge of my bra, stopping only to undo the clasp there. He does it with one single movement, the cups drooping over my breasts.

I half-expect him to pull the straps down my shoulders, but instead he takes one step back. “Take it off,” he commands me, my arms moving by themselves in response. I push the straps down my arms, and then I let the bra fall down to the floor, right on top of my dress. My nipples are hard, almost desperate to feel his fingers, mouth, and skin on them.

For a long second, he says nothing. I close my eyes as I feel him appreciating my body, the air around both of us becoming heavier and charged with electricity. I can almost feel the desperate need he has to see me taking my thong off, and still he waits, letting the fire of anticipation rage in both of our bodies.

“You look so perfect,” he says, moving fast toward me and pressing his body against mine. My hands go to the wall and I unconsciously jut my rear back at him, my rear pressed tight against his crotch. I sigh deeply as I feel his thick shape straining against his pants, pulsing with desire and lust. He laces my waist, pressing his forearm over my stomach as he pulls me into him, bucking his hips at me at the same time. He’s thick and long, probably the biggest I have ever felt… And let me tell you, when you work in a strip club you get to feel a lot of cocks.

I sway my hips from side to side, the bulging in his pants pushing against my rear cheeks as I move. Arsen runs his free hand up and down my side, his long fingers only stopping when they meet the small string of fabric that delineates my thigh—he hooks them there, on my thong, and pulls viciously. Just one pull and he tears my thong apart, the fabric sliding off my body in such a hurried way that I can’t help but gasp.

His lips are on my neck as I grind my rear against his cock, everything in me burning with a frantic desire to get him out of his clothes. I reach behind my back, wanting to place my hand over his crotch, but once again he grabs my wrist, pinning my whole arm behind my back.

“You want it that much?” He asks me while I try and fight back against the hold he has on me. It’s impossible: he’s simply too strong.

“I do,” I respond, leaning forward and pressing my forehead against the wall, as my breathing grows heavier. The moment the words leave my lips, he lets go of me. He takes two steps back, the absence of his body on mine almost too painful to endure. Reacting on instinct, I turn on my heels, my feet making me follow after him.

“Stop,” he says firmly, and I stop dead in my tracks. We’re just a few inches away, and that is almost enough to drive me insane—to know that I could just reach for his shirt and start peeling it off of him … “On your knees,” he continues, my body once again responding without his commands having to be filtered by my brain. I don’t know what it is about him, but the moment he speaks, I do it. As soon as my knees touch the floor, my heart is pounding hard again, my eyes glued to the thick shape straining against his pants. “How bad do you want it?”

“I want it bad,” I say, my voice quivering as he starts to unbuckle his belt. I can’t even blink, my eyes glued to what’s happening in front of me. With slow teasing movements he takes the belt out from his pants and throws it on the floor; his fingers then go back to his crotch, unbuttoning it with deliberate and maddening patience. Each buttons he undoes, my heart kicks and punches harder against my ribcage … And with each button he pops out, his cock strains harder against his boxer briefs.

“Then have it,” Arsen says, reaching for my hair and yanking my head back. He leans down toward me and presses his mouth against mine, our kiss one of wildness and frenzied lust. When he stands up again, my hands are moving toward his crotch; I hook my fingers on the side of his pants and slowly pull them down to his knees. My fingers go up his legs and over his underwear, but never touching his cock. I want to touch it more than anything, but I want to make him feel the poison of anticipation in his veins.

I let my fingers move up and down—up to his waist and then down to the hem of his boxers. I do it over and over again, never taking my eyes off of his thick shape, seeing it pulse more harshly every time my fingers go near it. Then, unable to put it off any longer, I flatten the palm of my hand against his bulging. I bite my lower lip as I feel him under my hand, his cock so big my insides clench. Is he going to fit inside me? Is it going to hurt?

Leaning forward, I close my eyes and tilt my head sideways. I part my lips slightly and rest them against the shape of his cock, sucking on it over the fabric of his boxers. It pulses against me, eager to be set free and unleashed upon my body. Oh, I yield to its wishes pretty easily: hooking my fingers on his boxer briefs, I pull them down, his cock springing free in a heartbeat. As I lay eyes on it, I feel my heart tight inside my chest. To feel it is one thing, but to see it… Goodness, he’s huge—and absolutely perfect.

I run my fingers over his groins and, my heart drumming so fast it might burst any moment now, I rest my index finger over his shaft. As slowly as I can, I slide it up from his root to the glans, then move it back down again; stretching my fingers wide, I cup his balls, feeling their weight with the palm of my hand. I roll them over my hand, their warmness spreading to my fingers, hand and arms, and filling me with uncontrollable desire.

The moment I realize what I’m doing, I’m already leaning forward, my fingers curling around his shaft and pointing it straight to my mouth. I part my lips and rest them over his glans, scooping up his pre-cum with the tip of my tongue and letting his salty flavor inundate me.

His hands are on my head, but he’s just feeling the gentle sway of my body, letting me follow my own rhythm. I lap at his glans with my tongue, running it in slow circles around his tip as I start moving my hand back and forth, his pulsing thickness feeling alive under my fingers.

Moving my head sideways, I run my tongue from his tip to the root, licking the whole length of his shaft as I look up at him. The moment we lock eyes, I feel my pussy clenching—something primal and wild roars inside of me, and I know that in a few heartbeats I’ll be completely out of control.

I open my mouth wide and, leaning forward, wrap my lips tightly around his tip; I keep moving forward, his shaft rolling over my lips and tongue as he slides deep inside of my mouth. I feel it pushing down on my tongue and straining against my cheeks but I keep going. I only stop when I feel his tip at the back of my throat, my mouth completely filled with his cock.

I start bobbing my head, moving it back and forth over his cock. Going from his tip to the base, I start to go as fast as I can, cupping his balls with one hand. With my free hand I grab his shaft and, moving it in tandem with my mouth, I start to stroke him. Suddenly, I feel his fingers hooking themselves in my hair and he forces me stop. I look up at him, his cock still inside my mouth, and he simply grins. Deviousness flickering in his eyes, he starts to thrust, making his cock slide in and out of my mouth at a growing pace. It doesn’t take long for him to be moving so fast I have to open my mouth as wide as I can, his cock me relentlessly. Closing my eyes as his shaft flies in and out of me, I can’t help but wonder how it’s going to feel when he’s doing this to my pussy.

Still holding my head in place, he rests his free hand on my shoulder and lets it fall down to my breasts. Easing down his rhythm, he runs his fingers over the curve of my right breast and circles my hard nipple carefully. Then, the moment he pulls his cock out of my mouth, he pinches my nipple between his thumb and index finger; I gasp, my insides clenching as my hand starts moving again, stroking him as fast as I can.

Electricity spreading across my body from the pressure he’s applying on my nipple, I lunge forward, my parted lips resting against his shaft. I lick his cock sideways, running my lips and tongue over his length and going down to his balls; there, I open my mouth and suck one in, rolling it around inside me as I keep on stroking him furiously. Looking up at him, I can’t help but feel victorious delight from seeing him with his eyes closed, head slightly thrown back in ecstasy. He might know how to drive women completely insane, but I’m not a woman anyone should underestimate. After all, I was the reason thousands of men lied to their wives and went to the strip club to spend their hard-earned cash.

Suddenly, Arsen yanks on my hair and forces my head back, my eyes locking on his. He’s breathing hard, the corner of his lips turning upward. “Stand up,” he tells me. Reluctantly, I let go of his cock and go up to my feet.

I don’t even have enough time to think about what’s happening: he’s on me in an instant, his body pressed tightly against mine. He pins me against the wall, one hand cupping my left breast while the other grabs one buttock. I throw my head back, his lips on my neck; he nibbles my skin there gently, going all the way from my neck to my lips. We kiss in abandonment, my anxious hands darting to his collar.

I start unbuttoning his shirt, my trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons on their way down. His hard pectorals brush against my knuckles and, the moment the last button pops out, I run both my hands from his stomach to his chest, feeling every hill and ridge of his muscles. From his perfectly carved abdominals to the ropes of muscles in his arms, everything in him seems designed with only one objective in mind: perfection. See those male models that often don the covers of magazines? Yeah, they don’t hold a candle to Arsen’s body. In fact, perfect is a poor word to describe him.

He doesn’t give me much time to appreciate his body, though; as I pull his shirt down his arms, he grabs me firmly by the hips and makes me turn around. I place my hands on the wall as I face it, suddenly feeling more exposed than I have ever been in my entire life. And I used to be a stripper, for goodness sake! But with Arsen it’s different… He’s perfect in every sense of the word and, somehow, I want him to feel the same way about me too.

I stand still, not moving and barely breathing as I hear him kick off his shoes. I hear the rustle of his pants and I can almost picture him as he strips naked—more than anything I want to look over my shoulder at him, but I manage to control these urges. Then I feel him breathing close to my neck. As his mouth touches my skin I close my eyes by instinct, succumbing to the perfect way his velvety red lips caress the contour of my neck. Carefully grabbing a handful of hair, he brushes it over my shoulder, his kisses hiking up to my ear.

“You’ll moan,” he places one finger over my spine, right below my neck. “You’ll scream,” his finger starts to move down, tracing the valley of my spine until it reaches my lower back. “And then you’ll beg me to forget you,” he almost growls, brushing his fingertip over the curve between my rear cheeks. I tremble and shiver, my skin prickling as his words blanket my rational mind. Moan, scream and beg—that seems like a perfect menu, if you ask me.

“I’ll moan and scream,” I repeat after him, the sound of my voice coming out quivering and weak. As I start to speak he runs his finger down to between my legs, caressing my wet folds gently. “And then I’ll… beg!” The last word comes out as a gasp, his finger pushing its way past my pussy lips and burying itself deep inside of me.

Slowly, he takes it all the way out, once again running it along the length of my pussy. He only stops when he reaches my clit, first circling it, and then pressing hard on it. It’s stronger than myself: I can’t help but moan.

“That’s a start,” he whispers, running his finger down and sliding it all the way in. Flicking his wrist, he fingers me in a pendulum motion, each time his finger goes in his pace increasing. I’m moaning, and I’m doing it as hard as I can; still, the moment he slides one more finger inside of my pussy I stop moaning. What I do is grit my teeth and scream through them, my eyes shut tight as I succumb to the pleasant warm electricity that fills every single muscle in my body.

He goes fast and vicious, me with his two fingers until I can’t take it anymore. I press my forehead against the wall and let out a loud and mighty scream, my muscles convulsing as pleasure rages through my veins. The moment I start screaming he turns his wrist around and, moving his fingers inside of me, presses hard on my G-spot and starts to rub me there. I scream even louder, my throat already starting to hurt.

“Idiot me…” I whisper, the words tumbling out of my lips like a magic spell. “Idiot me, Arsen…” I repeat, my voice coming out honeyed and mellow. “Please.”

“I told you that you’d beg,” he whispers, still rubbing my G-spot and sending waves of pleasure through me.

“Please, please,” I repeat, intoning the words like a mantra.

“I love the way you beg, Ashley,” he continues, taking his fingers out of my pussy and running them up my stomach, tracing an upward line with my fluids. He goes all the way up to my face, and then presses his fingers against my lips; I open my mouth once more, eager to feel my own juices again. I suck his fingers dry as he moves them in and out of my mouth and, in an instant, it’s over: he takes them out and moves them in a line around my neck and down my back, tracing the curve of my buttocks with maddening patience.

I’ve already stopped screaming, but I’m still breathing hard through my gritted teeth. But the moment he runs his finger over my rear crack, a loud moan fills my mouth. Pressing gently, he slides his finger between my rear cheeks until he finds my anus; there, he presses harder, drawing little perfect circles around it. Then, no warning at all, he slides it in an inch, my body tensing up like a nocked arrow.

“Oh goodness!” I mutter, a web of delight covering all of my senses. “Please, Arsen… I can’t take it anymore. Idiot me now… Please.”

Even though I can’t see him, I almost feel his mischievous grin. He takes his finger out of my rear, and in a heartbeat, he’s pressing his cock between my thighs, angling it so that his glans is pushing against my inner lips.

I push my hips back at him and his cock pierces me like a spear, burying itself in me to the hilt. I don’t even moan or scream—for a few seconds, I even stop breathing completely, just taking in the pleasure that he’s injecting in me. His massive cock is straining against my inner walls, filling me up in a way no other man has done before. It’s almost as if Arsen’s cock was designed solely for the purpose of me. For a while, I thought that having something so massive inside of me would hurt… Well, I was mistaken. If there’s any pain, it’s one so well hidden in a veil of pleasure that it’s simply impossible to notice.

Slowly, he slides his cock out, but only to bury it in me again. He starts slowly, the whole notion of time fading away as he thrusts. Seconds stretch into minutes, and minutes into hours. Eternity is at my fingertips, his body on mine the most perfect thing I have ever experienced. And when he starts to thrust harder I almost explode, a cascade of moans climbing up my throat and rolling over my tongue. Not only does he go harder, but he goes faster too, his thighs slapping my rear with such strength that the sound of flesh on flesh fills the whole room.

Lacing my waist with one arm, he lets his hand fall down to my pussy, two fingers reaching for my clit. The moment he applies just a tiny amount of pressure there, I can’t help but let out a scream so loud I’m sure I’m going to have a sore throat tomorrow. But who cares?

I come like a madwoman, pushing my hips back at him with such ferocity that he has no other choice but to slide his cock deeper than before. I grit my teeth as his shaft lodges itself inside me, all of his length pushing back against my inner walls. My forehead is still pressed against the wall, all my muscles burning and trembling with pleasure as I succumb to a perfect orgasm. I take a deep breath, ready to rest for a few seconds, but he doesn’t even allow me that: before the orgasm has subsided he’s pistoning into me again, his body moving with such perfection that I just wish for him to keep going like that for all eternity.

“Oh goodness…” I mutter to no one in particular, my arms growing so weak that I have to support myself with my forearms against the wall. Still with his fingers on my clit, he starts to circle it with fast movements, charging my whole body with that sweet electric current of delight.

“Come for me, Ashley,” he says, his voice pushing me toward the edge. “Do it… Don’t hold back.” Just like that I come again, hissing through my gritted teeth as my body starts to convulse. I feel spent and exhausted but somehow I’m still aching for more.

“More…” I beg of him as he starts to slide his cock out of my pussy. “I want more…”

“Don’t worry, I’m not done yet,” he says, placing both his hands on my waist and turning me around. I turn on my heels quickly and, now facing him, our eyes lock. His expression is one of insatiable hunger and I realize that, from this point on, I won’t have to beg him to mess me anymore.

Moving fast, he places one hand under my right buttock and, spreading his fingers wide, forces me to lift my leg up. I lace it around his waist and over his rear, pulling him in; he comes willingly, grabbing my other buttock and lifting me up from the floor. Crossing my legs behind his back, I place my straight arms over his shoulders as he angles his cock so that it’s aiming right at my pussy. With a grin full of lustful promises, he thrusts, his cock parting my inner lips in the blink of an eye.

This time he doesn’t build the rhythm—no, he goes all in right from the start, moving his hips so furiously that it’s almost impossible to tell when he’s thrusting in or thrusting out. He leans in toward me and kisses me, his tongue immediately finding the way between my lips; our tongues wrestle against one another as our bodies move in a violent dance of sin and lust.

I’m not innocent or naive, and I have a fair share of experience under my belt, but this… Oh, this is something else entirely. I’ve never been messed like this, so hard that it feels like blue flames of ecstasy are licking me from the inside out, threatening to scorch every single nerve ending I have.

It’s funny, actually—the first time I saw Arsen I put him down as just another creep from the strip club. Sure, he was hot and all that, but I had no idea that he was a Man. Yes, a Man with capital M, one of those guys who you think are long extinct. If this was a Western, he’d either be the bandit or the Marshall—there’d be no secondary role for someone like him. And by the heavens, it’s so refreshing! Two months in the strip club and I was already up to the eyeballs with men who spent their whole life adrift, the glistening skin of paid strippers the only joy they take out of life.

Arsen quickly derails my train of thought by going even faster—somehow, he’s still able to do it, his thighs moving so fast that it should be physically impossible. Still with his hands holding me by the rear, he pushes my cheeks apart, moving one hand slightly he reaches for my anus with one finger and starts to caress it slightly, my brain almost exploding with the sensory overload. His cock ravaging me, his finger on my rear, his chest pressed against my hard nipples… This is too much.

I scream like a banshee, the muscles in my neck straining to accommodate the violence that climbs up my throat. The moment he feels my body tensing up, he presses his finger against my anus more harshly and slides it in halfway, my rear clenching around it.

Instead of letting me savor my orgasm, he simply keeps thrusting, feeding one more inch of his finger into my rear. My hands turn into claws and I bury them in his back, hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t even register it: he simply keeps me as if he needed to do it in order to survive.

Scratching his back, my eyelids droop as I feel my eyes rolling in their orbits. The pleasure that rages through me is so intense I still can’t believe I haven’t passed out yet. Do you think I’m exaggerating? Well, if you do, then you’ve never been with a man like Arsen. Seriously, I never believed that such intense pleasure could even exist in this world.

His cock flies in and out of me at furious pace, ravaging me completely as my muscles keep on spasming as if I were having a seizure. Riding pleasure’s peak, I start feeling another wave of ecstasy coming for me; two heartbeats later and it crashes against my mind, scorching all of my nerve endings and making my body go limp. If he wasn’t holding me, I’d just collapse onto the floor like a used rag.

Somehow, even though I can barely feel anything aside from the fires of pleasure, I notice his cock spasming harshly inside my pussy. He’s on the edge as well, and it’s a good thing too; I doubt I could endure one more minute of such delight. Who knew that pleasure could ever be too much?

I sigh deeply as his cock starts to twitch uncontrollably, gushing his warm seed deep inside of me. He stops moving his body as he comes, filling me up to the brim with thick ropes of white cum. He keeps cumming for what seems like an eternity, gushing so much semen that it starts dripping out of my pussy and pooling on the floor at our feet.

Slowly, he lowers me down as his cock finally stops spasming. He pulls it out of me gently, a shiver going up my spine as he does it. I lean back against the wall, tilting my head back and breathing deeply; his hand go down the side of my body and, when I open my eyes, he’s on his knees. Our eyes meet and a savage grin burns on his face immediately. Without warning, he leans forward, pressing his mouth against my pussy; reacting by sheer instinct I lay my hands on top of his head as he licks my folds, scooping his own cum.

“Oh goodness…” I whisper, his lips sucking my folds dry. He jabs at my insides with his tongue, pushing it past my inner lips and using it to lick his cum. Pulling back, he goes up to his feet, his eyes never leaving mine. He doesn’t say a word, he just leans into me with slightly parted lips, his semen making his mouth glisten.

I close my eyes as he kisses me, pushing my tongue inside his mouth. His salty flavor inundates me at once, and I just have to open my mouth wide. I take all the cum he holds inside his mouth, feeling thick drops of it dripping down my chin. When my mouth’s full, I finally pull back, my heart almost ready to burst.

“Swallow,” he says with a wicked smile, drops of semen still hanging on his lips. I don’t even filter his command; I just do it. I swallow every single drop of cum, feeling its harsh manly flavor burning down my throat. “Good girl,” he tells me, leaning into me for one final kiss.

Arsen Hawke, where did you come from?

68

Arsen

The rays of the sun wake me up from probably the most relaxing sleep I’ve ever had in my life. I turn around and see the mass of straight, blonde hair, and an arm wrapped around me. In any given morning, you’d probably expect that this would be a normal occurrence. But you’d be wrong. Because I would never have even let them stay till morning.

But today?

Today, it’s different. Today I actually smile when I feel Ashley’s nails lightly scrape over my chest. I let my mind wander as I feel her thigh nestle itself against my naked groin. My cock starts coming to life as I reach over and feel her tight, perky rear within arms reach. I can feel her pussy pressed against my upper thigh. 50 million nerves are attuned to the feeling of her folds on my skin. I could get lost in her body more than I’ve ever gotten lost in anything in my dang life.

But then I hear the beeping coming from the other room. I sigh. It’s the video phone. Most likely it's Gerard. It must have been going on for a while because the beeps, or rings, increase in frequency the longer someone is trying to reach me.

As carefully as I can, I extricate myself from Ashley’s grasp and get out of bed.

I look over at her beautiful body still asleep. She’s so cute. Like a button. Her mouth is slightly open as she breaths in and out and all I want to do is wake her up and eat her pussy again. Then harass her with my throbbing cock until she passes out like she almost did last night. Then cum all over her and have her suck me dry. Goodness, all I want to do is harass her so badly. I can tell this is going to lead to problems ahead. Can’t you?

But guess what?

I don’t care. And yes, I had to say ‘frigging’ in there. To emphasize the fuc…the point.

The beeping continues and jars me out of my sexual fantasy and I pad over to the living room. I see who’s calling and see that it is in fact, Gerard. I accept the call and before you ask, yes I’m naked. But that’s fine because I arrange the camera to just capture my upper body; I don’t think Gerard is going to mind seeing me shirtless. But I wouldn't want him to see my giant cock. He’s my friend and I don’t want him to feel any level of insecurity or envy, you know?

“Sorry to call so early, Arsen,” Gerard says once he comes on the screen. I look at the clock. It’s 7:30 am. He’s already dressed in a crisp suit and tie, sitting in his office downtown. The guy must wake up at around 5 to get there from the Upper East Side.

‘It’s not a problem, Gerard,” I say as I leave the field of vision for a moment to turn on the coffee maker in the kitchen. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I have some good news, if that’s what you’re calling it,” Gerard says as I come back into view. “Mr. Giannoni has come back from his clients and he’s stating that we might have a tentative offer on a few more of the properties that we’re looking to sell.”

“Which ones?” I ask. This is key.

There’s a pause from Gerard before he answers. “He’s prepared to purchase the whole portfolio, sir.”

The entire thing?

In one shot, I could be done with Dad’s ridiculous smut business? I could free myself from the filth that he peddled?

“Everything, Gerard?” I ask again, raising my eyebrows. “In one swoop?”

Gerard shrugs. “He certainly seems amenable to taking the entirety of your holdings. But if I would suggest an alternative, I would say that we do it piece meal.”

The method doesn’t really matter to me. If I can get rid of everything, then this is something I should totally look into.

But one thing bothers me.

“Gerard, who does this lawyer represent?” I ask. If I’m going to be giving up Dad’s life work for some cash, I want to know who I’m selling it to. Despite the fact that it’s all X-rated smut, I want to make sure at least that I’m not messing over the people who do the work day in and day out. And that could easily happen if I end up selling to someone shady.

“I can certainly find that out, sir,” Gerard says. “However the buying party is going to be an LLC based out of Delaware, most likely.”

That makes sense. You want to know the easiest country to launder money in? It’s not Switzerland, or the Bahamas. It’s right here. The United States of America. With our secretive banking laws and the ability for one company to own another, anyone can buy anything while still remaining hidden from the world.

“I’m not comfortable selling the entire company if I don't know who I’m selling it to, Gerard,” I say into the video monitor. “I just want to know where all these people’s livelihoods are going to end up.”

“I agree, sir,” Gerard says. “We wouldn't want to sell to someone who is completely disreputable, but I also want to point out that there will be a certain level of…”

“Seediness?” I ask with a smile.

Gerard smiles at me. “A certain type of character who will come to define the market, yes,” he agrees with me. And yeah, he’s got a point. I mean, you’re not going to see blue chip companies like Disney try to buy the Sex Palace on 3rd Avenue that my Dad built in 2010, or the Swinger's Club in Miami. That’s not going to be purchased by Coca-Cola. But still, I want some type of standards.

“I mean, who is this guy representing? Is it a company? Or a person? Something, anything, is all I’m looking for,” I tell Gerard.

“Maybe we should start our transactions with a limited subset of properties then and try to ascertain more information,” Gerard suggests.

That’s a pretty good idea. Give this Mr. Giannoni something and then dangle the prize in front of him in exchange for more information.

“I like that,” I tell Gerard. “Why don’t we sell the entire strip club portfolio first and see what we can find out?”

I’m not worried about selling the strip clubs. The only real employees in a strip club are the managers and the bouncers and they’re all tough as nails. Dad had strip clubs from Myrtle Beach to San Francisco to New York City. Even if its ISIS buying these clubs, the girls will all be able to simply move on and the guys that work there—heaven help anyone that tries to mess around with them.

“Agreed, let’s get the paperwork sorted on that. And what do you think the earliest we can prepare for signature would…” I don’t get a chance to finish because Gerard interrupts me.

“I think we can discuss this a little later on today, sir,” he says and my eyes flash up to see him on the monitor. He’s looking past me, somehow. “I didn’t realize I was bothering you, Arsen. Thought you normally slept alone.”

I turn around and see Ashley standing at the door to my bedroom. She’s looking into the living room, wearing one of my collared shirts.

Goodness, she looks so cute.

I barely get a chance to register as Gerard says goodbye and hangs up. He probably felt a bit awkward, which is a riot considering that we were talking about selling off pieces of a sex empire.

But who cares about business deals when the hottest girl is standing just a few feet away from me wearing nothing but my shirt?

“Who were you talking to?” Ashley asks, as she takes a step closer to me.

“My lawyer, Gerard,” I say, desperately aware that my cock is starting to harden and stick up. Ashley notices too.

“I overslept,” she says, rubbing her eyes.

“That’s okay,” I say, standing still. “I was going to come back to bed …”

“No, that’s okay,” Ashley says and I can see her hands come up and begin to fiddle with the buttons. She’s got a bit of bed head, and for the millionth time I think how dang cute she looks.

“What was he talking about?” Ashley asks me, coming up to me. “Selling strip clubs?”

Oh. Idiot.

Here it is, isn’t it. I never told her what I do. Where all this money comes from.

But what have I always told you?

That I’m going to be honest. No matter what.

“I own the strip club that you used to work at,” I tell Ashley and I see her large eyes grow wider as she looks at me. “The night that I ran into you in the cab, I own that club.”

“You own a strip club?” Ashley asks.

“Among other things,” I reply. “My dad was a big deal in the sex industry.”

Is she going to leave? Is she going to ask me why I do what I do? Is she going to be a prude?

Goodness, I don’t think after what we did last night, she can even be a prude.

But being a billionaire sex trafficker is sort of different from say, being a billionaire banker. I wonder what her reaction will be?

“If you were at the club and you own it,” she starts and comes closer still. “Why did you never get a dance from me?”

Oh.

Wow. Not what I was expecting.

I don’t say anything as Ashley gently pushes me back and I sit down on the leather chair next to the video monitor I take video calls on.

Ashley turns on some music on her phone and turns up the volume.

It’s 7:47 am and I’m about to get a lap dance from the hottest woman I’ve ever met.

Ashley turns her back to me and slides off my shirt, showing me the back of her naked body.

Her toned rear bounces in front of me as she moves her weight from one foot to the other.

The thing about her is that she doesn’t look like a stripper. Her tanned skin doesn’t speak of countless nights spent under neon nights, and her face still looks fresh and full of candor. She doesn’t seem like a product, built to seduce over and over again, as if in a production line. She looks as real as the girl next door, just perhaps not as innocent.

Ashley looks through strands of her hair at me as I sit a few steps from her. The movements of her body match the flow of the music, her hips rocking from one side to the other. She moves her neck in a circle and, with her hand, whips her hair back.

With a strut to her step she comes near me, her feet making her turn; she leans forward, her rear at my eye level. Her long fingers caress her round cheeks, and I bring my hands up to her rear, resting on the sides.

I can feel my cock stirring as I touch her—her rear is apple shaped, her skin soft and without blemishes, a gentle firmness to it. I allow my fingers to explore, tracing the outline of her rear, my fingertips reaching for and caressing the dimples in her lower back.

She turns on one heel, her hands going down her body as she sways her hips. She can feel my gaze upon her, and my mouth is already dry with desire. Grabbing his hands she guides them over her flat belly and up to her belly. Her nipples are hard against my fingers, almost begging to be licked, and as I gently squeeze she allows a smile to light up her face.

Ashley climbs on top of me, each of her knees resting besides my legs, and brings her breasts closer to my mouth. I can almost feel her salivate as I take one nipple between my lips, nibbling gently.

She starts rocking her hips back and forth, pressing herself down onto my crotch as my tongue runs around her nipples, my long fingers embracing her firm and perky belly. She leans into me, pressing my face against her cleavage, and tugs on my earlobe with her mouth. My cock strains against my pants as my hands went to her hips, feeling her warm and soft skin.

She straddles me, her pussy now rubbing against my cock. Her hips go slow, keeping in sync with the mellow music, but starts going fast and hard as the rhythm of her body starts to gain a cadence of its own. A warmness starts spreading over her pussy as it presses against the long shape of my hard cock.

Suddenly, Ashley realizes something as she looks into me and stares into my eyes. From where I’m sitting, it looks like something primal, something wild and primitive that floods her heart and mind, tainting her thoughts with sex.

Her fingers go to my face and with a grin on her ripe lips, she starts stroking my cheek, her knuckles brushing against the hard muscles in my chest as she comes down.

I push my hips up matching the rhythm of her body, my cock pulsating as hot blood flows through it. I take one silken nipple inside my mouth, sucking at it with abandonment as my other hand squeezes the creamy flesh of her breast. She groans in pleasure as my white teeth gently nibble on her, her fingers resting on my naked shoulders as her body keeps grinding against my own.

In a swift motion she rises up and, turning her back to me, lowers herself once more onto my crotch, my cock hardening even more as it nestles comfortably between her rear cheeks. Back and forth she goes, her rear rubbing against me as her pussy becomes wetter. Her hands go behind her back and she caresses my inner thighs, feeling my thick tip along the way, inflaming it with desire; she cups it with her fingertips, feeling my cock’s head swelling against her touch.

With one hand still cupping her breasts, a hard erect nipple trapped between my fingers, my other hand slides down the arch of her back. My breathing grows ragged against her neck and, with one hand, I press my cock against her rear crack, my shaft nestling between her cheeks as it pulses almost too painfully.

“Someone’s getting enthusiastic…” She says, her words soft and mellifluous as she gets up, her hands resting on her hips.

I lick my lips unconsciously, my eyes longing for the pink fleshy slit between her thighs. I want to taste her, to ravage her whole body and make her moan and scream. Just one look at her eyes and I know she can read all that in my face.

She leans into me and, with one hand sliding down my chest and over my hard abs, she goes down on her knees. She draws a deep breath, seeing for the first time my entire cock, its length enough to give her pause.

She curls one hand at the base of my cock, the other one gripping over it. She moves her hands slowly up my shaft, her eyes lock on mine, reading the burning desire written all over my face.

She comes closer, her tongue slowly sliding out of her open mouth and resting over the base of my cock, twisting up its shaft and lubricating my cock. When she gets to its head she opens her mouth wide, allowing her lips to savor my manhood as they encase my glans. But she doesn’t stop there; her lips keep progressing over my cock, making it slide over her dancing tongue as it pushes down her mouth, filling her.

I exhale slowly as the nerve endings on my cock brush against the inside of Ashley’s cheeks. This is too good. She’s going down on my cock as deep as she can, still enough of my length left out for her to grasp with one hand. Her movements ebb and flow, a whirlwind of sensations spreading from my cock to the rest of my body. She knows what she’s doing, every single flick of her tongue and bob of her head a calculated movement in a frenzied dance.

My stomach clenches in pleasure as my cock burns hot—with just her mouth she's ready to make me cum. I instinctively reach for her head, my hands wanting to guide her movement as I explode inside of her, but her plans aren’t the same as mine.

Pulling her head back she takes my cock out of her mouth, her fingers curling around it gently.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says, her tone soft but commanding. “Your cock is now mine, and you can only cum when I say so.”

I almost grab her by the hair and pull her head back to my cock, shooting my load into her face despite her bossiness. But, instead, I grit my teeth and clench my muscles hard, feeling my semen receding back down deep inside my body. Lets let her have some fun. Let’s let her take control. Let’s see what she’s got inside of her.

I nod.

“Good,” she whispers, her tongue jabbing at the tip of my head. “Very good…Now, can you take more…?”

The palms of her hands go to my chest, pushing me back against the leather couch. Like a tiger ready to jump on its prey she climbs on top of me, her movements fluid and deliberate. She grabs my cock with one hand and, rubbing its head against her pussy’s moist outer lips, she whispers her question once more against my ear.

“Can you take more, Mr. Hawke…?”

“I can take a lot more.” That was my curt response as, with an upwards push of my hips, I sheathe my cock deep inside her, her inner warmness embracing my pulsing skin. She moans as I felt the walls of her pussy stretching and stretching, working hard to accommodate my thickness. I plant my hands on her rear, pulling her cheeks with outstretched hands as my cock pounds her pussy without mercy.

Idiot, I’m close once more, my cum straining deep in my body, aching for release. I don’t care if I cum in her mouth or in her pussy, I just want to feel that sweet discharge of electricity running through my body, my cum gushing out in a torrent. But, once more, she can feel my urges and she yanks on my hair, her voice against my ear leaving no space for disobedience.

“Don’t… you…… dare!” She whispers, her hips now setting the rhythm—a more gentle tempo, enough for me to catch my breath and pull myself together. “You want to cum real bad, don’t you?”

You bet I do, I thought to myself, unable to pronounce the words as I struggle against the urge to shoot my load inside of her.

“I know you do.” She whispers, swaying her thighs and delighting herself as my thickness rubs against her insides. “But I’m in charge here… I tell you when to cum.”

I bury my face between her belly, breathing her scent in. I’m going crazy, my cock feeling hard as steel, my tense muscles almost bursting at the seams as sweat starts trickling down my body. I don't know for how much longer I'm able to hold on.

She rides me hard, showing no mercy to the pleading in my face. My cock's hers, even if only in this short moment of time, and she can do with it as she pleases.

“Now…” She moans, tugging at my ear with her pearly white teeth. “Now I’m going to come. I’m going to come and you’ll have to remain hard…Say it.”

“You’re going to come…” I manage to say through gritted teeth.

She pulls hard on my hair, her voice commandeering him.

“And?”

“And I’m going to remain hard.” I mutter.

“Yes… Yes, you will.” Her knees chafes against the leather couch’s pillows as she rocks her body over me, my cock sliding furiously in and out of her, her juices covering it over and over again. She takes her fingers to her clit and, throwing her head back and closing her eyes, she presses and rubs on it, thunder spreading through her loins. Her body jolts as my cock goes deep, hitting that sweet spot buried deep inside her. She screams, pushing her shaking thighs against me as her hands pull my hair uncontrollably. She doesn’t know anything at the moment... but she doesn’t care. In that single moment, the only thing she cares about is the endless explosion of pleasure happening all over her body, making her skin boil as if she's about to disintegrate.

She grins, breathing in deeply as I pull out my cock from inside of her now too sensitive pussy, her whole body shuddering as its thickness passes through her outer lips.

“Stroke it… Stroke it for me…” She tells me, grabbing my wrist and guiding my hand. I do as I’m bid, my fingers grasping my member and moving up and down. I know I can’t hold much longer and, if I try to, something will pop inside my head. “Cum… Cum for me…”

Three words. Three words from her and my cock immediately explodes, warm white semen gushing outward and covering her belly in thick ropey strands. My fingers claw at her rear as my whole body feels as if it’s ripping apart, my muscles so tense I can almost swear I hear the flesh tearing apart from the bones.

“Holy… idiot!” I mutter through pursed lips, my brow furrowed in effort. I’m gushing so much cum that it’s splattering her whole body, dripping down from her belly and belly to her legs and pussy and then, finally, trickling onto the floor in thick drops.

I close my eyes and lean back, my exhausted and trembling body reclining against the couch. I sigh heavily, tender fingers softly grasping my hair, and force my eyelids open. Ashley’s eyes are on me, watching, a twinkle of mischievousness on them.

I give her a wide devilish grin and, still reeling myself from everything, tell her the first thing that crosses my mind.

“You are amazing.”

She says nothing, but something flashes behind her eyes—something that seems confident and yet sad at the same time.

69

Ashley

“Hi this is Misty, who am I speaking with?” I say into the phone as I lean back. I’ve put on white lace stockings with a matching white lace thong and lace bra. I have heels on, and I decide to recline on my sofa.

The truth is, I need this. I need to get back to de-personalizing the sex—especially after yesterday morning.

I can still remember the events as they happened.

“You are amazing,” Arsen said to me as I stared up at him, his cum dripping from my face and body. In that moment, the fog of lust began to slowly clear from my brain and for a moment, I felt…what was it? Familiarity? Love?

I quickly got up from the floor of his living room and ran to the bathroom. I showered as quickly as I could and put on my clothes to look as presentable as possible.

“Where are you going?” Arsen asked me when I emerged all prepared for the day.

“Some of us have to work, you know?” I asked back, rhetorically.

He snorted and took a step closer to me. I took a step back.

I can’t understand why.

“Hi Misty,” the voice on the phone breathes. “My name is Max.”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for someone like Max with a sexy name all day long,” I coo into the phone. “What are you wearing?”

As Max goes on and on about what he’s wearing, I think back to how I left Arsen’s apartment yesterday morning.

“I thought we could get brunch,” Arsen said to me as I made for the door.

I kept walking.

“Is everything okay?” Arsen asked again. This brought me up short. I turned to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you owned the strip club?” I asked him.

He stared at me, putting on a robe so he wasn’t completely naked and walked over.

“Does it bother you?” he asked.

I think it did bother me. Even now, I think it still bothers me.

“What bothers me the most though is what Yasmine said,” I replied back to him. “She said that the owner of the strip club also owned the phone sex company that I work at. Called…”

He didn’t let me finish. “Simulated Pleasures, LLC,” he finished my sentence for me. “And yes, I own that as well.”

At first I didn't know what to say. But I know that Arsen was watching me.

“That means you know what I do for a living,” I stated. It wasn’t so much a question as more a statement to myself. “You know what I’ve had to do in the past. How I’ve had to dance.”

Arsen nodded. “I don’t care about any of that,” he said. “I only inherited this company from my father…”

But I didn't let him finish. “I don’t think this is appropriate, Arsen,” I said. “You own the company I work for, and I don’t think we’d ever be equals in any sort of relationship.”

Arsen snorted and looked at me. “Are you serious?” he asked as he got up. “You didn’t let me cum just now till you were ready for me!”

My defenses must have gone up because I gave him a fake plastic smile and looked at him. “Goodbye Arsen,” I said. “Take care.”

And with that I walked out of his apartment toward the elevator. I stayed still all through the elevator and kept my composure. It was only when I get into the cab that I looked into my lap and tried to make as little noise as possible as I began to cry.

“Hello?” the voice of Max jars me awake from my reverie.

I start and look at the meter on my computer. I recently installed the software that the office gave me. It shows how long the call has been going and the estimated charges as well as the royalties I should expect.

“Are you still there?” Max asks, a bit unsure as to why a phone sex operator would put him on hold.

The thought makes me smile and I let my smile color my voice. “I’m still here, baby,” I whisper into the phone. “Just hearing you talk started getting me so hot and bothered I needed a place to lay down.”

“Oh yeah?” I can see the ear-to-ear grin on Max’s face as he asks this. “What are you wearing?”

“Oh baby, I put on a special lace white thong on for you just now, and a matching bra,” I reply back. “Do you like that?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Max says into the phone. “I like that a lot.”

“How do you want me?” I ask him. I’ve been learning. Sometimes I lead the conversation. Sometimes when I’m feeling generous, I let the client lead. I’ve been trying to get the clients talking more instead of just getting them off as quickly as possible. I think it does two things. It keeps them on the phone longer. But more importantly, having them talk about themselves starts making them regulars. They end up investing in me emotionally.

“I want to bend you over and slide your panties off,” Max whispers into the phone.

“Ooh, yeah, baby, I like that,” I say into the phone. I can’t help it, but I picture bending over the table in my kitchen with Arsen behind me.

“I want to rub my hands up and down your body, and take off your bra so I can lick those hard nipples of yours,” Max says slowly.

“Oh, they’re so hard right now,” I say into the phone. And guess what? They are. Because I’m thinking of this happening to me. With Arsen, no less. I can’t help it. I can’t get his body out of my head. But more than his body. He’s got the heart of a saint. I know he says he’s not a good man. But he’s been nothing but gracious to me. Kind, warm, protective … loving.

I want to use one hand to squeeze those nipples as I suck them,” Max says into the phone. “I want to use the other hand to smack that rear.”

I close my eyes and picture Arsen squeezing my belly. Of Arsen slapping my rear cheek.

“Sounds like you like it, baby,” Max says. I didn’t realize it but I had given an involuntarily moan into the phone.

“I want to slap that rear,” Max says again. He’s breathing erratically. I can tell he’s stroking himself. “Hard.”

“Ohhh, baby,” I moan. He’s starting to have an effect on me. I bring my free hand down and begin to gently rub my clit over my panties.

“I want to lower my face and use my tongue to lick around your folds,” Max says.

Arsen’s face as he licked my pussy goes through my head. As he scooped out cum with his tongue before he fed it to me.

“Ohhhh,” I groan as arcs of pleasure start to permeate through my body. Max continues, obviously excited by the fact that his words seem to be having a real and noticeable affect on me.

“I want to pull out my cock and…” Max continues but somehow I stop paying attention to what he says.

All I can see, and trust me, it seems so real, is Arsen stroking his thick, 12-inch cock in front of me. I’m on my knees. Then all of a sudden I’m grinding my rear against that hard cock of his. Like yesterday morning. Feeling it pulse. Thick and hard.

I can feel Arsen’s hands on my body as I begin to stimulate my clit. I can feel his thick and powerful tongue flick my clit. I can feel him use his tongue to press against my clit, playing with it. Teasing it. Massaging it. Biting it. Licking it. Sucking it.

Oh my goodness. What am I doing? Is Max still on the line?

I don’t care. But I don’t dare talk. All I do is moan. All I do is breathe and mewl.

In my head, Arsen is my Angel of Sin. I run my tongue between the creases of his abs. He runs his tongue over my jerk.

Shudders of pleasure go through me. My body seizes up. I let loose a growl. And then a lewd moan escapes my lips as I forget all about what's polite. A seizure of ecstasy travels through my body and I’m left shaking for a moment.

I’m light-headed when I open my eyes. I’m panting. Sweating. Hot.

“That was so hot!” Max says into the phone.

I want to reply, but I can’t. I just lay there, my panties damp and my body satisfied.

“I’m calling you back every day!” Max says. He says something more but I honestly am having trouble paying attention. It’s the most I can do to tell him I’ll be waiting and then he hangs up.

I look at the computer. He was on the line for 15 minutes. That’s at least $54. With $26 going to me. Not a bad gig for 15 minutes of work.

I could get used to this.

And then an email pops up on my phone.

“Congratulations on a solid 5-star rating from all clients over the last 24 hours!” the email reads. It goes on to congratulate me on my repeat clients and my rating.

I read it and realized that I just made Arsen half the money that I’m getting. Maybe it goes to other people, but it’s based on a company he started and still owns.

The thought chills me. With so much sex at this man’s disposal, why is he interested in me? And how long will it even last? With those looks and body of his, I’m surprised if he ever speaks to me again. It’s already been over 24 hours and I haven’t heard from him at all.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not prude or anything. I’ve had a pretty dirty past and I’m very, very sexual as you can tell.

But Arsen is a line that’s in a completely different league. And right now, this job and the money it affords me needs to take priority. The only way I can do that is by keeping Arsen Hawke at arm’s length.

I hope to myself that his gorgeous body will start to fade from memory over time.

But the part of my brain that uses logic tells me that I’m already in too deep. There’s nothing I can do now, it tells me.

Great. Thanks for nothing, brain!

70

Arsen

"You've made a smart choice," Luca Giannoni says, clapping his meaty hand on my shoulder. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to take my calls." His hand could belong to a Sasquatch. I swear it's hairy enough, and there's no doubt that this guy is an animal. I feel the weight of his hand on my body and wonder why he thinks he needs to be so passive aggressive.

"It's been a busy few weeks," I say, and shrug off the comment. But honestly, all I can think about is how I haven't had sex with Ashley in over a week.

"Sure it has, but listen, don't ever mistake my kindness for weakness. Mr. Morozov doesn't take well to being ignored."

I sense the thinly veiled threat in his voice and I hand him the signed document, slamming the pen down on the desk. I need to get out of this office before he really pisses me off and I do something I shouldn't. "Well, none of that matters anymore. Here's the paperwork. The ownership transfer of these clubs is now in the hands of Mr. Morozov."

With one hand rolled into a tight fist in the pocket of my suit, I turn around and give him a wave with my other free hand. There's a fake smile plastered across my face, and I leave the room before Luca can respond. I walk outside, and hail a cab. The sun is so bright that I take a moment to stop and find my sunglasses. The cab pulls up and as I open the car door and slide into the back seat, I think about the transaction that just transpired.

Here I am, a Harvard MBA graduate, and I'm making deals with the Russian mob. What am I doing with my life? And as soon as I ask myself that question, Ashley pops into my mind. Idiot she's beautiful… maybe even perfect. I've seen a lot of smoking hot women in my lifetime, but she tops them all. Her was unbelievable… it's been painful that it's been over a week. I pull out my phone and decide to send her a text. I hesitate for a moment, staring at the chat screen, and thinking about what exactly to say. Phoo; I'm definitely overthinking this. Why am I acting like such an idiot? I text, "Let's meet up."

Before I can even slip the phone back into my pocket, she responds, "I don't think that's a good idea."

What the heck is that supposed to mean? I text back, "Why not?"

I wait for a few minutes, but she doesn't respond. I give it another couple of minutes, and still nothing. This is driving me crazy. If she doesn't want to reply to my texts, I'll reach her another way—through her direct phone sex line. I'm not one to give up—I always get what I want.

I dial her line and wait. The phone rings, and then I hear her. She picks up.

"Hi, this is Misty. Who am I speaking with?"

The first thing I notice is that her voice sounds different—smooth and sultry, and I swear my cock is already twitching. She's a good actress, that's for sure. But she can't find out it's me on the other end of the line, so I lower my voice and muffle it with the fabric of my suit.

"King Henry."

"Oh, I've never spoken to a king before," she purrs.

"Good, because I'm the only king that matters. You belong to me, don't you?"

"Mm hmm," she whispers.

"Tell me that you belong to me, Kitten," I demand.

"I do. You're my king and I belong to you," she coos, maintaining a smooth, even voice.

"Good, Kitten. Now I want you to tell me what you'd do to my cock if I was with you right now."

"I'd do so many thing. First, I'd—"

I cut her off. "You mean, King Henry. Say my name when you talk to me."

She pauses for a moment, and I hear her breathing deepen. "Yes, King Henry. I'd worship your cock. I'd slowly unbutton your pants and drop them to your feet. I'd wrap my arms around your big, strong body and pull you tight against my own—my breasts and my hard nipples would be pressed under the weight of your manhood. My nipples are hard just thinking about you. My lips would then touch yours, and I would nibble on you with a hunger you've never felt before."

"And what kind of a hunger is that, Kitten?" I ask.

"I'd—"

"Stop, and address me as your king before you continue. If you mess that up again, you'll have to spank yourself."

"Yes, King Henry. I'd bite you in a trail of hunger, starting on your lips, and then moving down until I reach the ridges of your stomach. I'd slide my hands over your thighs and between your legs… moving slowly until I've reached your large, hard cock. Oh, I'm so wet right now just thinking about you."

"Stop touching your pussy. I can see you doing that because I can hear it in your voice. You can't touch your pussy until I command you to. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what, Kitten?"

"Yes, King Henry."

"That's better. Now spank yourself for not addressing me properly."

"Yes, King Henry," she says, and then I hear a loud slap. I can tell she's naked. It's the sound of skin on skin. She's slapped herself so hard that her rear is definitely red.

"Now show me how you'd worship my cock."

"Yes, King Henry. I'd get down on my knees and wrap my hand around your cock and glide it into my mouth and deep into my throat. I'd take your entire shaft down my throat, until I couldn't anymore."

Now she's got me hooked, and I make sure the driver isn't watching as I slip my hands down my pants, stroking my cock, and I continue. "I want you down on all fours," I command her.

"Yes, King Henry."

"Are you down on all fours right now?" I ask, just to be certain.

"Yes, King Henry. I'm down on all fours," she replies at just above a whisper. I can barely hear her.

"Good job Kitten. Now finger your pussy and make sure you're ready for me."

"Oh goodness I'm ready for you King Henry. My pussy is throbbing for you—phoo's so wet."

“Do you have any toys you use to play with yourself?” I ask.

There’s a pause. “Yes, King Henry,” she replies.

“Good,” I say. “Go get it.”

There’s a rustling and I can hear the phone being put down. She’s obedient. That’s what being horny does to her.

A minute later, she’s back.

“I have it, King Henry,” she says.

“Good, describe it, Kitten,” I tell her.

She gasps. “It’s a footlong dildo, its black, and it’s ribbed, King Henry,” she says to me.

“Close your eyes because that’s now my cock in your hands, Kitten,” I tell her and I can just see her laying down with the sex toy.

“Yes, King,” Ashley says.

"Good, now I want you to glide my cock into you. Grab it like it's the last cock on earth."

"Oh goodness, you're cock is so big King Henry… I'm—I'm gliding it deep, really deep in—inside of me, and I can barely—"

But before she can finish her sentence, I can hear every muscle in her body spasm and I know she's coming. I stroke my cock faster and faster, and then with my eyes clenched shut, ropes of cum erupt from cock. I don't give a hoot about anything around me—the driver, or otherwise, and I continue to come. When I finally open my eyes, I realize it's all over my suit pants. I don't wait for Ashley to say another word, and I hang up our call.

I can hardly believe that just happened. I take off my suit jacket and hold it in front of me. That's all I need is for the doorman at One57 to catch a glance at the stain on my pants. He's never say anything, but still. Just then, the cab pulls up to my apartment. I pay the fare, and quickly get out of the car, and then I feel it. My phone is vibrating in my pants pocket with an incoming text message. I quickly take it out and read it. It's from Ashley, "OK, maybe you're right. Let's meet up later."

I can't help but smile at the small victory. See, I told you. I don't take no for an answer; I always get what I want.

71

Ashley

I knock on his door, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I wait for a response. Sure, I could've pressed the electric doorbell, but what the heck? I’ve always been a little old fashioned. It doesn’t take long: a few seconds after my first knock I hear footsteps from the other side. I take a deep breath to calm myself as Arsen opens the door, a wide smile on his lips.

He looks at me shamelessly, his eyes wandering from my face to my breasts, and then down to my waist. Goodness, the way he looks at me is so intoxicating.

“You look good,” he says, stepping to the side and inviting me in. Oh, of course I look good—tight black dress and the tiniest lace thong I could find, I came ready for action… And something in the tone of his voice unleashes that wild beast I keep hidden inside of me. My mind goes blank and, next thing I know, I’m walking toward him with a sure step. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and before he has the time to react I press my mouth against his. His eyes widen in surprise, but he regains his composure quickly enough, his hands immediately darting to my waist. “Someone’s pretty eager.”

“You can’t imagine how eager I am right now,” I shoot back, pressing my hand against his crotch. He’s already as hard as rock, so I curl my fingers around the shape of his cock, grinning wildly at him. To say that I’m eager is putting it mildly, really, after that phone call with Client 5, "King Henry," I just can’t wait to feel Arsen’s cock once more. In a sense, it’s weird. Here I am, jumping into Arsen’s arms because a stranger’s voice drove me completely insane with pleasure. A day in the life of a sex phone operator, uh?

“I like eager. Good,” he simply whispers, a flicker of darkness in his eyes. I’ve set something in motion that I can’t stop—and, heck, it sounds so good.

With his hands on my waist he pushes me back across the hallway and into the living room. I walk backward awkwardly, only stopping when my rear meets the edge of his leather couch. On the way there my eyes wander to the wall where he pinned me… The one where he messed me relentlessly, memories of the most perfect sex I’ve ever had flooding my mind.

I take my fingers to his collar, ready to start unbuttoning it, but he's faster than I am. Hooking his fingers on my hip, he makes me turn around and, with one forearm across my shoulder blades, bends me over the couch. I bite my lower lip as he grabs my rear harshly, his long fingers bunching up my dress as he touches me. A gasp leaves my lips as he slaps my buttocks with the back of his hand, the sound of it almost too exhilarating.

“Since our last time together,” he says, leaning forward and whispering against my ear, “I couldn’t stop thinking about bending you over and spanking your perfect little donkey.” He does it again then, smacking my other buttock even more harshly.

“Have you been thinking of just that?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder. His smile turns into a wicked grin immediately, telling me the answer before he even speaks.

“Oh, no. I’ve been thinking of a lot more.” Still grinning, he runs his hands up my legs and slides them under my dress, his long warm fingers going over the curve of my rear cheeks until they meet the fabric of my thong. He grabs it harshly and I bite down on my lip as I prepare for him to take it off of me; but, somehow, he changes ideas. His hands go down and he curls his thumbs around the hemline of my dress, pushing it up to my waist; then he goes down to his knees and I feel my heart starting to drum wildly in anticipation. Whatever he has in store for me, I can barely wait.

I close my eyes as he lunges forward, pressing his mouth against my pussy and breathing in my scent. His hands are on my buttocks, grabbing my curves and keeping the dress up in my waist. Sucking my pussy over the fabric of my thong, his touch makes me close my eyes and moan in excitement. It might be an obvious thing to say, but there’s something wildly erotic about having a man’s mouth between your thighs. Especially when he enjoys it almost as much as I do.

With a flick of his fingers he pushes my tongue just an inch to the side, baring my wet folds. Lapping at me with his tongue, he runs it between my pussy lips—up and down, up and down, the rhythmic motion pulling me into a trance of delight and ecstasy. I curl my fingers hard around the edge of the couch, my body tightening as he jabs with his tongue, slowly sliding it into my pussy.

I gasp as, with a sudden movement, he places his hands on my hips and tugs on my thong harshly. He pulls his head back, sliding the fabric down my legs at the same time; before I even have the time to prepare for it, he’s on me again, mouth wide open.

“Oh goodness…” I moan, his tongue working me with such perfection I don’t even feel the urge to move. I just want to stand still and bask in pleasure. He has other plans, though—with his hands on my hips he makes me sway my body, pushing my pussy against his mouth as I bend even more over the edge of the couch. His hands then run over to my buttocks and he grabs me firmly, smacking his hands against my flesh; he massages my rear for a while and then, no warning whatsoever, slaps me hard across the cheeks with the back of his hand. I grit my teeth, the pain of it mixing with the pleasure he’s inflicting upon me with his mouth.

I try to open my eyes but I can’t even do that; every single fiber in my body is filled with pleasure, and there’s little that my brain can do right now except try and process all of it. Suddenly, all perdition breaks loose. Still sucking on me, he angles his head slightly so that he can fit two fingers over my pussy. He slides them in quickly, a loud moan leaving my lips as I feel his fingertips pressed against my G-spot. I come immediately, my muscles becoming as rigid as concrete before they start to shake and tremble, releasing all the tension inside of them.

Supporting myself with my hands on the couch, I motion to turn, but he grabs me by the hips and keeps me in place. “I’m not done,” he simply says, pulling back from my pussy. The moment the last word leaves his lips he dives in again, sucking on my labia as he laps at me with his tongue, an electric storm raging through me. He slides his fingers back inside of me, but this time he starts flicking his wrist as well.

I’m no longer standing still; I start to thrust back at him, pressing my pussy against his mouth, my rear cheeks against his face. He licks me even more furiously, devouring my pussy relentlessly as I fill the whole apartment with my quivering moans.

A shiver goes up my spine as he places both his hands on my rear, grabbing my cheeks once again. He moves his fingers further in, spreading my cheeks apart and sliding his thumb over my rear crack. When he goes over my anus he stops, applying a gentle pressure there as fireworks start to go off behind my eyelids. I’m on the verge of coming again, only a few moments after I’ve just exploded.

He slides his tongue over the whole length of my pussy, electricity pooling in my muscles as he goes. Moving back and forth in a rhythmic motion, he suddenly keeps going, his tongue sliding from my drenched lips to between my rear cheeks. I tremble as I feel him go, and I clench my rear as an instinctive reaction. He doesn’t care for my embarrassment; he simply grabs my rear harder, forcing me to spread my cheeks as he moves his tongue up my crack. There’s not much that I can do but yield. I relax my body, my chin quivering in delight as his tongue goes over my anus. He presses it there, and then starts circling that sensitive spot with entrancing movements.

As he licks my rear he moves one hand to between my thighs, placing two fingers over my clitoris. He starts to rub me there at once, all the electricity in my body turning into a raging storm. With his fingers on my clit and his tongue on my rear, I come undone; I grit my teeth and shout through them, thrusting back against his face as my whole body starts to tremble. I’m grabbing the edge of the couch so fiercely my knuckles have turned white.

Slowly, he pulls back from me. I don’t even move; I just remain bent over the couch, hanging limply by the waist. I’m breathing hard, my eyes still closed as I try to reel from all the ecstasy still burning in my body.

Arsen goes up to his feet and, leaning into me, whispers against my ear. “That was just a taste of what’s to come,” he tells me, his hands still resting on my buttocks. He moves them to the side and hooks his fingers on my hips, making me jut my rear back at him. I press my cheeks against his crotch, feeling his bulging shape between my cheeks. Swaying my body from side to side, I start grinding against him, the urge to feel him inside of me growing and growing. Goodness, I want him so much!

Suddenly, I stand up straight and turn on my heels, facing him with a grin on my lips. Before he even has the time to stop me, I reach for his crotch and grab his thick cock. Right now, it’s my turn to take the lead.

One hand wrapped tight around his cock, I place the other one against his chest and push him back, my eyes never leaving his. He’s grinning now, allowing me to lead him and anxious to see what’s on my mind.

The moment his back hits the wall I let go of his cock and place both my hands on his shirt. With a savage grin, I pull on it as harshly as I can, ripping the fabric and making all the buttons pop out and scatter around the floor. Flattening my hands against his chest, I close my eyes and run my fingers over his hard muscles, feeling every turn and curve of his pectorals and abdominals. It doesn’t matter how many times I touch and see them, they always have the same affect on me. And his tattoos… They add that edge of unruliness that I just can’t help but love.

I let my hands go further down and then, when I meet the contour of his pants, I unbuckle his belt and pull it out of its loops. My fingers trembling with the anxiety of anticipation, I unbutton his pants, a shiver going through me as his cock tents his boxer briefs and presses hard against my knuckles.

All strength leaves my body and I go down on my knees. As I go, I hook my fingers on his underwear and pull them down, his cock springing free right in front of my face. More than anything, I want to grab it, to open my mouth wide and let him slide it in all the way… But first I want to take a good look at his naked body: I tug on his pants and underwear as he kicks off his shoes, and then I pull them out as he lifts his feet. I look up, my heart beating wildly as I take a mental picture of the naked man in front of me.

His body screams sex, all of it. He’s muscled, but not in a fit or trendy way—more than a cover model, he looks like a warrior, ready to rip apart anyone that dares stand in his way. And, of course, when he puts all these muscles to work… My pussy clenches just at the thought. Really, have I ever been this wet?

My eyes wander over every inch of him, but they inevitably stop on his cock. Long, thick and pulsing with desire. I don’t even think about it, I just lean forward and open my mouth, rolling my lips down his shaft and taking him all in.

My eyelids droop as I feel his cock going over my tongue, his glans pressed against the back of my throat. I hold there for a long second and then I go back, sucking hard on his tip as I allow his cock out of my mouth. Running my tongue in slow soft circles around his glans, I start to caress his balls, moving them gently over my fingers.

Arsen lays both of his hands on my head, and hooking his fingers on my hair, he pulls me into him. I open my mouth as wide as I can immediately, letting him guide me toward his cock; the moment my lips are on him again, I start to bob my head back and forth, sucking on him as hard as I can. I wrap my fingers around the root of his member and I start moving my hand at the same time as my head, stroking and sucking in a coming and going motion. I start slow, but it doesn’t take long for him to urge me to go faster, the slight pressure of his fingers on my head the only directions I need.

Moving as fast as I can, I have to stop for a few seconds, just enough to catch my breath. I look up at him, my heart fluttering inside of my chest as I see him with his eyes closed, enjoying my mouth on him. Stroking him fast, I tilt my head sideways and lick the whole length of his shaft, going down toward his balls; there, I open my mouth wide and suck one ball in, rolling it over my tongue, and then I do the same with the other one. They’re heavy and warm, filled with a seed that I can’t wait to feel all over my body.

I’ve never been one to go full-blown kinky, but with Arsen somehow that seems to be the standard. And I just love it—the dirtier and naughtier, the better. He just makes me feel unlike anything I have ever experienced… I never even knew sex could be this good. And let me tell you, I’ve always garnered the attention of experienced, hot men. Sure, my jerk ex wasn’t anything to write home about, but I never really had a reason to complain until I met Arsen. In a sense, he ruined me for other men. And that’s just lovely.

Placing my lips on his shaft, I run them back up to his tip, and then I take his cock inside of me once again. Bobbing my head as fast as I can, I don’t stop until I hear his hard breathing, his fingers like claws in my hair. I would have gone all the way and let him fill my mouth with his cum, but he has other plans. He pulls his cock out of my mouth, and with that devious grin on his lips, goes down to his knees right in front of me.

He places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down to the floor, climbing on top of me. I open my legs by instinct and grabbing his cock, he starts to rub its tip against my labia. I thrust at him, eager to have him inside of me, but he takes his time. He just keeps rubbing his glans back and forth over my labia, each time he does it pressing forward just an inch.

“Please, Arsen…” I found myself saying, my hands going to his shoulders and trying to pull him in. This time, he doesn’t fight back against my pleas. He responds by thrusting, his cock piercing me in a heartbeat and drawing a loud scream out of my lips. Before I can even process what’s happening, he starts to thrust viciously, his cock coming and going out of me like a piston.

I cross my legs behind his back, locking him in place as he thrusts. My hands are now on his chest, my fingernails digging in his pectorals as his body sways.

“Harder,” I tell him, not even sure if I can take it. But harder he goes, his hips moving so fast that a wild numbness spreads from my pussy toward all of my limbs. I lay back as he idiots me, my pussy tightening around his cock like a vice. Breathing hard as if I’m about to suffocate, I arch my back as my body tenses up. “Don’t… stop!” I shout, fireworks exploding inside my head as I come. He keeps thrusting through my orgasm, my fingers clawing at his chest as sweet release takes control of me.

I’m screaming like a madwoman, my limbs flailing as if I were having a seizure. Even so, he doesn’t ease up; somehow, he starts going even faster, not allowing my orgasm to crawl back to wherever it came from. Instead, he keeps it alive inside my muscles, me until I have to scream again, another explosion taking place inside of my head. I come for the second time in a row, the first time that has ever happened in my life. Two orgasms in the space of a few heartbeats? I thought that was something that only happened in books!

“Oh goodness,” I mutter as Arsen slows down, gently pulling his cock out of me. I’m almost reluctant to let it go, but I know there’s still more to come. Way more.

I don’t even know where I find the strength to do it, but supporting myself on my elbows, I sit up. Moving with cat-like movements, I push Arsen down on the floor and climb on top of him, straddling him. I grab his cock, pointing it at my pussy as my eyes lock into his—there’s hunger there, one that I just know will consume me. And that’s exactly what I want to happen. To be consumed by Arsen Hawke.

I ease myself down on his cock, biting on my lower lip as I feel his thickness parting my labia and sliding in. I let him go all the way in and, the moment his cock is sheathed in me, I start swaying my hips back and forth. He grabs me by the rear, bucking his hips at me as I move; we become one like that, our motion one and the same.

With my hands on his chest, we go slowly and tenderly, his cock gently sliding in and out of my pussy as our bodies rock. I lean forward, gently brushing my lips against his. I arch my back then, and start to move faster; he matches my movements by thrusting harder as well, the sound of his thighs slapping against my buttocks filling the whole room. It doesn’t take long for us to be lost in a frenzy of motion, thick beads of sweat pooling on my forehead.

We keep moving until I’m soaked in sweat, stray locks of hair plastered to my forehead. I feel beads of it running down my back and, even though I feel the claws of exhaustion reaching for me, I keep moving furiously over his cock. Wanting to go one step further, I stop moving just for the time necessary for me to plant my feet by the side of his thighs. Without taking his cock from inside of me, I lift my body up and squat down over his waist, allowing his cock to go even deeper than before.

We change glances and his lips curl upward into a grin as he reaches for me, two of his fingers pressing down on my clit as go. I feel that electric pulse inside of me once more, and just a few heartbeats after that, a tiny spark of pleasure turns into a wildfire of delight.

My pussy clenches around his cock and I ease myself down, my knees touching the floor once again. I lean forward, my forearms across his chest as I tremble in ecstasy. I can’t even moan or scream anymore; my vocal chords have reached their limit, and all they can produce is a small croak of pleasure.

I roll to the side limply, spreading both arms and legs on the floor as I stare at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling at a quick pace. Goodness, I’m so exhausted… And still, I want more! I don’t know what Arsen does to me, but whenever I’m with him I turn into an insatiable beast. Which works just fine, since he seems even more insatiable than I am. Between the sheets, we’re truly a match made in Heaven. That is, if we were between any sheets—it seems that with him we don’t even have the necessary patience to get anywhere near a bed. I’m not complaining, though; his naked body is the only furniture I need.

Taking a deep breath, I summon whatever strength still lives inside of me and go up to my feet as Arsen sits up.

Looking him in the eye, I throw him a dirty smile as I sashay across the living room and move toward the bedroom. It’s time to mess on a proper mattress. With Arsen following after me, I enter the room and climb on top of the bed with my knees; I go on all fours and sway my rear from side to side as an invitation. I don’t need to say more; he crosses the room with two wide strides, firmly grabbing my hips as he positions himself behind me. I look back over my shoulder, a fire burning in my eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask, biting down on my lower lip. “Idiot me. Hard.” Arsen throws me a coy grin and, grabbing his shaft, presses his tip against my labia.

“You asked for it,” he says and, with a smirk, thrusts. As his cock strains against my inner walls in its way in, a violent scream climbs up my throat and explodes in my mouth, waves of ecstasy riding through me as Arsen starts to mess me viciously.

I lose all notion of time as he thrusts into me; my body burning as my mind slowly drowns. My rational mind vanishes into oblivion, and all that’s left behind the wheel are my primal and savage urges.

I thrust back at Arsen, matching the movements of his hips. My rear cheeks slap his thighs, the sound of flesh on flesh driving me even more crazy. I’m sweating once more, pushing my body past all limits and forgetting about the exhaustion that is seeping from my muscles to my bones.

Gritting my teeth, I exhale sharply as he spreads my cheeks apart with his hands; he then runs his index finger over my crack, placing it against my anus. Slowly but steadily, he slides it in, a long moan tumbling out of my lips as I feel him go in. His whole finger inside of me, he starts to mess me even more relentlessly; I’m not even moving anymore, I’m just there taking it in and trying not to pass out from all the pleasure.

“Arsen…” I moan, the way his name feels on my tongue like a perfect aphrodisiac. “Arsen…. Don’t stop! Don’t STOP!” I shout as loud as I can, my lungs hurting from the effort. I come violently, a shiver of ecstasy going up my spine as he stops moving, his cock deep inside of me.

My body still trembling, he pulls his cock out slowly, each inch that slides out between my labia making me tremble even more. The moment he lets go of me, I collapse on top of the mattress, seeing all black. I have to take a few deep breaths to steady myself, trying hard not to pass out. Who knew that obscene amounts of pleasure could make you pass out? I didn’t, but now that I do, I just can’t help but want to see how far I can go. I’m a woman who loves challenges, what else can I say?

Sitting up on the bed, I turn to Arsen and spread my legs, grabbing both my breasts as I look into his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you're already tired,” I tease him, pinching my right nipple between my thumb and index finger.

“You should know me better by now,” he shoots back, placing his hand on my knees and spreading my legs even further. Approaching me, he grabs his shaft and guides it home, immediately thrusting without even letting me prepare for it. It slides easily inside of me, my pussy already used to accommodating his thickness. Rocking his body against mine, we start again, all my nerve endings crying with delight. Goodness, Arsen has given me more pleasure in an hour than all other men combined during my whole life.

My hands go to his back, and I lower them over the curve of his buttocks. Grabbing his rear, I urge him to go faster, bucking my hips at him as he thrusts. He takes the hint quickly enough, his rhythm growing with each stroke. Leaning into me, he goes for my breasts, laying his mouth right between them as he keeps on me, his lips move over the curve of my right breast and he wraps them around my nipple, sucking eagerly.

I throw my head back, an exhausted moan on my lips as I succumb to his body. If the human body didn’t have all these silly limitations, I’d want to remain here forever, Arsen’s cock deep inside me. I mean, is there anything better than this in the whole world? I really, really doubt it.

Letting go of my nipple, he takes his mouth to my neck, nibbling at the soft skin there, and then moves upward to my ear.

“I can’t get enough of this,” he whispers, his hands on my hips. “I could forget you like this forever,” he continues, almost as if he could read my thoughts. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t even do that; my vocal chords are spent, and my brain is in no condition to form a coherent sentence. Thankfully, this is no time for conversation. He grabs me by the hair and yanks my head back, thrusting with such strength that I can’t help but open my mouth and scream, my throat burning with the effort.

He’s ravaging me, me without grace or mercy. Like a wild beast, he’s showing me what a real man can do with a woman’s body. I bury my fingernails on his back, gritting my teeth and preparing for the incoming storm. I already feel its roar inside of me, thunder and lightning looming on my mind’s horizon. This time, I’m truly not sure if I can withstand this—I mean, how many times have I come since I got here? Too many to count, I’m sure.

Every single muscle in my body tenses up, my nerve endings charged with electricity as I feel the fuse of pleasure burning up. Two heartbeats, one deep breath, and I just explode: all the tension in my body frees itself, a painful scream leaving my mouth as my brain turns into mush. This is way beyond anything I have ever experienced… And still he keeps thrusting. He idiots me as if tomorrow would never come, ignoring all my shouts of ecstasy - my throat is raw and hurting, but I just can’t help it.

Suddenly, he stops; his body turns rigid, his muscles becoming as hard as concrete. I look at him, see him with eyes closed and gritted teeth, and prepare for what’s to come—and I mean that pretty literally. His cock starts to spasm and a thought crosses my mind. With both hands on his chest, I push him to the side and, moving as quickly as I can, I go down on my knees and lean forward. I wrap my lips around his cock just in time, a torrent of cum filling my mouth at once. Cupping his balls as he comes, I stay in place while he empties his whole load inside of my mouth. His flavor is salty and raw, manly like everything in him.

He keeps cumming for what seems like forever, his cum gushing inside my mouth with no end in sight. I feel my mouth becoming full, but even then I don’t pull back; I remain still, strands of cum dripping down my lips and chin. It’s simply too much for me to hold it all in my mouth, and it keeps on coming. Thicks drops fall to my breasts, my chin covered in his semen… Only when I’m a wet mess does he finally stop, pulling his cock out of my mouth with an exhausted grin.

Proud of what I just did, I smile at him, opening my mouth and showing him his own cum.

“You look lovely like that,” he says, leaning forward. His lips touch mine and, before I even know what I’m doing, I’m pushing my tongue inside his mouth, opening my mouth wide and swapping cum with him. Remember when I told you that the kinkier the better? This was what I was talking about: never in my life did I think I’d find a man with whom I’d be doing this… And dang, it feels just so fine!

When our kiss ends, I open my eyes and lock them on his; I lick my lips wantonly, scooping whatever cum I can, and just swallow it. He looks at me as if he were entranced, the expression on his face one of pure delight.

When I’m done, I simply collapse on the mattress, spreading my legs and arms to the side, exhaustion suddenly filling every fiber of my being. And this time, there’s no fighting it; the moment I feel the softness of his sheets against my back, I close my eyes and I’m out.

* * *

What time is it? Oh goodness, I fell asleep in Arsen’s apartment. I look to my side and there he is, his naked body still pressed tight against mine, the warmness of his skin seeping through mine.

It pains me to leave him. I wouldn’t mind closing my eyes and going back to sleep, my naked body against his… But there’s a whisper inside my head: I’ve got work to do. "King Henry," my new client, is going to call me at noon, and I want to be home by the time I get the call. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s not even about work… I just want to talk with him again.

And so, with a perfect naked man lying by my side, I get up and get dressed. I could reschedule the call, I know that—but somehow there’s something inside of me that’s aching to hear that voice on the other end of the line. I leave the apartment on my tiptoes, wondering why the heck I'm caring so much about a man I’ve never even met.

72

Arsen

I don’t know why I’m so excited to talk to Ashley when she was just here a couple of hours ago. But regardless of the reason, I shower, shave, go work out, and get some food at the gym, and by the time I’m sitting down in front of my computer, I have nervous excitement going through me like I’m 16 and in high school all over again.

What the heck is going on? I’m about to call a phone sex operator. Regardless of whether I had showered or shaved or whatever, she’d be looking to get me off. This is a sure thing. It’s nothing to get excited about. It’s nothing to revolve my day around.

But that’s exactly what I’m doing. You’re probably laughing at me right now. I seem like that 40-year-old virgin if you ever saw the movie where Steve Carrell puts on the candles and trash before putting on the porno so he could jack off. Heck, chances are Dad’s company produced that porno in the first place. And now I wonder how much the old man is turning over in his grave when he sees his only son getting a hard on getting ready to pay money to talk dirty with one of his own phone sex operators.

Goodness. I gotta calm the heck own.

I turn on the computer at my desk and scan through my emails. There’s nothing major going on in the world of sex today that’s interfering with my trying to divest out of this trash. I pull up the research on the Morozov family of companies that I had asked Gerard to do. That man is worth his weight in gold. Not only did breaking up the company into chunks to sell give us who Luca Giannoni was working for, but it gives me a chance to dig a bit deeper and see just who I’m selling to.

But wait, it’s already noon. And that means Ashley’s waiting for me to call her.

Actually, let me rephrase that. She’s waiting for "King Henry" to call her.

Whatever, don’t look at me right now like that, ok? Until I met her, I used to be a normal, well-adjusted jerk. Sure, I used to mess women left and right, but I never lied to them. But with her, I’m living a double life.

“Hi this is Misty, who am I talking to?” she purrs into the phone and my heart skips a beat at hearing her voice all over again.

“It’s King Henry, Kitten,” I say with the affected gravelly voice. I’m not using the coat anymore, and despite the computer showing me that emails are arriving; my mind and concentration are completely focused on the line.

“I’ve been waiting for you, sir,” Ashley says with a purr.

“Have you now?” I say to her while my cock stiffens at her submissive tone. “I’m not sure I believe you Kitten.”

“It’s true, I came home just so I could take your call,” she insists.

“What are you wearing, Misty?” I ask, taking charge of the conversation. “Tell me.”

I lean back as Ashley starts to describe what she’s wearing. “I have on a purple lace thong with purple stockings and garters,” she says. “And a light purple matching lace bra.”

I close my eyes, imagining the beautiful Goddess who was with me just a few hours ago and how she’s lounging in sexy lingerie now to talk to me.

A part of my brain tells me this is wrong. This is crazy. That I have plenty of work to do today.

Idiot, I even look toward the computer. There’s an urgent email that just came through from Gerard.

But the reptilian part of my brain tells me that Ashley wasn’t wearing any purple lingerie when she left here this morning. She must have changed. Or she’s making this whole thing up.

“Did you just put it on?” I ask into the phone. “Was that what you were wearing before? Be honest with me, Misty.”

There’s a pause on the line and I know she’s debating how far to go into this conversation. Because I’ve just blurred the edges of fantasy and reality now and if she plays along then she’s walking into wonderland with me.

“I changed into this just for you,” she tells me slowly. “I put it on after I showered once I got home.”

“Did you come from somewhere else?” I ask. Idiot, don’t look at me okay. I don’t know why I’m asking this. I know perfectly well where she was.

There’s another pause.

“Yes,” she says on the phone.

“Yes, what?” I ask harshly.

“Yes, sir,” she corrects herself. Good, she’s listening.

“A man?” I ask with another question almost immediately.

“Yes, sir.”

Idiot. My cock is twitching in my pants for some reason. I glance at the computer at the email from Gerard. It reads simply: URGENT. MOZOROV IS PRESSING HARD FOR COMPLETE BUYOUT.

Whatever. I can’t give it the time it needs right now because my next question to Ashley is just, “Did you idiot him?”

She’s either going to hang up, or she’s going to go along with what I’m saying.

I decide to take it further and tell her, “I’m buying you right now, Misty. That means I own you. That means you do whatever I tell you to do. Tell me you understand.”

Another pause. Has she hung up? Has she put me on mute?

“I understand, sir,” comes her response. Her voice is soft. It’s not so sultry. It’s more real.

“Good,” I say, unbuckling my pants and pushing them down. “Now, tell me the truth. Did you idiot him?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies. “Yes, I messed him.”

“Did you cum?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” I say, not sure why I’m getting off to this, but I’m unwilling to stop. “Are you touching yourself now?”

Again, she responds without shame. “Yes, sir.”

“I want you to stop, Misty,” I say to her. I hear a whimper on the other end of the line. It sounds of disappointment. But I’m too far gone. My mind is in a haze of lust and it’s not controlling anything I say or do at this point.

“Look south, towards downtown, Misty,” I tell her.

“I am, sir,” she replies. “My apartment faces downtown.”

“Do you see the spires of the city?” I ask. “Imagine the biggest one is my cock. Imagine my giant cock going inside of you. In and out. You.”

I hear her moan.

“Can I touch myself, sir?” she asks, a bit breathlessly.

Goodness idiot. My cock is rock hard as I say, “No, not yet. Are you staring downtown?”

“Yes, sir. Why am I staring out the window?” she asks.

“Because what you see outside your window represents the highlight of human achievement, Misty,” I say to her. I’m not lying, but I’m not sure why I’m telling her this. “When I was a kid in the city, my Dad would take me every Sunday to the Empire State Building so we could look out on the skyline. He would tell me that as long as I was willing to work hard, those buildings represented the idea that I could do anything.”

“That’s sweet,” Misty says.

Idiot. Her name is Ashley. I can’t forget that. I’m starting to think of her as Misty… as my Kitten. This is dangerous.

“Idiot sweet,” I tell her harshly, scared at how much I’ve given away. “I want you to picture my cock, Kitten.”

“Yes, master,” she says and now I’m just completely hooked. Where the heck did she get that in her head to call me master? “Is it hard, sir?”

I grunt, my hand working my cock. “It’s veiny, thick, throbbing…” I start but Ashley interrupts me.

“Can I put my mouth on it, master?” she asks. “Can I run my tongue over the tip?”

Goodness.

“Can I run my tongue up and down the shaft, sir?” she asks with a sweeter voice and my body shudders. “Can I spit on it and then smear it over your big, throbbing head?”

I can’t take any more, but she’s not done.

“Can I lick the precum that’s coming out with my tongue? And then can I jerk your cock while you watch me?”

I can’t answer. I’m too far into this messed up world. I’m past the point of no return.

Can I put my finger on your slit and smear that precum across the head of your cock, master?” she asks me sweetly.

“I’m going to cum,” I manage to get out.

“I still have my bra on because you wanted me to keep it on, do you want to cum on my belly?” Ashley asks. “My big, soft, firm, belly,” she adds for emphasis.

“Urrgh,” I say out loud. Don’t ask me what I was trying to say because I have no idea. My mind is in a state of paralysis as my orgasm rips through me and I shoot out spurt after spurt of thick, viscous cum out of my cock and onto the floor.

I’m panting as electric shocks of pleasure race through my body and by the time I’m done I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep holding onto the phone.

Ashley is waiting on the other end of the line. I can sense a smile on her voice as she speaks to me.

“Can I touch myself, now, King?” she asks.

Idiot me. I’m going crazy for this girl.

73

Ashley

It’s a pleasant evening and I look out toward the Hudson River from where Arsen and I are sitting at dinner. We’re at an outdoor restaurant called Southwest New York that serves Tex-Mex near the South Street Seaport. With our table literally right next to the water, it's been a pleasant evening.

I look at Arsen. He’s staring back at me.

Goodness, he’s so freakin hot. I swear, just staring into his smoldering eyes is enough to get my panties wet. The way those eyes seem to look into my soul. The way that face is shaped—it’s so lean and tight. And then there’s that body. You’ve heard me go on and on about his body before, I know, but it’s so good it’s worth saying again and again. If I could, I’d tell everyone I know. I mean, I wouldn't tell my Dad or anything, but aside from him, I’d shout from the rooftops how much I enjoyed Arsen’s bulging biceps, his 8-pack abs that are oh so defined, his powerful legs, his wonderful pecs, or his strong back.

But while his body is great to run my hands over and lick, I think what is completely unforgettable is basically that 12-inch cock that dangles from his legs. When that thing gets hard, I can barely wrap my hands around it. It’s as thick as my wrist. And it's so painfully delicious when it stretches my insides out.

“What are you thinking?” Arsen asks me, reaching across the table and taking my hand. I can see the tattoos go up and down his arm. “Tell me.”

I take his hand and smile at him. I’ve never had a man sit across from dinner and ask me what I’m thinking. To take an interest the way that Arsen has.

He’s wealthy, cute, and considerate.

How is it that I'm not head over heels in love with this guy?

I can’t believe I’m sitting here complaining to you about this. I must sound like the world’s most spoiled girl or something.

But it’s true; I can't say that I’m in love with Arsen. And I know the one major reason for that.

Henry. Client 5.

It’s been two days since the last time we spoke at noon. Two days since I’ve heard his powerful, commanding voice. A voice that basically says harass the world—these are his rules and you can either obey them or get off the bus. Two days since he basically made me his over the phone.

Do you want to know something? I haven't told anyone yet, because I’ve kept it a secret.

Two days ago, when we were together on the phone, when he told me he wasn’t going to let me touch myself, I got so turned on just listening to himself telling me what I could or couldn't do. When he forced me to call him “sir” or “master” or "king," and started telling me to imagine Lower Manhattan and imagine his cock and how it would feel to have him plunge into and out of me, I swear to heaven I was dripping wet. I was panting. I could tell my heart rate had increased just from hearing his voice.

But that’s not what I have to tell you.

What I have to tell you is this. As I got him off with my words, it was turning me on like nothing else too—to the point where listening to my words and the effect it was having on him was only making me hungry to hear more. When he finally came, my body was a quivering mess. I hadn’t been allowed to touch myself and it was like desire was overwhelming every aspect of my body.

When King Henry finally let me touch myself, I desperately brought my fingers to my clit underneath my panties. And it took me maybe five seconds and three flicks before I exploded.

That’s what I wanted to tell you. That’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last 48 hours. What kind of a man can get me so keyed up, so on the brink already, that it took absolutely nothing to push me over the edge?

It’s like he can make me cum with just the sound of his voice.

You’re probably shaking your head at me. Thinking I’m just a stupid little girl, but I swear to heaven, I honestly think that if he wanted to, he could get me to cum just by talking to me.

But it's not just about cumming. He said something to me the last time we talked. He talked about how his Dad would take him out to the Empire State Building to give him a view of the city. Telling him that anything was possible. It sounds almost like…

“It’s like you’re a million miles away,” Arsen says again and I snap back to reality.

I shake my head and smile at him.

“I was just thinking about work,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. I don’t want to lie to Arsen. I don’t want to throw away what I have with him. Because it's good. He’s a good man. He may have been a bad boy before this, but I know he’s trying for my sake to rein it in.

We haven’t had the conversation yet about being exclusive. And I’m glad. Because as much as I like Arsen, I can’t explain it but my mind keeps going back to Client 5. To Henry.

“You mean the guys who call in to talk to you?” Arsen asks and gets up.

We’ve finished dinner and decide to take a walk down the waterfront. It’s a nice evening and the water is peaceful.

“I have maybe about 6 regulars who call in,” I tell him as I grab his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

I may not be completely sure about Arsen, but he’s here, with me, right now. The sex is phenomenal. I would have never imagined sex could be this good before I met him. And he’s kind, considerate, and open. I don’t want to lose him because of Henry, who I’ve never met.

But I’m still looking forward to the Client 5 call I have penciled in for tomorrow morning.

“Well, you’re regulars probably see you the same way I do,” Arsen says, looking at me. “They probably know a girl like you doesn't come by every day and they’re doing whatever they can to hold onto you.”

It’s like he’s not jealous at my job at all, and that’s the surreal part. Does he know that my words are supposed to get other men’s cocks hard? That I tell them the nastiest things I can think of so that these men shoot loads of cum all over themselves? That even more than porn, the act of talking dirty over the phone is perhaps the most intimate one can get before actually having sex in person?

“It’s such a nice night tonight,” I say out loud, trying to change the subject.

Arsen looks around, and humors me with a smile. “Ever since they finally finished construction around the Freedom Tower, this area has gotten a lot nicer without so much construction,” he says to himself.

“Did you follow the construction or something?” I ask him. “I’ve never really had strong opinions on it one way or other.”

He sighs. “I’ve always wanted to build things,” he says out loud, more to himself than anyone. “I just never got the chance.”

I’m silent for a moment, but I think about Arsen. A son who wanted to do so much, but raised by his father in a completely different way and now managing reluctantly a family business he wanted no part of.

I squeeze his hand. “Well, soon you’ll have sold everything your Dad left you, and you’ll be able to spend your time the way you want to,” I tell him as we slow down and he faces me. “Maybe you can go build a building somewhere somehow.”

Arsen looks at me as I smile at him. I’m trying to make my face look cute. He breaks into a bittersweet smile and takes a step closer.

“I want to spend that time with you,” he tells me and I can feel his breath on my face.

I want him to wrap his arms around me and pull me close to him. To hold me and never let me go. I want to squirm against his body, feel his cock grow hard. I want it to poke into my crotch. I want to feel it against my rear. I want to boil his blood with my body. To tempt him. To tease him.

All that may happen with this kiss.

But then, there’s always going to be Client 5 in the back. Because no matter what I do with Arsen tonight, no matter how many ways I give myself to him—no matter how much I let him own me, in the morning I’ll be rushing out the door to take the call from Client 5.

Arsen brings his face down to meet mine.

And I take a step back.

He looks at me with concern and tears start to come down my eyes.

There’s only one thing for a lady to do in this situation.

I turn around and start to run away.

74

Arsen

What the heck just happened? I say something nice—and true—and she bolts on me? And crying! I look in astonishment as she runs down the sidewalk, my body frozen by surprise. Wake up, Arsen! I can’t let her go like that!

I start running down the street, my feet flying over the pavement as I close in on her. Her heels are clicking, the sound getting louder with each step I take. Then she looks over her shoulder and, realizing I’m following after her, cuts into a dark alley.

What is she thinking? Running into a dark and deserted place like that this late? Now I really can’t let her go.

I reach for her, my fingers curling around her wrist as I pull her in. She turns to me, her makeup slightly smeared from the tears. With one hand around her waist I take the other one to her face and brush her cheeks gently.

“What were you thinking, Ashley? You can’t wander away like that, it’s dangerous,” I say, waving at the deserted alley, the pale lights of the street barely reaching us.

She says nothing, her wide eyes staring into mine as if she truly doesn't know what to say. My heart is beating like a idiot, making my bones rattle. I can’t lose her! Idiot, I can’t even believe I’m saying this—me, Arsen Hawke. But it’s true… I can’t stand the thought of losing her. I need to say something, to make whatever hesitancy she holds inside her heart go away… But, just like her, I can’t find the words.

She’s breathing hard now, her body so close to mine I can almost feel the warmness of her skin through her clothes. Idiot, my cock is already twitching just by having her this close. There’s something about her that makes me lose all control… And even though we’re outside, I can’t help but let instinct take over. I push her back against the wall, my hands on her waist as I lean in to kiss her.

I swear, I just wanted one more kiss. But now that my lips are on hers, there’s no way that we’re going to be able to stop. No way. Her hands are already on my back, pulling me in, all of her hesitation thrown out of the window. I let my hands go up her side and, grabbing a handful of her beautiful blonde hair, I yank on it; she throws her head back, opening her eyes and returning my gaze. One look and I can already tell she’s as hungry as I am for more.

Who cares if we can be caught going at it? Who gives a idiot, really? If anything, it only adds to the moment.

“I’m going to forget you,” I tell her, breathing as hard as she is. My blood’s boiling, my heart’s drumming and my cock is already hard as steel. I’m ready for battle. “Right now,” I add, leaning forward and pressing my lips against her neck. Her hands slide down my back and she traces the contour of my belt; then, stretching her fingers wide, she grabs my cock harshly, all of her desire contained in that one simple motion.

Still kissing her neck, I let one hand fall to her chest and I squeeze her right breast, feeling the perfect fleshy curves molding to my hand. My other hand goes around her waist and I cup her rear, the memories of her naked body flooding me at once as I grab her. My cock pulses against her hand, so strongly I wouldn’t be surprised if it just ripped its way out of my pants. Yes, I want to harass her this bad.

She curls her fingers even more tightly around my shaft, slightly moving her wrist up and down and stroking me over the fabric of my pants. Acting as if it had a will of its own, the hand I have on her breast falls down her chest and goes straight to between her thighs; bunching up her dress, I flatten the palm of my hand there, cupping her pussy harshly over all of her clothing. There are layers of fabric between the two of us, but the anxious way she’s breathing already tells me she is soaking wet. And, idiot, just thinking of that makes me want to go down on my knees and taste her right here. And why the heck not?

Both my hands go to her waist and, pinning her against the wall, I go down. My eyes never leave hers, a spark of desire flickering in her face as my knees touch the floor; she knows what’s coming, and she can’t wait for it. I throw a quick glance to the side, making sure there’s no one around to see us, and I go for it: I hook my thumbs on the hemline of her dress and lift it up to her waist, pressing my mouth over her thong at the same time.

The moment my lips touch the wet black fabric, I breathe in. Her scent hits me at once, sweet and intoxicating… Just like a drug, it makes me high. I forget all about where I am; the only thing my mind can process is the perfect wet pussy right in front of me. I suck on her over the fabric, her juices hitting my tongue immediately; swear to heaven, I suck so hard I think her thong goes dry. With a flick of my fingers I push it to the side then, my lips meeting her labia. I close my eyes, savoring her most intimate parts with my mouth. How can a woman taste this amazing? I could eat her out for hours and hours.

Slightly tilting my head sideways, I suck her folds inside my mouth, her juices coating the inside of my mouth. I part my lips, letting my tongue run over the length of her pussy, and then I circle her soft clit. She trembles slightly, her hands now on my head, disheveling my hair. I place one hand under her rear, forcing her to lift one leg up; she does it willingly, placing her leg over my shoulder. Grinning, I pull back just for one second, my eyes opening as I look up at her: she has her eyes closed, her back against the wall as her chest rises and falls softly. Goodness, she looks so sweet.

I go for it once more, my eyelids closing as I wrap my lips tightly around her clit. I suck on it, pressing down with my tongue at the same time; her fingers curl around my hair more harshly, I can already feel her breathing becoming even harder. That just makes me suck on her even more eagerly, her flavor inundating my mind and making me lose all sense of self.

Opening my mouth as wide as I can, I press it against her labia, jabbing my tongue past her inner lips as I place one arm over her waist, my hand reaching for her clit. I find it with two fingers, and I immediately start rubbing her soft sweet spot. A tenuous moan leaves her lips, her hands running back and forth over my hair; then, her fingers like hooks on my hair, she pulls on my head as she thrusts with her hips. I go insane, her scent climbing all the way up to my brain like a bullet. I’m no longer eating her out. I’m devouring her, my tongue and fingers working her with a hunger only Ashley can tame.

I keep on sucking and licking until I feel her close to the verge of ecstasy. Then I keep going, her moan turning into a loud sigh as she arches her back against the wall, her body becoming as tense as a coiled spring.

Thrusting hard against my mouth, she comes hard, holding my head in place as I feel sweet little spasms taking over the muscles in her thighs. Only when the pressure in her fingers eases up do I pull back, slowly opening my eyes and looking up at her. Her eyes are still closed, her head against the wall as she tries to catch her breath. I put the leg she has over my shoulder down on the floor and stand up, her dress falling down over her waist and covering her. I almost reach for it, anxious to simply rip it off and shred it to pieces, but saner thoughts prevail and, somehow, I manage to control my urges.

“You taste so amazing,” I whisper against her ear, my cock tenting my boxer briefs and pants. “I love how your pussy tastes, Ashley.”

A smile on her lips, she opens her eyes slowly and purrs, her words driving me completely insane.

“Let me taste it then,” she says, and I’m leaning forward toward her before I have even understood her words. Before our lips touch, she runs her tongue from my chin to my mouth, taking in her own fluids; then, our mouths pressed tight against each other, we both part our lips and let our tongues wrestle against one another, my hands all over her perfect body.

I press my body against her, my crotch on her inner thigh. She moves her leg teasingly, rubbing my hard cock and almost making me lose my sanity. Pulling back from her kiss, I take one deep breath, my heart beating so fast I’m feeling dizzy. Once again I look over my shoulder, trying to make sure that the alley we’re in remains deserted. I’m so hard I can’t even think straight, so I have to blink my eyes twice before my brain can process that yes, we’re still alone in our hidden New York corner.

“I want your mouth on me,” I find myself saying, a grin dawning on my lips. “I want you to open that little mouth of yours, and I want to phoo.”

She grins back at me, a flicker of defiance in her eyes.

“Or what?” Sassy, yes, but she already knows how I play this game.

“There’s no 'or' with me,” I tell her, my fingers on the nape of her neck. “On your knees,” I command her, the tone of my voice leaving no room for a challenge. She goes down on her knees at once, her hands sliding down my chest until she has her fingers hooked on my belt. With her index finger she traces the contour of my cock, her eyes locked on it. As she starts to unbuckle my belt my cock pushes harder against my pants, pulsing with raw uncontrollable desire. Idiot, I need this bad.

My belt taken care of, she starts to unbutton my pants, my cock pushing out. I can’t help but close my eyes and sigh sharply as she presses the palm of her hand against it, massaging my shaft with slow cautious movements. Then, no warning at all, her fingers curl around the hem of my boxer briefs and she tugs them down; my cock jumps free immediately, the cool air of the street sending a shiver up my spine.

I open my eyes, looking down at Ashley as she grabs my cock with her small delicate hand. I don’t really like to brag about my size but, seeing my member in her hand, I just can’t help but be impressed by it. Yeah, this is me—Arsen Hawke—the gift God sent to ladies on this Earth.

As Ashley starts to stroke me, her hand moving back and forth over my shaft, I place both my hands on top of her head and run my fingers through her silky hair. Her head sways gently as I move my hands, her mouth dangerously close to my cock; her lips are slightly parted, as if she’s readying herself.

“You want it?” I ask her, slightly moving my hips forward so that my glans is just an inch away from her delicious lips. She nods obediently, looking up at me with those big eyes of hers.

“I do,” she replies, licking her lips. “A lot.”

“Then open your mouth,” I tell her, her lips parting immediately. I take one hand off of her head and, placing my hand over hers, I grab my cock, pushing it down and aiming it straight at her mouth. I brush the tip over the gap between her lips, slowly moving my cock left and right. “I’m going to fill that sweet mouth of yours,” I tell her, gently moving my hips forward and pushing my glans inside her mouth. Both hands again on her head, I keep it in place as I push my cock deeper in, sliding it over her tongue until I can almost feel the back of her throat. “Suck for as long as you can… Soon enough it’s going to be deep inside your wet pussy.” As I speak, she wraps her lips hard around my shaft, almost as if my words were sending ripples of anticipation through her mind.

With careful deliberate movements, she starts to bob her head back and forth, my cock sliding in and out of her mouth at a rhythmic pace. Then I hear something and I hold her head still, looking over my shoulder to the end of the alley; there’s a metallic rattle behind a trash can and then something falls to the ground. My heart kicks against my ribcage, but soon enough my surprise is replaced by relief—a ginger cat jumps into sight, quickly darting out of the alley as it spots us. Idiot, that cat really got me for a moment.

One second later and I’ve already forgotten all about it: Ashley fights back against the hold I have on her, pushing her lips down my shaft until they meet the skin at the base. She pushes further down and I can’t help but look down and marvel at the sight, my whole length inside of her mouth. I don’t even know how she’s doing it. I have had many women trying this feat, but there’s always an inch or two they simply can’t fit inside their mouths. But Ashley isn’t one to give up; as her lips meet the base of my cock she looks up at me, slowly rolling her mouth back over my shaft.

“Good girl,” I tell her with a grin. “It feels so great to have my whole cock inside of your little mouth.” As a response, she goes back down again, her eyes never leaving mine as she moves. I breathe out deeply, trying to keep myself together as she starts to caress my balls with one hand. Sweet Goodness, if this continues for too long I’m going to cum in her mouth. Not that I’d mind; I just can’t allow myself to come without feeling her pussy lips wrapped tight around my cock. That’d just be sad.

Wanting to take control, I grab her head harshly, forcing her to stop moving. The moment she’s still, I start to thrust, her mouth just like I promised her I would. I look down, my heart beating fast as I watch my shaft flying in and out of her mouth. I go fast, as fast as I can, closing my eyes as I feel my insides clenching. I force myself to slow down until I stop, my cock spasming inside her mouth as I take a deep breath, stopping myself from coming. And let me tell you, that’s not an easy task—right now I want nothing more than to fill her warm mouth with my cum and see it drip down her chin to between her breasts. I can already imagine myself scooping whatever spilled out of her mouth with my tongue. Yeah, Ashley drives me crazy, I know. And hell, I just love it. I've never had a woman make me feel like this; each time she touches me I'm another step closer to losing control.

I pull my cock out of her mouth, the tip popping out with an audible sound. “Come here,” I whisper, grabbing her hand and making her go up to her feet. The moment she’s standing right in front of me, I waste no time: I take one step forward, pinning her body against the wall as I press my mouth against hers. We kiss in abandonment, my hands going down from her waist to her thighs, hurriedly lifting her dress up. Her dress bunched up at the waist, I let my fingers go to her inner thighs and I flick her thong to the side, my heart almost exploding as I feel my glans rubbing against her wet folds.

One hand guiding me, and then one thrust—I’m in like that, my thickness straining against her insides as my shaft slides deep inside of her. I can’t even tell you how great her pussy feels. It doesn’t matter how many times I've harassed her; this feels amazing. Her tightness around my thick cock is unlike anything I've ever experienced… And I’ve messed virgins, experienced women, young and old; I’ve ran through the whole catalog and I've never found someone like Ashley. Yeah, I know I’m praising everything about her, but what can I do? It’s just the truth!

“You’re so tight,” I whisper in her ear, rocking my body against hers as I thrust. “I could forget you forever.”

“I want you to,” she says, all her tears and fears from just minutes ago long forgotten. All that matters now is this sweet surrender to our carnal urges… The rest are just details. Right now, my cock inside of her, everything is right with the universe. Every little thing.

I cup her rear as I harass her, my thrusts becoming faster as I lean in to kiss her. My hands squeeze her rear hard, and then I slide it under her thong, the warm curves of her buttocks making my cock throb harshly inside of her. I run my outstretched fingers over her rear crack, my mind close to the boiling point. I’m thrusting so hard I don’t even know how she manages to take it; I usually moderate my intensity, not wanting to hurt women with my huge cock, but I just can’t control myself with her. Whenever I’m with Ashley, it’s all the way or no way. And, as amazing as it is, she keeps up with me. True, around Arsen Hawke most girls turn into insatiable little creatures, but Ashley… Oh, Ashley is different: not only is she insatiable, she turns me into a hungry beast as well.

I slow down for a bit, my body assuming a more gentle rhythm as she presses her head against my shoulder, breathing softly as our bodies rock. I place one hand behind her neck and yank on her hair, baring her neck as she opens her eyes and looks at me. I give her one hard thrust, a sudden moan forming on her lips.

“You’re mine, Ash,” I tell her, my cock sliding out from her pussy. “Your mouth, your belly, your pussy … all mine. Say it.”

“My mouth is yours…” She repeats, and I give her one hard thrust. “My belly are yours.” One more thrust. “And my pussy is…” I don’t even let her finish: I just thrust as hard as I can, the last part of her sentence replaced by a moan through gritted teeth.

“That’s it. Now I want you to come for me…” I whisper in her ear, pistoning my cock as fast and hard as I can. She claws at my chest, tugging on my shirt harshly, and then buries her mouth on my shoulder, muffling a scream of ecstasy as she comes. Is there a sound more beautiful than this? I could hear her come endlessly… There’s something magical about her voice, something that just reels me in. I think back to my phone calls with her, when I pose as King Henry, and I feel more boiling blood racing to my cock. To imagine her home alone, wearing nothing more than sexy lingerie while she fingers herself hearing my voice… It’s almost enough to make me go insane.

I tuck one stray lock of hair behind her ear, my thrusts slowing down. Pulling my cock out of her pussy, I grab her by the waist and make her turn around before she even has the time to resist it. I press her against the wall, once again lifting her dress up to her waist. This time I don’t simply flick her thong to the side… Oh, no, I push it down her legs and then I bend over to pick it up. Grabbing it between my fingers, I rise up, my cock brushing against her naked buttocks. I take her underwear to my face and breath in her scent, my cock pulsing against her rear.

“I’m keeping this as a souvenir,” I tell her, pushing her thong into my pocket. “I might want to remember this later tonight…”

She says nothing; as a response she simply pushes her rear at me, my cock trapped between her cheeks. Swaying her body, she strokes me like that until I can’t take it anymore. I grab my cock and point it down, pushing it between her thighs until I feel the warm touch of her labia. Lacing her waist with one arm, I simply thrust, my shaft pushing through her inner lips and once again feeling the warm embrace of her insides.

I grit my teeth as I harass her, my thighs slapping her rear as I ravage her body. My cock going in and out of her, I press my mouth against her ear, breathing hard.

“I’m going to cum inside of you. I’m going to fill you up until it starts dripping down your legs… And, since I took your thong, I’m going to have to lick you dry,” I tell her, bucking my hips at her until my whole body feels on the verge of exploding.

“Oh… my… God…” She mutters, the words coming out of her like a quivering moan. It only makes me go harder. I go so hard I feel my legs cramping up, her whole body suddenly becoming as tense as mine. One final thrust and that’s it; I can’t hold it in me anymore. Breathing out harshly, I feel my cock spasming violently and I come, my warm semen gushing inside of her.

As I start to come, her pussy becomes even tighter around my shaft and she leans forward against the wall, hissing like a feral cat. She’s trying hard not to scream, an orgasm as violent as my own raging through her petite body. I close my eyes as we surrender to the avalanche of pleasure that engulfs us, our bodies just a tiny vessel in a sea of sin and ecstasy.

Idiot, I must have been crazy to harass her in a place like this, where anyone could see us! But we got lucky, no one caught us—my cock finally giving its last spams, I slide it out from her pussy. I make her turn around again, her body almost limp as she tries to catch her breath. Before she even opens her eyes, I’m back on my knees, holding her dress up with my hands as I lean in toward her pussy.

Thick strands of cum hang on her labia, beads of it already dripping down her legs at a steady pace. I part my lips, my tongue reaching for one drop of semen as it slides down her thigh. I scoop it up, tracing the way to her pussy. There, I open my mouth and suck on her labia, my tongue licking the salty juices that have just left my cock.

I don’t stop until my mouth is brimming with cum, and then I just swallow it. I don’t even think about it; I just do it. And then I lick her dry, my tongue brushing against every inch of her pussy until there’s nothing left to lick. Slowly, I pull back and go to my feet, letting go of her dress and allowing it to fall down, covering her.

I kiss her tenderly, her tongue dancing around mine as she takes in the flavor of my cum into her mouth. We lock eyes, then, and I know that whatever happened before we got into this alley, won’t be resolved tonight—everything in due time. I push my boxer briefs and pants up, tuck my shirt in, and give her a broad gentle smile.

“Let’s get out of here,” I tell her. Arm-in-arm, we waltz into the street again, my cock twitching as I remember rather indecently what I have stuffed down my pocket: Ashley’s wet underwear.

*

“Hi, this is Misty, who am I talking to?” Ashley says, her voice coming at me like the most perfect sound in the whole universe. Yes, I’m calling her again—you can keep that judgmental look to yourself. It’s stronger than me.

Last night, after our quick dirty romp in a back alley, I got her a cab home and took another one myself. I tried to get some sleep, but all I managed to do was lay around in bed wide awake, tossing and turning while memories of her tight pussy floated around my mind. Eventually, I just got up; I picked my pants from the floor and took her used thong from inside my pocket, bringing it up to my face so that I could breath her scent in. That was all it took for my cock to stiffen—just feeling the soft fabric on my fingers made me ache for release again. Remember when I told you that Ashley makes me insatiable? This is what that means.

Alone in my bedroom, I just had to jerk myself, my eyes closed as I pictured her delicious naked curves. You know, I couldn’t even remember the last time I masturbated like that; whenever I had an urge, I could just pick some random hot woman and harass her brains out. But not anymore, not since I first laid eyes on Ashley… Now I can’t bring myself to mess anyone else, my cock suddenly going monogamous. That’s a first for me.

So, yeah, don’t judge me if the first thing I did after waking up was sit down on my couch and pick up the phone. A man can only resist so much, after all.

“Who do you think?” I say, pressing the phone against my ear as I mouth the words with my grave King Henry voice. I almost feel like the Batman, juggling two identities, one that makes Ashley come with my cock, and another that does it using just words.

“It’s you, Henry. I’ve been… waiting for your call,” I hear her say, her purred words making my heart pump warm blood straight to my cock. It gets hard, tenting my pants as I lean back against the couch.

“Have you? I don’t know if I believe you, Kitten. After all, you’ve been other guys while you keep on taking my calls,” I say, propping my feet up on the coffee table as I rest my hand over my crotch, feeling my hard bulge with the tip of my fingers. I just can’t help but ask her about… well, me. But, for a few seconds, there’s only silence on the other side of the line.

“It’s true, sir… I spent all night thinking of you,” she tells me, her voice letting through a hint of Ashley’s true personality. There’s honesty there, she’s no longer playing a character. Somewhere along the way, King Henry has stripped Ashley out of her Misty persona.

“Is that so, Kitten? And what did you think about?”

“I thought of… The way you make me feel. I get so very wet whenever you take control."
“I know you do. Now tell me, Kitten… What are you wearing right now?” I start massaging my cock over the fabric of my pants, taking my time with it. Heck, I never thought I’d be one of those guys who does this—calls a phone line so that they can get off. But with Ashley… There are no limits to what I will or will not do.

“I’m wearing a tiny little robe… And underneath it, an even tinier black lace thong,” she tells me, my fingers curling around my bulging. “No bra.” Goodness, this is insane.

“I like that, Kitten. I like that a lot. But I would prefer you naked…” I say, drawling out the last part of my sentence as I imagine her there, lying in bed with only her thong on. “Take if off.”

“Yes, sir,” she purrs, and then there’s a long silence, followed by the sound of her moving about. She is actually taking her clothes off; this is not some imagination carrousel. “I am naked now.”

“Good. Where are you, Kitten?”

“In bed… All alone.”

“Good. Close your eyes now. I want you to imagine my hand on your skin, my fingers running from your navel up to your breasts…” I say, her breathing growing louder. “But don’t touch yourself, Kitten. Not yet; only when I say so.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, the tone of her voice telling me about the state her pussy is in right now: soaking wet.

“I want you to feel my body pressed against yours, my cock sliding deep inside of your wet pussy…” I continue, my own eyes closed as I picture the scene. What I wouldn’t give to be there now, lying in bed next to her naked body. “Imagine my big cock going all the way in, stretching you wide as I forget you.”

“Yes, I… I am,” her words sound more like anxious moans now, and I can tell she’s eager for my permission to touch herself. But if she wants that, she’s going to have to wait. “I want that so much, sir… You can’t imagine how much.”

“Oh, yes, I can,” I tell her as I push my pants down, my cock jumping free against the palm of my hand. I grab it, feeling it pulse against my fingers as I hear Ashley’s hard breathing through the phone. Calling a sex line might be a messed up thing, but I’m too into it right now; there are no brakes on this train.

“I want you hard,” she says suddenly. “Tell me that you’re hard.”

“I am hard, Kitten… And my thick cock is right here, waiting for those lush lips of yours.” I start stroking myself, moving my hand up and down at a quickly growing rhythm. This is insane; it might not be the first time I’m doing this, but it doesn’t make it any less crazy.

“I want it in my mouth,” she blurts out, almost as if she has no control over what she’s saying. “I want to curl my fingers around it and suck on it as I stroke you… And I want to look you in the eyes as I do it, my mouth full with your cock. I want to pleasure you, and I want to touch myself as I do it.”

Idiot, I’m jerking myself hard now, her words turning into pictures inside my head.

“My nipples are so hard, sir. And my pussy is so wet… Can I please touch myself, sir? Please…” She asks me, genuinely begging for my permission. Goodness, she could just lie, go ahead and do it, but no, she really wants me to say it, to allow her to do it.

“Yes, you can touch yourself,” I tell her, taking a deep breath before I do it. I don’t want to sound like a breathless guy that’s stroking himself into oblivion, although that’s exactly what I am right now. “I want you to slide two fingers inside of yourself as you rub your clit, Kitten.”

She doesn’t even say anything; her moan is all that I need to hear to know that she’s doing it. Here we are, miles apart and still pleasuring ourselves, even though she has no idea that "King Henry" is the guy who actually harassed her last night.

“I… want…” she starts, trying to push the words out of her mouth between her hard breaths. “I want that big cock of yours… So much,” she moans, her honeyed voice climbing all the way up to my brain and stabbing it right in the middle. “I want to make you cum, and I want you to do it all over me, sir. I want you to cover me with it while I’m on my knees, my mouth open wide as you fill me up.”

That does it for me. I don’t even tell her I’m about to come, I just explode before I have the time to think about it. I groan into the phone, but I don’t think she hears me; she’s moaning loudly, almost screaming as if I was actually there, my cock buried inside of her pussy. I sit there, grabbing my cock while thick ropes of cum gush out of it, the sound of her orgasm numbing my mind. This might be insane, but it doesn’t make it any less good, let me tell you that. Sure, the real thing is way better… But this beats just using my imagination, there’s no question about that. And, of course, I’m pretty sure of who she’s going to turn to after King Henry has left her in a wet mess: good ol’ Arsen Hawke.

“I… I just couldn’t help myself, sir,” she says, her voice a quivering mess. “I had to come. I just had to.”

“I know, Kitten. It’s alright, but next time, remember: you’ll only come when I tell you to.”

“Yes, sir. I promise.”

“Good,” I continue, leaning back against my couch as I close my eyes and take a deep breath, endorphins still raging through me like a hurricane. “Are you this obedient with everyone?”

“No… Not at all, sir,” she says, sounding genuine but still breathing hard.

“Not with anyone?” I hear some slight hesitation, so I press harder. “Tell me.”

“Just… Just one man,” she finally confesses, her voice wavering almost as if she’s afraid her response will earn her a scolding.

“That… friend of yours you told me about?” I ask her, suddenly feeling morbidly curious about what she’s going to tell this Henry character of my relationship with her. Is she going to lie?

“Yes… Yes, he’s the one.”

“And does he make you come, Kitten? Does he forget you like you want me to forget you?” I ask, feeling slightly anxious as I wait for her response. Goodness, what the heck am I doing?

“Yes, sir… He does. He does idiot me like that.”

“Good… A girl like you needs a good. Tell me, when was the last time he messed you? Tell me about it.”

“Last night,” she replies, her voice now more steady. “We messed outside, in a tiny alley near Freedom Tower. I came three times,” she continues, and I can almost hear the anxiety in her words as she waits for my response.

“Now, a nice girl like you in a public place? I like that wild side of yours, Kitten, I really do. And what better place to unleash that wild side but there? The place has gotten a lot nicer without so much construction.”

There’s a long silence on the other side of the line, almost as if I had said something indecent. I almost ask her if she’s still there when she starts to speak again.

“I’m glad, sir. I don’t want to displease you,” she tells me, and I can feel her honesty. She really wants to please Henry. Holy idiot, is this situation getting out of control?

“And what about your friend? Do you want to please him as well?” I continue, unable to stop.

“I… I’m sorry, sir, I really got to go,” she says, cutting the conversation short.

“We’ll talk again. Soon,” I promise her, and I can almost see the smile on her face.

“I hope so, sir,” she tells me before hanging up. When I take the phone out of my ear, there’s already a text message from Ashley flashing on the screen.

“I’m coming over,” it says.

Of course.

75

Ashley

Here I am again, riding the elevator to Arsen’s apartment once more. Why do all my phone calls with King Henry end up like this? I can’t help but text Arsen, anxious to have someone quench my thirst for a real man. Arsen and Henry… These two really are tying my mind into knots.

With Arsen, everything’s perfect—from the way he treats me to the way he idiots me, there’s nothing that I can point at. So why am I not surrendering to him like I dang know I should? He’s the perfect man, for goodness sake—hot, wealthier than God, and totally into me! First, I resisted his advances because I knew he was not only a smut lord’s heir, but my boss… But that’s not the real reason behind my reluctance toward taking the final step, the step into his arms. No, on that point I can only lay the blame at King Henry's feet, Client 5.

I know, I know… You probably think that I’m being silly. Torn between two men when I haven’t even met one of them. I never saw his face, and I don’t know a blasted thing about him—and still, there’s something about the way he speaks to me that draws me in, almost as if he’s pulling me into a deep trance from which there’s no escape. I swear to heaven, just knowing that he’s going to call me is enough to make me wet. And every single minute that I spend talking with him on the phone… Sweet Goodness, I should be the one paying, not him. All of our conversations end with me soaking wet, trying to recover from another mind numbing orgasm his words have unleashed upon me. I know it sounds crazy, but what do you want me to tell you? It’s the truth. And that’s the reason I’m here now, at One57 because there’s only one man capable of turning into reality the fantasies King Henry whispers into my ear. And that man is, drumroll, Arsen Hawke. I know, no surprise there.

As the elevator opens with a gentle ding, I step into the hallway, walking steadily toward Arsen’s front door. I’m still a few feet away from it when it swings back on its hinges, Arsen standing behind it with a grin on his face. My heart immediately feels tight inside my chest, my pussy already wet—yes, I’m this desperate to feel his body on mine, I’m not ashamed to admit it.

“Ashley,” he greets me, stepping back so that I can enter his apartment. He closes the door behind me as I turn to face him, a smile on my face.

“Arsen,” I say, taking one step toward him. We’re close now, just a few inches between our bodies. None of us move though, we just stand still, enjoy the way the air around us seems to grow heavier. We are looking into each other’s eyes, sparks of electricity flying across the distance that separates us.

Goodness, I might not be able to stop thinking about King Henry, but whenever I’m this close to Arsen… Everything else just fades away. I don’t even know if it’s because he’s the best man I have ever met, or because he idiots me like a God. Either way, he just makes me melt like butter on a scorching hot day.

“I’m glad you texted me,” he starts, cutting through the silence. “I spent all morning thinking of you… And thinking of last night. I can’t wait to get you out of those clothes.”

A shiver goes through me as I imagine him, alone in his huge luxurious apartment, thinking of me and getting hard. Has he ever masturbated while thinking of me? And the panties he stole from me last night… Has he already given them any use? Just thinking of that makes me even wetter, if that’s even possible. The memories of what happened near Freedom Tower race through my mind and I bite my lower lip, wanting an encore. But then, something that King Henry said to me crosses my mind; it’s weird, but both Henry and Arsen have talked about the very same thing, and using the exact same wording… While talking about the area around Freedom Tower, the two of them mentioned it looks a lot nicer without the construction. I know, it’s probably just a stupid coincidence, but I have to wonder…

“Have you ever called one of your phone operators? From the sex line?” I find myself saying, still unsure if I should even be mentioning this. I don’t want him to think I’m some kind of psycho.

“What? Why would I?” He asks, taking a step back and raising one eyebrow at me.

“I don’t know. Maybe you wanted to see if they were doing their job…” I say, feeling more and more unsure of what I’m saying. Goodness, why did I even bring this up? I’m feeling more foolish by the second. He bridges the distance between the two of us, his hands on my waist as he grins at me.

“Why are you even asking these questions, Ash?” He’s right, you know? Why am I grilling him like this? They said the same thing, but that was just a stupid coincidence, right? Right?

“I… I don’t know,” I reply, sighing and looking up into his eyes. “It was just something silly, it doesn’t matter. What matters,” I continue, placing my hand against his chest, “is that I’m here right now.”

“Oh, yes, you are. And I’m going to make sure that coming here was the best decision you made today,” he grins at me, pulling me in and pressing his mouth against mine. I close my eyes, reacting by instinct and surrendering to his kiss, his tongue sliding inside my mouth and dancing around mine in soft circles. His hands go from my waist to my rear and, grabbing it harshly, he squeezes both my cheeks in such a way that I pull back from his kiss, sighing heavily. We’re just kissing, and I already want him inside of me, his thick cock pulsing against my insides. Why do I become such a wet mess whenever our bodies are pressed together?

I reach for his cock, my fingers curling around his thick shape but, before I can grab it as harshly as I want, he stops me. He grabs my wrist and takes my hand out of his crotch, a devious grin on his lips.

“No,” he simply says, pulling back from me and taking one step back, his eyes never leaving mine. “This time, you’ll do what I tell you to, when I tell you to.” I’m taken aback by his words, boiling blood raging through my veins, but I manage to nod at him. I almost say “yes, sir,” but I caught myself before I did it. “You’ll obey, and you’ll only come when I tell you to come. Understood?” I shiver, King Henry's whispers of dominance during our calls turning something very, very real right in front of my eyes.

“Yes, Arsen,” I tell him, my heart starting to gallop. His grins turns wider and, the moment he speaks, my heart almost jumps right out of my chest.

“No, don’t call me Arsen. You’ll call me… sir.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, the words tumbling out of my lips easily. I lick my lips, suddenly feeling dizzy. Am I really talking with him as I talk to Henry? What’s going on here? And why am I getting wetter and wetter?

“Good,” he continues, that maddening smirk on his lips. I have to fight hard against the urge to just walk toward him and rip his clothes out of his body, push him into the ground and ease myself on his huge cock. But, only heaven knows how, I manage to restrain myself.

Turning his back to me, Arsen walks across the living room and sits on his couch, crossing his legs and leaning back as his eyes wander up and down my body, mentally peeling off my skirt and blouse.

“Come closer,” he tells me, my feet immediately carrying me toward him until he tells me to stop. “Good. Now, take your blouse off.”

My fingers dart to the hem of my blouse and I pull it out over my head, throwing it somewhere on the floor. I want to keep going, to unfasten my bra and let him see my breasts and hard nipples… But, obedient, I wait for his commands. I know—what happened to me? I’ve never been one to care about the whole bedroom dominance thing… But since Arsen and King Henry entered my life, I can’t help but crave it. And to think that I was used to being the dominant one, in and out of the bedroom!

“Now your bra,” he continues, and my fingers going to my back, obediently unhooking my tight lace bra. I push the straps down my shoulders and arms, the cups slowly drooping over my breasts; I tremble slightly as I feel the fabric brushing against my hard nipples before finally falling down to the floor, his eyes immediately hiking down from my face to my belly. Even from here, I can see the hunger in his eyes, and more than that, I can see the gigantic bulge inside of his pants. There’s no better feeling in the world than to know that a man like Arsen is taking this much pleasure just from seeing my breasts, that’s for sure. “Grab your belly, Ash. I want you to play with your nipples.”

I don’t even think about it. I grab my breasts eagerly, squeezing the soft flesh between my fingers before I brush the palm of my hand over my nipples. I bite my lower lip, taking one hard tip between my thumb and index finger and gently rubbing it. I bite my lip harder, but it’s stronger than me. I part my lips and let a soft moan fall from my mouth, my body burning in a state of frenzied desire and anticipation. Arsen is playing me like a maestro plays his orchestra, and he knows it.

He gets up from the couch, and my eyes immediately dart to his crotch. I try and suppress another moan, but it’s simply impossible; the sight of his tented pants is almost enough to make me lose my mind. Goodness, I just want him to tell me to go down on my knees and take his thick veiny cock inside my mouth.

With slow deliberate steps, he walks toward me, and stops a few feet away. If I just reached for him I could grab his cock... But I don’t. As hard as it is, I’m doing my best to submit. And it’s hard. Very, very hard. Almost like as if you haven’t eaten anything for three days, and then someone sits you down at a buffet, telling you that you can only eat when they tell you to. Sure, you might be thankful, but you just want to devour everything in front of you. I have to be honest here, though: as painful as it is to be this close to him while restrained by his commands, I have to admit it makes me as hornier as I have ever been. I can’t explain it. Maybe I might just have never met a real man, one that could truly dominate me, but I never felt like this before. Only with Arsen… and King Henry.

Goodness, why can’t I stop thinking of a man I have never met? And, of all times, when I’m here, half naked in front of Arsen? Still, it doesn’t seem wrong. In fact, it seems pretty adequate, since he’s treating me in the exact same way Henry uses to drive me utter and completely crazy.

Arsen extends his arm, reaching for me with his outstretched fingers. He stops before he touches me, his index finger just an inch away from the valley between my breasts. The corner of his lips turns upward mischievously, and then he slowly lowers his fingertip over my skin. I shiver almost instantaneously, my eyelids drooping as he touches me. I can even feel my heart pumping warm blood to my pussy, and all this just because he has laid one finger on me. Is this really happening? If he’s making me shiver with just one fingertip, I don’t even want to imagine what he’s going to do to me with the rest of his body.

His fingers slide down from between my breasts to my navel, and then back up again. This time he traces the contour of my left breast, going up its curve and circling my nipple. I tremble slightly, swallowing hard as I use all of my willpower to keep still. I just want to jump on top of him and be messed as hard as humanly possible, but I don’t want to ruin this - I mean, the anticipation is completely murdering every hint of rationality in me, but I can’t say I’m not enjoying this… and in a most wickedly indecent way. Maybe I just like being tortured like this.

Pinching my nipple gently, he keeps the pressure there for a few seconds, and then lets go of it, his finger once again going down and over my stomach. I almost start praying for him to go lower, to caress my labia on the way down, but his movements don’t take him near my pussy: he simply moves his finger up and down from my navel to my breasts, caressing my nipples every time he gets near them and making me breath so hard I don’t even know how in the heck I still haven’t passed out. My skin is prickling, my muscles burning with so much desire I might just spontaneously combust any time now.

“You want more, don’t you?” Arsen asks, still grinning as if he owns me, and dang, right now he does own me. “You want my cock in that tight little mouth, don’t you?” I nod, moving my head up and down with anxious movements. I must look desperate right now. But it’s true, I really, really want his cock… No, I need it. “Take off your skirt,” he says with that commanding tone of his, his fingers still caressing one hard nipple. I hook my fingers on my skirt and, swaying my rear from side to side, push it down and let it fall on the floor at my feet. His eyes go from my breasts to my thong, and I can almost feel him peeling it off of me just with the power of his mind. Unconsciously, he licks his lips, almost as if he wants to devour me like he did yesterday.

“I can’t wait to bend you over and feel my cock deep inside of you... But first,” he leans toward me, his lips against my ear as he speaks, “you’ll have to come.” As the words roll out over his lips, he slides his finger all the way down to my thong, pressing one fingertip over my clitoris in such a way that I simply see red. My muscles spasm and jerk, and I feel my knees buckling under my weight. Holy hell, is this really happening? One touch of his on my clitoris and I’m already coming, waves of pleasure crashing against me in a devastating way. How is this even possible?

“Good girl,” he whispers. “But it’s not enough. I need more.” With that, he grabs my thong and pushes it against the side of my outer thigh, ripping it off of me in one sudden and violent movement. I let out one loud moan as I feel the fabric tearing and then sliding over my skin, the cool air caressing my drenched pussy. He throws my thong to the floor and, pulling me in with one arm around my waist, he presses two fingers against my clit and starts to rub viciously, my muscles tensing up and charging with electricity. I almost fall into his embrace, my knees still week from the orgasm; I’m like a ragdoll, supported only by his strong arms.

Pressing my head against his chest, I shut my eyes and simply surrender to the devastation he is unleashing inside of me. I can’t see or hear—the whole world is nothing but a blur to me, the only thing in existence right now being his fingers on my clitoris. And, sweet Goodness, does he know how to use them! He rubs them in fast circles, applying just the exact amount of pressure to make me moan as if I’m losing my sanity.

“Come,” he whispers, and I feel my body starting to convulse. My muscles spasm and all the electricity they held inside of them rages free through my body, taking over every single one of my nerve endings and flooding my brain with an ocean of pleasure. “More,” Arsen whispers again, turning his wrist and letting his fingers slide down from my clit to my labia. Without even letting my orgasm subside, he slides his two fingers inside my pussy, moving them in a hook motion and guiding them all the way toward that sweet maddening spot inside of me. His fingertips pressed tight against my G-spot, he starts rubbing me there, pressing on my clit with his thumb. “I love the way you moan when you’re coming, Ashley,” he says, moving his fingers in and out of me at break neck speed.

I don’t know how I’m surviving this. I truly don’t. A few flicks of his wrist and I explode again, my mind a nuclear wasteland. I don’t even moan this time. I simply let my body be taken over by a seizure of ecstasy and throw my arms over his shoulders, supporting myself as my knees grow weaker.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out, bringing them to my lips. I’m breathing hard, my muscles still twitching as he brushes his wet fingers over my lips; my own scent inundates me, and I almost lose consciousness—seriously, my brain can’t even process how much I want Arsen to mess me right now. To feel this much desire should be illegal.

“Please…” I mutter, my voice sounding as if I’m so weak I shouldn’t even be speaking. “Please, Arsen.”

“I love how you beg,” he says, his hands running through my hair. “But what are you begging for? Tell me."

“I want… I want you to mess me, Arsen. Please, idiot me,” I beg again, my trembling fingers starting to unbuckle his belt. Somehow, I manage to do it, and then I automatically unzip his pants. His massive cock strains against his underwear, pushing at my fingers, and I turn my wrist around so that I can grab it. I’m so high in ecstasy right now that his cock seems even bigger, almost as if I can’t even grab it with just one hand; I tug his boxer briefs down and, taking my other hand to his shaft, grab it as harshly as I can. “Please” I repeat, stroking him with both hands as I breath hard against his chest. My body feels so weak I can barely lift my head.

“Since you’re asking so nicely,” he says, picking me up from the floor with a sudden movement. I place my arms around his neck as he walks across the living room; he puts me down in the couch, and I summon whatever strength I still have inside of me and go on all fours, jutting my rear back at him as I sway it from side to side.

I let out a loud moan as he smacks my buttocks with the back of his hand, the pain travelling upward to my brain and turning into pleasure somewhere along the way. He does it again and again, the sound of his hand against my flesh a maddening sensual song.

When he stops, my back is arched and I’m thrusting my hips back at him. He brushes two fingers over my labia and then, pressing his glans against my inner lips, he thrusts with one quick and masterful movement. With one arm around my waist he places his two fingers over my clit as he starts to thrust, his cock pounding into me in the most sweet and savage way. Somehow, these two things aren’t contradictory; Arsen knows how to mess and make love at the same time. The best of both worlds. It really makes me wonder… Why did I waste so much time with losers like Peter? A 5-inch cock? Please! And, besides, Arsen is much more of a man than my loser ex will be ever be… And, unlike how it was with Peter, I really love Arsen.

Wait—what did I just say? I love Arsen? I could lie and tell you that I just thought this because my brain is all scrambled from the way he’s me… But I won’t do that. It’s time to admit it: I’m falling in love with Arsen Hawke. The problem is that as I finally realize this, I realize something else as well—King Henry is as much in my mind as Arsen is. In a way, I’m falling for him too. Now you truly must think I’ve lost my mind, I know.

There’s no time to think this through, though—his arm around my waist, Arsen pulls me into him as he rolls to the side, my body following his as he lies back on the couch. I’m sitting on top of his cock, my back turned to him, so I do the only thing I can: I start to rock my body back and forth, my body still burning with pleasure.

His hands are on my rear as I sway my hips, and I close my eyes and bite down on my lip, imagining the way he must be looking at my rear cheeks bouncing. I throw my head back, my hair falling down my shoulders, and I cup my own breasts, squeezing them eagerly as I moan. I ride him as hard as I can, my muscles aching from the effort; I can already feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead, so I take that as a sign that I’m on the right path.

“You look lovely from here,” he says, and I can’t help but smile. I was right; he was really staring at my rear as we idiot. I never actually cared if the men I've been with looked at me while we messed, but with Arsen I relish that. What could be better than having the man of your dreams looking lustfully at your body while his cock is buried deep inside of you?

My skin boiling, I feel sweat on every single pore, beads sliding down my spine as I jump up and down on his cock. I ride myself into oblivion, and I only stop when I feel my pussy tightening around his cock; my whole body tenses up and, gritting my teeth, I scream as loud as I can, my voice bouncing off the walls with enough strength to shatter glass.

Then, not wanting to waste a single second, I turn around, his cock still inside of me. I’m facing him now, so I lean forward and press my mouth against his as I start to rock my body again. He starts to thrust as well, and it doesn’t take long for his movements to make the sway of my body almost meaningless. I stop then, sitting on top of him as he bucks his hips at me; he can’t stop ravaging me even when I’m on top. That’s obvious, of course… Arsen is not the type of man who just lays back and lets his woman do the job. Oh, no, he relishes every opportunity to show me who’s truly in charge.

“Oh goodness,” I sigh, my belly bouncing up and down as he rams his cock into me. His thighs are slapping my rear once more, his member working furiously as the first thunder of ecstasy roars inside my mind. A few heartbeats and thunder turns into a raging storm, every fiber in my body tensing up before I finally blow up, my lips flailing as I come. I breathe hard through my gritted teeth, my head resting against his chest as I cum my brains out.

I remain like that for what seems like an eternity, my lungs struggling to get the air I need in. My body wants to quit, but my mind still wants to go on, and whenever Arsen is concerned, I already know who’s going to be the winner in that struggle. Rolling to the side, I lay on the couch by his side, thankful that his couch is wide enough for the two of us. I turn my back to him, his hand resting on my waist, and he takes the hint fast enough.

He moves to the side, his chest pressed against mine as he angles his cock with one hand, pushing it between my thighs and lodging his glans over my pussy. I thrust back gently, his cock slowly sliding inside of me. I moan gently almost immediately, a shiver going up my spine as his shaft pushes back against my inner walls; my pussy is as sensitive as it could be, so every little movement from him sends shards of delight through my nerve endings. As if he knew that, he starts to rock his body gently, his motion no longer one of wildness and lustful desire - there’s just tenderness and love. Yes, love... He doesn’t even need to say the words, my heart is already whispering the truth: Arsen Hawke loves me.

While one hand of his remains on my waist, the other one rests over my right breast, the tip of his fingers brushing against my nipple as our bodies sway. I close my eyes, surrendering to the moment and wishing for it to never end—right now, there’s no outside world, nothing I need to worry about. And, just for a small window in time, even King Henry is forgotten…

Dang, why did I have to think of him? Just thinking of his name makes me breath hard and, these wicked instincts of mine taking over, I start to move my hips back even harder, urging Arsen to drop all tenderness. I don’t even need to do it more than once, as if he could read my mind, his fingers turn into hooks and he buries them in my waist, the rhythm of his thrusts growing with an unstoppable fury. Goodness, I’m moaning again, harder than before.

“Are you ready, Ash?” Arsen asks, the hand he had on my breast going up my neck as his fingers bury themselves in my hair.

“For… what?” I manage to ask between moans as I lift one leg up in the air, angling myself so that his cock goes deeper inside of me.

“You’re going to come hard, Ash… And you’re going to do it only when I say so,” he tells me, his lips brushing against my ear. I can feel his grin on my skin, my pussy already tightening as his words reach me.

“I… I don’t know if I can do that now,” I tell him. I’m too far gone to be able to control myself, and he must see that. I can’t hold off on an orgasm!

“You will do it. You will do what I say,” he yanks harder on my hair, thrusting violently as I scream.

“Yes… Yes, I will,” I submit, disregarding everything that my own body is telling me. How could I do otherwise when Arsen tells me to do it like that? I couldn’t!

“Oh, yes, you will… Because you’re mine, Ashley, and you want to obey me as much as you want me to forget you,” he whispers into my ear, his words like spears through my heart. I start bucking my hips at him, my rear cheeks pressing against his rock hard abs as his cock comes and goes at an unrelenting pace. I’m gritting my teeth and pursing my lips, trying to focus hard so that I don’t succumb to a sudden orgasm. It’s almost impossible, especially now that I’m consciously trying to control it. Even so, I’m managing to do it so far. But it’s getting harder… Oh, it’s getting way harder. I can feel my pussy already clenching around his shaft, and my hands have balled into fists, my fingernails buried in the palm of my hands.

“Wait,” he whispers, slowing down his rhythm. I breathe out deeply, my body on the verge of exploding. “I…” he says, the sound of it caressing my eardrums as he suddenly thrusts as hard as he can, his cock flying all the way in and hitting my G-spot. I let out one loud scream, but magically I don’t come. “Want you…” One more hard thrust, and one more scream. “To…” Oh my goodness, it’s going to happen, it’s really going to happen! “Come.”

I lose it. I really do; my body starts to convulse, my mind dissolving as I become one with the universe. I’m sorry if I’m being a bit too mystical right now, but that’s exactly what happens. I come so hard that it goes beyond the physical realm. It’s transcendent, an almost religious experience. I think of nothing: my mind is a white canvas, the brushes of pleasure writing all over it lines of pure unadulterated ecstasy.

“Oh… my… God…” I hear myself saying, the words sounding foreign to my own ears. That was… That was more than perfect.

My body limp, I feel my mind trying to reboot. As I rise from the deep waters of my unconscious, I bring one memory back with me to the surface. My words to King Henry: “I want to make you cum, and I want you to do it all over me, sir. I want you to cover me with it while I’m on my knees, my mouth open wide as you fill me up.” As I open my eyes, there’s one certainty in my mind—what I told Henry, I’m going to do with Arsen. The thought somehow wakes my muscles up, and I roll down to the floor, going down to my knees at once.

My eyes lock on Arsen’s and he grins at me, sitting up on the couch as he runs one hand through his disheveled hair. Wordlessly, he goes up to his feet, my arm raising as I reach for his cock. My fingers curl around his shaft and I start to stroke him, my heart beating fast as, once again, fantasy blends with reality. This might be insane, not to mention flat out wrong, but it almost feels as if I’m with King Henry and Arsen at the same time.

“Come for me…” I whisper, looking up at him as my hand goes back and forth over his cock. “Come for me, Arsen…” His cock starts spasming against my fingers, thick white ropes of semen gushing out. Just like I pictured when talking with Henry, I open my mouth and stick my tongue out, strands of semen immediately covering it as I tilt my head back. I don’t stop stroking; I keep jerking him as he comes, his cock still spasming each time it shoots at me.

He has his eyes closed, his hands on top of my head as he opens his mouth to exhale sharply. Seeing his pleasure, I start stroking him even harder than before, wanting to empty him completely. As if he has a never-ending supply of cum inside of him, he keeps shooting; my mouth is brimming with cum, his warm juices already covering my face. He only stops cumming when I’m drowning in it, the skin on my chest glistening from the warm gooey layer that covers it.

Slowly, I peel my fingers off his cock as he finishes, his fast breathing finally slowing down. A grin on my lips, I go up to my feet and press my body against his, my cum-covered breasts rubbing against his hard pectorals. I lean in to kiss him, opening my mouth wide and allowing all of the cum I hold inside to drip down to his lips. We kiss as if we were possessed, swapping cum and rubbing it all over our naked bodies. Time becomes meaningless as we surrender to wickedness, his salty flavor blanketing both our minds.

By the time we’re done, we collapse onto the couch, sitting side by side. We look at each other, grinning as we realize the state we’re in. There’s cum coating his lips, and it’s already dripping down his chin and onto his neck; the skin on his torso is also glistening, strands of the cum that covers me imprinted there. I’m not in a better state, in fact, I’m even dirtier that he is, thick drops of cum still dripping down my face and chest.

I throw my head back against the headrest and stare at the ceiling in silence, my chest slowly rising and falling. My hand reaches for Arsen’s and I grab it, squeezing it gently under my fingers.

I can’t even begin to describe what just happened… In my mind, it’s as if King Henry and Arsen fused into one person and gave me one of the most mind-blowing orgasms I've ever had.

Goodness, I must be going crazy.

76

Arsen

The lawyer leans in close. The smell of his cologne is an assault on my senses. I watch as he dips his sashimi in a puddle of soy sauce and wasabi, casually stirring the dark mixture with the tips of his chopsticks. "I need you to understand something about Mr. Morozov," he says. "Simulated Pleasures LLC is the only profitable phone sex operation in the entire tri-state area and he insists that he wants to buy it. He's not a patient man."

"I've told you before. I'm not interested in selling," I reply, refusing to entertain the thought. In fact, I almost can't believe we're still talking about this.

"I'm afraid he won't take no for an answer."

I wait for a moment before responding. My impulse is to tell this guy to go idiot himself, but I'm trying to stay calm and rational. I'll admit that my patience is wearing thin, and what I'd really like to do is put my fist through his teeth. As I'm thinking about the best way to respond, a waitress approaches us, bringing a sake sampler and breaking the silence. Nobu 57 has always been known for their world-renowned sake collection. I grab one of the small cups and gulp it down. It's smooth, and the sweet rice flavor lingers long past the drink itself.

"I don't envy your position. I understand that you're here representing your client and his best interests, but like I said, I'm adamant on retaining full ownership of this company."

"Tell me," he asks, "Why does a man like you—a man with a Harvard MBA and a polished business acumen under his belt, want to own a phone sex company?"

"You said so yourself, it's profitable."

"Spare me the trash. You could invest in Silicon Valley. You could have your hand in a number of more profitable niches. So why this?"

His question catches me off guard—and mostly because he's right. I could invest in tech, or even real estate, and easily triple my earnings. I know that phone sex is being replaced with live web cams and porn streamed for free on cell phones. Why am I insisting that I keep this part of the business? And then it hits me. I know it makes sense to sell, but if I'm honest with myself, there's an obvious and irreplaceable piece to this whole operation—Ashley. Who the heck am I kidding? My mind is blown every time I'm with her. I can't let her go; I love her, and I'm finally ready to admit that.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but my answer is still no. Regardless of my background, or what you think I should or shouldn't be investing in, I'm invested in Simulated Pleasures LLC and I plan to keep it that way. And that's final."

I hear him exhale in one irritated breath. "You say that now, but I urge you to reconsider what you're saying."

"I've considered it a great deal already."

"Well, I'm not one to give up so easily," he says, taking another bite of sushi. I watch as a bit of the bright orange Tobiko fish roe is caught in his mustache. I get up to leave the restaurant to show that this conversation is over, and formally thank him for lunch. He continues, "You'll be hearing from me again; I can assure you of that."

I walk out of Nobu 57 and onto the street. This meeting with the mob's lawyer has made me realize a lot of things and I immediately take my phone from my pocket and dial Ashley's direct phone sex line.

The same soft, sultry voice I've grown to love answers and comes on the line. "Hi, this is Misty. Who am I speaking with?"

"It's your king."

"King Henry, I'm so glad you called. I was just trying on a new set of lingerie that I bought yesterday, and now I'm lying in bed, dreaming of you, lightly fingering myself under all this lace. I wore it extra special, just for you."

"You belong to me, don't you?" I ask, masking my voice again, and asserting my will. It's as if I need to hear it from her mouth, one more time.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I belong to you King Henry, and only to you."

"Good. I needed to hear that. Today especially."

"Oh goodness, you have no idea," she says, just above a whisper.

"Stop touching your pussy—you know I can always tell when you're touching yourself. It belongs to me. Place your hands by your side, right now."

"Yes, King Henry."

"It pleases me when you obey," I continue. "Every king needs a queen. Are you ready to be my queen? Are you ready to always belong to me and do as I say?"

"I need you," she says, and I hear her breathing quicken. "My pussy throbs for you."

While she says this, I text Ashley's personal cell phone. "What's your address? I'm coming over. –Arsen" I watch as speech bubbles appear, and I can tell she's typing. Within a moment, her address appears on the screen and I smile, continuing to talk, and jumping back into my character as King Henry.

I deepen my voice again. "What would you do if I had you locked in my castle for a day? Are you thinking about it, and picturing yourself here, with me at my throne?"

"Yes, I'm picturing it… can you feel my breath on your body as I move slowly in between your thighs?"

"Good, Kitten. It pleases me when you follow my directions. Continue."

"I'd move my hands over your legs and then deep into the secret retreat of your thighs. I'd take a moment to marvel at your big, strong muscles and your impressive manhood that stands taller than any javelin I've ever seen. The knights in your court must all be jealous."

"I like where this is going," I say with a smile.

"I'd place my mouth on the tip of your huge cock, basting it with my tongue in a circular motion. Doing this makes me so hungry for you, and I want your manly taste to fill my mouth. I'd lick the entire length of your shaft, and cup your balls in my hand, gently pinching and rolling them in between my fingers."

"And then what would you do?"

"I'd ask you to sit down on your throne while I climb into your lap, naked, wet, and eager. I'd straddle your lap, while you took my breasts into your mouth. With your strong hands grasping my hips, I'd slowly lower myself onto your shaft, feeling the length of your cock fill my pussy. I'd pace myself at first, riding your cock and rocking my hips until my entire body quivered."

"Good, now I want you stand up and bend yourself over my throne because I want to forget you from behind. I want to grab your rear and feel it in my hands. Are you bent over?"

"Yes. Oh goodness, I—I can hardly stand it. I can feel your cock, it's so big."

"I feel the weight of your breasts in my hands as I grab onto them, pinching your nipples between my fingers and thrusting into you quicker and quicker," and as I say this, I feel my cock harden, and I walk at a faster pace. I hear my shoes clicking against the city sidewalk—fellow pedestrians are a blur to me, and all I can think about is Ashley. I need to get to her apartment. I look at the street signs and I know I'm getting close. I hear her moaning and breathing heavy on the other end of the phone, her voice now just above a whisper.

"King Henry, I—I—I—oh goodness, I'm going to cum, I'm—"

"Good, I want you to come for me. Come now. I command it."

Her voice is ragged and labored, and with that, I hear the convulsions in her voice and the gasps and I can picture her body in the throws of climax. I'm now at her apartment and I know that I quickly need to end the call.

"Until next time, my queen," I say, and I hang up before she can respond.

I walked faster than I thought and now I'm finding myself standing in front of her door. I knock. I don't hear her in her apartment. But I know she's home.

I knock again. She's here; that much I know. I mean, I just had her on the phone. And then I hear it, the lock on her door is released and it slowly opens. She is standing in the doorway, her face flushed and in the sexiest lingerie I've ever seen in my life. We are both looking at each other, and for the first time, we are both at a loss for words.

77

Ashley

I run to the door as fast as I can, hearing Arsen already knocking for the second time. Garbage! I didn’t expect him to get here so fast! I mean, my heart's still racing, and I didn’t even have the time to change. I’m still wearing the lingerie I had on when I was on the phone, a matching set of a deep purple lace bra and thong.

I have just come, talking with Henry on the phone, and I’m still wet from that conversation… And now here he is, Arsen Hawke in the flesh. This time I didn’t even need to text him, telling him I’d be coming over—no, this time he was the one doing the texting, almost as if he could guess I was having one of my private moments with King Henry.

I have no idea how he’d react if he found out I’m into one of my clients, a man I have never even met. Would Arsen be mad? Or would he just shrug it off? Oh, yeah, who am I kidding? What man would shrug off the fact that his rival is a disembodied voice? That would be like a punch in the gut. But none of that matters now… What matters is that my heart's still racing, and that my body is craving something wild and furious.

“Just in time,” I tell him, after an awkward, silent pause. I'm grinning as I reach for him and curl my fingers over his belt; I pull him inside the apartment, shutting the door with the ball of my foot as I go. He follows me with a smile, and that hunger I’ve come to know so well flickering in his eyes. Before I even have the time to gasp, he grabs both my wrists and turns my body around, making me lift my arms over my head as he pins me against the wall.

“Hello again,” he grins, the way his lips curl upward making my insides clench. My eyelids droop as he leans into me, my lips parting as our mouths touch. I run my tongue over his lips, breathing in his scent and allowing desire to take the steering wheel.

Suddenly letting go of my arms, he lets one hand of his fall down to my waist, the other going up my neck as his fingers run free through my hair. He pulls back from me and I open my eyes, locking them on his as I lick my lips with anticipation.

This time I’m the one leaning in, straining against the hold he has on me as our lips touch again. I let my tongue push the way into his mouth, and tilt my head sideways as we kiss in abandonment. My hands are running free over his chest, feeling the hills and valleys of his abdominals as I caress him over the fabric of his white shirt; my fingers go all the way down until they’re stopped by the hem of his pants, and then I just pull on his shirt, untucking it. I take my fingers to his collar and I tug on it as hard as I can, making the buttons pop out as I open my eyes and let them wander over the chiseled muscles on his chest.

Desire raging through my veins, I hurriedly push his shirt down his arms, my fingertips immediately finding the way to his bare chest.

With what sounds like a growl, he yanks on my hair, forcing my head back as his mouth goes to my neck. He lays harsh kisses against my skin, the hand on my waist going around it and over the curve of my rear. A moan climbs up my throat and explodes into the air, my hands going around his body and to his back. I feel his warm skin as my fingers go down, and then I just push my hands underneath his pants, feeling his hard buttocks against my skin.

If I’m being completely honest with you, which I am, trust me , I never once in my life imagined it was possible to feel this kind of crazed lust. I mean, when is too much, too much?

My hands leave his rear and I focus on his belt, unbuckling it and pushing it out of its loops with a quick movement. I waste no time and go straight for his crotch, flattening the palm of my hand against his already hard cock, massaging him over his jeans. I start tracing the contour of his bulging with the tip of my index finger, but I stop suddenly. Screw this, I need to feel him right now!

I unbutton his pants as hard as I can, his cock pulsing against my fingers as I take care of the buttons. He starts kissing my neck harder and, when I’m finally done, starts nibbling at my skin; I flatten my hand again, the only barrier between me and him being his boxer briefs. Well, why wait, right? I hook my fingers on the hem of his underwear and push it down, both his pants and boxers sliding down to his knees.

"Someone’s pretty horny," he says, almost laughing. Oh, he has no idea how horny I am right now… Just as much as he has no idea what I was doing before he got here.

"I am horny," I tell him, my fingers curling around his massive cock. “And you can’t imagine how much.” My pussy pulses as I grab him, anticipating how it’s going to feel when he’s deep inside of me; I’ve messed him a lot of times already, but I still can’t get past the fact that he’s freaking huge. Whenever we idiot, I always get surprised when I find that I can actually walk afterwards.

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea on how horny you are… But now I’m here to solve that, Ash,” he tells me as his hand goes up my side, his long fingers squeezing my right breast as he stops kissing my neck and locks eyes with me. There’s a wide grin on his face, one that holds promises of moans and screams before he’s done. It’s not as if that’s a surprise, though; I always moan and scream when I’m with him. Always.

Taking both hands to my back, he undoes the clasp on my bra; his fingers go over my shoulder blades and, grabbing the straps, he pushes them down my arms. The cups droop over my breasts and then finally fall over as he lets go the bra, allowing it to float down to the floor. Moving fast, he leans into me and wraps his lips around my right nipple, sucking eagerly as he laps at it with his tongue. I run my fingers through his hair as he sucks, my head thrown back as I sigh heavily.

Changing breasts, he now devotes his attention to my left nipple, this time applying just a bit more pressure. I grab him harshly by his hair, pulling his head against my belly and forcing him to suck hard. He does it eagerly, sucking on one nipple as he squeezes the other breast, but then he pulls back with a grin.

“I’m the one in charge here,” he tells me, an expression of amusement in his face. As he speaks he lets both his hands go to my rear, and he cups my cheeks hard. I moan in a low tone as I feel my flesh under his fingers and then, before I even know how he has done it, he has me lifted up against the wall, my legs crossed on his lower back as I rest my arms over his shoulders.

I buck my hips at him immediately, his cock brushing against my pussy; I do it harder, pinning his shaft between my crotch and his body, and then I start to rock my body, grinding against him as if I were delirious. Well, in fact, I am delirious—delirious and crazy to have him inside my pussy. Remember how I told you I was already wet when he arrived? Well, the state I was in back then doesn’t even hold a candle to how I am right now: my thong is completely drenched and my fluids are starting to drip down my thighs.

Being this close to Arsen… It’s just like being home. You know that feeling you get when you arrive home after a long trip? Where you feel safe and perfectly at ease? Yeah, that’s exactly it. Except, of course, you probably don’t get wet when you come home after the holidays. Unless you have someone like Arsen Hawke waiting on you, that is.

"You got here right in time," I whisper, my brain not even filtering the words coming out of my mind. “I was so wet… If you took any longer I’d just have to start fingering myself.” He grins, squeezing my rear cheeks harder as he presses his crotch against mine.

“No, you wouldn’t dare,” he tells me. “You’d wait… You’d wait because just playing with yourself wouldn’t be enough. You need my cock, Ashley.”

“I do. I need it bad,” I confess, desire crawling under my skin as I grind against his thick cock. Heck, he’s so right.

“You can have it… If you promise to be nice,” he teases me, moving his fingers under my thong and closer to my rear crack.

“I promise… I’ll be nice,” I repeat, my insides burning as I feel his fingertips nearing my anus. He runs his index finger along the length of my crack, only then pressing it over my hole. I press my forehead against his shoulder as he slides his finger one inch in, using his other hand to flick my thong to the side. As he moves his finger in, he thrusts at the same time, his glans touching my labia and easily piercing me in a fraction of a second.

I claw at his back, my fingernails digging on his muscles as he starts his see-saw motion, his cock moving in and out of me with clockwork precision.

It’s always like this with him, it seems. I mean, just take a look at what happened; he knocked on my door and, just a few minutes after I saw him, he already has his cock buried to the hilt inside of me. We didn’t even get enough time to get to the bedroom! Not that we’ve messed many times on a bed, actually—every other place seems to work fine for us.

My pussy pulsing as he idiots me, I consciously tighten it around his shaft, intensifying the pleasure tenfold. I only last a few seconds, and then I have to ease the pressure. Even so, it’s enough for me to let out one harsh scream, my throat already starting to complain. I really need to tone down on the screaming; after all, I make a living with my voice. It sounds fancy when I put it like that, doesn’t it? But I do have a lovely voice, just ask the dozens of guys I’ve made come over the phone, they’ll have a quick answer to that.

Even though I’m making a mental effort not to scream, I just can’t help it; one mighty thrust from him and here I go again, my mouth open wide as I roar, my vocal chords straining from the effort. He thrusts with the same strength once more, and I open my mouth to tell him not to stop—of course, all I manage to do is moan as if I have a 12-inch cock inside of me. Oh, right, I do have a 12-inch cock inside of me.

My fingernails dig deeper into his flesh as I come, the orgasm I had when I was on the phone with King Henry only feeling like a small appetizer right now. Nothing beats the real thing… At least with Arsen. With my loser ex Peter, I actually did a better job when I was by myself. But, of course, there’s nothing I can do with my fingers that will ever match what I’m feeling right now. Arsen’s cock is just magical, as silly as that may sound. As proof of that, I’m still screaming, my small apartment filled with the sound of my voice.

When I finally stop screaming, Arsen puts me down on the floor. The moment my feet reach stable ground I realize my legs are quivering, all muscles in my body still twitching and spasming as I reel from the second orgasm of the day. But I don’t need to fight this exhaustion, as a matter of fact, I can just use it in my favor.

I go down on my knees, my hands sliding down Arsen’s legs and meeting his pants and boxers, still hanging by his knees. I push them down to his ankles and he does the rest by kicking off his shoes and stepping out of his clothes. Arsen’s naked body finally in front of me, I lick my lips as I curl my fingers around his shaft, my hand immediately moving back and forth over his length.

My tongue darts out and I reach for his glans, circling it as I keep on stroking him. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel the scent of my pussy still lingering on his cock, and I picture it coming and going out of me like a piston. I lap at his tip incessantly, teasing him, and then go down the side of his shaft, tracing its length with just the tip of my tongue until I reach his balls. There, I suck one in, taking it inside of my mouth and twirling it around before I go back up. Once at the tip, I open my mouth wide and let his shaft roll over my lips and deep into my mouth.

When I feel my lips touching the skin at the base of his cock, I wrap them around his meaty flesh as hard as I can, slowly rolling back. I go over to his tip again, but I don’t let it out of my mouth; instead, I go down once more, repeating that coming and going motion over and over again, with slow deliberate movements. Only when he places his hands on top of my head do I pick up the pace, moving my head back and forth as fast as I can, deep moans rising from my throat and vibrating against his cock.

I caress his balls as I suck him, moving them around over the palm of my open hand. Then, satisfied with my quick pace, I grab his shaft again, the movement of my hand matching that of my mouth. Sucking and stroking, I drive him over the edge. I feel his cock pulsing inside of my mouth, pushing down on my tongue, and only then do I slow down. I roll back my lips, allowing his cock to pop out of my mouth while my hand keeps on working him.

My urges whipping at my brain, I go up to my feet, never letting go of his cock. I press my back against the wall, ready to let him take me again right there, but he just grabs my hand and steps back.

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable. I want to try your mattress,” he says with a devious grin, pulling me down the hallway and into the living room. There he heads down the corridor to the left, instinctively going toward the only room with the door open. I step inside after him, my hand hitting the wall as I look for the light switch; I hit it, a cozy orange light filling my bedroom as he places both his hands on my waist and, with an almost too violent movement, throws me on top of the bed. My body bounces on the mattress and, before I can do anything, he climbs on top of me, his hands on my knees as he parts my legs. I lay back, panting as he grabs my thong and slides it down my legs, throwing it off somewhere.

Placing his open hand over my pussy, he slides one finger in, hooking it upward until he’s touching my G-spot. He starts rubbing it, pressing there until my back is arched and I’m sighing heavily.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Just wait until it’s not my finger inside of you, but something else…” He promises me, sliding one more finger inside of me. As he starts to move his two fingers in and out of my pussy, he presses his thumb over my clit, rubbing it with wide circles until my eyes are shut and I’m bunching up the sheets. With one masterful stroke he presses hard on my G-spot as he applies the same kind of pressure on my clit. I come in a heartbeat, my hands moving erratically over the sheets as a convulsion of pleasure takes over both my mind and body. I’m shaking and trembling, all of me descending into a feverish state as he takes his fingers out of my pussy.

I’m still coming when he presses his glans against my labia, feeding one inch of his cock into my pussy. Reacting unconsciously, I lace my legs behind his back and reel him in, forcing him inside at once. His cock sheathed in me to the hilt, I start thrusting erratically, lifting my rear up from the mattress as I force his cock in and out of my pussy.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for him to take the lead; my hips are no longer moving and I’m just laying back as he starts to thrust, his hips moving so fast that my brain starts to overheat. I claw at his back, scratching and clawing as I urge him to go even faster, even if that means leaving me in a catatonic state once we’re done. I don’t even care if I’m hurting him - all that I care about right now is that he idiots me as hard as humanly possible, using that gigantic cock of his to stretch my pussy wide and ruin me completely.

“Oh goodness…” I moan, the blood in my veins starting to boil.

“God isn’t here right now, Ash,” he whispers into my ear, his pace never dropping. “But I am,” he concludes, burying his cock so deep into me that he just rips a scream out of my throat.

He pulls back out slowly, just to thrust with all his strength again. He does that over and over again—sliding out of me as slowly as possible, making me hold my breath, and then going back in harshly. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to be rolling in their orbits, my muscles tensing up as electricity pools in them. I’m like a bomb about to go off, and there’s no disarming me. With each thrust of his I can feel the clock ticking down - until it finally reaches zero.

A numbness blankets my mind as I come, but this time I don’t moan or scream. I try to, but the only sound that my throat produces is a weak groan. My muscles twitch as if I’m being electrocuted, adrenaline coursing through me as it mixes with a batch of endorphins—a pure cocktail of sinful decadence.

I collapse on top of the mattress, mentally and physically exhausted. Arsen gives me a break, pulling his cock out of me… But, of course, what he has in mind isn’t really a break: he starts kissing my neck, his lips tracing a downward line toward my breasts. He kisses the curve of my belly, lingering for a few seconds on each of my nipples, and then continues its descent toward the valley between my thighs. His kisses make my skin buzz and, the closer he gets to my pussy, the more my body starts to awaken from its stupor. When he finally reaches his target he starts by gently kissing my groins, taking his time as I recover from that mind numbing orgasm.

His lips go over every single inch of my inner thighs, carefully caressing my skin before he finally dives in: parting his lips, he fits them around my clit and sucks it in, circling it with his tongue at the same time. Feeling as if pleasure itself was stabbing me in the spine, I thrust, pressing my pussy against his mouth; he responds by opening it wide, placing it over my labia and sucking on my folds.

Feeling my lungs and heart about to explode, I try to calm myself and breathe deeply, but that’s an almost impossible task. The more I try to do it, the more furiously he starts to lick me, his mouth completely ravaging me. As he starts to slide his tongue past my labia and into my pussy, he presses his forearm across my waist and his thumb over my clit, massaging it. Even though even my soul is burning, I can’t fight the urges that beg my mind for more: I sway my hips back and forth and from side to side, rubbing my mouth against his face as I start to succumb again.

For the millionth time today, I come. I bury my fingers in his hair and keep him in place as I thrust as hard as I can, my pussy pressed tight against his mouth. I let the waves of pleasure crash against my soul, rapture enveloping me. Right now I’m on cloud nine, just on the corner of the seventh heaven: if ecstasy has an address, this has to be it.

As he slowly pulls back, I know that I won’t be able to keep this going for much longer. For the first time since we started, I literally feel on the verge of truly collapsing. Like with most drugs, I guess I can also OD on Arsen’s cock—which, to be honest, doesn’t really sound like a bad thing.

Even so, I don’t want to give up. My body might be shutting down, but my mind will push through. So I do what I have to. I roll on the bed, going on all fours as I feel his eyes going straight to my rear. Getting up in a hurry, he gets out of the bed and grabs me by the waist, pulling me back so that my knees are on the edge of the mattress; standing up, he positions himself behind me, running two fingers over the length of my pussy before pressing his body against mine. I feel the outline of his abs with my rear, but I don’t have the time to focus on them; in just another second he has his cock between my thighs, my labia parting as he pushes it in. I arch my back as he slowly eases himself in, that sweet thickness of his straining against my insides.

“Idiot me, Arsen…” I beg. “As hard as you can.” I can’t even believe I’m saying this. I can barely hold the position I’m in, let alone survive the I begged for. But, oh well… If I can’t survive it, at least that’ll be a nice way to go. Oh, okay, I know, I know… Sometimes I get too dramatic. But what do you want? I just can’t help but act over the top whenever Arsen is concerned. I mean, who would have thought that I’d do all the crazy things I’ve done with him? Never once in my life did I believe I’d have a sex life like this. For goodness sake, with him to come three times is just a standard affair! This is what fantasies are made of. And if you’re jealous of me, well, that’s something that I can understand. But Arsen Hawke is mine, and I’m not really inclined to share. Sorry.

And yes, I said it: Arsen Hawke is mine. And I love him. I admit it, and I accept it. Still, it’s not easy… Even though I know how I feel toward him, there’s still one problem, and that problem is King Henry. My mystery king. As much as I try to do it, I simply can’t push him out of my mind. The man has sunk his hooks into me, and I have no idea how to take them off.

All thoughts of Henry vanish as the sound of Arsen’s thighs slapping my rear cheeks start to fill the room. My head’s down, my hair hanging over my face, but I still smile; I’ve come to relish that sinful sound, something wicked and pleasurable to it. Perhaps I like it so much because it translates as me being messed hard by a perfect man.

He has one hand on my rear, his other one holding my left breast as he pinches my nipple. I moan subdued, my throat too spent to do anything that demands more of an effort. Even so, all my muscles cramping, I start to rock my body against his, impaling myself on his cock. As I start to do it he slaps my rear hard with the back of his hand, this time just once, but hard enough that I know there’s going to be a mark there for the next few hours. And that’s just fine; I love indecent mementos like these.

My arms feeling weak, I go down, supporting myself only with my forearms. Feeling me go limp, he laces my waist, one arm of his holding my rear up as he keeps on ravaging me. Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my entire life… This tired and content, I mean.

Arsen’s thrusts don’t take long to do their job—a fire rises inside of me, driving away all exhaustion, and I start pushing my rear back against him once more. My whole body tenses up, every fiber in me becoming as solid as concrete, and I brace for impact. And, this time, it seems that I won’t be the only one burning up: Arsen’s cock is already twitching hard inside of me, kicking against my inner walls as I feel his fingers digging deep into my flesh.

We don’t say a word. We let our bodies do the talking and we just surrender, the high tide of pleasure sweeping us both. I fight back against the pain in my throat and give birth to one final scream, the sound of it so shrill I feel my eardrums recoiling. As my voice quivers, I feel my insides becoming warmer, his cock shooting a river of cum inside of me. We remain still and locked in place, our bodies in communion as we both climax.

He fills me up to the brim, his cum dripping down my legs and staining the sheets under me. And still he keeps cumming - Arsen truly is a God among men. Ripped as a model, hung as God… It’s only fitting that when he cums he has gallons of it to shoot. Not that I’m complaining, far from it. In fact, I absolutely love it: to see him cum like that and knowing that I’m the one responsible for it… Well, do I need to say anything else? His pleasure is my pleasure.

I don’t move until he’s done, his cock finally stopping all movement. By then the sheets under me are a wet mess, strands of cum going down my legs and pooling around my knees.

The moment he slides his cock out I simply collapse on top of the mattress, lying on my stomach. Swear to heaven, the moment I feel the soft sheets under my belly, I drift off to sleep almost immediately. My eyelids droop and it’s as if I’m unconscious, even though my body’s still registering everything around me.

I feel Arsen’s fingers tracing the outline of my rear, and placing both his hands between my thighs, he makes me spread my legs. Even though I’m barely conscious I can’t help but sigh heavily as I feel his face between my thighs, his mouth once again on my labia, licking me dry. His tongue goes up and down my folds in such a gentle way that the corner of my lips curl into a tenuous smile, almost as if I were in a dream, the kind of dream from which you don’t want to wake up.

He keeps going until there isn’t anything left to lick, going as far as licking the strands of cum that slid down my legs. Finally done, he joins me on the bed, lying next to me. I roll to the side, snuggling against him with one arm across his chest. It’s time to stop fighting the urge to slip into unconsciousness, and that’s exactly what I do. With my eyes closed, I take one deep breath and I’m out.

I dive head first into the void, a dreamless sleep engulfing me. But, before I drown in it, I still have the time to feel my heart fluttering inside of my chest, a pleasant warmness crawling toward my mind. Goodness, I couldn’t be happier right now. Whatever happens, nobody will be able to steal this moment from me: our naked and exhausted bodies pressed together, both Arsen and I drifting off.

I’ve never been what you’d call a romantic… But, wow, this just feels right.

78

Arsen

I look out of my office window and across the impressive city skyline. I can't sit still any longer and I'm pacing back and forth like a caged lion, my fists are balled in the pockets of my suit pants. I look back at Gerard sitting at the conference table and say for the second time, "I'm not selling."

I feel the tension in my jaw ease a little after releasing those words, but I look over again at Gerard and see that my frustration has simply transferred to him. We've been arguing for over 45 minutes.

He shakes his head and slaps his palm down on the table. "I don't understand! It makes no sense!"

"I don't expect you to understand." My voice is now resigned to the situation.

"Why?" he asks. "Why do you insist on holding onto Simulated Pleasures LLC? You've released your ownership on everything else. Just explain that to me!"

"Why can't you take no for an answer?" I reply.

"I told you everything that Luca Giannoni has told me, sir. Mr. Morozov has taken a special interest in your phone sex operation, and he's keen to purchase it from you. He's offering you an excellent price. You won't get this price anywhere else. I can promise you that. Why not sell before the ship sinks?"

"Who says the ship will ever sink?" I ask. "You heard yourself that this is the most profitable phone sex operation in the tri-state area."

"Come on, Arsen. You know as well as I do. Phone sex won't remain profitable forever. Young people want web cams and free porn streamed to their cell phones. Why call when you can see the real deal, you know what I mean?"

"Phone sex is an art. I don't think it'll ever be completely dismissed like you say it will."

"Maybe so, but it'll be relegated to some small niche. Why not cash in when the money's still very good? You'll be a very rich man from the sale of this."

"I'm already a rich man!" I growl. "Are you forgetting that? I'm worth billions, so before you say another word about money, I want you to remember everything Dad left me with."

My mood has soured again, and I want nothing more than to end this meeting, but Gerard can be like a fly that won't go away and his incessant buzzing in my ear is wearing me down. He's doing a good job of making me think that this issue may never go away. Nothing I say seems to deter him. He always has a rebuttal, and frankly, it's pissing me off.

I know rationally speaking I should be blaming this on Luca Giannoni and the Russian Mob that wants to buy me out. But instead the anger is manifesting itself toward the one man who is always there for me.

And he’s giving it right back to me as much as I’m giving it to him.

"Yes, yes, of course you're a rich man! No one is doubting or forgetting that. But who has ever said no to more money? Arsen, I just don't understand it. It's completely irrational and bordering on madness! Why are you so hell bent on throwing away a golden opportunity? Why can't you see the value in this deal?"

“Maybe it’s the way the mob is going to treat the staff?” I say, rhetorically.

“What’s wrong with how they treat their staff?” Gerard asks. “It’s always on the up and up.”

“You wouldn’t feel a little guilty knowing we just sold someone’s business to the mob?” I shoot back.

“It didn’t seem to stop you from unloading the porn studios, the web cam operations, the sex dungeons, the brothels, the escort services, and strip clubs,” Gerard says. “Name one time for the other businesses when you brought up an issue with how the mob treats its workers.”

“That’s not the same Gerard, and you know it!” I shoot back. “The strip clubs independently contract out to the girls. They can leave any time. Heck, we don’t even know if they’ll come in on any given night if its raining or snowing. And the bouncers and managers are all men; they can take care of themselves.”

“The other businesses?” Gerard asks.

“They’re too decentralized. The sex dungeons, if the mob wanted to lay down the law or do anything, no one would show up. And we contractually dealt with everyone on the web cam operations or the porn studios. The escort services we just got a cut. Nothing much would change.”

“And so nothing much would change for this sale either, Arsen,” Gerard says, getting up and grabbing a glass of water and running his hands through his hair. “This is the best deal that’s out there and you’re dragging your feet.”

“These people that work at Simulated Pleasures have never worked with gangsters before,” I tell Gerard.

“And neither have you, Arsen,” Gerard says to me. “We’re not dealing with blue chip corporations here. They can make this personal.”

“Then why would I want them in the lives of my current employees?” I ask back. I think I’ve got a point.

But I know that Gerard has one too. Why didn’t I care so much about letting the mob into the livelihoods of the employees at the other establishments? I mean, idiot, I just told myself back then that they were tough and they could handle themselves.

“Arsen,” Gerard says sitting down and leaning back in his chair. “Something is bothering you about this entire situation. Ever since your father died the single goal you’ve had was to rid yourself of your father’s empire and start from scratch at something else. To cleanse yourself of his filth, as you put it. But the closer we get toward achieving that goal, the more you pull back.”

I’m silent as he continues. “You asked me to find out who Mr. Giannoni’s client was. Against my better judgment I pursued it. And I found out. You wanted to break the sale into pieces. We did that. Now at the last business, you hold everything up. Luca Giannoni and Mr. Mozorov have been patient,” he says in the voice filled with wisdom. “But if we are to continue, I need to know what your reasons for holding us back are. And I need to know now.”

Perhaps it's the way he's asking—questioning my sanity, or maybe it's because I feel as if I've been interrogated for nearly an hour straight, but just then, I lose it.

"I'm in love with a girl!" I snap, slamming my fist down on the conference table and flashing my snarled mouth at Gerard. "There, I've said it. Are you happy? Is that good enough for you, Gerard?"

He’s taken aback, clearly not expecting this to tumble from my mouth.

"Arsen, I don't understand. What does you being in love with a girl have anything to do with the sale of Simulated Pleasures LLC?"

"She's one of the phone sex operators."

He stops for a moment, and a pregnant silence fills the air. For a few awkward moments, neither of us says anything, and then I continue, "She doesn't know."

I see a wave of understanding come across his face and he finally speaks. "You should tell her."

"Who are you, my therapist as well as my lawyer?"

"I mean it."

"What good would that do?"

"Well, for one, are things getting serious?"

I think about that question for a moment. Have things gotten more serious between Ashley and I? It feels like it certainly can, but am I imagining that? Where exactly do I want this to go? Where does she want this to go? I love her. That much I understand.

"I don't know," I say, and that's the truth. I grab the glass of water sitting on the conference table and take a sip. My face is pensive.

"If you think things will—or can—get serious, you should tell her," he says, noticing that my mind is pre-occupied.

I don't say anything, but I nod my head in agreement. Of course he's right, but that's easier said than done. It's one thing to sit here at this conference table and say these things—and even agree with them—than it is to approach the woman you know you love about a secret that you've been keeping from her. Things are working right now. We're happy. I don't want to phoo all up by coming clean. If she finds out that I've been masquerading as King Henry, there's no telling how she'll react.

"It's not something you want to hide forever," he says, breaking my train of thought.

"I don't know what I want."

"Oh come on now," he says, almost laughing. "Quit kidding yourself."

"Says the man who's strong arming me into selling the one business I'm adamant on keeping."

"It's just obvious to me that you want the girl, so do something about it."

I look at him and know he's right.

79

Ashley

If Arsen is going to keep feeding me like this, I’m going to have to start spending an extra hour at the gym. I mean, seriously. We’re sitting on his terrace balcony, overlooking Central Park. He has a massive table that’s laid out with breakfast. I have my choice of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, slices of white or wheat bread, fruit, yogurt, granola, and croissants.

Oh, there’s also pancakes. There’s coffee, tea, orange juice and cereal.

Apparently, the building concierge has been instructed to prepare a breakfast spread every day for Arsen since I’ve started spending more and more time with him.

Arsen however, is just eating some bacon and a croissant, with some coffee, and reading the New York Daily Journal. The sound of taxis and delivery trucks wafts over to our little terrace in the clouds and I look over at my handsome breakfast companion.

“You live very well, Arsen,” I tell him, smiling. He looks over at me and smiles. Last night he took me to the MOMA where we saw the unveiling of some new Frederick Hart sculptures that hadn’t been released to the public after the sculptor’s death. Variations on Three Goddesses and Cross of the Millennium on both bronze and acrylic resin. I look into the room. Arsen bought one of the pieces and it’s sitting in the living room, purchased and now forgotten. Which would be fine if it was a dress from Bloomingdales, except that this tiny sculpture costs around $150,000.

After we got home, he wasted no time in celebrating his acquisition by unzipping my black dress and kissing my neck. Actually, if we’re being completely honest here, I was already wet when he pulled me over at the MOMA and whispered into my ear, “I want to forget you senseless right now, Ash. Just rip your panties off and shove my cock inside of you and pound you till you scream so loud that only the birds can hear you.”

I mean, sure, I had splurged a bit on the dress. It was backless and showed off my rear pretty good. But work has been great. I got a $500 bonus this week. So I mean, I didn’t mind that I was having that effect on him.

I take a piece of toast and bite into it, thinking back to last night. It had been a nice night, so by the time his clothes were off and my panties were…I don’t actually know what happened to them. Either he ripped them off or I took them off, but we threw them somewhere and I can’t find them this morning. I think I saw my bra in the kitchen sink. Oh well. Where was I? Oh yeah, by the time I was naked, we actually ended up on the terrace. He lay me down on the table and proceeded to defile me in the most delicious ways possible.

Seriously, having sex with this man each time is like having sex for the first time with him. I cum at least once for sure, but as many as eight times. Although by then, the orgasms are all ripping up my body in one wave after another. There have been times I’ve blacked out for a few minutes because it’s just too much pleasure. And then afterwards, I’m in like some sort of post-orgasm coma, where I just sit there blinking and enjoying the endorphins going through my body.

“What are you up to today?” Arsen asks me looking up from his paper with a look like he just remembered something as I look at him. I’ve never really made a big deal about our schedules, telling him that my schedule is pretty flexible—I mean, I can work whenever. But still, out of habit I pull out my phone.

And I freeze.

I have a meeting with Client 5 on my calendar. Oh my goodness!

How could I have forgotten? I thought it was yesterday.

No way I’m letting him go to another girl. Not because I’m worried about losing the fees. No, more because I want to talk to him.

As sexed up as Arsen has gotten me, King Henry hits another spot in my brain and in my heart. Because we only talk for little bits, I crave the time I have with him jealously. I need him.

But the meeting—or call—or whatever is scheduled in ten minutes.

I look over at Arsen, wondering what it is that I can say. I mean, what can I even say to someone, anyone, if I have to leave in 10 minutes? Like, sorry I didn’t realize but I have to go have phone sex with a client? To the man who is feeding me breakfast?

How did I ever end up in a situation like this? Where I’m lying to two men?

“Ash, I need to go do something real quick that I forgot,” Arsen says not looking me in the eyes. I nod absently, wondering how I’m going to get away. “You think you’ll be okay having breakfast for like half an hour or so? I just need to pop out real quick but I’ll be back, I promise.”

Wait a second! He’s giving me an out. This is almost like Divine Providence or something giving me an opportunity. Although later on I need to remember to make sure and find out where he’s going. Under normal circumstances I’d be pretty curious where he was off to, but right now, I’m not going to take a gift horse and look it in the mouth. Not this girl. I'm smarter than that.

“I’ll just go lay down for a little bit then,” I tell him with a coy smile. “Still a bit exhausted from last night.”

I give him my best innocent smile and kiss him goodbye thinking to myself how ironic this situation must be because normally I would be so curious where he’s off to.

But not right now.

Now, in this moment, I’ve already started getting wet thinking of King Henry’s deep, gravelly voice. Within a minute, Arsen is out the door. I rush inside and it takes me just a few seconds to slide off my yoga pants and whip off my tank top. I lounge on the bed in my bra and panties, my heart trembling at the call that will get re-routed to my cell phone.

Four minutes to go. They seem to last an eternity. My heart rate increases with each passing second. I feel the dampness in my pussy and can tell that without even talking to me, King Henry has gotten my panties wet.

At last, the call comes and the phone vibrates. It startles me and for a second I’m scared. But the fear doesn’t stop me from accepting the call and with a shaky voice filled with excitement I speak into the phone.

“Hi this is Misty, who am I speaking to?” I say, seeing Client 5 on the screen and holding my breath till he speaks.

There’s a pause and a rustle and finally, “Hi, Misty, where are you?”

Now it’s my turn to pause. I don’t know what to answer.

“Are you at home?” he asks me.

“N-No,” I say.

“No what?” he retorts.

I close my eyes. “No, King Henry.”

“Good, you remembered.”

“Yes, King.”

“Where are you? Are you with someone? At their place?” he asks me and I close my eyes.

“Yes, King, I’m at someone else’s place. On their bed,” I answer. My heart is beating at what he’ll say.

“What are you wearing?” he asks.

“I have on a pink cheeky and a lace pink bra, King,” I reply back. “I’m on his bed talking to you.”

“Does he know you’re talking to me?” my King asks.

“No, King,” I tell him. “He went out for a while.”

“Does he make you cum when you idiot him?” my King asks.

I gulp. But I’m this far in anyways. And I’m so wet. “Yes, King, he makes me cum,” I reply. And I can’t help but add, “Hard.”

“Good,” the King says. “I want you to touch yourself and tell me what you’re doing.”

“I have my fingers under my panties,” I tell him. “I’m stroking my clit.”

“Are you wet, kitten?” he asks.

I gasp. A momentary shudder goes through me. “Yes, King,” I say. “I’m very wet.”

“I want you to imagine me next to you, kitten,” he says. “I want you to imagine me pressing my fingers over your wetness, sliding one finger into your pussy.”

My heart races as I begin to stroke my clit to his words.

“I want you to think of my hands stroking your clit, faster, and harder, and faster still,” he says and my fingers time themselves to stroke with every cadence of his speech. I let out a moan.

“Are you enjoying this, kitten?” he asks.

“Yes, King,” I reply. “Please don’t stop.”

“Beg me to not stop,” he orders. “Beg me to keep going. To tell you how my tongue traces the contours of your pussy and flicks itself against your nub.”

Oh my goodness. I’m panting as my fingers continue.

“Tell me,” he commands.

“Please don’t stop, King,” I moan as he breaths deeply. “Please don’t stop licking my pussy.”

“I want to slide another finger inside of you kitten, do that for me now,” he commands and I do as he says.

“I want to hook it inside of you and massage your walls while my tongue flicks your clit,” he continues.

The way he says the word clit sends shivers up my spine and it times perfectly with my fingers as they do their work.

“Are your nipples hard?” he asks me. I can feel that they are and it takes me a moment to clear my throat. “Yes, King, my nipples are hard for you.”

“I want to twist them. Do that for me,” he orders and I pull my bra down, place the phone on the bed putting it on speakerphone and begin to flick and twist my nipple.

It feels so wrong, doing this on Arsen’s bed. I know what I’m doing. But I just don’t care at this point. Lust has overtaken my brain as King Henry comes through the speakers of the phone.

“Now imagine my cock, thick and hard, kitten,” he says. “Blood pumping through its veins as it hovers over you, ready to penetrate your pussy. Imagine it as it slides in and fills you. Expands you.”

I can’t take much more of this. I’m going to cum soon. I feel the threshold lowering and myself passing the point of no return.

“Imagine my hands over you, squeezing your rear as I pound your pussy,” he says over the phone. “Imagine as I suck your belly and spank your rear. Hard.”

I wouldn’t care at this point who walked in the door. At that very moment I’ve lost myself to the pleasure I’m about to experience.

“Imagine my hands as they spank your rear cheeks. My cock pistoning in and out of you…”

I don’t hear any more. I’ve lost the capacity. I close my eyes. The body of Arsen Hawke is over me in my head with the voice of King Henry. Me. Dominating me completely.

I let go and cum.

Waves of pleasure go through my body and I let out a moan that is earthy and lewd at the same time. A fire spreads from my loins and rips through my body, leaving me sweating and trembling as my muscles seize up and contract. Pleasure knocks me out and my eyes roll back inside my head. I arch my body and feel myself give way to numbness and nothingness. I’m awake, but incapacitated by fire. And ice. I’m weightless but can’t move. My body twitches and I lose my sight. Stars fill my vision and I lose myself in a void.

When I come to, I’m breathing heavily. So is King Henry on the other side of the phone. My heart is pounding and I take the phone.

“Are you there?” he asks me.

“Yes, King,” I say weakly, still recovering from the orgasm that ripped through my body.

“Good, be kind to your friend when he returns,” King Henry says, and with that he hangs up.

Leaving me lying there on Arsen’s bed.

My panties are wet so I take them off, and I throw my bra across the room as well. I’m lying naked in a haze on Arsen’s bed and all I want is more sex. I don’t care if Arsen asks me what I’m doing when he comes back in and I lay there.

After a few minutes, I hear the door open and footsteps come into his room.

I’m staring at the ceiling, lost in a sea of post-orgasmic bliss when I notice him taking his clothes off. He joins me on the bed, kissing my stomach, and then my belly. I shudder. Not in fear, but in pleasure as his hands roam my body before settling on my mound, pressing down on it.

I’m ready for more and I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer to me.

“You look like you need a good,” Arsen says with a smirk.

“Less talk,” I say to him, wrapping my legs around his torso and bucking my hips like a wild woman. “More cock.”

I’m going to have a price to pay at one point. I know that. But for now, all I can think of is the moment. I just pray that this pleasure never stops.

80

Arsen

I’m standing in Gerard’s lushly appointed downtown law office. For as much as my office has the power and glamor of Midtown, Gerard’s has that old world style found only in Lower Manhattan. With it’s winding non-numbered streets and history that predates America, Gerard seems to fit right in. I mean, the building his offices are in have gargoyles outside of them to get rid of the excess rainwater. Talk about something you don’t see in Modernist, cubist, Midtown.

We’re having our weekly wrap-up on disposal of the properties that Dad left me.

“I think if we move in this direction, we should be approaching full divestiture within three to four months for certain,” Gerard says with the characteristic seriousness. But despite his normal seriousness, there’s something about him that seems a bit off.

“Gerard,” I ask, eyeing him. “There’s something different about you.”

He looks at me from his desk, and then gestures to his tie.

That’s it!

It’s a maroon tie with white hearts.

“A lady friend of mine suggested that I lighten up the wardrobe a bit, sir,” he tells me a bit stiffly.

For everything that’s going on with Luca Gianoni and the divestiture, I can’t help but laugh out loud like a kid.

“I didn’t know you were dating someone, Gerard!” I say out loud.

“I’d prefer not to talk about that now,” he says to me, a bit flustered. “Already too many changes in my life, if you know what I mean.”

He looks at me and I nod. I know exactly what he’s talking about.

But still, I can’t get the thought out of my head. How different my lawyer is now than say six months ago. Back then, if you said you saw him in a tie with hearts on it, he’d tell you to go kill yourself.

I mean, I totally get it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.

Ashley does the same thing to me.

I’m thinking about this as I sit in my limo as I leave Gerard’s office and head uptown.

In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I’m doing things that the old me would have had a heart attack if he ever saw.

Forget the one and done policy of one night sex, or at most the ‘use ‘em and lose ‘em’ philosophy of two weeks of raw lust and then a diamond necklace and a Dear John, I’m starting to go to the ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ side with this woman.

It doesn’t help probably that we’re always so close by. Ashley loves cavorting around my apartment; it’s so much bigger at One57 than the tiny rat-hole that she lives in near Penn Station. And sure, I want to do different things for her. To protect her and keep her happy. So it’s no surprise I’ll join her in making dinner—even though I have a perfectly decent personal chef.

It's just that I've never felt the way I do with Ashley with anyone. Not a single person I've ever met. And the things that she does, when other girls tried it on me, I'd snort and it would slide right off me. When Ashley does it, it looks so cute it seriously melts my heart.

Don’t believe me?

Well first off, I don’t care if you believe me or not, but just to show you, let’s take what happened yesterday.

I was in my office in Midtown, wrapping up some meetings.

Now, I see the gears in your brain trying to figure this out so let me just explain real quick. I may be trying to get rid of Dad’s smut empire, but I’m also having to manage the vast amount of money. That’s a job in and of itself.

But all of a sudden, who do we have but Ashley walking into my office around 3 pm.

“Arsen, can we go to dinner tonight?” she asked me, batting her beautiful eyes. Normally girls bat their eyes at me and I immediately get all defensive. I was exhausted as idiot—having to wake up at 6:30 in the morning after having hours of sex the night before will do that to you. But I looked at her, and all I could say was, "Sure, Ashley. I'll have one of the girls outside make some reservations to Per Se."

Now, my personal secretaries are more than capable of making me dinner reservations and letting me know, but in this instance, I followed up with them three times to make sure it was perfect. And then I made sure my car was ready and I even got to Ashley’s apartment ten minutes ahead of time. As if I had nothing better to do than take this woman out to dinner.

But let me tell you, when she finally did come down, it was completely worth the wait. I would have waited a whole month just to see her in that amazing blue dress that was tight in all the right places, hugging her curves and emphasizing her slender but still curvy body. All of a sudden, being exhausted completely left my mind and all I wanted to do was idiot. I tried not to stare at her wolfishly as she turned away from me and began walking to the car, swaying her rear. She knew that I was staring too, because she stopped before getting in, turned her head back to me, and asked me with a leer, "Feeling all right, Arsen?"

"I just want to forget you so badly right now, Ash," I told her, not holding back any punches. And I did. I wanted to pound her doggie style with my 12-inch cock till we both collapsed from cumming too hard.

"Always the romantic," she teased before she got into the limo.

I could see the outline of her thong against that skirt, it was so tight. I know you’re not supposed to see visible panty lines, but I’d seen her rear so many times, I could tell where it was.

All through dinner, she gave me flirty smiles and kept my cock hard till I couldn't wait to get her back to my condo. I kept imagining bending her over and having her hold onto the windows in my living room as she stared out into the urban canyons of New York City as I harassed the living daylights out of her.

But she just leaned back into me into the car and nestled her head on my chest. I could smell her shampoo.

“Arsen, I’m really sore from last night and this morning,” she mewled in a little voice. She was talking into my chest and I had my arm wrapped around her protectively. “I don’t know if I can have sex again tonight.”

What the heck? After keeping my cock hard all through dinner with that dress and that back and forth, I was like a coiled spring. I would have been pissed off with any other girl. But Ashley? I just brought my lips to the top of her head and gave it a light kiss.

"That's okay, babe," I said softly. "You're not going anywhere. We can chill tonight."

She looked up at me with those adorable eyes. "Really?" she asked. I nodded.

"Can we just watch a movie and snuggle?" she asked.

Now at this time, had the old Arsen Hawke been present—hell had my late father been present—he would have kicked my rear for being a pussy. Because all I said was, "Absolutely, babe. Anything you want."

And Ashley gave a few squeals of delight and pressed herself into me in happiness. All I could feel was her belly pressing against me. All I could imagine was spreading those legs and taking her.

And so there we were an hour later, Ashley picking out a romance movie. Not even a romantic comedy that I could laugh to, but a blasted romance movie.

"Yay! I love this movie. It's so long too!" she said bouncing up and down happily as I watched that rear jiggle. Then she looked at me. "You sure you're okay with this, right?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I'm good. Don't worry."

"Great," she said. "Let me go change into some pajamas."

And with that she sprung off the couch and into the bathroom.

When she finally did come out I swear to heaven my eyes were about to explode as I looked at her.

She was wearing a pair of black lace boy shorts that upped her rear so deliciously and a black lace camisole. My cock nearly exploded in my pants I was so horny.

"I got this the other day," she said with a sly smile. "Do you like it?"

If these were pajamas, then I wanted to see her naked.

At first I couldn't say anything. All I could do was stare. But eventually I looked at her. "I love it. I could forget you so hard right now, Ash," I growled.

"Yeah, but you said you wouldn't, right?" she asked.

I nodded. She smiled and came closer. "Great!" she exclaimed and then sat down basically on top of me, wiggling her body until she found every nook and crevice and somehow wedged herself into me. I wrapped my arms around her and she nestled in. I could feel her rear rub up and down on my hard cock until it settled between her rear cheeks. Ashley didn't say anything, except look at me and give me a sly grin as she asked, "You going to be okay, Mister?"

"I'll be fine," I lied. I didn't know what the heck I was going to do.

The movie started and pretty soon I felt Ashley clench and unclench her rear cheeks, squeezing my cock. Classic stripper move.

That was the last straw! I was cool going to dinner and seeing her in that get up. I was okay not having sex. I was even okay watching a chick flick that was three hours long with her hot body pressed up against me. But this was just too much.

I began to thrust up against her, but after the first one, I stopped myself. I had promised Ashley. And idiot me, I honestly would trade not having sex with her as opposed to not being around her. It wasn't easy, but I actually liked being on the couch with that romance movie as long as she was there.

And then she wriggled her rear against me again and my thoughts went crazy. Again and again. I'm thinking I'm going crazy, not being able to move or do anything. I might as well just have passed out right then and there it felt so good. But even had I passed out, I’d be waking up right there just because her rear felt so good.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she stopped.

She turned over and pressed her body to mine, bringing her face inches from mine.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" she asked with a cute looking pout and blinking eyes.

"Very hard, babe," I grunted, not knowing what else to say. I was beaten down.

All of a sudden that cute pout turned into a wicked grin. She gyrated her crotch on my cock a little bit as she said one word. "Good."

I looked at her in surprise as she continued, "Consider it payback. For keeping me awake till 6:30 am this morning when 5 hours earlier you said just the tip. And then leaving me in a sex haze all day."

And that's when her smile turned sultry and I realized Ashley Lane had been playing me the whole day, getting me all hot and bothered and leaving me no recourse but to take it. I brought my hands and grabbed her rear. Hard. She squealed and we messed hard again that night. I may have ripped off that camisole of hers trying to get at those belly and get my mouth on them. We used that sofa in ways that the Scandinavians who designed it would never have imagined in their wettest of dreams. And I know for a fact that that romance movie was done a long time before we finally fell on each other, exhausted and happy.

At least that’s what I’m thinking and I realize that I have a smile on my face. But phoo, I don’t care at this point.

I go up the elevator to my condo and find Ashley waiting for me standing in front of the door in a trench coat.

“Surprise!” she yells at me and I literally jump. “I had the concierge downstairs give me a ring when you started on your way up.”

“Your surprising me by waiting for me in front of the door?” I ask.

“No, silly!” she says with a pout. “This is how I’m surprising you!”

And she whips open her trench coat to reveal her oh-so-sexy body clad in nothing but black stockings, a black lace thong and matching black bra. The material was supple and left just enough to the imagination that I could feel my cock harden instantly. If I didn’t get it out of my pants soon it was going to tent and then claw its way out.

“I got them for you today,” she says with a shy smile. “Do you like it?”

But I don’t answer. And she doesn’t press me further. Because I’ve already bounded over and taken her in my arms and thrown us onto the same sofa that saw so much action yesterday. Half my clothes are off and I pause to look into her eyes.

“You are so gorgeous,” I whisper to her, as if confessing.

She doesn’t say anything. Just pulls me closer to her for a kiss.

You know, I take it back. If the old Arsen tries to come over and call me a pussy for what Ashley’s done to me, I’ll kick his rear for being an idiot.

Because this is Heaven with this girl.

81

Ashley

Seventy-five.

That’s how many days it’s been since Arsen first met me when I was still a stripper outside of Scorcher's. I don’t know if you remember, but that was the night that he got into my cab and got off at the Plaza. If he hadn’t taken the cab in that direction, I would have never gone through Times Square and gotten out to find Peter cheating on me. Peter would have never attacked me outside of the Simulated Pleasures offices, and I would have never had sex with Arsen, and King Henry would be all I would be thinking about.

Sixty-nine.

That’s the first time Henry called me. He was, and still is, referred to in the Simulated Pleasures databases as Client 5, but to me he’s King Henry. This job was never supposed to be a permanent operation. It was supposed to be like stripping. Something I do to tide me over for money until I start putting my Art History degree from Yale to use. Lately, I’ve come up with a newer plan that you may not like. That plan is to have as much phone sex with Henry and as much real sex with Arsen as possible, because I won’t be able to hang on to both forever. That much is clear. I have to come clean to one of them.

Sixty-two thousand three hundred and ninety one.

Otherwise known as $62,391. That’s how many dollars Client 5 has been billed in the last month. Charges start at $9.99 a minute and out of that $62,391, I’m getting big bonuses, that’s for sure. Just from Client 5. Who I’m starting to fall in love with. When I’m not feeling guilty because I'm also falling in love with Arsen. The only positive about all of this is that I’m making more money for less effort now than what I was doing at the strip club. It gives me more time to go to the gym, start paying off student loans, and start laying the foundation for my future. But every time I get a call that shows Client 5, my future comes crashing down. Every time I see Arsen, along with the excitement comes the crushing guilt at how this is all going to end.

One hundred.

That's how many times I've cum in the last seventy-five times Arsen and I have had sex. And it keeps getting crazier and crazier. It’s like a drug. I can’t get enough. Every time I have him, I cum. And every time I start to normalize, the first thing I want is more. I would be fine if you took away food, water, and sleep from me, as long as you left Arsen and his cock. We’ve done it in every room and surface of his apartment and mine. He’s taken me in public—not just near Southwest New York, but other areas as well. One afternoon we went for a walk in Central Park. I was teasing him about his shirt. He ended up slapping my rear playfully. I was wearing yoga pants and I could feel the slap of his hand on my rear cheek. It reminded me of when Henry had me slap my own rear. Arsen saw the look on my face and I brought my hand to his crotch and felt his cock thicken in my hand. We ended up having sex on a bench, hoping that no one would discover us. A week later, I gave Arsen a blowjob in a taxicab coming back from dinner. The next morning he returned the favor and used his fingers to hit my G-spot enough times in a come hither motion that he brought me to a giant orgasm underneath the table of Le Cirque. I’m not lying when I say I’m addicted to sex with Arsen. I would shuck myself on his cock all day if I could. The only thing that would draw me away would be having to take a phone call from King Henry.

Forty-two.

That’s how many times Henry's made me cum. If I have to be honest, I never thought that working as a phone sex operator would mean I would be having regular orgasms. In fact, I think most people would agree with me when I say that I was pretty convinced I would have to up my faking game. I mean, it was already pretty good—remember, my last job was at a strip club, but still, over the phone people can tell when you’re not into something based on your voice. But every time he calls, my heart starts to beat faster. I pick up and hear his confident, commanding voice asking me what I’m wearing. Then he tells me what he wants me to do to that will please him. In that moment, I exist for his pleasure. To service him. He owns me. After he’s done with me, my mind stays in a fog of lust and confusion for several hours afterward. I can still go about my day, but it’s as if I’m sleepwalking. Because the day feels empty without the large presence of Henry in my heart.

Five.

That’s how many times I’ve tried to tell Arsen that I love another person in addition to him. But I can't do it. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I haven't even told Arsen that I love him, so we’re a long ways away from me telling him I love two people. And I can’t honestly say I love him when my soul aches for someone else as well. I know I’m going to have to choose one day. Never mind how crazy it sounds that I’m giving myself to someone I haven’t ever seen. Whose only interaction with me has been through his voice over a phone sex line. I can tell that King Henry—Client 5, feels the same way about me, from the snippets that he tells me of his family or of him growing up. The sighs I hear when we talk. Even the silences are things that I pay attention to. With Arsen, his very presence is stimulation enough. And I have so much more with him. I can see him. I can touch him. Taste him. The impact he has on me is spread out over so many senses. Henry's impact is just based on what I can hear.

One.

That’s how many other people know about my dilemma. Remember Yasmine? From Scorcher's? Figures that she should be the one I go to with all my troubles. But believe it or not, ever since I left, she and I have been getting close. We meet up for coffee or go to yoga together now on a regular basis. I’m happy to spend time with her because she understands the problems I’m facing.

“I think you need to tell Arsen what’s going on,” Yasmine advises me one afternoon after yoga. I had come to yoga after an appointment with Client 5 where I literally shook and convulsed as my fingers on my clit brought me to a mind-numbing orgasm. “You can’t keep going on like this. You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“I know,” I agree with her. “But it’s already been so long I don't know how I get out of the hole I’m already in.”

“The longer you stay silent, the deeper that hole gets to climb out from though, babe,” Yasmine says and I know she’s right.

The only problem isn’t sitting with Arsen or Henry. It’s sitting with me.

Twelve.

That’s how many hours ago I texted Arsen, telling him that I needed to see him. He seemed okay and we made plans to meet at the Central Park Boathouse.

I got there before him and ordered a dirty martini from the bar in the Main Lounge, looking at the Lake in Central Park as it surrounded the veranda of the Boathouse outside.

I’m sitting here now, as I see Arsen approach. He must have entered the park from the 81st Street entrance to the Park. I can hear a piano from the far corner of the Lounge and I wonder if this will be the last time that we have together at the Boathouse.

Arsen comes up to me and comes over to kiss me but I shy away. He takes a step back and looks at me with concern.

“What's going on?” Arsen asks, and I wonder if he can imagine what I’m about to tell him.

My Dad always says to rip a band-aid off as quickly as you can instead of prolonging the misery. And if I’m going to do this, I might as well get it over with. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Then I look at Arsen.

“I love you,” I say to him, and look at his eyes.

To say that there is surprise going through them is an understatement. What he doesn't understand is why I look so sick.

“Well, Ash, I lo…” I don’t let Arsen finish because I don't want him to say something that he’s going to have to take away so I interrupt him.

“But I also think I’m falling in love with someone else,” I say. I pause to give him a moment.

“Oh,” Arsen says after a moment. “Well, idiot.”

Despite myself I allow a brief smile. It wouldn’t be Arsen without an F-bomb.

“Who is it?” Arsen asks. “Anyone I know?”

I close my eyes and sigh to myself. This is the hard part.

“I don’t think so,” I say to him. “It’s going to sound silly Arsen, but it’s someone I work with.”

“But you work as a phone-“ Arsen starts but then lowers his voice. “As a phone sex operator. You don't work with anyone except for the people that call you.”

I look at him, hoping he understands. After a moment of matching my gaze, it dawns on him. “Oh,” he says. “You’re falling for a person that’s calling you?”

I nod. A single tear starts to form in my right eye.

“I’ve been talking to him for some time now and he’s single too,” I say, rushing the words out. “He lives in New York City also and he’s in real estate.”

Arsen looks at me like I just slapped him with a glove. His eyes are stricken. I can't imagine what he must be going through right now. How betrayed he must be feeling. I take a sip of my drink.

“Does he go by the name of King Henry?” Arsen asks.

What the heck?

I don't think neither of us notice as my martini glass drops to the floor.

82

Arsen

“Does he go by the name King Henry?” I ask with a smirk and Ashley freezes in time. It’s like her muscles seize up, and not the good kind of seizing like when I make her cum. This is the bad kind, as if she's having a stroke.

The martini glass falls to the ground, the olives from her drink rolling toward my shoe. I’m vaguely aware of the elderly couple next to us at the bar turning to look at us.

“Oh my goodness,” Ashley whispers. Whisper is a strong word actually. It’s more like she croaks it out, like her mouth has just gone dry. Her skin is starting to look pale and I can see her eyes widen and narrow, as if she’s trying to figure something out.

“You…you’re…” but she stops and doesn’t finish.

I nod my head at her, hoping it’ll calm her down. “King Henry,” I say to her trying to smile but wondering if I’m smirking instead. “Thought it was an appropriate name, don’t you…”

I don’t get a chance to respond because her hand reaches out at the speed of light and slaps my cheek. I wince. I wasn’t expecting that; that’s for sure.

I taste a tiny trickle of blood on my lip and I can tell that the immediate people around us are all staring now. The people beyond them are pretending they don't know what's going on but trying to look anyways. Harass ‘em all, anyways.

“You mongrel,” Ashley says. Her voice is cold, low, and gravelly.

I’m about to say something but she doesn't even care anymore because she just turns around and walks away, clutching her purse.

I look at the bartender who comes by to serve drinks and I look at the olive that rolled close to my shoe.

I don’t know what the heck has gotten into me, but I bend over and grab the olive and the glass and hand it to the bartender. He nods to me.

Phoo. This is insane. I need to go after her.

I race out of the Boathouse and scan the surrounding area looking for Ashley.

She’s not hard to miss. Cute girl, shoulder length blonde hair, curvy body, fantastic rear. Dressed to kill in a black casual dress with a pair of black heels that are making it difficult for her to storm off across the up and down sidewalk of Central Park.

I run toward her.

“Ashley!” I yell to her, hoping she sees me, and stops. She doesn't. A few passers by stop and look at me as I race past them, but I don’t have any more idiots to give no matter what they do. “Ashley, stop and listen to me.”

“Stay away from me, you jerk!” Ashley shouts and stops walking. But instead of turning toward me, I see her pause and take off her heels. She’s going to want to walk fast and she’s getting ready.

But by then I’ve caught up to her.

Hey, give me some credit here, okay? I may drink and idiot all night long, but I have a body made of steel. Genes that are blessed. I used to play football in high school and college and I still got the moves. Of course I could keep up with Ashley. But there’s a fine line between having her say no and it being cute and then forcing my presence on her. And I never, ever, ever, do that.

“Just let me explain,” I say to her, trying to buy some time.

“There’s nothing to explain, Arsen,” she says, still not looking back at me. “This whole thing was a big joke to you. You’re a sick, perverted creep.”

“No I’m not, Ashley,” I reply as I match her stride. She’s walking toward the gates to the park on 72nd and 5th. Idiot, she’s going to hop into a cab or a bus from there and I won't be able to do a blasted thing about it. I can’t force her to stay. “Just let me explain. I love you.”

Well that gets her to stop all right.

And why wouldn't it? I’ve never, ever, said it to another girl before. I’ve never felt it for another girl. I’ve never even contemplated anything remotely close to it with another woman. The very thought of falling in love with someone three months ago would have me getting on a plane and getting as far away from her as possible.

But now? Now, I’m standing there like a kid, watching Ashley turn around and stare at me.

“I love you, Ashley Lane,” I tell her, not sure why I’m so nervous all of a sudden.

Ashley smiles for a moment, and that’s when I know I’m messed.

“You love me?” she asks and takes a step forward on the balls of her feet. “That’s why for basically the entire time you knew me, you pretended to be someone else?”

“I didn’t pretend to be someone else!” I yell, but she answers right back and I can see the fire in her eyes.

“You pretended to be someone on the phone that wasn't the same you in real life, Arsen!” Ashley yells. “Sure when you were with me you were Arsen Hawke. But then how many times did I hurry out of your apartment to go to work? How many times did you ask me what I did when you knew the answer?”

“I never lied to you about anything…” I begin but she cuts me off and for a moment I think she’s going to slap me again.

“You didn’t lie to me?” Ashley asks with a note of incredulity in her voice. “Arsen I fell in love with you on the phone and you know how much it was tearing me up every time you and I were together to think how I could be falling in love with you at the same time?”

For once, I’m silent. Her words have silenced me.

“You want to know what it’s like to go through what I did for the last month?” she asks me. “You want to know what I feel like standing here in front of you after the things you had me do on the phone?”

Idiot. In all of this, I forgot how crazy we had gotten.

“You had me call you King! You told me not to…touch myself on the phone. You did things with me that were private and so intimate for me and it was a big joke for you!” Ashley yells as her face turns red. “You must have gotten quite a laugh, huh?”

“I never thought about it as a joke,” I say slowly and she looks at me. “I only called your line because you wouldn't see me. Because you wanted to stay away after our first night.”

“You know what?” Ashley asks me, but I can tell it's rhetorical. “I should have listened to myself that day. I shouldn’t have texted you back. I should have just gotten myself off and not thought of you at all. I wouldn’t feel so deceived and humiliated right now.”

I take a step close to her. “Don’t feel humiliated, babe…” I begin but she looks at me and I see her face contort.

“Stay the heck away from me, you creep!” she yells. “You lied to me! You had a million chances to tell me. You had to wait until I told you I loved you to spit it back at me. To laugh in my face. Well, Arsen Hawke, or King Henry, from now on, you’re just Client 5 to me, okay. Some loser who has to pay per the minute to get off.”

She turns away and walks toward 5th Avenue. The sun’s going down and it’s reflecting off the condos and co-ops lining the street across the Park.

“Ashley…” I call out, wondering if I should keep going after her. But she answers the question for me.

“Stay the heck away, Arsen, or I’m screaming rape,” she says. She pauses for a minute and I think she’s going to turn around. As long as I can keep her talking.

“By the way, just in case you were wondering,” she says, still with her back turned to me. “I quit. I’d rather starve than work for you one more day.”

I watch her walk to the sidewalk and I swear to you it feels like someone just shot a hole at the bottom of my heart. I’ve never ever felt like this before. But you want to know what the worst part it?

It’s the feeling that I get because I know I deserve this. That all my trash has come back to haunt me. That it made me a cocky, arrogant, and selfish jerk that didn't realize there was anything wrong with what I did. And it hurt the one person in the world I wanted to hold and protect. The one person in the world I love.

I watch as Ashley crosses the street and jumps into a cab. I don’t know if I’m imagining her looking at me as the cab drives away. The windows to the cab are rolled up so it’s hard to tell, but within a few seconds the cab is gone and it doesn’t matter anymore.

I walk to the sidewalk, where Ashley had passed by just a few moments ago. People walk by me, into the park, out of the park, going uptown, going downtown, all caught up in their lives. I see girls walking dogs, a hot dog vendor packing up for the evening, a kid crossing the street with a kite. Everyone going about their business, in their own little worlds, not realizing that mine has just been blown to perdition.

New York City. The loneliest big city in the world.

Serves me right.

83

Ashley

I bite into the honey almond croissant, wiping a few flaky pastry bits from my lips. I watch as Yasmine sips her medium roast coffee. She ordered a chocolate croissant, which is an indulgence for her, and instead of biting into it, she's eyeing it suspiciously. She's one of those women who refuses to eat anything with sugar and butter 99% of the time in fear her rear will start ballooning out, but come on, we're both having brunch at Balthazar—one of those places where it's as if you've been transported to Montmartre at the turn of the century, yet it's still 2016, and it's still SoHo. In other words, you don't skip the pastries at this place. Besides, Yasmine had the body of a Victoria's Secret Angel from a young age, and she still maintains it. One pastry isn't going to do her in.

"You're lucky you weren't at the club last night," she says. "Some guy tried to pick me up like a bowling ball right on the stage. I lost my trash—like, really lost it, Ash."

"What happened?" I ask, my eyes going wide. And then I do a double take. “And what were you even doing on stage? You’re a house mom!”

Yasmine laughs.

“Just because I’m 35 doesn’t mean that I can’t dance from time to time, baby,” she says with an arched eyebrow. “Besides it makes me feel sexy.”

Oh wow. Now this is just what I need to get my mind off of missing Arsen.

“Feel sexy, Yasmine?” I ask, and lean in. “Who is he? Don’t tell me it’s one of the bouncers again!”

Again, Yasmine laughs and takes a sip of her champagne.

“Hardly,” she says. “And I can’t tell you. Call it attorney-client confidentiality.”

“So, he’s a lawyer?” I ask. She just smiles at me and stays silent. After a moment, I move on. “So what happened to the guy who tried to pick you up literally?”

"I hit him. Repeatedly. And then the bouncers showed up and asked me what was going on. I had to recount the whole thing to them, and they asked me if I hit him open palmed—like a slap—or close fisted. Do I look like I'd slap someone?"

I watch as she balls her fist in reenactment. She has a point. Despite her small size, she's got a hard exterior. Cross her or her dancers, and she’ll come after you with the power of a MAC truck.

"No, you're right. I could picture you close fisting that jerk."

"It's like letting a dog piss in the middle of your living room, you know? Sure, I could've let the bouncer take care of him, but then he'd never learn. He'd do it again to some other girl, in some other club, and the cycle would never end."

"I guess you've got a point."

"I swear I need to get out of that place. The money's good, except on Mondays. Can you believe I danced for a solid 45 minutes and only made $25 on Monday? If that were a Friday night, I'd have made $500. My family keeps asking me when I'm going to get a real job—they know what I do, but they pretend like they don't. It's always awkward."

I nod my head in agreement. I can understand where she's coming from. I couldn't even tell my family about it. They still think I'm serving coffee somewhere while I try finding a place to put my Art History degree from Yale to use. But let's be real—serving coffee won't pay NYC rents.

"Anyways, enough about me," she continues. "You're lucky you got out when you did. It was a smart move. Sit in bed all day at talk dirty on the phone. I’m glad one of my girls got out."

"I'm not so sure," I say, shaking my head and looking down at the last bits of my pastry. I don't even want to look Yasmine in the eyes, in fear she'll recognize something in me that I haven't even admitted to myself.

"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you were doing great at Simulated Pleasures? Aren't you one of the highest grossing operators?"

"I am, but it's complicated."

"How complicated can it be? You take a call, act as part seductress and part therapist for as long as possible, and get them off. Voila!"

"It's been a crazy last couple of days."

"So what—you have some crazy stalker now calling at all hours of the night? Keep him on the line and rack up those minutes, girl."

"It's not a stalker. I'm falling for one of my clients."

"You can't be serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

"Rule number one, never fall for a client, especially not over the phone! Ashley, come on! He can be anyone. You don't know him at all. You've never even seen the guy. He could be an ex-con with a tattooed face for all you know."

"Actually, you're wrong. I do know who he is, and that's the problem."

I watch as she chokes on her champagne. "Now you've lost me. I don't understand."

"Do you remember Arsen from Scorcher's? Intensely blue eyes, hot body, and billion dollar playboy?"

"THE Arsen Hawke? Sure. I mean, who could forget a guy like that? So, where's this going?"

"Well, last night I found out that Arsen is the client. He's the same person. But he's been hiding that from me for weeks. For countless calls, he's been calling my direct phone sex line and masquerading as a 'King Henry.' We were having the most mind-blowing phone sex. I mean, I was supposed to be getting him off, and yet, there he was, making me come so hard every time. It was like he could read my mind. I couldn't get him out of my head. But as this was all happening, I was meeting up with Arsen—dinner, drinks, sex, and I found myself falling in love with him. But then I started pulling away from Arsen when I realized I was falling for a man on the other end of my phone too. It all became so emotionally confusing. It didn't feel right to be falling in love with two separate people."

"Wait a minute. You're in love with Arsen Hawke?" Yasmine asks, eyes wide in disbelief, and seemingly ignoring a good majority of my story.

I nod my head but before I can respond she says, "You and ever other girl in New York City! Come on Ashley, he's the biggest playboy in this city!"

"That's the thing. I think he loves me too—at least that's what he'd said. I've really fallen for him… well, until a few nights ago anyways. Now I don't know what to think."

"What happened last night?" she asks.

I stare off at the happy couples brunching, smiling, drinking their $6 orange juices, as I recall the events of the Boathouse. "That's when everything came crashing to the surface like some horrific car accident. He admitted to me that he was the man calling into my sex line. He said it so casually, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. I can still hear him ask me, 'is it King Henry?' and right as those words left his mouth, it felt like my entire world was shattering. I knew he wasn't lying—he couldn't have possibly known about that caller any other way—and it felt like everything I'd known was a lie."

Yasmine takes a sip of her champagne and pushes her croissant around her plate a bit with the tips of her fake, neon-pink nails. "I don't know… it just sounds so weird, don't you think? The whole notion that you can fall in love with someone just over the phone."

"I don't want to sound cheesy, but until last night, nothing felt weird at all—it all felt like fate, Yas."

"Fine, fine," she says, throwing in the towel to her argument. "So what's the problem? You're being an idiot. That's what I think. Go get Mr. Perfect. You loved him on the phone, and you loved him in real life."

"How can you say that? You make it sound so easy. I was lied to, remember? He knew all along what he was doing."

"You're over reacting. I get that it hurts to be lied to—I mean, that'd piss me off too, but the bottom line is you're in love with the same person. You pulled away from Arsen after you slept with him, and it's obvious that he was just trying to find another way to get close to you."

"I don't know… it still feels so… wrong. I said things… did things… that were so personal on the phone."

“Listen, Ashley baby,” Yasmine says. “I’ve known Arsen Hawke a lot longer than you. And let me tell you that before he met you, that man knew how to tear trash up.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say to Yasmine resignedly. “I know I could make him happy though.”

“You did from the moment he met you, now that I’m remembering that far back,” Yasmine says.

That stops me up short. I look at her and lean in closer.

“What are you talking about, Yas?” I ask.

She’s silent. I wait. She looks at me. Finally she sighs. “Alright, fine,” she says. “You know that Arsen’s dad used to own the club before he died. He started the whole empire.”

I nod to Yasmine. Arsen has told me all this.

“Well, Arsen used to come in and harass the girls if they wanted a ride, you know? Kind of like a welcome committee. Not all of them, and not every time. But he’s been known to wet his whistle with a Scorcher’s girl quite a few times,” Yasmine says. What she’s saying isn’t a secret. I used to hear girls talk about Arsen in the dressing rooms. About his body. His appetites. His giant cock. “But what you don’t know is that the night you left early, like a week later he came back.”

Now I’m curious as Yasmine continues. “Comes in and I think oh, maybe it’s time for me to finally take big boy for a ride, and I’m flirting with him.”

I wince as I think about Yasmine sharing the same man that I love but she continues. “Idiot completely shot me down,” she says. “Instead asks me if I knew where that pretty blonde haired girl with a nice belly and hot rear and blue eyes went. I told him she didn’t work at Scorcher’s no more. That I sent her over to work at Simulated Pleasures.”

I freeze. Arsen had seen me at the club. And he had been looking for me. He had singled me out. And he had wanted me.

“Guy didn’t even touch one hair on all this,” she says, using her hands to gesture to her body. “I was ready to suck his cock right there on the main floor too – it was one of those nights. But alls he wanted was you, babe. Haven’t seen him inside the club since.”

“He just wanted me…” I say to her softly, but I’m speaking more to myself.

“Since the moment he met you, girlfriend. So I’d go a bit easy on him,” Yasmine says, finally taking a bite out of her chocolate croissant. "If anything, Arsen was trying to protect you."

"How's that?" I ask.

"Well, he sold his company in chunks to the Russian mob. I'm sure he was trying to protect you for as long as he could. They probably would have pressured you for sex or something to keep working there."

Her words stun me. What if that's true? Could that be it? Was Arsen just trying to keep me safe and protected?

I ask, "How do you know all this?"

"I have my ways."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She thinks for a moment, as if she's not sure whether to say anything or not, but then continues, "Do you remember that slightly old lawyer who always hangs around Mr. Arsen Hawke?"

"Vaguely," I say, thinking of the times I’ve seen him on the video conference screen or he’s come by Arsen’s One57 apartment. ‘Gerard?”

"Well, he's the lawyer Arsen uses for everything, including selling the pieces of his company to the Russian mob. And he’s held out selling Simulated Pleasures as long as he can because he’s worried about how the mob is going to treat the girls that work there."

"How do you know that?"

"Let's just say I've seen him—both inside… and outside of the club."

"No—you two are having an affair?"

Yasmine motions her fingers over lips, as if she's zipping them shut.

"Fine, don't tell me," I say. But as soon as I say it, I realize that I may have everything wrong—yet again. If Yasmine is right, then Arsen hasn’t just loved me. He’s protected me. And all I’ve done is to repay him with scorn.

84

Arsen

I look out the window of the limo as it's drives down 8th Avenue toward my club, a hopping spot named Climax. It’s on 31st Street and 8th Avenue and I can see that the line to the club goes nearly one city block.

Goodness, I think. I'm making money hand over fist on this club. But that’ll be for only another month. Because in 30 days, the ownership of Climax will transfer over to Mozorov. And this will be his club.

“We’re going to crush it tonight!” my friend Jonathan says next to me and I look over. We've known each other since college. Same fraternity. One of my closest friends. But it takes effort for me to smile tonight.

It’s been three days since Ashley decided to say goodbye to me and never look back. Or has it been more? I don’t even know anymore.

I know that she’s not working at the agency; Simulated Pleasures received a formal letter of resignation from her a few days ago. Her line has been silent. She must have blocked my phone number because she doesn’t answer calls, it doesn’t go to voicemail, and she doesn’t answer texts. I can’t find her on Facebook. And no answer comes from my emails.

So like any good friend, when Jonathan saw the misery I was in during our racquetball game, he decided to gather three of our closest friends and go out on the town.

Normally, this is something Arsen Hawke would be ready for in a heartbeat. To go out into New York City and tear it up. Get drunk and idiot women.

“You just need to phoo out of your system, man,” Jonathan says to me in the limo, bringing me back.

“You’re right,” I agree. “I’m going to phoo out of my system multiple times with as many jerks as I can find.”

I really hope he’s buying it because right now I’m just faking this whole dang thing.

We exit the limo and the five of us start drawing looks from the people who are standing in line to get into the club. They may vaguely recognize me; I’ve been photographed a few times, but they can’t place from where. Still, I look good tonight so its no surprise that they take out their phones and snap pictures in case I happen to be famous.

That’s right. They’re taking pictures of me as I walk to the entrance of the club.

Because I look good tonight, baby.

My 6 foot plus frame.

The way my jeans and shirt are untucked, with my shirt unbuttoned, showing off a part of my chest.

Everyone knows I have a cut body. But tonight, these hussies are just going to love running their hands along my chiseled 8-pack abs and ripped pecs on the dance floor.

I’m going to make them lick me on the dance floor.

I turn and smile and don’t stop the cameras at all.

If I was a jerk before Ashley and I’m miserable without her, well then, maybe it’s time to go back to what worked.

The people outside of the club are staring at me right now. They’re entranced. The way my shirt is tight around my ripped body, highlighting what needs to be highlighted. I know they can see the bulge in my pants, the 12 inches of thick cock that I have swinging between my legs. Ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice to harass the stray female of the herd that crosses my sights.

I know they’re staring at my face. At my strong jawline. My deep, soulful eyes.

So Ashley wants to leave me, she’s free to go. Doesn’t mean I have to mope.

I swagger to the entrance, completely aware that I own the club. But no one outside waiting in line knows that yet. Or if they do, they haven’t said anything.

Time to show them just how big a deal I am.

I glance at the bouncer and he gives me a nod.

“Welcome back, sir,” he says and I nod back, indicating to my four friends to come inside.

Inside the music is bumping and vibrating and I lead our way to the VIP area where a table is already waiting for us.

But in the time it takes to get there, Jonathan and our friends pick up a girl or two each, talking and spitting game out at the various ladies that we pass. They start with eyes for me, but once I pass, the friends swoop in and take over.

I shrug. This is just how the game is played. The jesters in the court get the King’s castoffs.

I look around me and see the women watching me. We’ve attracted a fair crowd of interest. These women are dressed as skanky as they can get.

Now, don’t worry. I haven’t gotten all prudish and all. I mean come on, I’m in love with a stripper or phone sex operator—however you want to call it.

But these girls, and there are five of them approaching me directly, are trying to dress themselves up so they can look like hookers or porn stars or something.

Because they think that’s what the guys out in the world want.

Well, I’ve messed porn stars and strippers. And I’ll tell you all I can think about right now is sitting on a couch cuddling with a romance movie on.

Goodness.

The gaggle of girls approach me.

Sure, I won’t lie. They’re cute. I won’t deny that. But they’re cute in a skanky way. Not in an Ashley way.

Idiot, I can tell I’m not in a good mood.

I need a drink.

I open the bottle of scotch at the table and pour some into a glass. I sigh as the girls sit down at the table. I lean back, seeing what they're going to say. It may be too much to hope for, but maybe someone will say something the same way Ashley did. When she used to talk, it used to make me think.

"Evening, ladies," I say, putting my arms back on the sofa. "I’m Arsen. What’s your name?"

"I'm Joanna," the blonde next to me on my right says with a smile.

"I'm Lauren," next to her.

"I'm Sarah," her friend says.

"I'm Deb," the one on my left chimes.

"I'm Carrie," the one next to her says. She doesn't hold back though. "I give good head."

Goodness. So much for small talk I guess.

I look around me. Jonathan is talking to some girl that’s sitting next to Sarah.

The other three friends have somehow gone off in their own direction.

I’m here by myself. Usually, not a problem.

But it gives me a chance to look around me. I mean, really look around me.

To girls who wear as little as possible and go out at night, hoping they find someone to go home with.

To guys looking for something cute to stick their toe into.

To people looking to drink and forget.

To others looking to just forget.

Too many people talking too loud, trying to drown out the silence.

I sound like I’m high right now or something, don’t I? Well, I’m not. Because it’s starting to make sense.

These aren’t bad people. Strippers aren’t bad people. Heck, hookers, phone sex workers, models, web cam girls, these aren’t bad people. The people who provide and the people who consume, these aren’t horrible evil people.

I mean, I remember my Dad started out by writing smut and selling it online. That grew. He didn’t stop. Sure, he was sexual. I mean, I still remember the day outside Starbucks. I was just about to talk to some random gorgeous girl—what little of her that I remember reminds me of Ashley—when I saw him with his two new girlfriends.

I remember we fought. That was the last time I saw my Dad. I traveled and stayed busy for the two months after that. And he died.

Because I was too proud to realize that Dad was making people happy.

We’re all lonely. And some of us are lucky to have that one person or group of people who complete us. Who make us realize that someone out of 6 billion people cares whether we’re alive or dead. It’s a basic foundation of being a human.

And that’s why we crave it. We read about it. We watch movies about it. We join Facebook to connect. Because as human beings, we want to connect on a deeper level than anything else.

Dad was providing one avenue for it. Sex.

Sure, there’s other ways. But I never realized how important that connection was because; up till Ashley I’ve been one of the most disconnected idiots on the planet.

All of a sudden I have to go.

"Where are you going?" Sarah asks.

"Gotta get something done, babe," I say, drawn into the conversation. “I need to see about a girl.”

"Can I come with you?" she asks.

And there it goes. Boom. Why would I take you home with me when I’m going to go look after a girl? After just meeting you? What kind of messed up alternate reality are you living in?

"No," I say, basically figuring a question like that only deserves a one word answer.

"Can I?" Deb asks, her face lighting up.

What the heck? She thinks because I didn't take her friend, she now has a better chance?

I sigh and take a large drink of my scotch.

"Do you want to mess me?" she asks me, batting her eyelashes.

At least Dee is a bit more reserved. She just brings her fist to her mouth and makes a blowjob motion, then smiles at me.

I know what you're going to say to me, okay? Not every girl is like this. There's some with great personalities. I know what you're going to say. Three months ago I would have told you that you were just trying to be nice.

But now, knowing what I know, I agree with you. Because I’ve met the girl for me.

And I’d rather die than give up on her and let her go without even trying.

“Goodbye, ladies,” I say and within seconds I’ve walked out of the club.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I meet Gerard at his house.

“Gerard,” I say, giving him a piece of paper that I hastily scrawled a note on in the back of the limo. “Can you make sure Ashley gets this letter?”

Gerard looks at me. It’s obvious he just woke up. I’m at his front door in the hallway on the 17th floor of his condo.

“You wrote a letter?” Gerard asks me. “By hand?”

I shrug. “She won’t take my calls or texts and won’t answer emails. And she won’t see me, so you know, next best thing is to pass a note.”

“Very well, sir,” Gerard says. “I know just how to get it delivered to Miss Ashley.”

I thank Gerard and walk to the elevator and then out the building.

Sure, it’s a shot in the dark. But somehow, I’m feeling good about this shot in the dark.

Now the ball is in her court. Let’s see how she plays.

85

Ashley

I won't lie when I say that I’m not surprised when the doorbell rings that Saturday morning. Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve been looking forward to but dreading this moment ever since I thought there was a chance that Arsen might show up.

I’m pretty sure he will show up. I mean most guys can’t hold out that long. And they break down and go show up, even if they say they’re not going to. That’s just the power that women have over them. Remember Peter? You remember, my ex-boyfriend who was cheating on me? Roughly 60,000 words ago? I didn’t answer his texts for a several days and what did he end up doing? Stalking me and attacking me outside the Simulated Pleasures office.

Now I don't think Arsen is going to attack me or anything. He may be a bad boy, and may be too tough and cocky and arrogant for his own good, and he may have lied to me in the most horrible way possible, but I somehow still know that underneath that tortured exterior is a good man. A solid man.

See what I mean now about looking forward to while dreading this moment at the same time?

The bell rings again and I go to the door. I’m dressed to kill, with a white short skirt that I know hugs my rear, a black silk t-shirt that accentuates my curves very nicely, beautiful pearl earrings, and white heels.

I’ve been dressing up like this every morning, on the off chance that I run into Arsen. It’s not a big deal. It’s just something I do to feel good about myself, okay?

What? Don’t look at me like that. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’m so completely horny right now, alright. If that’s what you’re thinking, I would appreciate you taking your mind out of the gutter. I’m a good girl. Really!

I don’t even bother looking through the peep hole but just open the door. I wonder if Arsen will be on his knees.

I open the door.

He’s not on his knees.

He’s not even here.

Instead, Yasmine from Scorcher's is standing there, and I’m guessing she’s just gotten off work.

I know Scorcher's will have Last Call at 3:30 am, and then officially turn the lights on and close at 4 am. Getting the people out of the VIP Room and private booths can take as long as 4:30 am. Cleanup and tipping out of the club probably takes Yasmine till 5:30 am. If she doesn’t go home with any of the guys, she’ll probably get breakfast, which will take her to 7:30 am. And then she must have taken a cab over here.

I’m usually up and changed by 7:30 am nowadays too, so it must have worked out perfectly.

What?

If you’re wondering, yes, I’ve become an early rise ever since I walked away from Arsen and his alter-ego King Henry and quit working at Simulated Pleasures.

I think it has to do with the fact that I’m not…you know, getting messed. At least that’s what Arsen would say if he were here. And I’d scowl at him and he would smirk at me.

Stop it!

“You’re thinking about your man?” Yasmine asks me standing at the entrance to my door. She’s wearing surprisingly modest clothes—skinny jeans and a tank top with a fur lined jacket. She’s got her Louis Vuitton bag, and her gold hoop earrings, but that’s the only level of ostentatiousness that she’s displaying today. She could be a typical New Yorker from below 14th Street with that outfit. I back up and let her into the apartment. She comes in and promptly drops her bag on the floor and stretches out on the couch.

“Here,” she says, pulling an envelope out of her bra and handing it to me. “Your man asked me to give this to you. Says you won't take his calls, that you’ve blocked his number and his email from reaching you.”

It’s true. I’ve blocked all aspect of Arsen from contacting me. The rational part of my brain says I did it to not have to deal with someone who deceived me so cruelly. But the reptilian part of my brain is telling me it’s because I wanted him to come to me. Apparently I didn't figure he could go through my friends to reach me.

I take the letter and against my better judgment start reading it. It’s only a few lines, scrawled in the confident, collected hand of Arsen Hawke.

“He gave it to Gerard last night to give to me,” Yasmine says yawning on the sofa and kicking off her boots. “Told him to tell me to give it to you. I told him it felt like high school, passing notes along in recess, but you know how guys get.”

I’m reading it.

And it takes everything I have to not cry.

I try to compose my thoughts, but my brain is going a mile a minute. My heart is beating even faster.

I pull open my laptop sitting on the dinner table and open the spreadsheet. Call it a habit, but I kept track of every minute I spent on the phone. I do some rough calculations and all of a sudden it makes sense to me.

Everything makes sense.

“Yasmine,” I call out. “I need to go see your man.”

“Whaaaa….” Yasmine drawls and I can tell she’s falling asleep.

“Where is Arsen’s lawyer?” I ask. “Where’s Gerard?”

“He’s usually playing racquetball in the mornings…I think,” Yasmine says in a whisper. “New York Health and Racquet Club.”

I thank her and get my coat as well as the letter that Arsen wrote me.

By the time I’m out the door, I can hear the soft breaths coming from Yasmine as she falls into sleep.

* * *

The New York Health and Racquet Club is located on 51st Street Between Park and Madison Avenues. It’s also one of those old boys clubs that doesn’t allow women. So I wait.

Around 8 am, I see the front desk man point to Arsen’s lawyer as he emerges from the interior of the club and approaches me.

“Can I help you, Ashley?” Gerard asks.

I take a deep breath. We’ve never actually formally spoken. Sure, Arsen’s mentioned Gerard in almost every other conversation and I’ve seen him around and been in his presence numerous times. He even saw me almost naked during a video conference after our first night being together. But we’ve never directly spoken.

Now, however, we have cause to.

I hold up the letter Arsen sent me.

“Do you know what’s in this?” I ask.

Gerard looks at the letter and then he looks at me. “I do not, but I can only assume it’s Arsen trying to give an explanation of his behavior.”

“Let me read it to you,” I say and I pull open the letter. Gerard takes my arm and takes me over to a sofa so I can sit down.

I clear my breath and begin. “Dear Ashley,” I start and look over at him. He gives me a look and I smile and keep going.

“The last few days without you have been terrible,” I read. I smile as I read and look over to Gerard. He’s shaking his head with a little bit of a smile too. He has a sense of humor it seems and all of a sudden I can see what someone like Yasmine finds attractive in this older, much more distinguished looking man.

“I gotta be honest. I went out to Pasha today hoping a nightclub with the boys would get my mind off things, but nothing is the same when you’re gone. I know it was messed up of me to make you call me King Henry and not tell you it was me you were talking to,” I continue reading and I see Gerard raise his eyebrow. That’s what I thought. I keep going. “The Russian mob has been after buying the company for as long as Dad’s been dead, because it’s one of the only profitable outfits in the region, but I know how these guys treat their employees. And I could never put you in that sort of danger. I could never let you work for them. I sold everything else but Simulated Pleasures and I I held onto it because you were there. But as I kept talking to you, I sort of realize now why Dad did what he did and why it was so successful. He was lonely. And by providing the things that he did, he helped other people out there in the world who were lonely find at least a little bit of temporary happiness. A small pleasure. Not a replacement, that’s for sure. But maybe a small escape. Maybe a chance to not have to think about real life. Because babe, real life without you is so boring, and it took talking to you on a pay-per-minute line for me to understand that. But you don’t want anything to do with me, so I’m letting you know that as long as you’ve quit, I’m going to sell Simulated Pleasures in the morning. Gonna sign the paperwork. So you never have to worry about me again. Just know that I love you.”

I fold the letter away and look at Gerard. He looks at me.

“It seems that Arsen has realized what drove his father at last,” Gerard says. “And it seems he has you to thank for it.”

I nod and smile. I never knew how much Arsen cared for me. I mean I guess I knew. But I never consciously acknowledged the fact. But there’s more to this mystery.

“Arsen mentioned something about this being the only profitable operation in the region?” I ask Gerard.

The elder lawyer nods. “That’s correct,” he says to me.

“What are they basing that on?” I ask.

“Well, it’s all very complicated, but usually they base any sort of company profitability on the prior quarter. That’s why companies report quarterly earnings…” He tries to continue but he’s just confirmed what I was thinking.

“Where is he, Gerard?” I ask. I have urgency in my voice.

“He should be getting into the office in around half an hour for a meeting at 9 am and then he should be meeting with Luca Giannoni to finalize the deal later on this evening at 5 pm at Del Frisco’s,” Gerard says.

I get up from where I’m sitting. “Are you supposed to be there?” I ask.

Gerard nods. “I should hope so,” he says with a smile. “Considering I have the paperwork.”

I smile and feel like hugging him. “Then let's go, Gerard. I’m coming with you tonight, but first I have something I need to get ready.”

Gerard looks questioningly at me as I beam brightly at him. “It’s time for the company to meet Misty with the silky voice.”

86

Arsen

To be quite honest, I’m actually a bit relieved that the Russian mob tries to affect gangster living based on what they see from The Godfather and such. I mean, we could be sitting at a Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach to sign these papers if they had suggested it instead of Del Frisco’s right in the heart of Times Square. I mean, what would they even serve at the Russian place if we had to schlep all the way over there? Borscht? Dumplings? I’m no Cossack, if I’m going to be doing a deal with the mob, let it be at least at a world famous steak house where they pour good wine.

We’re seated at a large table by the window, overlooking Broadway. Ever since the mayor turned Broadway into a 24/7 pedestrian zone, it’s gotten a lot weirder and crazier in Times Square. Ever walk by and see the women with just the body paint? The angry Elmo? The Naked Cowboy? Thankfully I don’t have to look at a naked cowboy as I decide what cut of meat I want to be putting in my mouth tonight.

Gerard is sitting next to me and Luca Giannoni and his employer, Dimitry Mozorov are sitting across from me. Mozorov is red-faced from the vodka he’s been drinking and with his dark suit with red tie and grey hair on his portly body he looks like a corporate Russian Santa Clause.

“Ever since Luca here told me about your late father’s empire, the Simulated Pleasures business is one that’s caught my eye,” Mozorov is saying with a thick Russian accent. “I’ve looked at the 90 day charts and I’m impressed at how this small operation has such high margins, Mr. Hawke. You should be commended.”

I take a sip of my scotch and laugh sardonically. Sure, I should be commended. For causing the love of my life to quit the job she was using to get on her feet and then selling it off to mobsters after she left. I’m a real saint.

“How about we wait until after dinner to sign the papers?” Gerard asks the table and I look at him with surprise. This is the same guy that several days ago was asking me why I was dragging my feet?

Mozorov shrugs. “Whether we eat first or eat later makes no difference to me,” he says, grinning and rubbing his hands together. “Tomorrow morning, we will be new owners of Simulated Pleasures and a new day will dawn for the callers.”

“What is it that you plan to do?” I ask, more out of morbid curiousity than anything else.

Mozorov looks at Giannoni and nods.

“Since it doesn’t matter much if we tell you now that you’re going to sell, we can be a bit more upfront with our plans,” the lawyer says. “We plan to cut the percentages that the operators make in half,” Giannoni says to me, taking a sip of his wine. “Then after a period of time, we play to make them salaried workers.”

“How do you know they’ll stay?” I ask.

“We plan to start them off with lucrative contracts that they agree to, with steep payments to the company if they decide to quit,” Mozorov answers for him. “It will work similar to the way your gentlemen’s clubs operate eventually, where we’ll just provide the infrastructure and expect them to pay us to use our services.”

“The operators will be responsible for advertising themselves and doing their own promotion, significantly lowering the total costs to the company,” Luca Giannoni says as he drains his wine. “And should the operators not be able to turn a profit for themselves, the only way they’ll get out will be through a sizable payment to the company to break their contract.”

They’re going to prey on the women doing the work. Not on the johns. But the women. Goodness.

But there’s nothing I can do, unless I pull out of this deal. I’ve effectively screwed over the entire company. I don't even know how many women are working as phone sex operators. I never cared. I just wanted to get rid of the operation so blindly that I never thought there was a human element to it.

I look over at Gerard. Somehow, despite the fact that what Luca Giannoni described as a form of employment extortion, he doesn't seem too troubled; it’s like the man has suddenly lost touch with his conscience. Doesn’t he care that while we eat beef tartare and drink wine we’re coming up with a deal that will screw over countless hardworking women all over the city?

“Is any of this legal?” I ask out, not caring anymore.

Mozorov shrugs. “Who cares,” he says with a shrug and a grin. “If we get in trouble we just cancel all the contracts and close up shop. Guaranteed by then we’ll have turned a tidy profit.”

Goodness. These organized crime people should start working on Wall Street if they haven’t already. They’re both snakes in the grass.

Sorry, I’m just in a awful mood. It’s like life has me by the balls and is squeezing as hard as it can.

I take a sip of my scotch and stare out the window.

“Actually, Mr. Mozorov, I don’t think you’ll be successful at what you’re proposing,” a voice says and I turn my head toward it.

What the heck! It can’t be.

All of us have turned to the angel standing in front of us, dressed in a tight white skirt and black top that shows off her belly. She’s made up to look like a doll and just seeing her makes my cock twitch in my pants. She extends her arm toward Mozorov.

“Ashley Lane, formerly of Simulated Pleasures,” she says to Mozorov. “May I sit down?”

Hand it to Mozorov, he rolls with the punches and takes Ashley’s hand and gently brings it to his lips. “Pleasure to meet you, young lady,” he says as Gerard rushes out of his chair and ushers her in to sit next to me. Gerard gets another chair and sits down. And did I just see a look pass by between him and Ashley? But they’ve never talked before, so it couldn’t matter.

Ashley turns to me. “How’ve you been, Arsen?” she asks me.

I give her my cockiest, smirkiest smile, trying to act cool.

“That good, huh?” Ashley asks sarcastically. Idiot, she’s here to bust my balls too, I guess.

But out of nowhere, she reaches over and takes my hand in hers. I look down to see this and when I look back at her, she’s smiling.

But it doesn’t last. She turns toward Luca Giannoni and Mozorov and begins to speak.

“Gentlemen, I know you’re wondering what I’m doing here in the first place,” she says and smiles at them. They can’t help but grin like dirty old men looking at her. “And the truth is I needed to tell you something that if I didn't would probably mean you would be buying this company without all the facts.”

Now both men are interested. They lean in.

“The fact of the matter is, that I started work at Simulated Pleasures about three months ago,” Ashley says. “I used to be a dancer at Scorcher's, but I wanted something where I didn’t have to take off my clothes. And before you say anything, yes I went to college. But I got a degree in Art History.”

“Ah, that makes a lot of sense,” Gerard says and Ashley gives him a look of annoyance at his subtle put down of her degree. I can’t help but crack a smile.

“At the same time, I met Arsen maybe a few days before I started working at the company,” she says.

Both men nod, waiting for her to continue.

“Here’s something you don’t know about the two of us,” Ashley says and leans in as if telling them a secret. “Arsen used to call in and talk to me on the pay-per-minute line.”

Mozorov doesn’t understand. “Why couldn't he just call you directly?” he asks.

Ashley shakes her head. “He didn't want me to know it was him,” she says. “And I didn’t. I knew him as King Henry. And he hid his identity from me.”

Mozorov looks at me. “Why would you do something like that?”

I shrug. “She didn't want to date a bad boy at the time and I wanted to harass her,” I say, wondering if he’ll understand. “When at first she wouldn't give me the time of day, it’s the only thing I could think of to still talk to her. It just kind of took on a life of its own, I guess.

The Russian gangster stares at me for a second. Then he nods. “I guess kind of sweet, no?” he asks Ashley, turning to her.

“At first I was mad that he lied to me,” Ashley admits and then pauses to look at me. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realize it was just another side of him that I was falling in love with.”

Now it's my turn to freeze. Is this really happening?

“And while it took me a while to make peace with it, gentlemen, the thing you have to understand is that the time Arsen spoke to me added to my totals. And so the program automatically sent me more people to talk to because it thought I was that good—able to keep people on the line for a long time. And I was so hot from talking to him, maybe I was actually able to keep people paying.”

“So…all the profitability that we see, is because of the two of you?” Luca Giannoni asks, starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Ashley nods and I jump in, ready to make the final sale.

“Maybe it’s not 100% me and Ash,” I say to Luca, “But the fact that I’m calling specifically for her and I don’t care how much it costs me is causing the computer to send more clients to her.”

“And I have so many regulars now, gentlemen, that if I were to leave the company, it would start being unprofitable fast,” Ashley interjects.

“That’s actually true,” I tell the two men. “After Ashley quit when she found out, the company began a stretch of negative revenue days that hasn’t picked up yet.

“And just to let you know, I’m not coming back if Arsen sells Simulated Pleasures to you,” Ashley finishes off. She turns to me and looks me in the eyes. “I think it should stay with him. Something that maybe we can build together.”

“So without this girl, we’d be buying a money-losing venture?” Mozorov asks Luca. His lawyer only nods.

Mozorov turns to me and looks me in the eyes. “Is there any way you can see yourself forgiving me for getting out of this deal, Mr. Hawke?”

And there you go. The tables have turned.

I lean back, taking Ashley’s hand in mine. Her eyes are on me. They’re filled with love.

Gerard is looking at me as well. His eyes are filled with admiration.

Luca and Mozorov are looking at me, their eyes filled with hope. That I have mercy in my soul.

I look across the table.

“I think if you can pay for dinner, we can call it a day,” I say with a smirk.

“Done,” Mozorov says, raising his glass and holding it out.

“Deal,” I say raising my scotch glass. We clink and drink.

I turn to Ashley. I don’t even care that there are people around me as I look into her eyes.

“Ash,” I say. “I’m sorry…”

But she doesn’t let me finish. Instead she places her index finger over my lips. She holds it there for a second, and then gives me a smile.

I can’t help it at this point. I reach over and bring her face closer, drawing her in for a kiss.

When we come up for air, the people around the table are smiling.

And the world has been made whole again.

87

Ashley

Happy endings… They are real. Forget everything you have ever read about the cold harsh world where no happiness can be found: it’s all trash. If you know where to look, it’s there, waiting for you. Sure, it doesn’t show up on your doorstep with a bow wrapped around it, but it exists. If I found happiness—and love—why can’t you and everyone else?

It started when Arsen Hawke entered my life out of nowhere, hijacking my taxi. And now here we are, checking in at the Hilton, barely able to keep our hands off of each other. We left the restaurant in a hurry, all thoughts of business vanishing the moment our lips touched—all that mattered was the heat in our bodies, the incessant desire that wrapped itself around both of us. Our minds and bodies burning, there was little else we could do than leave Del Frisco's and head straight for the closest hotel; lucky for us, all it took was a short stroll to the other side of the street.

“I love you so much,” Arsen says, stopping right in front of the door to our room. “You can’t imagine how much, Ash.” I smile, taking one step forward and pressing my body against his. I look into his eyes, resting one hand on his face and leaning in for a gentle kiss.

“I know… And I also know how much,” I tell him, whispering each word. “Because I feel exactly the same. I’m sorry it took me this long.” Before I can say anything else, he presses his finger over my lips, just like I did to him before.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re here now, just the two of us.”

“Yes, just the two of us,” I repeat, licking my lips unconsciously as the same thought crosses our minds. Grinning, Arsen turns to the door and slides the magnetic key across its slit, turning the handle and walking inside the room. I follow after him, closing the door behind me. Still smiling, I walk past him, making an enormous effort to not jump on him right away. I want to do this right, after all. It’s time for us to be able to enter an apartment or a room and get past the hallway.

I sit on the edge of the bed, my eyes locking on his. He comes over to me, going down on one knee as he holds my chin between his thumb and index finger. My heart is racing, lust and love mixing into one dangerous combination. This time there are no worries, no consequences to consider… Arsen and I, we’re finally one.

I rest my hands on his face and pull him in, my eyelids drooping as I lean in toward him. Our lips touch slowly, our mouths fitting as if they were matching pieces of the same set. We barely move; we just stand still, our slightly parted lips brushing against one another while we let reality sink in. This is really happening and I’m not even talking about the sex right now.

“Forever, Ash,” he whispers, his lips leaving mine. “I’m yours forever.” There’s a smile on his face, one full of tenderness and grace.

“Promise me that,” I whisper back at him, pressing my forehead against his as I take a deep breath.

“I promise you, Ash. Forever,” he says, his fingers once again under my chin. He makes me look up at him, his smile slowly turning into a grin. “But you know what that means, don’t you?” He continues, my heart beating faster as the tone of his voice changes. “It means that you’re also mine… Mine to do as I please.”

“I wouldn’t want it another way,” I tell him with a grin of my own. I hesitate, but then I say something that crosses my mind, something that reminds me of the hours I spent on the phone with him. “Sir.”

“Good girl.” His grin widens and he goes up to his feet, his crotch right in front of my face. I can’t help but notice the bulging there, the contour of his cock calling to me. Looking up at him, I slowly raise my arm and let my fingers fall on his crotch. I press slightly, feeling his thick cock with the palm of my hand. It’s almost insane to think that this cock right here is now mine… Only mine. Yes, this is my life now, getting to harass the perfect guy with the perfect cock for the rest of my days.

I curl my fingers around his thick shape, my eyes never leaving his as I start stroking him over the fabric of his dress pants. Flicking my wrist softly, I move my hand back and forth, his fingers threading through my hair as the atmosphere around becomes heavier.

“I never wanted to mess anyone as bad as I want to forget you right now,” he says, his fingers turning into hooks and wrapping themselves around long locks of hair. I gasp as I feel his fingertips running over my scalp, and then he yanks on my hair, forcing my head back.

“What are you waiting for, then?” I shoot back at him, my heart pounding violently as I anticipate what’s to come. “I’m right here. Yours to handle, yours to do whatever you want to.”

“Is that so?” He asks mockingly, still keeping my head in place. I grab his cock hard, my fingers wrapped tight around it as his shaft pulses.

“That’s exactly so. I’m yours, sir,” I purr at him, my voice sounding as if I were Misty once again. Something wild and dangerous flickers in his eyes, and I lick my lips lewdly, wanting him to unleash all that wildness upon my body.

Letting go of my hair, he places his hand over my right shoulder and pushes me harshly; I fall back, my body bouncing on top of the mattress as he climbs on the bed. I barely have enough time to blink as he slides his fingers up my leg and under my skirt, flattening the palm of his hand against my pussy. He presses hard, my thong sticking against my folds as I realize that I’m as wet as the Pacific. Thankfully, the way he’s pressing me on my pussy tells me something that I desperately want—this time there’ll be no teasing. This time, there’ll no working toward a climax because the whole thing is going to be one giant relentless climax.

“Are you ready? Moan, scream, come. You know that’s what’s going to happen,” Arsen tells me, pressing his body on top of mine as he starts to rub my pussy. I swallow in dry, licking my lips as I open my mouth to speak. No words leave my lips, though, and I only let out a small croak.

I exhale sharply as he takes his hand out, only to slide it to my thigh and grab my thong. He pulls it down my legs, and I lift my legs up as he takes it off of me. Looking me in the eyes, he takes the thong to his face and breathes in my scent before throwing it to the floor.

“Delicious,” he tells me with a grin, his hand once again sliding to between my legs and finding my wet folds. “I want to taste more of that,” he continues, brushing his fingers up and down my labia. He starts to circle my clitoris with his index finger, tracing a path around it and then pressing down as I arch my back, my body fully knowing that I won’t leave this room before I’m utterly and completely spent.

I start to move my hips, lifting my rear up from the mattress as I push my pussy against his hand. He reacts by letting go of my clit—turning his wrist around, he hurriedly slides his index and middle finger inside of me. Moving both fingers back and forth, he guides his free hand to my waist, sliding it under my blouse and making the hike up to my breasts; his fingers curl around my right breast and he starts to pull on the cup of my bra. As my hard nipple pops out, he grabs it in a heartbeat, caressing and pressing it between his fingers.

My hands move as if they have a consciousness of their own, and I grab my blouse by the hemline. Sitting up awkwardly, I pull it over my head and throw it to the side, Arsen’s eyes honing on my chest’s naked skin. Before I can lie back again, his hand goes to my back and he unclasps my bra with a masterful flick of his fingers, pushing the straps down my shoulders. Biting my lower lip, I push the bra down my arms, letting it fall on the bed as Arsen’s hand cups my breasts eagerly, moving from one to the other, his fingers squeezing my fleshy curves harshly.

“We’re just warming up,” he tells me as he starts fingering me harder, flicking his wrist so fast that I already feel my insides start to clench.

“I love to warm up,” I grin at him, once again biting on my lip as I slide one hand down my stomach and press on my clit with two fingers. I start to rub myself as he fingers me, electricity pooling in my muscles.

My eyes start to close as I feel all that electricity aching to be set free, and my fingers move even faster over my clit. Feeling me near to pleasure’s peak, Arsen slides his fingers deeper in me, hooking them upward and pressing against my G-spot. I arch my back, my own fingers flying over my clit as sparks of ecstasy explode inside of me. I breathe out deeply, a quivering moan tumbling out of my lips the moment I open my mouth.

“Oh goodness…” I whisper, Arsen’s fingers starting to move once more. He doesn’t let me recover from my first orgasm, but by now I’m already used to it - besides, why would I want to rest? Even though we now have the rest of our lives to explore each others bodies, I don’t want to waste one single minute.

I reach for his crotch again, my hand massaging his cock before I focus on his belt; I unbuckle it as fast as I can and then I unbutton his pants, my brain trying hard to focus on the task at hand. The moment the last button comes undone his cock pushes against my hand, tenting his boxer briefs; I just hook my fingers on his underwear, pushing both his pants and boxers down to his knees. He kicks off his shoes in a hurry and I do the rest, pushing all the fabric down his legs and onto the floor.

I grin wildly, his fingers never easing up. Wanting to see his naked body in all its glory, I reach for the collar of his shirt and I start unbuttoning it as fast as I can, my eyes hungrily travelling down his chest as it comes into sight. It doesn’t take long for me to be entranced by his rock hard abs, each muscle of his like a perfect monument to manhood.

My elbows on the mattress, I sit up on the bed and reach for his cock. I curl my fingers tightly around his shaft and I start to stroke it, matching the rhythm of his own fingers. I lean in, my lips parting as I move toward his cock; I want to feel him inside my mouth, his member pulsing against my tongue as it rolls over my lips. I’m almost there when he grabs me by the air, stopping me just one inch away from his glans.

“Who told you to do that?” He asks me with a smirk, slowly taking his fingers out of my pussy. “I didn’t tell you I wanted my sucked, did I?”

“No, sir,” I mutter, my eyes hesitantly going from his cock to his face. I know what he’s doing, and it’s driving me completely crazy. He knows that I want to feel him, so he’s just torturing me with pent-up anticipation.

“That’s right,” he grins, slightly easing the pressure of his fingers on my hair. I let my head go forward by instinct, and he just grabs me harshly again. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I… I can’t. I want it so much,” I tell him, licking my lips as I imagine my tongue running down his shaft. Goodness, I want to taste him so much.

“Then you’ll have t o wait. Because I want to taste you first.” He pushes me back on top of the mattress then, not saying one more word. His fingers on the hem of my skirt, he pushes it down my legs furiously, flinging it to some faraway corner of the room. He leans into me then, his hungry lips laying hurried kisses down my neck and into my breasts. Kissing the curve of my right breast, he sucks my nipple inside his mouth, twirling his tongue around it as he squeezes my other breast. He doesn’t linger there, though: in a few seconds he’s kissing down my stomach and over my navel, only stopping his descent when his lips find my wet folds.

My hands dart to his head, and this time I’m the one yanking on his hair. As I hold his head, I thrust upward, pressing my pussy against his mouth. He obliges to my desires willingly: opening his mouth as wide as possible, he sucks on my labia, running his tongue all over the length of my pussy. Up and down he goes, the pendulum motion of his tongue forcing me to close my eyes as my heart pounds against my eardrums. I sway my hips from side to side, rubbing my drenched pussy all over his face as he keeps licking me.

I gasp as he flicks his tongue against my clitoris, brushing two of his fingers over my labia. In the blink of an eye, he slides them inside me, curling them upwards until they meet my G-spot once again. He knows every secret little spot—in and out of my body—and he isn’t afraid to go after them.

My hands run through his hair as he devours me, his tongue lapping at my clitoris so intensely my muscles start to burn, the hellfire of pleasure waking up inside of me. The flames of ecstasy rage harder as he places his hands on the back of my knees and forces my legs up, angling them so that he can ravage my pussy completely, it doesn’t take long for my muscles to start twitching menacingly. I’m going to come again, and it’s going to happen soon.

My fingers are like thorns on his hair but he doesn’t complain: he just sucks as hard as possible, keeping his fingers pressed tightly against my G-spot. I grit my teeth and breath out through them, my muscles tensing up and down in a fraction of a second. I close my eyes and moan, thrusting as hard as I can against his mouth while a violent orgasm rages through me, endorphins overloading my nerve endings.

“I want you… in my mouth,” I manage to say, looking down at Arsen. He’s still between my thighs, holding my legs up. “I want you in my mouth,” I repeat as he lowers my legs, his eyes never leaving mine. Slowly, he pulls back from my pussy, my juices dripping down his chin.

“How bad do you want it? How bad do you want my cock inside that little mouth of yours, Ash?” He’s getting up now, climbing up on top of me. With each of his knees by my side, he kneels over me, grabbing his cock and pointing it toward my mouth; it’s just a few inches away so I crane my neck, trying to reach for it.

“Bad. I want it bad,” I mutter. Taking pity on me, he brushes his glans against my lips, moving it from side to side as I open my mouth slightly. Patiently, he allows his shaft to slide inside of me, the salty taste of his precum flooding me. With his hands on my hair once again, he guides the movements of my head, making me go back and forth over his throbbing member. I keep doing it until the muscles in my neck start to hurt, and then he takes the lead: keeping my head in place he starts to thrust, his shaft going in and out of me at a breakneck speed. I moan as he idiots my mouth, the sound of it travelling up my throat and vibrating through his cock.

Then, no warning at all, he stops and pulls his cock out of my mouth. Without a word, he rolls to the side and lays his back on the mattress.

“Let’s make this more interesting,” he says, that contagious grin of his making my pulse quicken. He doesn’t even need to explain, I just know what he wants me to do. Moving fast, I sit up and turn around, my rear to him; I open my legs and move toward him, placing my knees on the side of his head. I ease myself down, his mouth once more on my pussy as I lean forward, grabbing his cock by the root. Pointing his shaft upward, I open my mouth and let it roll over my lips.

My hips are being guided by unconscious desire, the strings of sinful pleasure working me like a puppet. I rub my pussy against his mouth as I suck on him, and we pleasure each other like that for heaven knows how long, the notion of time just an abstract concept now. Seconds stretch into minutes, and minutes seem like a whole eternity - all that matters right now is the way he’s pushing his tongue past my labia, and the way his thickness pulses against my tongue. I could say that there’s nothing better than having in my mouth, but I just can’t ignore the fact that it feels much better when it’s buried deep inside my pussy.

Riding his face, I only stop when my pussy starts to tighten up, waves of pleasure crash against the edges of my mind and, before I know it, I’m coming again. We haven’t even started and I’m already coming for the third time. If the Olympics of Sex were a thing, Arsen and I would be gold medalists; I have no doubt about it.

I pull his cock out of my mouth, a deep moan bouncing off the walls the moment his tip pops out. My eyes roll in their orbits, static electricity running under my skin as every single muscle in my body twitches and trembles.

Sighing deeply, I roll to the side, my arms sprawled as I lay on the mattress by his side. I look at him, grinning, and press my mouth against his; he pushes his tongue past my lips and I taste my pussy’s juices in him, their flavor giving me renewed energy. I bite my lower lip and sit up on the bed, once again climbing on top of him. Straddling him, I point his cock toward my pussy and ease myself down; but before I can guide his length home, he grabs me by the waist, stopping me from doing it.

“No,” he says sternly, an expression of mischievousness on his face. “You didn’t beg for it…” He teases me, holding me tightly. I try to fight against his hold, but it’s useless. There’s no way I’m going to feel his cock on me unless he hears me begging.

“Please, Arsen. Please,” I whisper, still trying to ease myself down on him.

“That doesn’t sound very sincere, Ash. Try harder,” he says with a grin, not letting go.

“Please, please. I need you to mess me… I need to feel your cock inside of me. I’ll do anything.” The words fall out from my lips easily, each one of them brimming with true desperation.

“That’s more like it,” he smiles, taking his hands out of my waist. I go down immediately, his cock burying itself in me to the hilt as a shrill scream leaves my lips. Gosh, there’s truly no better thing in the world than having a cock like Arsen’s straining against my inner walls, his veiny shaft ramming me hard.

When all his cock is inside of me I start to sway my hips, rocking my body back and forth as I lean forward and place my hands over his chest. I curl my fingers, my fingernails digging into his chest, but he doesn't’ even register it; he simply bucks his hips at me, forcing me to stop moving as his thrusts grow harder and more violent. I just close my eyes and surrender to him, letting him idiot me with the ferocity of a man that demands nothing less than the whole world.

“Oh goodness,” I sigh, his shaft burning its way through my pussy. Pleasure stabs at my mind, poking holes in it as my hormones get thrown into disarray. My pussy tightens around his cock like a murderous vice and I claw at his chest, coming so hard I half-expect my heart to simply burst.

I’m still trying to catch my breath when he sits up, his cock still in me. His eyes lock on mine, and leaning forward, he whispers into my ear.

“It’s time we get started.” His words make my heart feel tight inside my chest, the anxiety of anticipation washing over me. Get started? What does he mean by that? Goodness, I’ve already came four times and only now is he talking about getting started?

He cuts my line of questioning short, placing his hands on my rear and going up on his feet. Moving fast, I lace my legs on his lower back, my arms going over his shoulders. He takes one step forward and pins me against the wall, immediately starting to trust as fast as he can. His cock pierces me so violently that our bodies are rocking back and forth against the wall, my back hitting it and making a loud hollow sound with each of his thrusts. The paintings on the wall start to waggle, threatening to crash on the floor, but we’re way past caring, in fact, we go even harder. One of the paintings crashes onto the floor, the glass shattering with a sudden loud sound; a few heartbeats after that, the second painting comes down, the glass miraculously surviving this time.

With a lustful growl Arsen starts kissing my neck and, pulling away from the wall and still holding me, takes two steps toward the small table on the corner of the room. With just one hand on my rear he uses the other one to throw everything on top of the table to the floor. A lamp, the phone, a bunch of newspapers, you name it—it all comes crashing down in an instant. The tabletop clear, he sits me on the edge, his rhythm building up again.

We kiss, our tongues wrestling against one another as we let desire consume us. We’re tearing the whole place apart and I’m screaming my head off. I start wondering if everyone on this floor can hear the ruckus we’re causing and, as a response, the phone Arsen just threw on the floor starts to ring. He simply ignores it, working his cock into me with the fury of an insatiable man. The annoying sound of the phone fills the whole room for what seems like an eternity, and I pull back from Arsen’s kiss, looking him in the eyes and then nodding at the phone.

Sighing, he slowly pulls his cock out of me and bends over, picking the phone from the floor. He presses the green button and takes it to his ear, his eyes still locked on mine.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Hawke,” starts the voice on the other sound of the line, an hint of hesitation in it. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, everything’s perfect. Thank you. But I’m busy right now so --”

“Well, sir, that’s exactly why I’m calling your room. I’m sorry for disturbing you but I guess that, uh, you being busy is somewhat noticeable. We have been getting some calls from our other clients and they’re… Well, they’re complaining about the noise, sir.”

“Noise? What noise?” Arsen asks, smirking at me.

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing, sir,” the man obviously lies, trying his best to be professional while making sure his rich troublemaker client doesn’t get offended. “Just… Uh, make sure you don’t make too much noise.”

“Sure, thank you,” Arsen responds, ready to throw the phone on the ground again.

“Uh. And have fun, sir,” the man finally adds, this time his voice with an edge of genuinity to it, if not a bit of jealousy as well.

Arsen ends the call and winks at me devilishly.

“He’s right, you know? We’re going to have fun.” No more words from him, he pushes his cock inside my pussy again, thrusting furiously as if we had never stopped. He pounds me mercilessly, my hands running up and down his back until I finally place them over his firm buttocks, urging him to keep up the rhythm. And that’s exactly what he does; he keeps the pace until my moans turn into an all-out scream, all the “keep quiet” admonishments from the hotel manager long forgotten. Who cares about a little noise when I’m having the time of my life right now?

I scream so hard my throat burns, my mind exploding as I come. My hands run erratically all over his body as a violent shiver goes up my spine, the pleasure of climax infecting even my soul.

“More,” I pant, my body still reeling from the orgasm. Arsen pulls his cock out of me, and moving as fast as my buckling knees allow me to, I climb down from the table and move up to the wall, turning my back to Arsen and placing both my hands at shoulder-height. I jut my rear back and not a second after he smacks my buttocks hard with the back of his hand. He does it again and again, my rear cheeks burning. Well, this is going to leave a mark.

Arsen grabs me by the waist and, with one simple thrust, he starts me again, pistoning into me as if we only had minutes to live. I move my hips back against him, trying to match his rhythm; even though it’s impossible to do so, this time I don’t quit. I do my best to keep moving, my rear slapping against his thighs as the sound of flesh on flesh blends with my moans.

“Don’t stop…” I mutter. I can’t even hear myself say it, the sound of our bodies collapsing against one another drowning out the sound of my voice. “DON’T STOP!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Arsen doesn’t need my directions, but it just feels good to say it out loud. “Don’t stop,” I repeat a third time, the words only a whisper now. But it’s all it takes for me to come again, the fires of torture racing through my veins as they scorch every single one of my nerve endings.

Even though I’m coming my brains out, I keep pushing my hips back at him, eager to drive him to the edge of insanity. Maybe it’s the way I’m screaming, or maybe it has to do with how I keep thrusting back at him, but Arsen’s cock starts to spasm violently inside of me almost immediately.

“Cum inside of me,” I hear myself saying, his member pulsing with a vengeance as it sprays my insides with his warm cum. I stop moving now, allowing him to empty his whole load - it takes forever, his cock spasming and throbbing as an endless fountain of semen fills me up to the brim. His juices start dripping down my thighs, thick strands of it going down my legs. And still he keeps going.

I grit my teeth and move as fast as I can, taking his cock out of me and turning toward him as thick strands of cum fly everywhere. I go down to my knees in the blink of an eye, grabbing his cock and aiming it at my face - just a few seconds after that and my face is coated in his fluids, thick ropes of it on my tongue and lips. I jerk him off, moving my hand back and forth as I drain of every single drop he holds inside of him.

His spasms dying down, I slowly peel my fingers off of his cock. I lean forward, reaching for his shaft with my tongue and licking it dry as I lock eyes with him. When I’m done, he joins me on the floor, kneeling in front of me; he places his hands on my chest, smearing his cum all over me as he squeezes my belly hard. His hands slide over my soaked body easily, his own semen acting as lubricant.

“This, everyday. For the rest of our lives,” he tells me, his expression one of love and wickedness. “That’s what I want.”

“No,” I tell him, struggling to get the words out as my lungs work hard to get the air in. “That’s what I want.”

“And that’s exactly what you’ll have,” he responds, leaning toward me and laying his lips on mine. I brush my tongue against his lips, and he sucks it eagerly, cleaning it of the cum that covers it.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Arsen.”

“You better.”

This right here… This is perfection. Happiness. And if I can have it, anyone can. Just make sure that if you want to go on a quest for a perfect man to stay away from Arsen Hawke… This man right here is mine, just mine. And I’m just his. And that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.

Happy endings—oh, yes, they are very real.

88

Epilogue - Ashley

“Hi, I’m Tricia Loomis with Good Morning Manhattan, and today I’m at the company headquarters of Hawkelane Media Inc. where we catch up with two of New York City’s most dynamic and successful couples, Arsen and Ashley Hawke,” the news reporter says, standing in the center of the product display room.

Is it me, or is she being slightly condescending?

I’m in the product display room today of Hawkelane Media because Arsen and I are being interviewed by the television show Good Morning Manhattan regarding the runaway success of a revamped adult entertainment company.

Oh right, I may have forgotten to explain, this is one year after that evening at Del Frisco’s. In case you were wondering, my showing up actually was for the best. That’s right. I didn’t come in and ruin everything.

Actually, Mr. Mozorov couldn’t have been more understanding about it. Once he understood that Simulated Pleasures was only profitable because of me, and that I was going away, he lost complete interest in the phone sex outfit. When he realized that a majority of the profits had been created because Arsen was calling me, he also began to shy away from the industry in general. But through it all he was a very charismatic and friendly old Russian man. It was kind of surreal actually, one moment listening to him as to how he was going to bankrupt hundreds of women into sexual slavery and the next moment hearing him tell us stories of his growing up in St. Petersburg during the age of Perestroika.

But that was a year ago. Arsen and I were together. And back then, that was all that mattered. Its all that matters today, too. After that night where we were reunited, there was seriously at least a month or two where I wanted to be by his side every minute of the day. We had sex like five times a day until both of us were worn out.

But once that period ended, Arsen looked at me one day as we lay in bed after having a marvelous afternoon lovemaking session. I was still breathing heavily with my face nestled on his chest when I felt him play with my hair and move my head slightly so he could look me in the eyes.

“What do you think I should do with the last piece of Dad’s legacy?” he asked.

I looked hard at him. “Well, have your reasons for selling it changed?”

Arsen shrugged at me. “I used to feel that there was something wrong with openly hawking this stuff and that’s why Mom wasn’t around, even if she was dead,” he said. “But I get it now that this brings happiness to people’s lives. With my MBA, I could easily make Dad’s operation viable again,” he said.

I propped myself up on an elbow and looked at him. This is the man that I had fallen in love with. “And with my Art History degree, I could handle most of the creative branding,” I told him.

“You wouldn’t want to work the lines?” he asked me with a smirk.

I used my free hand to tickle him. He squirmed, and I moved lower. Without realizing it, my free hand grabbed onto his cock, and I began to squeeze it.

Within minutes, the idea of a reborn Hawke Media Group was being consummated quite noisily on that bed.

* * *

“Mr. Hawke, your company has really blazed a trail forward in bringing adult oriented entertainment even more mainstream than it has ever been. Many people call you a visionary. Others call you a smut peddler like your father with fancier technology. What are your comments to them?” the reporter asks Arsen as the news camera points to him. I’m standing to the side, content to let Arsen take the interview.

But he doesn’t listen to my directions.

“I couldn’t have done it without the help of my wife, Ashley,” he says, gesturing towards me. I gasp as the news camera swivels and takes a picture of me. “She’s the one that had the idea for a FaceTime app for our services, a Skype app, and a Facebook Live daily feed. She’s really harnessed social media.”

“Mrs. Hawke, any comments?” Tricia the reporter asks, looking at me. She’s looking triumphant. I don’t understand why she wants to make us uncomfortable.

I’m frozen. I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot.

It’s true though on some level. Every time we had brainstorming sessions for what to do next, Arsen could execute like nothing else, but he came to rely on me for ideas. But I need to be honest, if it weren’t for his questioning, I would have never have gotten the juices flowing to come up with the idea. And before you start snickering, that’s mental juices, okay? Oh my goodness, talk about mind in the gutter.

“It’s more of a back and forth between Arsen and I that results in some of the ideas that we have coming to me,” I tell the camera sweetly, belying my thumping heart at being on television for millions. “If he weren’t asking the right questions, I wouldn’t be coming up with the ideas.”

“How did you come up with the idea to partner with Oculus Rift to provide on-demand virtual reality re-enactments of popular romance e-books?” Tricia asks.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Arsen says and the camera swivels back to him. “We were in the shower together, and having some fun, when I said everyone should be so lucky to have someone so good at…” Arsen trails off as he realizes just what he’s done. Tricia has a wide smile on her face, with a gotcha grin. Arsen’s just embarrassed himself on live television. This is what reporters live for.

But not if I can help it.

Taking a deep breath and summoning every last bit of courage I have, I take several steps over to my husband. The man I married six months ago in a wedding that the New York Journal called ‘the Social Event of the Year’.

I wrap my arm around Arsen’s and take my hand and move his face over to mine. He looks at me, and I smile at him. He see’s into my soul through my eyes – and I think he realizes that together, nothing can stop us.

That’s when I look to the camera.

“Arsen and I were having sex in the shower,” I say without any trace of embarrassment and I see Tricia the reporter gasp. “He was me so good doggiestyle, when he said to me that if everyone had someone like me in their lives who could idiot so good then a lot of the problems in the world would be solved.”

“Uh-uhm, right…” Tricia says, starting to visibly sweat.

“That’s when I pulled out and got on my knees and began to suck him off,” I say to Tricia, making sure to look her directly in the eyes. “And I started saying what if we had a movie that went along with a dirty book. And then what if we could somehow take the step of creating that world one step further for people. And that’s how Naughty Realities was born. From shower sex.”

Tricia is visibly sweating. She didn’t expect me to get this raw. It’s only 8 am on the East Coast. People are still getting up.

“Although,” I say sweetly, giving the reporter a break. “If there’s anyone else in this world we rely on more than anything else, it’s Arsen’s lawyer and his beautiful wife and my good friend, Yasmine.”

Gerard and Yasmine smile from where they’re seated at the couch. They’ve just been married a month ago. It shows in how close they sit and the fact that they can’t stop touching one another.

The interview continues for a little bit longer, mainly with Gerard and Arsen answering questions on the business end. How the proliferation of high-tech phone sex has created a new industry in America. How readily accessible virtual erotic encounters have literally taken the fight out of ISIS when used successfully. And how the future looks for Hawkelane Media.

“Things are looking up,” Arsen says, looking at me as he smiles.

I look down. There’s a tent beginning to form in his trousers. I smile. Looking up indeed.

Within minutes, the interview closes and Tricia and her cameraman are out the door. Gerard and Yasmine follow soon after.

Arsen and I eventually make our way to his office, where he closes the door as I pull myself into him and kiss him.

I can feel my breasts mash against his hard body. I can feel his hands squeeze my rear and I gasp as a finger travels lightly over the opening to my pussy.

Unfortunately, I’m going to have to leave you here. Don’t worry, I’m not kicking you out. You haven’t seen enough yet. There’s plenty more to come. Don’t you ever worry about that.

There’s always more to cum.

Client 5 over, on to Man Chaser!

We round out with a copy of Man Chaser by Alexis Angel!

Normally offered for 2.99, given now for free!

Then…

A copy of Fiona Vs. Football Player by Mona Cox.

Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an extended epilogue!

Our goal in this is simple.

To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us closer together we feel.

Thank you so much for reading!

xoxo

Alexis and Lana

Man Chaser: A Secret Baby Dark Romance

Man Chaser: A Secret Baby Dark Romance

She says she’s a Man Chaser. Well…they call me a Woman Tamer. Let’s see who wins, shall we?

Don’t worry. You read that line above just right. I tame women. Show them who’s boss.
One night with Ethan Kane and these 8-pack abs, chiseled body and 12-inches of lust muscle hanging between my legs and they’ll do anything I dang well tell them to.
So when Brittney tries to infiltrate my company to steal from me...when I see her trying to seduce me with her gorgeous curvy body and beautiful face...I know what I’m up against.
And I’m not worried. At all.
She thinks she can just shake that body and get me to roll over for her like a dog.
She doesn’t realize that it’s going to be her that ends up on her knees as I tell her to beg.
And when that happens, there’s only one question left to ask myself ...
How badly does she need to be taught a lesson?

*** Come chase men with this exciting new standalone romance! No cliffhangers or cheating, but it’s a scorcher with super-steamy scenes that you’ve come to expect from Alexis Angel. Happily Ever After? Always, babe ***

89

Ethan

UNNGGH!

That’s the sound that Carla is making as I harass the living daylights out of her. I raise my face to a nasty sneer and bring up a hand and slap her rear. Not hard enough to make her yelp, but just hard enough to make her yelp as well as moan.

“That’s right, you like how I’m you, baby?” I ask her crudely, holding onto her hips as I harass her doggie style. I’ve got her bent over a couch and all around us looks like your average upper middle-class suburban home. Some crocheting work in the corner where the woman of the house sits. A copy of the New York Daily Journal near the Barcalounger. Giant 52” flat screen TV on the wall. Nice little fireplace going. Pictures of the family all over the place.

It’s so sweet it makes me sick. But that’s what makes this shot you’re watching so hot.

“Yes, oh my goodness, yes!” Carla yells out through clenched teeth as her pussy lips wrap themselves around my thick, hard shaft. You know the size by now, babe. Ain’t no way you’re gonna turn the page if I’m any smaller than 12 inches. Well, I have news for you. When I’m fully engorged, I’m closer to 12 and a half inches.

Think half an inch doesn’t make that much of a difference?

Watch this.

I pull back, bringing my tip near to the exit of Carla’s pussy and give her one second to catch her breath. Then I come out just a little. Enough for the big, bulbous head of my cock to exist half way. She’s whimpering. She knows what’s coming next.

And without another word, I push myself back in, in one swift stroke. She’s frothing at the lips and her groin wraps itself around me like a long lost lover. She’s shaking.

“Yes, what?” I sneer. She needs to say it, goddamit. I increase my strokes.

“Yes, Daddy, it’s so good!” she yells. “Please keep me!”

“You’ve wanted to mess me ever since your mother married me, haven’t you?” I ask her back, thrusting and groaning.

“Yes, Daddy. I’ve been a horny stepdaughter ever since I first saw you,” she moans. I don’t even think she knows what she’s saying anymore.

Now before you get all in a huff. Let me just tell you that we’re not related, okay? I want to make that clear.

Although, if you actually come within 40 feet of me, I don’t think you’d care one way or the other, babe. That’s because your clothes would already be in a heap on the ground. You’d be wiggling out of your panties and spreading your legs to entice me.

I’m serious. All it would seriously take is for me to be in the same 50-foot radius as you.

That’s not me being arrogant. That’s not me being a jerk. That’s just me telling you the facts. Because there’s only one thing that my 6’ 3” body, with it’s sculpted definition that would make the Greek God Apollo jealous, it’s hard-as-steel biceps, it’s broad shoulders, it’s massively defined pecs, it’s 8-pack abs, is going to do when unleashed on your body. There’s only one result when you look into my deep cobalt-blue eyes, rugged face with its strong jawline. There’s only one conclusion when you feel the strength of my muscles as they wrap around you, protect you, soothe you, and caress you. As every fiber in my body works together to forget you, only one thing will happen.

You will cum.

You’ll cum so hard you’ll probably black out. You’ll be in a sex haze for days. You won’t walk straight. You’ll have a deliciously sweet and good feeling of soreness that’ll make you wet just thinking about why you’re sore. You’ll lose track of time. You’ll be pushed into paradise. You’ll be in orbit.

Because you’ll never have had, or will have, another idiot like the one I’ll give you. I promise you that.

The thing is, I’ll have told you beforehand that while we idiot, you’re going to have to remember what I do to you—because afterwards, I’ll be out. Like a thief in the night. Sure, we’ll part ways amicably. But I’ll tell you this before I even touch you. You’ll be so desperate to get your hands on me you won’t even care at that point. You’ll say yes to anything. Idiot, you won’t even realize till you wait by the phone the next day, wondering dreamily of when I’m going to call you only to realize that I’m not.

And that’s when you’re gonna start getting clingy. That’s when you’re going to find out that we had fun, and we had some good memories, but all of a sudden you want more.

You want not just the body, but the soul of Ethan Kane. You want me waking up next to you in the morning. You want to go for walks along the beach with me. You want to move into my multi-million dollar One57 penthouse in the skies of New York City. You want the billionaire bad boy. But you want him all for yourself. Tamed.

Not gonna happen in this lifetime, babe. Sorry. But I will have already told you that. I’ll have given you my entire vision. Its not my fault you were too horny, dripping wet and ready to mess, to pay attention.

“Oh Daddy, idiot me harder,” Carla moans, and I oblige her. She’s not the cutest, but she’s got the face of a porn star, that’s for sure. She’s got a nice rear, and some solid belly. Definitely good for an afternoon idiot. Let’s put it like this, I got her bent over and she’s moaning my name, calling out to heaven in various languages as her pussy is contracting around my cock. I can tell she’s cumming and that she’s cumming hard. I can feel her body go limp, and I reach my hands over to hold her in place as I put in my last couple of thrusts.

Idiot, this is going to be a lot of cum. I can tell already. Not for anything that Carla’s doing. But because my balls are the size of tennis balls. I haven’t jerked off all day.

“Argh!” I roar savagely as I feel the beginnings of my orgasm build up. My nuts tighten up and a jolt of electricity is shooting from my cock all the way up my spine.

I pull out and rip the condom off in one smooth flourish. You can barely even see it and that’s the point. I turn Carla over with one arm and she turns willingly, a hungry look in her eye as she sinks down to her knees in front of my cock.

That’s right baby. Just like that. Come to Daddy.

Carla looks at me with eyes clouded by lust and opens her mouth wide. She sticks out her tongue and I can’t control myself anymore. Just the wild abandon in this woman. The sheer depravity of the situation is too much for me. Just how wrong it is. So taboo. So delicious.

I exhale and grunt as I cum.

Shivers of pleasure wrack my body as thick, white ropes of cum shoot out. It hits her face and chin before she repositions herself and gets the remaining shots directly on her tongue and mouth.

I groan lewdly as she brings her mouth over and wraps her lips around my head, giving me a final couple of sucks.

My eyes roll back.

And that's when I hear it.

“Cut!” the sharp call of the director.

I open my eyes.

Carla is on her feet. She looks to me as she wipes her mouth with a towel. “That was fantastic, Ethan,” she says to me. “Only, I wish we had a chance to do it in private.”

I shrug. What can I say? I’m a busy guy, and no way I’m going to make special time for an employee.

“Good luck with the rest of your shoots today, babe,” I tell her, and she smiles at me as I turn away.

Yeah, I know, you don’t need to tell me that she’s still looking. She’s staring at my naked rear. Wondering if there’s anything she can say.

“Ethan?” she calls out. Told you.

I turn around.

“You think that maybe….” Carla trails off because right at that moment my assistant, Cheryl walks up to me. I’m putting on my boxer briefs. But Cheryl doesn’t care. She’s seen everything already. And forget you, no, I’ve never harassed her. But she’s been there for me since I was a kid.

Before I inherited all this. Before Illicit Entertainment was a globe girdling media company.

“I see you still insist on doing these movies, Ethan,” Cheryl says in an exasperated voice as she barely pays Carla any mind. Carla stands around for another minute, but decides that being naked at this point in time as everyone moves around her is just silly.

“You didn’t get the head shots, right?” I ask Cheryl.

She shakes her head. “No, everything was caught from the neck down,” she confirms. “It’s ready for beta testing on the product. We can head to the developer meeting right after this.”

Cheryl turns and starts walking to the door. She expects me to follow.

Oh right. The product. Haven’t told you what that is, babe. But trust me, you’re going to love it.

But before you head on in, let me just give you a warning, okay?

You’ve seen what my monster cock can do.

There’s a lot more coming up. Seriously, either take your panties off now, or get ready for them to get drenched. And I’m talking wet enough that there’s no passing it off.

Make sure you’re by yourself. Get the batteries ready. Get the fan. Idiot. Do whatever.

Because you’re about to go for a ride that’s gonna rock your whole world.

Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, babe.

I turn around and slip my shirt on and follow Cheryl out of the studio.

90

Brittney

I check my face in my compact mirror one last time and get out of the car. I get a few looks from the people on the street—a door to a limo usually has the driver opening it, but no way I’m going to waste Walter’s time doing that right now. He absolutely has places to be and he needs to go focus on that. Besides, I’m a big girl. I’ve been a big girl for a while now.

I tug the sash around my trench coat and hold my head up. This is going to be easy. This is going to be fun.

My heels click and clack on the shiny marble floor as I walk into the global headquarters of Carter Jeffries—the storied investment bank. It’s located in midtown Manhattan, on 52nd and Park Avenue. I head straight to the security desk and look the overworked schmo in the eye.

“Brittney Roman to see Carl Ketchum,” I tell the security guard. I don’t pay any attention to the guy. I need to let him think that I think I’m too good for him. That I’m too busy looking at my phone, looking at my nails, doing anything.

I know how to pull it off. I’ve had to pull myself out of worse before. Heck, there’s not a day that doesn’t go by where I don’t look back at my life and wonder how I ended up here, owning my own company that's worth millions of dollars at the age of 27.

When just four years ago I was in Los Angeles and seriously wondering if I was going to be alive the next day. If it was better off to just die.

But no, I’m sorry hun; I need to focus. I’ll tell you all about it later, okay?

Right now, I need to smile perfunctorily at the guard as he scans my face and asks for my ID. I need to look to the side so he can stare at my profile in what he thinks is a sneaky manner.

I need to loosen my trench coat just a little bit to give him a peek down into my belly. That always works for men. Not much trouble getting them to say phoo with protocol and let me in if I show some boob. He doesn’t care if I’m not on the list. I’ve smiled and flirted and I even touched his hand an extra second longer when I gave him my ID. But then I went back to ignoring him.

I’m sure subconsciously he’s thinking if he makes this fast for me he's going to have some kind of shot when I come downstairs. Maybe I’ll go back with him to his studio apartment in the Bronx and suck his toe.

Too bad I don’t leave Manhattan. Or suck loser toe.

And that’s just what he is. A loser. Because two seconds later he does everything I told you he would. He hands me a temporary pass. “45th floor, Miss Roman,” he says to me and I nod sweetly. Let’s keep the hope alive. Without hope, we’re all dead anyways, right hun?

Oh, yeah, okay, fine. I’ll even shake my rear a bit side to side as I walk to the security turnstiles. Keep his stare for a bit longer.

The elevator ride takes seriously just under a minute. That’s because the elevator I get into serves only the first floor, and floors 40 to 50. I guess those investment and private equity bankers can’t wait, huh? They have to get to work at their desks screwing over the country as fast as they can.

I walk out of the elevators and enter the lobby of the 45th floor. This is the Private Client floor for Carter Jeffries—one department among dozens that operates as a company within a company.

The receptionist looks at me and smiles.

“Hi Brittney,” she says sweetly.

Jerk better be nice to me. She thinks I’m already the big boss.

But no, not yet.

I smile back. “Is he in?” I ask.

She nods. “I think he’s on a conference call,” she says to me.

I shrug and keep walking toward Carl’s door. The fact that he’s busy doesn't stop me. That’s never going to stop me.

I know you’re probably rolling your eyes at me, hun. I don’t blame you. I’m not behaving like a good little girl. Good girls don’t act and say the things I’m doing and saying. But that’s because I’m not a normal girl.

What am I?

Oh, you're in for a treat.

Because I’m a bad girl.

I don’t mean like the bad boys you’re reading about on your Kindle. I’m not filled up with tribal tattoos. I don’t turn into a dragon. I’m not part of some underground MMA club. I don’t play football on the field, and idiot off the field. I’m not your Domme.

No, I’m much, much worse.

I’m a girl who knows exactly what men want. I can make them give it to me. And then keep giving it to me. I use ‘em and lose ‘em. I don’t get tied down.

I idiot. Yeah, so what? That’s about as far as their bodies go. Then I move on.

Women want to be me. Men want me. And I play it all to my benefit.

Don’t believe me?

Watch and see.

I open the door and walk in. Carl is on the phone but he looks up with a start. He sees me, and his eyes show a momentary flash of annoyance.

He’s the head of the Private Client group. Each day, his group on this floor does billions of dollars worth of business. He’s personally worth about $250 million dollars.

This is a man that is as alpha as you can find. He works out. Has a nice cock. Commands the respect of men under him. He got to his position by being dominant and taking charge.

Yeah, that means nothing to me. The fact that he’s upset means nothing to me.

Because the moment I close the door and undo the sash on my trench coat and stand in front of him with a smirk, his look of annoyance turns into desire.

“Guys, I’m going to have to jump off this call today,” he says into his headset. “Sorry. Carry on and I’ll look through the notes tonight.”

I stand there in front of him, letting him admire me. I wasn’t wearing anything under that trench coat but a skimpy little thong and an itty bitty bra. It’s pink and lace. From La Perla. Only the best for this princess.

“Lauren, hold all my calls and meetings,” Carl says into the intercom and doesn’t wait for a response, but brings his eyes back to looking at me. I’m running my fingers over my boobs, licking my lips and taking a few steps over toward him.

“I went shopping today,” I tell him.

“Uh huh,” he says, not paying attention.

“Thought you might like to see what I bought,” I tell him as I turn around and bend over slightly, bringing my hand to my rear and rubbing my left rear cheek. “Do you like it?”

Carl nods. “Oh yeah, baby, I like it a lot.”

“Good,” I say turning back and walking around his desk to stand in front of him. My back is to the window and he’s facing me. “Because today is your lucky day, Mister.”

Carl should have more questions. He should be asking me why, today of all days, I’m getting on my knees and unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.

He should ask why it takes me only five seconds to fish out his cock and wrap my lips around it when all this time I’ve told him I’m a virgin.

That’s right. I’ve been telling him I’m a virgin. Saving myself for him.

Me. Can you believe it? Brittney White—the one time Princes of Porn. The toast of the San Fernando Valley. Courted by Wicked Pictures, Vivid Video, Naughty America, Brazzers, you name it. Who had to leave that business behind when…well, never mind.

Yeah, all I had to do was flash Carl some titties, let him feel my rear and he believes now that all virgins are as expert as sucking cock as I am right now.

This is why men are just so stupid. They can’t think when their cocks get hard. This is why I’m single. Because no man can tame me.

“Oh goodness, baby, that feels so good,” Carl moans, running his hands through my hair.

He’s got about 7 inches. Not bad. But not great either. Still, I’m not really looking to get off for the next part.

With a slurp and final suck, I take my mouth off his cock and use my hands to jerk him once or twice. He’s hard. He’s ready.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask, as I make my eyes smolder and get up, pulling down my thong and using one hand to rub my clit and the folds of my pussy, getting ready to take him.

He nods at me dumbly.

Idiot.

I swear to heaven.

I give him a sweet smile and climb onto his lap, positioning myself over him. I feel his tip against me, and I kiss him on the neck. I’m wearing lipstick and I’m trying to leave a mark on his neck. By the time I’m done, I’ll get some on his shirt collar too. Plus I'm wearing lots of perfume. His clothes will smell of me for sure.

I unzip a condom and unwrap it on Carl with all the skill that virgin girls should not possess. But Carl doesn’t notice.

Gritting my teeth I bring myself down and feel Carl enter me. He groans loudly.

Stupid.

His secretary is right outside. Does he think she doesn't know what we’re doing? He’s so disrespectful to her.

“Slow down, baby, or else you’ll make me cum soon,” he grunts. I speed up my thrusts, shucking myself on his pole.

I don’t know why I’m mad at him. I mean, I knew he wasn’t going to say no to me.

But maybe…I don't know. Maybe I hoped at the last minute he’d have a change of heart. That I’d be able to go back to his wife and tell her that her husband really isn’t a cheater, and that she hired me but I can’t get her the results she needed, and as per the policies of my company, Man Chasers LLC, here is a full refund.

Or maybe I hoped that at least he’d have the presence of mind when faced with free pussy to think, even. I mean, it’s bad enough you’re going to cheat, but your office window is open and there are no blinds. What would happen if someone were in the other building on a floor that's facing Carl’s office? What if they were looking through the glass, filming Carl and I? Filming as Carl grunted and bucked his hips as I began timing my thrusts faster and faster, kissing his neck in the process and using my hands to unbutton his shirt and rub his nipples?

It’s not a hypothetical question, babe, because that’s what Walter is doing right now. From his position that we scouted out a few days ago, he’s got a high definition camera trained on us. He’s filming us in crystal clear perfect video. The transceiver in my purse is on, and it’s giving him perfect audio.

“Oh, idiot, baby, you like that?” I ask, and I can feel Carl’s nuts tighten. He has no stamina at all.

In another three thrusts he groans and throws his head back and I can feel his cock spasm inside of me, as the condom gets warm.

I milk him with my pussy for another half a minute. Let him get some pleasure out of it. When I deliver this recording to his wife, it’s going to be all she needs to get out of the loveless marriage that she’s trapped in. She’s going to sue him for everything he has. He’ll probably go from Mr. Senior Managing Director in a Park Avenue condo to living in Bed-Stuy in a basement apartment. Most likely not so much sex happening then.

Oh well. He’s a guy. I don’t really have that many idiots to give.

***

“Make sure that Mrs. Ketchum is made aware where to transfer the money to, Walter,” I tell my trusty sidekick over the phone as I leave the offices of Carter Jeffries. Once the sex was complete, it’s all I could do to get the heck out of Carl’s office as soon as possible. Walter had what he needed, and I needed to get paid.

“We have a new commission too, if you’re interested,” Walter tells me in his off-English accent. He’s been with me since I left Los Angeles. He’s loyal and I trust him with my life. Think Alfred from Batman. He’s my Alfred.

“Fine, let’s vet them like normal,” I reply, wondering why Walter would bring up a commission without vetting them. He’s usually thorough.

“I tried, but the man was insistent,” Walter says over the phone. “Said he was going to talk to you now. He told me he’d pick you up outside the Carter Jeffries building.”

What the heck?

How does someone know where I am?

A guy? It couldn't be….no.

I’ll tell you about him later, hun, but I don’t think he would call Walter.

That’s when another limo pulls up. It squeals to a stop on 52nd Street, right next to where I’m standing on the sidewalk.

I’m a bit startled. A bit wary.

Is this the same guy who called Walter?

The door to the limo opens and I can’t see inside.

“Get in,” the voice says to me. That’s it. Just that command. “It’ll be worth your while.”

I sigh. But I’m not worried.

Men. If I can handle one, I can handle them all.

I get in and close the door as the limo speeds away.

Let’s see what kind of fun we get into today, shall we dear?

91

Ethan

“Watch out for the sludge,” Cheryl warns me as we walk past the pedestrian portion of Broadway toward our Times Square setup.

I look down. There’s a green and vile looking stream of ooze running from the sewer grate down the street. Goodness. You’d think the Mayor would actually clean up the city a bit and prevent the sewers from overflowing. But he’s off who the heck knows where trying to move jobs to China or something. At least that's what the papers are saying.

“Ethan!” Cheryl calls and I snap out of whatever daydream I was in the middle of. I look up at her. She’s at the podium a few paces down.

We’re standing at the corner of 44th and Broadway, and a crowd has already formed.

I look around me. New Yorkers call Times Square the Crossroads of the World. I call it The Last Place I Want To Visit.

I mean, sure you got the theaters. Whatever. Off-Broadway is becoming the avant-garde nowadays. What else do you want? I’ll give you a million other places in New York City you can get it.

You want the flashing lights? Go to Herald Square.

You want shopping? Again, go try SoHo, TriBeCa, or Midtown near Macy’s. Heck, go to Columbus Circle.

But there is one thing that Times Square is known for.

Sex.

Plenty of sex all around here if you just know where to look.

Say, you want to go to a peep show? Well, actually, not much use for ladies at peep shows, but if you know that special man in your life who's not able to get any women, then all he has to do is go over to 8th Avenue and look left, and right next to the Port Authority Bus Terminal he'll have what he needs. Plenty of peep shows there where he can jerk off to a girl in a room smoking a cigarette and fingering herself while little peepholes allow people look in.

Want to buy some porn? You’ll find that all over 46th street. Any kind of porn you want. Tourists walk right by it; they’re so entranced by the M&M’s store and the Coca-Cola sign. They can’t get enough of the NASDAQ building that they totally don’t realize they’re walking by three strip clubs and fifteen massage parlors that specialize in the ancient art of Rub N’ Tug.

Maybe your male friend wants to just skip all that and go straight for the hookers. Look no further than 7th Avenue from 44th Street to 49th Street. These women will stand there day and night walking the streets – you just gotta know where to look and you’ll see. More than likely, they see you. And if they see that you’re a tourist, they’ll blend in so.

I mean, take it all in. Naked Cowboys—yep we've got that. Girls with nothing on except body paint? We've got that too. You can take a picture of them as they rub themselves up against your cock for $20. I’m serious.

It's a pit of licentiousness and debauchery.

Which makes it absolutely dang perfect for what I’m about to do.

I walk up the stairs toward the podium.

We already have some of our regular porn starlets there, entertaining the audience and posing for pictures from reporters and photographers.

I’d say we have a good crowd. There are at least 10,000 people. All the major newspapers and news organizations are camped out.

What? I know you may be finding this hard to believe, considering KaneCo centers around pornography—right up there with Hawkelane Media—but porn has become completely mainstream in America today. We celebrate it. And that’s good. Because if there’s one forte that I have, it’s pleasing the ladies.

Don’t get me wrong though. I’m not just some schmo with a good body and a giant cock. I built this company from the ground up. My parents live in California—in Los Angeles. My dad owned a shoe store and my mom was a housewife. I was your regular kid. Went to UCLA for undergrad and then graduate school. Started working in marketing. And then I realized I didn’t like working for the man. So I quit. Took what meager savings I had and started my own marketing and media company.

I didn’t know I was going to be getting into porn. But what I did know was that I wasn’t going to stay broke, or middle class. I was going to be big.

That seems like so long ago from now, doesn’t it? I mean, I know you know I’m famous; you see my face on all the newspapers and trash. But you never heard that little bit, did you?

I’d tell you more, but it’s time to start.

The starlets are all done with their happy and giggly jiggling. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve harassed them all. They all moan like a whore when they've got my cock between their legs.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the first ever product launch by Illicit Entertainment,” I say into the microphone and watch as the photographers flash their cameras and people start to cheer.

Seriously, they’re cheering for me. A pornographer. Sometimes it boggles the mind. But we all gotta get laid, right? So maybe they know something I don’t. Maybe I’m old fashioned.

“I hope you enjoyed the Illicit Entertainers,” I say gesturing to the girls. People cheer again. They’re clapping and hooting and hollering. Not just pervy dudes either. We’re talking tourists snapping pictures with their iPhones—wife and kids in tow. Teenagers. Heck, is that a priest in the crowd?

“Pornography has come a long way since the days of old, America,” I say, looking directly into the cameras now. I may be in Times Square, but my face is being beamed all over the world. “And today, Illicit Entertainment is going to take it into the next millennium.”

A collective hush goes over the crowd and I nod to the technical guys.

The stage darkens. A screen lights up behind me and our company logo appears. This is my cue.

“We used to have scrawling of people having sex on cave walls,” I begin, pacing my words like Cheryl taught me to. “But from cave art, we went to pictures. And pictures became magazines. Magazines became books, that went to movies.”

People are looking at me with rapt attention and they look at the screen, which shows a montage with wonder. Seriously, I’ve probably destroyed the values of the next generation, but whatever; it pays the bills.

“Movies changed when we got the VCR,” I say, and the screen behind me switches to showing VHS tapes.

“Then came the Internet, and it revolutionized everything,” I say, and the screen flips to show pictures of webcam girls and streaming media. “Until today. Today, Illicit Entertainment is proud to announce the next generation of pornographic entertainment.”

I pause as the music starts.

A drumroll and then the video shows a simple pair of eyeglasses—sleek and minimalist.

“Behold, the Illicit Escape,” I say to the audience, as if showing them the meaning of life.

People pause for a moment as the video starts to pan around the glasses and goes from looking at them from the front, to showing what they look like from the point of view of a wearer. It shows the glasses being worn, and tiny cameras and sensors on the rims.

“Based on revolutionary new software, the Illicit Escape uses a built-in operating system that looks at where your eye is focused to highlight what you see. And what you see, is a whole new world of sex,” I say, reading from the script.

I turn around to look at the video because this is cool. A holographic image of a woman materializes on the inside of the eyeglass like an object. She’s in perfect detail. She’s only visible to the wearer and she starts doing a bit of a dance.

That’s when a holographic image of a shirtless man shows up. I had wanted to be in this shot, but Cheryl told me that doing so was crossing a line. I would have still done it, but she went ahead and scheduled the shoot for when I was in another meeting, and I didn’t find out till too late.

It’s a shame too, because while this guy on the screen is hot, I’m in way better shape.

And when the girl gets down on her knees and starts to take off the guy's boxer briefs, the crowd begins to ooh. When she puts his cock in her mouth they go aaah.

The video then rotates the POV and shows that to the outside world, it looks like the wearer is just wearing regular clear eyeglasses.

“Watch virtual reality porn, wherever you go, safely, discreetly,” I say into the microphone and the crowd begins to cheer. “But, now, Illicit Escape takes it one step farther.”

The video zooms out to show a diagram of the glasses on a human face.

“Using groundbreaking new technology, the Illicit Escape uses subconscious visual cues to make your brain believe that what you're seeing is something you’re actually experiencing,” I say to to the audience. I can tell they’re looking at me, not believing.

“That means that when she does this,” I say and point to the video as it changes to a user POV and shows what it looks like when one wears the glasses. A hologram of a woman is sucking a toe. “You feel the sensations of the mouth on your cock. Your brain feels every aspect of hands on your body.”

There’s a silence as the idea sinks into people. To put on some glasses and trick your brain into thinking you're really having sex?

Apparently everyone comes to the same conclusion that we did; this is a great idea. Because the next moment, they’re cheering louder than ever before. It seriously takes me a few minutes to get the last line of my speech in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Illicit Escape. Available for sale this year,” I say and pause as the cameras get one last shot of me. I wave and then Cheryl comes up to me. She’s smiling and she guides me off stage.

Lots of adrenaline, I’ll be the first to admit.

But that’s not all that catches my eye.

At the curb, there’s a limo. And as I look over to see it, I notice the window gets rolled up. When I try to walk toward the limo—I don’t know why, okay?—it pulls away from the curb and drives away.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much. Corporate espionage? Maybe.

“Cheryl,” I tell her as she handles some press inquiries at the base of the podium. She looks at me, waiting for me to speak. “Pull the surveillance cameras and get me the license plates and registration for that limo that just went by when you get a chance, will you?” I ask her.

She nods.

Maybe I’m being a bit too paranoid, you know?

But with this high of stakes—with something that’s going to take me from a regular billionaire to the richest man on the planet—you can never be too careful.

92

Brittney

I don't make it a habit of jumping inside of strange limos, but I acted on impulse and here I am. Walter didn't seem concerned, and I trust his instincts. He's never steered me wrong in the past, and when the man said it would be worth my while, I figured I'd hear him out. A new business prospect will always pique my interest, and like I said, I'm not worried; I can handle myself. If I can handle one man, I can handle them all. As I scoot into the limo, I look across the leather seat and find a man with long, stringy blonde hair. It's thinning and he pushes it behind his ears. He has a thin, crooked nose that he's rubbing with the back of his hand, and he's wearing skinny jeans that make him look more feminine than masculine. I don't see a bulge in his crotch. I was curious; can you blame me for looking? But I bet he has a small cock. He's rail thin with watery eyes, and I immediately second-guess my decision to get into this vehicle with him.

"You want a bump?" he asks. He's holding out a playing card—King of spades—with a small pile of white powder heaped on it. I wasn't born yesterday. I've been with enough loser ex-boyfriends to know what he's offering me. But believe me, I'm not about to go down that path.

"I'll pass," I say. "I'm not here to waste my time. Why did you call this meeting?"

"Suit yourself," he smiles. "But you're missing out. This is the good trash. Straight from Colombia."

I watch as he holds the card to his nose and inhales the powder in one, quick snort. His eyes seem more animated now and he continues, "I need you to get back into porn."

Is this guy serious? I laugh out loud. "That's it? You've got the wrong woman. I have bigger, more successful hustles now."

"No, I don't," he continues, looking straight at me. "I've got the perfect woman. I'd argue you're one of the best performers in the industry. That scene you did with the alien tentacle fetish—brilliant."

"I appreciate the compliment, but that's all in the past. I'm not getting back into that industry. I've moved on. If you know anything about me, you know that I now have better things to chase," I say.

"Let me finish," he says. "Are you familiar with the name Ethan Kane?"

"Of course. He's the billionaire porn producer of Illicit Entertainment. Who doesn't know him? He seems to be in the news every other day."

"I need you to get him to fall in love with you."

I can't help but laugh some more. Is this guy for real? I'm not laughing because I think I can't do it—I know I can. But why would I want to? "You've got to be kidding. Get Ethan Kane to fall in love with me? He's a playboy. He doesn't fall in love with anyone. And who are you anyways—some scorned ex-lover?"

"Pardon my lack of an introduction. I should've introduced myself," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Simon Conners. Ethan and I used to be business partners—but that's another lifetime… and a long story." He looks out the window of the limo, and across the city. He seems to be lost in memory.

"Look, corporate espionage isn't really my thing. You're better off finding someone else. If you were an abused lover looking for justice in an unhappy marriage, I could help. But this? No thanks. I'll pass." I reach for the door handle, but Simon stops me. He places his hand on mine and shakes his head. "Oh come on, how hard can it be darling?" he asks, his eyes glare at me as if this were a dare. I'm a competitive person—I'll admit that—and I'm not one to back down from a challenge, but this is ridiculous.

"Why would I want to get Ethan Kane to fall in love with me?" I ask. It's a legitimate question. Sure, he's hot, but guys that good looking have an ego to match. And why would I want to jump back into porn? I have a lot more power and prestige with what I'm doing now. I don't need it. Sure, porn is exciting. If you're a strong, hot woman who knows what she wants, it's great. It's empowering, even. The power. The fans. That's good. Sure, I've seen my fair share of high-octane drama—relationship scandals, jealousy, you name it—and sure, sometimes you end up sleeping with some hot men… and women—but at the end of the day, many women can't hack it. In fact, I've seen a lot fail. It's a lot of maintenance. Hair, nails, waxing, makeup, daily workouts, tanning, calorie counting—you get the picture; these are the things that take up your time and attention every day. And when you're doing this in front of a camera—extreme close ups and all—well, all of those things are even more important.

And sometimes—although it's rare—filming porn can be downright embarrassing for some of the entertainers. Like the one time I watched as another woman was scheduled to give a quick blow job. I never eat right before filming scenes. That's just my personal rule. Eating is a rookie mistake. But there she was, gorging on pizza without a single regard to the consequences. So, the director brings her in front of the camera and as soon as the guy jams his cock down her throat, she throws up all over him—and the set—and we all watch as she runs to the bathroom as fast as she can in stilettos. The director had to call me in to cover, and let me tell you—I was happy to do it. No one can deep throat a cock like I can. I won an award for that scene.

Simon clears his throat and starts talking again. He can tell I'm lost in thought. "Today, Ethan Kane announced a new technology that is going to revolutionize the porn industry—Illicit Escape," he says, bringing me back to the present.

I shrug my shoulders. "Good for him. I mean, that's where porn's going—if companies aren't embracing technology, they're losing out. What else is new?"

"Listen, darling. I need you bring me the plans for the Illicit Escape technology, and you'll do that by getting back into porn, and trapping Ethan by getting him to fall in love with you."

Where does this guy get off giving me commands like that? "First off, I don't take anyone's commands. Second, your plans sound good in theory, but I've already said no," I reply firmly. "How many ways can I say it? No means no."

Simon looks exasperated but undeterred. "I wouldn't come to that conclusion if I were you. I'll pay you—a sum that will make you—"

I cut him off. "I'm making enough money without this gig," I say. "Hire some developers, bring in the best augmented reality and virtual reality platforms that money can buy, and make it yourself—if you've got as much money as you say you do."

"I'm not interested in doing any of that, and there's more," Simon continues, indifferent to my recommendations. "I'll also give you a file."

"What kind of file?"

"There's a man by the name of Robert," he says. "Perhaps that name rings a bell? He could be told where to find you at any time… any place."

The name causes me to freeze. I wonder if it's the same Robert I'm thinking of… It has to be.

"Are you threatening me?"

"It's not a threat darling," he says. "It's the truth."

"Who the heck do you think you are?" I nearly shout. Now he's taken this too far, threatening my livelihood. I have one hand in my purse, my fingers resting on a cold, hard can of mace. I carry it for emergencies and I consider taking it out and spraying it into those beady eyes of his.

He senses what I'm about to do and says, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Be smart and do the right thing. Be the predator and not the prey. You can walk away from this with a lot of money. Believe me, it'll make your current wealth pale in comparison. Or… and I hate to think about this path darling… but if you don't make the right choice, you'll walk away the wounded gazelle with her throat in the lion's mouth."

Incredible. How did I end up in this spot? Just when I thought my life was gaining the kind of positive momentum I've always wanted for myself, this jerk comes along. I told you that I'd tell you about my past hun, and I promise we'll get to that, but I will say right now that the name Robert sends a chill up my spine. It's taken a lot of work to move beyond my past—and I'm stronger for it, but when Simon sits here and tells me point blank that he can tell Robert where to find me… well, let's just say I'm in no mood to see that happen.

I consider what he's asking for a moment.

"Fine," I say. "I'll do it. But this will cost you."

93

Ethan

“Am I interrupting?” I ask walking into the casting studio.

“Not at all, sir,” Joel the casting director replies back to me.

It’s been three days since the announcement of the Illicit Escape in Times Square. And wouldn't you know it, within minutes of the announcement our website traffic began to pick up.

But it wasn’t just guys looking to jerk off.

No, these were women.

They began to submit their profiles. Head shots. Body shots.

People started messaging our Facebook Page. They began to send us messages on Twitter and Instagram.

Heck, people even started sending resumes on LinkedIn and messages on KiK. All told, within 24 hours of the announcement we had over 12,000 applicants.

The next 48 hours saw over 25,000 people apply.

Now, it’s important to realize that there are a lot of people who want to get into porn. You wouldn’t believe the slush pile our casting director has. And it’s not just guys. Girls apply probably more than guys. And Cheryl looks through all of them. She watches all the videos and reads all their letters. That’s how dedicated she is.

But at the end of the day, we need a certain girl.

So after a frenzied level of activity that meant literally taking less than half a percent of those that applied, fifty girls were called in, specifically from the New York Tri-State area.

I know they were looking for people with prior experience. We had a couple stars come out of retirement to be a part of this project. But even with experience, we also want a fresh face. A face that doesn’t scream out hussy. Because this trash is going to go mainstream. Someone should be able to put on an I.E.—Illicit Escape—in a crowded library and no one should be able to know that they’re watching porn.

I mean, you ever been on an airplane with your kid, and you’re sitting there and the dude next to you has his iPad out and he’s watching two chicks blow a dude? With your son or daughter just sitting there and you’re like what the heck, right?

Think about how disrespectful that idiot is. Now, if he had an I.E., then he can zap out and you wouldn't have to worry about your kid being exposed to shaved pussies until you know, later on in life when he knows how good feels.

But enough about this trash. I actually came here today because sure, I’m a bit curious as to the quality of these girls that we’re casting.

“We were just going through some exercises to classify the girls, Ethan,” Joel tells me. I nod and sit down.

‘Going through exercises’ means that Joel is looking for ways to separate out the wheat from the chaff.

I sit down on a folding chair in the room across from five couches with fifty girls in various degrees of scantily clad attire. Some girls are sitting there in sweat pants and others are sitting in just a bra and panties. A few are topless, thinking it helps their chances.

Not likely.

“Alright, ladies,” Joel says going through his clipboard. “Let’s give us all sexy faces.”

It’s hilarious how the mood seems to change as fifty girls go from various stages of being bored but trying to look excited, to trying to look smoldering hot. They scrunch their noses, wrinkle their eyes, leave their mouths open, bat their eyelashes, and start breathing heavily.

I scan the girls. Yeah, you heard me; I’m enjoying the view.

I mean, who knows, I could end up one of them.

Idiot, I wouldn’t mind taking my turn through all of them. In fact, a part of me wants to hire them all and bring them over for one night and idiot all of them.

But that would probably end the casting call in disaster. We’d fall behind in our product launch. All for what? Pussy?

It’s not worth it.

Or is it?

My eyes set upon a girl in the middle. She’s wearing a tight black dress that hugs her legs and rear like a second skin.

Oh, idiot. Yes, I definitely would love to tap that rear. She’s got a slender body with curves in all the right places. Her blonde hair is shoulder length and her eyes are bright and intelligent.

She’s wearing a sticker on her chest—similar to the other girls. Her sticker says #26.

And she couldn't look more bored if her life depended on it.

“Numbers 3, 4, 6, 9, 12, 24, 34, 38, 43, 45, 49, 50, thank you,” Joel says looking at his clipboard. “You can go now.”

So that’s it. After dragging themselves all the way down to our Times Square studios, they sit around on couches for a while, and then they’re told they can go. Which is a polite way of saying idiot off.

Normally, this would be my cue as the girls with the numbers mentioned get up and proceed to the door. I’d be up and following them out, looking to mess one of these hussies and take her home with me for the night.

But right now, I’m entranced just look at #26 sitting there, even though she’s completely bored out of her mind.

I look down at my casting sheet and try to find a name that matches #26. There it is. Brittney Roman.

“Alright, ladies, let’s get up and bend over,” Joel says. “Show me that rear.”

Goodness, is he for real? This is what he does for work?

As if on cue, each of the girls gets up. They turn around and bend over. Some look back at Joel. Several look toward me. They may not know who I am, but they can tell the tone of deference that Joel used when he addressed me.

The girls are either bending over and slowly shaking their rear, or running their hands over their rear cheeks as they look back. A few are just bent over with their hands against the couch. One woman has fiery red hair and five-inch stilettos. She's wearing nothing else. She saunters over, running the palms of her hands up and down her naked thighs. She's holding her gaze on us—she has her eyes on the prize—and she slowly bends her knees, squatting down to the floor.

As she does this, she intentionally spreads her knees open, giving us an unobstructed view of her pussy. She's puckering her mouth—with those full, glossy lips—and parts them just enough to let the tip of her tongue come out and seductively drag across her upper lip.

Joel is loving this. He's entranced.

She realizes that she's got Joel hooked, so she walks over and rakes her red fingernails through his hair. In her other hand, she's holding a silicon dildo, which she hands to Joel. "Wanna play?" she purrs.

She sits back and spreads her legs open, exposing her pussy.

The whole scene seems almost too contrived for my taste. I swear, if whoever #26 is wasn’t here, this would be the strangest thing I would have ever seen.

I understand what Joel’s trying to do. But it just seems kind of wrong.

But not wrong enough that I don’t take a moment to scan all those delectable rears in front of me before really settling on the one I want to feast on—the blonde haired girl with the #26 tag.

She throws her head back and looks up, and both Joel and I are a bit started, and I can see him shift his attention from the redhead to #26. He's shifting in his seat too.

With a slow and graceful movement, she looks backwards.

And that’s when her eyes catch mine.

I swear to heaven, there is a reason this girl looks bored. Because if she showed even an ounce of interest, this entire session would be over. We would be all over her.

She gives the barest of effort and passes her smoldering eyes over me. Her hands travel up her legs and gently brush her rear.

My cock was already twitching. Now that 12 inches sitting in my trousers has a heart beat.

“28 and up, thank you for coming today,” Joes says looking at his clipboard. “23 and below, you can leave as well.”

He just excused more than half the remaining girls. There’s only three at this point and they maintain their poses. I swear to heaven this is the hottest casting session I’ve ever been to. Ever.

“25, 26, 27, please have a seat,” Joel instructs and each of the girls sits down.

“Okay, then,” Joel says shifting himself in his seat. “This is where we get to have some fun.”

He glances at me, but I don't care about him at all. Not when I can keep staring at this blonde beauty sitting as one of three finalists now for Illicit Escape. If she gets selected, then most likely I’m never going to harass her.

It’s not that I’m judgmental, babe.

It’s because…well, this is a casting session. For a pornographic content company. Whoever gets the spot is going to be someone I don’t really want to mess. That’s why I always went after the losers.

What? You don’t get what I’m talking about?

“Well, ladies,” Joel says and unbuttons his jeans. “This is where you get to show us how much hands on experience you have, and how much you’re able to put it to use,” he’s got a trash-eating smile on his face and for some reason I want to punch the guy. But we don’t pay our directors that much—namely we give them a lot of fringe benefits…like being able to harass the girls who try out.

“I’m waiting,” he says, and the girls get the message. Two of them, #25 and #27 look at each other and get off the couch, walking toward him, giggling.

They get down on their hands and knees when they’re a foot away and begin to crawl.

“Very good, girls,” Joel coos, excited as to what’s coming. “You too, #26, if you still want the job.”

I watch as #25 and #27 begin to unzip Joel’s jeans and pull out his cock. He’s tiny. Maybe about 6 inches, but he leans his head back and sighs contentedly as one girl wraps her lips around his head and the other uses her tongue to begin licking his shaft.

“#26, we’re waiting,” Joel says, but the girls are doing enough of a job that he doesn’t care. “Show me your most valuable … ability.”

Idiot. I could've left and not had to see this. How did I know she would wow him and make it to the finals.

And that’s when I notice that #26 has gotten off the couch and is walking toward us.

Her eyes are full of passion and desire. Lust seems to be the only thing propelling her.

Joel closes his eyes and groans at the pleasurable feeling two mouths are bringing his cock.

And that’s when I notice that she’s not going toward Joel.

She’s walking to me.

With a luscious smile on her face.

Idiot.

94

Brittney

This is going to be easier than I thought.

Instead of focusing on what really matters, all the other women went for the crude and easy approach. They don’t seem to realize that sex isn’t about ... sex. There’s more to it than that. It isn’t about showing off your naked body, or moaning as loudly as possible. Do you want to know what the real secret is? The one thing that turns a hot woman into a Goddess, and that drives men into madness? I’ll tell you for free: it’s seduction ... The art of seduction is the key, and I’m an artist.

“Brittney … #26,” the casting director reads my name from a sheet of a paper, and I go up to my feet, a subtle smile on my face. Unlike the others, I’m not wearing a raunchy outfit; instead of going for the stripper shorts and dancer bra, I’m wearing a black tight fitting dress. It hugs my curves perfectly, and as I get up from my seat and everyone looks at me, I know I’ve made the right choice.

Both Ethan and the casting director—I believe his name is Joel?—lean back in their seats, their eyes roaming over my body. Walking with a slow but sure step, I walk past Ethan. I do my best to ignore him and head straight for the director. I tuck one lock of hair behind my ear, and then lean into him, my lips brushing against his ear as I speak. He listens attentively, his eyes lost on my cleavage, and then nods.

“Thank you,” I whisper as he gets up from his seat and dims the lights. He says something to the intern on the corner, and after he taps the keyboard on his laptop twice, the speakers mounted on the walls start to fill the whole room with a steady beat. Lights, music, action—here I go.

I walk straight to the center of the room, my back turned to Ethan, and I place my hands on my hips. Swaying my hips to the mellow rhythm of the music, I slide my hands down my legs as I bend over. I can almost feel Ethan’s eyes going over the curve of my rear as my dress hikes slightly up my legs.

I turn on my heels, and as if I was walking along a thin rope, I go straight toward him. I don’t care about the casting director or anyone else; Ethan is the one who matters here, and I only have one shot to impress him. You can rest assured that I’m not going to waste my only shot. Oh, no, I play for keeps—always.

Ethan leans back against his chair, his eyes locked on mine. I have his attention, but I know it’s not enough; a man like him is used to having whoever he wants, and I’m more than sure that women throw themselves at his feet every waking hour of the day. If I am to succeed, I have to be better than that.

Running my tongue over my lips, I place my hands on his knees and I lean in. Our mouths are so close that I can almost feel the air crackling around us as electricity builds up. I pull back then, arching my back and running my hands up his legs; my fingers are dangerously close to his groin, but I don’t dare to go any further. Good seduction isn’t about what you do; it’s about what happens inside the other person’s head. The trick is controlling what happens there.

“Brittney, right?” he asks me, his smart eyes widening with hunger. This is a good start.

“Brittney,” I tell him, leaning into him again. I look down at his lips, and then up. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling you’ll remember my name well enough.”

“We’ll see about that.” His tone is a calm one, but I can feel all the anxiety coiled underneath it. He can try and act aloof, but the grin on his face tells me all that I need to know. I’ve thrown my bait and he is already nibbling at it. Once he bites, all that’s left is for me to reel him onto shore.

My hands move over his crotch, and I hook my fingers on his belt. Biting on my bottom lip, I start to unbuckle it, swaying my hips at a slow tempo. Once the buckle is free, I pull the whole belt out from its loops; in one fluid movement, I place it behind his head, and grabbing both ends with my hands, I force him to lock eyes with me. Moving as if he were in a trance, he places his hands on my legs, his fingertips brushing against the hemline of my dress. As he motions to hike up my dress, I pull the belt from around his neck and snap it against his arm.

“No,” I say firmly, his eyes widening in surprise. He’s not used to having anyone take control, let alone a woman. Slowly, he takes his hands off of me, a grin of defiance on his face. Show me what you got, his eyes seem to dare me. Grinning back at him, I go around his chair, and once I’m behind him, I lean in and place both my hands on his chest. “You’ve never met a woman like me, Ethan,” I whisper into his ear, my fingertips tracing the contour of his hard pecs. Goodness, what is he hiding under his shirt—marble and steel?

“What makes you think that?” he says, that defiant grin still on his face.

“Trust me,” I whisper into his ear again, my fingers sliding over to the collar of his shirt. One by one, I undo the buttons on his shirt, his chiseled chest coming into view. Yanking on the shirt, I bare his chest and let my fingers brush over his skin; his muscles seem like hard ropes of manliness, and something inside of me tells me to get a better view. “I’m not like the others.”

I walk around the chair again, and stopping right in front of him, I let my eyes wander over his naked torso. Not that I have a choice, as his hard pectorals and chiseled abs demand all of my attention. I mean, he has an 8-pack, for goodness sake. It seems that he’s part of that very special breed of men; money and pussy simply isn’t enough for them, and they want perfection in everything they are and do. I can’t wait to see if the rest of his body matches what I’m seeing right now…

Focus, I need to focus. Taking one deep breath, I turn on my heels and show him my back. I sway my hips gently and bring my hands up to my shoulders; slowly, I push down the straps of my dress, and they fall over my arms.

“Go on, I know you want to,” I whisper at Ethan, looking at him over my shoulder. As if my words were binding, he raises his hands and places them right below my neck, his fingers grabbing at my zipper. Carefully, he starts pulling it down my back, his knuckles brushing against my naked skin as he goes. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his touch, and I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to regain my focus. I can’t harass this up.

When he has pulled the zipper all the way down to my lower back, he finally takes his hands off of me, and I push the drooping fabric of my dress down to my waist. I keep on softly swaying my hips to the sensuous tune, my back turned to him. I know how eager he must be to see me in my bra, the curve of my breasts peering over the cups… So I just make him wait; I’m the one in control here, after all.

My eyes are closed, but I feel the whole room fading away around me. As far as I’m concerned, only Ethan and I are here right now. The other women, the casting director, the interns… As far as I’m concerned, they don’t even exist in the same universe as Ethan and I.

I throw my head back, my hair cascading down my shoulders as I move, and then I slide my hands up the side of my body. Hooking my fingers on the clasp of my bra, I pull it free and let the straps fall down my arms. As the cups start to droop, I throw the whole thing to the floor and place both my hands over my breasts, squeezing gently with my fingers. Everyone can see what I’m doing, except for Ethan, and that’s exactly how I want it. He’s the one I want to tease and torture, and I’m putting up this show for him only.

When I turn to face him, I keep my hands covering my breasts, hiding my hard nipples from him. One by one, I peel my fingers off, and I can’t help but grin as my eyes find something bulging between his legs. It seems that my curiosity was well founded; what he’s hiding underneath his pants seems to be at least as impressive as what he had under his shirt… If this wasn’t work, I’d want nothing more than go down on my knees, unbutton his pants and… Goodness, my mind is wandering off again. Idiot, I have a job to do here.

“You want me, don’t you?” I purr, allowing my fingers to go down my stomach; when my fingertips meet my waistline, I move my hands to my hips and then hook my fingers on the fabric of the dress. Moving my hips, I pull it down and let it fall at my feet in a heap. “Cat got your tongue?” I ask him, taking one step toward him. His eyes are wide, and his lips slightly parted, almost as if he couldn’t hide how much he wants to fit them around my nipples. Well, I might just let him do it.

“You sure are a confident one,” he tells me, slowly pronouncing each word. I guess it must be hard for him to think straight when I’m half naked in front of him.

“You have no idea.” Wearing only my black lace thong and high heels, I saunter over to him and turn on my heels once more. Facing away from him, I bend over and wrap my fingers around my ankles. He has a good view of my rear, and that’s enough for him to drop down all resistance; unable to restrain himself, he places both his hands on my rear cheeks, squeezing them eagerly.

He’s falling for it; a few more minutes and he won’t remember any of the other girls. But that doesn’t leave me satisfied… More than beating the field, I want to leave a lasting mark on him. One that he won’t forget anytime soon.

Moving as slowly as I can, I straighten my back and go up to my feet; then, without even bothering to look over my shoulder, I ease myself down. As I sit on his lap, I place both my hands on his knees and start to sway my hips from side to side. Oh goodness—I have to close my eyes and exhale sharply as I feel his hard cock pressing against me. Even though there’s still a barrier of fabric between him and I, I can already feel something very thick and very long pulsing for me… I have to be honest; I don’t know what would happen if we were alone right now. I don’t think I’d be able to control myself. No way; as professional as I am, a woman can only endure so much.

As I grind against his hard cock, he places his hands on my hips and pulls me in. I can’t help but gasp as I feel his thickness nestled between my rear cheeks; my heart is beating furiously, and I don’t even know if I’m the one seducing him right now, of if he’s the one ensaring me. As I expected, I’m doing way better than the others, but I can’t risk showing him my hand. I have to keep him interested.

I know that I need to pull myself together, but that’s almost impossible when I’m sitting on his lap, his hard cock pulsing against me… It doesn’t matter, I’m here to win, whether I’m focused or not. Relinquishing control, I surrender to the whirlwind of desire raging inside of me.

“Don’t be shy,” I whisper, and then grab his hands and bring them up to my belly. Gently, he rests his fingers over my mounds and squeezes them. I have to fight back against the urge to moan as I lay my hands on top of his and force him to squeeze harder. All the while, I keep grinding against him, the rhythm of my movements growing and growing into a fury.

“I don’t even know what shy means,” he whispers, pinching one hard nipple between his thumb and index finger. I close my eyes for a whole second, a subtle moan escaping from between my lips. Then, grabbing one of his hands, I force him to slide it from my belly to my stomach, and then further down until I feel his fingertips touching my thong. I know he expects me to guide his hand all the way to my pussy, so I do the opposite; moving fast, I push both his hands to the side and go up to my feet.

“You like to tease, don’t you?” he asks me, and I can see a fire behind his eyes. If we were alone right now, he’d have me pinned against the wall before I could even blink, and he’d just flick my thong to the side and idiot me like that. I have to be honest, that sounds like a good idea.

“I prefer to do other things,” I say, turning to face him. Lifting one leg up, I place the heel of my shoe right between his legs, dangerously close to his cock. “If you know what I mean.”

Never taking my eyes off of his, I let the tension build between the two of us, and then I finally take my foot off of his chair. Then, my eyelids drooping, I place my straight arms over his shoulders and sit on him again, straddling him. This time I’m facing him, so I press my forehead against his and open my eyes.

Our mouths are so close that I can feel his hard breathing. All we need is a gentle push and we’ll kiss. I almost go for it, but that’s not what I’m here for; I’m here to seduce him, to leave him wanting more, so much more… As much as I want to kiss him, to surrender myself into his arms, I slap desire across the face and take back the reins.

“You have no idea what’s going through my head right now,” he whispers, his eyes going straight to my lips. He wants it as much as I do, that much I can see.

“Does it have anything to do with this hard cock of yours?” I ask him, pressing my pussy harshly against the thick shape in his pants. It has to be at least 12 inches long. Goodness Almighty.

“It has everything to do with it,” he continues, and I feel a growing wetness between my thighs. Idiot, I’m this close to unbuttoning his pants, pushing my thong to the side and easing myself down on his cock. I came here to seduce, and I end up being seduced; this isn’t going to be an easy job for me to pull.

“What makes you think that I’m interested in your hard cock?” I continue swaying my hips in a coming and going motion, my pussy pressed tight against his crotch. He’s breathing hard now, but he still has that defiant grin on his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Brittney… It’s written all over your face,” he says, and then leans in and whispers against my ear. “You want me to pin you against that wall, to push your thong down your legs and then… You want me to forget you like you’ve never been messed before.”

An almost too violent shiver goes up my spine as his words float inside my head. It’s almost as if he could read my mind. Am I being this obvious?

“You’re wrong about one thing,” I whisper back, trying to hide the anxiety in my voice. “If anything, I’d be the one you like you’ve never been messed before…” If he thinks I’m going to roll over and allow myself to be won over by his words, he’s dead wrong. I know how to talk back—and besides, my words are not empty… I mean what I say.

“You talk a lot… I’m not sure if there’s any weight behind your words.”

There he goes again, almost as if I he can look straight into my head and read what I’m hiding there. As he speaks, there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes; he’s teasing me, trying to sink his own hooks into me.

“I always mean what I say... But, as much as you want to mess me right now… And I know you do… This is just an audition,” I purr, the movement of my hips contradicting the words in my lips. This is everything but an audition, my body seems to say.

I grin, satisfied at the raging desire I see burning in his eyes. He leans in, his parted lips going straight for one hard nipple, but I move fast, tangling my fingers in his hair, I grab him and force him to throw his head back.

“You have to behave,” I tell him, my words like a moan as I start to furiously grind against him. “We’re not alone, you know?”

“Harass that,” he breathes out, and tries to fight back against the hold I have on him. “I do what I want.”

“Maybe…” I lean into him, my lips almost touching his. “But I’m the one in control here. Not you. This is my audition, remember?” I tell him, my words serving as a reminder to both of us. This is an audition, just an audition, I tell myself over and over again. My own thoughts sound like a lie, though—the way he looks at me, the way his parted lips seem to ache for a kiss… Oh, this is everything but a regular audition.

“Yes, it’s your audition. And you’re here to impress me,” he continues to tease me, trying to make me lose all control. He’s a dangerous man to fool around with, that much is certain; step too close to the fire, and you get burned for your troubles.

“Oh, you’re telling me you’re not impressed yet?” With both my hands on his shoulder, I push his shirt down his arms, and then run my fingertips over the firm contour of his pectorals. I slow down the movement of my hips, and lean back just enough for me to place my hand against his abdominal wall. His abs are like steel, their perfect outline like something out of a wild (and definitely very wet) dream. As my fingers slide down his abs, I finally reach his pants and grab at them. I lock eyes with them, and then pull as harshly as I can. All the buttons pop out at the same time, and I hear him exhale sharply.

“Maybe I’m impressed,” he grins, placing both his hands on my rear. This time, I say nothing. “Maybe not.”

“You men… Terrible liars, all of you.” With that, I turn my hand and press hard against his cock. His chest starts rising and falling at a hurried pace, and I can almost see the struggle raging inside of him; he wants me, but he can do nothing about it… Not while there are people in the room, at least.

Stretching my fingers wide, I cup his balls, and I think that his cock becomes even harder than before. Overwhelmed by the urge to feel him, my skin on his, I let my hand go over his shaft again, and then I slide it under his boxer briefs. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this; maybe I’m going too far now… But what the heck; you win by taking risks, not by playing it safe. And this is exactly the kind of risk that I like to take.

Breathing hard, I curl my fingers around his thickness and start to move my hand in an up and down motion. While I stroke him, I lean into him, and with my lips against his ear, I let a barely audible moan tumble out of my lips. At the sound of my voice, I feel the pressure of his hands on my rear cheeks growing, and that just makes me stroke him harder and harder.

“You want to mess me bad, don’t you?” I whisper against his ear once more, and then gently nibble at it. I’m voicing my own cravings and desires, but as the words come out of my mouth, it all turns into a teasing spell. It’s almost a shame that I’m on a mission; I don’t come across men like Ethan often. No, let me rephrase that: I have never come across a man like him.

“Not as much as you want to mess me,” comes his reply, his words cutting across all the trash. “You can act, but you’re not fooling me.” I have no way of telling if he really sees through me, or if he’s just bluffing. Either way, it doesn’t matter; it’s all part of an intricate dance, one where seduction and lust dictates the next move.

“What if I do? What if I want to push my thong to the side and let you idiot me…? Right here, right now?”

“You talk a lot, Brittney,” he almost growls, and hooks his fingers on the small string of my thong that laces my outer thigh. “You might think you’re in control… But you have no idea. If I wanted to have you, I would. Right here, in front of all these people… I don’t give a idiot.”

“Then why don’t you, Ethan?” he pauses for a few seconds, and I even stop moving my hand. I know that everything hangs in this moment; if he really goes for it and decides to mess me here, I might have blown the whole thing. I’m not sure how much he will care about me after me on the first try. Men like him are quick to move on, and that’s exactly what I don’t want to happen… I need to worm myself into his life and this company long enough for me to see this job through. Whatever it takes.

“Because…” he seems to look for the right words, and then takes his hand to my face. He brushes two of his fingers against one cheek, and them grabs me by the hair. Yanking on it, he forces my head back and presses his lips against my neck. “You intrigue me. And I like intriguing women.”

I gasp as he pulls on my hair, but inside, I’m sighing with relief. What would I do if he tried to mess me? I’d have to keep playing him, and so I’d have to stop him and keep on teasing… The problem is, I’m not sure that I would've been able to do that.

“I told you before,” I say, taking my hand from his boxer briefs. “You never met a woman like me.” Moving fast, I clash one forearm against his and force him to let go of my hair; in the same flowing movement, I place both my hands on his hair and now it’s my turn to pull. He throws his head back, exhaling in surprise, and I lean into him. Parting my lips, I let my tongue out and brush it against the crevice between his lips. I can feel his whole body tensing up, and there’s even a slight movement in his neck, but I keep him in place. He wants to kiss me, and God, so do I, but I won’t let it happen. Not now. A kiss has to be earned, and I’ll make him work for it.

“That remains to be seen…” he tells me, looking me straight in the eye. He’s dying for more of me; I can read it in his face. And, well… I’m also dying for more. Grabbing his hair by the root, I start to sway my hips violently, grinding against him as harshly as I can. My pussy is pressed tight against his hard cock, and even though there are still layers of fabric between the two of us; I don’t let that stop me. Right now, I’m not doing this for him; I’m doing it for me.

I ride him as if we were, and even though I’m just grinding against his thickness, I feel a coiled tension building up inside of me. Fierce and wild, it’s still in its chains… But it won’t take long to break free. I know I should keep my cool right now, but I can’t stop myself. How could I say no to pleasure when it’s breathing down my neck and whispering my name?

As the tension inside my muscles grows into a thunderstorm, I have to grit my teeth. Throwing my head back, I close my eyes and let pleasure wash all over me. My jaw is hurting, but I refuse to open my mouth; if I do it, I won’t be able to stop myself from moaning or screaming. As fireworks go off inside my head, I do my best to hide it from everyone. Building up all the tension between Ethan and I is key, and I can’t allow anyone to figure out how much I’m enjoying this. In a wicked way, the more I try to pretend my brain isn’t frying right now, the more the fangs of pleasure bury themselves into my soul.

Even though I remain silent, my mind, body, and soul are screaming inwardly. Ecstasy rages me through like a vicious flood, and even my pussy is spasming. Goodness, what I wouldn’t give to mess him right here, right now.

My muscles are twitching, and there’s an urge inside of me to surrender to a feverish frenzy, but I hold my own and keep grinding against him. Then my entire body tenses and it's as if a fiery hot bolt of electricity is coursing through me—head to toe.

I steady myself by gripping Ethan's strong, hard chest. And the next moment, I explode. A million mini internal fireworks are popping off and my pussy is spasming harder and faster than I've ever felt before. I feel like I want to collapse, but I can't.

I have to maintain my composure. I open my eyes—I realize I had them squeezed shut—and I take a deep breath. Did he notice? It's hard to say.

Goodness, I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I didn’t want it to be over this quickly. I could keep going like this forever… Of course, but then I probably wouldn’t be able to resist the pull of his cock. Hey, what can I say? I was having fun. Lots of it.

I take one deep breath, and acting as solemnly as I can, I let go of his hair and sit up. The audition is over. It’s just the first step in a long ladder of strategic moves, but it’s done at least. And I think I nailed it, although I started my little show feeling as confident as I could, I have to admit I was a bit afraid of screwing the whole thing up.

“I hope you enjoyed it,” I merely say, dismounting him as I speak. It almost hurts to do it, but I have to act as coldly as I can. Acting like a true professional, my personality goes from lewd and seductive to straightforward; my audition is done. I turn my back to Ethan and pick my bra and dress from the floor; as if nothing happened, I get dressed as casually as possible. He remains frozen in place, unmoving, and I’m sure that a river of raging adrenaline is still coursing through his veins.

As I walk back to my seat, I can’t help but look at him once again. Looking back over my shoulder, I smile and give him a wink for good measure. I know he’s going to be thinking of me for the rest of the day, and that’s exactly what I want.

Even though Ethan is just a target, one thing is for sure: he’s going to be in my dreams tonight. And I can’t wait to meet him there.

95

Ethan

"I'd say girls 25, 26, and 27 were our strongest candidate," Joel says, an eager smile plastered across his face. He's leaning back in his chair, his arms held above his head. He's swiveling back and forth. He seems pretty happy with the turnout at the audition. And I am too.

Of course he'd list girls 25 and 27, I think to myself. They had their lips wrapped around his cock, and he sure didn't hide the fact that he was enjoying it. He was anything but shy. He was downright eager. But if it were up to me, I'd say girl 26 was the hottest prospect.

How does Joel not see that? Maybe because she was in my lap, not his. That rear. Those legs. Those smoldering eyes framed by a waterfall of blonde hair that flows down to her shoulders. I mean, the woman gave my cock its own heartbeat for goodness sake!

What more can I ask for? And whom am I kidding? Of course it's up to me who we hire. It's my company. I'll hire whomever the heck I want to.

"I'm telling you, girl number 26 is a star waiting to happen," I say with total conviction. I put my hands up in the air, palms up, in a gesture that says this is a no-brainer. "I don't even know why we're still having this discussion."

"Is she a star, or does this have to do with the fact that she seemed to be all over you during that audition?" Joel asks. "I mean, she only had eyes for you. She never once looked in my direction or acknowledged my existence. In fact, the entire room didn't exist to her—if it wasn't for your presence."

I nearly roll my eyes. "Don't sound so jealous Joel," I laugh.

"Are you guys referring to Brittney?" Cheryl asks me, looking down at her stack of papers. She looks up and eyes me suspiciously because I'm not normally in these meetings. It's like she's known me long enough to have a sixth sense or something. I know what she's thinking too. She's looking at me like some overprotective mother hen. I have to play it cool, like I really don't give a idiot about woman number 26, just to keep her from giving me that annoying sideways glance of hers.

"We also have those twins… Bella and Ella… that could make for some interesting video shots and story lines," Joel chimes in. "That's every guy's fantasy, isn't it?"

"The two brunettes? Speak for yourself. You think just because they're twins with big belly that they'd be perfect for Illicit Entertainment? That they're star material? Please. Give me a break. They're boring. They're predictable," I yawn.

"What's with you this week?" Cheryl asks. "You're acting different."

"Because I give a hoot about who's cast this month? There's nothing different about me. Illicit Entertainment is my brainchild. Can you blame me for wanting to make sure we cast a real star this month? We have a lot riding on our new technology. We've sunk millions into it. We're taking this company into the next century and beyond—now's not the time to take our foot off the gas pedal."

This seems to make sense to her—or maybe she's still wrapping her head around it all—but she shrugs her shoulders. She looks back at her clipboard and reads through the audition list again.

"OK, so does this mean that women numbers 25 and 27—Ella and Bella—are out?" Cheryl asks.

"Why can't we just bring on all three?" Joel suggests. He clearly doesn't want to let those girls go.

I sigh and continue to make my case. "Of course it means they're out, Cheryl. And Joel, if this were simply about bringing on more women—sure, we could hire all three. Heck, we could hire a thousand in the next hour! But let's remember what we set out to do with this audition. Are you forgetting? The point was to find the industry's next big star—a super star for our new platform! And a star isn't predictable. She has an almost ethereal quality that hooks you in. Do you understand what I'm saying here? She carries a unique, dynamic draw. She's sexy, but confident. She's the woman who's just beyond your reach."

"Ok, we get it," Joel says. "She needs to be some creature of almost mythical status."

"No, that's not it," I continue. "It's real simple. This next star needs to be Brittney. She showed us that she had it all during her audition. The smoking hot body. The penetrating gaze. The attitude. It's the don't-mess-with-me attitude. She was a woman on a mission, and we can fulfill that mission. Look—let's hire her. You'll see what kind of porn-star material that she is. And you'll feel ridiculous for ever doubting me."

Joel nods at me in agreement, but Cheryl doesn't seem totally convinced yet.

"Why was she so laser focused on you, Ethan?" Cheryl says. "Doesn't that seem odd?"

"Cheryl, you're overanalyzing this," I say. "It's not odd at all. This is a porn audition we're talking about. She did what she needed to do."

"Okay, I trust you," Cheryl nods.

I'm glad they finally agree, but do they really have a choice? Not if they still want their jobs. It's nice to have them on the same page, but at the end of the day, I don't need their approval. I look down at my Apple watch. Not only has it been buzzing non-stop with emails from the press regarding Illicit Escape announcement—it seems everyone and their mother wants to give it a whirl—but my watch also shows me that it's 11:05. I'm five minutes late to my next meeting.

"You'll have to excuse me," I say. I push my chair back and stand up. I fix my suit coat and straighten my silk tie. "This has been productive, don't you think? It's going to be a great month."

I walk out the door and continue down the hall when I feel the presence of someone behind me. I can hear what sounds like a woman's heels clicking against the hard floor. I turn around and see Cheryl. She stops, and for a wordless moment, looks at me with her hands on her hips, and her lips scrunched. I haven't seen her strike this kind of pose in a while.

"Do you have something you need to say to me?" she asks. I can practically see her shoe tapping against the floor in irritation.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"Come on Ethan. I've known you forever," she says with a look of exasperation. It's a look that says she didn't believe a word I said during our meeting.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," I maintain with a shrug. "Does this have anything to do with our meeting just now? Because everything is fine. I mean it. You have to believe me Cher—"

"You better watch yourself," she says, cutting me off. Her brows are knitted in seriousness. It reminds me of an angry caterpillar.

"Now you're acting like the crazy one," I say, throwing my hands up. "I mean come on. Do you even hear yourself right now? I don't know what kind of story you've been spinning in your head, but—"

"Stop it, Ethan. I've known you for too long. Since when have you ever cared so much about hiring a particular porn actress for this company?"

"Well, I—" I begin, before she cuts me off.

"I'll give you the answer, Ethan—it's never," she says. "Not once. So why now? Who cares if we hire Ella and Bella with the big belly, versus some skinny blonde that can hold your gaze?"

"She's not just some skinny blonde," I say. "I see a certain quality in her. A star quality."

"Oh come on!" Cheryl laughs. "Are you serious? Some woman with a perfect body and who only has eyes for you makes you lose your head all of a sudden? I can see it in your face. You personally like this one."

"What a joke—I do not! This is pure business," I reply.

"I'll say this again because I care, Ethan," Cheryl says. "Watch yourself. This is—"

"You're treating me like you're either my mother or a jealous lover."

"Stop, Ethan," she continues. "And let me finish. This is a business of sex and flesh."

"Don't you think I realize that?"

"Well, in this business, you can't let your emotions get in the way. You can't be blinded by it all"

And with that, I watch as Cheryl turns around and walks down the opposite end of the hall without looking back. As I stand there, her words echo in my head.

Am I allowing my emotions to get the best of me?

96

Brittney

I walk into the corporate headquarters of Illicit Entertainment. The outside of the building is white and non-descript. In fact, if I didn't have the address in my hands, I wouldn't have believed this was the right place. But the interior of the building is a different story. The open-floor concept of the main room is sleek and modern. The lobby is outfitted with black leather furniture, and glass-topped tables. It all fits. I mean, a company getting ready to unveil the next big thing in porn technology should look like this, I think to myself.

"Well, isn't this fancy," Walter says in his slight English accent, whistling. "Look over here—there's even a giant interactive LCD screen that makes it look like you're standing under a waterfall."

"I've never seen you look so star-struck before," I laugh.

"C'mon, you have to admit—this has to be one of the most tech savvy buildings in the city—just look at these sensors," Walter says.

"Is there a directory somewhere?" I ask. "This place is massive. How are we going to find her?"

"Over here. Let's see… A, B, C—Cheryl. There she is. Second floor," Walter says, with his finger hovering over the list of names.

We leave the lobby and step inside of the elevator. Ads for upcoming Illicit Entertainment movies with titles like Pussypocalypse, Two Girls One Bed, 40 Girls and 40 Nights, and Panty Dropper in Paradise adorn the walls.

"They're creative," I say. "I'll give them that much."

"I guess that's one way to put it," Walter shrugs.

The elevator chimes open on the second floor, and to our right, we find a woman sitting at her desk. She looks to be in her early 40s with golden brown, wavy hair. This must be Cheryl.

"Hi, are you Cheryl? I'm Brittney."

"Of course! It's a pleasure to meet you," she says, extending her hand. "We're all so excited to welcome you to the Illicit Entertainment family. Ethan speaks highly of you."

He does? That's good to know. And if she's calling him by his first name, they must be close. I mentally shelve that comment in my brain. I wonder to myself what he's been saying to everyone. I guess my audition went even better than expected, which is good. I'm off on the right foot, and a step closer to my goal.

"I'm looking forward to it," I say. "And this is my assistant Walter."

He extends his hand to Cheryl. "Nice to meet you."

They shake, and he holds onto her hand for a few extra seconds. Is it just my imagination or does Walter seem to have a special sparkle to his eyes? Cheryl's kind of cute, I suppose. Plain, in a way. But cute enough for an older woman.

"Okay, let's get the boring formal stuff out of the way," Cheryl says, pulling a stack of paperwork from a manila folder. "These contracts walk you through our onboarding process."

"There's a lot of contracts—" I say. And there is. The stack is a formidable size.

"It looks like a lot, but these are pretty standard for the industry. There's an NDA—for the new technology we're rolling out, a W9, our codes of conduct—you get the picture, all the obvious documents," Cheryl says.

"Okay, where do we start?" I ask, ready to get through the pile of paperwork.

"Let's quickly go over this company's do's and don'ts. I think that's a good place to start," Cheryl says.

I look over at Walter—who hasn't said a word. He seems to be transfixed by Cheryl.

"First, your sexual health is important to us," Cheryl continues. "We expect a high level of personal hygiene on the set, and we have a strict testing and STD prevention protocol. Also, if you are escorting or thinking about escorting outside of your work with Illicit Entertainment, we strongly urge against that."

She puts her hands up almost apologetically and continues. "A stigma still remains in the industry you know toward those entertainers who choose to go down this path."

I nod my head as she continues her spiel. I've heard this all before.

"There may be gonzo scenes in the films you shoot to give it a more 'realistic' quality—of course that's you interacting with the director and cameramen. And you can expect a healthy dose of pop shots, facials, and creampies. I assume you're okay with all of the above?" Cheryl asks.

She's all business now, but is she for real? None of this is new to me from my days as Brittney White. "Sure, I get it; I've been out of porn, but I've been around this industry for a while," I say. "Where do I sign?"

At this point, I just want to get this over with. I watch as Walter excuses himself from the room. "I'll be right back," he says to both of us. He feigns that he needs to use the restroom, but I know better. I know he's scoping the building out.

Cheryl points her finger to the bottom of the fourth page and I add my signature. We continue on through the paperwork, and while I don't show it, the NDA makes my insides coil like a guarded snake.

I'm not a liar—at least I never used to be—but here I am, preparing to sign a document that asks me to not disclose anything about the technology that Illicit Entertainment is rolling out, which goes against the very reason why I'm even here. But Simon's high-pitched voice floats back into my mind.

I can almost hear him repeating those words in the limo that made my insides grow cold, "I can give Richard a file." Richard is not a name that I ever want to hear again. I've worked hard to move on. So, I place the blue ballpoint pen to the paper and scratch out my signature.

"We have high hopes for you," Cheryl says with a smile. "Ethan says you've got a star quality about you."

"I won't let you down." I force a smile.

Who have I become? It's like I've walked into a new body. I don't even recognize myself. One minute I'm helping women victimized by infidelity and abuse, and I'm doing well—Man Chaser LLC is actually kicking rear if I'm honest, and yet the next minute, I'm whisked back into the porn industry to steal some plans, and I'm trying to protect myself from some wannabe billionaire who seems to be coked out of his mind.

Now that the last of the paperwork is signed, I thank Cheryl again for walking me through it all, and I think of a pretext to go find Walter. "I need to make a call," I say, and I excuse myself from the room.

I quickly walk down the hall, peering into offices in the hopes that I'll see Walter. After walking around for a few minutes, I finally see him rounding the corner and we nearly bump into each other.

"Where have you been?"

"Where have I been?" he asks. "You know I've been taking a look around this place, but you nearly blew our cover. I walked back into Cheryl's office to find you and she gave me a confused look. She said you had left a while ago," Walter complains.

"Well, I'm here now. Let's finish scoping this place out," I say. You go left and I'll go right.

We need to find out as much as we can about this place. He agrees and I continue down the hall, walking as quietly as I can against the hard floor, until I find a corner office that catches my attention.

It has large windows that overlook the city. The lights are on but no one is inside. I notice that the walls and desk are adorned with what appears to be family photos. There's a large mahogany desk with a dark-brown leather chair. I walk over to one of the walls and peer closely at the photos.

This must be Ethan Kane's office. One photo looks like it's from the early 80s—grainy with age. It shows a young blonde-haired boy flanked by what appears to be his mother and father. When I look closely, I realize that the little boy in the picture is Ethan.

My eyes travel further across the wall and I see a picture of a man in a military dress uniform. It's an even older picture, and given the family resemblance, I figure this must be Ethan's father.

In another photo, I see a woman. She's sitting in a wicker chair—she must be in a backyard because the backdrop is a sprawling lawn with the hint of a flower garden in the far distance. I lean in closer, squinting to make out the details. What kinds of flowers are those? I figure this must be his mother. There's certainly a resemblance. I wonder if she's sitting in her family's yard in this picture, or—

"Looks like you're already making yourself at home," a voice says, breaking my thoughts.

My heart nearly leaps through my throat as I hear a voice coming from directly behind me. I look up and whip my head around to see who it is, and I come face to face with him.

It's Ethan Kane.

97

Ethan

She's up to something. You don't stay in someone's office uninvited, and look through their things unless you have a reason.

Look at her. Standing there nose deep in my family pictures. What's she looking for, and what was she expecting? I'm sure she's guessed those are my parents. Women always want me to bring them home—to meet mom, and maybe shake hands with dad. Maybe that's what Brittney was hoping for too. What she doesn't know is that they died years ago.

I can't help but notice the angle of her body. She's bent over ever so slightly, her firm and idiotable heart-shaped rear taunting me in that dress. My eyes travel further down to her legs, toned and slender, they seem to go forever. I definitely have a thing for heels, and hers seem to be a solid five inches.

For some reason the fact that she's here doesn't even bother me. If I had caught any other person snooping around my office uninvited, I would've thrown them out—in fact, no one at this company would've been caught dead doing that.

But Brittney is different.

There's something about her that draws me in and keeps me there. I swear I'm like a paperclip flying into a magnet when I'm around this woman.

What the heck is wrong me? I'm Ethan Kane, and I definitely don't keep women. I harass 'em. Move on. Repeat. So what is it about this one that keeps me coming back?

"Looks like you're already making yourself at home," I say, breaking her concentration. She's so into these pictures that she doesn't even realize that I'm standing directly behind her.

I swear she jumps about six inches in the air. I'm pretty sure I saw her heels lift up off the floor. She whips her head back to see me and she stumbles into my chest. A tinge of embarrassment flushes across her cheeks.

By instinct, I reach out to steady her and my hands rest on her waist. Why is it that's the first thing I grab on a woman? There's a thrill of electricity that goes through me when I realize I'm touching her. I'm literally holding her in my hands. It takes me right back to her audition—her on my lap—my hands on her hips, her rear, her breasts.

I'm so distracted by the fact that I have her hips in each of my hands that I forget what I even wanted to say. My mind's erased everything prior to this moment.

"I—uh—I was hoping to find you," she says. "These are great photos."

"Those are my parents. They're dead."

"I'm so sorry," she says.

"Don't be. It happened years ago."

The way she's looking at me right now makes me want to press my lips to hers. I want to take her over my shoulder in animalistic lust. I'm already mentally undressing her. Can you blame me?

It takes me a moment to remember that we're both standing here in my office. Her hand is on my chest, and she keeps it there. My heartbeat increases with anticipation.

I should let go of her hips—I should walk away—maybe help her out of the building and into her car or something. I'm now her employer. This should be the one woman I don't go for—she's an Illicit Entertainment employee now. I have enough of those women around here. And yet …

But I don't move. For some reason, I remain in that position. I can't seem to help myself. There's a moment of silence before I speak.

"I see you like the parents, but what about this mug shot?" I ask with a smile, pointing to my face.

"Not bad, I suppose," she says with a smirk. "Those lips of yours are looking especially delicious right now." As she says this, she brings one hand up to my face and brushes her fingers across my bottom lip, tracing its edges. My cock twitches at her advancement. I'm already growing hard under her slight touches.

"You'd be surprised what these lips can do," I say.

"You think so?"

"I know so," I reply, my eyes locked on hers. Our gaze intensifies, and I'm not sure what's going to happen next. The room feels at least ten degrees hotter.

"Are you flirting with me?" she asks. It's a loaded question. I can tell by the smile on her face.

"If I were flirting with you," I say, "I would reach into my desk over there, pull out the bottle of rare top-shelf bourbon that I've hidden, buried underneath a stack of files—a bottle that I've been saving for a woman like you—and I would drizzle it down your chest."

"What else would you do?" she asks, her eyes smoldering with desire. She's breathing heavier now. The air around us is thick with longing.

"If I were actually flirting, I'd reach down and place my lips and tongue on your breasts, licking the bourbon off of your bare nipples before traveling down the rest of your body."

Her lips part into a smile. "I like a man with a plan," she says, ginning. She's raking her nails through my hair and when they touch my scalp, an electric current runs down my spine. "That's a map I can follow."

I lean in, bringing my lips an inch from her ear and whisper, "What I'd like to do to you right now is anything but professional. And given my position in the company, I'm not sure that's wise."

She doesn't move; her one hand is still on my chest. There's an electric current binding us together, and it's palpable. It's like someone has flipped a switch and it's an unbreakable circuit. I almost detect a moan from her lips, but it's so soft that I can't be certain.

I lean in again, my breath on her neck, and I move my mouth down to her exposed shoulders, dragging my lips across her bare skin. This time her moan is audible and loaded with an insatiable craving.

As soon as my breath hits her neck, and my mouth touches her shoulder, her lips part. I want to grab her hair and bring her mouth to mine.

Instead, I slide my right hand around to the small of her lower back. She doesn't resist my touch. I feel her moving in closer, and I take that as my cue to move my hand from her back, even lower. I move below her waist now, and cup her rear cheek in my firm palm.

"Ethan Kane," she whispers. "I guess what they say about you is true."

"And what's that?" I ask.

"That you're larger than life," she says. "And you're hotter than a lightening rod."

"I'm seconds away from picking you up, placing you over one shoulder, and carrying you out of this place—caveman style—and show you exactly what kind of rod I'm packing"

"Now, that wouldn't be very professional," she grins. I read her grin like a dare.

"I'm not done," I say. "And you know what I'd do next? I'd take you back to my place, bend you over, and run my lips all over the secret corners of your body, head to toe. Where do you want my lips, Brittney?"

I watch as she looks up at me, her blue eyes flashing with desire and her cheeks growing a deeper shade of pink.

"But what about all of this?" she asks, pointing around my office. "I'm pretty sure we'd be violating all of those code of conduct papers I just signed."

"Forget those papers. This is my company."

She smiles. "I suppose that's true," she says.

My eyes have moved down from her face to the deep crevice between her breasts. It's taking everything in me to not reach down and grab them. To slide my hands under their warmth and take them into my mouth.

"Dinner. Tonight. I'll pick the place," I whisper into her ear. "All you have to do is say yes."

She looks up at me, and for a moment I don't know how she's going to answer, or what's going through her mind. Finally she grins.

"Okay then," she says. "My answer is yes."

I smile.

This is going to be an interesting night.

98

Brittney

I look out my apartment window and see a black limo pull up to the curb. The limo's windows are deeply tinted, so I can't see who's inside, but I know it's Ethan Kane.

He's right on time.

I check myself for the last time in a full-length mirror turning around in a full circle to consider how this dress looks from all angles. I smooth the fabric with my hands.

Based on our last encounter where he nearly made my heart leap through my throat by sneaking up behind me—I wasn't expecting him to find me like that, but I guess I should've been more careful—I knew I needed to gain his trust and attention tonight.

I bought this dress specifically for tonight's dinner. The goal was to find a dress that would stop traffic. I don't want him to be able to take his eyes off of me.

On the tag for this dress, the color was listed as Russian Roulette Red.

I figured that's exactly the kind of high-octane stakes I'm faced with, and I bought it.

This was a good purchase, I say to myself, after coming to the conclusion that it's going to be a good fit. I'll admit that it fits me better than a glove.

It's an iconic cocktail dress—the kind of dress that hugs your every curve like a second skin. The neckline is built to plunge deeply between my breasts and is held up with a single halter-top that clasps with a gold buckle. My back is exposed, and the dress's hemline ends well before my knees.

I think this dress will do the trick tonight.

I've added an extra wave to my hair with a curling iron, and I carefully applied a smoky eye shadow with a healthy layer of mascara. And this look wouldn't be complete without a classic red lipstick, so I add that too at the last minute.

I hear another knock at the door, and I open it.

Standing outside is Ethan. He's wearing a suit that looks like something out of a James Bond movie. My god he's hot… so clean cut and … chiseled under that form-fitting suit.

"You look beautiful," he says, extending me his hand. He carefully walks me to street.

"I'd say you clean up nicely as well," I grin. Together we walk to the limo where his driver is holding a door open for us. We slide into the cold leather seats, and I scoot close to him, inhaling his masculinity.

"Where are we headed?" I ask.

"Are you ready for amazing views of the city?" he asks.

"I'm intrigued," I say. "And I do love a good view."

"Rockefeller Center," he replies. "We're going to the very top."

"You certainly have good taste," I purr, running my hand across his chest. I lean in and bring my lips to his, pressing against him softly—just enough to give him a taste—and I pull away. He gives me a devilish grin, but before he can say anything, the limo stops and the driver opens our door, ushering us out.

That was a quick ride. Time flies when you're with a hot man.

We walk into Rockefeller Center, and once we take an elevator up to the restaurant, I find myself with a world-class view of New York City. Thousands of lights glitter and dance across the landscape as if a diamond necklace has been draped across the skyline.

I don't care how many times I've seen this view. It never gets old.

The waiter approaches and offers us a wine from their extensive wine list. Ethan orders us a Pinot Noir. I watch as it's carefully poured into an oversized wine glass and the deep aroma fills my head before the alcohol does. I take a sip and feel myself floating on its rich, velvet blanket of earth and berries.

I extend my foot under our table until my heel reaches Ethan's leg. I slowly drag it upwards until I know that I'm inches from his cock.

He shifts in his chair and we lock eyes. He reaches toward me with his own leg, but I move just out of reach. He seems disappointed, but the waiter interrupts and brings us a dazzling plate of oysters on ice, which momentarily diverts our focus.

"These are deep, cold-water oysters," Ethan says after the waiter walks away. "They're saltier than the other varieties. Eating one of these is like being slapped by an ocean wave."

"Hmm… a salty slap. I like the sound of that," I wink.

I reach over and grab a wedge of lemon and squeeze it on top of one. I watch as the oyster seems to shiver and recoil under the acidity.

"I think it just moved," I say.

"It should. The best way to eat an oyster is to eat a live one. Don't settle for anything less."

"I never knew you were such an authority on this subject."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," he grins. He reaches over to touch my arm. I let him for a moment, but pull away. I can see the confusion on his face.

But I know I need to gain his trust, so I grab another oyster, squeeze lemon on it and bring it to my lips.

I tilt my head back, exposing my neck to Ethan, and I part my lips just enough to take the oyster in and allow it to slide down my throat. He watches me, never lifting his gaze.

I smile and grab his hand. Placing one of his fingers between my lips, I suck on it. "I don't know what's tastier, you or this oyster," I purr.

"I like that sound of that," he smiles. He reaches up to stroke my cheek, but again, I pull away.

This game of back and forth is driving him crazy.

By the time our waiter brings out the final course—a decadent serving of chocolate lava cake, I've already been teasing Ethan for the entire night. In one sense, I feel bad. I honestly do.

I find myself feeling wildly excited by his advances; I'm like those oysters every time he responds with my skin rippling in anticipation. I want his touch so bad. I crave his touch. But this is supposed to be a job. I have to keep that in perspective.

But if this is just a job, why am I feeling this way? Why am I desiring his touch? Normally, I do my job. I seduce men. I follow through, and that's it. I don't feel anything inside. But this is so different. My mind is reeling.

I push my spoon into the crust of the dark chocolate cake. The warm, gooey liquid leaks over the spoon, and I bring it to my mouth, extending my tongue and carefully licking off every warm drop.

Ethan is entranced.

"I didn't realize how hungry you were," he says with a grin.

"This is just the beginning," I purr. "My hunger goes beyond the food on this table."

When the meal is finished, I bring my hand softly on top of his. "Thank you, that was one of the best meals I've ever had," I say.

"There's a lot more where that came from," he smiles. "I can show you a good meal at my apartment—maybe satisfy your real hunger?"

His leg is pressed up against mine, and he has his hand on my arm. I know where he's going with this, but I can't. I can't go back to his apartment. Do I want to?

Yes, of course! My body is practically screaming out for him. But I really can't. Because if I go back to his apartment, you know what's going to happen, don't you? And I can't sleep with him. Not tonight. That's definitely not part of the formula for this evening.

"Not tonight," I say, pulling my arm back. "I can't."

He looks frustrated. There's something in his eyes that says he's not going to give up that easily. He's not going to take no for an answer. He stands up from the table and clears his throat.

"Everyone, can I have your attention?" his voice booms across the private dining room. The wait staff all stop and stare at him.

He now has a captive audience and he continues, "I need everyone to leave."

There are some low murmurs as people decide if he's serious. When he doesn't sit back down, and instead looks across the room to ensure people are following orders, they begin to file out—waiters, bussers, and other diners.

When the last person leaves, the room is silent and Ethan looks at me.

"What is it that you just said?" he asks me.

I don't immediately respond and he continues.

"Did you say you can't? Because it looks to me like you can."

99

Brittney

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t supposed to have me… Not yet, at least. But as he stands up and orders everyone to leave the room, I know I’m done for. And even though I know I should stop it, I simply can’t do it. I want this, and I want it very bad.

“This is it,” he tells me as he walks around the table. He stops right in front of me, fire in his eyes. I can almost see the flames of desire dancing there, tall and fierce and all consuming. Raising one arm, he brushes the back of his hand on my cheeks, and my heart starts to drum wildly as I feel his touch on me. “You know what happens now, don’t you?”

I say nothing and simply nod, adrenaline raging through my veins. I have a pretty good idea about what’s going to happen now, and I can’t wait for it.

“Say it,” he orders me, his voice barely a whisper. I run my tongue over my lips, trying to look for the words inside my mind. Goodness, I can barely think straight right now.

“You’re going to mess me,” I finally manage to say, and a pleased smile dawns on his lips.

“That’s right, Brittney, I’m going to forget you… And I’m going to forget you very hard,” he whispers, tangling his fingers in my hair and forcing my head back. I gasp as I feel the pressure of his fingers, a pleasant warmness under my skin. I’m already wet, my pussy aching to feel him; since that first moment when I put on that little show for him, during the audition, I’ve been wanting more of him. I mean, with a cock like that, how could I not want more?

Leaning in, he presses his mouth against the soft skin on my neck and I tremble, a shiver going up my spine as I feel his lips. Then, letting go of my hair, he runs his fingers down to my shoulders and grabs at the halter of my dress; he pulls on the silver clasp, sending it down. The fabric droops over my chest and it falls to my waist, my chest rising and falling faster as I start breathing harder.

I can’t help but notice the subtle smile on his face as his eyes go straight to my breasts. Acting on his desires, he takes his hands to my back and pulls at the clasp on my bra. Still unable to move, I simply let anticipation float around inside my head as he pushes the bra down my arms, baring my breasts.

“You’re a really beautiful woman,” he says, his hands going to my breasts. Cupping them both at the same time, he squeezes gently, the warmness of his fingers spreading to my skin. “Ever since your little dance at the audition, I’ve wanted you,” he continues, his voice steady but filled with a tense eagerness.

“I’m here now,” I mutter, aching to feel his lips on mine. Even though desire is burning deep inside of me, I still find myself frozen in place; there’s a certain hardness in his eyes, one that tells me that he’s the one in charge. I’ve been with dominant and powerful men, but I’ve never met anyone that could convey all his power and dominance with just one look. Until now, that is.

“Yes, you are… And there’s no going back from this.” Just like that, he leans into me and crushes his mouth against mine. I surrender to his kiss and part my lips, sliding my tongue inside his mouth almost at once. Our tongues dance around one another, and he place his hands on my waist, pulling me into him. I go willingly, pressing my body against his as the wetness between my thighs continues to grow at an out of control pace.

Acting on impulse, I take my hand to between his legs and press it against his crotch. I start to kiss him wildly as I feel his desire pulsing against my fingers, his hard cock straining against his pants. I curl my fingers around his thick shape, grabbing him firmly, and that sets something off inside of him.

He pushes me back, and the moment my back touches the wall, he digs his fingers into my thighs and forces me to turn around. I gasp as I turn, placing both my hands on the wall at shoulder height. Moving fast, he slides one hand around my waist and presses his long fingers against my pussy, bunching up the front of my dress. I exhale sharply as I feel the pressure, a warm sweetness coating my nerve endings as I jut my rear back and press it against his crotch. His cock between my rear cheeks, I start to grind against him, stroking him over the fabric of our clothes using just my rear.

“Not an ounce of patience in you,” he tells me, his lips brushing against my ear as he speaks. He presses harder on my pussy, a violent electric thunder climbing up my spine, and I let out a subtle moan. I start to grind against him as if there is no humanity left inside of me; right now, I’m a feral animal guided by base instincts. And I just love it.

“Oh goodness,” I find myself saying as Ethan flicks my thong to the side. Wasting no time, he runs one fingertip over my drenched folds and then stops on my clit, applying a maddening pressure there. “Goodness,” I repeat, unable to find anything else to say. Electric sparks go from my clit to all my muscles, and then make their way toward my head, silencing whatever thoughts still float inside of it.

“Goodness? No God in here but me,” he whispers against my ear, his words making me even more desperate to have his cock inside of me. Whenever I find myself with a man when I’m on a job, I never let desire take the reins… But with Ethan, that’s impossible.

Letting go of my clit, he runs his finger down my pussy again, and then simply hooks it in. I bite on my bottom lip as he pushes his finger past my folds, guiding it all the way in, and I press my forehead against the wall. With my eyes closed, I let a sweet madness take over me as he starts to move his finger in and out of me. I’m moaning now, the quivering sound of my voice echoing in the room.

“You’re moaning now,” he whispers, “but soon you’ll be screaming.”

“I’d like that,” I manage to say, and as soon as the last word leaves my lips, he takes his finger out of my pussy. He takes it to my mouth, and acting on instinct alone, I part my lips and let his finger in. Sucking it dry, I let my own fluids coat my tongue with my lustful flavor. Then, with no warning at all, he grabs me by the hips again and makes me turn to him.

With what seems like a growl, he runs his fingers through my hair once more, and forces my head back. His lips go straight to my neck, and he traces a downward line toward my breasts; the moment he goes over the curve of my right breast, he wraps his lips around my hard nipple and starts to suck on it. I exhale sharply, and taking the opportunity, he slides one hand of his under my dress. This time, he doesn’t flick my thong to the side: he grabs on it and pushes it down my legs, his movements filled with a kind of frantic anxiety.

I’m still kicking my thong off when he presses his hand against my bare pussy. His thumb goes straight to my clit, and at the same time, he pushes his index finger inside of my pussy again. Fingering me and punishing my clit, he continues to suck hard on my nipple, all the sensations blending into one another. It doesn’t take long for my moans to turn into one drawn out scream. Goodness, if he can make me feel like this using only his fingers, I can’t imagine how good it will be once I push his pants down…

“We’re just getting started, Brittney… But I love the way you scream,” he tells me, and then starts to rub his thumb harder against my clit. This is a man who knows what he’s doing; his strokes are simple and effective, and it only takes a few seconds for my muscles to start tensing up. There’s a fire climbing up my throat, and I already hear the deep rumbling of thunder under my skin. “Let go… Come for me,” he continues, and just like that, I come undone.

Fire turns into a raging inferno, and thunder melts into it as I let out one violent scream. Pleasure rages through like a river after a flood, whispering promises of so much more as it goes through me. Grabbing his wrist, I hold his hand in place as I come, my pussy clamping around his fingers. I only let go of him when the spasms that have taken over my muscles finally start to subside.

“Now,” Ethan says, slowly sliding his finger out of my pussy, “it’s time to see what you can do.” I force my eyes open, and look into him, a devilish grin on his lips. “On your knees.” As if his words were magic, I find my knees buckling, and I go down as if God himself had cut the strings that kept me up. “Good girl.”

I don’t need instructions now; my hands move as if they have a mind of their own, and I rest my fingers on his waistline. Looking up at him and into his eyes, I unbuckle his belt, and slowly pull it out from its loops. Breathing deeply in order to steady my fingers, I finally start unbuttoning. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer, a wild anticipation taking over me. As I go on, button by button, his cock pushes against my fingers from under his boxer briefs. Goodness, I can’t even take my eyes off of it.

Brushing one finger over his whole length, I only realize that I’ve stopped breathing when I finally find his waistline. I take one more deep breath, and hook my fingers on his boxers; pulling them down, I can’t help but bite down on my lower lips as his cock springs free, demanding all of my attention. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something quite like it; to say that it’s big would be putting it mildly. He has to be at least 12 inches long, and the thickness… Oh goodness, I don’t even know how the heck I’m going to fit him in my mouth, let alone in my pussy.

“You want it, don’t you?” he asks me with a grin, grabbing his cock by the root and pointing it at my mouth. I lick my lips unconsciously, eager to feel him inside of my mouth.

“I do,” I whisper, and he responds by brushing his glans against my parted lips. Without saying anything else, I open my mouth wide, and just like that, he shoves his whole cock inside of my mouth. My eyelids droop as I feel his inches rolling over my tongue, going straight to the back of my throat. Somehow, my lips touch the skin around the base of his cock; it’s not easy, but I push through, fitting all his length inside of my mouth. I slide out then, my lips sliding over his shaft as I curl my fingers around it. When Ethan places both his hands on top of my head, I’m lost. I start to bob my head back and forth, surrendering to the whirlwind of pleasure inside of me. I never thought I’d take this much delight in sucking someone’s cock.

My head moves at a steady rhythm, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for Ethan. Grabbing me by the hair, he holds my head in place and he starts to thrust, my tight mouth as if he were doing to my pussy. I do nothing but submit to the way his shaft rolls between my lips, the wet sound of it blanketing every single thought inside my head. For just a fraction of a second, I imagine him cumming in my mouth; somehow, I just know that he holds a raging river of cum just for me. But instead of doing what my imagination worked up, he does the opposite. He slides his cock out of my mouth suddenly, and pulls me up to my feet.

Kicking off his shoes, he steps out of both his pants and underwear. My fingers moving by instinct, I grab his shirt and pull on it, forcing the buttons to pop out in a harsh sequence. Once I push his shirt down his arms, I take one step back to take in the glorious sight of the naked man in front of me. Even God couldn’t make him any more perfect than he is; his muscles seem to have been carved out by a Renaissance master, each curve and ridge carefully drawn on muscle and skin. I just want to lean into him, run my tongue between his abs and taste every single inch of him. If I had to pick just one word to describe him, I know what it would be: delicious.

His lips curl into a grin, and the next thing I know, he’s on me. He pushes me back until my rear is pressed against the edge of the table; using one arm, he throws everything on top of it to the floor. The plates and glasses all go tumbling down onto the floor, but he doesn’t even seem to care. With both of his hands under my rear, he lifts me up and sits me on top of the table, and I immediately part my legs so that he fits between them. Moving as if he were in a hurry, he grabs my hair with one hand, and with the other, he grabs his cock and presses it against my pussy. I let out one loud moan at once, my heart beating anxiously.

“Beg,” he utters, his word like a whip directed at my mind. I place my hands on his firm rear, feeling the curve of his rear cheeks, and try to pull him in and force him to mess me.

“Idiot me, Ethan… Idiot me now,” I beg, just like he told me to. To be honest, I’m not doing it because he ordered me… I’m doing it because I really, really want him to mess me. I need it more than I need air to breathe.

“Such a filthy mouth,” he says with a grin, and then he finally thrusts. I throw my head back as I feel his thickness parting my drenched folds and straining against my inner walls on the way in. A scream bubbles up on my lips, and I let it explode on the room, the sound of it bouncing off the walls and back to me. With my fingers digging into his rear cheeks, I urge him to start thrusting, and that’s exactly what he does. He starts to rock his hips, his cock sliding in and out of me at a growing pace.

When his rhythm becomes so fast I can barely think, I let go of his rear and lean back on top of the table, supporting myself with my elbows. His hands go straight to my belly, and he squeezes them harshly as he idiots me, his long fingers going over the curve of my breasts and pressing down on my aching nipples.

“Faster… Faster…” I whimper, even though he’s already going fast. Even so, he somehow manages to go even faster than before, his cock going in and out of me so fast I can’t even tell when it’s coming or going. Not that it matters anyway; what matters is that we’re. Finally—I can’t tell you how much I wanted this to happen. I know I’m walking on ice here; Ethan is supposed to be a target, and all this is nothing more than a job. A job I had to take because I was forced into taking it, but that doesn’t make it any less of a job. If anything, it just makes it more important for me to succeed. But what if I’m having fun? It’s not like that’s going to hurt me, right? Right?

“You’re so tight,” Ethan says, more to himself than to me. It’s true; even though I’ve had my fair share of men, I remain as tight as any inexperienced woman, but with the benefit of actually being an experienced one. I just don’t know if I’ll remain this tight after he’s done with me… Because, heck, I’ve never been with someone who has a cock as massive as the one ravaging me right now. But if that’s what it takes, I’m more than willing to pay the price. Oh, you can take that to the bank.

“Don’t…” Don’t stop, that’s what I want to tell him. But the words die in my throat as another violent scream takes their place. As if my blood was turning into concrete, my muscles tense up all at once and an explosion goes off inside my head. Tiny incessant spasms take over my body and I start to tremble and convulse, my head thrown back in ecstasy as I come. “Idiot, idiot,” I hiss through gritted teeth, my soul burning up. I don’t think I have ever felt this much pleasure in my life. I don’t know if it’s because of his big cock, or because he knows what he’s doing… But, heck, Ethan sure is a gift from the heavens.

As the waves of pleasure start to recede, I finally manage to open my eyes. Smiling, I look up at him and there’s that grin again. We’re just getting started, it seems to say. My insides clench as, looking into his eyes, I realize that it’s the truth: we’re just getting started.

Ethan slides his cock out of me, and flowing from one motion to the other, he grabs at my dress, now hanging limply on my waist. He pulls it down my legs, and then throws it on the ground. He looks down at my heels, and I see a flicker of lust burning in his eyes: the heels will stay, then.

Without a word, he grabs me by the hips and pulls me down from the table. He turns me around then, and I place both of my hands in front of me for support. At the same time, he laces my waist with one arm and pulls me into him. I let myself be guided by his movements, and immediately feel his cock pressed tight between my rear cheeks. I thrust back at him, and moving wildly, start to grind against his shaft as if I were a woman possessed.

“I want you inside of me,” I pant, trying to reach for his cock. He doesn’t even give me the time for it; pulling back, he grabs his own member and pushes its tip against my pussy. I half-expect him to simply ram it inside of me, but he keeps rubbing his glans against my drenched folds. Up and down, up and down, each time he flicks his cock the flames of lust growing fiercer inside of me. “Please,” I say, the word coming out with a drawl. As if he wanted me to beg, only now does he thrust; with one curt movement of his hips, his shaft pushes past my inner lips and goes all the way in.

Without a pause, he starts to slide his cock in and out of me at a relentless pace, each thrust of his sending waves of pleasure through my body. As his hips slap my rear, my whole body sways; the cutlery still on top of the table rattles and jumps down, hopping all the way to the edge before finally tumbling.

“It feels… It feels so…” I don’t even know what I want to say. It feels good and it feels heavenly; it’s all those things, and it’s more than that. I can hardly believe that only now I’ve met a man capable of making me feel something like this. It wouldn’t be such a big surprise if I was a virgin girl, still a foreign to lust, but I’m none of that.

“Amazing. It feels amazing,” he completes my sentence, his rhythm not faltering as he speaks.

“Yes… Yes, it does…” I moan out loud as I thrust back against him, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the whole room. I throw my head back, my hair cascading down my shoulders, and he tangles his fingers in a few stray locks. Turning his hand sideways, he yanks on my hair and starts to thrust even harder; it seems that, no matter how hard he goes, there’s still something extra inside of him.

Grabbing my belly while he rocks his body against me, he lays his mouth on my neck and gently bites at my skin. I moan and close my eyes, a pleasant buzz crawling under my skin. Each thrust of his forces me to moan louder, and it doesn’t take long for my moans to turn in a violent scream. I feel my throat growing raw from the effort, but he keeps on me with raw intensity.

Even though I’m barely moving, there are beads of sweat forming on my forehead, a few stray hairs plastered to my flushed skin.

“Oh goodness, oh goodness,” I repeat over and over again, the sound of his body hitting mine like a counterpoint to the sound of my voice. Adding to the melody, he suddenly slaps my rear. I feel the open palm of his hand hitting my flesh, and a sharp pain darts across my body to my brain. I scream, and he smacks me again, this time harder. “More!” I hiss through gritted teeth, and he obliges. His hands fall heavy on me, and even though I should be in pain, all that I feel is ecstasy.

Coming from a dark corner of my mind, I hear a tenuous whisper: don’t forget what’s your real purpose that insidious voice seems to say. Don’t forget the reason why you’re here, it goes on and on, nagging me and trying to make me feel guilty. But I don’t care about reasons or purposes; right now, the only thing I care about is the massive cock buried inside my pussy.

“Oh, idiot!” I cry out loud as he goes around my waist with one hand and presses down on my clit. He circles steadily, matching the pace of his thrusts, and I have no other option but to succumb to an avalanche of pleasure.

Electricity burns its way through my muscles, making my whole body tense up as a nocked arrow. All that energy gathers under my skin, and just a heartbeat after that, it goes free. It’s as if I’m being hit by lighting while there’s a fire at my feet; all my nerve endings are busy, and I have to struggle to hold on to consciousness. Is there such a thing as too much pleasure? Before today, I never considered it, but now I think it might be possible.

My whole body is spasming, and I already feel my knees growing weak; curling my fingers around the edge of the table, I hold on to it for dear life. My eyes are closed, my eyes are gritted, and this is how I brace the storm of ecstasy. I can’t even tell you if I’m moaning or screaming, or if I’m too spent for any of that. All that I know is that I’m adrift in an ocean of pleasure.

Once I feel the waves of pleasure washing away, I finally realize that I have forgotten to breath. As Ethan slides his cock out of me, I take one deep breath and let the air rush to my lungs. Feeling completely exhausted, it takes a few breaths for me to summon the energy necessary to turn around. When I do it, I remain with my hands on the table, afraid of falling straight into the floor; my legs are still shaking, and I don’t trust them yet.

There’s a gentle smile on Ethan’s face, but it quickly changes into a devilish grin. We’re not done yet.

“On your knees,” he tells me, and just like I did before, I go down at once. Looking up at him, I reach for his cock and curl my fingers around his shaft, feeling my own fluids coating it. I start to stroke him as hard as I can, my hand flying over his thickness in a flurry of movement. I guess I still have a few reserves of energy inside of me, after all.

“Come for me, Ethan… I want your cum all over me,” I beg him, my voice mellow and honeyed. I don’t think I have ever felt the urge to have a man covering me with his cum, but I can’t help it; kneeling in front of Ethan after he drove me to climax heaven knows how many times, it seems like the right thing to do. “I want you to cover me in cum…” I continue, and just like that, I feel a tenuous spasm against my fingers. Taking it as a good omen, I redouble my efforts and go as hard as humanly possible. There’s one hard spasm, and not even a fraction of a second after it, a rope of cum jumps from his cock and straight into my face. I only have the time to register the warmness of it, as more and more ropes of cum start to gush out of his member and into me.

I hear him groan, but it’s almost as if his voice is coming at me from the other side of the universe. Right now, I’m not lost in this moment. I open my mouth as wide as I can, and sticking out my tongue, I let him rain down his seed upon me. It doesn't take long for my mouth to be brimming with cum; thick drops are already dripping down my chin and neck, and making a steady path toward my belly.

With a grin on my lips, I look into Ethan’s eyes and I swallow. He grins back at me at once, but then closes his eyes as his cock continues to spasm. I feel his salty flavor going down my throat and a shiver goes up my spine, making my skin prickle. Somehow, I manage to keep my eyes open as thick strands of his juices fall across my face; after all, how could I miss the way his whole body tenses up as an intense orgasm completely crushes him? There’s nothing better than watching a perfect man drowning in pleasure… When you’re the cause of his pleasure, of course.

As his spasms start to subside, I finally let go of his cock. Acting on impulse, I lean into him, and parting my lips, take his whole cock into my mouth at once. Then, slowly rolling my lips back over his shaft, I suck him dry. I linger on his glans, lapping at it with my tongue as I gently caress his balls with my outstretched fingers.

“Idiot,” he mutters, and I’d bet that that’s the only thing he can say right now. And it’s the appropriate one too. Leaning back, I let his cock pop out of my mouth and run my tongue over my lips.

“How do I look?” I asked him, grabbing my belly and rubbing them with the open palm of my hands. My fingers slide easily over my skin, the white cum that covers me helping, and so I smear it all over my naked chest.

“Perfect,” he replies, extending one hand; I take it and let him pull me up to my feet. The moment I stand straight, he grabs me by the waist and presses his body against me, his lips finding their way to mine. We lose ourselves as we start to kiss, my cum coated lips eagerly devouring his; I push my tongue into his mouth and, with it goes the flavor of his own semen.

I know, I know—this is supposed to be a job, not a way for me to have fun. But who cares? I would just beat myself up for the rest of my life if I didn’t take the chance to let myself be used by a man like this. Because that’s what happened. Ethan used me, and I loved every second of it.

As I pull back from him, I look into his eyes once again, and there’s a sudden pang of regret in my heart. In his eyes I see happiness, and I hate the fact that I’ll be the one crushing it. But what options do I have? There’s no other way—if I don’t do this… I don’t even want to think of it. Whatever it takes, I have to do this.

It’s just a job, I think to myself, and I can’t help but feel that the more I repeat these words... the more they sound like a lie.

100

Ethan

"I have some marketing ideas I'd like to run by you," Cheryl says. We're sitting in the conference room going over the product launch for Illicit Escape, the technology that we're banking on to revolutionize the porn industry—actually, the whole world seems to be banking on it too.

At least that's what we're supposed to be discussing, this product launch, but I can't focus.

Instead of thinking about how to launch this product, I'm thinking back to the restaurant—Top of the Rock—with Brittney. I'm thinking about her dress. Her perfect curves. Her smell. The way her blonde hair framed her face and caught the light just right.

The way I commanded everyone to leave the dining room. The way the city stood tall in the background, a symbol of success and power. And how I felt like I had all of that power in the palm of my hand.

I'm thinking about the look that formed on her face the moment she realized we were alone. The way she screamed when I pressed my hand against her bare pussy. The way her fingers rested on my waistline in anticipation, her eyes pleading me to allow her to go further. And I'll never forget the way she grabbed my shirt, crazed with lust, and I watched as the buttons popped off and rolled to the floor. That was a first.

I suddenly realize that if I'm not careful, my cock is going to start tenting my pants in the middle of this meeting. Not ideal.

"I was thinking we could build off of your press release pitch," Cheryl continues, oblivious to the images playing out in my mind. I nod my head in vague agreement. I'm only partially paying attention, and honestly, every time she starts talking, my mind changes tracks. Like I said, I can't focus.

"We could do a montage of cavemen scribbling porn on caves walls, and then show ancient civilizations scrawling it on stone tablets and papyrus," she says. "And we can continue down that evolutionary chain until we reach the early days of VHS and the Internet—and then we can have the screen pan into a modern-day man and woman. Maybe they're sitting in a park, or sitting at home, and no one knows, but they're actually, privately watching porn. It's not obscene. It's just normal. That's the revolution. The story always has to come back to the people."

Cheryl takes a drink of water from a nearby glass and continues. "We can show how discreet this technology actually is—how it's the next evolution of porn. What do you think about that? Ethan? Ethan—hello, is there anybody home? Are you following me?" She says this and laughs, but deep down you can tell she doesn't think me drifting off is funny at all.

"What? Oh—right—yes, I'm fine. I think that sounds like a great idea," I say, snapping back to the present. What was she just offering again? I'm losing track. I'm literally losing my mind.

"Do you even know what I was talking about?" she asks.

"Sure, porn, porn, and more porn," I laugh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

If I'm honest, I rarely see that look on her face—and I've known Cheryl forever. Seriously. I better get my trash together. I've got to get my head screwed on straight... and quick.

I don't know what the heck has come over me. One minute I'm fine. I'm Ethan Kane. The one man in this city that not a single woman can keep. And the next minute, I'm fawning over some woman. Sure, she's hot—but so are a hundred other women throwing themselves at my feet. And what's more, I can't get this particular woman out of my mind no matter how hard I try.

I look over at Cheryl. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask. "I'm fine. A little tired maybe, but fine."

Do I sound convincing? I'm sure Cheryl can see right through it.

"Ethan, I've known you for a long time, and I've never seen that look on your face before."

"You're overreacting," I laugh, shrugging her off. "I'm sure you've seen many of my faces—all variations of the one you're seeing right here in this meeting. Continue with your marketing plans. I'm listening."

"Okay, well, beyond this angle, I'm thinking that the bottom line is this—our focus should be on the people, our potential customers," she says. "To build buzz, I think we can turn this product launch into a full-scale event. We should also have our pre-orders set to go live soon. Do you know the official pre-order launch date? Ethan—are you listening?"

"Yes, sorry," I reply. "What was your question again?"

"No—you're definitely different today," she says, halting the marketing talk. "Where were you yesterday?"

"I was here," I say.

"No, you weren't. You left early… and I've never seen you leave work early."

"Oh, I—uh—I had a meeting scheduled for the evening," I say.

"With who?"

"What is this, a game of 20 questions?" I ask. "You sound like a surrogate mother."

Cheryl looks at me for a moment without saying another word. I can see her brain working overtime. I break the awkward silence.

"Look, it doesn't matter who I was with… trust me. Let's move on." I say. "What matters is that we launch Illicit Escape successfully. We have millions of dollars riding on this."

And then it's as if a circuit connects in her brain and she makes the link between what she's been searching for—like finding the correct piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

"You were with her, weren't you?" she asks. Her eyes are burning holes into me and I know exactly whom she's referring to.

"No—well, not completely," I say. "I mean I was, but it's not what you think."

Cheryl gives me a critical glare.

"Right, and you expect me to believe that?" she asks.

"Believe whatever you want, but let's continue," I say, slightly annoyed. "If we don't get this product launched, we'll all be in trouble."

Cheryl realizes that she isn't going to get anything further out of me, so she continues.

"I've created an infographic that shows a breakdown of various demographics and who our target audience is. You'll see that while many of our clients are male, we do have a sizeable segment of female viewers," she says. "If you look right here, you can see what I'm referring to."

I glance at the image on her screen, but my mind hasn't been following a word she's said, so it takes me a minute to locate what I should be looking at.

"It's right here," Cheryl says, pointing down to the far left corner. There's a tinge of irritation in her voice.

She continues, "I was also considering the fact that we have a large sponsorship pool that we can reach into as well. If we throw an event for this product launch, I could see various adult novelty stores interested in sponsorships. Who was that one sex toy manufacturer that we used to partner with? Ethan?"

"Oh right, uh, let's see—who were they again?" I ask.

"Never mind. I've just remembered," she says. "We worked with two companies—Naughty by Nature and Good Vibrations. Shall we send them a sponsorship proposal?"

"Sure, whatever you think."

"It's your call, Ethan. If we offer them a package, I can ask our marketing team to draw up the proposal. Do we want to offer three tiers of sponsorship?"

"Look, I must be more tired than I thought because honestly, all of these ideas are jumbled together in my mind," I lie. I'm not tired, but it's true that I'm not focused. I only have one thing on my mind, and it's certainly not the product launch—or events—or sponsors.

"I trust you, Cheryl. You know this business—and me—inside and out. You make the call, and pull the levers. We'll get everyone onboard with the plan and we'll roll it out. I have total confidence that this will be a product launch for the books. It'll be the best one in Illicit Entertainment history."

"Okay, if that's how you feel, I'll make the call," she says. I can tell she's still giving me a sideways glance, but I shrug it off and gather my things. Just as I'm about to excuse myself from the room, she speaks up.

Brittney is supposed to be shooting today," she says.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, acting casual.

"From what I can tell, it's an extensive scene. She should be in the building shortly."

As soon as she says that, I know exactly where I'm heading.

101

Brittney

“Turn your body around a bit to the left so the camera gets your rear,” the photography director calls out from his chair and I angle my body on the bed a little bit so that my rear is pointing toward him.

Goodness, I never thought I’d be back here again.

I’m wearing nothing but a lace black thong, black stockings and a matching lace black bra. I’m on a bed with red silk sheets on all fours, trying to look sexy.

I used to do this back in the day, when I was doing porn full time. Take teaser shots. For covers, promotional materials, trailers, you name it.

Although back then, it wasn’t as high-tech as it is now. And Robert used to be there with me.

The thought sends a shudder down my spine. I can’t believe Robert used to stand there and watch me as I wriggled my rear for the camera.

Oh yeah, Robert, right? I told you earlier I’d tell you about him.

He’s the guy that Simon is going to give my information to if—

“Brittney, are you paying attention?” the photography director calls out and I snap my head toward him. “It seems like you’re not listening or trying. I’m sorry.”

I sigh.

It really shouldn't be this hard. All I’m supposed to do is look sexy. That’s the whole point of this photo shoot.

And I promise you, I’m trying. The whole thing is resting on me now that I’m picked to be the face of the I.E.

I’m going to be starring in the first interactive virtual porn experience.

It’s going to be different from the old days though.

For one thing, I’m not actually having sex with anyone on camera. I’m not having sex at all to make this happen.

I’m going to be pretending to have sex, so when the viewer puts on the glasses, they think that I’m the one who they’re. It kind of ruins the mood if they see another cock in there.

There’s some computer graphics involved, but a lot of it first involves capturing my pictures as I pretend that there’s a cock inside of me. Or that I’m blowing somebody.

Even the cumshot is going to be done on the computer.

Crazy, right?

That way the viewer only has to specify using his eyes where he wants to cum, and the software will use a pre-made cum shot and target it there on my body.

I’m one woman, doing a man-woman scene.

The only problem is, we’re still stuck on the promotional trailers.

I don’t know why. I just can’t feel as sexy right now.

Maybe it’s the fact that there are so many people around me, seemingly interested more in their own tasks than on my nearly naked body.

Maybe it's the fact that the last time I did this was with Robert, and that man makes me feel singularly unsexy.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m here under false pretenses. That Ethan thinks I’m going to be the new face of his product.

When I’m actually here to steal it from him and give it to Simon.

I mean, sure, Man Chasers LLC was all about deceit. But I was there deceiving men who were too stupid to realize they shouldn’t be cheating on the woman that they pledged their lives to.

If a man was going about doing that, and willing to cheat on his wife, then idiot him. He deserves everything that he got by me.

But this is…different.

Simon is paying me to lie. But he’s also paying me to steal.

I have no idea why, but I do know that if I don’t do this, he’s not just going to not pay me. He’s going to destroy my life.

Tell me something, hun. If you were in this situation, would you even feel remotely sexy?

I mean, I felt sexy every time I did porn. But no one was holding a metaphorical gun to my head. I wanted to be there, under those lights, seducing on camera.

Apparently, not only am I not being sexy now, but I’ve stopped even being remotely attractive because the photography director shouts out, “Okay, everyone, let's take five!”

I sigh.

If I don’t get my act together then I’ll have harassed this up before I even get a chance.

I need to somehow catch Ethan’s eye. Then I need to get my way into his trust. And then I need to find what I’m looking for and take it.

I can hand it to Simon and then get the heck out of here.

I’ve saved up several million over the years; I can easily relax and live off of it for a few years. Maybe go to Paris. And then Rome. And maybe Venice.

I’m thinking about Venice and if there’s ever a chance to be a modern day courtesan again when I see him.

There, coming into the studio.

Ethan Kane.

You remember how I gave you that sob story basically about me and my situation? Told you it made it hard to feel sexy?

Well, I hate to say it because it makes me totally look so wishy-washy, but honestly, just seeing Ethan now is getting me kinda tingly.

I mean the other day, you saw me when I did the audition. I came during a lap dance.

I’ve never been a stripper or anything. Like I could never be that cold and money hungry every minute. When I get turned on, I totally go all the way.

Well, I went farther than I intended I think. You remember? I mean, I know I was telling you that I lost complete track of the people around me.

Goodness, I came so hard on top of him.

And then once I got home, I came so hard thinking about it. And don't let me even get started about that night at the restaurant …

And now, looking at him come into the studio, and look around in confusion as everyone takes their five minute break, I forget all about my troubles.

It’s like the world is melting around me and once again, it's just him and I.

“Tommy,” I call out at the sound guy who is still at his post. “Can you play something with a bass?”

He nods to me and pushes a few buttons. The instrumentals to something that sounds kind of like hip-hop comes on.

But Tommy’s gone from my head now. I mean, so is everyone else. I’m staring at Ethan and from the corner of the room as he walks closer, I know he’s staring at me on the bed.

All of a sudden, my body is moving to the slow cadence of the music and I want nothing more than for Ethan to come join me on the bed.

I crawl over toward the bed, bending my body lower, hoping he gets a view of my belly as they hang. They’re starting to feel really sexy in this bra.

Ethan walks closer and I can see him now more clearly.

He’s wearing a shirt that's hugging him like a second skin. You can see his pecs; they’re bulging. His biceps are rippling. He could easily lift me and hold me up if he wanted to and not break a sweat.

He could use me as a sex toy, I think to myself.

I mean, don’t you think that, when you look at him on the cover?

Just lifting you up?

You’d spread your legs for him. He’d maneuver you like a sex object. Use the entrance to your pussy to rub the head of his cock around a bit.

Oh yeah. Just imagining the tip of his cock against my pussy lips is getting me hot.

I love it.

I bring a hand back, running it over my rear cheek until it gets to the thin layer of fabric that’s covering my pussy lips.

Maybe someone says something to me, but I don't care whose watching because I take a finger and start to rub my folds. It feels good.

I feel like I’m in heat. I close my eyes and arch my back, imagining Ethan’s tongue running along me. From my pussy to my crack.

That’s right. Like the song.

Lick it hard. Lick it good. Just like he should.

I shudder as I feel warmth flood my body.

Goodness, I want to mess him so bad.

I’m writhing on the bed all of a sudden. I don’t know how or why, but I’m on my back.

My fingers go under the waistband of my thong and I run one finger over my clit now.

That feels too good.

If I keep doing this I’m going to…

“Cut!” I hear the photography director yell. Followed immediately by, “Brittney, I don't know where that came from babe, but it was scorching!”

The world starts to intrude on my haze of lust at this point and I look around.

Ethan’s standing there, maybe ten feet away.

I guess the people were filming the whole time.

But who cares about that. Do you see the more important thing?

Ten feet away stands Ethan Kane.

His eyes are staring directly at me.

With the biggest cock tent on his crotch that I have ever seen.

Me. An ex-porn star. I thought I’d seen everything.

Have never seen a cock this big.

This could be my ticket in, I think, no?

What do you think?

No, don't answer that. I’m already off the bed.

I need to get into his office to figure out what the heck I would need.

I sway my hips. I don't even know if I mean to do any of this right now.

It’s like my body has taken control.

Like I’m thinking with my pussy, and not my brain.

Ethan looks at me as I walk over. His eyes are devouring me.

I get to within inches of him, and without touching him, lean over on my tiptoes, bringing my mouth to his ear.

Here goes nothing.

“I want you in my mouth, Ethan Kane,” I whisper in his ear. “Right now.”

I can tell he stiffens at hearing me.

But he grabs my hand and starts walking to the door.

This assignment might not be so bad after all.

102

Ethan

Holy trash, I’m going to cum.

I groan loudly, my back bracing against my office door and I feel my nuts twist up as electrical impulses shoot from my cock to my brain.

I’m having the familiar tingling sexual seizure as my body freezes up and my muscles involuntarily contract.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m about to cum.

Sure, you may have thought you knew what was going to happen the moment I took Brittney by the hand and began dragging her to my office, but trust me, if you came in at this exact moment somehow, you would be shocked as soon as you saw us.

Once the shock passed, you would probably start getting hot.

And before you knew it, your panties would be soaked, dripping with desire.

I mean, I’m about to cum and just what we’re doing is getting me there halfway. God help the hapless window washer who all of a sudden decides to clean my windows. Poor idiot would probably fall off his platform once he saw what we’re up to.

Brittney’s on the ground on her knees. She didn’t waste any time as soon as we got into my office.

She pushed me against the door as I closed it and sunk down to her knees.

With expert fingers, she unbuckled and unzipped my trousers, letting them fall. She yanked down my boxer briefs and took my already semi-hard cock in one hand, bringing her tongue out of her mouth as she licked the underside of my shaft.

Pleasure went through me like a tingling current, and before I knew it, both her lips were wrapped around the head of my cock as her mouth created a suction.

I mean that was good, but incredible, with her free hand she just unclasped her bra and threw it across the room.

Idiot, her stroking my cock is so good. Just thinking about this whole experience and telling you about it while she does her thing is too much.

I can’t hold it in any more. I’m going to cum…NOW.

That’s when my world almost blacks out as Brittney begins the process of milking my cock.

I spurt.

Let me just tell you that me saying I spurt is a messing understatement.

I erupt gets close to what's happening. I shoot may even be more appropriate. But still, it pales in comparison to the semen that arcs out of my tip, shooting out toward her.

And as if absolutely ready, Brittney moves her head in such a way and sticks out her tongue that my cum hits her tongue and splatters.

A lot of it lands in her mouth, but enough of it drips down.

I’m still shooting cum out here. There’s a stream that hits her on her forehead. Another that gets her on the cheek.

Thick. White. Milky. Creamy. Hot. Gooey. Sticky.

Five. On her neck.

Six. On her belly. She arches her back backwards and holds out her left belly. As if I have the mental fortitude to aim. I’m basically twitching here as my foot-long cock shoots another volley of cum. But it manages to land on her nipple and she begins cooing in delight at the sight as she takes her hand and smears it around her areola.

Idiot, the whole thing is so dirty. But it's so hot at the same time.

My last few shots go out. One lands on the top of her head. Another sails into her mouth, which she lets drip out in tiny droplets. And the final one lands on her cheek.

Brittney wastes no time as cum starts dribbling out of my cock, bringing her lips back onto the head and sucking out whatever wasn’t shot out.

Idiot, let me just tell you, after an explosive orgasm like that, feeling her lips on my sensitive tip, feeling her tongue on my slit, oh my goodness.

This woman is a goddess.

I shiver uncontrollably as she gives one final goodbye suck, and then takes her mouth off. But she doesn’t stop there.

With all the meticulousness of a cat cleaning herself, she begins to scoop up my cum off of her body.

First her belly. What she doesn’t smear on her chest, neck or belly, she scoops up with one finger. And brings to her mouth.

Keeping her eyes fixed on mine, she slowly brings her fingers toward her opening mouth.

I watch, transfixed as her tongue darts out and licks her finger clean.

She closes her mouth and swallows.

I swear to heaven I’ve never been this turned on by the moments after sex before.

This is unreal. Like I can feel my cock start to twitch again.

Which Brittney sees.

She gives me a lascivious smile.

“You’re already for Round Two?” she asks me. “That was pretty fast.”

“I could forget you all night, babe,” I tell her, sneering down with undisguised lust at her. But there’s something more. Something in her eyes. Something inside of her. She’s not telling me everything.

I mean, I’ve messed chicks in porn before; whoever thinks I’m playing the chaste CEO of a pornography company is seriously delusional, but this girl is something else.

A blowjob is just a blowjob, but she’s made it something that I can’t really forget. I don’t actually know how Brittney made it about more than sex.

But whatever she’s doing, whether it's the slow and languid way she’s got her hand wrapped around my cock again, gently massaging me back to life, or the way she’s looking up at me with those wide, large doe-like eyes in a totally submissive look.

“Why don’t you start by me all afternoon?” she asks me, giving me a leer that makes my knees buckle it's sizzling with so much lust.

“I guess you’re not wanting to wait,” I tell her with a grin. “But don't worry. After I’m done with my cock, you’ll barely be able to walk—let alone think.”

Brittney gives me a quick kiss on my tip, and my cock starts flaring back to life.

“Oh please,” she tells me with a sexy pout. “Once you’ve tasted my pussy, you won’t care where you are, you’ll want it again.”

“I want to phoo now,” I tell her flatly. I’m not looking to play games. I’m open and upfront about who I want to mess.

“You think your cock can handle it?” she asks me. “You ever seen my videos? I leave guys broken…”

I laugh. She’s never met me then.

And if you’re wondering, which I know you are because your mind's just as filthy as mine—yes, I’ve watched all her videos. The moment she gave me the lap dance I had Cheryl pull everything Brittney has ever worked on.

All the stepmom trash. The neighbor next door scenes. The getting picked up by two guys in a van scene that went viral on the Internet back in the day. I watched it all.

But I didn’t jerk off to it.

Because why waste all that cum?

No, I saved it. To spray it onto her face just now.

“Babe,” I tell her and bend over to pick her up, and bring her to her feet. “I’m just going to defile you like you’ve never been before. I’m going to do ungodly things to your body and you’re going to cry out for more.”

I think this gets her attention, and I run my hands over her body as I continue. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be lucky if you remember your name,” I tell her, looking her directly in the eyes. “But I guarantee you, you’ll be screaming mine.”

She’s excited.

I can tell. I see the spark in her eyes. It’s a mixture of fear, excitement, apprehension, and lust. Lots and lots of lust.

I bare my teeth and reach over, cupping her rear cheek and bringing her closer.

She comes willingly.

And that’s when the intercom goes off.

“Ethan, are you there?” the speakerphone blares. It’s Cheryl.

God dang it.

Not now.

Not now, of all times.

“Ethan, we need you in the product launch timeline signoff. We’ve been planning this meeting for months and the bankers are here,” Cheryl says, a touch of urgency in her voice.

Cheryl is never urgent. She’s always got everything so organized and so on point that if I hear urgency in Cheryl’s voice—and I think I’ve only heard it five times—I know it’s important.

But even then, Brittney is right here. Her luscious rear. Those big, giant titties. That beautiful face. Those eyes.

“Ethan? Ethan are you there?” Cheryl asks again.

She must know I’m in here. She must know what I’m doing. That’s why she hasn’t gotten off the phone.

Idiot.

Idiot.

“It’s okay,” Brittney says, looking into my eyes and placing a hand on my chest. “We can do this later, maybe?” she asks smiling at me. Not just with wanton lust anymore.

But with warmth.

Idiot, and with compassion?

“Go, do your job, Ethan,” she tells me. “I’m just going to freshen up and tidy up a bit in here before I head out.”

I let out a long sigh and my body literally quivers in disappointment, but I know she's right.

I nod to her, and pull up my boxer briefs and pants as I walk to my desk.

I clean my cock with a towel nearby as I push the speakerphone button on my phone.

“On my way, Cheryl,” I tell her and hang up as I zip up my trousers.

Brittney turns and smiles to me as she walks over to where she threw her bra.

“You’re going to be okay?” I ask her.

She nods and smiles. “I’m just going to clean up a little bit,” she says with a smile. “Get less sticky before I go out into the world, you know?”

She laughs a small laugh and I smile before I walk to the door.

Five minutes later I’m sitting next to Cheryl in the conference room still thinking of Brittney.

Idiot.

That’s five minutes longer that I’ve ever thought of a girl after sex.

There’s something going on with her here.

103

Brittney

"Brittney, can you hear me?"

I hear Walter's voice coming in through my tiny earpiece, which is hidden underneath my long hair. The sound is low, but the quality is good.

"Loud and clear," I say.

"Are you at Ethan’s computer?"

"Yes, but now what? I don't have the password for this machine, you know. It's locked."

"Okay, I'm going to walk you through this," Walter says. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess. I don't hear anyone coming, so it's now or never," I say, looking tensely over my shoulder.

"The first thing you need to do is shut the computer down."

"What? Why? Doesn't that seem counterproductive to be turning this thing off?"

"Just trust me, okay?" Walter says. "I know what I'm talking about."

"Okay, it's off."

"Good, now reboot it in Safe Mode," Walter instructs. "You need to do this so that you can effectively login as an administrator to the machine."

"You're speaking another language … but sure," I say. "Okay, done. Now what?"

"Now, you'll need to reset the password."

"The password for which account?"

"For the account that's locked," Walter says. "If we're going to gain access to the Illicit Escape software and plans, we'll need to change the administrator password so that we can unlock it all."

"Since when did you get so high-tech on me Walter?" I joke.

"Just here to help, darling. We've got to move quickly."

"Okay, that's done; now what?" I ask. I'm acutely aware of noise now coming from down the hall and I wait a few extra seconds before making any noise in case anyone walks in. After those moments are up, it seems like the coast is clear, so we resume.

"And for the record," I say, "I've given this account a password that no one is ever going to crack. I think there's enough letters, numbers, and symbols for it to be its own equation."

"Nice work," Walter laughs. "Okay, now we'll need to shut this machine off."

"Again?" I ask.

"Yes, shut it off and reboot," Walter says. "When you're turning it back on, you need to immediately hold the F8 key."

"Why is that?" I ask. "Is something about to melt down on me? You'd at least warn me if that was the case, right?"

"Very funny," Walter says. "No, you need to do this so that you can be taken to an advanced menu."

"And what exactly am I looking for on that menu?" I ask.

"You're looking for the advanced boot options."

"Got it!" I say. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. It already feels like an eternity to just get to this point, and all I want to do is get the heck out of here.

"Okay, now insert the USB stick and start downloading all of the data from the I.E. folders."

"It's downloading," I say, clicking them all and pressing the download option. "But it's taking forever Walter! You'd think the connection speeds would be faster in a high-tech company like this. You even said this was one of the most high-tech buildings you'd ever been in." I'm tapping my feet against the floor with nervous energy. I can practically feel the minutes going by, and with every passing minute, the likelihood of someone finding me increases.

My thoughts go back to what Walter and Simon have both told me separately.

There’s no stealing bits of data. It’s either steal the physical prototype or steal all the files.

Because overtime they upgrade the software to fix bugs or whatever, all of the old data becomes useless. They rewrite a whole new operating system. It’s a failsafe to make sure that old data doesn’t get lost or misplaced and a new product reverse engineered.

It also means I have at most 24 hours to get this to Simon once it finishes downloading.

If it finishes downloading that is.

50 percent—75 percent—92 percent—incredible, it's stalled on 92 percent.

"Walter, it's frozen on 92 percent!"

"Calm down. Give it a minute."

"We don't have any extra minutes!" Now I'm really stressed. If this data doesn't load—and soon—I'm messed. I check back at the status bar.

"Oh good—Walter it's done; it's at 100 percent! I'm ejecting the USB stick; we did it."

I pop out the USB drive, and it slips out of my fingers and onto the floor. Incredible. I look around, trying to find it. Just great. Where is it? I get down on my knees and search for it, and I finally find it, nestled behind the leg of a chair. As soon as I have it in my hands, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing in here?"

It's Cheryl. Incredible.

"I—uh—I just—"

Then I hear Walter in my ear. "Tell her you were looking for an earring that you lost; she'll believe that," he says.

"I was just looking for an earring that I must've dropped," I say.

Cheryl raises one skeptical eyebrow. "You dropped an earring? Here, in Ethan’s office?”

"That's right," I say. "Well, I'm not sure if it was in here, per say. It could be somewhere else, but I just wanted to make sure."

"And why would it be in here?" Cheryl asks. "Or maybe the better question is, why would you have ever needed to be in here? To say the earring might be here is to imply you've spent time here. Only our developers come in here."

"Oh I—uh—I was taking a tour of the place the other day," I say.

"In here?"

“Well, Ethan and I…” I trail off.

Cheryl looks at me. “Ethan and you, what?”

I roll my eyes as if asking her if she really needs me to spell out the fact that we were.

“Right,” Cheryl says after a minute. “You messed him.”

“Or he messed me, you know?” I say, giving her some sass. “It was kind of mutual.”

“Do you always sleep with your clients?” Cheryl asks me.

“It’s been my philosophy to get to know someone since high school,” I tell her sweetly as she raises her eyebrows at me. Harass her. Interrogating me and trash.

"Did you just so happen to develop that philosophy at … say … Man Chasers LLC?" she asks.

When she says this I'm floored. How did she know that? And I'm sure that shock is written all over my face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on Brittney," she says. "Do you think I don't know? I know all about your business."

"This has nothing to do with my business," I say. There's no use lying and trying to tell her that Man Chaser's LLC doesn't exist. She obviously knows all about it. I have to just go with it.

"I hope not," she says.

"Being an actress for Illicit Entertainment has nothing to do with my previous work," I say, confirming my stance.

"For your sake, I hope you're right," Cheryl says. Her gaze has intensified. "Because if you try to pull something here, you'll regret it. That much I can promise."

I've honestly never heard this tone from Cheryl before and it catches me off guard. Our encounters, up till this point, have been cordial.

I mean, I'm now in a hard place. I'm standing here—just moments from being caught, and I have stolen data on a USB drive hidden inside of my thong. I hid it there right when Cheryl came in. This is an act that can land me in jail.

"This has gotten blown way out of proportion," I say. "I was just searching for an earring. I promise."

Cheryl doesn't say anything further, and instead gives me one last icy stare before turning on her heels and walking back out the door. I also leave. My heart is pounding, and I need to get as far away from this place as possible.

"Well that was close," I hear Walter say in my earpiece. He heard that entire conversation, but I nearly forgot he was there.

I whisper back, in a tone that's barely audible so that no one else can hear me, "Yeah, too close for comfort."

I find my things—my change of clothes, and my purse. I pull my cell phone from my purse to check and see if I have any messages, and as I'm scrolling through, a new text message chimes in.

It's from Simon and reads, "DO U HAVE IT YET?"

First off, I hate it when people type in all caps. Do you know what I mean? It's literally one of my biggest pet peeves—in texts, emails, you name it. It's like they're yelling. I'm not a kid; calm down.

So reading Simon's text instantly irritates me on one hand, and on the other hand, it reminds of the stakes. If I don't get this data to Simon quickly, I'm jeopardizing my life.

Just as I'm about to reply, a second text message chimes in. This time, it's from Ethan. It reads: "I'd like to finish what we started in my office. Want to meet up again?"

I'm instantly torn. If I'm honest, I'd love for nothing more than to be back in Ethan's arms, slowly peeling our clothes off and each other until we can't idiot any more. The minute his text chimed in, my pulse quickened in excitement. It was like getting an extra dose of endorphins.

Incredible. What am I even saying? And what am I going to do? Am I falling for Ethan?

I've never had these feelings with other men—it was only when Ethan came into my life …

I look at both texts. Do I tell Simon I have the data he's been looking for? If I tell him, he'll demand the USB right now. And if I hand that data to him, it's over.

But if I don’t hand this data over now, then the assignment continues.

This data becomes obsolete in the next few days as they update the software. Whats in my hand becomes junk.

I’ll never be able to look Ethan in the face again… I think for a moment and click on Simon's text, and I begin typing:

"I'm still working on it."

I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell Simon the truth. Not yet.

I need more time to figure out what's happening. My heart's telling me one thing, and my head's telling me another.

104

Ethan

You ever had those moments when you just look back on trash and know that you’re happy?

Like you can feel that yes, you are in fact really happy.

Well, as I leave work, that’s the kind of feeling I'm having. As in even navigating from the heart of Times Square isn’t enough to sour my mood. I mean, you’re talking to the guy who usually has his car come and pick him up so he doesn’t have to walk past the teeming throngs of idiots who think this is some sort of holy shrine to come visit and stand in the middle of the sidewalk as they take pictures of overpriced food carts.

Yeah, that wasn’t me tonight.

Tonight I waved to the security guy outside of Illicit Entertainment and walked with a brisk step uptown up 7th Avenue.

Want to know the really best part about One57? The corner gourmet grocery store that sits right as you walk into the lobby. Seriously, I mean I’m talking grocery store right underneath my apartment.

I pause and pick up some vegetables and a few steaks.

What?

Don’t give me that look. I can cook. Did you really think there was nothing I couldn’t do? I went to UCLA and made myself a billionaire smut lord. I can do any thing I set my mind to.

It’s true, I usually eat out. Or I have my chef prepare my meals. But given the opportunity to, you’d be surprised what I can whip together.

Like today. I’m going to grill some steak and then slice them real thin, and maybe sauté some vegetables and some couscous on the side. I ordered a cake for dessert, but it should be a perfect dinner for two.

That’s right. I said two.

As in Brittney is coming over for dinner.

I know, I know. You’re either squealing in delight because you think she’s going to come over and we’re going to have dinner together, and then cuddle, and then make sweet tender love. Or you’re rolling your eyes and wondering how I went from being the baddest CEO in the country to some sort of pussy.

Well, it’s neither.

Sure, I totally acknowledge that Brittney is coming over, and I’m excited to see her. It’s been a long day. And she’s gorgeous. Those belly. So perky. That cute as a button face. That slender body. Oh my goodness, that rear. I want to rub my cock between those rear cheeks and then cum all over that tight rear.

Try it. Have some guy you know cum on the small of your back. I guarantee you that you will love it, babe.

And don’t look away or wonder who I’m talking to. I’m talking to you. If you have the opportunity to get someone to cum on the small of your back, then do it. Because literally every single girl I’ve ever done that to has cooed and told me the feeling of warm, thick, jizz right there in a sensitive spot has been one of the most pleasurable experiences that they’ve ever felt.

I get out of the elevator and walk to my door. My apartment is the only one on this floor and as usual, it's immaculate. The building has a maid service that usually comes in and cleans once a day—or more—if I need them.

Anyways, what was I even talking about? I was so focused on cumming on rear cheeks. Oh, right. Brittney.

Yeah, she’s coming over for some dinner. Yeah, I’m probably going to harass the trash out of her. But something about her, I really want to make dinner.

There’s a ring on the doorbell and I open the door. The attendant from the downstairs gourmet food store has all my groceries and I let him in. He proceeds to the kitchen to unpack my purchases.

I mean, sure, I rarely invite girls over to cook dinner for them.

Okay, I don’t think I’ve ever cooked dinner for one girl before. There was one time I invited three girls over and I made some food and fed them while they took turns sucking my cock, individually and then all together. But that was work. We were rehearsing, okay?

I’ve invited girls for a drink before. One, maybe two glasses of wine before the dress is on the floor and I’m ripping the panties.

But dinner?

Idiot.

This is going to be a first for me.

The attendant comes out after loading my kitchen up and nods to me. I tip him as he leaves and pour myself a scotch.

All of a sudden, I’m thinking whether I should just take Brittney to dinner instead. Maybe I’m not ready to cook this girl dinner.

But then, I think of her wide, innocent but sexy looking eyes. How they look, looking up at me. Incredible, everything about her face is beautiful. Even her neck is sexy. I just want to kiss it and nibble on it until she’s squirmy.

Her body is out of this world.

Idiot.

There is something wrong here. But one thing I know is not wrong at all.

Making her dinner. It feels like the most right thing in the world.

I start preparing the food. It’s not that hard, really. Chopping vegetables isn’t that big of a deal when you can ask the chef at the store to pre chop it for you so it’s ready. The meat is already marinated and ready to go so I get those ready. The couscous is set to boil.

I put the vegetables on a pan with some olive oil and I turn on the stove.

I have another scotch and think back to how I would have probably kicked myself in the nuts if I ever go back in time and tell myself what I’m doing now.

But phoo, I have bigger plans.

Bigger goals.

I’d tell you what they are but my doorbell rings again.

That’s odd. It’s a bit early for Brittney to be coming already.

I’m still wearing the apron I put on while cooking and I go to the door.

Yes, I was wearing an apron, okay? I just didn’t tell you because…I mean, it’s not important, is it? I still got the abs underneath. I still got the cock.

And no, I am not taking off the apron to open the door. Not even if it’s…

Cheryl.

She raises her eyebrows at me as she sees me holding a cooking spoon with an apron.

“Do I even want to know what kind of weird sex game you’ve got going on?” Cheryl asks as she walks in. I turn around to give her room and she looks around as she comes inside.

She sniffs the air. “What’s that smell?” Cheryl asks me, turning to me and narrowing her eyes.

I shrug.

“Are you cooking?” she asks me.

“So what if I am?” I snap back to her.

Cheryl smiles. “I’m just asking Ethan, it’s okay,” she tells me and takes a step over. “Expecting guests?”

I nod as I close the door and head to the kitchen. I need my scotch.

“Who?” Cheryl asks, as she follows me.

“Just someone I know,” I reply, not sure how to answer.

Okay, I’m going to be honest with you, okay?

It’s not that I don’t know how to say Brittney is coming over.

It’s that I’m not sure why all of a sudden it’s that I don’t want to say Brittney is coming over. I’m a bit worried about…what?

But Cheryl must read my mind or something.

“Is it someone you work with perhaps, hmm?” Cheryl asks, taking a step closer to me. “Someone maybe you hired to be the face for Illicit Entertainment?”

I look toward Cheryl.

“You have Brittney coming over, don’t you?” Cheryl asks me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re cooking dinner for that woman.”

“Does it matter?” I ask with a sigh and turn to face Cheryl. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is the best course of action, but I’m sure as idiot not embarrassed about it. But enough is enough.

“Do you know anything about that woman, Ethan?” Cheryl asks me sharply. “Do you know anything about what you look like when you’re around her?”

I stare at Cheryl as she continues.

“She’s changing you right in front of my eyes,” Cheryl says. “You used to be a jerk, now look at yourself. Cooking dinner.”

“I can still take care of things that need to be done,” I tell Cheryl and take off my apron and grab my glass of scotch and walk out of the kitchen.

Idiot, did you just hear what that sounded like? Did I just say take off my apron?

And I’m supposed to be the bad boy? Goodness.

“You can’t walk away from this Ethan,” Cheryl says, following me out. “There are thousands of employees who depend on your leadership, and if you’re placing it in danger by falling for that woman it’s my job to look out for you…and them,” Cheryl tells me as she follows me out.

“I’m not walking away from it, Cheryl,” I tell her coldly as I go toward the door, open it, and turn to her. “I’m showing you out so I can enjoy my evening in peace.”

Cheryl looks at me and pauses. Finally she sighs.

“I can only try to keep warning you, Ethan,” she tells me. “You may think you’re following your heart, but you could just as easily be getting played. Don’t forget how you know her in the first place.”

And with that piece of profound advice, Cheryl turns around and walks into the open elevator as the doors close.

Idiot.

I know she’s right. I should probably be a bit more careful.

If only I could stop thinking about Brittney for a moment, I might have a chance to listen to my brain.

105

Brittney

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Walter,” I say from the back seat of the limo as Walter drives me towards Illicit Escape.

We’re weaving our way towards Times Square. It’s been two days since I went over to see Ethan, have dinner at his place, and harass his brains out.

"Are you forgetting that we have a job to finish here?" he asks. He's looking me straight in the eyes with a serious gaze.

Since I stole the data from Ethan’s office, there have been four software upgrades. The data I had was junk literally 24 hours after I had it. I gave the USB device to Simon yesterday who tried to run it on his computer in his office before throwing it against the wall and then getting up and stomping it.

"I know; I haven't forgotten," I say thinking back to Simon’s frustration yesterday and threats to give Robert a call. "But did you forget the icy tone in Cheryl's voice in his office? She's onto me. She isn't messing around. If she finds out what we've done; I'm in serious trouble. This won't be some little slap on the wrist. I'll do prison time, Walter. I mean, you saw the NDA I signed, right?" I say. By the look in my eyes, he knows I'm serious too, but he then tries to lighten the situation.

"You're being paranoid," Walter says. "That's all. You're letting the stress get to you, darling. This is a big job. I get it. But buck up. This job is nearly done. You've done tougher things in the past. Are you forgetting all of your past clients? I honestly don't know why you're letting this job get to you … more so than anything else you've done. Let's just finish this now."

Those words make my mood sink even lower. The job's almost complete. I know what you’re thinking. How can the job be over if the data I stole is now junk?

I’ll tell you why.

I’m inside.

I’ the face of Illicit Escape.

So what the data I stole has gone bad?

I can try again. And if I don’t succeed, I can maybe try again. And if I still don’t succeed, I can even at the end steal the physical prototype somehow.

Yeah, don’t roll your eyes, hun. What I’m trying to say is that there are options.

I should be happy. Walter's right. I will have made more money than I've made with a single client before, and I'll be safe from Robert. This is just one job of many. You'd think these facts alone would have me finding Simon and throwing the I.E. data straight into the palm of his hand and calling it a day.

But that's not how I'm feeling. That's not exactly what I want to do. Are you following?

This is new territory for me. I've always been able to handle any job. But I may have just met my match. Maybe I bit off more than I can handle with this one. But did I have a choice? Simon basically threatened my life if I didn't take this on.

How can I explain any of this to Walter? He'd just say that I'm overanalyzing things.

He's known me forever. He'd just keep telling me to relax.

He'd also say I'm not thinking clearly. That I need to take a deep breath and steady my thoughts. Get my head screwed back on straight. To stop being a 'negative Nancy' in that off English accent of his.

The car stops outside the Illicit Entertainment offices in Times Square and Walter gets out to open my door.

"Okay, here you are darling," Walter says. We are both standing outside the Illicit Entertainment headquarters. "While you're in your shoot, I'll make my way to Ethan's office and plant the bugs; I have three—one underneath his desk, one behind a wall socket, and one buried in this potted plant here. I added a nice note from you, for a bit of realism. He'll never suspect a thing."

I look at the plant in Walter's arm. It's a potted plant with a pink ribbon around its pot and a card that reads simply, "Love Brittney." Incredible. That makes me feel awful.

"Do we really have to plant these bugs?" I ask.

"To get this job done, yes," he says. "I could potentially install a shotgun mic outside of his office window, and it's very good at recording conversations, but given the fact that his office isn't on the ground floor, that wouldn't be practical. In fact, I'm not even sure that's possible."

I nod to Walter. My insides are in knots. Literal knots that make me want to curl up in a ball, or maybe under a rock. I feel sick. How did I end up in this situation?

I feel like one of the worst possible people on the planet for what I'm about to do to Ethan. I know he has this bad boy image, but underneath it all, he's a good guy. It's true. He doesn't deserve this. All of these thoughts are going through my mind as I stand here in the Illicit Entertainment lobby and wait for the elevator.

Can I actually go through with this? Should I tell Ethan what I've been up to? Sure, he may refuse to talk to me ever again after he finds out—I may never see him again, and I wouldn't blame him. And that's the price I'd have to pay. But maybe he wouldn't react that way. Maybe he'd respect me for coming clean. For realizing the whole thing was wrong. Maybe if he knew how I ended up here, he'd understand.

Suddenly, the elevator opens. I turn my body, facing forward, and I see Cheryl. Her wavy brown hair seems to have a shine to it now; it seems more golden. Is it the lighting down here? She looks over at me and smiles. I smile back.

What kind of a smile was that? I wonder. One minute, she's giving me an icy stare and is interrogating me in the computer room—her eyes gazing at me like they could burn a hole right through me, and now this? She smiled at me as if she has received some sort of validation. Has she come to some sort of realization? My brain is working in overdrive trying to figure out what exactly that smile was all about.

Then, she speaks. "See you at tomorrow's shoot."

It was all so cordial and happy. Where did all of her icy unease disappear to?

"Wait… actually, can I ask a big favor?" she says, looking at Walter and I.

We both look at each other and back at her, and I say, "Sure."

"Is there any way Walter could take me home?" Cheryl asks. "It would really save me from having to get a cab. I'd really appreciate it."

I look at Walter and he looks at me.

"I don't see why not," I say.

"It's no problem, just tell me where to go," Walter says. "I'm assuming you live nearby?"

Cheryl smiles again. "It's not too far. Thank you so much; you're saving me quite a bit of hassle today."

We all walk out of the lobby and to the limo. Walter holds the door open for us and Cheryl and I both scoot into the long, black leather seat. "I could get used to sitting in this every day," she jokes.

Walter drives her to her apartment and I notice that she lives close to Ethan. When she leaves, I'm struck with a thought and I turn to Walter.

I say, "Drive me to Ethan's apartment."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Walter asks. He has a look of concern flash across his face. I guess I can understand where he's coming from. I've been an emotional rollercoaster today.

"Yes," I say. "I need to see him."

"Okay, anything you say," Walter replies, and he drives to One57. When we pull up to the massive building, I nearly jump out.

"Thank you Walter," I say. "I'll call you in a little bit."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, darling."

I give him a wink and enter the building. I take the elevator to Ethan's floor, and the higher up I travel, the more nervous energy I have. I find myself pacing back and forth in the elevator until the doors slide open and I walk into the hall, directly facing Ethan's apartment. I get the courage to walk forward and I knock. At first, I don't hear a sound, and then I hear his footsteps approaching.

He opens the door.

I see his cobalt blue eyes and that smile.

"I was hoping you'd come," he says. "I have a surprise for you."

Just standing her in front of him. Just seeing him. A flood of emotion runs through me. Is what I'm feeling real? Is this just lust, or something else?

If what I'm feeling turns out to be real … I'll have to tell him.

I'll have to come clean.

106

Ethan

I’m sitting on the balcony watching something on my tablet. It’s pretty engrossing and I don’t even notice the sounds of the New York City traffic below.

What?

No, you can’t see what I’m looking at.

I think that I already share enough with you as it is, you know? It’s nothing personal. It’s just something that I want to keep to myself for now. I’m sure later on you’ll find out in time.

But let me just tell you one thing.

What’s on this tablet is explosive. I mean, if you saw it, you would probably be pissed at me. Maybe you’d tell me to do something that I’m not prepared to do right now. This book would be over because I’d walk the heck away if you told me that.

Yes, fine. It has to do with Brittney, but that’s all you’re getting out of me, babe.

Besides I can’t answer any more. Don’t you hear the doorbell? She’s here.

I go inside, make sure to turn off my tablet and put it on the table before opening the door.

She’s standing there in a slinky black strapless dress that comes down five inches above her knees.

It's classy and sexy at the same time. I don't even know how it's possible but it makes me want to hold her close and protect her while ripping it off and her at the same dang time.

Her face is made up and it’s beautiful. But my toe would be as hard as it is now if she had no makeup on.

Goodness, I need to get a hold of myself.

"I was hoping you'd come," I say. "I have a surprise for you."

She looks at me like she’s seen a ghost.

“Come on in,” I tell her and she walks by. I turn to look at her rear as she walks by. That dress is tight around the rear and I watch those cheeks as they flex as she walks. Goodness, I’m hard already.

You’re shaking your head at me, huh? I know. Don’t think I can’t see you. Yeah, I’m not ashamed or anything. Harass that. I want to squeeze that rear. Rub it and knead it. Like dough. I want to run my cock over it. Stick it in between those rear cheeks. I want to smack that rear.

Then when I’m ready I want to cum all over.

Mark it as mine.

Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I take a step over toward Brittney. The look in my eyes should probably tell her what I'm going to do to her—how I’m going to take her like the savage beast that I am.

“Ethan,” she says to me, and I automatically hear something in her voice that makes me stop. “I need to tell you something.”

Idiot.

Outwardly, I’m calm. My brain may be consumed by lust, but you can’t tell looking at me from the outside. Sure, maybe if you grab my cock, you can tell. But if you’re doing that, then you’re probably thinking the same thing as I am.

Why am I all of a sudden like this? That’s what you want to know, isn't it?

Because of what I saw on the tablet.

Yeah, the same thing I can’t tell you about yet.

Don’t pout. I just had to do that. I’m going to miss you when this book is over; you know that, don’t you?

Anyways, we’re far from done now, because Brittney is looking at me and I can tell she’s starting to waver in whatever she had committed to doing.

“Let’s sit down,” I tell her, and I take her hand and lead her to the sofa where I sit her down next to me.

I can smell her perfume. It’s addictive and it makes my nostrils flare up.

“What did you want to tell me?” I ask, looking at her.

Brittney looks down.

“Hey,” I tell her. “You can tell me anything.”

“It’s just a secret that I’ve been keeping from you,” she tells me. I nod. Every one of us has secrets. That’s nothing new.

If you want to know my secrets, you’ll go turn on that tablet. But you can’t.

Yeah, I’m a jerk sometimes. I know.

“Babe, it’s okay,” I tell her, holding her chin with my hand and lifting her face. “You can tell me anything, but you don’t have to tell me everything.”

Brittney looks at me for a second. “You know I used to do porn, right?” she asks me.

I nod. I mean, I never outright asked her specifically if she used to be a porn star, but it was always something I suspected. And there was something about her face that seems kind of familiar…

“I always thought,” I say still nodding, “But I never really knew for sure.”

“I lived in Los Angeles for the longest time and I sort of drifted into the business,” she tells me, looking at me intently, seeing what my reaction is going to be. “I came to New York to get away from it.”

“Well, you seemed to do a good job of that, babe,” I tell her, smiling a bit to show her that it’s okay. I can tell she's messing on edge—looking to see any sign of me being upset. “You’re going to be the first Illicit Escape girl. I don't know if that’s leaving the business entirely.”

“But that’s not what I thought I’d be doing when I came to New York,” she tells me, and she scoots closer. “I honestly thought I’d be leaving porn forever. I brought my assistant with me, Walter. And we set up a business together.”

I nod. Walter reminds me of Cheryl in a lot of ways from the few times I’ve seen him here and there as I’ve met Brittney.

“Okay,” I say, scooting a bit closer. “So you used to do porn. I’m in porn too,” I tell her.

“But it’s what I did afterwards, that I want to tell you about,” she tells me, struggling to get the words out.

“What did you do afterwards?” I ask, now getting genuinely interested.

“I started a company, where women would come to me, and they’d tell me about the men they wanted me to mess, and I’d seduce them for money,” she says to me, letting it all come out in a rush. “They wanted to get proof that these men were jerks and were cheating on them so they’d have grounds for divorce.”

“They couldn’t just get a private investigator?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t always so easy. The husbands, maybe they weren’t cheating then, but they were still ignoring and mistreating their wives. Sometimes it was just that the husbands weren’t traveling. But the wives knew the love was gone. And they wanted out of the marriage. They came to me.”

I’m silent. Brittney continues.

“I’m the CEO of a company called Man Chasers, LLC, Ethan,” she confides. “And for the longest time I thought I didn’t need a man in my life at all. That they were nothing but a waste of time.”

I don't know what to say.

“But then I kinda met you,” she finishes off with.

She’s looking at me. Waiting for me to say something.

I move my eyes back to her. She’s so cute as a button.

“I’ve never spent as much time with a single woman as I have with you,” I tell her. It’s the truth. “I’ve never spent so much time thinking about a woman as I do when you’re not around, Brit,” I say.

She gasps as I pull her close to me.

“And I could care less that you’ve been in porn as long as you’re here with me right now, babe,” I continue forcefully. “I could care less that you made a job to find out cheating scumbags and have them pay for being jerks.”

Brittney starts to smile and I pull her over to me all the way. She comes willingly.

“No one has affected me. Ever. Like you,” I tell her. I’m telling her the truth. “When you first walked in that door, I wanted to bang the trash out of you. I wanted to smack your rear till you cried out and suck on your belly as I messed you. I wanted to cum all over that gorgeous body you got, babe,” I say to her, as serious as I’ve ever been in my life.

“That’s so romantic, Ethan,” she says with a teasing grin, as she rests her body on my chest. I can feel her. Every inch of her. Pressed against me. It’s heaven. “You don’t want me to do that anymore?”

Idiot. This is where you’re going to think I’m crazy. Especially if you saw what I saw on the tablet. But you didn’t. So you’re going to have to trust me that I know what's best.

I reach over to the cigar box on the coffee table. I open it and pull out the only existing prototype of Illict Escape.

Brittney’s eyes go wide.

“Is that…” she trails off.

“Yeah,” I tell her hoarsely. “It’s the only copy to date that we’ve made of Illicit Escape. And yes, I still want to bother your brains out. But I trust you, babe. And I want you to experience what this is going to be like.”

Brittney’s eyes go wide and I can see that they’re going to tear up.

She’s messing overwhelmed. The super secret project. Guarded so closely.

And I’m about to let her in.

I take the glasses and put them on her. They’re spare and very minimal—single rimmed and unobtrusive.

I pull over my tablet. It’ll let me see what she sees.

“Let’s go for a ride, baby,” I tell her.

Then I power it on.

107

Brittney

“Let’s do this,” I whisper, anxiety suddenly kicking in. I have no idea what Ethan's device really does, but I’m more than eager to find out.

“Are you sure, babe? I’ll be watching everything and I know this is… personal.” I look into his eyes, my heart drumming a song of desire and hesitancy, and I just nod. It’s an automatic movement, but one that I know is the right one. I can’t believe this is happening but… I think I’m falling for him. I want him to see what’s inside of my head, and I want him to see the way all my deepest desires revolve around him and only him. The moment he placed the glasses on me, I knew I wanted to do this. I just didn’t know how much.

“I want to do it… I want you to see,” I whisper, my heart pounding at a frantic pace. What am I doing? I have no idea what’s going to happen once this thing gets going. Once again, the winds of hesitancy run wild inside my head; am I really this sure that I want to share what I’m about to experience with him? When the answer comes, it couldn’t be any clearer: of course I do.

There’s a bright flash of light coming from the rim of the glasses, and it starts to pulse at a steady rhythm. It spreads to the lenses, and I have to close my eyes; still, the red flashes of light are so strong that they manage to get past my shut eyelids. Slowly, the flashes starts to dim, the light pulsing at a more gently rhythm, and I open my eyes.

It’s weird, but I don’t see a thing. There’s just darkness, as if I’ve gone blind. I have no idea how this Illicit Escape thing works, but it has taken complete control of my sight. I can still feel the glasses sitting on the bridge of my nose, but I can’t see them anymore. Then, like a fog that starts to clear, I see a flicker in the distance, an oasis right in the middle of the darkness.

Even though I’m sitting, I feel myself moving as I walk toward the light in the distance. It seems that the Illicit Escape not only affects what you can see, but all of your other senses as well. Oh, this is going to be good … Really good.

As I close in on the object, I realize it’s a mirror. There’s no illumination in this empty and dark virtual place I’m in, so it seems the flat surface of the mirror isn’t reflecting any light; instead, it’s from there that the light comes. From the other side of the mirror, my reflection looks straight into my eyes.

My hair is tied up in a ponytail, and I’m wearing nothing aside from a pair of high-heels, black stockings, and a matching pair of black lace panties and bra. My lips are painted with a deep red, the color of wine, and I can’t help but lift one finger and brush it over my mouth. It’s a strange feeling. I feel my real body frozen in place, but my body in this dream world reacts, and I touch my lips with one fingertip. And I can actually feel it.

This is insane; this thing has to be worth millions and millions of dollars. No, scratch that… We’re talking billions here. This is so far beyond what anyone has managed to pull off. Once he launches Illicit Pleasures, Ethan will become the undisputed King of Porn… And I bet that it won’t take long for his VR technology to make him as rich as God once he ventures outside of the sex industry. No wonder Simon is dying to get his hands on this prototype. Forget about porn, this is a game changer.

My thought process doesn’t take long to derail. I see someone moving in the mirror, drawing close, and I turn on my heels to face him. Ethan is standing right behind me, wearing what looks like a million dollar suit; from the crisp white shirt to the polished black shoes, everything on him seems arranged to perfection.

“Hello, Brittney,” he says, gently smiling, and he sounds just like the real Ethan.

“Hello,” I hear myself responding, even though my real lips aren’t moving. The longer I spend with the glasses, the more they seem to be working their magic on me. There’s already a noticeable change taking place; it all looked so life like, but now… It just seems real.

“Ready for the ride of your life?” The Ethan in front of me tells me, undoing his tie at the same time. “I’m here to do… whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” I repeat after him, the words taking on an almost mystical sound. His smile turns into a grin, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt then, his fingers moving with maddening patience. As his chiseled pectorals and abs come into view, my pussy starts to grow wet. Oh, when all this is over, I’m getting one of these glasses.

Once Ethan takes off his shirt, he unbuckles his belt and pulls it out. Without taking his eyes off of me, he joins the two ends of the belt in his hand, and then snaps it tight.

“Close your eyes,” he commands me, and I feel that steady pulse of light against my eyelids again. Once it subsides, I open my eyes again and my surroundings have changed; we’re in an enormous room now, and there’s a bed right in the middle of it. The floor is all carpeted in red, and so are the walls; there are no windows or doors in this place, and the illumination seems to come from the top and bottom corners of the room. Ethan remains in front of me, though, his chest bare and the belt in his hand.

Without saying a word, I know what he wants me to do. I saunter toward the bed, and bending over, I jut my rear back as I place my hands on top of the mattress. Somehow, the machine is reading my innermost desires, pulling them out from their unconscious slumber and turning them into something tangible.

“Use me, Ethan,” I find myself saying, my whole body tensing up as I prepare for the impact of the belt. To my surprise, it doesn’t come; instead, he simply brushes the leather belt against my rear cheeks, gently moving it up and down. He’s teasing me; it seems that the machine is devious enough to not only know what you want… but also what you need.

“Beg,” his word seems like a command from a god, and my insides clench in response. My thong is already drenched in my wetness, and I feel it sticking to my skin. By now, I can’t even feel my real body; my world is now inside this reality. Still, I’ll bet that my real thong is as soaked my digital one.

“Please, Ethan…” I whisper, getting the words out between breaths. He keeps brushing the belt against me as if he didn’t hear me, making me want his sweet punishment even more. As he takes the belt off of my rear, he places one finger between my rear cheeks and over the small string of my thong, and slides it over to my back. I can’t help but moan as I feel his touch and then, just like that, he takes his finger out and I feel him moving behind me; in a heartbeat, the belt lands heavily on my rear, the sound of it blending in with my scream.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, whipping me across the rear again. The dry sound of the leather hitting my flesh crawls all the way up to my brain, and I can barely think straight.

“Yes, yes,” I repeat as he slaps me with the belt again, hard enough to leave a mark. I never cared too much about being roughed up like this, but with Ethan it just seems… Inevitable. He’s a dominant man, and what better way than this for me to feel his dominance?

Slapping my rear repeatedly, he only stops when my skin seems to be on fire. My eyes are closed, but I hear the belt falling on the carpeted floor. In an instant, he’s on me, his bare chest pressed against my back; his hands go straight to my breasts, and he squeezes them eagerly over my bra, pulling one cup down and baring my hard nipple. He pinches it between two of his fingers and a loud moan jumps out of my mouth.

“I want to forget you…” he whispers against my ear, his lips brushing against my earlobe as he speaks. “To devour you…” When he pulls back, his fingers go from my breasts to my back and with a quick flick of his fingers, he undoes the clasp on my bra. I shiver as he pulls it down my arms, and then simply throws it somewhere on the floor.

“Devour me then,” I moan, and as if my words were a command, he goes down on his knees. My skin prickles as his fingers slide down my skin, and then they finally stop on my waistline when they meet my thong; hooking his fingers there, he slowly starts to pull on my drenched underwear. I lean forward as I feel him pushing the fabric stuck between my rear cheeks, and then my skin prickles as it easily slides down my legs. Now, wearing only stockings and high heels, I’m more than ready for him to devour me. And that’s exactly what he does: placing both his hands on my rear cheeks, he pushes me forward and I bend even more; then, he leans into me.

I feel the tip of his tongue running between my soaked folds and I can’t help but tremble in place, lust raging through my veins. As his tongue goes back and forth, my mind starts to go through a slow boil, and it doesn’t take long for me to thrust back. As I do it, he matches my movement and goes all the way in as well; he crushes his mouth against my pussy and starts to suck immediately, jabbing with his tongue.

I sway my hips from side to side, rubbing my wetness all over his face and feeling electric sparks travel all the way up my spine and make their home inside my mind. My thoughts are crashing against one another, and it’s almost impossible to focus on anything… Anything besides the electric pleasure that consumes me, that is.

“Keep going… Don’t stop…” I moan, thrusting back against him even harder. Loyal to my words, he starts devouring me as if he needed to do it to survive. Working me with his whole mouth, he does in such that a way that the electricity pooling in my brain starts a fire, scorching whatever rationality was still inside of me.

Curling my fingers and grabbing at the sheets, I bunch them up as my muscles turn into solid concrete. Electricity and fire turns into pent-up tension and then, in just a heartbeat, all that tension goes free. I go down on my elbows as my muscles start to spasm, my heart drumming so furiously it seems ready to burst at any given moment.

“OH GOODNESS…!” I cry out, somehow managing not to scream. Somewhere in my mind, I know that I’m still sitting in front of Ethan, in the real world… And as I moan and scream, I’m also vaguely aware that I’m doing it for real. Not that it matters; the real Ethan is probably watching everything that’s happening inside my head on his iPad. And that… Well, that just makes me even hornier.

As the orgasm starts to subside, Ethan doesn’t allow me a break; he pulls back from me, takes a deep breath, and then dives in again. He starts to suck me as eagerly as before, but this time he runs one hand up my leg and presses one finger right on top of my clit. I tremble as I feel the pressure there, but I remain in place, trying to ride the waves of pleasure without falling off.

As if he knows what I want him to do next, he runs his tongue between my inner lips and then keeps going upward. I sigh as his finger goes down from my clit and he pushes it inside of me, curling it in a hook motion until it meets my G-spot. I scream loudly, and as I do it, he presses his mouth right between my rear cheeks.

“Oh goodness…” I moan again, Ethan flicking his tongue at my jerk as he keeps on rubbing my G-spot, the two sensations raising a whirlwind of pleasure inside of me. I just came, but I’m about to do it again. Goodness, someone give a Nobel Prize to the brains behind Illicit Escape: this thing is so good it might just make sex between two real people almost obsolete. Almost being the key word, of course. Nothing beats the nitty gritty of having a man like Ethan your brains out. Nothing.

Licking my rear in much the same way as he was licking my pussy, he starts to press harder against my G-spot. Time seems to stretch all around me, and the flames of pleasure are growing at a relentless pace. Even though I still feel the remains of my first orgasm fluttering in my head, I’m ready to go again.

My eyes close by instinct, and in that same moment, fireworks go off behind my eyelids. My eyes roll in their orbits and I fall forward, collapsing on top of the mattress as I flail my limbs. It’s almost like having a seizure, but one that I wouldn’t mind if it lasted forever.

I’m still shaking when I feel Ethan’s fingers on my wrist. He pulls one arm upward, and I offer no resistance as he places something metallic on my wrist. I open my eyes just in time to see him handcuffing me to the bedposts, but I do nothing to dissuade him; this is exactly what I want.

He goes around the bed and handcuffs my other hand, forcing me to go on all fours. With both my arms tied to the bedposts, there’s really no other position for me to be in.

“Now… You’re mine,” he says, his words oozing a kind of primitive power. Yes, I’m his, there’s no doubt about that.

“Then treat me like it…” I whisper, trying hard to keep my neck straight. My muscles are still reeling from the orgasm, and if it wasn’t for the handcuffs, I don’t know if I’d be able to get up at all from the mattress.

“I intend to,” he tells me, and then climbs on top of the bed. Stepping over my arms, he goes up to his feet, and looks down at me. “You have no idea how much I’m enjoying the view from up here,” he continues, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his legs. I swallow hard as I see his hard cock straining against his boxer briefs, and I half-expect it to simply rip its way out of the fabric. With a wild grin on his lips, he kicks off his pants and then takes off his boxers, throwing all of his clothes out of the bed. My heart skips a beat as his cock springs free, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Desire steering me, I crane my neck, trying to go for it with my mouth, but he keeps himself out of reach.

“I want it… Now. I want you to mess my mouth…” I plead, straining against the handcuffs and crawling closer to him. As a response, he flexes his knees slightly and brushes his glans against the space between my lips; my eyelids droop by instinct, and I feel the saltiness of his pre-cum on my tongue.

I open my mouth as wide as I can and, seizing the opportunity, he thrusts, allowing his shaft to roll all the way in. There’s a wet sound when his tip hits the back of my throat, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about the way he’s filling up my mouth. Somehow, I guess they’ve found a way to engineer the inconvenient details of sex out of the whole experience… If you ask me, I love every single inconvenient detail about it. There’s nothing like almost choking on a 12-inch long cock.

“That’s it… Suck on it, you’ve been dying to,” he whispers, slowly sliding his cock out. He goes back until only his glans is inside of me, and then he thrusts again, with the same abruptness of before. He repeats this motion for heaven knows how long; I’ve lost all notion of time, and as far as I’m concerned, I could spend an eternity like this.

As he thrusts, I start to bob my head back and forth, trying to match his rhythm. Forgetting that I’m handcuffed, I try and reach for his cock, but the metallic cuffs stop me. Burning with frustration, I simply start to suck him as hard as I can, forcing my mouth to move at a breakneck speed. I go so fast that he stops moving and simply remains in place as I completely devour his cock.

Pulling back suddenly, I let his cock pop out of my mouth; then, moving as fast I can, I tilt my head and reach for his shaft with my tongue. I trace his whole length, going down until my lips finally meet his balls. There, I place my lips against one and suck it in; I roll it inside my mind, lapping at it with my tongue, and then I do the same with the other one. As I let my tongue slide back up his shaft, he suddenly places one hand on my head and tangles his fingers on my hair. Holding my head in place with just one hand, he uses the other one to grab his cock and then thrusts at my mouth once more.

I open my mouth as wide as I can, completely surrendering to the way he starts to mess my little mouth. Idiot, I know that none of this is really happening, but this is almost too much for me… This feels so good it should be illegal. But perhaps it isn’t really the Illicit Escape machinery doing all the heavy lifting; perhaps my more than fertile imagination is helping matters. Whatever the reason, all I know is that I’m having the time of my life right now.

A sudden urge growling inside of me, I pull out and look him straight in the eye. I take a deep breath, and then I finally blurt out what I want him to do to me.

“I want… I want you to…” I start, panting, but he cuts me short.

“I know what you want… And once I’m doing it, you’ll be screaming like you never did before.” With that, he steps over my locked arms, and places himself behind me. I feel the mattress shifting under his weight as he moves, and he goes down to his knees as I look back at him over my shoulder.

I gasp as, without expecting it, he slaps me across my rear with the back of his hand. He does it over and over again, the sound of his hand hitting my cheeks echoing all across the virtual room. It hurts when his hand lands on my rear, but by the time my nerve endings transmit that to my brain, it has already turned into pleasure.

“Idiot me, just idiot me,” I cry out loud, and I don’t need to say more. His smacks stop immediately, and then he presses his thick glans against my pussy lips. This time, he doesn’t tease me mercilessly; no, this time he takes me by assault, thrusting at once. His cock pushes back against my insides harshly, and he drives it so deep into me that I can’t help but let out a violent scream. I feel the muscles in my neck straining, and my throat is growing raw. Right now, I’m not even sure if I’m just screaming inside this VR world or if I’m also doing it in real life… But who cares anyway? There are more pressing matters right now, like the gigantic cock inside of my pussy.

With both hands resting on my hips, Ethan starts to thrust, rocking his hips back and forth as he ravages me with his cock. Each thrust of his is like lightning and thunder, a furious storm already looming on the horizon. This isn’t exactly like the real thing but… it comes close.

Gritting my teeth, I hiss as a viper, and then I come undone. I’m screaming loud enough to shatter glass, and both my throat and eardrums are complaining. Still, I have to do it; pleasure rages through my veins with an implacable intensity, and there’s no denying it. As I come, Ethan stops thrusting and simply buries his cock as deep as possible inside of me, waiting for the waves of pleasure to recede. When they finally do, he pulls his cock out, and without a moment’s break, starts to rub its tip between my rear cheeks.

“Yes… Idiot me in the rear,” I hear myself saying, my voice sounding more and more like a whimper. He presses his glans against my hole, and simply holds it there, allowing the anticipation to build in my mind. When I finally can’t take it anymore, I thrust back and he matches my movement; his cock strains against my insides, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He buries his mess up to the hilt in my rear, and then pulls back as slowly as possible. I’m grabbing at the sheets, bunching them up as the whip of pleasure lashes at every single one of my nerve endings.

With each passing second, the rhythm of his thrusts grows more and more. Soon enough, he’s my rear without a single drop of mercy. I’m still screaming, even though my throat should be too sore for me to do it. Endorphins coursing through my veins like a drug, I still feel the pleasure waves from the last orgasm lapping at my mind as a new one blankets me.

My insides clench as I come, and I let my head fall. If it weren’t for the handcuffs, I’d just collapse on top of the bed and surrender to a convulsion of ecstasy. As it is, I hang there limply, shaking and trembling with my arms hanging up in the air.

“Idiot… This was… This was so good,” I whimper as he pulls his cock out of me. Without saying a word, he climbs down from the bed and goes around it; producing a key from heaven knows where, he releases both my hands and grins at me.

“Tired?” he asks me, a note of defiance to his words. “There’s a lot more to come, babe. I’m insatiable.”

I open my mouth to respond, but something snaps inside of me. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and wait until I feel my real body. Like before, I’m still sitting down, the glasses on my face; I reach for them, and finally, I feel my real hand moving. My fingers are trembling, but I still manage to grab the glasses. With one quick movement, I pull them off of my face.

“Goodness,” I mutter as the light in the room crashes against my eyes. I blink twice, floating down from the dream state I was in. Ethan is sitting in a chair in front of me, his mouth slightly ajar as he looks down at the iPad he has in his hands. A warning goes off in his screen, and he raises his head to look at me.

“So?” he simply asks, eager to hear my thoughts. I can’t help but notice that there’s a thick and hard shape straining against his pants.

“It was…” Idiot, how can I possible describe something like this? I’m soaking wet right now, and my own fluids have drenched my thong and ran down my thighs. I’m a wet mess, and all because of Ethan’s Illicit Escape glasses. Not knowing what to say, I simply place the glasses back in their box and go up to my feet. In two steps I cover the distance between Ethan and I, and opening my legs, I sit on his lap, straddling him. “It was… amazing. It’s brilliant.” I tell him, trying to say something mildly interesting. I quickly give up on it, though; there’s no way I can focus on this right now. “I want the real thing,” I whisper, leaning in. It doesn’t matter how good what I just went through was… Nothing beats real life, and right now, I need a hefty dose of it.

“Now you’re talking…” he tells me, grabbing my hair by the root and yanking on it. He places his free hand on my dress and just rips it open. The sound of the fabric tearing apart makes me even wetter, although I have no idea how that's even possible. Pulling harshly, he ruins my dress completely, and simply discards it to the floor without a second thought.

Following his lead, I place both my hands on his chest and tear his shirt open. The buttons pop out at once, and scatter themselves on the floor as I flatten the palm of my hands against his chiseled muscles.

I raise my hips slightly and take my hands to his crotch. Doing my best to steady my fingers, I unbuckle his belt, unbutton his pants, and pull his cock out. I feel his warmness against my hand, and the desire to have him inside of me simply overwhelms me. He’s in the same state as I am; moving suddenly, he places his fingers against my pussy and flicks my thong to the side. The moment I feel the fabric sliding against my skin, I curl my fingers around his shaft, and keeping it still, ease myself down.

The moment I feel him in my pussy, I let out one loud scream. My throat hurts from the effort and I realize that, while I had the glasses on, I was really moaning and screaming throughout the whole thing.

“You have a dirty, dirty mind,” he whispers against my ear, thrusting as hard as he can. I moan in response, and he continues to speak. “You can’t imagine how hard I got seeing what you did with me…”

To know that he saw everything that was going on inside my mind makes my head spin. It’s almost as if someone could peer into your dreams and record it. Voyeurism at its extreme, and I love it.

“Well, what can I say?” I place my arms over his shoulders and I start to sway my hips, riding him hard. “When it comes to you, I have no limits.” I move over his cock as fast as I can, and I already feel ecstasy bubbling up to the surface. No wonder—after coming so many times without going through the motions, my body is aching for some real release.

It comes quickly and without warning: my pussy clenches around his shaft and I lean into him, digging my fingernails into his back. A convulsion of pleasure takes over my body and I feel it shaking as it never did before. I feel my brain frying up, and the fire under my skin scorches every single one of my nerve endings. This is Heaven, pure and simple.

Not wanting to lose momentum, I climb down from him, making his cock pop out of me in the process. My legs grow weak as I stand up, and I fall down to my knees; not that I care, this is exactly what I want.

Without waiting a single second to see his reaction, I grab his cock and go for it, planting my lips on his tip. My own scent and flavor hits me, and I just let go completely. I roll my lips down his shaft and I go all the way down, only stopping when I meet the skin at the root of his cock. This time, when his glans hits the back of my throat, there’s some discomfort as I struggle to breath; and this is exactly what makes the real thing so much better. The way I see it, the best things in life are the hardest ones? Why should it be any different when it comes to sex?

Bobbing my head up and down, I wrap my fingers around his shaft at the same time, and then start to move my hand at the same rhythm of my mouth. Sucking and stroking, it doesn’t take very long for a slight spasm to take over his cock. After spending heaven knows how long watching me being messed by his virtual self, he must be aching for release even more than I was. I mean, at least I was coming throughout the whole thing, when all he could do was stare.

Without warning, his cock spasms harshly, and just like that, a flood of cum fills my mouth. All it takes is two spasms for my mouth to be brimming with semen, thick strands of it dripping down my chin. I pull back immediately, but he keeps on shooting, hitting me straight in the face with his cum.

I keep stroking him as he cums, forcing him to unleash his load upon my half naked body. I’m still wearing my bra and thong; there was no time to take these off when all I needed was to have him inside of me, and I’m sure it will all go straight to the laundry once I leave.

Still holding all his cum inside my mouth, I go up to my feet as soon as he stops shooting his load. I straddle him again, and not leaving him the time to react, lean in and press my mouth against his. I push my tongue against his mouth and force him to part his lips; he obliges and we submit to a frenzied kiss, our tongues swapping his cum as if it were the most delicious thing in the whole universe.

When I pull back from his kiss, exhaustion finally takes over me. My body grows limp, and if he wasn’t holding me I’d fall straight to the floor. Smiling, he pulls his pants up and picks me up, carrying me in his arms. I feel myself drifting off, and the moment he lays me down on his soft bed, I’m a goner.

Goodness, why did it take this long for me to find out that there are men like Ethan walking around?

108

Brittney

When I open my eyes, it’s already morning. I blink twice as my brain reboots, trying to figure out where the heck I am. Cotton sheets are covering my naked body, and behind me, there’s another naked body—Ethan’s. All at once, the memories of last night flood me. Goodness, that was intense; Ethan’s VR glasses left me spent and exhausted, and then we messed as if we just had a few minutes to live. No wonder I passed out. I was half comatose by the time he came.

There’s a wide smile on my lips and I have no idea where it’s coming from. My heart is beating steadily, drumming a happy tune, and I realize that I haven’t been this happy in ages. I think of turning to Ethan to wake him up, but we’re spooning and he has his arm draped over my body. So, I do the next logical thing and press my rear back against him; in half a heartbeat, I feel something thick and long stiffening and pushing against my rear cheeks. Hello there.

Ethan stirs, and then his hand goes down my side as he wakes up. “G’morning,” he whispers with a lazy voice. I guess last night wasn’t easy on him as well.

“Good morning,” I repeat after him, pushing my rear harder against his cock. His shaft is nestled between my rear cheeks, and I start to grind against him in soft, gentle movements. I’ve just woken up and I’m already eager to go at it again… Goodness, he’s like a drug, and I’m already an addict.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” he asks me, his hand going down to my rear. He squeezes one cheek gently, and then moves his hand up to my breasts.

“Never,” I purr, that uncontrollable smile still dancing on my lips. “Not when I’m with you.”

“That’s the right answer, congratulations.”

“Do I get a prize?” I ask him, grinding harder against him.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I tease him, swaying my hips from side to side and stroking his cock with my cheeks. Curling his fingers around his shaft, he slides his glans down my crack, and then fits his hard member between my legs. Biting on my bottom lip, I feel my pussy grow as wet as the Pacific.

“Oh, I know you do.” With his lips on my neck, he starts kissing me tenderly while, at the same time, he slides his glans inside of my pussy. My insides clench as I feel the tip of his cock pushing back my folds, and my arm shoots back to his rear; grabbing a handful of his firm cheeks, I try and pull him into me. “See? You knew, after all.”

“Oh, shut up and idiot me,” I chuckle, thrusting back with my hips. He allows another inch to go inside of me, and keeps that slow maddening pace until his whole shaft is buried in my pussy. Once I feel his tip pressed against that sweet spot, he digs his fingers into my thigh and starts to rock his hips.

As his cock starts to slide in and out of me, I sway my hips and try to match his pace. When our rhythm reaches its frenzied pinnacle, Ethan throws the sheets back, and the cool air of the morning makes my skin prickle. My hand is still on his rear, and I leave it there, urging him to go faster and faster. And that’s exactly what he does, picking up the pace until my insides are burning up.

With a wild grin, I move forward and his cock pops out of me. I turn to him, and his eyes are wide with surprise: he wasn’t expecting me to take the lead, but that’s exactly what I want to do. I wink, and then climb on top of his body; grabbing his cock, I guide it home and ease myself down on it.

His hands go straight to my belly, and as he squeezes them softly, I start to ride him at a tender pace. My hips are moving steadily, and I throw my head back and sigh loudly. Of course, all tenderness turns into frenzied lust, and I can’t help but lean into him and jump up and down on his cock. As I do it, I crush my mouth against his and lock myself in a kiss.

This time, sex has nothing to do with a power play. It has nothing to do with Simon's demands, or with Ethan’s prototype. No, this time we’re making love (oh goodness, did I really say make love?) because I want to. Because I need to please him. That’s right, it’s not about me; it’s about him.

Pulling back from our kiss, I press my forehead against his and simply look into his eyes. I could lose myself there, and somehow, I know that I’m already lost. Oh goodness, what’s happening to me? I never got this involved with any of my… targets. I can’t do this, I can’t. But it looks and feels so right…

My eyes never leaving his, I ride him until I feel his cock spasming. His pleasure turns into my own, and my pussy starts tightening up around his shaft at the same time. I smile at him, and just like that, we come undone. He groans, and I moan; in a fraction of a second, I feel his cock coating my insides with his cum, and it’s simply perfection. Goodness, I love to make him cum, to know that I’m pleasing him like no other woman can.

Ecstasy courses through us both as if we were one, and I close my eyes and surrender to his embrace. Breathing softly, I lay my head against his chest and remain like that as his cum drips down my pussy, his cock finally quieting down.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m falling for him, and that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. If I fall for him, I’m screwed.

Rolling to the side, I sprawl myself on top of the mattress, gazing at the ceiling. Ethan turns to me and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “You’re really one of a kind, Brittney,” he whispers, and I feel my heart melting. Oh goodness, please don’t allow this to happen. Please, please. I can’t fall for him.

I remain on the bed as Ethan gets up and goes for a shower. I lay there as if I’m frozen, but the gears inside my head are turning at high speed. What am I going to do?

“I ordered you breakfast, babe,” Ethan tells me, coming out from the closet fifteen minutes later, already dressed. He’s wearing a dark suit and I can’t help but notice how it fits him perfectly. I’m sure it’s expensive, but I’m not talking about the quality of the suit… Somehow, Ethan is the kind of guy that makes suits look good, and not the other way around. “You can take your time, but I gotta go.”

“Thank you, Ethan,” I tell him with a smile, and I don’t even know if I’m thanking him for the breakfast, or for the sex. I guess it’s both. When he finally leaves, I wait until I hear the elevator going down, and only then do I get up.

I take a long shower, and then I get dressed; Ethan left a new dress and matching bra and thong for me on the bathroom. Already feeling hungry, I stumble toward the living room, and when I get there, it’s as if I’ve been hit by thunder. My eyes go straight to the briefcase sitting on the coffee table and my heart stops beating.

He left the Illicit Escape prototype behind.

I walk toward it, my heart now racing, but I can’t even bring myself to touch it. Here it is, the one thing capable of buying my freedom from Simon. My way out. All I have to do is pack it up, shut the briefcase and forget that Ethan exists. So simple, and so hard.

That’s when I hear my phone ring. I go toward the sound, and find it lying on the couch, next to my purse. On the screen, there’s a single name: Simon. Sighing heavily, I pick the phone up and press it against my ear.

“Where are you?” he asks me immediately, the tone of his voice a disgusting one. He treats me as if I’m his slave.

“Home,” I lie. I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth.

“Any news? I want this over with as fast as possible, Brittney,” he continues, a veiled threat in the way his words get to me.

“I’m working on it. But it’s not as easy as you think… He doesn’t leave that thing where someone can just pick it up, you know?” I continue to lie, suddenly feeling nauseous. I feel like I’m falling down a hole, and I don’t know when I’m going to hit the ground.

“Don’t mess with me, Brittney,” he hisses, and I can almost imagine his disgusting face contorting with rage. “You know what I can do.” I feel like I’m going to be sick. More than anyone, I know what Simon can do… I close my eyes, and remain silent, the memories of moments long gone flashing behind my eyelids. “If he finds out where you are, you are messed, jerk. You better remember that.”

“Simon, I…”

“Don’t you try to stall. I know you’re on the run, hiding like a scared little girl… And if you don’t get me the prototype, I’ll tell him where he can find you. Let’s see how tough you are when your sweet ex-boyfriend is choking the life out of you.” Oh goodness. How did it get to this? The worst part is that I’m not scared for myself. No, if my ex finds out that I ran away after discovering his secret, more people will suffer.

When I was younger, I used to hang out with the wrong crowd. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, I was head over heels with one of these jerks women say they hate, but then end up with. Except this jerk wasn’t just bad… He was evil. I knew that the first time I had to put on makeup to hide the bruises. I remember that during a visit to the ER my right eye was so swollen that I thought I’d never be able to see again.

I thought of running away more than once… I thought of fighting back. But things are never that easy, hun. You see, my lovely ex had more secrets than he cared to share. And once I got down to the bottom of it, I knew I was trapped. I couldn’t do a thing. If I tried to fight back, I’d be putting other women in danger.

That’s why one day something just snapped inside of me and I left. I came here to New York, looking to start over and forget all about my past… A new start, just like in the movies. Of course, the past has its ways of catching up to you. Call it bad luck; call it karma… Call it whatever you want. Thing is, now that Simon knows about my past, he’s using it as a threat to make me do his bidding. And I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.

Tears start to well in my eyes, and I have to take a deep breath to stop myself from sobbing. “I’ll get it done,” I whisper, one lone tear streaming down my face. “I’ll do it.”

With that, I end the call and throw the phone into my purse. I place the glasses inside the briefcase, shut it, and leave the apartment.

I have no choice, it’s the only thought echoing inside my head. I have no choice.

109

Ethan

I hear a whistle coming from my right side and I look up to a see a woman smiling. Her teeth are so white they almost seem blue. She's completely naked, except for a pair of stilettos on her feet. She has great breasts and a great body; I'll give her that, but I have zero interest in exchanging flirty banter with her, if that's what she's hoping for.

"Well, someone's looking smoking hot today," she purrs. She pushes a stray section of blonde hair behind her ear and walks closer, placing her hand on my arm.

"Don't you have a promotional shoot to be at Amy?" I ask, not giving her another glance.

She gets the hint and walks off. I can hear the sound of her heels clicking against the hard floor. I listen until it fades with her distance.

I swear, not more than five minutes later, another woman walks up to me. She's a little more clothed, but not by much.

"Is this silk?" she asks, playfully running her hand along my tie.

"Yes, it is," I reply, only half listening. My response is curt and unenthusiastic. I move my body just out of her reach.

"Care to join me for a drink tonight… and maybe something more?" she asks, a devilish grin on her face. I know exactly what she's insinuating.

"Not tonight doll," I say dismissively. Don't get me wrong; she's hot and easily idiotable, but I just don't care. Normally, I'd be up for bending most of these women over and them… but now I have my sights on only one. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. Ethan Kane getting attached? But before you think I'm growing soft on you, I'm not. I'm just into Brittney, okay?

I watch as a frown forms on the actress' face—I can't even remember her name—and she moves on. I don't think most of these new actresses ever expected me to be so uninterested in them—given my reputation and all.

I enjoy a relatively peaceful next 20 minutes when I suddenly feel two arms wrapped around my waist.

"How's my handsome boss today?" the voice asks. I turn around and see that it's Carla. Remember her from the scene we shot in the upper middle-class suburban home, complete with crochet on the tables, a giant 52” flat screen TV on the wall, pictures of a fictional family, and a roaring fireplace?

That was all before Brittney. Back then, it felt fine Carla. She wasn't anything amazing, but my cock didn't seem to complain. After Brittney, I don't want anything to do do with her.

I give Carla a smile but don't say much. I really don't have anything to say, but I don't want to be over-the-top rude.

"When are we gonna shoot another scene together?" she purrs.

"I'm really too busy for that these days," I say. She gives me a puzzled look. I've never been one to stay out of shoots completely. But she shrugs her own confusion away, gives me one more quick hug goodbye, and walks off.

I begin to walk off as well, and then hear another voice.

"Ethan, there you are!"

Great. Can't I get any time to think around this place without women fawning all over me?

"Look, I need everyone to leave me al—" I say, but I'm cut off. It's Cheryl.

"It's important," she says.

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was you," I reply. "I've been bombarded ever since I walked in the door."

"Where's the prototype?" she asks me. "You left here with it yesterday, but I don't see it anywhere."

"I left it at home."

"You what?" Cheryl asks. She looks genuinely shocked.

"It's fine. I'll bring it back in tomorrow."

"Ethan, do you realize what you've done? You've left our only prototype—the one piece of technology that we're banking on and pouring all of our resources into—exposed and unguarded. Would you leave a million dollars on the sidewalk and expect it to be there the next day?"

"It's not like I left it on the street corner," I say. "That's not a good analogy. This is my apartment we're talking about. It's safe there. No one is going to touch it."

"Are you sure about that?" Cheryl asks, her eyes narrowing. "I don't think that was the wisest thing to do because you weren't alone … You had Brittney over."

"How did you know that?" I ask.

"I dropped her off near One57 yesterday and just as I thought, she ended up at your place.”

For a moment I wonder if Cheryl has resorted to stalking me at my own apartment now.

"Look, I know you worry, but I trust her," I say.

"Since when have you become so trusting of strangers?" she asks.

"It's not like that … I've gotten to really know Brittney. She's not a stranger. I can trust her. She's opened up to me. You can trust her too."

Are you listening to yourself?" Cheryl asks, shaking her head. "Prove to me that she can be trusted."

"Why are you being so difficult? What's come over you?" I ask.

"Do you even know what Brittney used to do before we hired her on?"

"Yes, I already know all about that," I say. "She told me. She was in porn, and then started her own business, Man Chasers LLC."

"And did she tell you what she did with that company?"

"Yes, she told me all about that too," I shrug. "Look, it doesn't bother me. She helped women get back at their cheating husbands. She helped them find closure… and justice."

"Did she forget to mention how she managed to pull that off?" Cheryl asks.

"Well, we didn't go into depth on that."

"She used deceit, Ethan. That's what she did. She lied. And she was good at it. She could convince even the most powerful men to drop their pants for her, and she was cunning enough to gain access to them," she says. "Think about that for a moment."

I never really thought about it like that. I guess Cheryl has a point. But what Brittney and I have together is different. I'm not some cheating husband that she's been hired to uncover.

"Look, I'll prove to you that the prototype is fine," I say. "I brought my tablet. It's connected to the cameras in my apartment. I'll power it on, and I'll show you that the prototype is still sitting in my briefcase, on the table."

I hold down the home button and toggle my tablet on. The screen glows to life, and I click on the application that'll show Cheryl everything's fine. Maybe then she'll get off my back. I know she means well, but I wish she'd just trust me.

The app launches and I immediately see a live view of my apartment. Everything is still. I don't see Brittney anywhere. She must've already left.

I pan around to the living room, and I zoom in. I see the couch … I see the table … but I don't see the briefcase.

What the heck? My heart sinks, and my pulse races. I know I left that briefcase in plain view. I should be seeing it. I'm trying to fight the dizzy feeling that's beginning to flood my head.

I'm trying to keep my cool in front of Cheryl. What if she's right? Idiot.

"I know the briefcase is around here somewhere," I say, panning around the apartment.

"I thought you said it was on your living room table?" Cheryl asks.

"It was… or I thought it was, but I could've misremembered," I say.

"It's gone, Ethan," she says. "I told you. Brittney couldn't be trusted. Now what are we going to do?"

My heart now sinks even further as I realize Cheryl's right. I'm not sure if this is what a broken heart feels like, but it must be pretty close.

The realization finally sinks in. Despite the fact that I know what she did, I have to repeat it to myself.

Brittney used me. She stole the prototype.

There's a moment of stunned silence.

"Ethan you can trust me," a voice says from behind me. "Here's your prototype."

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn around. It's Brittney and she's holding my briefcase in one hand.

"I thought you stole the prototype," I say. I'm relieved that she's here, but she looks distraught. This isn't the Brittney I kissed goodbye to in my apartment.

"I love you Ethan," Brittney says. "I love you with every fiber of my body. I've never felt this way about a man before… but now that I've met you, I know what true love feels like. I can't imagine my life without you."

"Brit, come here," I say, embracing her in a hug. I see tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid Ethan," she says. "Very afraid."

She continues, "There's a man out there who wouldn't hesitate to see me dead."

110

Brittney

I don’t care about what happens next. I can’t bring myself to betray Ethan. Whatever the consequences are, I’ll face them as long as he’s with me. When I first came into this, I came ready to do my job, but I ended up falling for the best man I have ever met… And I can’t turn my back on him. I deserve this.

It wasn’t easy to stroll into his office with an admission of guilt, throwing myself at his mercy. But this was what I had to do. Even if Simon makes good on his word, there was no other option for me. Not anymore.

So here I am, standing in front of Ethan, fear and hesitancy nestled in my mind. I look at him with pursed lips, knowing that there’s no going back from this; this is my personal Rubicon, and I’ve just crossed it. Cheryl dismisses herself from the room.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, taking one step toward him. He’s standing in front of his desk, dashing as always. And now, more than ever, I need to feel his arms around me. “I really am.”

“Don’t.” He brushes the back of his hand on my cheek, and then runs his long fingers through my hair. “You’re here, and you did right by me. We’ll work this out.” I nod, hoping that his words turn out to be true, and that everything will work out. Looking into his eyes and seeing the confidence shining there, I can’t help but trust him. Still, deep inside of me I know that the world is a mean and dirty place, and it will do everything to crush me. I know it, and Simon does too. “I promise you,” he adds, and then leans into me. His lips touch mine, and there’s a gentle tenderness to our kiss.

“I’m so glad I met you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against his and smiling. Whatever happens, nothing will change this. Meeting someone like Ethan… It was like finding an oasis after walking for years through a barren wasteland.

“Me too,” he says, pressing his mouth against mine once again. I take my fingers to his face, and gently hold him as I part my lips and push my tongue inside his mouth. My heart is beating steadily, and this time it isn’t just lust racing through my veins; there’s love too. Love. It feels good to admit it; I love him, and I wouldn’t change that for all the money in the world.

I let my hands fall down from his face and I press them over his chest. Underneath his shirt and his pectorals, I can hear the steady beat of his heart. It’s silly to say this, but it almost seems that his heart is beating at the same rhythm as mine. Right now, I can’t help but feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

Sliding my fingers up from his chest to his collar, I loosen his tie and then unknot it. Instinct guiding my hands, I start to unbutton his white shirt, my fingers working swiftly. Once I get down to his waistline, I untuck the shirt from his pants, and finally flatten the palm of my hands against his abs. It doesn’t matter how many times I feel his body… I can’t get enough of it. It’s almost as if God put Ethan on this Earth for me to find out, all his perfection a hidden gift.

As I slide my hands over his abs, Ethan rests his hands on my rear, over my skirt, and pulls me into his embrace. With my breasts pressed against his bare chest, I feel my nipples hardening, a warmness spreading from them and numbing my mind. Between my thighs, I feel my pussy growing wet, desire spreading its wings inside of me.

“I want you,” I tell him, pushing his shirt down his arms. “I need you,” I continue, taking my hands to his head and grabbing his hair.

“I’m right here,” he tells me, squeezing my rear cheeks as his lips curl into a smile.

“You are,” I smile back, crushing my mouth against his. This time, there’s nothing gentle about the way we kiss; I surrender to that craving inside of me and simply let loose. He does the same, sliding his fingers under my skirt and hiking it slightly up; I tremble as I feel his touch on my bare rear, and my hands dart to his waist. With an anxious knot in my throat, I press one hand against his crotch; my heart starts picking up the pace as I feel the hardness under his pants, his cock already hard and pulsing with desire.

Pulling back from his kiss, I lay my lips against his neck. Slowly, I go down on my knees, gently kissing him as I go. My lips brush over the curve of his pectorals, then over the hard blocks of his abs, and each kiss I lay on his body just makes me grow wetter.

When my knees finally touch the carpeted floor, I look up at him with an easy smile on my lips. I take a deep breath, and steadying my hands, I unbuckle his belt and pull it out from its loops. Placing it on the floor, I have to take another deep breath as I start unbuttoning his pants. He just looks at me, running his fingers through my hair with a tender smile on his face. In his eyes, there’s that familiar flicker of lust… But there’s something more too. Something gentle and kind.

With his pants now unbuttoned, I let my eyes wander down his body; his cock is pushing back against his boxer briefs, its thick shape perfectly delineated. Ethan’s cock is almost as thick as a can of Coke, and with its 12 inches, it’s perfection made flesh. And what really matters is that Ethan knows how to wield it; trust me, I know.

My heart is already galloping inside of my chest, and I can barely steady my hands. Still, I lift my index finger and trace the contour of his cock with just my fingertip, slowly moving it up and down his shaft. As I tease him, he tangles his fingers in my hair, and I can already feel the tension starting to mount in the way he holds me.

Running my tongue over my lips, I finally hook my fingers on his boxers, and moving as slowly as I can, I pull them down. His cock jumps out at once, all its size ready to ravage me. I lock eyes with Ethan once more, curling my fingers around his shaft at the same time. Unblinking, I start to flick my wrist, my hand moving up and down his cock at a slow teasing pace.

“Every time I look at your cock,” I say, a grin taking over my lips, “I can’t help but want to devour it.” The pressure on his fingers grows harder at my words, and he yanks on my hair, holding my head still.

“You can devour all of me,” he tells me, and each one of his words feels like a loaded gun. Anticipation is running high inside his head, and I can see it. My grin growing wider and wilder, I push back against the hold he has on me, and he relents, opening his fingers. My eyes never leave his as I lean, tilting my head sideways as I allow my tongue to part my lips; I reach for his cock with the wet tip of my tongue, and then run it all the way down to its root. I move back up, and then down again, repeating this coming and going motion until his whole body starts to tense up. When I feel that he can’t take it anymore, I grab his cock harshly, and opening my mouth as wide as I can, I dive in.

His shaft slides inside my mouth at once, pushing down on my tongue and against the inside of my cheeks. It doesn’t matter how many times I go down on him, the way he completely fills my mouth never fails to amaze me. To fit his thickness between my lips, I have to strain my jaw to the point where it starts to hurt, and no, I’m not complaining here, far from it.

Forcing myself to go as deep as I can, I only stop when I’m close to choking, his fat glans pressed tight against the back of my throat. Pulling out, I slow down when my lips reach his glans, and I wrap them tight around it, sucking as I lap at it with my tongue.

“You know, Brittney,” he starts, and I look up at him, his cock still filling my mouth, “you really know how to use that mouth of yours…” His words give me a shot of confidence, and I start to bob my head as fast as I can. I curl my fingers around his shaft and, as I suck on him, I start to stroke him as well.

Moving in a pendulum motion, I keep going until his cock starts to pulse wildly against my tongue; moving fast, he holds my head in place and stops me completely. Then, without a moment’s pause, he starts to thrust, moving his cock in and out of my mouth at a relentless pace.

As I let him idiot my mouth, I push his pants and boxer briefs down his legs, sending them down to his ankles. Suddenly, he pulls back, his cock springing free at once. He kicks off his shoes to the corner, and after stepping out of his pants, pulls me up to my feet.

“You know,” he whispers, placing two fingers under my chin, “I never messed anyone inside this office.” I grin, gently chuckling as I see the eagerness in his eyes.

“I find that hard to believe, Ethan,” I tell him, looking around the room. Two of the walls are floor-to-the-ceiling mirrors, and I see no other reason but sex for having something like that mounted here. Wherever I’m looking, I can see my reflection staring back at me, and I can already imagine how amazing it must be to mess him while I watch everything unfold from all angles.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he grins, “but no. I never got around to using that mirror…”

“We have to fix that,” I tell him, grinning back at him.

“We do.” As the air grows electric and heavy around us, he places his hands on my shoulders and runs them to my waist. Grabbing at my blouse, he moves fast and pulls it over my head, forcing me to raise my arms. His hands go back to my hips, and then he forces me to turn on my heels; turning around, I reach for his desk and plant my hands on the flat surface. He wastes no time, and goes straight for the clasp between my shoulder blades; with a quick flick of his fingers, he opens my bra and pushes it down my arms. I sigh heavily as I feel the cups drooping over my belly, and then he simply yanks the bra off of me.

As I exhale sharply, he rests both of his hands over my breasts, squeezing them eagerly. My flesh molds to his fingers, and a shiver goes up my spine as I feel his fingers running over my hard nipples. Then, one of his hands slides down to my stomach, and he slowly lowers it until it finds the place where skin meets skirt. He slides his fingers underneath it, and cups my pussy almost too harshly. I gasp, an electric discharge going from his fingers to my pussy and igniting a frenzy inside of me.

Instinct slapping away my rational mind, it then sits behind the wheel. Acting in an almost unconscious way, I take my hands to my lower back and grab the zipper on my skirt, pulling all the way down. He reacts by pushing his body against mine, and I have no option but to place my fingers on the table top again; then, acting like a hungry beast, he pushes my skirt down my legs and presses his thick shaft between my rear cheeks, my thong the only barrier between us.

Without waiting to see what he wants, I thrust back against his cock, rocking my hips. Grinding against him, I feel his shaft pulsing against my rear, and the desire to have him idiot me trumps almost everything else.

“Idiot me, Ethan,” I pant, closing my eyes and throwing my head back. “Use me however you want.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to,” he whispers against my ear, and then nibbles at the skin on my neck. He places both of his hands on my hips, and then his lips start to trace a downward line down my back. When his mouth meets my thong, he bites down on it and starts to peel it off of me. My skin prickles as he pulls the string out from between my rear cheeks, and then pushes it down all the way to the floor, where it falls in a wet heap on top of my skirt.

Now on his knees, Ethan places one forearm across my lower back and forces me to lean forward. I do it willingly, supporting myself on my elbows as he dives into me, wrapping his full lips around my drenched folds. He attacks me viciously, sucking on my inner lips and lashing out at them with his tongue. Working furiously, he presses his whole mouth against him, and opening it wide, starts to jab with his tongue.

I’m already breathing hard, but when he places two fingers right above my clit and starts to rub on it, my hard breathing turns into a sequence of harsh moans. Punishing my pussy and clit with wild precision, he sets fire to my mind, the first whispers of ecstasy echoing inside my head.

“Yes, keep going…” I moan, barely able to get the words out. “Eat me out, Ethan… My pussy is yours,” I continue, the words forming in my mouth before my brain even has the time to process them. As he keeps on sucking, I feel a pressure mounting inside of me, and before I can prepare myself for the impending explosion, it simply happens.

I hiss through my gritted teeth as my muscles start to twitch, an electric current going through me as if I were hit by lightning. My heart is no longer pumping blood, but endorphins; I can almost feel them raging through my veins, consuming everything in their path and soaking my brain into an ocean of lust and pleasure.

“Oh goodness,” I cry out, thrusting back against his mouth as hard as I can. Holding me by the hips, he pushes his face against my pussy, and the pressure between my thighs becomes almost unbearable. Without even allowing for my orgasm to run its course, he takes his fingers off of my clit, and turning his hand around, slides them inside of my pussy. He goes straight to my G-spot, applying just the right amount of pressure for my moans to turn into a sudden scream.

As he builds up a second orgasm on top of the first one, he takes his mouth off my pussy and runs his tongue over my crack. He only stops when he meets my jerk, and then he presses his mouth against it.

“Yes…” I moan, pushing my rear back against his mouth. He slides his tongue inside of my hole, and I lose it; there’s a detonation inside my mind, and I let out one wild scream, the muscles in my neck straining with the effort. “Idiot! IDIOT!” I shout, my pussy spasming against his fingers as I come.

I can’t help but scream even louder. I don’t know even know how I do it; when he takes his mouth off my rear, he uses his free hand, and slides his index finger inside of my hole. With his fingers inside my pussy and rear, endless waves of ecstasy crash against me and devastate me completely. I almost collapse on top of the desk, my muscles burning up as if I was running a fever. When he finally takes his fingers out, I’m barely conscious. Still, desire has a pulse, and I force my eyes open.

Summoning whatever strength I still have inside of me, I stand up and turn on my heels, facing him as my heart thumps against my chest like a cannon. I look to the right, and then to the left, my skin prickling as I see our naked bodies reflected on the wall mirrors.

“Come here,” I whisper at him, sitting on top of his desk and parting my legs. He comes forward, placing his body between my legs; grabbing his cock, he angles it down and presses his glans against my wetness. With a lewd smile, I place my arms over his shoulders and urge him to carry on, to mess me as hard as he can.

Moving steadily, he starts to push his cock past my folds, shards of pleasure digging into my brain as he moves. When his shaft is halfway in, he suddenly thrusts, drawing a loud moan from my lips. I throw my head back, grinning wildly, and look to the side as he starts to rock his hips against me. My reflection grins back at me from the other side of the room, and I let my eyes wander to Ethan’s body; from here, I can see him thrusting, his rear cheeks flexing over and over again as he pounds me with his massive cock.

“Now this is fun,” I tell him, looking from one side to the other and taking in the sight of Ethan me from all angles. His muscles are bulging, and I see them working like the perfect piece of human engineering they are.

“What’s fun,” he starts to say, nibbling at my neck once more, “is your tight pussy.” He pushes me back on top of the table, and as I lean down, he curls his fingers around my ankles. Lifting my legs, he places them over his shoulders, and starts to thrust immediately. Pistoning into me harder than before, he now goes deeper, his tip hitting that sweet spot inside of me.

I keep watching everything unfold through the mirrors, my naked body ravaged by Ethan as he idiots me. It’s weird to watch everything through a game of mirrors, reflections upon reflections kicking my lust into overdrive.

“You sure like to watch yourself,” Ethan says, thrusting as hard as he can.

“No… I like to watch you frigging me,” I say between hard breaths, managing not to scream just for a few seconds. I’m looking into his eyes now, entranced by the flames dancing there. Inside him rages a fire, and I just know that it’s going to consume mercilessly. Which is exactly what I want.

“Then watch,” he simply whispers, placing his arms around my legs and keeping me in place as he idiots me at a maddening pace. I tilt my head to the side and force my eyes to remain open, watching the sway of his hips as his cock slides in and out of me. He rams his shaft into me until my pussy lips caress the skin at the base of his cock, and then he pulls it back all the way to his glans before thrusting again. He keeps going like this for what seems like an eternity, time becoming just a foreign word to my ears. Right now, I’m drifting away, carried by a river of pleasure and wonder.

I close my eyes and surrender completely, allowing my brain to shut down all the unnecessary noise inside it. Now focusing only on the way his shaft strains against my inner walls and stretches me wide, it’s only a matter of seconds until I come again.

“Don’t stop, Ethan, don’t stop!” I cry out, grabbing at the edge of the bed so hard that my knuckles turn white. My body tenses up, and just like an elastic band stretched to the limit, it simply snaps. “OH GOODNESS, OH GOODNESS!” I scream like a mad woman, my pussy tightening around his shaft as a violent orgasm turns my mind to shreds.

“That’s it, babe… You scream all you want,” he whispers, leaning into me and pushing my legs with his shoulders. As he does it, bending me even more, his cock drives deeper into me and my scream dies down, my throat too weak to carry on.

My lungs are working overtime to get the air in, but I finally come down from Cloud 9.

“We’re not done yet,” I tell him with a grin, as if he didn’t know it. He doesn’t even bother to reply; he just takes my legs out from his shoulders and takes one step back. With a growl in my throat, I climb down from the desk and jump on him; he moves fast, grabbing me as I cross my legs behind his back. He eases me down over his cock, and as I feel his thickness pushing past my inner lips, I rest my head against his shoulder and whimper softly.

“You’re right,” Ethan says, rocking his hips and sliding his cock deep into me at a gentle rhythm, “we’re not done yet.” With each passing second, he starts to thrust faster and faster, making the electric current under my skin start to crackle. I exhale sharply, and instead of screaming, dig my fingers into his shoulder. I bite hard enough to leave a mark, and that only makes him go harder. While my teeth are buried deep in his flesh, and I’m biting fiercely enough to draw blood, he doesn’t even seem to acknowledge what I’m doing. Right now, it’s as if he’s impervious to pain.

Completely lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, I come again, my body jolted by a high voltage current. I stop biting him, and I only need it because I have to scream like a banshee. The sound of my voice seems to spur him on, and while I’m still coming, he puts me down on the floor. He’s on his knees, and I’m straddling him, but with a quick motion of his hips he turns around and lays me down. With both his hands on his knees, he pushes my legs up and intensifies his rhythm. My scream turns into a quivering moan, and I’m almost sure that tomorrow I won’t be able to speak—or sit.

“I want you to…” I find myself saying, the words coming out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I want you to… Idiot me everywhere. Everywhere.” I remember what I went through when I put on the Illicit Escape glasses, how it felt to have his thick cock sliding inside my rear… And I need to feel that right now.

“I know,” he whispers, pulling his cock out with one single movement. “I want it too… Since I saw what you experienced with the glasses, I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”

“Good,” I merely respond, moving like a cat and going on all fours on the floor. Even though I’m breathing hard and my muscles are screaming from all the pleasure, desire seems to act as high-octane fuel. I sway my rear from side to side, an open invitation for Ethan, and he places both his hands on my hips. Running just one finger between my rear cheeks, he presses it against my jerk and slowly feeds it into me. He pushes it all the way in and then, without a break, he starts fingering my rear. My insides are burning, and even though I have no idea how it will feel to have a cock so massive my rear, I can’t wait for it.

Once he takes his finger out of my rear, he replaces it with his cock; pressing with his glans against my hole, he rubs in an up and down motion until I’m gasping for air.

“Please,” I pant, moving my hips back. He feeds one inch into me, and I feel my inner walls burning up as his thickness strains to get inside of my rear. I won’t lie, this hurts, but it’s a pain so sweet and delicious that I can’t help but want more. I thrust back even harder, and reading what’s on my mind, he thrusts mercilessly. His shaft pushes back against my inner walls on the way in, and once every long inch of him is inside of me, there’s nothing that I can do but scream.

“You’re so tight,” I hear him say, his voice coming at me as if he was on a completely different universe. As he starts to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of my rear, I only know that I scream—my brain can’t even process the sound of my voice right now; it’s busy with distilling pain into pleasure.

“Harder, Ethan, harder…” I beg of him, wanting him to mess me until I can no longer utter a coherent sentence. Obliging, his hips start to slap my rear cheeks as if tomorrow would never come. I let the sound of flesh on flesh lull me into a dream like state, and as his cock ravages my rear, I let the waves of ecstasy drag me down into an ocean of lust.

Making it all so much better, he starts to slap my rear as he idiots me, his hand hitting my cheeks hard enough to leave a mark. Tomorrow I’m going to have a sore rear, and that suits me just fine. I want to wake up remembering how it felt to have a cock as thick as a can of Coke inside of my rear. By all means, this should be physically impossible, but we’re still doing it.

As he pounds into me like a predator, I feel myself on the verge of exploding. So, I do the logical thing and set the fuse on fire; I slide one hand down my stomach, and pressing down on my clit, I start to rub myself as his cock demolishes my rear.

“Come, Brittney,” he says, and his words have an almost magical effect on me. They caress my eardrums, travel to my brain, and there they wreak havoc. As if this was the first orgasm of the day, I throw my head back and scream as loud as I can, my voice so shrill that I wouldn’t be surprise if the mirrors on the walls simply shattered. But they don’t, and so I force my eyes open and look to the side, watching his rear cheeks flex as he thrusts, his long mast destroying my hole.

“IDIOT! IDIOT, IDIOT!” I scream, tears streaming down my face. I feel my brain melting like butter on a hot day, and all of my nerve endings are being cauterized by the scorching heat of pleasure. I let go of my clit, and with both hands on the floor, my fingers curl into claws as my whole body tenses up and then down. The waves of maddening ecstasy rush through me, and I don’t even know how I’m still conscious. “I want you to cum in my rear,” I tell him, and a series of spasms start to take over his cock as if my words were a spell. “Cum, cum…” I repeat, and then I feel a warmness flooding me.

Succumbing to pleasure, he pulls his cock out of my rear, and grabbing it, he starts to stroke himself as thick strands of cum cover my lower back and rear. I moan and scream like a woman possessed, feeling the way his seed covers my naked skin. He keeps stroking himself until there’s nothing left inside of him and then, letting go of his cock, he grabs my hips and leans into me.

I feel his lips on my jerk, his tongue scooping up the cum that’s dripping out. He keeps on licking me until there’s nothing left inside of my rear, and then he runs his tongue up and down my crack, taking all of his seed inside of his mouth. Then, with his hands resting on my lower back, he starts to rub his seed all over me, his fingers sliding easily over my body.

Completely spent, I still find the strength to turn around and face him. Without a single word, I lean into him and press my mouth against his, parting his lips with my tongue. We kiss in a frenzy, and I take all the cum he holds in his mouth inside of mine; as I pull back from his kiss, I grin and swallow, allowing his saltiness to burn down my throat. I feel the scent and flavor of my pussy and rear on his lips, and that only manages to make me hungrier for his semen.

With a gentle smile, he lets his tongue out and licks my lips dry, cleaning them of the few drops of cum hanging there.

“I love you,” he tells me, a quiet tenderness in his eyes. “I never thought I’d feel like this, but idiot, I really love you, Brittney.”

“I love you too…” I whisper, closing my eyes and letting his words echo inside of my head. I love you, he said. Ethan loves me. It feels unreal, as if I’m dreaming or living a fantasy through his Illicit Escape glasses. Forget about lust and sex… Right now, all that matters is his love for me, and I have it.

Still, even though his words are genuine… I know there are roadblocks on our path. Simon won’t take this lying down, and he has the means to make my life a living prison. Even though Ethan is a very powerful man, I don’t know if he can protect me from what lies ahead.

Yes, I’m afraid, I won’t lie about that. But, at the same time, I’m as happy as I have ever been. I’ve finally found true love, and God, I’ll do everything that I can in order to not lose it.

111

Ethan

I wake up and the sun is just coming up over the city. I look over.

Brittney’s lying next to me. She’s sleeping soundly under blankets; the only way I can even tell she’s there is the mop of blonde hair that’s sticking out.

But underneath the blankets, I feel her soft body pressed against me. Her curvy rear pressed against my cock.

The fact that I even got any sleep is a mystery. I mean my cock between these gorgeous rear cheeks? It’s already coming back to life and getting hard. I just want to harass her. Again.

Goodness. You’d think someone who runs the world’s largest pornography company would have enough sex in his life and not be running around like some horny 16-year-old kid.

That’s exactly when Brittney yawns again. It’s such a cute little yawn. She wriggles her body a little, and nestles her rear a bit deeper into my crotch.

You remember I was asking what the heck was wrong with me? Why I was acting like a horny 16 year old?

Well, forget I ever said anything because feeling that beautiful rear on my toe is enough to remind me of the reasons that I’m so in love with this woman.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s not just the sex. She’s honestly such an amazing person that I can’t even begin to describe it. So warm. So loving. So pure.

Yeah, pure. I know her past. A porn star who’s starting over. But inside that, past that, is a purity that you don’t see in a lot of people.

I know she’s struggling with something more though. I just can’t—

Wait, did you hear that?

I stop thinking and pay attention and a moment later I hear the doorbell chime once more.

Sighing to myself, I realize that whoever is at the door probably has a good reason to be here at 7:30 am.

With great reluctance, I slowly extricate myself from Brittney. Even though she’s sleeping, I can tell Brittney misses my body. She gives off a little mewl as I get out of bed and put on a robe.

I pad over to the living room. The sun is just rising above the buildings on 5th Avenue. It’s a beautiful sight that reminds me why I love living in New York City.

I open the door and somehow, I’m just not really surprised at all to see Cheryl.

She’s already dressed in a prim and proper black suit and pencil skirt. I step aside to let her in.

“Sleeping in?” Cheryl asks me with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow.

I groan. “It’s 7:30 in the morning, Cheryl,” I manage to say as I walk over to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.

“They say the early bird gets the worm,” she replies back, following me.

“My worm gets enough bird, thank you,” I tell Cheryl as she rolls her eyes at me.

I pour my coffee as Cheryl sets down her tablet and turns it on.

“Would you like to go over the plans so far for the launch?” she asks me.

I look at Cheryl. “It’s 7:30 in the morning, Cheryl…” I begin, but if she cares, she doesn’t show it.

“We are three months away from releasing the one product that will revolutionize the pornography industry in ways that dwarf what the VCR did, Ethan,” she tells me sternly. “7:30 in the morning means absolutely nothing to me.”

She’s got a point. I need to not go soft.

“Let’s go to the living room,” I tell her, and grab her a cup of coffee and take it with me. I sit down on the sofa and she remains standing.

“Like I said, we’re launching in three months, and we’re going directly out to 192 countries,” she begins.

Now I’m in work mode. “How many retailers have signed on?” I ask. I’m not hopeful. I mean we’re talking about a virtual reality porn product.

“We’ve gotten commitments from Target, Wal-Mart, Best Buy, Amazon, and CostCo for superior product placement,” Cheryl says and I do a double take.

“Really? Holy trash,” I exclaim. She nods her head.

“They all see the intrinsic value in this,” she tells me. I shake my head. A lot has certainly changed since I was a kid.

“We’re working with other major retailers such as Dollar Tree, Sears, as well as independent retailers to take us on, and we’re still waiting to hear from Google and Apple,” Cheryl finishes.

I nod my head. “Press?” I ask.

“Generally favorable so far, and I think the announcement we did in Times Square got us on the front page,” Cheryl says. “It has also attracted a fair amount of unwanted attention,” she finishes.

“Unwanted attention?” I ask her, cocking my eyes.

Cheryl nods, looking glum. “Our cyber security people have stopped 18 attacks designed to compromise our internal networks in the last week alone,” she tells me and I start looking over a report that she places in front of me. “Mostly it was attempts to get at the plans or the strategy behind the I.E.” Cheryl says.

“Who was it?” I ask her.

She looks at me. “Who do you think?”

There’s a moment of pause between us.

“He’s still out there, Ethan,” Cheryl says. “And he wants the plans for this device. He’s not going to stop and he’s going to spend as much money as he needs to until he gets it. And just hacking into our systems isn’t all I think he’s doing.”

I look at Cheryl in alarm. What the heck is she talking about?

“How else is he going to get it?” I ask her sharply. “He’s going to rob me?”

She shrugs. “He would if he could, but I think he’s trying to get someone on the inside. He’s trying to put in a mole.”

“Who?” I ask.

Cheryl looks at me. “You know who I’m talking about,” she tells me.

No.

Don’t look at me like that.

You know who Cheryl is talking about.

But I don’t believe it.

“Who’s sleeping in your bed right now, Ethan?” Cheryl asks me. I don’t answer. “Who have you been spending more and more time with and who is closer to you now than even I am?”

“Cheryl,” I start and get up. “You’re getting irrational.”

Cheryl doesn’t have time to answer. Because that’s when I hear a cute little voice behind me.

“Hi,” is all I hear and I turn around to see Brittney wiping the sleep from her eyes. She’s wearing one of my button down shirts and it comes below her waist and makes her look innocent and sexy at the same time.

I stare at her and can’t stop, but I hear Cheryl walking to the door.

“Think about what I said, Ethan,” she tells me and doesn't wait for me to turn around. “And watch your back. I’d love to be wrong.”

Cheryl.

She doesn't even say hello to Brit. She just treats her like a piece of furniture.

“Brittney,” I say to her as I take a step closer.

“What was Cheryl doing here?” Brittney asks me, her eyes big. “And who does she think is trying to steal your I.E.?”

I stop and take a deep breath. Brittney waits for a second and then her face gets serious.

“Tell me, Ethan,” she says, coming close to me and putting her hands on my robe. “I need to know.”

This is way too much drama for this early in the morning. I swear to heaven. I’m about ready to tell her to mess off.

But then I look into her face. She’s looking up at me, her eyes wide, open, trusting.

Is Cheryl right?

Is she playing me?

Only one way to find out.

I sigh, and take a sip of my coffee, and start.

“I started this company shortly after I quit working in marketing,” I say, and Brittney looks at me as her gaze softens. “I didn’t work for someone else anymore, and I don't know how, but I got into representing models at first.”

She nods to me. “I started porn through a modeling contract,” she tells me.

I nod back. “Same here. Before you knew it, I was selling pictures for models that agreed to magazines and websites, getting paid royalties. It seemed like easy money, and I was good at getting the girls paid more than they would have modeling for Baby Gap or whatever the heck was hiring.”

Brittney is silent, waiting for me to continue.

“It was only a few steps away from eventually moving into shorter movies and videos, and I began to dabble in creating my own content,” I tell her, thinking back to those days long gone by.

It’s a cliché that I’m some idiot bad boy if that’s what you’re still thinking. Sure, I say ‘idiot’ every other sentence. Maybe I talk about my foot-long cock too much. And yes, I produce pornography. But I’m a hard worker. Everything that I have, everything that I own, I built on my own. No one handed this to me. I built this. All of it.

But I had help.

“But I needed money to grow,” I continue, and Brittney narrows her eyes. She must have heard this line before. “I got into business with some people. Nothing permanent at first, and for a while it was good.”

So far, she hasn’t given me anything other than the fact that she’s listening.

“But as time went on, I began to work more and more with one man. Simon Connors. He had the money and he was willing to invest it in me. We got along great. And for a time, our growing pains were behind us. Things were looking good,” I tell Brittney.

She nods. “But?” she asks and I smile.

“But that was at first. When we were small,” I say with a smile. “We had some huge hits eventually. Got big. Became wealthier than we thought we would ever be. He started getting jealous. Never got over the fact that he was a minority investor.”

Brittney nods. “You guys didn’t part well?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “It’s not that. He let the success go to his head. Started getting caught up in trash that I stayed away from,” I say to her. “Drugs. Self-destructive trash. More self-destructive than me. He was pulling in hundreds of thousands of dollars in his investment and ending up broke each month.”

“What did you do?” Brittney asks me, coming closer.

I shrug. “At first I looked the other way,” I tell her and pause, thinking back. “But eventually it got to be really bad. He started embezzling money. It got to the point that one month the company couldn't pay its employees without taking a loan because Simon had taken the money for himself. That’s when I knew he needed to go.”

I pause again. Brittney looks at me and takes another step closer, putting her head on my chest.

“We had a huge fight. He told me that I’d be nowhere if it weren’t for him. Tried to pull a gun on me, but eventually I bought him out,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her. “He took that money and tried to clean up, but he also started a porn company with the express intention of taking me down,” I say.

She nestles her head into my chest and I think back to all the times in the past Simon has tried to mess me over.

“The entire business plan of Connors Media is to take me out,” I tell her. “He’s using hate to chase after me. He used his hate at being thrown out of the company to become the second largest pornography distributor in the world. And it’s likely that he’s using hate now to try and stop me from ascending to another industry altogether.”

I sigh, finishing my sentence. Brittney is holding onto me, not looking at me, but comfortable to be close.

“You okay, babe?” I ask, running my hands over her body.

“I will be,” she says to me and I wonder how this story could affect her so much. If she were working with Simon, it’s possible she may be having second thoughts after hearing this.

Normally, having her firm body pressed up against me does wonders to make me forget everything, and for a moment I draw in the smell of her shampoo.

Brittney feels the same way and it's not long before I feel her tiny hand navigate under the folds of my robe. She unties the sash, opening it up, and with total concentration, brings her hands to my cock, slowly jerking me off.

She looks up at me and gives me a lascivious stare. “Thank you for trusting me with that, Ethan,” she says to me. “It meant a lot to me.”

I smirk at her. She’s in the mood to play. Well, idiot, so am I.

“How much?” I ask her, grinning.

She doesn’t answer with words, but rather by sinking to her knees and running her tongue over the tip of my cock.

Finally. Something good is happening this morning.

112

Brittney

Five thousand.

That’s how many dollars I’m spending every month to keep a one-bedroom apartment near Riverside Park even though I spend most of my nights with Ethan at One57. I don’t mind the cost, really. I mean, I’m not complaining about that. Besides, it gives me a sense of independence. Until I’m completely honest with him, I don’t think I’d be comfortable moving in with him. I mean, you tell me, has he ever once told you anything about wanting me as his girlfriend? Or that we’re exclusive?

We haven't had that talk on my end.

What?

I swear. We haven’t had any sort of discussions…oh, wait, we had that one time.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and we had both gone out to some party the night before. It was a cast party I think for someone who was leaving the set of Hamilton and we had both had too much to drink.

We woke up the next morning slightly hung over. After eating a greasy breakfast over at the Red Eye Diner, Ethan looked over to me.

“You get that hang over horniness, babe?” Ethan asked, his hand on the small of my back as we crossed the street.

How did he know? All I wanted that morning after food and water was to get his giant cock inside of me to scratch an itch. But I was too much of a lady to say anything. Instead, I looked over at him once we crossed the street.

“Let’s wait till we get upstairs and I’ll show you,” I told him. He smirked at me.

He wasn’t smirking ten minutes later as his hands were grabbing my belly and squeezing my rear as I desperately shucked myself over and over on his thick, hard cock and came. Then, he turned me over on all fours and messed me doggie until I had another orgasm. He messed me on the sofa, then moved to the balcony where he bent me over the railing and drilled me, and then brought me inside and messed me missionary where he came all over my belly. And he came in gallons. It was intense.

I scooped it all up with my fingers. Yummy.

Okay, yeah you’re done listening to my crazy sex life with my hot handsome stud, but this is the important part.

As we lay naked on the sofa together, Ethan turned to me.

“You have enough clothes for next week?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “I thought you like it when I’m naked,” I replied, doing my smart aleck thing that I use on him sometimes.

“Yeah, but you know, to go to work and trash,” he replied.

“I’m usually naked at work, filming scenes for I.E.,” I told him.

“Idiot, if you need to go to your place and get your trash, I’ll help,” he said, getting annoyed at me.

I turned over to him. I knew what he was going for. But I didn’t want to have that conversation.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked him with a pout.

I knew it would mess with his head.

I know, why did I spoil the chance?

Because I was scared, I think.

I don’t know, hun. I’m messed up in the head. After Robert. After running away.

Ethan just dropped the subject and went back to watching television. Which at the time was fine by me.

Now I’m wishing I had told him that it might have been easier to just move in—that this going back to my apartment over and over to get things was time consuming. Because an hour after our conversation, that’s exactly what I had to do. Trek all the way uptown and get my stuff.

But, no! Don’t you dare tell him that.

Seven.

That’s how many times I’ve had to go visit Simon. Go give him progress reports on the I.E.

Thank goodness Simon has no way of knowing that I’ve actually tried it on. That I’ve had sex with Ethan on the I.E. Thank goodness he doesn't know just how utterly realistic and life-changing that device is—how much it’s going to revolutionize pornography as we know it.

But still, he has questions. He has threats.

“Aren’t you telling me that you’re the one who's going to be the face of it?” Simon asked me on the last time that I went there to give him my report. “That you’re going to be the star?”

I nod my head. I didn’t know what else to tell him. He dipped his head onto his desk and used a $100 bill to do another rail. When he was finished, his eyes were bloodshot.

“So, you’re not only taking the money that I’m paying you to infiltrate Illicit Entertainment,” Simon said snidely before taking some coke and using his fingers to slide them over his gums. “But now you’re also going to be a star again?”

I shrugged. There wasn’t much I could do to respond to him in a way that he’d be satisfied.

“I hired you for a job, Ms. Roman,” Simon said to me, getting up from his chair, his body already tweaking. “I expect you to carry it out or be prepared to face the consequences.”

I mean, each time I see Simon, it’s pretty much the same formula every time around. I give him my progress report, which isn’t that much progress, and then he gets upset at the lack of progress and follows by threatening me.

That’s the same thing that happened this time. I’m hoping that’s the same thing that happens next time, and the time after.

Although last time, Simon ended the meeting by glaring at me.

“For three months, I’ve asked you to get me a copy of the prototype!” he yelled at me.

“They only have one working copy!” I yelled back at him. “Not even he’s alone with it. I’d have to sleep with half the office to get them to turn the other way while I take it,” I shot back.

The thing was, and I had been thinking this for a while—once we get close enough to the launch date, maybe that buggy old prototype that they were working on would get me out of this mess.

“Never mind about stealing the physical prototype now,” Simon said however, dashing my hopes. “It’s too late to do anything with it. What you need to do is get me the underlying computer code that runs the software,” he said. “A copy that actually works. Unlike your brain, which doesn’t apparently.”

I remember looking at him and blinking.

“Simon, how do you even expect me to do that that?” I asked him. “I barely know how to use SnapChat. Last time I tried I brought what you said was junk.”

But all Simon did was look at me and smile evilly.

“If there’s a will, there’s a way darlin’,” he hissed. “This is what happens when you dilly dally on getting the prototype. If you had just gotten that, it would have been a lot easier. But I guess you’ll have to be extra clever now. Or maybe you want me to just call Robert up on the phone so you can say hi?”

I nodded and left.

Little does he know that Walter and I already had the plans once… and the beta computer code… all downloaded on a USB drive. But by the time I gave it to him, it had become junk.

But yeah, I guess I keep that information to myself. I’ll also keep to myself that Walter and I talked about whether we even want to try again to steal the computer code, or we try for the physical prototype. I don't want to tell Simon any of our plans. It’s the only way I can keep some sort of control over this messed up situation.

I don’t know what else to do, okay?

I can’t let him point Robert in my direction. Not after what he put me through. I mean, I ran away from porn and moved across the country to get away from him.

On the other hand, I can't betray Ethan.

Not after everything we’ve done.

Not after I’ve fallen in love with him.

Three.

That’s how many months have passed since I’ve first infiltrated Illicit Entertainment. It’s been three months of filming simulated sex for the virtual reality marvel that is the Illicit Escape. Three months where I’ve become the face of the new product. Three months where I’ve fallen in love with Ethan.

I know what you’re thinking, babe, and you don’t need to worry.

I’m not having real sex on set. Ethan isn’t having to watch me idiot another guy.

Anytime a real cock is needed, guess who’s filling in?

That’s right. Mr. Kane himself.

But even those times are really for still shots, or when the viewer maybe wants to look down and see me blowing them, you know? Like we don’t use a real cock for much because for the first time, the viewer is moving from viewing to participating.

It takes POV porn and goes one step closer.

But that means in filming, I only ever really film anything by myself.

It’s harder than I expected. If you don’t believe me, try pretending to have sex without anyone having sex. Like try scrunching your face in an orgasm when there’s no cock inside of you and without using your fingers.

But we only ever film maybe one day a week. The rest of the days are photos, touching up some shots, and other housekeeping.

Filming porn for virtual reality, where the user expects to have the sensation and experience of having sex with me is actually a very lonely endeavor. I’m actually spending a large amount of time in front of a green screen holding ridiculous poses.

The other day, I spent five minutes holding my hand in front of my mouth as if I was grasping a cock and guiding it inside. The day before that, I must have lay there for ten minutes with my legs spread out as they used my image and then moved it around in their computer systems to get it ideally pixelated for the I.E. experience.

It’s safe to say that being so close to sex, but not having real sex is enough to make me want to jump Ethan when we get home.

Afterwards, I go take a bath while Ethan fixes dinner.

Then we cuddle on the sofa and watch TV.

Well, let me actually correct that. Ethan watches TV and I lie in his arms, feeling them surround me and keep me safe. I like the sex, but smelling his cologne and feeling him wrapped around me is probably the most satisfying feeling I’ve had in years. I usually fall asleep there and he carries me to bed.

Every night.

One.

That’s how many weeks I’ve known that I’m pregnant.

I know, right!

I’m pregnant!

I mean, yes, I’m happy. It’s okay. Don’t worry, this is so a good thing.

Oh, yeah, I first found out when I missed my period. I’ve never been late in my entire life. It has always been on the dot. And somehow, I just knew. Something was up.

One home pregnancy kit later, I knew that my body’s sixth sense was spot on.

And no, Ethan doesn’t know. I’m sorry, hun, but I need you to keep one more secret from him for me. You can’t tell him this until I tell him.

And I haven’t told him just yet because I’m still not sure what to do about Simon.

I mean, I would love to go and tell Ethan and have him pick me up in happiness. I’d love to start buying baby things with Ethan. I’d love to start teasing him about naming our little boy Wilfred and our little girl Juliana and watching him cringe at those names.

But I can’t.

I either have to wait until Ethan releases his prototype, or until I can get Simon off my back.

But I don’t know how to get out of this situation and so I’ve been keeping quiet.

I can’t lose Ethan. But I have a baby to think about now too.

Twenty-Four.

That's how many hours Simon called me and told me I have to get him an I.E. Prototype just now.

I’m serious. He called just now.

It’s Monday morning and Ethan is already at work.

I don't have to go in till later on today to meet with the graphic designers and so I was able to see when Simon called my phone.

When I picked up, he was curt.

“Babes, I gave you long enough to get me what I want. The product goes live in two weeks and I’m done waiting,” was his way of saying hello. “You have 24 hours to get me my trash that actually works this time before Robert gets a nice little FedEx with all your information, right down to your address and daily schedule.”

I froze as I heard him and tried to comprehend what he was saying.

“I know exactly how many nights you spend at One57 and if I wanted to, I’d know exactly what color underwear you were wearing, so please believe me that I am deadly serious,” he said over the phone. “24 hours. No more.”

I stand there for a long time feeling ill.

Wondering not just about myself. But about Ethan. And to top it all off now, about the baby inside of me.

113

Ethan

“The initial marketing efforts will be through broad-based Internet advertising as well as direct television advertising,” Cheryl is speaking on the line and her voice is coming through on speakerphone.

It’s the afternoon and I’m sitting with my feet up on my desk listening to the people on the call. There’s probably about forty people all told who dialed in to the final two weeks before go-live. We got people from all different areas of the company: Operations, Finance, Marketing, Legal, and R&D are on this call.

And tying it all together and holding us in check is none other than Cheryl —Personal Assistant to the stars. My personal assistant.

“What channels on the television spectrum are we targeting?” someone from Marketing asks Cheryl over the conference line.

There’s a pause. I know Cheryl is prepared for this question. It’s not like someone tripped her up or anything.

“We’re targeting prime time spots on all broadcast networks as well as contemporary movie channels that target the 18-44 demographic,” Cheryl says, reading off her list. I nod to myself. That sounds like a pretty good lineup.

What?

Oh come on, don’t look so shocked. I’m sure prime time television has no problem running ads for a virtual reality porn player. I mean, have you looked at what they put on television recently? Idiot, this trash is exactly what the audiences are waiting for.

“We also have cross-promo licensing deals with all major fast food chains across the country as well as—” Cheryl would say more but all of a sudden my head jerks toward the door as it flings open.

I immediately put the call on mute. Then I put it on hold. Whatever is about to go down does not need to be interrupting this important call that's going to make me billions of dollars.

Goodness. I don’t know why I’m so jumpy all of a sudden.

I realize how silly I’m being when Brittney walks in.

Instead of armed thugs being led by Simon Conners, it's the most beautiful girl in the world walking in wearing a tight dark blue wraparound dress.

I know what you’re wondering right now, and forget you for wondering, but yes, my cock does twitch a little bit seeing the fabric of Brittney’s dress cling to her perky and full breasts and the rest of her slender body.

“Brittney?” I ask her. I mean, despite wanting to harass her, I’m a bit surprised. She’s never surprised me at work like this before. “What’s going on, babe?” I ask.

She takes several steps toward me, her face determined.

“I need to withdraw from the project and end my association with Illicit Entertainment,” she says, as if she’s rehearsed this on the way over. “I need off the team.”

If she had stood there and told me she was growing a third belly I wouldn't have been more shocked than I am at that moment.

I stand up, more because this moment is too important to be sitting down.

“What do you mean?” I manage to ask her, not even sure I heard her right.

She shakes her head, and it looks like she might burst into tears at any point.

“You heard me, Ethan,” she says to me. “I need off the IE team. I’m sorry, but I can't be involved any more.”

I walk around the desk. This isn't a employee problem anymore. This isn't a Human Resources case at this point.

No.

This is something wrong with my girlfriend.

There, I don't care if she has trouble realizing that. Or doesn't want to admit it or whatever.

I love this woman, and right now there is something that's bothering her.

“Babe, what the heck is wrong?” I ask her and she’s about to answer when I realize she’s probably just going to say the same thing she has already. I stop her. “Wait,” I say and take a step toward her.

She looks up at me and there's the briefest flash of hope in her eyes. As if there's some way that maybe I can sort this out for her.

“I don't want to hear what the problem is if you can’t tell me, but know this babe,” I tell her and wrap my arms around her, bringing her close. “I will be with you no matter what the problem is. Heck, if you killed someone I’ll be there with you to bury the body.”

Brittney trembles and I pull back from her so I can look her in the eyes.

“Harass the world, babe,” I tell her, my eyes piercing into her. “It’s you and me forever,” I say with finality.

Brittney stares at me for a long, long time. Her eyes widen as if she’s realizing something for the first time. She uses her hand to wipe away some tears before they can form.

“Listen, I know you did porn back in Los Angeles, but guess what? We’re a company that sells porn, so it’s okay!” I exclaim and she laughs for a second. Bingo. I’m on the right track.

“I know there was probably some other trash that you’re not telling me, but listen to me, okay?” I say, and Brittney nods as she looks at me.

I take a deep breath. Idiot. Sure, I’ve told her I love her. But I’ve never put it in this way before like I’m about to do.

“I really don't care what the heck you did, are doing, or will do, as long as you let me be around you,” I tell her and she gasps.

“I know I sound like a pussy for saying that and don’t worry, you won't walk all over me or something, but Brit, whatever it is, I’m always next to you because I love you,” I finish.

Another long pregnant pause.

She takes a step over and gets on her tiptoes. Her mouth comes to mine and she kisses me.

Long and hard.

The kind that sends blood to your cock.

When she pulls back, she’s smiling.

“I love you too, you big romantic bear, you,” she says with a smirk and twinkling eyes.

Idiot. She’s back.

“So no more talk of leaving?” I ask her, trying to hide my smile.

“Uh-uh,” she says shaking her head.

“Good,” I tell her, turning away, trying to not look like a fool. “Then scram. I got work to do.”

Brittney kisses me one last time and turns around to walk away. I go to my desk and unmute the call.

But the line is silent. I wonder if they’re already done? They can’t be. The call was supposed to be for another half hour at least.

“If you’re wondering what happened to the call, I told everyone we’d reconvene when we never heard you answer any of our questions,” Cheryl says from the door to my office.

I turn around. She’s standing there holding her tablet and looking at me.

“When you didn’t answer even me, I decided you had probably jumped off without telling me,” she says as she walks in, her eyes looking around. “Which is a very odd thing to do, even for you, considering the importance of what we’re planning here Ethan,” she finishes with.

She’s looking at me closely and I know what's coming.

“I got caught up, Cheryl…” I start to say but she cuts me off.

“Yes, I saw her heading to the elevator when I started coming this way. She looked happy,” Cheryl says and raises her eyebrows at me. “Quite different from the way she looked from my office when she came up.”

“She wanted off the project,” I tell Cheryl, not knowing why I’m explaining myself to her. “But I talked her into staying.”

“I see,” Cheryl says with a deep breath as if smelling the room. “I’m glad you didn’t sleep with her to make the point.”

“Are you smelling for sex smells, Cheryl?” I ask, not sure where this conversation is headed. “Is that in your bag of tricks nowadays too?”

“I’m sighing, Ethan,” Cheryl says rolling her eyes and walking to the window. “Because I don’t think you realize what you’re falling into here.”

“What?” I ask, walking to the window too. “You still think she’s the one who's going to steal the prototype for Simon?”

“No, Ethan,” Cheryl says turning to me. “It doesn't matter if she’s the one who's stealing the prototype, but at least you need to be honest with her.”

I pause. That stops me short.

“You need to tell her the truth about what you’re doing,” Cheryl says to me. “Because you’re in love with that girl, and regardless of what she’s up to, she’s in love with you.”

I still have nothing to say. It’s not like I have the high ground anymore.

“And if you really love her, the least you can do is be honest about yourself and what you’re doing. At least to her,” Cheryl finishes.

I’m silent as she looks at me for another second.

“I’ll be with Marketing if you need me,” she says by way of goodbye.

I stand there for a long minute as Cheryl leaves.

I mean, just answer me one question, if you will, and don’t skip to the end, okay?

Since when did porn get to become so complicated?

114

Brittney

Two weeks left to go until the go-live for Ethan’s prototype that will revolutionize pornography for the human race.

Yeah, sounds a bit over the top, doesn’t it, hun?

In fact, this entire situation seems like something you only find in a movie or the mind of a very mischievous romance novelist.

I mean, look at me? A porn star?

Sure, I used to be famous, if famous is the word. I mean, I used to be on DVD covers and on the Internet. My face used to be plastered on porn sites. Click on me and you’d see me sucking cock. Licking another girl’s pussy. Having a cock pounded into me.

Yeah, I like sex. I liked the role playing I used to do. Pretending to be the stepmom and getting paid for it. Dressing up as the stepdaughter and moaning ‘Daddy’ and calling that work. Driving my Mercedes. Having fancy clothes. Jewelry.

I liked sex. I still like sex.

And now, I have 24 hours. 24 hours to steal the one device that could make me a star again. 24 hours to take from the man I love his greatest accomplishment and give it to his sworn enemy.

Or else, the dark shadow from my past comes back to haunt me.

Right, I keep hinting at Robert, the ex-boyfriend, but you actually have no idea completely what I’m talking about yet, do you?

I know I kept telling you that I’d fill you in but I never have.

I’m sorry about that, hun. I really want to, because you deserve to know, since you’re the reader and all.

It’s just that it’s been so difficult to bring him up. I mean, I want to completely put that part of my life in a box and forget about it.

But, I guess if I can’t tell you, who can I tell?

Well, yeah I know, don’t roll your eyes. I could probably tell Ethan too.

I probably will need to, come to think about it. Because one way or another, I think I’m messed.

So, let’s see …

What Simon is threatening to do to me is basically tell Robert McIntyre, my ex-boyfriend, who lives in Los Angeles, California where I’m currently at.

Robert McIntyre was the man I dated when I did porn back in the day. He was the ‘modeling agent’ who found me when I was working in an elementary school. He gave me his card and wined and dined me. He messed me first and then slowly got me used to the idea of porn. First he had me do modeling shots that were sexier and racier. It started with bikinis and underwear. You know, the kind of stuff on Macy’s ads that you see in the newspaper.

Then it became a bit edgier. Topless shoots. Showing my belly.

Then he began getting money for those selling them to magazines. Soon, it was with a guy. And then we were both naked in the pictures. And then soon, we were.

I saw the fancy cars, the clothes, the expensive watches, and the glamor and I fell for it.

I always did modeling on the side even while holding my day job, but eventually you know, you can’t do porn and teach elementary school kids at the same time.

So I quit my job when he convinced me to.

I mean, he wasn’t the cutest guy. But he was all I knew. I hadn’t dated very much till then and I had no idea what to expect from a man in a lot of ways. I wasn’t that experienced in sex like I am now.

But he wasn't the…nicest of men either, hun. He was mean at times.

By mean, I mean he had a temper.

There were plenty of times I applied makeup to cover up something that he did.

Plenty of times that I made excuses for a blemish or a bruise.

He always apologized afterwards, but I couldn't get out. Because any mention of me leaving that relationship would just drive him to get even more upset.

A part of me was scared, for sure. While he never hit me that hard or punched me or threw me down the stairs or anything, the anger and violence was there in his eyes. Plenty of times he punched a hole in the wall or broke something. He once ripped a pair of my panties in anger when I didn’t want to have sex. I don’t want to talk about how I maced him in the eyes immediately afterwards.

Macing him was actually at that stage where I was fighting back. But for over two years I took it.

But who knows, I probably would have stayed in that relationship fighting back longer if I had to, if I hadn't found out he was basically living a double life.

I only found out one day because I found two cell phones in his pocket. I had no idea he had two phones and when I asked him he was evasive.

Something about the whole situation put my mind on edge and two days later, I followed him when he left the house on what he told me was a business trip.

I tailed him all the way from the Hollywood Hills where I was living with him to Malibu. He stopped at a house. He had the keys to the place and spent the entire day and night there. I know, because I watched him from my car.

As I sat there, I researched the address on my phone. And I found out so much about Robert McIntyre that I had never known before.

Turns out he was married. Wife and one kid.

He apparently also had another job at KPMG as an accountant. He was representing me and sending me to do porn to fund what I don't know, but whatever it was, my fees were paying for a double life for him.

I hadn’t put up with a man that had a 5-inch cock for this. I didn't put up with a man with violent tendencies that occasionally slapped me when he got angry for this. Idiot, I didn't put up with a man that pimped me out at porn sets for this.

I could have been a real model. I could have done so much.

I rang the doorbell that night and she answered. I can’t even remember her name but I remember her eyes widened when she saw me.

“You have to leave!” she whispered to me.

“Are you his wife?” I asked. She nodded to me and closed the door.

“You don’t want to confront him, babe,” she told me. “You need to go now!”

But I couldn't just go. I couldn’t just leave her there if she was afraid.

But she shook her head.

“I’ve been married to him since high school,” she told me. “And I know who you are. I know all of his women. He doesn't care to hide them anymore from me. He thinks he has me beaten down.”

If you want to think that I’m sort of hussy or sub-human then you’re welcome to hun, but this woman was living with a true sub-human. His wife told me he had half a dozen girls working in porn at any given time. He’d use them until their shelf life expired. Then he’d move on.

“You need to leave and pretend you never came here!” his wife told me.

She went on to tell me that I wasn’t the first person to have discovered her house. There had been one other, a year ago. She had come knocking and had stormed the house during the day.

Robert had slapped her around a couple times, and then dragged her to his car.

When he came back, he hadn’t talked about her and pretended the whole thing had never happened.

“She never acted in porn after that. Just dropped off the face of the earth,” his wife told me. “I think he may have killed her, but I can’t go tell anyone because I have no proof.”

I still wanted to confront him. I could handle my own.

“Then he’ll kill me, so his secret never comes out,” she said.

And I saw desperation in her voice.

“I can take care of myself and my boy if you just leave,” she pleaded to me. “If you pretend that you never saw me. That you know nothing of this house.”

The look in her eyes I think is what convinced me to listen to her, you know?

I remember getting in the car and driving off.

But I didn’t go back home. I just kept driving. Left Los Angeles. Ended up in Vegas that night where I emptied our bank accounts the next morning, and moved all the money into a separate, new account.

I found a guy who changed my last name from White to Roman and made me an entirely new social security number and even gave me a 720 credit score.

Then I drove off.

I kept driving until I reached New York.

It was as far away from Robert as I could go.

And I started Man Chasers LLC. I don't know why I went out hunting for cheaters. Why the sole purpose of my job was to bring misery to men.

But it felt good. It felt dang good.

And now, either I go on the run again, or I sacrifice everything and everyone I’ve come to love to stay standing.

But I can’t just think about me.

I need to think about my baby. His baby.

No, it doesn’t sound right, does it?

I need to think about our baby.

And as soon as that comes into the picture, I know exactly what I need to do.

I know exactly why I can’t keep running anymore.

No.

It’s time to fight back. It’s time to show just how strong I can be.

The whole Brittney that runs away and is too weak—I left her in Los Angeles. The Brittney in New York City? She’s a bad jerk.

But before I do anything, I need to tell Ethan.

The truth.

For real this time.

115

Ethan

“Ethan?” There’s a knock on the door, and then Brittney steps inside my office. She wasn’t supposed to be around this soon, and the expression on her face tells me that something’s up. And I have a feeling that I won’t like that something.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask her, getting up from my chair and going around the desk. I place my hands on her hips and pull her into me, brushing my lips against hers. She kisses me back, but her whole body is tense. “What’s going on, babe?”

“I… I need to tell you something,” she starts, fear and anxiety in her voice.

“You know you can tell me anything, Brittney. I love you,” I tell her with a smile, tucking a lock of her hair over her ear. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I know that Cheryl doesn’t trust me… Because she thinks I came here to steal your prototype,” she starts, her voice quivering.

“Hey, don’t worry about her… She’s very protective and—"

“She’s right. I came here to steal it,” she cuts in, pursing her lips and locking her eyes on me. There’s fear on her face, but there’s also determination. She’s telling me the truth, but why now? “And I was working for Simon.” That’s it; I just lose it.

“Simon? You’ve been working for that excuse of a man?” I let go of her and take one step back, having no idea on how to process what she’s telling me. Simon, of all people. “How could you?”

“He… blackmailed me. I had to… I had to, Ethan. I had no other choice,” she continues to speak, tears welling up in her eyes. I’m torn between holding her in my arms and punching the wall. Simon always tried to mess me over, and it seems that this time he really got close to it. “He… Threatened he would tell my ex where I was and… I don’t know what he would do if he found out, I really don’t. I’m sorry, Ethan, I’m so sorry.”

Idiot, idiot, idiot. This is bad; everything in this situation is terrible.

“How far have the two of you gotten?” I ask her, almost unable to hide the rage in my voice. If I were face-to-face with that idiot, I would give him the beating of his life. He tried to mess with my company, and along with that, with the woman I love. This is a declaration of war.

“He… He stills needs the code. Without that, he has nothing…”

I remain in silence, looking at her as I consider my options. There’s not a lot that I can do.

“Ethan… Please, say something…” she whispers, taking one step forward and placing her hands on my chest. “I don’t want to lose you,” she mutters, looking me in the eye. “I need you,” she continues, and I become acutely aware of the way her body is pressed against mine. Before I know it, my cock is hardening and pushing against my boxer briefs. As she presses her breasts against me, all of my fury and lust blend into one another and I just lose it.

I push her against one of the mirrors on the wall, pinning her arms while my mouth goes straight for her neck. I’m furious right now but, somehow, that makes me want her even more. I start to kiss her neck and then I press my mouth against hers, an animalist urge taking control of me. I need to harass her, and I need it badly.

Her hands dart to my waist, and not losing any time, she unbuckles my belt and starts to unbutton my pants. Then, flattening the palm of her hand against my boxer briefs, she starts to rub my hard cock.

Anxious to be inside of her, I place one hand under her rear and force her to lift her leg, hiking her dress up to her waist. I press my body against her, gritting my teeth as I feel my cock against her pussy. She tangles her fingers in my hair, and as we kiss madly, she starts to sway her hips from side to side, rubbing herself against my cock.

I don’t know why or how, but the fury and rage at what Brittney and Simon intended to do is turning into lust, and I can’t stop. It overpowers me, shutting down my rational mind and leaving me in a frenzy.

“On your knees,” I tell her, pulling out from her kiss. Without saying a word, she goes down and hooks her fingers on my boxer briefs. She pulls on them, sending both boxers and pants down to my knees, and grabs my cock with one hand; with the other, she cups my balls and starts to massage them. I groan, closing my eyes for a moment, and she starts to stroke me at a frantic pace, my shaft throbbing against her fingers.

Exhaling sharply, I place my hands on her head and grab her hair by the root. With that, I pull her into me. She tilts her head to the side and smacks her lips against my shaft, running her tongue up and down my length. Going from my balls to the tip, she finally parts her lips and wraps them around my glans; moving slowly but firmly, she starts to go down, my shaft pushing its way between her lips. When I feel my glans against the back of her throat, I hold my position for a few seconds, and only then do I pull back.

Still grabbing her hair, I keep her head still and start to thrust, my shaft flying in and out of her mouth at a relentless pace. I harass her mouth with abandonment, anger and rage hardening my movements and infusing them with a kind of furious desperation.

I’m going so hard that I almost come; I feel a dangerous pressure inside of me, and I have to clench my rear and hold my breath in order to take back control. Taking a deep breath, I pop my cock out of her mouth and pull her up to her feet; moving fast, I grab her by the hips and force her to turn around, slamming her against the mirror wall once again.

I don’t even bother with taking off her clothes; I simply run my hands up her legs, and after pushing the hemline of her dress up to her waist, I place one hand between her thighs and flick her thong to the side.

“Please, yes…” she moans, but I can barely hear. I’m lost in an ocean of lust, and there’s only way to find myself. Yeah, you’re guessing right, it involves.

I grab my cock with one hand and angle it down, placing it between her thighs and against her wet pussy. As my glans touches her folds, she lets out one loud moan, jutting her rear and trying to get me to thrust. And that’s what I do. I thrust as hard as I can, burying my shaft deep inside her pussy. She screams, slamming her forearms against the mirror, and I start to rock my hips.

I go fast and mercilessly, pounding her with my thick cock in such a way that I just know she won’t be able to sit for days without remembering it. And that’s exactly what I want.

Grabbing her by the hips, I make her jut her rear back, and then I go as fast as humanly possible. My thighs slap her rear cheeks over and over again, the sound of it making me even more insane. Gritting my teeth as I move, I look over her shoulder and into the mirror; I can see her face, an expression of pain and pleasure there, making her even more beautiful. Idiot, why did she have to be working with Simon? Why the heck did all this have to happen?

Moving as if I’m in a trance, I take one hand around her waist and press my fingers against her clit. Rubbing her with fast tight circles, it doesn’t take long for her pussy to tighten around my shaft like a vice. She presses her forehead against the wall, and hissing through her gritted teeth, she comes.

“It feels so… good,” she pants, breathing hard as tenuous spasms make her muscles twitch. Once again, I keep my silence, not knowing what to say. Anger and lust replace any need for words.

With both my hands on her hips again, I turn her to me and crush my mouth against hers. We kiss as if we needed it more than air to survive, our tongues dancing around one another with wild frantic movements.

“More, I want more…” she moans, and I act on instinct, placing both my hands under her rear cheeks and pressing her against the wall mirror. I pick her up from the floor, and she laces her legs behind my back; once more, I flick her thong to the side and press my cock against her wetness. Groaning, I thrust and bury my cock inside of her pussy, sheathing to the hilt. I grit my teeth as she digs her fingers into my back, her legs locked around my waist.

Moving at a frenzied rhythm, I piston my cock into her with a growl. I go as deep as I can, a scream leaving her lips each time my glans rubs against that inner sanctum hiding inside of her. Closing my eyes, I let my dark instincts take hold of me and I harass her like I never did before. My movements are raw and harsh, and I can no longer hear her moans; I’m in a world of my own right now.

I feel her fingernails burying themselves in my back, over my shirt, and the sharp pain of it brings me back to reality. She’s moaning like she’s possessed, and I can’t help but brush my lips against her ear.

“Come, just come,” I whisper, and a fraction of a second after, her pussy starts to spasm around my shaft. I don’t stop moving as she comes; instead, I go even harder, beads of sweat already pooling on my forehead. Each thrust of mine draws a quivering moan out of her lips, and she starts to claw at my back, throwing her head back and pressing it against the mirror.

“Oh goodness, don’t stop,” she moans, and then her arms start moving erratically. Coming for the second time in a row, she allows a violent orgasm to ride the coattails of the one before. I thrust one last time, forcing my cock to go all the way in, and then hold my position there as she comes her brains out.

When the last sparks of pleasure have faded away, she eases the pressure of her fingers on my back, and presses her forehead against my chest. Slowly, I pull my cock out from her pussy and she takes her legs from my back. As she touches the floor, she has to support herself against the mirror, her legs shaking as if they have become too weak to support her weight.

“Your mouth,” I find myself saying, my cock twitching and aching to feel her tongue once more. Obedient, she goes down on her knees, and curling her fingers around my shaft, dives into me at once. She bobs her head back and forth at a relentless pace, and I rest my hands on her head; this time, I let her dictate the rhythm.

“Idiot…” I whisper, more to myself than to her. Throwing my head back, I close my eyes and just savor the way her lips roll up and down my shaft. Idiot, she really knows how to use her perfect little mouth…

Still with her lips wrapped around my cock, she starts to move her hand up and down my shaft, and I feel on the verge of cumming. I tangle my fingers in her hair and stop her from moving; gritting my teeth, I exhale sharply and let a violent shiver go up my spine. At the time, my cock spasms and I feel the cum rushing through me and into her mouth.

I keep holding her while I come, filling her mouth with my seed. There are strands of cum already dripping down from her lips and onto her chin, but I don’t give a idiot; I keep cumming inside her mouth, even though it’s already brimming with my juices.

Once I’m done, I let go of her head, and moving slowly, start to slide my cock out of her mouth. When it finally pops out, she looks up at me and opens her mouth, showing me her full mouth like the bad girl she is. I grin at her, momentarily forgetting all about the mess we’re in.

I place two fingers under her chin and make her close her mouth. “Swallow. All of it,” I command her, and obedient, she does it. Satisfaction rushes through me as I watch the muscles in her throat move, my cum going down through it. Her chin is glistening from the cum there, and a few drops are already making their way toward her neck and cleavage.

I reach for one of the drawers I keep in the corner and take a dry towel out. I take a deep breath, reminding myself of what I need to do now that the truth is out, and throw the towel at her. She starts to clean herself, going up to her feet, and then adjusts the hemline of her skirt. I watch her do all of it, my heart racing like a idiot.

Here she is, the most beautiful woman on Earth, and she had to be working for the enemy. Life can be a jerk when it wants, that’s for sure. But it can’t be helped; it’s time for me to man the heck up and make the right decisions.

I button up my pants and look at her, knowing exactly what I have to do. I go back to my desk, sit down in front of the computer and tap at the keyboard. Accessing the Illicit Escape code, I downloaded it onto a hard drive and then eject it. Holding it in my hands, I get back up and walk toward her.

“Take it. It’s the code,” I tell her, no emotion to my voice.

“But…” she stammers, her eyes widening in confusion. “No… I can’t… I won’t, Ethan.”

“You will,” I tell her harshly. “It’s the reason you came here in the first place, isn’t it?” I push the drive into her hands and she grabs it hesitantly. I notice that her hands are shaking, and my heart feels tight as idiot inside my chest. “Give it to him, and your problems will be solved.” Without saying one more word, I turn my back to her and sit at my desk again.

She stands there, looking at me with tears in her eyes, and idiot, I just want to hold her tight, but I can’t. I can’t.

“Ethan…” she starts, taking one step toward me. I look her in the eyes and she stops dead in her tracks, anxiety written all over her face.

“You can go now, Brittney. I have work to do,” I dismiss her coldly, as if I wasn’t talking to the woman I love. This is the hardest thing I have ever done. “Go,” I repeat, ice in my eyes and in my voice.

She runs her tongue over lips, and slowly, turns her face away. She starts walking toward the door, and I feel like trash. This is the worst day of my life, that much I can tell you.

“Brittney, one more thing…” She stops and looks back at me, hope gleaming in her eyes. I look back at her, unable to say a thing. But I must do it. I must.

“Yes…?” she asks me, clutching the hard drive against her chest.

“You’re fired,” I say to her and close my eyes for the final bit. “Effective immediately. With cause.”

116

Brittney

“This is it?” Simon says, leering at the USB drive in my hand. “That’s the software programming for the I.E.?”

I nod.

“That’s exactly the code that Ethan was studying,” I tell him, my voice flat.

Simon let's out a high-pitched squeal of glee and rubs his hands together.

“Finally!” Simon shouts to himself. “That man will get what is coming to him!”

I remain silent as Simon takes the USB drive and kisses it in delight. He looks to me. “They called me shady, you know?” he asks me. “They said I was too sly. All my life, people like Ethan have walked all over me. Because everyone seems to think that just because he’s handsome, he deserves a chance. Or because he’s nice to people, it’s okay to be an idiot. Or because he’s got a good heart, it makes up for being stupid.”

I back away slightly.

“I never had a shot with them!” Simon yells, and I’m thinking it's more to himself than with anyone else. “They thought I was too smart. Too sneaky. Ugly, you name it. But this will show Ethan. This will show everyone. Mr. All-American just got brought down by sneaky ol’ me!”

“Is that all you need then?” I ask Simon, eager for this to be over.

“Just one last question,” Simon says, turning to me. “How’d you get it?”

I look at Simon with a mixture of dread.

How do I tell him that I got on my knees to Ethan.

That tears streamed down my face as I told him how I’d been working for Simon the entire time we’d been together.

That when Ethan and I went out to dinner, it was because Simon was paying me. That when Ethan was me, it was because I was trying to get undercover. That when we fell in love, it was because it had been arranged to be so.

That the only reason his baby is inside of me and I haven’t told him is because he or she only came to life because I was running a con.

That the whole thing was designed to steal Ethan’s greatest creation.

How am I supposed to tell Simon that even after telling Ethan all this, and breaking down and confessing how now I’d gotten in way over my head—not knowing what to do. Whether to run and hide or stay and suffer.

That after all that, Ethan just handed the USB drive to me. Told me to take it. And never come back to work again.

I mean, how would you tell Simon?

Oh, wait. I just remembered who I’m talking to, hun. You would never have been in this situation in the first place right?

Because you would probably have never gotten into the limo. You would have probably never made the choices I did. Probably never have had to worry about trying to run away from a man like Robert McIntyre.

“Well?” Simon asks again, “How’d you get it?”

“Switched it after sex,” I lie shrugging. “He was asleep, didn’t notice.”

“Well they’re going to notice pretty soon,” Simon says.

“I’m not going back, so it’s no bother for me,” I tell him and turn around to walk out.

What? It’s true.

Ethan basically fired me. From his company. And I’m pretty sure from his life.

Have you ever been in a crowd of people but felt utterly and completely alone?

Well, hun, welcome to me right about now.

I mean, that overcast sky might as well just open up and start raining right about now as I walk down 7th Avenue because that’s my mood.

As if deciding to play a cruel joke on me, I hear something that seems like light rumbling as I approach 52nd Street and 7th Avenue, and the first bits of water start to fall on my head.

Great, now even Mother Nature is deciding to hate me.

The bits of rain quickly turn into a downpour as people scramble around me. The skies darken even farther as I approach Columbus Circle, the horses whinnying along Central Park South.

I’ll tell you one thing though, hun. It’s a good thing it's raining. Because the tears kind of get washed away when I see the giant billboard next to the Trump International Hotel & Tower advertising Illicit Escape.

Right there, holding the futuristic glasses, is my smiling face. The tag line, “Revolutionizing Pleasure” written in a sexy font.

I’m glad you can’t see my tears.

It's in these moments that the biggest city in the world becomes the loneliest place on earth.

But it’s nothing that I don’t deserve after everything I’ve just done.

***

The next week is basically like that day. Cold, sad, depressing, and rainy.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been like this. I mean, I had a chance to be happy. I had a chance to settle down with a man that truly, really loved me.

I know what you’re going to say, though. I had an impossible choice. It was either protect myself from Robert or run again.

And why exactly did I sell Ethan out?

Because I didn’t want to run. Because I wanted to stay in New York City and make a home for the baby that I’m carrying. Hoping that Ethan would understand.

I mean, I did go and tell him—at the end. I confessed to lying to him, trying to steal from him, and taking his heart under false pretense.

And what did he do?

He gave me everything I wanted.

He gave me the computer coding for the software that runs the Illicit Escape. He let me keep my home.

He gave me everything I asked for.

But it turns out, while I was on my knees pleading to him to show me mercy, I never once asked him to forgive me and hold me.

To take me back.

But isn’t that the story of my life?

Always thinking about myself?

Leaving teaching to get into modeling full time? Not even thinking about the people who were relying on me when I began to split my time as an elementary school teacher and a model.

And then when a better offer came along, not even considering the implications to others when I moved into porn.

Maybe I deserved someone who used me as casually as Robert did. Maybe I never hit him, but I abused others with my lack of consideration just the same. I never thought about them. Only what was good for me.

That’s why when I finally found out about him, I never gave a second thought to thinking about his wife and child. I just drove.

Got out of there.

I could have gone to the police, maybe?

If not that, I could have tried to warn others. His wife had said there were other women, hadn't she?

And then in New York.

From the very first time Simon came into my life, I’ve thought about myself first and foremost.

Sure, hun, if you’re saying I had to think about the baby at the end, I’ll agree that I thought about the baby.

But there had to have been another way than asking Ethan to give up what he’s worked on for so long.

I just never bothered to see what it was.

To his credit, Ethan seems to keep going full speed ahead with the release.

Only this time, Conners Media, led by Simon has also stepped to the plate. They announced two days ago that they too would be releasing wearable technology designed to let the user experience porn through virtual reality. They call it Wicked Wear.

Ethan seems to not even care, if that’s the right word.

Maybe the plans are so fully committed that he has no option now but to see things through.

In the last week, there’s been a media blitz, including front page ads in the the New York Daily Journal, television spots, a marquee every hour at Madison Square Garden, skywriting, giveaways during lunchtime with Illicit Entertainment starlets, and a massive launch party in Times Square.

It’s the launch party that has the entire city, and possibly nation talking.

It’s being filmed live in Times Square and being carried by all the major networks.

The network morning TV show, Today USA is even carrying it live.

But that’s not why everyone is tuning in.

In perhaps the only nod to Simon, Ethan has challenged him to publicly put his product head to head against his.

He says that the entire nation should be allowed to decide for themselves who has the better technology.

Today USA is even planning on doing snap polls in the moment as people see the products matched up.

I’m a little unsure heading up to the launch date how they’re going to even do the matchup. I mean, are they going to put the glasses on people and ask which one makes them cum faster?

Seriously, if you’re laughing, so am I—but it’s a morbid laughter.

Because I know that with the code that Simon has, he’s had a week to tweak it and make it better. Whereas Ethan probably is looking to alter his software so as not to seem like a copycat product.

I don’t know if this is Ethan’s last ditch plan to bluff his way out of an impossible situation. To keep his head high after being stolen from and hurt by someone he let get too close to him.

All I know is that while I don’t want to watch, I’m probably going to end up tuning in like everyone in the country. If for nothing else than to pray for a miracle.

That’s until the morning of the launch, when I get a phone call.

I look at the phone and my heart skips a beat.

It’s Ethan.

With trembling hands, I answer.

“Hello?” I ask, a bit shaky. The butterflies are in full force in my stomach.

“I’ve sent a car for you, babe,” Ethan says. “I want you to get in it.”

“Why?” I ask instinctively. After a week and a half of no contact, to call me out of the blue and tell me to get in a car.

I’m sorry hun, but the last time I got into a car, it was with Simon, and do you remember what happened?

“Listen to me, babe,” Ethan says into the phone. “I really really really want you to get into that car.”

“Where is it going to take me?” I ask him.

“It’s going to bring you to my place,” he says confidently. I wonder if he’s that hard up for sex that he needs me again. “We’re going to watch the product launch and the match up together.”

Well, let’s just say that’s a surprise.

I honestly don’t know what to say here.

I swear to you – this is just too much.

I’m just a simple girl from Southern California. I’m not someone who normally plays these games that billionaires play. I’m at the end of my wits.

I’m all check-mated out.

“I just got word the car’s outside, Brit,” Ethan says.

I’ve been silent, but I know that if there’s even a sliver of a chance that I can go back and reclaim the father of my child I’ll take it.

“I’ll be right down,” I tell him, my mind made up.

If there’s even a chance for him and I, I’m going to do everything I can to take it.

For me, yeah. But for him as well. And most of all, for the baby.

117

Ethan

I can tell the moment the car pulls up to the curb of One57.

I mean, idiot, I could have told you what Brittney was wearing from the moment she got in the car.

I’ve got sensors on the car, telling me exactly where it’s at. I’ve got cameras in the car that I can see the passengers.

The cameras in the car though, that one is actually because we filmed a movie once, two people in the backseat of a limo. That’s not purposely being a spy or whatever. I think we called those series something like ‘Ride Me: Backseat Confessions’ or something.

Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that it’s not a big shocker when I see Brittney getting out of the car and walking toward the entrance of the building as the doorman to One57 based on the tiny micro camera I have installed on the lobby.

Yeah, I get trash for it. Every so often, some billionaire’s bodyguard or intelligence person finds it. They remove it or destroy it with white noise. But for times like this, where I can use this tablet to watch this beautiful woman get out of the limo in a tight black dress that’s accentuating her hips and showcasing her belly, it's absolutely amazing.

Oh yeah, you heard me right. I watch a whole bunch of trash and keep recordings of the surveillance on my tablet.

Remember the first time Brittney came by? I was watching something and totally entranced by it and you wanted to know what it was that was so fascinating but I wouldn’t tell you?

Well, here’s me telling you right now.

I have these cameras watching, recording, and showing me what happens in places when I’m not there. I got one in my office, around various rooms in Illicit Entertainment, in my homes, in my cars, you name it.

In fact, what I was watching that day when Brittney first came over was—

Idiot, there she is actually, ringing the doorbell.

That was fast.

I’ll tell you later, okay?

Right now I walk to the door to open it and reveal a very wary looking Brittney Roman.

I also gotta be a bit honest here.

I look at Brittney, and I know you think I should be mad or something. But all I want to do right now is two things in the world.

I want to pull her close to me and wrap my arms around her. Tell her to stop feeling down. Tell her everything is going to be alright. Make her stop worrying—stop beating herself up, which I know she’s doing. I want to make her happy and tell her that I want to protect her for the rest of her life. That I never want anything to get in the middle of us. Ever. That I love her.

Yeah, that's the first thing.

The second thing I want to do is harass her brains out. I’m completely serious. After I tell her how much I love her, I want to rip off her clothes and harass her like a whore. Bring her to a whole new level of pleasure than she’s ever been before. Harass her so hard that she forgets what walking is all about she’s so sore. Make her scream so loud that only the birds hear her. I want to own her. Body and soul.

And mark my words, darlin’, I’m going to do all that.

First though, I hold the door open and look at her.

“Come on in, babe, it’s okay,” I tell her. She looks at me and warily walks in the door. I smile as she passes me and turns her head back to look at me.

I let a moment pass. Her rear is just too good to not stare.

“Should I leave you and my rear alone so you two can catch up?” Brittney asks me and I look up. She’s got the faint hint of a smile going.

“That’s the girl I remember,” I tell her, grinning at her. “There she is.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot in a week and a half?” she asks me, with a small pout.

I take a few steps toward her and lean in to kiss her.

It’s a chaste kiss. Nothing at all like I’m going to do to her in a bit. But it’s all the situation needs right now.

When I pull my head back, I see her. Her eyes are closed and she’s enjoying it.

I wrap my arms around her.

“Hey,” I tell her. “It’s okay. Really. Listen to me…” I say, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“No, Ethan, it’s not okay, okay?” Brittney says with a ferocity I didn’t expect. “I played you, and it’s not okay.”

“You did?” I ask, with a raised eyebrow.

Despite everything that's going on, she sticks her tongue out at me.

“Well, fine,” she says to me. “I tried to play you. But sure, I failed, but in the end you still let me. I can’t believe you just handed over the software code for the I.E. to me,” she says to me, her words rushing out like water out of a cent.

“Listen babe,” I start again, trying to get in a word edgewise. “I think that it’s going to be okay…” Again though Brittney cuts me off.

“How?” she asks me, pressing herself against me. “I had to give Simon the code and he had enough time to build the prototype you spent so much time on. And how the heck can you not be freaking out at me right now?” Brittney asks.

I pause. She’s starting to get hysterical.

I guess I could start talking.

But instead, I take the remote near the side table and turn on the television.

“Let’s sit down,” I tell her. “The product match-up should be starting soon.”

Brittney sighs heavily, but she follows me to the sofa where we both sit. It takes her a moment of hesitation before she’s able to curl up into me as we both watch TV. I don’t mind. She’s probably more confused than anything right now.

I mean, she betrayed me and saw how I angry I was when we were ten days ago, right?

And now, I’m holding her close and telling her everything is okay?

“Just watch,” I tell her.

You should listen to that advice too.

I mean, it's the perfect day in Times Square for the launch. No, I have no need to be there. Cheryl’s planned it well enough that our spokespeople can do the heavy lifting while I watch with the woman I love.

Besides, it’s going to be awesome.

Within moments, Today USA is broadcasting both Illicit Entertainment and Conners Media representatives as they stand side-by-side on a raised platform at the intersection of Broadway and 42nd Street. There’s an emcee from the network. Behind him is a giant 40-foot projection screen. The whole point of this demo is to have an user put on the respective glasses and have it transmit what the user is seeing on the projection screen.

If you’re scratching your head and wondering if it’s a bit over the top, let me just stop you right there and remind you of one thing.

Just remember who’s telling the story here, okay?

Does it say Bonnie Believable on the cover?

Or does it have my girl, Alexis Angel’s name?

I’m thinking it’s the latter. Which means in this version of reality, our society has gotten to the point where it’s not just okay to do a demonstration of a gadget that is intended for explicit sexual use, but it’s celebrated enough that one of the largest broadcast networks is holding a product competition that they’ll air over public airwaves.

Over the top? You bet, babe.

“I can’t believe they’re going to actually do this demo,” Brittney says quietly. “It’s so insane to watch porn in a group.”

Goodness, it’s like I can’t get a break here.

“You’re pretty insane for doing this,” she says, turning her head to face me. She wriggles her body as she does so and all that means is that her rear is wiggling against my cock. I sigh. She knows what she’s doing. But if she enjoys teasing me now, that’s fine. I’m going to be making her scream later for every tease now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today as we celebrate the launch of not one but two revolutionary products in the personal entertainment arena,” the announcer says into his microphone. “Throughout history, this country has been the source of innovation and ingenuity. That drive and spirit are on full display here as we pit two of the most anticipated products of the year—the Illicit Escape manufactured by Illicit Entertainment against the Wicked Wear manufactured by Conners Media.”

The crowd cheers as the announcer continues. “Due to FCC limitations, we will only be able to show the first few minutes of the experience that each of our users will be seeing,” he says. Makes sense. I doubt they’ll be able to show full scale in Times Square just yet. Maybe 10 to 15 years from now, but not today. “We’ll be using the projector screen behind us and splitting it. On the right hand side will be Conners Media. On the left hand side will be Illicit Entertainment. Are the participants all ready and wired in?”

The announcer turns toward two nondescript men sitting on right and left sides of the stage. Both are already wearing glasses that are connected via A/V wires to a hard drive that's connected to the projector screen. They both give thumbs up.

“Even the glasses look nearly identical,” Brittney whines to herself.

She’s right. The Illicit Escape looks like a slimmed down and futuristic version of single rimmed glasses. The Wicked Wear is a bit bulkier but has enough similarities that it’s hard not to wonder what the heck is going on.

“If all sides are ready, let’s get this show on the road, and let’s focus our attention to the projectors, to see what they see!” I hear the announcer say and the lights on the stage go dim. The projector screen goes black too.

Then both the right and left hand sides of the screen start flickering.

I turn to Brittney and hold her closer with one hand as I grab my phone on the coffee table with another.

This is the moment of truth.

I unlock my phone and press the call button and hold it to my ear.

“Ready,” a male voice answers me.

“Go,” I respond back to the voice.

“Acknowledged,” the man says back and I hang up.

Brittney turns to look at me.

“What was that?” she asks me.

I smile. “That was the number that Cheryl gave me to call when we want to activate the Trojan Horse built into the software,” I tell her.

Brittney raises her eyes.

“What does it do?” she asks me suspiciously.

I shrug and don’t answer. Instead I gesture to the television.

The opening credits have passed and both viewers are experiencing a virtual reality environment.

The screen shows that both of them are in a bedroom. They’re free to look in any direction they want and the direction both people look is independent so on one hand of the screen you see the user looking all around the room while the other user is looking out the window.

Eventually, both users look toward the woman on the bed.

It’s Brittney. She gasps, seeing herself on such a huge projector screen. On the video, she’s wearing a lace white thong and a matching lace white bra.

“Hey baby,” she says, getting on all fours on both split screens and crawling to the edge of the bed. “Is your father home?”

Both users shake their head no and it translates itself on the screen. The computer understands this gesture and Brittney smiles.

“Good,” she says on the screen with a wicked smile. “I don’t think he’d like the fact that his fiancée is dressed like this in front of his son, would he?”

Again both users shake their head.

“Why don’t you come over here?” Brittney asks.

Both users use their eyes to signify they want to walk closer to the bed.

“That’s a good boy,” Brittney says as her hands brush over where a real person’s cock would be if they were in the bedroom. “Looks like you’re already excited, aren't you, you naughty boy.”

The crowd begins to cheer and chant, clearly enjoying the show.

“Maybe we should do something about this,” Brittney says to the users. “I mean, in a few months it’ll be hard to do it when I marry your father. Now’s the time, right?”

Both users enthusiastically nod.

The sound of zippers being unzipped occurs on both sides of the screen.

And it should be coming right about now.

There’s a sudden flickering on the right side of the screen.

There it is.

So while the left side of the screen—the Illicit Escape side—continues to play and show Brittney slowly taking off her bra and squeezing her belly together, the right side of the screen starts to give the user a very different experience.

“Are you getting ready to jerk off?” Brittney asks, her face turning into a scowl. The Wicked Wear user is visibly startled and the picture shakes on the screen.

On the left hand side, Brittney leans forward and the user starts having his ocular nerves stimulated in such a way that his brain feels that Brittney has placed her hands on his cock. He starts to relax and squirm on his seat on stage.

On the right hand side, Brittney pulls back, and puts on a sweater.

On the left hand side, the user and screen show Brittney begin to bring her head toward the user's crotch. “I love how big your cock is,” she purrs on camera. “So much bigger than your father's,” she says as she begins to lick it. The user is clearly hard and the Today USA camera crew zooms in the massive erection tenting the man’s trousers as he sits on stage.

On the right hand side, Brittney takes her phone and points it at the user and takes a picture. “I’m going to send this over to the National Database and register you as a sex offender, you pervert!” she says on camera. “Don’t you know how bad pornography is for you?”

And that’s where on the right hand side of the screen, Brittney’s on-camera avatar starts altering. Her face morphs into that of a rat, with whiskers. Her skin starts to become scaly and green. Her eyes become slits. Roaches start coming out of her mouth.

In the audience people are visibly upset and shaking at what they’re seeing on one half of the giant 40-foot projection screen. People are visibly turning white.

On the other half, Brittney proceeds to start sucking and the user’s body spasms as he finds himself not caring about the crowd and starts stroking his cock through his pants on national television.

On the right hand side, Wicked Wear is starting to scare it's users as Brittney starts speaking with the voice of a demon, “Porn is bad,” she/he hisses. “I’m going to bite and eat your toe!”

Apparently this is even too much for the user who rips off his glasses and throws them on stage and stomps on them!

That picture—the user stomping on a Wicked Wear set of glasses is priceless. The split screen is frozen with a picture of a demon-rat-faced-snake-bodied Brittney looking out at the audience and the words ‘System Failure’ flashing on screen.

“Well!” the announcer adds, clearly stunned at what happened. “I think we know who the real winner in this matchup is. And which company to never, ever buy adult entertainment from again!”

A technician manages to unplug the 40-foot screen from both devices as they go dark. The Illicit Escape user is still rocking back and forth and spasming when they reach over to take the glasses off. At first, he’s upset but the announcer comes up to him.

“How would you rate it?” he asks.

The user is breathing heavily as the cameras zoom in. He’s at a loss for words. All I hear is him say, “So real…”

That’s when the cheers erupt from the audience at the ringing endorsement.

Brittney turns toward me.

“What’s going on?” she asks me, her eyes narrowing. “How did…what just…what’s going on?”

I love it.

“That,” I say to the screen and pause. “Is what happens when people try to play Ethan Kane.”

118

Brittney

“That,” Ethan says, pointing to the screen and looking at me. “Is what happens when people try to play Ethan Kane.”

Oh my goodness.

What is he talking about?

But Ethan doesn’t say anything else. He reaches over to the tablet on the coffee table and pushes some buttons and turns it toward me.

I get up, my knees on the couch supporting me.

I squint. It’s closed circuit television and it takes me a minute to realize…

Oh. My. Goodness.

It’s Ethan’s office.

And that’s me. At his computer.

“Walter, his terminal looks similar to what we went through, but I’m going to need you to walk me through it,” I hear myself saying on the video.

I don’t know about you, hun, but I’m starting to get really worried every time I see myself on a screen. First it was whatever went on in Times Square. Taking a glance at the television, which is on mute right now; the crowds are chanting and celebrating and cheering and lining up to buy Illicit Escapes. Wicked Wear is most likely out of this market for a very, very long time.

It’s almost as if this whole thing were…

“Planned?” Ethan asks me, and I snap out of my reverie.

“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” he asks me with a smirk.

On his tablet, I look at myself furiously clicking at the keys and talking to Walter through my earpiece.

He knew!

He knew this whole time! And yet he kept me around. He knew I was betraying him as he made love to me. He knew my goal was to deceive him the entire time.

“Yeah, babe,” Ethan says to me. “That day I left the prototype on the table…I thought you’d take it to Simon,” he tells me.

“You played me?” I ask him, all my sorrow at deceiving him starting to melt away. “You’ve been playing me the whole time?!”

Yeah, I’m pissed. He’s been lying to me the entire time. While I’ve been falling in love with him and feeling sorry for deceiving him!

My hand raises up and I know where it’s going.

I’m going to slap that smirk off his face right now.

And I would have too, if his hand hadn’t raised up and caught mine. With the strength of ten men, he pulls me closer.

“No, I don’t think so, babe,” he says as he pulls me to him and I smell his cologne mixed in with his man smell and I realize that he’s won. “And yes, I knew. But I had to make a decision as to what was best for you. And for us.”

He’s tamed me. The Man Chaser.

He pushes me against the back of the couch and presses himself on me. His mouth finds mine.

He’s rough, his hands running over my body, claiming what he’s won. What he owns.

That mongrel!

I’m sorry. I can’t get over the fact that Ethan Kane knew this whole time.

That he let me make such a fool out of myself so he could have a laugh. Why would he do that?

This is all I can think about, but my body is already responding to his kisses, pressing up against him and kissing back as I find the nooks and crannies on his body and wiggle into them. My hand travels to his crotch and I can tell he’s already hard. A few good squeezes in, I let myself feel indignant again.

No!

I need to know one thing!

Pushing him off me slightly, I look at him.

“How long did you know?” I ask him. “And did you have to decide?”

Ethan is almost about to jump me again, but I see him think better of it and sigh.

“I knew you were somehow trying to steal the device from the moment you were in my office,” he tells me. “I didn’t know it was Simon till you told me. I knew it could potentially have been Simon, but I didn’t want to rule out maybe it was someone else. Maybe you were working for Arsen Hawke or someone else.”

I’m silent as he continues. “When you didn’t take the device and you actually brought it back, I began to think that you weren’t actually trying to steal on your own, but someone was either paying you or forcing you to do it,” he says and I nod. “Which is basically what you confirmed ten days ago.”

“And then?” I ask.

“I knew that eventually if you were being forced to do this, there might come a day where you’d have to choose between yourself and us,” he tells me, his eyes deep and soulful and even through my anger, I can see full of love. He shrugs as he continues. “I didn’t want you to have to make that choice. So I made it for you. I prepared the Trojan Horse script that would stay hidden and only run upon command if needed. As it turns out, it saved us from each other.”

My head is spinning, babe.

I need to sit down.

To think of what’s going on.

How Ethan has just saved me from Simon. But I know you by now, and I know you’re wondering about Simon. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person that takes kindly to being made a fool of. He’s definitely going to retaliate.

All of a sudden the anger is replaced by fear.

Am I going to have to run again?

“Once you mentioned Simon, I knew exactly how he’d try to coerce you,” Ethan tells me as he picks up his tablet and turns on the video call option. He looks at me and smirks. “You might be interested to know that Cheryl is in California right now.”

My heart leaps up into my throat and Ethan recognizes the look.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s not that hard to figure out where you used to live in California and that your agent was Robert McIntyre.”

I don’t have a chance to explain or even question because that’s when Cheryl comes on the screen.

“Hey there, Cheryl,” Ethan says with a cheery voice. “What’s the status?”

“Robert McIntyre never got a chance to see Today USA,” Cheryl says into her phone, her expression blank. She glances at me and even across the country, I can tell she’s sizing me up. Seeing if I’m any threat to Ethan. “He’ll never catch the reruns of what happened either.”

Ethan nods. “Do I want to know why not?” he asks.

Cheryl doesn’t answer. She just shakes her head.

There’s a moment of silence.

I don’t even know what to say. Is Cheryl saying that he’s dead? Did she have something to do with this?

“Thank you so much,” Ethan says and without any further ado, pushes the END button.

He looks at me.

“You’re free,” he says.

“Ethan?” I ask, going closer to him. The prospect of being free of having to look over my shoulder is insane. “What happened to him?”

“Sometimes porn is still a dirty business, babe,” Ethan tells me, his voice and face serious. “If we don’t ask questions, we never have to lie.”

It sends a small chill. The power that this man wields.

But it makes me feel safe. Because with everything Ethan knows, and with everything it turns out he can do, what he wants most in the world right now…is me.

“Free,” I say to him, smiling.

“Free,” he repeats, pulling me closer. “It’s time to celebrate.”

I feel his mouth approaching mine and I’m about to give in to him. To surrender to this man who seems to have tamed me.

But not so fast!

Ethan Kane has played me very well. That’s for sure.

“Ethan, wait,” I tell him, pushing against his chest with one hand. “One second.”

He looks at me, puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gruffly. I can tell he’s ready. He needs to be inside of me. And that makes holding him off even sweeter.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m finally free. I want to celebrate by having filthy, dirty, sex.

But I can’t let him win on every single front.

“I have something to tell you as well that you don’t know,” I say, keeping a serious face.

He looks at me, backing up on the sofa slightly. I relish the moment.

Ethan Kane thinks he’s all that, does he? Thinks he’s so smart for pulling off this coup? Playing me?

Watch me make him crumble.

“I’m pregnant, Ethan,” I say to him softly. And then with a smile, “We’re pregnant.”

It takes literally a minute for the words to go from his ears to reflect in his eyes and then his face.

He smiles brightly. Then the smile transforms into a grin and there’s no stopping him – his arms are wrapped around me and he’s holding me close.

He’s hugging me. He’s kissing me. He’s kissing my neck. My earlobes. My face. My ears.

His cock is pushing into me.

“That’s fantastic!” he says, pulling back. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asks.

I look at him as he asks again, “Why keep it a secret?”

Really?

I roll my eyes and shrug, using his own words. “I had to make a decision as to what was best for you. And for us,” I say.

He looks at me for a moment, digesting those words. And then he breaks out into a smirk.

“Alright then,” he says. “It’s going to be fun keeping you in line from now on.”

“Right back at ya, hun,” I tell him as we kiss.

Before long, his arms are pulling off my shirt and I’m undressing him.

It’s time to live freely. With the man I love.

For the first day of the rest of our lives.

Well, I guess I can do that.

119

Brittney

I’m finally free. Free from Simon, free from the shadows of my past. And, better yet, I found love. And we’re having a baby!

When I came to New York, ready to start a new life, I never expected I would ever be this happy. But then Ethan happened.

An hour after we just annihilated each other with the truth and realized how much we mean to each other, we’re back in Times Square, as Ethan finishes up the press conference.

And no, it doesn’t look awkward with me standing there next to him. I’m the leading lady of the new virtual world we’re creating, remember?

“Over the next several months, we’ll be rolling out the product to the widest number of people,” Ethan says. “Illicit Entertainment won’t rest until an I.E. is in every home in America.”

The press shout questions to him, but Ethan waves them off.

“Today was a matchup that showed that hard work and perseverance still count for something. I had a vision, and I worked to bring it a reality. It’s now time for me to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Thank you very much.”

The press frantically try to get in a question, but Ethan’s statement has been made. He’s done.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading the way. All around us, journalists are shouting a thousand questions and trying to get a reaction out of him, but he just ignores the chaos in the room. He won the war against Simon, but he’s not interested in gloating; right now, there’s something else on his mind. And on mine as well.

While the whole press is going insane with Simon’s failure and Ethan’s triumph, we sneak through the backdoor. Ethan already has a limo waiting for us, and smiling gallantly, he holds the door open for me.

“Where are we going?” I ask him as I get in.

“It’s just a short ride,” he tells me, sitting next to me. The driver revs the engine up, and soon enough, we’re cruising through NY’s traffic. I place my hand on top of his, and looking into his eyes, I feel happiness spreading its wings inside of me. I’m the luckiest woman on Earth.

“Thank you, Ethan,” I whisper, squeezing his fingers on mine. “For everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Not now, not ever. I love you, Brittney, and I’ll tear the whole world apart before I let anyone lay a finger on you.” His tone is a calm one, but he means what he’s saying. My heart melts, and as I lean in to kiss him, the limo parks right in front of the closest hotel, The Plaza.

We stroll inside arm-in-arm, and Ethan just walks by the registration desk; he probably already has the key to the suite inside his pocket. Which makes me think, when did he start planning all of this? Finishing off Simon, taking care of my ex… He probably already knew how things would end. And now I do too; I get the happy ending I deserve.

When we get inside the room, a suite overlooking Fifth Avenue, he doesn’t even give me enough time to appreciate my surroundings. He closes the door, and placing both his hands on my hips, he slams me against the door; his body is pressed against mine, and the moment I lock eyes with him, I feel my pussy growing wet.

“I love you so much,” he tells me with a smile, leaning into me and brushing his lips against mine. Then, his smile turning into a grin, he takes one step back. Loosening his tie, he pulls it out and looks at me with mischief in his eyes. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his eyes roaming down my body, and I can’t help but look at his crotch. His cock is growing hard, pushing against the fabric of his pants, and I can barely wait to simply pull it out.

“You’re everything, Ethan,” I tell him, a wide smile on my face. I’ve made it through… And with him by my side. When everything seemed lost, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light was Ethan. Whatever happens in the future, I know this: I’ll never stop loving this man. Never.

“Am I?” he asks with a mocking grin on his lips. Then, his expression turns serious. “I know, Brittney. But you’re my everything as well… And from now on, we are one.”

“One,” I repeat after him, the sound of it like honey on my throat. “Forever.”

Smiling, he pulls the tie around his neck, and instead of simply letting it fall on the floor, he brings it up to my face. He lays it across my eyes, tying it on the back of my neck, and darkness swallows me.

“For all eternity,” he says. With that, he leans into me and I feel his lips brushing against mine, his tongue sliding inside of my mouth and dancing around my own. Blind, I rest my fingers on his chest and feel my way to his collar; there, I start unbuttoning his shirt, baring his chest. While I undress him, he places his two hands on my hips and pushes me back until my knees meet the edge of the bed. He pushes me down and I fall on top of the mattress, untucking his shirt as I go down.

I feel the mattress shifting under his weight as he climbs on top of the bed, and then he’s on top of me, kissing me again. I push his shirt down his arms, and then run my fingertips up and down his back; I feel the ropes of muscles in his back, moving as he kisses me, and my heart starts to drum a wild song of lust and decadence.

“I want you,” I find myself saying, sliding my hand down his stomach and finding the way to his belt. Unbuckling it, I pull it out of its loops with a sudden movement and flatten the palm of my hand over his crotch; his thick cock pulses against my fingers immediately, straining against the fabric of his pants without enough strength to rip its way out. Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I lace his waist with my legs, and start to stroke him over his pants. My fingers are curled tight—perhaps too much—around his shaft, and I stroke him viciously.

Moving like a tiger, he grabs my wrist and takes my hand off of his cock. Pinning both my hands against the mattress, he presses his body on top of mine, my dress hiking up to my waist. I thrust against him, pressing my drenched pussy against his cock, and start to sway my hips. Grinding, I feel his shaft pulsing with desire, and I wish I could simply will my clothes away.

Luckily, it’s as if he can read my thoughts. With his mouth resting against my neck, he kisses my skin while, using only one hand, he pulls the straps of my dress down. The fabric droops over my arms, and slightly easing the pressure of his body on mine, he yanks on my dress as hard as he can. I hear a ripping sound, and then I feel the fabric sliding almost too easily over my skin. He goes to his knees, still between my legs, and tears the dress off of me, ripping it off as if he was a savage.

In a fraction of a second, my heart starts to kick and punch against my ribcage, and I can’t help but undo the clasp on my bra hurriedly. I pull it out and throw it somewhere far off, the cool air of the room lapping at my hard nipples.

I half-expect him to simply lie down on top of me and go straight for my belly, but that’s not what he does. He remains kneeling between my legs, and then brushes one fingertip against my thong. I shiver as he traces the contour of my underwear, and then his finger starts a hike over my stomach. He goes all the way up to between my belly and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he lets his finger go up the hill of my right breast. Circling my nipple, he never actually touches it, preferring to make me go completely mad before he really does anything.

What he doesn’t know is that I’m already mad and desperate for him. As such, I grab both his hands and force him to press them against my belly. Exhaling sharply, that’s exactly what he does, squeezing my mounds eagerly and then pinching both my nipples at the same time. He pinches them until a loud moan leaves my lips, and then he does it even harder; reacting by instinct, I grab his wrists, but I don’t stop him. I lay here, panting and moaning while pain and pleasure poke holes in my brain, the madness that fills my mind turning into pure insanity. I’m unhinged, through and through.

“Idiot me,” I blurt out, and I can almost feel a grin dawning on his face.

“You have to be a little more patient than that, Britt,” he chuckles, finally letting go of my nipples. I sigh loudly, and then he presses his mouth right between my belly. He lays gentle kisses on the curves of my breasts, and then finally wraps his lips around my right nipple. He nibbles at it with his teeth, gently, and circles it with his tongue. The more he kisses and sucks, the more I feel that familiar electric buzz crackling under my skin.

Sucking on one nipple and caressing the other with his fingers, he drives me to pleasure’s cliff and throws me off of it. Like a whip, pleasure snaps at my mind and I simply explode. Arching my back, I let out one loud scream and it echoes in the room, bouncing off the walls and coming back to haunt me. My body is boiling, and my brain is melting away.

Riding the wave, he slides his lips down my stomach, and with both hands, yanks on my thong. He pulls it against my outer thigh, and with one strong movement, rips it off of me. The outer string buries itself in my flesh and then, as if it were never there, it simply slides off.

Now that I’m completely naked and ready to be served, Ethan places his hands on my inner thighs and forces me to spread my legs. I open them as wide as I can, and he starts to kiss the skin around my pussy; as he pulls back, my hands go straight to his hair and I try to make him dive into me. He resists at first, only allowing the tip of his tongue to part my drenched folds, but then he goes for it with a renewed spirit. Fitting his mouth against my pussy, he starts to suck on my inner lips, taking my fluids into his mouth; without wasting any time, he places two fingers against my clit and starts to rub me there at the same time.

Tangling my fingers in his hair, I push him against my pussy as fiercely as I can, and I sway my hips from side to side. He devours me like a man who hasn’t seen a woman for decades, and his eagerness almost makes my mind explode.

“You’re so delicious,” he says as he comes up for air, but then dives into me again. This time, his mouth and fingers trade places: he wraps his lips around my clit, sucking on it, and slides his two fingers inside of my pussy. He curls them upward in a hook motion and pushes them into me harshly, only stopping when his fingertips are pressed tight against my G-spot.

“And… I’m… All… Yours…” I manage to say, not knowing if I should be breathing or speaking. Raising my legs, I lace them behind his neck and hold him in place, thrusting against his face as he sucks and fingers me. I can already hear the sound of an incoming storm, and I’m more than ready for it; since Ethan started me, my stamina has improved tremendously. And, let me tell you, I was already a high-energy girl. But now… Now I’m a goddess. And I’m a goddess that’s about to come. “Oh, idiot,” is all that I can say, fireworks going off behind my eyelids without any warning whatsoever.

My legs start to shake, and I have to take them out from behind his neck. Letting go of his hair as well, I start to grab at the sheets, bunching them as lightning and thunder consume me. We’re just starting, and I’ve already came twice; I like where this is going. Oh, if I get this treatment every single day for the rest of my life, I’m going to be the happiest woman on Earth.

“I want to taste you,” I tell him, propping myself up on my elbows as he goes up to his feet. I can’t see him, but over the fabric of his tie, I can see the contour of his figure moving. I hear him take off his shoes, and then I hear the rustle of fabric as he drops down his pants and boxer briefs. I sit down on the bed, ready to take him in my mouth, but he sits down next to me.

“But I want to keep eating you out as well…” he says with a devilish tone. “How are we going to solve this?” Turning to him, I smile and place both of my hands on his chest. I push him down to the mattress, and as he lies down, I climb on top of him with my rear turned to his face. I slide my hips upward, and then only stop when he places his hands on my rear cheeks, guiding my movement. He reaches for me, and the moment his mouth touches my pussy, I can’t help but thrust back. I sit up on his face, and instinct guiding every single one of my movements, I start to sway my hips as he eats me out. I’m grabbing my belly at the same time, squeezing them hard, as all of my nerve endings seem ready to burst. But this can get better… And it will.

Still with my pussy on his face, I lean forward and slide my hands down his stomach. When I find his thick shaft, I curl my fingers around it and angle it toward me; slowly parting my lips, I go down until my tongue meets his glans, and then I make it dance in fast moving circles. I can taste his raw saltiness on the tip of his cock, his veins pulsing against my fingers… and I can’t help myself.

Opening my mouth as wide as I can, I let his shaft slide inside of me, and I start bobbing my head up and down at a frantic pace. I do it hard and merciless, his tip hitting the back of my throat over and over again. Matching the rhythm of my mouth with my hand, I suck and stroke as if I were a woman possessed. Which I am: I’m a woman possessed by lust and love, and that’s exactly the way I like it.

As I suck on him, he keeps licking my pussy and spreading my rear cheeks wide. Finally, I succumb to the urge to see him; with one hand, I loosen the tie and pull it off in one single stroke. I blink twice, my eyes adjusting to the light in the room, and then I look down; his thick shaft is still between my lips, and seeing right in front of my eyes makes me go even harder.

While I suck on him, he starts to brush one finger along the length of my crack, and I tremble every time I feel him close to my hole. When he presses down on it, I have to pull his cock out; a loud moan explodes in my mouth, and at the same time, he pushes his finger inside my rear. As he slowly feeds it into me, I start to stroke him with erratic movements, my hand moving as if it has a life of its own. I go like that until my wrist starts to hurt and then, finally succumbing to the pressure mounting in my pussy, I let go of his cock and sit up again.

Grabbing at my belly, I throw my head back and let my hair cascade down my shoulders as I start to ride his face. I move my hips back and forth, and then from side to side, and he starts to finger my pussy at an almost too violent rhythm.

“Don’t--” I start to say, but the words die in my throat as a convulsion takes over my body. High voltage runs up my spine, and my muscles start to twitch as if the brain-body connection had been severed. “Oh goodness… It’s so… It’s so… GOOD!” I scream out, clenching my rear cheeks as he pushes his finger deep into me. I stay like that, sitting on his face, until the final waves of my orgasm finally wash over me.

Not wanting to lose moment, I crawl down his body, and when my knees are lined with his thighs, I grab his cock and angle it upwards. Raising my hips, I start to brush his glans against my wetness, and then I ease myself down. I do it in one sudden movement, allowing him to pierce me with enough strength to break me in half. His thickness stretches me wide, and I wonder how many times will it take for my tightness to be permanently ruined; I mean, we’re going to be every single day from now on, and his cock is simply massive. Not that it matters anyway: when we’re talking about a cock this big, I guess that any pussy is tight enough.

I lean forward, and grabbing his ankles, I start to sway my hips. His cock slides easily and I start to rock my body as hard as I can. There’s an ebb and flow to the way I move, but my movements are all being guided by my unconscious mind. If you ask me my name right now, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to respond.

When I finally feel ready for more, I lift my knees, and placing my feet on the mattress, squat down over his cock. I go down on his shaft, and it goes deeper than before, his tip pressed tight against my G-spot. I feel my eyes rolling in their orbits and I start to jump up and down, my rear cheeks slapping his thighs as I move.

I ride him fast, and I ride him hard. I do it until there’s no more strength left in my legs, and then I keep riding him some more. Even if my heart stopped beating and my lungs collapsed, I doubt that it would stop me from him. Yes, it’s this good. But you already know that, don’t you? You’ve been here all along, by my side… I appreciate it, but don’t think that I’m going to share Ethan out of sympathy for you. I have a big heart, but it’s not that big—sorry.

I slow down just a bit, but Ethan keeps the rhythm up by thrusting. I have to stop and allow him to take the lead; he hooks his fingers on my thighs, and,pushing me down, he starts to thrust like a madman.

“Idiot, I can’t get enough of you,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or to himself. Either way, his words tickle my brain, and I let the satisfaction wash over me as my pussy starts to tighten around his cock.

“I don’t want you to get enough of me,” I manage to say, struggling to get the words out as his cock pistons into me, setting fire to my sides. I grit my teeth, hard enough to shatter them, and hiss through them like a snake; then, unable to control myself, I go back down to my knees and scream so hard that I risk ruining my vocal chords.

Even though I’m already coming, Ethan doesn’t slow down; if anything, he goes even faster. Each thrust of his intensifies my orgasm, and before I even know what’s happening, I feel it building up all over again. Instead of fading away as quickly as it came, ecstasy rises and falls in me, maintaining a constant presence as tiny fast spasms make my muscles twitch. I come for the second time in a row, and it’s almost too good to be true. If I died right now, I’d die as a happy woman. I mean, I’m sharing a bed with the most perfect man on Earth… And did I mention that he loves me? Yeah, I probably sound like I’m head over heels right now, but that’s only because I really am. I don’t care if I sound like a naive teenager; this is my moment, and I’ve earned it. And you can rest assured that I’m going to enjoy it.

Rolling to the side, I sprawl myself on the mattress, breathing so hard that I don’t even know how my lungs are still working. I’m so spent that I can’t even open my eyes right now. Still, my heart keeps beating that relentless song of lust and desire, and I know that we’re far from being done.

“Come here,” I purr, going on all fours and swaying my rear. Grinning, he goes up to his knees and places himself behind me, his hands going straight to my hips. With one single stroke, he places his glans against my pussy and slides it inside me at once. This time I don’t moan or scream, I simply let it happen.

Slapping his thighs against my rear cheeks, he idiots me savagely. He doesn’t build up the rhythm; he simply goes hard right from the start. His cock is moving so fast that I can’t even tell when it’s going in or when it’s going out, and really, who cares? All that matters is that his shaft is deep inside of me, pushing against my inner walls and ravaging me.

“This… Every day…” he groans between thrusts, slapping my rear with the back of his hand. “Can you handle it?”

“Can you handle it? I’m insatiable…”

“Then we’re a match,” he tells me, and without warning, pushes his thumb against my jerk and slides it in. I moan immediately, my whole body tensing up as a nocked arrow. Idiot, I can’t believe I’m about to come again. When I met Ethan, I was already an experienced woman (okay, I was more than just experienced), but this is almost too much, even for me.

Two more hard thrusts and I’m coming again; I collapse on top of the mattress, but Ethan follows, pressing his body on top of mine. I bite at the sheets, bunching them up with my fingers while I flail my arms. I’m completely out of control, and it feels amazing. While my brain is frying, Ethan keeps on thrusting, pressing the tip of his cock against my G-spot and rubbing it there. With precise movements, he stops my orgasm from simply fading away, and keeps fanning the flames of pleasure inside of me.

While he pounds me furiously, I feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Supporting myself with only one hand, I take the other one and place it between my thighs, two fingers tightly pressed on my clit. As my body rocks back and forth, my hair plastered to my forehead and cheeks, I feel something boiling inside of me. Something… different.

“That’s it, babe, don’t stop now,” he tells me, and I can’t help but obey. With my fingers working in tandem with Ethan’s cock, I finally explode.

“OH GOODNESS, OH GOODNESS!” I scream, raw ecstasy going through me. Harsh spasms take over my pussy, and as it grips his cock like a vice, I start to squirt. “OH IDIOT!” I continue to scream, my own fluids dripping down my legs and onto the sheets. Consulting and only semi-conscious, I collapse on top of the mattress, breathing hard as the final waves of pleasure crash against me.

Ethan followed after me, keeping his cock inside my pussy as I went down. Only now that I’m finally spent, does he pull his cock out of me, and he stands up on the bed. Knowing what I have to do, I roll to the side and go up to my knees, opening my mouth as he strokes himself. I look at the movement of his hand on his cock as if I were in a trance, and when he starts to cum, he catches me with my guard down.

A thick strand of cum slaps me across the face, and then he starts to gush a fountain of cum all over me. While he paints me in white, I stick my tongue out and let him fill up my mouth, which he does in just two seconds. When it’s brimming, I simply swallow down and open it back up, allowing him to give me another dose of his salty seed.

While he shoots his load all over, I rub my hands over my belly and start to spread his cum over my skin, looking at him with a devilish cum-coated grin on my face. Once his spasms finally subside, his knees buckle and he goes down, kneeling right in front of me. Returning my devil’s grin, he leans into me and presses his mouth against mine; his tongue takes my mouth by assault, and stealing it from me, he scoops up his own cum. When he finally pulls back from our kiss, his grin is even wider than before, and he swallows.

“You’re a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Woman Tamer” I purr, smiling as if I am the happiest woman on Earth. Which I might be.

“Look who’s talking, Ms. Man Chaser,” he shoots back, brushing his fingers across my face. “And I like it that way, don’t worry… After all, we’re going to have a lifetime of dirtiness ahead of us.” I smile at him, letting that sink in. A lifetime together… And, soon, we’re going to have a family. I don’t know what else to ask for.

“I can’t wait for it.”

120

Epilogue As Told By Brittney

I sit back on the couch and spread my legs wide. I’m wearing just a light blue thong. One hand is underneath, desperately fingering my clit. The other hand is twisting my nipples.

In front of me are two mirror images of Ethan. They’re both coming toward me.

“You’ve already started without us, huh?” Ethan One asks me, giving me his trademark smirk.

“But you’re going to end with us,” Ethan Two says, picking up nicely. “I swear.”

I’ve done this program maybe about half a dozen times and I never last through it. Two big strong men like Ethan are about to have their way with me.

I’ll tell you right now what's going to happen, hun.

They’re going to take off their boxer briefs. Then they’re going to force me on all fours on the couch.

Ethan One is going to stand next to the edge of the couch and force me to blow him. Ethan Two is going to slap my rear if I don’t blow fast enough while also taking time to bring his face lower and lick my rear.

Then Ethan Two is going to jam his cock in me as Ethan One keeps my face.

By now, I’ll have cum at least once, maybe twice.

They’ll idiot every hole of mine. They’ll DP me till I pass out from pleasure. They’ll cum all over me and leave me a quivering mass of twitching flesh on the ground.

And then I’ll take the nondescript looking glasses off and be transported back to my apartment.

Only this time, I don’t get a chance to do any of that, because someone takes the glasses off of me.

“Hey!” I shout out.

And I realize that Ethan Kane—the real thing—is standing right in front of me.

“Figured you’d want me in the flesh?” he asks, a smirk, on his lips.

I smile at him and stand up.

I’m dressed casually, just yoga pants and a tank top. It’s a Sunday and neither of us has work today. Thank goodness.

I’m serious, hun. If you only knew the kind of year that we’ve had.

Oh, no, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact it was several orders of magnitude better than great.

First, let’s do the work bits.

So Conners Media and everything controlled by Simon Conners kind of blew up after the disaster that was Times Square. As one of the largest companies in the world of pornography began to implode, Ethan found himself on the front seat. Illicit Entertainment began to start picking up and buying pieces of Conners Media from the banks after they were sold off.

The final death knell came when HawkeLane Media, the direct Internet sex entertainment company run by Arsen Hawke and his wife purchased the rest of the assets at fire sale prices and fired Simon Conners.

After that, Simon began to try and nurse his depression and spent six months blowing through millions of dollars.

I mean, he made even Ethan Hawke look frugal. But he was burning out. Constantly strung out and finding no one who wanted to harass his coked up limp toe, he began to do more and more drugs. He got busted a few times with massive amounts of cocaine possession. The busts were so big that the authorities wondered how he was even still alive.

They stopped wondering six months ago when his body went into a cocaine-induced overdose and he was found dead outside of his 3rd Avenue apartment building.

He died poor. And alone.

I never learned how he found out about Robert until Cheryl approached me a few weeks after the Times Square matchup.

“I hope you know I had nothing to do with Robert and his untimely ending,” she told me.

I looked at her, not believing her at first.

“His wife was inches away from killing him,” she continued. “And when I first went out there, it was mainly to do research and see what we could do to pay him off or scare him.”

I think I was a bit relieved when she told me this, but still a bit curious.

“Sure, we were probably going to scare him,” Cheryl continued. “Like have him wake up with a dead horse head in his bed like the Godfather or something,” she said.

I remember nodding, you know? As if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“But apparently my visit actually pushed her over the edge,” Cheryl told me. “The constant years of lying and cheating must have taken their toll on the poor woman because literally one hour after I left, he came home and she killed him.”

“So you didn't kill Robert?” I asked, too happy to express myself.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad that Robert is gone. But if it were because of me, I would have felt really horrible.

“No, but I helped her bury the body,” Cheryl said to me with a deadpan stare. “And if push came to shove, and I had to defend myself, there would be no question.”

I remember thinking maybe that was the best I could hope for.

And maybe to never mess with Cheryl. Ever.

So that took care of Simon. And Robert. Now, a year later from when the whole thing started I think I’ve turned a page in my life. That I’ve moved on.

I look up at Ethan, who’s staring at me and smirking as he looks at me, contented and sitting on the sofa.

“So,” I say, looking up at him. “I think since you interrupted my little session, you might be owing me something."

“I thought we were waiting till the wedding?” he asks me, deadpanning.

I pout. He’s right of course. Six months ago, as I was approaching my last trimester, Ethan proposed to me.

He told me he wanted to make an honest woman out of me before we got married.

I told him yes. I mean, come on, right? Why would I have doubts about marrying the man I love.

But I also told him I wanted to wait.

I wanted our daughter to be born first. And then have her at our wedding. I wanted to share the happiest day of my life with everyone that I loved, you know?

Plus, get a chance to work off all the pounds so I could still turn heads.

“You’re right,” I pout. Three weeks ago, we told each other that we’d re-virginize ourselves and not have sex till our wedding night.

The only problem is, our wedding is still another seven days away.

I know, stop rolling your eyes, hun. You’re probably asking yourself what’s seven days without sex, huh?

Don’t lie.

And just remember, seven days without sex may not seem like much, but when you’re living with the absolute hottest piece of man meat on the planet, every minute feels like a month.

“You can do it, babe,” Ethan says with a laugh and gets up as I stare at his rear. “Besides, we can’t get too crazy. Cheryl and Walter are bringing Anna back from the park.”

Anna. That’s our little baby girl’s name. She was 6 pounds and 3 ounces when she came out and she’s been the apple of her father’s eye since then. I’ve never in my life thought I’d see that day when Ethan Kane began to change diapers.

But it’s true.

Walter and Cheryl. That’s another surprise that I never saw coming. Turns out our assistants decided to follow the example that their bosses set and get together as well. Who would have thought it, huh?

But they balance each other out. Cheryl is strong where Walter is thoughtful. He’ll come up with the plan and Cheryl will make sure its executable.

Together they’ve been looking after Anna a lot and really taken to their godparent duties with gusto.

“We don’t have to get crazy if we’re quick,” I say to Ethan, standing up and sauntering over to him. He eyes me. I can feel his stare as it goes up and down my curvy body. I smile. I have him. “Besides, a blowjob isn’t sex, right? On the West Coast, they call it a California handshake.”

Ethan grows as my body presses against him. It’s been a long time for him too, and I can feel his hard cock tenting his dress pants.

“Oh, is that your cock, Ethan?” I ask as I rub up against his body. “It feels good, poking into my stomach. I want to run my mouth over the head. I want to lick it, suck it, and make it squirt.”

Ethan’s hands grab me and in that moment, it’s better than any virtual reality I could have had. I have the most amazing man in the world. And he’s all mine. Forever.

“Is that the best you got for me, Man Chaser?” Ethan asks me, pulling me close to him, his nostrils flaring.

“You think you can handle any more of me, Woman Tamer?” I shoot back.

Ethan smiles and I kiss him as he pushes me back to the sofa. My hands are grasping at his trousers and I unbuckle his belt and unzip him.

Sure, we said we’d wait.

But we’ll have plenty of waiting when Anna is back with Cheryl and Walter.

For now, it’s all about celebrating the times to cum.

121

Second Epilogue - As Told By Brittney

I know it’s been a while now since you first met me, but you ever wonder if things like this could really happen?

I do.

Or at least I did.

I mean, again, don’t tell Ethan, okay? But there are days where I literally wonder if I’m living in a dream.

I have the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Who seems to have a cock that that can do its own bench presses at times with the power and intensity that it idiots me with. I have a beautiful daughter. Living a gilded life in the skies of Manhattan.

But you know, none of this story would have ever been possible without Alexis.

That’s why when I walk into the master bedroom and see Ethan still getting ready, I tell him to hurry.

We don’t want to be late for the launch, that’s for sure.

“You know, usually it’s the woman that runs late,” I tell Ethan, rolling my eyes.

He glares at me. “You want to tell Cheryl that you have to go to a party when she’s going over the weekly schedule?”

I shrug. Cheryl is a sweetie, and I know Ethan realizes that.

“Besides, what’s this party for again?” he asks me.

I swear, he may be handsome and intelligent and sweet, but sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t have selective memory. Or selective hearing.

“Alexis invited us to the launch of her book,” I tell Ethan. “You know, like I told you at least three times this morning.”

“Oh, idiot. You’re right,” Ethan says. “What book again?”

Oh. My. Goodness.

I swear to…

That’s when I see Ethan smile and give me his infuriating but charming smirk.

“Got you, didn’t I?” he asks.

Ugh. Sometimes I love him, but I just want to punch him.

He comes over to me and stands close. “Here,” he says. “I got you this.”

He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me.

“What is it?” I ask even as I open it.

“Alexis wanted us to have it in case our lives ever got interesting again,” he tells me.

I look at it. Its a single paper.

With a few contact details.

Alexis Angel:

Email: author.alexisangel@gmail.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alexis.angel.754

Newsletter: Naughty Angels.

Newsletter Link: http://eepurl.com/cu4ET9

I look up at Ethan. “Do you think our lives will continue to be as interesting?” I ask him.

He smiles at me. I’m sure that our lives won’t be boring, but I wouldn’t really mind. As long as my family is around me.

“Well, you know, after Alexis wrote Red & Blue and the Governor and that Mayor the Senator, or Scandalous about the Mayor’s son his hot stepmom, or Client 5 about Arsen and his phone sex business, she’s been pretty hot,” Ethan says.

“I think the only thing I haven’t read by her is Jailbait,” I tell Ethan, rolling my eyes. This is old news to me. I’m the one that found Alexis, remember?

“Yeah, but did you know she also writes in collaboration with another author called Erin Wright? They’re going to have a new pen name called Mona Cox,” Ethan tells me.

I look over at him. Big, hulking, cut, ripped, whatever you want to call it. He’s talking to me about romance novels.

“Since when did you start reading the works of my author friends?” I ask him.

He smiles. “Since they started writing about the hot sex we have, babe,” he says to me.

He takes a step closer and I can already feel that giant monster sized cock of his poking me. I mean, 12 inches. It’s going to reach me before the rest of his body does if it’s hard.

“You know we have a party to go to,” I murmur as Ethan nuzzles his face on my neck.

“That’s what I’ve been doing the last half hour was reading her book about us, babe,” Ethan says. “And holy Goodness we are hot.”

Oh, don’t I know it. Remember, the whole thinking I’m in a dream?

“Brings back some memories, doesn’t it?” Ethan asks. “Reading about us.”

He’s right and just thinking back to what you’ve read in the last 75,000 words and actually remembering those experiences - I dunno - I don’t resist as I feel his hands grab my rear and pull me towards him.

In fact, I may actually be doing a little grinding of my pussy against his cock.

Whatever it is, it’s enough to bring us in for a kiss.

And then one more. And another.

Until Ethan unzips the zipper on my dress and lets it fall to the floor.

I stand there in my strapless bra and black lace thong.

“Turn around and bend over,” Ethan tells me. It’s not a question. More a statement of what I’m going to do.

Which I am more than happy to comply with.

As I turn around, I see the clock on the nightstand.

Oh, idiot. We’re going to be late. We can’t do this.

But then I feel his cock against my rear cheeks.

That pulsing, throbbing, giant cock of his. I feel his hands squeeze my rear. My body begins to tremble with lust.

And you know what? I can be late.

I’d rather get messed by this piece of gorgeous man meat right now than anything else in the world.

Alexis is a sweetie, though, so listen.

You’ve been with me this far. You’ve seen everything.

You’ve kept secrets when it was just me and you talking.

Can you do one last thing for me?

Can you email Alexis or tell her on Facebook that I’m going to be late? That Ethan and I are going to be late to her party.

Tell her, “They’re busy again.”

She’ll know what you mean.

Thank you so much, hun! Love you and hope you had fun!

Time For Some Cocks…Err I mean Cox

Ok, so that was Man Chaser. I really hope you liked it!

I’ve attached a Mona Cox book - Fiona Vs. Football Player.

Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an extended epilogue!

Our goal in this is simple.

To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us closer together we feel.

Thank you so much for reading!

xoxo

Alexis

Fiona Vs. Football Player

This quarterback? Total opposite of deflated "footballs"...

I don't even like football!

But I like Danny Manning....

He's hot. With an insane body. Just looking at it makes me melt.

When he talks to me, it makes my head spin in excitement.

And when he touches me, it makes me sigh in pleasure.

I can't get enough of the guy! And he knows that!

Sure, he's so famous that it's a bit hard to adjust.

I may or may not have let it all go to my head.

Now I'm playing with fire by becoming the media darling.

But it's a double-edged sword. I could end up going from America's Sweetheart to Public Enemy if I'm not careful.

But being careful is something I'm not good at.

Not when I'm around him.

We'll just have to see how much trouble this tight end and quarterback combination gets up to, won't we?

*** It's the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Football Player in this installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happy Ending? Always, babe ***

122

Fiona

“Oh my goodness, look at that one!” Christine is waving furiously, pointing at one of the guys on the field. I place my hand over my eyes, narrowing them into slits and trying to see the man Christine is pointing to.

“Which one? There are hot guys everywhere, Chris,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. I don’t know what it is about football players, but they just look so hot and indecent. The kind of men you don’t want to tell your mom about ... but exactly the kind of men you want to climb in through your bedroom window.

To be honest, I’m not a big football fan; Christine is. When I look down at the field, I barely have any idea what’s happening. All I see are hot men running around and crashing into each other, their corded muscles rippling on impact, and that’s just fine with me.

“Look!” Christine punches my shoulder without even bothering to look down at me. She’s standing up now, pointing frantically at one of the men standing close to us in one of those wonky formations right on the 50-yard line. That’s right, we’re this close to the action, right behind the platoon of photographers snapping photos of these hot pieces of—ahem, of the players. Ashley hooked us up with tickets, just one of the perks of having a man who’s a billionaire.

“Oh, I see him!” I squeal, finally realizing who Christine is pointing to—Danny Manning, the New York Nailers quarterback. You’ve heard of him, right? He was the Nailers' first pick two years ago, and now he’s on the fast track to earning his team its first Super Bowl ring in like ten years, which totally makes sense considering he’s the hottest piece of rear in the league.

“Goodness, just look at that…” Christine trails off, finally sitting down. Her mouth is hanging slightly opening, and I don’t even want to think about the kind of stuff she’s probably imagining right now. Not that I can blame her. There’s a lot of indecency going on inside my mind as well. But, hey, I’m single.

“Uh-uh, Chris, stop it. You already have Professor Hung just for yourself, leave a few men on the table, will you?”

“Looking isn’t sinning, that’s what my mom always said,” she simply shrugs, and I know she means it. She turned into a hopeless romantic after she started dating Anders Trask, her former college professor. He’s hot and, according to the ‘rumors’ (well, we egg Christine on to tell us all the dirty details), he’s also huge; I don’t have to explain that last one, do I?

“I don’t know about your mom, Chris, but I’d be down for some sinning with Danny…” I mutter, unblinking as I watch him position himself behind the offensive line. He has just instructed his team on some play, and now he's trotted to his position, his hands on his knees as he bends over.

When the ball flies into his hands, he’s on the move. He takes two steps back, sidesteps a linebacker with a graceful movement of his hips, and then cocks his arm back. The whole stadium seems to drown in silence as the ball leaves his hands and flies in an arch. There’s a roar as the ball finds its way straight into the hands of the Nailers’ wide receiver on the other end of the field, and the whole crowd goes insane as he dives into the end zone.

I know this happened because of the gigantic screen right in front of me, but in reality, my eyes have never left Danny Manning. Sweet Goodness, just watching him is enough to make my insides clench. He moves with a powerful dexterity, the muscles in his body working in perfect symmetry. And it’s quite a thing to witness; unlike some of the other players, Manning is all built on lean muscle, his skin stretched tight over his hard muscles. And I’m only talking about the parts that I can see… Just imagine how he must look under all that gear.

That’s when I notice it; Danny Manning’s looking straight at me. His whole team is celebrating a much-needed touchdown, and he’s just standing in the middle of the field, one hand on his hip and staring straight at me. Right now, I don’t know if my blood is flowing straight to my face or to between my thighs. I just stare back at him, completely dumbfounded, and only when he looks away do I realize that I was holding my breath.

“Oh. My. GOODNESS!” Christine yelps, grabbing my arm and shaking me. “He was looking at you! Danny Manning was looking at you!”

“He was,” I smile, suddenly feeling light headed. My eyes follow him as he sets up another play. “Look at him, Chris. He looks so… So… So idiotable!” I cry out, that warmness between my thighs turning into an uncomfortable wet feeling.

“Totally,” Christine agrees as Danny runs close to the sidelines, just a few feet away from us. “How big do you think he is?”

“I don’t know… But I wouldn’t mind finding out.” He runs past us again, and I turn my neck, following after him and devouring him with my eyes. By now, I completely forgot about the game. I don’t even know who’s winning—and who cares, really?

“You know, Chris,” I say, turning to her and looking away from Danny for the first time in a long while. “I’d totally idiot him if I had the chan--” The words get lost in my throat as I hear a few of the photographers close to us crying out. I turn to see what all the commotion is about, and I do it just in time to see a tall Nailers player crashing through the line of photographers and stumbling toward us, the ball clutched tight to his chest.

It’s Danny Manning, and I’m right in his way.

123

Danny

Three passing touchdowns in fewer than thirty minutes. I’m on fire, baby.

“Alright, guys,” I tell the team as they form a circle around me. “We’re gonna go with a flag play. Get me the ball and I’ll throw it far and wide. Just make sure you catch it,” I tell Anderson, the wide receiver, rapping my knuckles against his helmet. He grunts in response and then we’re back in formation.

By the time the balls gets to my hands, I’m ready to go. I take two steps back and, watching one of the Miami MILFs’ linebackers rush toward me, I sidestep him. I scan the field quickly and, the moment I see Anderson closing in on the end zone, I draw my arm back and just shoot the ball in an arch. I can feel everyone's eyes in this stadium following the ball’s trajectory, but a fraction of a second before it left my hands I already knew where it was going to land: right where Anderson is now. I smile as he grabs the ball and makes a run for it. There’s nothing the MILFs' defense can do now; by the time Anderson is a few feet away from the end zone, he jumps forward and crashes after the line.

Touchdown! And now that makes it four passing touchdowns in fewer than thirty minutes. Yeah, this year I’m going to smash every single team on my road to victory, and I won’t stop until I’m carrying this year’s Super Bowl trophy in my arms. What? I’m not being cocky; I just live to win, babe, whether you like it or not.

I start to run toward the end zone, ready to join in as my whole team celebrates another six points, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. There are two girls sitting by the 50-yard line, close to the reporters, and the blonde one is looking straight at me. Has she even seen the touchdown? She’s probably the only person in the whole stadium paying zero attention to the game.

Her eyes find mine and, in a fraction of a second, her whole face turns comically red. She looks cute, actually—bright eyes and an easy smile, not a trace of those faux high-maintenance qualities I’m so tired of. She looks like the perfect girl next door.

Okay, idiot. Enough of this. I have a game to win, I can’t be thinking of women right now. I turn my attention away from her and head down the field, mentally gearing up for the next play as our kicker snags one more point by kicking the ball between the uprights. But when I walk past the girls I can’t help but overhear a few snippets of their conversation, and they’re sure not talking about football. Did I hear the word idiotable?

I try to keep my head in the game for the next plays, but that girl has made a home out of my mind and I can’t focus right now. I’ve already made a fumble, and that’s my first one in the entire season. Idiot. And these two girls keep on talking about everything except the game. Now that my brain has been tuned to their voices, it seems that I can’t stop myself from hearing what they’re saying.

“How big do you think he is?” I hear the blonde girl’s friend ask, and I’m pretty sure they’re talking about me. Momentarily forgetting where I am, I turn my eyes toward the girls and that’s when someone screams my name; I turn just in time to see the ball flying toward me, and I somehow manage to catch it. Except it’s too late now; two of the MILFs' linebackers are already coming toward me, one coming from the right and the other from the left, and they’re more than ready to steamroll me. Lucky for me, my body acts on muscle memory alone, and I take a fast step back; then I make a quick turn to the right, and the linebackers crash against each other.

There’s a loud ooh and then a relieved aah coming from the crowd, and I jump back into action. It’s time to finish off these pussies for good. I start running down the field as fast as I can, trying to see a clear line of pass while trying to survive a whole team that wants to stomp me down. I’m running past the 50-yard-line, just a few feet away from the sidelines, when I notice that Anderson's open on the far end of the field. I cock my arm, ready to make another glorious winning pass, when a bright voice shoots a hole in my concentration.

“I’d totally idiot him if I had the chance,” I hear her say, and I instinctively know it’s that blonde girl from before. Idiot, I lost the moment and Anderson is down on the ground now. And to top it all, there’s a lineman headed straight for me, and another two blocking my path to the right. When I hear one of the MILFs' players coming from the right, completely blindsiding me, I try and pivot to the left to avoid a sack.

“Oh, garbage!” I hear one of the photographers cry out, but by then it’s already too late. I step off of the field, crashing through the line and the photographers, and stumbling my way off of the field like a raging tornado. I’m heading straight to that blonde girl and her friend, but I can’t stop my trajectory now. Step out of the way, ladies—incoming.

They jump out of their seats just in time; I crash on my back, right against where they were sitting, the ball still pressed tight against my chest. The seat under me seems like it’s broken now but, on the bright side, it seems like I got out of this in one piece.

I take a deep breath, ready to go back to the field, when my eyes find that blonde girl. She’s staring at me, her mouth hanging open as if she still hasn’t processed that I almost crashed into her.

Well, phoo, I might have ruined the play, but I’m not going to ruin this: still lying down on the ruins of the broken seats, I flash her my game-winning smile.

“Danny Manning, nice to meet you.”

124

Fiona

Holy garbage, what just happened?

One moment, I’m fantasizing about having Danny Manning between the sheets, and the next he literally crashes down on the place I’m sitting. I know I’m wet right now, but I never realized my pussy could summon hot guys like that. Now that’s a super power I don’t mind having.

“Danny Manning, nice to meet you,” he says with a grin, still sprawled over the seats with the ball in his hand, and I almost pass out. Someone pinch me; is this really happening?

“Fiona… Fiona Barnett,” I manage to say, looking at him in disbelief. Still with that smile on his face, he slowly goes up to his feet and starts ambling back to the field. When he walks past me he winks, and my knees start buckling. Around us, the photographers are going crazy, taking pictures of Danny as he keeps on smiling, acting as if he didn’t almost kill me just a few seconds ago.

When I go back to my seat—now a broken mess of twisted plastic—Christine is looking at me as if I have two heads.

“What?” I ask her. “Is it something on my face? My makeup?”

“Girl … Your makeup’s fine. But, incredible, he talked to you. He actually talked to you.”

“I know…” I merely say, hardly believing that one of the most famous athletes in the US—no, in the world!—just introduced himself to me on live television. Now he’s back on the field, and I bet that he has already forgotten about me. I mean, he’s Danny Manning; women throw themselves at his feet every time he steps outside his home. And I’m just Fiona, a normal girl trying to make her mark on the world as a lawyer. Well, as a Law student actually, but whatever. Details, details.

“Holy garbage!” Christine cries out, her eyes focused on what’s happening on the field. I follow her gaze just in time to see Danny sprinting down the sidelines, zigzagging between the Miami MILFs’ defense as quickly and easily as a hot knife cutting through butter. Now, I don’t know much about football, but I don’t think a quarterback is supposed to be rushing down the field. Still, that’s what Danny’s doing, and he seems hell bent of sprinting all the way down to the end zone.

“He’s not gonna make it,” Christine breathes out, grabbing my hand so tightly she might break a finger or two. In front of Danny is what looks like a giant, at least 7 feet high and weighing about a billion pounds. Danny’s just a few feet away from him, and at the speed he’s going there’s no way he’s going to avoid being tackled. Except that’s exactly what he does; as the lineman throws himself forward to grab Danny by the waist, he crouches and then jumps, his legs working as coils to send him flying over the Miami MILFs’ giant. Somersaulting over the lineman, he somehow manages to land on his feet right in the end zone.

Everyone goes nuts.

The photographers are acting all crazy, and the roar that comes from the crowd behind us is deafening. Even Christine’s on her feet, screaming as loud as she can and clapping her hands. I figure Danny’s touchdown is going to be a viral hit on YouTube the moment the game’s over, which is just a formality by now, really, the scoreboard makes that pretty clear. With only ten minutes to go on the clock, the MILFs are down 27 points.

The game ends with one more perfect pass from Danny, leading to another touchdown for the Nailers with seconds on the clock. When the referee finally stops the game (or shall I say the massacre?), some of the Nailers’ players start doing laps around the field, carrying Danny on their shoulders like he’s the second coming of Christ. There’s going to be a lot of money to be made selling Danny Manning jerseys tonight, that’s for sure.

“We should leave now if we want to beat the traffic,” I tell Christine, but she’s still staring at Danny’s victory lap, her eyes suddenly widening so much her eyes almost jump from their orbits.

“Fiona …” she whispers, raising one finger and pointing behind me. I turn on my heels, my eyes following the direction of her finger, and I can barely believe what I’m seeing. Danny’s jogging across the field, a grin on his face, and he’s coming straight toward us.

My legs grow weak, and the urge to simply run away takes over me. But I'm frozen in place, watching my mouth hanging open as Danny strolls toward me, an army of reporters trailing after him, and at least a dozen cameras transmitting the whole thing live.

“Fiona,” he says the moment he gets close enough. The reporters surround us both, recording the whole thing and snapping pictures, and I feel like I’m some kind of movie star in the middle of one important scene. “Can I have your number?”

I almost pinch myself. Is he really asking for my phone number, or am I dreaming this whole thing? He takes a pen out of the hand of a journalist and then just looks at me, waiting with that confident grin of his.

Still feeling as if I’m inside a dream, I give him my number and he jots it down on his forearm in big wide numbers.

“How does tomorrow sound? 8 pm at Per Se,” he asks me, lowering his voice so that only I can hear it, and I have to blink twice to understand what he’s saying.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“I sure am,” he says, taking one step toward me. He towers over me, and I become so wet I might just pass out from dehydration, if that’s even possible. “8 pm at Per Se, I’ll meet you there,” he whispers, leaning in toward me.

“8 pm. Per Se,” I repeat after him, completely stunned. With one final wink, he turns on his heels and jogs back to the field, the army of reporters following after him.

“Incredible,” I hear Christine say by my side, as stunned as I am. “You have a date with Danny Manning.”

Incredible indeed.

125

Danny

The limo stops outside of Pink Elephant and I get out and survey the line waiting out the door of the nightclub.

You ever seen a NFL game and the post game highlights? Sure you have, if you don't live under a rock. Well, you always see some of the players dressed up to the nines, right?

Suit and tie. All showered and changed. Despite the fact that just an hour ago they were sweaty and gross.

Sure, they probably have scars, bruises, cuts, and even broken bones. But even with that internal bleeding they put on fly clothes. Dressed to impress.

Well, this is why.

I pause for a second before the press realizes that I'm standing there, which they do soon enough. That's when the cameras go off and the flash bulbs burn.

I mean, don't get me wrong. There's about sixty guys from the team over here tonight. We're here to celebrate a win that we weren't expecting after all.

Pink Elephant is only the hottest nightclub in New York City right now. Situated in the Meatpacking District, it's got a vibe that gets the girls wet.

I mean, you can just see from looking around. They're turned around, looking at the players. They're licking their lips, touching their breasts. They're bending over. They're turning around..

In short, their doing everything that you would expect these women to do for football players.

I'm not going to say I've never indulged.

Idiot, actually the opposite. I think I've probably messed most of the girls in this line. But you know what? I never told them that I wanted to marry them, or put a baby in their belly. Never even told them that I wanted to go steady or anything of the sort. Heck, I really never even told them that I would see them past the weekend. But that didn't stop them from dropping their clothes and getting on their knees. From taking my cock into their mouths and then climbing on top of me after they've gotten me good and hard. From turning over and getting on all fours as I amorally shucked into them and gave it to them doggie.

By the morning, they were forgotten, having been taken home by my limo.

But they still held hope. That one day ...

"Hey Danny," a random female from the pack yells. And all of a sudden, like a wave, they all seem to turn.

I pause for a second as I think about what's going to happen.

I'm going to go into the club. I'll probably pick up two or three of these women along the way. Take them out of line. Put my arms around them. Get some bottle service. Wine the women. As they're drinking run my hands along their bodies. Feel their legs. Squeeze their rear. Rub my hand under their skirt. Move that thong to one side. Stick a finger in that puss. Pull it out. Have them lick it. Lean back, let their hands unbuckle my belt. Let their fingers wrap around my cock. Watch them as they stroke my cock. Lean back as they lick it with their tongues.

And eventually, if we don't do it in the club, then I take them back to my limo where they hike up their dress and climb onto my massive schlong, and then they ride it till they come hard. And then I let them out of the car, and never have to see them again.

But none of that makes sense anymore … not after today's game.

After seeing Fiona.

Her blonde hair, her perfectly gorgeous face with those wide, innocent looking eyes and sexy lips.

Those belly. So perky. That slender body. That fantastic rear.

No.

It's not happening tonight.

Not till I find out more about her. About Fiona.

Ignoring the looks of disappointment from the ladies in line, I turn around, and with a sigh, get back into the limo. I tell the driver to take me home.

126

Fiona

“You lucky girl,” Becca cries out so loudly that I have to push the cellphone away from my ear. “Danny Manning! I’m so jealous!”

It’s a quarter to eight, and I’m already on my way to the restaurant. I was such a nervous wreck that I grabbed my phone and called Becca, for moral support. She saw it all happen on live TV, and we already talked about it the moment I got home from the game, but every time Danny Manning comes up she acts like it’s the first time she’s hearing about it. I guess it isn't every day that a world famous athlete asks a regular girl out.

“Don’t be so jealous,” I tell her, looking out at the street through the windows of the car. “He’s a football player… It’s not like he’s going to have the manners of a prince or a billionaire,” I say, trying not to get my hopes up. I mean, I have to be realistic about the whole thing.

Manning is rich and famous, but he’s known because of his athletic prowess … not because of his manners, about which I know nothing. As far as I know, he might just be a jerk who wants to get inside my pants, and then I’ll never hear from him again. And that’s if I’m lucky. Nothing guarantees that he even remembers about our date. I wouldn’t be that surprised to find an empty table when I get to Per Se. Which would be a shame, since I spent almost two hours with Becca, picking the perfect dress, and another hour putting on the perfect makeup.

I might not be a top model, but I think that I’m up to the challenge. I’m wearing a classy black dress, and it hugs my curves like the hands from a caring lover. It ends right above my knee, and I’m hoping it’s the perfect combination of sexy and classy.

“C’mon, Fee, don’t act all depressed like you’re on death row. You’re about to have the time of your life!” She continues in that excited tone of voice, so loud that my Uber driver can probably hear the whole conversation. In fact, I notice that he has eyed me once or twice through the rearview mirror, and I’m pretty sure that he has already recognized me as the girl from the Nailers/MILFs game.

After the game ended, a lot of news stations had a field day. They started with the crushing defeat the MILFs suffered at the hands of the Nailers, and then highlighted Danny’s amazing performance throughout the whole game (I think they replayed his touchdown a gazillion times). To wrap it all up in a neat little bow, it seems that every segment about the game ended with the “lucky girl by the 50-yard-line.” That’s me, by the way.

If Danny’s touchdown got to be played on an almost endless loop, what's to say about the way he asked for my number? 2 million views on YouTube and counting, and it’s only been 24 hours. So far, though, I don’t think anyone has discovered who that “lucky girl” really was, or I’d suspect my cell phone would be ringing every single minute.

“I just don’t want to get my hopes too high, ya know? As far as I know, he might even be a jerk.”

“Oh, sure, but he’d be a hot jerk nonetheless!” Becca cries out, exasperated. “That’s just like you… You won the lottery and are complaining about it! Cheer up and enjoy it. Some women would straight up commit murder to switch places with me… And I have to be honest, I kinda would've done it last night if that placed me in the same room as Danny Manning.”

“Thanks, Becca. It’s nice to know that my roommate is a psycho.”

“No problem,” she laughs, “I thought you'd already figured that out by now.”

“And here we are,” the driver tells me, looking at me through the rearview mirror with a smile. I look out the window again, the Time Warner Center twin towers towering over the traffic. I thank him with a nod and a smile and, as the car halts to a stop right in front of the entrance, I step out onto the street. “Good luck with your date!” The driver waves at me before driving off. Am I some kind of celebrity for the day?

“So, I’m here. Which is the Per Se floor?” I ask Becca as I blend with the crowd.

“The fourth! You’re gonna love it, Fee,” she continues in that excited tone. She seems as excited about the fact that I’ll be having dinner at Per Se as she is about my date with Danny. According to her, it’s not that easy to get a reservation at Per Se.

I head straight through one of the elevators, my heart suddenly deciding to pick up the pace. Okay, calm down, Fiona; this is just a date, I try and tell myself, but I’m not sure if it’s working.

When I finally see the entrance to Per Se, I suddenly feel my heart sinking. The place is completely deserted and, for a restaurant as acclaimed as this, it can only mean that it’s not open for the public today.

“Becca, remember when I told you he might not even show up?” I start, feeling as if someone kicked me in the stomach. I mean, Danny has my phone number, but I doubt he’ll even bother to call.

I’m glancing at the empty dining area, and about to turn on my heels to leave, when I finally see him. He’s sitting at a table in the center of the room, wearing a tailored black suit that fits his built frame perfectly. In his hands there’s a rose.

“Yeah, what’s happening, Fee?”

“Oh, my. Gotta go, babe. I’m about to be swept off my feet.” Without waiting to hear Becca’s reply, I end the call and stuff the phone inside my purse.

With a deep breath, I walk inside Per Se and head straight toward the man I spent the whole night dreaming about.

127

Danny

Do you know how hard it was to book a whole restaurant like Per Se on a day’s notice? We’re talking 3 Michelin stars.

Not easy, that much I can tell you. But after last night’s game, my name carries some weight in New York. I just had to pull a few strings and now here I am, the whole dining room to myself.

It’s five to eight, so Fiona should be here soon. I don’t know what came over me to ask her out like that yesterday, but that’s just how I do things. I can be impulsive. If something feels right, I do it without a second thought.

It’s funny, though; I have models and actresses dying for a few minutes of my time, and I don’t really care for them and their fake plastic belly. Sure, you know, it feels good for a night … but that’s it.

Now, with Fiona I’m even wearing my best suit. My lucky suit, in fact, the one I was wearing when the Nailers picked me in the draft. I even bought a rose on the way here, and I never do stuff like that. I don’t think most women deserve to be treated like princesses, to be honest—at least the ones I know. Most of them are just pampered socialites looking for a free ride, trying to leech off my success. But this Fiona … she’s just a regular girl, and I want to do this right. Okay, idiot, I’ll admit it; she also looks hot, and that helps. But I’m not saying I’m going to harass her, okay? I just want to do something nice for a change.

I look at my watch; it’s eight o’clock sharp, and then I turn my gaze toward the entrance. And there she is—and idiot, she looks completely stunning. She’s wearing a tight dress that makes her look even hotter than she looked back at the stadium, and her straight blonde hair looks perfect for grabbing when I bend her over and—idiot, I need to chill out.

She’s talking on the phone, peeking at the dining area and, when her eyes meet mine, her whole face brightens. She places the phone in her purse and walks inside the restaurant, elegantly swaying her hips in a way that makes my cock twitch with a kind of raw instinct.

I take a deep breath as I hear her heels clicking across the floor, and I go up to my feet before she reaches our table.

“Glad you could make it,” I say, and her cheeks grow red before I’ve even finished speaking. I pull her chair back, acting like a true gentleman (no matter what the newspapers say, I can act like one), and then go back to my seat.

“I don’t think you’ve left me another choice, you know? After you asked me out on live TV, I think I’d end up looking like an idiot if I turned you down,” she tells me with a confident smile. I can tell that she’s feigning her confidence; she’s trying hard not to look me in the eyes, and that tells me she’s a nervous wreck right now.

“Who cares?” I shrug. “Looking good, looking bad… It’s all the same, Fiona. I don’t live my life according to what the media expects of me, and you shouldn’t either.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, finally looking straight at me. Her eyes are of a clear blue, a little piece of heaven hidden in her iris, and I almost forget that I’m on a date with her. I just prop my elbows up on the table and lose myself in how beautiful she looks. Forget about all these top models; they have nothing on this girl.

“I hope that asking me out wasn’t just a marketing stunt or something like that,” she says with a smile, slowly looking more confident with each passing second.

“Do you see any reporters around?” I ask her, waving my hand at the empty restaurant. “If I wanted to make a show out of this, I’d have wanted this place packed… But it’s not. And if I did all this for show, I wouldn’t have brought you this,” I grab the rose in front of me and hand it to her, the tip of my fingers brushing against the palm of her small hands as I do it, “where nobody can see me do it.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, looking me straight in the eyes and finally feeling at ease. I’m used to girls being intimidated by me; I’m rich, world famous, and I look better than Adonis himself. Not to mention the baseball bat I have dangling between my legs, but now's not the time to be bragging about stuff like that, is it?

“Don’t mention it,” I tell her as the sole waiter in the restaurant comes up to us. I order the tasting menu, not even knowing what half of the stuff in there really is, and a bottle of French red wine.

After we get the formalities out of the way—she’s a law student, I’m a quarterback, rubbish like that—and after we order a second bottle of red, her mood seems to improve considerably. While she started the evening as a shy girl completely star-struck by me, she’s now acting more confidently than most women I know.

“You like to show off,” she teases me, talking about last night’s game. “Most of the stuff you do on the field is completely for show, isn’t it? Like, did you really have to somersault over that guy?”

“Did you see his size? It was either that or be carried off to a graveyard after being hit by him.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she continues, taking a long gulp out of her wine. “I bet that a guy your size could handle a tackle like that.”

“A guy my size?” I ask her, arching one eyebrow and realizing that we’re changing gears in this conversation. For a petite girl she looks like she’s in control of the whole conversation. Which is good, for once in my life I can act like a regular human being, instead of a cardboard star athlete. I know I shouldn’t be complaining about this (after all, most guys would kill to be in a situation such as mine), but being used by women as a human dildo gets old pretty quickly. Sure, most of them also try to put a collar on me, hell bent on parading me around like some kind of big prize, but I never allowed that to happen. I might earn a living like an athlete, but that doesn’t mean I’m dumb. Far from it, in fact: before playing in the League, I graduated with honors from Wharton. Don’t act all surprised, babe; I’m much more than just a piece of meat.

“A guy your size,” she repeats, the grin on her face telling me she’s talking about more than just my height.

“You know nothing about my size.” I finish my glass of wine and then just stare at her, allowing that electric feeling to settle around us. Idiot, remember when I told you that I wasn’t thinking about her? Yeah, forget about that. Right now I want nothing more than to get her naked.

“But I’m going to find out all about your size, aren't I?”

“You were the one saying you’d idiot me if you had the chance,” I say, my grin widening as my heart starts pumping boiling blood to my cock. If this conversation keeps going in this direction, soon enough I’m going to have an erection so massive that I’m going to overturn the table.

“A deal is a deal,” she shoots back.

Touchdown, it seems.

“Check, please!” I tell the waiter.

Time to get out of here.

128

Fiona

We leave the restaurant in a hurry. No wonder, though, after the conversation heated up, I knew how our night would end up: with my clothes on the floor.

By the time we got out of the Time Warner Center building, Danny already had a valet waiting with his Aston Martin out front. A few heads turned as some people noticed whom the owner of the car was, and I had to wait while a few kids surrounded Danny, asking for autographs and selfies. I waited patiently by the car, anxious to be alone with him. I usually don’t do stuff like this, getting naked on the first date, but this is Danny Manning we’re talking about! And more than just being famous, he actually proved to be a perfect gentleman. I mean, what kind of guy bothers to bring a rose on the first date? That’s like something out of a Jane Austen novel. Sure, I prefer my novels hotter than what Jane Austen writes, but you won’t hear me complain about being swept off my feet by a perfect gentleman with manners straight out of the early 19th century.

“Where are we going?” I ask him as he finally leaves his fans behind and opens the passenger door for me.

“Trump Tower,” he replies, getting behind the wheel and revving up the engine. My insides burn up as he tells me our destination: from the Time Warner Center to Trump Tower is a quick drive, probably less than five minutes. Thank goodness.

“I didn’t know you lived there,” I try and make small talk with him as we cruise through Manhattan’s heavy traffic.

“Why would you? It’s not like I have billboards around town telling people where I live.” Fair point. “Besides, I rarely bring people over. “

“By people, you mean … women?”

He chuckles, the sound of his voice turning my pussy into a wet mess. Goodness, I can’t wait to get out of the car and inside his pants.

“Yeah, especially women. I don’t want to risk having a crazy stalker knowing where I live.”

“And what if I’m a crazy stalker?” I tease him, placing one hand on his knee and sliding it up to between his legs. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but I just can’t control myself right now.

“I guess that’s why they invented restraining orders,” he fires back at me, his grin widening as I place my open palm right on his crotch. His cock is already tenting his pants, and I guess he wasn’t joking when he told me I knew nothing about his size. It’s like he doesn’t have a cock between his thighs, but a lighthouse. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything this huge in my entire life.

Thank goodness he stops in front of the Trump Tower in no time, or else I think I’d just go nuts and blow him right on the ride to his place. Don’t judge me; I have no idea what’s happening to me. I’m usually a well-behaved girl, I swear!

“Take good care of it,” he tells the valet, handing him his car keys. I follow him inside the massive building like a lost pup. I’ve never been inside one of these luxury apartments, let alone messed by a luxury kind of guy. I guess I really won the lottery yesterday. God bless Ashley, if it weren’t for her tickets I’d be home right now, my nose buried in a massive constitutional law tome.

“Here it is,” Danny finally announces, sliding his magnetic key card through the slit and pushes the double doors to his apartment open. He takes a step back, allowing me to enter his place before he does, and I almost gasp as I step one foot inside. The place is gigantic!

To my right there’s a stairway that leads to an upper floor, and right in front of that there’s a living room bigger than my whole apartment. The decor is pretty modern, all the furniture having modern straight lines that compliment the stoic black and white colors of the walls.

But I’m not here as a decorator, am I? I turn on my heels, my heart tightening up inside my chest as I finally accept what’s about to happen: I’m going to mess Danny Manning, one of the most coveted bachelors in New York City.

“Where’s the bedroom?” I ask him, not wanting to waste a single second.

“Who needs a bed?” he asks, taking one step toward me and closing the distance between us. He leans in, and my eyelids droop by instinct. Our lips touch and it suddenly becomes real: I’m really kissing him. And, by the heavens, he tastes delicious, just like a real man should. His lips fit on mine perfectly and, as he holds me by the hips, I suddenly can’t recall a kiss more perfect than this one.

“I like a girl who keeps her promises,” he says, looking me in the eye.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll let you off the hook,” I respond, resting my hands on his waist. “You’ll have to make it worth my while.”

“Fiona,” he whispers, and a shiver goes up my spine as I hear my name rolling over his tongue, “you’re in good hands.” That much I can’t dispute; his big hands sure seem to fit perfectly on my curves.

“I don’t doubt it… I just hope you’ll be using more than your hands,” I purr, moving one hand over his belt and suddenly flattening it against his crotch. A grin dawns on his face as he feels the pressure of my hand.

“I’ll be using far more than just my hands,” he says, and I feel the shape under his pants hardening against my fingers. Whatever monstrosity he’s hiding between his pants, it keeps on growing and growing until my hand feels much smaller than it really is. “Surprised?” he asks, noticing the amazement that has taken over my face. “You shouldn’t be.”

I’m at a loss for words, my brain busy with trying to comprehend how big he really is. At least ten inches—wait, no, he’s even bigger than that. Twelve? Oh goodness, is he even human? I didn’t think that cocks as huge as his existed in the real world. I’m sorry, Christine, I doubt that Professor Hung can hold a candle to Danny.

I curl my fingers around his thick shape, my heart tightening in my chest as I realize that not only is he big, he’s also insanely thick; it feels like he stuffed a large can of coke inside his pants. How in the world is such a cock going to fit inside my pussy? I can barely grab it using just one hand!

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he says, reading the worry in my eyes. “Well, I’ll try.” He pushes me back then, one hand still on my waist and the other going to my nape, tangling his long fingers in my hair. He only stops when my back is against the wall, his body pressed against mine. I keep my hand on his crotch, my fingers tightly curled around his hard cock and—gasp—it seems even bigger than before now.

“No,” I find myself saying, and he arches one eyebrow at that. “Don’t be gentle,” I continue, tightening my fingers around his cock and grinning wildly. I’m with Danny Manning right now; being gentle with him would just be a waste, don’t you think? I want him to be as wild and fierce as he’s on the field—perhaps even more.

“If that’s what you want,” he whispers, yanking on my hair and forcing my head back, “then that’s what you’ll get.” He lays his mouth on my neck, kissing in a straight line until his lips are on mine again. Pushing his way inside my mouth with his tongue, his kiss grows fiercer and savage, the hand he has on my waist going down until it meets the hemline of my dress.

Moving his hand under my dress, he slides it up until his fingers are brushing against my inner thighs, my pussy so wet that I can already feel my thong sticking to my skin. With a sudden movement, he flattens the palm of his hand right between my thighs, his long fingers pressing against my wetness as I gasp.

“Oh goodness,” I breathe out, throwing my head back against the wall and closing my eyes. He starts rubbing my pussy with slow teasing strokes, and my hips start moving by instinct, grinding against his open hand.

“You’re a mess down here,” he whispers, leaning in and brushing his full lips against my ear. “I like that… I like that a lot.”

“I bet you do,” I manage to say, a sudden burst of confidence filling me. “But you’ll like it even more.”

“Is that so?” he whispers again, pressing harder against my pussy and making me gasp once more. “Now you’ve made me curious…” Trailing off, he takes his hand off of my pussy and starts kissing my neck. His lips go down to my cleavage and, grabbing at the straps of my dress, he pulls them down my arms. Pushing the fabric down, he only stops when my dress is bunched up around my waist.

I reach for his hair and, grabbing it, I pull him into me. He doesn’t fight back, allowing his mouth to fly straight to between my belly. He kisses me in the valley between my breasts, sliding both his hands up my back until he finds the clasp of my bra. With a quick flick of his fingers, he unhooks it, and then pushes the straps down my arms.

“Much better,” he grins, his eyes focused on my belly as he lets the bra float down to the floor. Without allowing me enough time for a response, he dives into me once more. His lips go over the curve of my right breast, closing in on my hard nipple. Using only his tongue, he starts circling it, driving me completely mad. I grab his hair fiercely, forcing him to move his mouth straight to my nipple but, this time, he resists me.

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” he says, looking up at me with that maddening grin of his. Finally, though, he flicks his tongue against my hard rosy tip and I let out out one quivering moan. Moving fast now, he wraps his lips around my nipple and starts sucking harder, battering against my aching tip with the tip of his tongue. With his free hands he squeezes my right breast, my skin burning up as I succumb to the touch of his fingers. “You’re delicious,” he whispers, pulling back from my kiss and looking at me in the eye. “But I want to taste the main course,” he continues, slowly going down on his knees. My heart almost explodes as I realize what he has in mind.

“It’s all yours,” I tell him, my voice heavy and full of lust. Without bothering to push my dress down, he slides his two hands under the fabric and then hikes it up to my waist. Without even giving me enough time to prepare myself for what’s about to happen, he just dives into me, and presses his open mouth against the drenched fabric of my thong.

I arch my back and, without even knowing what the heck I’m doing, I lift one leg up and place it over his shoulder. With my pussy now perfectly angled, Danny starts sucking on me with such an eagerness that you’d say he’s the one who's star struck, not me. My skin prickles as I feel his lips on me, my thong the only barrier between us, and I can barely believe how good it feels.

“More,” he whispers, and I have no idea if he’s talking to me or to himself. Either way, he takes his fingers to between my thighs and, grabbing at my thong, he flicks it to the side and bares my wet pussy.

A shiver goes up my spine as he brushes his index finger over my drenched folds, and when he starts moving it up and down I can’t help but moan. My voice explodes in the silence of his apartment like a song of pleasure, and I thrust my hips against him, anxious to feel his fingers or his mouth on me. I’ve seen what he’s capable of when inside the field, now I want to know what other things he can do with his fingers and mouth… And with his cock, of course, but that comes later.

“You really don’t know what patience means, do you?” he asks me, looking up at me with a teasing smile. I just bite on my lower lip, my eyes locked on his as I run my fingers through his hair, urging him to carry on. “Oh, well,” he chuckles, and then presses his open mouth against my pussy. I moan even louder than before as he sucks on my inner lips, using his tongue to lap at them.

Using the leg I have over his shoulder to lock him in place, I start thrusting, rubbing my pussy against his mouth as he devours me. With my eyelids closed shut, I let my consciousness be dragged down into a world of pure pleasure, each time he flicks his tongue against me feeling like lightning crashing down on me.

He keeps going until I no longer know if I’m moaning or screaming, my voice just another constant in a sea of ecstasy.

“It feels so good,” I tell him, still grabbing at his hair. The moment these words leave my mouth, he takes one hand to my pussy and presses his thumb over my clit, immediately moving it viciously in a circular motion. “Oh, idiot,” I breathe out, pleasure pooling inside my muscles. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to take this without—oh goodness, forget about that. I’m going to come, and it’s going to happen right now.

Exhaling sharply, I let a wave of mind-bending ecstasy crash against both my mind and body, every single muscle in my body twitching and trembling as my nerve endings become overloaded.

I start hissing through my gritted teeth, yanking on Danny’s hair and forcing me against my pussy so harshly that I don’t even know if he can breathe. Only when pleasure starts to subside do I let go of him, slowly placing my leg back on the floor. He pulls back from me and I force my eyelids open. I can’t help but grin as, looking down at him, I notice my fluids dripping down his chin. I reach for him and, with two fingers under his jaw, I make him get up until he’s on my level.

“Like I said … Delicious,” he tells me, leaning in and crushing his mouth against mine. A violent shiver climbs up my spine as I taste my pussy in his mouth. Delicious, he says, and I can’t help but agree.

“My turn,” I tell him, pulling back from our kiss and running my tongue between my lips. I place both my hands on his chest and push him back, driving him across the living room. Grabbing his arm, I force him to sit down in his oversized (really, must everything about Danny be this big) sofa and then climb on his lap, straddling him. With both hands on his shoulders, I pull his jacket down his arms and then start unbuttoning his shirt, patiently taking care of each button.

Anticipation builds inside of me as my knuckles brush against his ripped muscles on the way down and, as I bare his perfect eight-pack, I feel a violent urge dancing in my mind. I untuck the rest of his shirt and push it down his arms in a hurry; then I move my hands from his waist to his chest, feeling every hard curve of his chiseled chest. I didn’t think I could become wetter, but I guess I was wrong about that.

Yanking on his hair, I lean in to kiss him again, my belly pressed tight against his pectorals. He takes his hands to my rear, squeezing my cheeks as I start swaying my hips, moving my pussy up and down the length of his shaft. Even though he still has his pants on, I can already tell that I’m in for a treat.

Grinding against him as hard as I can, I then force myself to roll to the side. My hands dart straight to his waist, and I take care of his belt as fast as I can, unbuckling it and pulling it out from its loops with a sudden movement. Breathing hard, I remove the top button on his pants and then, as slowly as I can, start unzipping his fly. His cock strains against his boxer briefs as if it has a life of its own, pushing against the back of my hand with a fierceness that makes me bite on my lower lip in excitement. Fate threw a chance (or shall I say a cock?) like this at me, and I’m not letting it go to waste.

Hooking my fingers on his pants, I push them down his legs as he kicks off his shoes, and then I take a couple of seconds to marvel at the perfect man sitting by my side. If you’ve ever seen him on TV you already know that Danny is handsome and ripped as only a few men can be, but you wouldn’t believe how truly gorgeous he is like this, only in his boxer briefs… I hope I don’t have an aneurysm when I see him completely naked. I’m a bit afraid it might be too much for my innocent little brain to handle. But, oh well, what’s life without risk?

Locking eyes with him, I curl my fingers around the hem of his boxer briefs and then I tug them down as violently as I can. His cock springs free at once, as huge as I thought it would be. I’m thinking thirteen inches, ladies. And the thickness… Goodness on a bike, he could use his cock as a baseball bat. I figure that if he ever grows tired of football he can probably make it as a baseball player.

“Like what you see?” he asks me, pushing his boxers down his legs. I open my mouth to reply, but I have no idea what to say.

“I love it,” I tell him, settling for the truth. “It’s… It’s huge!” I cry out, reaching for his gigantic cock and curling my fingers around it. Its warmness spreads to my fingers and travels all the way to my pussy, a burning need to impale myself on his long inches raging inside of me. But there’s something I must do first; I need to taste him.

Never taking my eyes out of his, I start flicking my wrist, stroking him at a steady pace. My hand goes up and down in hypnotic strokes and, when I realize what I’m doing, I’m already leaning toward him.

I part my lips and stop just before my mouth is on him; I use my tongue to touch the tip of his cock, and I close my eyes as I feel his salty warmness against me. I run my tongue in circles and then, unable to resist him a second longer, I go further down and wrap my lips around his tip.

There’s no other way to put it: he tastes amazing, just like a real man should. Slowly, I start rolling my lips down his shaft, only stopping when I feel his tip pressed against the back of my throat. He’s so big that my lips aren’t even touching the skin on the root of his cock. If he thrusts right now I seriously think he’d kill me.

I close my eyes then, savoring him; I start to bob my head up and down and, at the same time, I place one hand between his legs and cup his balls. Much like his cock, they also come in XL size; in my small hands, they feel like tennis balls.

“Idiot, that’s good,” Danny groans, placing both his hands on top of my head and guiding my movements. I let him take the lead, using the pressure of his fingers on my scalp like my map. Picking up the pace, I go so fast that the muscles in my neck start cramping up; lucky for me, he tangles his fingers in my hair and makes me stop moving. Then, without taking a break, he starts to thrust, pistoning his cock into my mouth and—no other way to put it—it hard.

“Let’s see if…” he breathes out, pushing my head back and making his cock pop out of my mouth with a wet sound, “...your pussy is as tight as your mouth.” With that, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me on top of him. Before I can even react, he grabs his cock and starts brushing it against my soaked pussy. He rubs its tip up and down the length of my pussy and then feeds one inch of it into me; I let out one wild scream, and I’m only reacting to his thickness.

His shaft strains against my insides, pushing my inner walls back and stretching me so wide that I doubt I’ll ever be the same. Slowly, he starts sliding his whole length inside of me, only stopping when all of it is buried deep.

“Oh goodness,” I moan, my insides burning so fiercely that it feels like I’m breathing in smoke and my heart is pumping ashes through my veins. I can’t even open my eyes, and breathing feels like a chore. When he starts to thrust… Oh, when he starts to thrust that fire grows into a raging inferno, each stroke of his cock like a bomb going off inside of me.

When my mind finally starts working again, I start swaying my hips, trying to match his rhythm. It doesn’t take long for him to stop thrusting and allow me to take the lead. And that’s exactly what I do; with both arms thrown over his shoulders, I ride him as if my life depends on it. I go as fast as I can, and beads of sweat are already forming on my forehead, a stray lock of hair plastered to my skin.

“I was wrong,” he groans, placing both hands on my rear and feeling the flowing way with which I move my body, “your pussy is even tighter than your mouth.” His voice climbs inside my ears and flies past my eardrums, caressing my brain like sweet venom. And that does it for me; throwing my head back, I grit my teeth and hiss like a mad woman, coming for the second time tonight.

That fire inside of me spreads from my loins to every extremity in my body, consuming everything in its wake. It feels like a sharp needle is stabbing every single one of my nerve endings. I never felt something like this. His cock is not only gigantic, it’s magical as well, it seems.

“Tired already, babe?” he asks me, tucking that stray lock of hair over my ear. I make the effort to open up my eyes and, with a sly grin, I just roll to the side and lay down on the couch, spreading my legs wide.

“What do you think?” I tease him, sliding one hand down from between my belly and moving it straight to my clit. Using only two fingers, I start rubbing it as I bite on my lower lip, inviting him in.

“Good girl,” he whispers, placing his body on top of mine. Grabbing his cock, he pushes it down until its tip is against my pussy. This time he doesn’t tease me; no, he goes straight for the kill, sheathing his cock in me up to the hilt. I gasp as he does it, crossing my legs on his lower back and my arms around his neck. My fingers are digging into his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t even seem to notice; he just keeps on thrusting, me as if we only have minutes to live. His movements are so fast and vicious that I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow. But who cares? Right now my only concerns can be summed up in one simple word: pleasure.

“Harder,” I whisper against his ear and, obedient, he starts to thrust with such a fury that even my bones seem to be rattling. He pounds me so hard that, even though I’m just lying down, beads of sweat start sliding down my forehead.

I open my mouth to scream, but all that leaves my lips is a faint croak of ecstasy; I come like that, barely able to utter a sound. My muscles start to twitch, and I bury my fingernails so deep in his flesh that it’s a wonder I’m not drawing blood.

“You’re… You’re…”

“Amazing, I know,” he completes my sentence, softly kissing me as he pulls out.

“Yes, that’s the word,” I smile, suddenly feeling so spent that smiling is the only thing I can do. Without another word, he goes up to his feet and picks me up from the couch. Carrying me in his arms, he crosses the living room and goes up the stairway; in the upper floor of his apartment, he goes straight for the bedroom, gently placing me down on the mattress.

Lying down on the place he sleeps every day somehow energizes me, and I summon the hidden reserves of energy inside of me. I roll to the side and then, lying flat on my stomach, I push myself up. Now on all fours, I start wiggling my rear as an invitation.

“Tired already?” I throw the question he asked me before right back at him, and a wild grin dances on his lips. He comes up to me, hooks his fingers on my thighs, and then pulls me to the edge of the bed. Still standing, he angles his cock down and thrusts at once, resting both his hands on my rear cheeks. Without even waiting for him, I start to thrust my rear back, igniting the movement of both our bodies. Soon enough, the sound of flesh on flesh, my cheeks slapping his thighs, fills his whole bedroom. I add high-pitched moans of pleasure to the chorus, a symphony of lust and desire silencing my rational side. Right now I’m a creature living on pure instinct. And it feels amazing… It feels liberating.

“Idiot me… as hard as you can,” I tell him, looking back at him over my shoulder. His reply is a simple grin, but that’s enough for me. He starts upping his pace until my eyes start rolling in their orbits. For a moment, I stop seeing and hearing; my brain just refuses to keep on working and surrenders to the unstoppable avalanche of pleasure that crashes against it.

My pussy tightens up around Danny’s shaft and I just explode. I let out a scream loud enough to shatter glass and it feels like wasps are buzzing under my taut muscles. That burning sensation becomes almost unbearable, and it almost feels as if I’m really on fire.

At the same time, I feel his cock pulsing violently and I realize that he’s close. Gritting my teeth, I push my rear back against him, forcing his cock to go as deep as possible; with that, his cock throbs again, this time even more violently, and I moan as I feel him cumming inside of me.

With his fingers digging into my rear cheeks, I hold still as he unleashes a torrent of cum inside of me. His warm fluids fill me up to the brim, and I sigh loudly as I feel juices starting to drip down my legs.

“Idiot,” he groans, slowly pulling back. I look back over my shoulder, thinking that he’s done, but I’m wrong; he starts stroking himself, thick ropes of semen flying straight onto my back and crisscrossing over my skin. I let him cover my body with his seed and only when he’s done do I allow myself to collapse on the bed. Falling with my stomach down on the mattress, I let out a tired sigh.

What in the world just happened? I thought Danny was a man, not a god… But the way he handles himself and his cock tells me otherwise. He has the assets, and he has the skills. It doesn’t matter if he’s inside the field or inside the bedroom; the man is a born killer. It’s almost weird to think back to how charming he was back in the restaurant. Judging by the way he messed me, you’d say he’d be more at ease among a pack of Vikings than in an upscale restaurant.

“That was amazing,” he whispers, lying down by my side. I open my eyes just to look at him, and there’s an easy smile on his lips. He looks handsome right now, his short hair plastered to his head from all the sweat covering his body. He really took it seriously when I told him to mess me as hard as he could.

“It was way more than amazing,” I whisper back at him, making the effort to bridge the distance between our mouths just to feel his lips once more.

We stay like that for what seems like an eternity, just looking into each other’s eyes. There’s an afterglow to both of us and, by the heavens, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good—and happy—ever before.

Danny Manning, the man who came crashing into my life. Literally.

129

Danny

Fuck, why am I sore? I think to myself as the morning sun tumbles inside the room, making its way past the curtains and hitting me straight in the face. I sit up on the bed, kicking the sheets back, and I start smelling something … Eggs. What the heck?

Fiona, her name lights up in my mind like a neon sign, and the memories of last night flood me all at once. No wonder I’m sore today; I really gave it my all with her. It’s kinda ironic, really. I usually don’t wake up this sore after a tough game. Bruised and battered, sure, but not sore. That girl really is something else …

I even showered with her; can you believe that? Yeah, shampooed her hair and trash like that. And it felt amazing. I have a feeling that if I keep her around much longer that stuff like that is going to happen more often. Idiot, I hope I don’t end up like these idiots.

I swing my legs out of the bed and go up to my feet, stretching. My back pops as I do it, like it does every morning, and I walk out of the room only in my boxer briefs. I head downstairs, following the smell of scrambled eggs and fried bacon, and Fiona doesn’t even notice me coming up behind her.

She’s standing in the kitchen, barefoot and wearing only her thong and my button-up shirt from last night. On her, it looks more like a dress than a shirt.

“‘G’morning,” I say, resting my hands on her hips and pressing my body against hers. I lay one kiss on her neck and she turns to me with an easy smile.

“G’morning,” she repeats with a purr, leaning in and softly brushing her lips against mine. Just tasting her mouth is enough for my cock to come back to life, and she notices it right away. “What’s this?” she asks me, sliding one hand down my stomach and curling her fingers around my growing shaft.

“No idea, ma’am.”

“Concealed carry? You gotta have a license for that, Mr. Manning,” she teases me, tightening her fingers around my cock. Idiot, I’ve been awake for only a few minutes and I’m already dying to be inside of her again. Every time I spend a night with a woman I usually kick them out the moment I wake up.

“I don’t have a license. But I can take my gun out, if that’s what you want,” I tell her, pulling her into me and pressing my lips on hers.

“Maybe,” she whispers, but then my toaster goes off with a ding! New item on my to-do list: throw that toaster out the window. “But breakfast first.”

“You can be my breakfast,” I say, helping her take the bacon out of the frying pan and placing it on the plate with the eggs.

“I think your coach would kill me if you left home with an empty stomach,” she laughs, sitting on the stools by the side of the counter. I sit across her, taking a distracted bite out of a piece of toast as my eyes wander to her breasts. The shirt she has on is too big for her and the top buttons are undone, so I have a nice view of the upper curves of her breasts. I have no idea how I’m going to eat with her looking like this in front of me.

“You know, this is the first time I’m having breakfast like this,” I say, having no idea about why I’m telling her this.

“And by ‘like this’ you mean…?”

“I usually don’t hang around women after them,” I tell her bluntly. Sometimes it’s better to not be a pussy and just call things by their names.

“Uh, I’ll take it as a good sign the fact that you still haven’t kicked me out,” she says with a soft smile. Somehow she knows I won’t do that. Idiot, just look at her; what a change. When she got to the restaurant yesterday she was so nervous I actually thought she might pass out; and now here she is, having breakfast in my kitchen as if she owns the place. She’s a box full of surprises, that’s for sure.

“I might change my mind, you know,” I shoot back at her, but she remains unfazed. She thinks she has me hooked, and idiot, I think I really am hooked.

“That’d be a shame. Last night was really great,” she takes a bite out of her toast, acting so casually it almost seems like she has guys like me banging on her door. I mean, she deserves it, but I seriously doubt there are enough real men to go around.

“It was,” I agree, thinking back to how amazing it felt to have her naked body pressed against mine. “And I can’t wait to repeat it.”

“Well, if you want more of me, you better win your next game.” What’s this? Is she bribing me with sex? I like this; I like a lot. We’re playing the Chicago Pounders next Sunday and, after what Fiona just said, they don’t have a chance. They’re to be steamrolled, even if I have to do it just by myself.

“You have a deal,” I tell her with a smile. Standing up, I go around the counter and grab her by the hand; I pull her into me, and the moment she’s in my arms I just pick her up from the floor.

“I guess that deal can be delayed for a couple more hours,” she says, still smiling.

“I was thinking the same,” I reply, carrying her toward the stairs. I make the climb toward the upper floor and there I go straight for my bedroom. Once inside, I close the door with my feet and then lay Fiona down on the bed, my lips locked on hers.

I don’t know exactly what it is about her, but I’m starting to think that I don’t want to let go of her.

130

Fiona

“No way!” the girls cry out in unison, and Cody just sneers.

“That’s right,” I flash them a victorious smile. “I told him that if he wanted some more, he had to dominate today.”

“From what you’ve told us, it looks like he has already dominated you pretty good,” Cody grins, his sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. I blush, not really knowing what to say, but the girls just ignore Cody, Kim’s stepbrother—or should I say Kim’s man?

“And, you know, how big is he?” Ashley asks me, leaning into me with hungry eyes.

“He’s big. Like, really big,” I tell her, and Cody just sighs heavily, placing his arm over Kim and leaning back in his seat.

“It’s not fair, Ashley,” Becca protests mockingly, “Fee didn’t even want to go the game. Why did Danny ask her out? I’m the die hard Nailers fan, not Fiona.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why he didn’t ask you, have you ever thought about that?” Ashley teases her.

It feels good to be in the Nailers’ stadium again, and surrounded with most of my close friends—Kim and Cody, Ashley, and Becca. Today, instead of the 50-yard-line, we’re sitting in one of the luxury skyboxes up above, a courtesy from Danny. I guess it pays off to be dating the team’s quarterback. Wait—did I really just say we’re dating? Because I’m not sure if we’re exactly dating. I mean, we went on a date and we messed … It’s probably going to happen again, but I’m not sure if this is all going to blossom into something more. Right now, though, I can’t be bothered to think about the future. It feels good to be here and now.

Down below, the Nailers are kicking rear, again. After massacring the Miami MILFs last week, everyone’s expecting them to repeat that feat with the Chicago Pounders. Even though I’ve never been a big football fan, today I let the ‘game fever’ overtake me. I guess part of it has to do with the promise I made Danny; if he wins today, he’s going to get some. And I think I’m going to have a little surprise for him.

“It seems what you’ve told him is really working…” Becca says, looking down at the field as Danny makes another wild pass from behind the 50-yard-line, sending the ball straight into the hands of the receiver just a few feet shy of the end zone.

“If he keeps playing like this, he’s going to be the MVP this year,” Cody says offhandedly, barely blinking as he watches the game. “I don’t remember the Nailers ever having a season as good as this.”

“Watch out, Fiona,” Kim punches me in the arm playfully, “the league might consider you a performance enhancer.” Yeah, sure, like Danny needs any kind of performance enhancer. Still, I gotta give it to Becca; he’s really crushing it on the field. Is it because of what I’ve told him…? Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is.

“Idiot, he’s on fire,” Cody breathes out, talking to himself, his eyes following Danny as he dashes down the field with the ball clutched against his chest. He runs past a small army of defensive linemen, brushing off whoever tries to hold him down, and then dives head first into the end zone. 23-0 for the Nailers; good luck trying to come back from this, Pounders.

“I don’t really know—or care—what you’ve promised him, but it sure as idiot seems to be working…” Cody says, looking at me with a smirk before turning his attention back to the game down below.

Twenty minutes later, when Danny manages another pass that leads to an easy touchdown, it seems that the whole stadium has gone insane. Some people are chanting ‘Super Bowl’, others are chanting ‘MVP’, but the majority has settled for screaming out ‘Manning’ at the top of their lungs. It’s insane.

I look at his giant image on the jumbotron, and I can’t help but remember how good it felt to be with him in his apartment… It’s all a bit surreal, isn’t it? One moment I’m watching a game, the next I’m the best quarterback in the league.

By the time the game ends, the whole stadium is chanting Danny’s name as if he’s some kind of messiah; well, aside from the few Pounders’ fans in here, but even they're impressed by what Danny did on the field. The game ended 42-0 for the Nailers, which is not the kind of result you see every day, and more amazing than that is the fact that Danny was involved in every winning play. He was on fire… and now, so am I.

“I guess now you owe me,” Ashley laughs, turning to me and gently touching my arm.

“I guess I do,” I reply, already imagining all the things we’re going to do once we go back to his place. I take my cellphone out of my purse and, as I start writing him a text asking him where I should meet him, something crosses my mind. Why wait?

I jump out of my seat, my heart beating so fast I feel dizzy as I stand up. With both my hands on Ashley’s shoulders, I lean in and whisper into her ear. Her smile becomes wider and wider as I speak, and then she just laughs.

“You’re completely insane,” she chuckles, but she grabs what I want from inside her purse all the same and hands it to me.

“No way,” Becca laughs as she realizes what I have in my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re--”

“That’s right,” I grin, winking at the girls while Cody looks at me with one arched eyebrow and an amused smile.

“Time for me to go,” I tell them, turning on my heels and walking out of the skybox as quickly as I can. There’s a place I need to be in right now, and it simply can’t wait.

131

Danny

“How do you feel?”

“Do you believe you’re going to be this year’s MVP?”

“You think the Nailers will be this Super Bowl’s winner?”

The journalists surround me like a swarm of overly excited bees, firing question after question. “Alright, one at a time, folks,” I say, raising both hands up in the air and trying to calm them.

“How do you feel about the Nailers’ chances of winning this year’s Super Bowl?” A petite brunette with a fiery attitude asks right away in one single breath, shoving her red microphone just a few inches from my mouth.

“Pretty good, yeah. If we keep playing like this, it’s a sure thing,” I tell her without pausing to think. The media might think I’m a cocky mongrel, but I’m usually right about these things. Besides, how can I not feel optimistic about our chances at a Super Bowl win? Did you see our last two games? We’re crushing everything and everyone.

“And about becoming MVP?” the brunette asks again, waving her microphone in front of me and pushing the other journalists to the side with her shoulders. For a girl as small as she is, she sure is determined.

“I don’t give a hoot about becoming MVP,” I reply with a shrug. It’s the truth; I truly don’t care about getting patted on the back for being such a good boy. I care about winning, baby, and it’s all about the scoreboard. The only trophy I truly care about is the Super Bowl.

“But your performance these last few games have put you on the fast track toward it, according to the pundits,” she insists, and now the other journalists are trying to push her away. She holds her ground though, as if her heels are made of solid concrete.

“Maybe,” I tell her, “but you really shouldn’t be using my performance in the same sentence as ‘fast’.” That gets a laugh out of the swarm of journalists, and that makes her pause. She grows slightly flushed, her eyes widening as she looks at my lips. Yeah, I could take her for a spin if I wanted it to; unfortunately for her, there’s only one woman in my sight right now. Idiot, I can’t believe I just said that. What the heck’s happening to me?

“Danny, Danny,” an overweight guy calls out to me, pushing the brunette to the side and pushing his microphone toward me. “What’s your secret?”

“My secret? I’m Batman,” I tell him with a straight face, and that earns another round of laughs from everyone.

“You sure could be,” he continues without being taken aback, “your performance has been quite impressive. You’ve been one of the best players in the league since your debut, but this season you’ve taken things to a whole new level.”

“That’s true. I never settle, Oliver,” I tell him, reading the name on the press card he has hanging around his neck.

“What changed, though? This game in particular… The pundits say this might've been one of the best quarterback performances in decades, during regular season.”

I purse my lips, thinking about what he just said. I truly was on fire during the game, but what’s all this talk about being MVP, the Super Bowl, and my performance? We’re just in the regular season, for idiot’s sake.

“Look, fellas,” I try to calm them down, but they’re having none of it. They keep waving their microphones at me as if they’re spears, and I start thinking that if I want to leave the stadium I might have to punch my way out. “Why don’t we talk about this after we win the Super Bowl?” I say, and that makes them go even crazier. Every single photographer starts snapping pictures of my million-dollar smile, and all the journalists start asking questions at the same time.

“Does your performance have any anything to do with the girl from the game against the MILFs?” The brunette pushes her way back into the inner circle, materializing out of nowhere and holding her mic as if it’s a sword. Calm the heck down, girl.

“It does,” I tell her, knowing that’s going to make everyone even crazier. I really don’t want to throw Fiona at the wolves, but I figure they’ll never give up before finding out who she is; and, let me assure you, they will. These reporters are like cyborgs, hunting down whatever it is they want. And if they don’t get it, they might just make up whatever story they want. So, phoo, I’ll give them the truth. “That woman’s the reason I won today. She has helped me keep my mind in the game.”

“And who is she, Danny? A girlfriend?” The brunette asks me, and I can tell that it pains her to say the world ‘girlfriend’. She probably thought I’d want to do a post-game ‘workout’ with her. And if it wasn’t for Fiona, I’d probably do it.

“She’s just a --” I trail off as I see a blonde head at the end of the large corridor, a woman in a short skirt, stilettos, and a red tight blouse walking toward us. Incredible, what is she doing? If the press sees her here they’re going to eat her alive. “Alright, time to wrap this up,” I tell the journalists abruptly, somehow managing to walk past them. I nod at the security standing by the side, and they cordon off the angry mob before they can pull me back in.

I close the distance between Fiona and I as close as I can, and I can hear the wild shutter of the cameras behind me.

“How did you get in here?” I ask her, placing one hand on her elbow and pulling her after me. I step inside the by now empty Nailers locker room, the first open door that I see, and close the door behind us.

“A friend of mine hooked me up,” she grins, dangling a press pass right in front of my nose. It reads Ashley, which I recognize as the wife of some big time New York billionaire.

“You’re trouble, Fiona,” I tell her.

“You have no idea.”

132

Fiona

There's another one over there, I point out the window at a photographer.

"You shouldn't point," Danny says to me. "It's rude."

I stick my tongue out at him.

I know! I just stuck my tongue out at Danny Manning! Of the New York Nailers!

And as I did so, there were like 40 flashbulbs that just went off, capturing the act. My sticking my tongue out has now been immortalized in the annals of Western culture. I'll probably show up on the Sports pages of the New York Daily Journal. As the woman behind the quarterback.

Yeah, I know I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here but can you blame me?

I'm sitting with a handsome hunk of man at Il Bolina, in Midtown on 53rd and 7th. The restaurant sat us next to the window - I think they knew this was going to happen, but to be completely honest, I didn't mind. I didn't really know the crush of reporters that was going to materialize out of nowhere on the edges of Times Square, but then again, I'm new to this world, ya know?

"I think you should wave and smile," Danny whispers in my ear.

Boom. Another fifty flashbulbs that captured him whispering in my ear. Maybe they'll have a tagline that says "Secret, Sexy Whispers" as they put us on the pages of the newspaper.

Oh my goodness, this is so awesome!

I raise my hand and wave at the press. A few of them wave back but a lot more snap pictures. The flashbulbs are stronger for me waving that Danny whispering, that's for sure. Again, I can picture the headline. "Beauty! And Modesty!"

Can you tell yet that it's gone a bit to my head? I mean just a lil' bit? No? Well, then this should probably help.

I lean over and take Danny's hand in mine and whisper into his ear. "I'm having a great night tonight, Danny," I tell him. "Thanks for taking me out."

I've never been so forward with a guy before! But then again, I need to find something to tell Danny, because the simple fact that I'm leaning over and whispering into his ear is making the photographers crazy. It's like 200 flashbulbs go off, snapping away pictures of me whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He looks at me and smirks. "You're not shy, are you?" he asks me.

Another fifty flashbulbs.

I shake my head and bite my lip, coming closer to him. Do I really want to kiss him with an audience? What's that going to be? 300 flashbulbs?

"I'm not kissing you on camera, Fiona," Danny says to me, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not one of those athletes that looks to make bigger headlines off the field than on the field," he finishes.

That's okay. I can understand.

"But I've never even been on the field," I tell him. "So this is all new to me."

"And you're completely playing those guys," Danny says, gesturing briefly to the window. "Like a violin. You sure you've never done this before?"

I shake my head. Have I ever been in a situation where I've had to pretend that a gaggle of photographers outside the window didn't exist?

Uhm, that would be a no.

But have I ever crushed on a guy real hard that within the first ten minutes of sitting down to dinner I knew I was going to mess him?

That's a big affirmative. And no, I'm not thinking of giving it up to him just because he's famous and has his own travelling press corps.  I'm thinking of giving it up to him because he's cute and hot and looks like he has a giant cock.

Those are the normal reasons why girls should give it up to guys, right?

I lean over and pull Danny's face towards mine.

"Hey," I say to him. He looks at me and smiles.

I kiss him.

800 million flashbulbs.

So not why I was doing it.

But I'll take it!

That’s it.

I’ve decided.

Life with Danny Manning is going to be a blast.

133

Fiona

I can’t believe that I actually pulled this off.

The security at the Nailers’ stadium is pretty tight, but I somehow managed to sneak inside the private areas just by waving Ashley’s press card as fast as I can and pretending that I was some big shot press officer.

I strolled down the corridors in awe as I passed by some of the players, tall muscled men just getting out of the shower. Who do I talk to about living down here? I can bring a tent.

Finding Danny wasn’t hard; I just needed to follow the noise. He was right in front of the conference room, hounded by a legion of journalists that wanted more than just his short post-game comments. I figure that tomorrow people will be talking about his performance for hours on end.

The moment Danny sees me walking down the corridor, he pushes his way out from the circle of journalists and heads toward me in a hurried pace. I stand in place, looking at him come as if I’ve never seen him before. Goodness, he looks so deliciously handsome. How in the world have I slept in his bed? I should buy a lottery ticket, you know, just in case my luck keeps being this good.

Grabbing me by the arm, he pushes me inside a room, stunned by the fact that I somehow managed to pass security. I just take Ashley’s press credentials and wave them in front of his face. Oh, yeah, I’m a resourceful woman.

“You’re trouble, Fiona,” he tells me, his words sending a shiver down my spine. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of his deep rumbling voice.

“You have no idea,” I say, going up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his. When I pull back, my heart is racing at a thousand miles per hour. “Where are we?” I ask him, looking around the place we’re in. There are wide polished benches lining the walls, and there are numbered Nailers jerseys hanging in front of tall lockers over the benches. To my right, the room opens up into a large showering area without any stalls. For a moment, I imagine dozens of naked gorgeous men standing under the running water, and that pleasant warmness spreads to my pussy.

“Welcome to the Nailers’ locker room,” he smiles, and I can hear a note of pride in the way he says it.

“Lock the door,” I whisper at him, placing both my hands on his chest. What? I want to know how it feels to mess in one of the most famous locker rooms in the US.

“You’re completely insane, did you know that?” he tells me, but turns the lock on the door all the same. Walking back to me, he places his hands on my hips and pushes my body until my back is against the tiled wall of the locker room.

“It’s your fault,” I purr, wasting no time and taking my hands to his crisp white shirt. With my eyes glued on his, I untuck his shirt and then start unbuttoning it. “You won the game, and you said yourself… You like a girl who keeps her promises.”

“That’s right,” he says, grabbing the hem of my blouse and pulling it over my head. His eyes become hungry as he glances at the upper curve of my breasts, and I just close my eyes as he leans into me and lays a kiss between my belly. Moving his lips up, he follows the contour of my chin and then presses his mouth against mine, parting my lips with his tongue.

Surrendering to his kiss, I let my hands fall to his waist and I put them to work, unbuckling his belt. I then open the top button on his pants and unzip his fly, my skin prickling as his hard cock strains against his boxer briefs and slaps the back of my hand. Turning my wrist, I flatten the palm of my hand against his cock and start rubbing on it, that sweet anticipation building inside of me.

“Missed my cock, babe?” he teases me, running one hand through my hair and tangling his long fingers in it. He makes me throw my head back and I gasp, tightening my fingers around his shaft so harshly I wouldn’t be surprised if he complained. Of course, he doesn’t; complaining is not part of his genetic composition.

“I sure did,” I purr, letting go of his cock and sliding my hand down his boxer briefs. I bite on my lower lip as I feel the warmness of his shaft against my fingertips, and I just grab his thick cock again, pushing both pants and boxer briefs down with my free hand. He takes the chance to kick off his shoes, and then steps out of his pants and boxers. Wanting him completely naked, I push his open shirt down his arms, and then take a moment to marvel at how perfect his body looks. Maybe it’s because he pushed himself to the limit during the game, but somehow his muscles look even more toned than before; the lines between his abs are carved deep on his stomach, and each perfect square feels like it’s made of concrete.

“You know what I spent the whole game thinking of?” he asks me, a grin on his lips. “Looking down and seeing you on your knees, my cock sliding in between your lips…” he whispers against my ear, and that’s all it takes for me to go down.

“I’m a natural at motivation, it seems,” I tell him the moment my knees touch the floor. I place my hands on his legs and then move them up to his waist, closing in on his cock.

I move my fingertips over his skin, tracing the lines separating his ripped muscles and going down to his inner thighs, but always keep a dangerous distance between my hands and his cock. He’s looking at me with an untamable hunger in his eyes, and I can tell that he’s fighting against the urge to just grab my hands and place them on his cock. Not that I’d mind if he did that, but I’m actually enjoying the creases of anticipation growing on his face as I tease him hard.

“Patience is a virtue…” I say, smiling as I look up at him. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Idiot patience,” he groans, finally relenting and curling his fingers around my wrist. Wasting no time, he guides my hand toward his cock and I submit to his desire, grabbing his thick shaft. Giving up on my teasing ways, I start stroking him as fast as I can, moving my hand up and down the whole length of his shaft.

Using my free hand, I caress his balls, rolling them over my stretched fingers; still with my eyes locked on his, I start leaning in toward his cock. I tilt my head sideways and I reach for the side of his shaft with the tip of my tongue. Resting it against his warm skin, I run my tongue down to his balls and, there, I open my mouth and start sucking on one of them. I take it inside my mouth and, after lapping at it with my tongue, I move to the other one and do exactly the same.

Sliding my tongue back up his shaft, I only stop at the tip of his cock. I run my tongue in fast wide circles around it and, then, I finally lower myself and wrap my lips around his pulsing flesh. Doing it as slowly as I can, I roll my lips down his shaft until I can feel his cock pressed against the back of my throat; closing my eyes, I make one final effort and take the remaining inches inside of my mouth. To be honest, I have no idea how I’m doing this; his cock is so big that it should be physically impossible to have him all inside my mouth. I guess that, with Danny, the impossible becomes possible.

Sliding back over his shaft, I go down again, starting a pendulum motion. Grabbing his cock, I bob my head back and forth as fast as I can, my lips making a wet sound as they go over his length. I keep on stroking him as I do it, my hand and my mouth in sync with one another.

Wanting to go the extra mile, I finally peel my fingers off his cock and place both my hands on his rear cheeks, digging my fingers into his flesh and pulling him into me. Holding onto his body, I start moving my mouth at a frenetic pace, going so fast that the muscles in my neck start cramping up.

“Where did you learn all that?” Danny asks me, placing both his hands on my head and pulling his cock out. There’s a grin on his lips, one that tells me that, after this appetizer, he’s more than ready to go for the main course. Grabbing me by the hand, he pulls me up to my feet and presses me against the wall again, crushing his mouth against mine.

With one hand on my waist, he slides it to my lower back and then pulls down the zipper on my skirt. After that, he just tugs on it, sending it down my legs. The fabric pools at my feet and I kick it to a faraway corner, suddenly feeling exposed just in my tiny thong and black heels, and liking it.

“Come here,” he says, placing his hands under my rear cheeks and lifting me up. I cross my legs on his lower back, placing one arm over his shoulder. He presses his body into me and I do the rest, using my free hand to flick my thong to the side. I bite on my lower lip as I feel the tip of his cock against my drenched folds, but that’s everything I have the time to do; with one quick thrust he’s in me, his thick mast pushing its way past my inner lips and straining against my inner walls.

“So good,” I moan, pressing my forehead against his and smiling.

“It is,” he agrees, rocking his hips and sliding his cock in and out of me. I start moaning louder as his thrusts become almost unbearable, the strength with which he does it shaking me to the core. My skin is burning, my muscles are electrified, and my mind is boiling. Every single cell in me is devoted to one single thing: pleasure.

“It’s so…… good…” I breathe out, the words getting out of me between thrusts. He says nothing; he just keeps on me, pistoning into me as if his ultimate purpose on Earth is to please me. Which sounds pretty good, if I’m allowed to brag.

He keeps on upping his pace until I just can’t take it anymore; I throw my head back, bumping it against the smooth tiles in the wall, and let out one mighty scream, loud enough for every single person in the stadium to hear it.

“You keep being this loud, soon enough those reporters are going to bust their way in,” he tells me, but the joking tone in his voice tells me that he’s not worried about it one bit. If anything, we’d just put on a show great enough to match what Danny did inside the field.

“Let them come,” I whisper as I uncross my legs and he puts me down. Breathing hard, I escape his hold and then sashay to the benches lining the walls. He follows after me, but before he can lays his hands on me, I grab one arm of his and push him down onto the bench. I hook my fingers on my thong and, moving my hips from side to side, slide it down my legs; then, moving as fast as I can, I jump on top of him, my knees on the wooden surface of the benches as my hand darts to his cock.

Guiding his shaft right where I need it to be, I ease myself down, allowing him to pierce me. The moment I feel all of his inches buried deep inside me, I start moving my hips back and forth in a flowing motion. I ride him fast and I ride him hard, my eyes closed as moans just tumble out of my lips.

“That’s it,” he groans, grabbing my rear cheeks and feeling the movement of my body. His long fingers over my cheeks from side to side, and a shiver goes up my side as I feel his fingertips over my crack. Noticing it, he spreads my cheeks wide and then starts caressing the gap between them, moving one finger up and down. He stops right over my jerk then, pressing gently there.

“Oh goodness,” I gasp as he starts pushing his finger inside my rear, the movement of my body growing more erratic and violent. He truly drives me crazy, there’s no doubt about it, and somehow I know this is just the start. With Danny, every limit that I have, or think that I have, is going to end up shattered. And that’s exactly the way I want it.

He starts fingering me as I straddle him, waves of pleasure crashing against my body as I forget to breathe. If I didn’t need to be alive to keep on him, I don’t think that I’d even start to breathe again. But I do, taking one deep breath of ecstasy as a blend of adrenaline and pleasure rages through my veins.

I ride myself straight into oblivion, finishing off with one sudden thrust. I hold my position as the whole universe seems to explode inside my body, fireworks going off behind my closed eyelids. My brain is on fire, and I don’t even know what rational thought is anymore. I’m just a wild animal right now, preying on his body and devouring it.

“Oh my --” I don’t finish the sentence; the muscles around my throat become so tense that the words get blocked on the way up. I just throw my head back and hiss like a serpent, a sudden spasm forcing my muscles to relax and then to twitch as if I’m being shocked. There’s a high voltage current running through my body right now, my veins and arteries its conductor. “OH GOODNESS!” I finally manage to say, shouting it at the top of my lungs as my pussy tightens up around his shaft like a vice.

I stop moving for a few seconds, catching my breath and relishing the way his naked body feels when against mine.

“You’re one of a kind, Fiona,” Danny whispers, taking one hand to my face and stroking my cheek softly. I look back at him, not really knowing what to say, and so I just smile. Who’d have known I’d hear these words from Danny Manning?

“Now…” I whisper back at him, “are you ready for your prize?”

“My… prize?”

“You won the game, you deserve something special,” I say, raising my hips and taking his cock out of me. I roll to the side and putting both hands and knees on the bench, I go on all fours. “What're you waiting for?” I ask him, looking back at him over my shoulder.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already positioning himself behind me, that wild hunger in his eyes.

“More than sure… I want you to have me. To have all of me,” I say, wiggling my rear back at him.

“What you want, you get.” He places both his hands on my cheeks and then spreads them wide; then, using one hand, he grabs his cock and starts brushing its tip against my pussy. “But I’m not done with your pussy,” he says, and with that he thrusts. I let out one wild scream as his shaft flies all the way in, his thrust so harsh that it almost rips me in half.

“Idiot,” I groan as he starts to thrust, no build-up to his rhythm this time, he just goes hard from the start, completely demolishing my pussy. “Harder,” I find myself thrusting back at him and allowing the sound of flesh on flesh to lull me into a trance. I go deeper down into a dream-like state and, by the time another orgasm explodes inside of me, I don’t even know if I’m still conscious.

“Now…” he starts, taking his cock out of my pussy and brushing it up and down the length of my crack, “are you ready for this?” He presses the tip of his cock against my hole, and my heart tightens up inside my chest. Ready? No way. But I want it all the same; I push my rear back at him, and I can’t help but let out one scream as I feel his first inch stretching my rear as it goes in.

“Oh goodness,” I gasp as he keeps on pushing his shaft inside my rear, my inner walls hugging his thickness so tightly I don’t even know how he’s inside of me.

“You’re so tight,” he tells me, pushing his cock all the way down. He stops for a long second, savoring my tight rear, and then he slides back out. Slowly, he builds up a rhythm, rocking his hips against me as my insides try to accommodate him. I can’t believe that I’m actually doing this; I’ve never let a man take my rear, and now I have a twelve-inch cock in there. Remember what I said about limits being shattered? Yeah, this is what I was talking about.

“Harder… Harder…” I moan, slowly moving my body and trying to match the growing rhythm of his thrusts. My insides are on fire, and this time it’s so intense that I feel tears welling up in my eyes. Guided by instinct, I take one to my stomach and then slide it down to my pussy, using two fingers to rub on my clit. I do it in abandonment, my body obeying to some higher power that commands me to drive straight to the edge of pleasure. Which, of course, is exactly what I do.

“HARDER!” I scream, closing my eyes as tears of pleasure stream down my face. I’m grinding my teeth against each other, my jaw so tense I bet I could chew through steel right now. Obeying my scream, Danny grabs me by the hips; with one foot on the floor and the other up on the bench, he rams his cock into me so hard that I almost fall forward. He goes like that until I feel that tidal wave of ecstasy coming for me once more.

How many times have I already come since we sneaked our way into the Nailers’ lock room? Idiot, I’ve lost count already. It’s kinda funny, really; I usually could tell you how many orgasms I had in a month, and now I can’t tell you how many I had during the past half an hour. It seems that sex with Danny is a constant sequence of touchdowns. He’s a man built with winning as his only purpose; on the field or between the sheets, winning is all that he’s programmed to do. And I can’t think of a purpose better than that.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” I start, but my train of thought derails as he gives me one final thrust, moving his hips forward so violently that I have to let go of my clit and place my hand down on the bench to support myself. It hits me in a heartbeat; electric needles stab my brain over and over again, and my muscles start to spasm erratically as that all-consuming orgasm blankets both my mind and my body.

Every woman should have an orgasm like this, at least once in her life. Think I’m kidding? I’m not. Too many women go through life without knowing what true pleasure is. And I’m not even talking about the ones that don’t even know what an orgasm really is. Now that’s something that breaks my little heart.

“Idiot, I’m going to cum,” Danny suddenly says, reigniting the movement of his hips. Moving without thinking, I let my body fall forward and his cock pops out of me. I go down to my knees fast and turn to him, reaching for his cock with both of my hands.

“Yes, you’re going to cum…” I tell him, looking him in the eye with a sinful smile on my lips. “All over me,” I conclude as I start to stroke him with both of my hands, moving them back and forth in a flurry of movement. I do it so fast that my hands are just a blur, the spasms of his cock against my fingers making me delirious.

“Idiot,” is his final word before a long and thick rope of cum shoots out from his cock. It hits me straight in the face, and I open my mouth by instinct. The next strand goes inside my mouth and over my tongue; angling his cock, I aim it at my mouth until it’s brimming. I keep on looking him in the eye as he cums, his look of pure bliss making it oh-so-worth-it.

He keeps on gushing a veritable river of semen all over me, blanketing me in white. Strands of it are dripping down my face and onto my neck, and both my belly are already covered in a gooey layer of his seed. And still he keeps on cumming, his cock spasming against my fingers even more harshly with each passing second. Possessed by lust, I lean forward and wrap my lips around his cock, taking inside my mouth whatever cum there still is inside of him.

Only when my mouth is brimming with his semen does he stop, exhaling sharply and pulling his cock out.

“That was so good,” he whispers, looking me in the eyes. Grinning, I open my mouth, showing him how much of his cum I’m holding there and prepare myself to swallow it. But a sudden thought crosses my mind and I just stop; my grin widening, I grab Danny’s hand and pull him down. He comes willingly, kneeling on the floor right in front of me.

Without even knowing what his reaction is going to be, I just lean into him and press my mouth against his, shoving my tongue inside his mouth. I push the cum inside my mouth into his, and he starts kissing me with a fury I didn’t know he still had in him. We swap cum, our tongues dancing around one another, for heaven knows how long. Right now, time has become meaningless.

“Come,” he whispers, pulling back from my kiss. I smile at him, noticing the way his lips glisten from the cum that coats them. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me up to my feet and then takes me to the showers. “Let’s get you cleaned off,” he says, going down on one knee and slowly taking off my heels. He turns the water on, and it doesn’t take long for the whole space around us to become blanketed in warm steam.

Stepping under the running water, he pulls me after him, running his hands down to my breasts and smearing his own cum over my skin. The hot water does the rest, pushing his fluids out of my body.

“I’ve never done anything like that,” I admit, looking at him and realizing I have no idea why I’m telling him all this. This is just fun, right? Yeah, yeah… Somehow, that doesn’t ring truth. Sure, whatever we have going on between the two of us is fun, but I’m starting to think it’s growing into something more…

“That makes two of us,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth.

Goodness, this must be a dream I’m living right now. If it is, do me a favor: let me sleep forever.

134

Fiona

G’morning, world, I think to myself as I sit up on the bed, two minutes before the alarm goes off. I stretch, lifting my arms up in the air, and then swing my legs off of the bed. I usually don’t wake in such a good mood, but I guess it’s not every day that someone idiots me in the Nailers’ locker room, is it?

Last night was so amazing. After the game ended, I could barely wait to go back to Danny’s place… And I wanted it so much that we ended up not even leaving the stadium. I don’t know what he’s doing to me, but I feel a change taking place. I mean, I used to be such a nice girl, and now I’m impersonating press officers so that I can get messed in a locker room? Carpe diem, I guess.

I grab my cellphone as I drag myself to the kitchen, and I smile as I notice that Danny already texted me a few minutes ago. Good morning, babe, his text reads, heading to the gym now. I fire back a quick text, feeling like a complete teenager, and then sit at the kitchen table.

“Goodness, someone’s cheery today,” Becca says, and I almost jump out of my seat. I didn’t even notice her when I walked in. She’s in her pajamas, her hair a disheveled mess, eating cereal so slowly she looks like she’s still asleep.

“I am cheery,” I reply, probably sounding happier than I should. Becca has been complaining these past few weeks about how she can’t find a real man, and I guess that the fact that I’m dating Danny Manning isn’t really helping. Still, she’s my friend, and she’s happy for me all the same.

“Well, spill it out, happy-face,” she says, sitting down at the table by my side and leaning into me with narrowed eyes, looking like a cop ready for a deposition. “Where did you do it?”

“The locker room,” I confess, biting on my lower lip as I wait for her predictable reaction.

“The Nailers’ locker room?” Her eyes widen at that and, when she processes what I’ve just told her, she lets out a bright clear laugh. “He nailed you in the Nailers’ locker room.”

“Yeah, yeah… That’s funny,” I protest her bad joke, but I join her laugh all the same. It’s been months since I’ve woken up in such a good mood.

“You want to know what’s funny?” she asks me, a mischievous grin on her face.

“What?” I ask as she gets up and walks to the counter, grabbing the folded newspaper she was reading when I got here.

“This is funny,” she laughs, throwing the New York Daily Journal right in front of me. In bold black letters there are only two words, FAIR CATCH, and down below there’s a blurred photograph of Danny and I leaving the Nailers’ stadium in his Aston Martin. “Oh my goodness.”

“That’s right, babe. You’re a star now.”

Still barely believing it that I’m the NY Daily Journal’s cover, I turn the pages until I find the article. I read it in one sitting, and then I reread it for good measure.

“They’re treating you like a princess,” Becca states with a chuckle, and it’s the truth. They refer to me as the woman behind Manning’s recent success and as the mysterious (and charmingly beautiful) woman that snagged the city’s most eligible bachelor.

“Oh goodness. Is this really happening? Please tell me that this isn’t a dream.”

“It isn’t a dream,” she says flatly, placing a plate full of toast right in front of me. “Eat up, princess. Or else you’ll be the mysterious woman that lost her internship at Price Coopers.”

“Right,” I nod, stuffing a piece of toast inside my mouth as I reread the article for the third time in a row. I finish breakfast as fast as I can, and then I take a quick shower before putting on a black professional dress and discrete make-up.

“See you later, babe,” I wave at Becca, getting out of the door in a hurry. I’m not late—yet—but I always like getting to the office a few minutes early to set up everything for the day. I’m the newest intern at Price Cooper, but I think I’m dazzling the upper management; there have even been a few hints that they might hire me as soon as I have my Law diploma. Yup, life has never been this good.

As I make my way to the subway, I can’t help but stop in front of a newsstand. That headline, FAIR CATCH, jumps at me from everywhere, and it seems like every single person in New York is carrying a copy of that paper.

“Look, isn’t she…?” I hear someone say to my left, a woman pointing at me and whispering at her boyfriend. I show her an easy smile, and she seems taken back, her smile showing on her lips with a delay. It’s almost as if she’s star struck.

“Make sure he keeps playing like that!” Her boyfriend, a guy with an overturned Nailers’ cap on his head, tells me excitedly.

“Will do,” I tell them, still smiling, and then I keep on my way. I’ve never really been the kind of person that pays any attention to her surroundings, but now I feel like a sonar, pinging everything around me. Men turn their heads to watch me pass by, narrowing their eyes as if they recognize me from somewhere, and women whisper between themselves as I walk past them.

Everyone who recognizes me throws me a smile and a nod, and it doesn’t take long for me to feel like I’m living inside a musical. Soon enough birds will be perched on my shoulders, and people will stop working to bust some moves. And I’ll sing, I’ll sing like the happiest girl in the world because that’s exactly how I feel right now.

Ah, life’s good!

135

Danny

“Oh, Goodness, this is so good,” Fiona cries out, cleaning out another dish. For a girl as small as she is, she sure likes food. Which is fine, since we’re eating at the Blue Hill, and our dinner consists of a procession of a dozen different dishes. I’m more of a beer and burger kind of guy, but I don’t mind all this fancy stuff, especially if it makes her happy. I know she’d be just as happy sitting at home eating something home cooked by yours truly (I know my way around a kitchen, don’t judge a book by its cover), but I wanted to treat her.

Of course, it didn’t take long for me to regret getting out of the house. The moment word got out that we were dining at the Blue Hill, a host of paparazzi, journalists, and TV stations quickly amassed in front of the restaurant’s entrance. I’m paying for extra security out of my own pocket, mind you, just to stop them from storming the place and taking Fiona and I as their hostages.

“Don’t they ever get tired?” I sigh, looking at the entrance. The moment I turn my head there are a dozen bright flashes as the photographers try to take a picture of me. This is madness.

“Just ignore them,” Fiona says happily, taking another piece of venison into her mouth. I don’t know how she does it, but she took to her role as New York’s darling like a true natural. Forget about Audrey Hepburn, soon enough young girls will be sharing photos of Fiona in their Instagram accounts, motivational citations and all.

“How can I ignore them when they hound us like this?” I protest, but she just waves her hand casually.

“People want to read about us.”

“Yeah… But just remember that these people out there don’t care about you or me. They care about selling newspapers, nothing more.”

“If the worst happens, they’ll leave us alone,” she just shrugs.

“Oh, you have no idea what they’re capable of. They’ll squeeze every last penny out of you, even if that means dragging you through the mud wearing a rucksack.”

“They can try,” she smiles, and that worries me. She really has no idea about how the media treats people.

“Fiona --” I start, but she cuts me short by placing the tip of her heel right behind my legs. The tablecloth is long enough for what happens under the table to remain out of sight, though, thank goodness for that.

“Now, cheer up,” she grins, softly pressing the tip of her foot over my crotch. My heart picks up the pace in a hurry, making my cock harden before you can even spell my name.

“That helps,” I grin back at her, already imagining all the dirty things I’ll do to her once we get back to my place. Idiot, if she keeps teasing me like this we might not even get home; I’ll just get a room across the street and harass her silly until we both collapse from exhaustion.

“What do you say we get out of here?” I whisper, throwing caution to the wind and wanting to turn my thoughts from just now into a reality.

“I’d say that’s a great idea,” she whispers right back at me, pressing harder against my aching cock before finally taking her foot off from between my legs. I leave some money on the table, large tip and all, and then start walking across the restaurant dining-room floor before remembering what’s waiting for us at the door—all these soulless journalists.

“Maybe we should ask about using a service door,” I tell Fiona.

“Nonsense,” she replies in a heartbeat, taking my arm in hers and strutting out of the restaurant with her chin held high. I narrow my eyes into slits as the bright flash of the cameras explodes around us, the cool air of New York cutting through my shirt.

“Danny--”

“Fiona--”

“How’s your night?”

“Enjoyed dinner?”

“Marriage?”

“Baby?”

Goodness, what’s wrong with these people? Take a chill pill, everyone, I almost feel like saying.

“Thank you, everyone,” Fiona chirps merrily, beaming a smile at the journalists as they surround us like a pack of blood hungry wolves. Idiot, I just want to get out of here. “We’re enjoying our night, yes, and --”

“Fiona, how’s it like to be credited for Manning’s success as a quarterback?” A gangly guy with greasy hair and horn-rimmed glasses asks her, raising his voice above all others and shoving a recorder close to her face.

“Oh, I think it’s all been a bit exaggerated, you know? Danny is his own man, and his success belongs only to him. That said, I do my best to keep him in good spirits before a game.”

“What kind of things do you talk about before a game?” The guy continues, and the other journalists just fall in line, soaking in every word coming out of Fiona’s mouth. She’s the star here, not me, that’s for sure. These guys would crown her Queen of the United States if they could.

“I remind him of how hard he works, of course, and I might give him a little incentive if he pulls a win, which he always does,” she chuckles, her voice as bright as blue skies. She then does a little wink, and you can tell that they’re loving it. Some are just jotting down everything she says in small yellow notepads, others are clicking away with their cameras, and one seems on the verge of asking for a selfie with her.

I’ve never seen the media fall in love so quickly with one person, and that has me worried: when that love starts dying down, Fiona’s going to be in for a rude awakening. I just hope whatever happens doesn’t come between us… because that’s usually how things go.

But, idiot, as far as I know that might not even happen. “Let’s get out of here, babe,” I whisper, leaning into her and flashing a wide smile at the cameras. Somehow, they all part to let us through and, by the time we get inside the Aston, there’s only one thing I’m thinking about: getting her naked.

136

Fiona

Two months.

That’s how much time has passed since I’ve met Danny. It’s been a wild ride too. It’s funny how much your life can change in such a short amount of time. I went from being a complete unknown to becoming the constant focus of the all-watching eye of the American media.

But forget about that; these two months have been the best of my life, and that has nothing to do with the way the media has been treating me. Do you know how amazing it is to have a man like Danny by my side? And no, I’m not talking about the fact that he’s a famous, rich athlete. As far as I’m concerned he could be a rugged farmer from a rural town in the middle of America and I would've fallen for him all the same. How could I not? He’s the perfect blend of bad boy and prince charming. And he has a gigantic cock, which helps too, of course.

Yeah, let’s not get started on the sex; words pale when describing how good he is. I thought that marathon sex sessions were a thing out of steamy books but, oh, was I wrong! It’s a miracle I’ve been managing to get any sleep and stay on top of everything going on in my life. It’s not easy clearing three hours on your schedule (and that’s daily!) for sex when you’re trying to prove your worth as an intern at such a competitive firm such as Price Coopers. Not that I’m complaining, far from that.

Eight.

That’s how many games Danny has won since we’ve started dating. And when I say ‘won’, what I really mean is that he blew everyone out of the water. Do you want to know how many touchdown passes he managed during the regular season? 49—which, for the non-football fans among you, means that he’s close to breaking the record for most touchdown passes during a season. There are just two games to go until the playoffs start, and the Nailers have already secured their place there. The hype around the team grew so much that I figured the league was already engraving the Nailers’ name on the trophy.

Seventeen.

That’s the amount of times I’ve been invited for an interview on live TV. You’ve probably seen me already on one of those talk shows. Why the media took such an interest in me, I have no idea, but I rode that wave as hard as I could. The Princess of the League, some newspapers started calling me. It was weird at first, seeing my face plastered on the cover of a bunch of magazines, but I grew accustomed to all that.

My Instagram account blew up from a measly 150 subscribers to more than a million in just a few weeks. Yeah, one million; how crazy is that? I never thought people would be that interested in seeing what I had for breakfast, especially taking into account that it’s usually just cereal and a piece of toast. I never thought I’d have so many notifications on my cellphone that it would crash. I actually had to buy a new one so that I could use Facebook and Instagram without it going batshit crazy every time I posted a new photo.

I also got some proposals to do a few modeling gigs, but so far I’ve turned them all down. I don’t want to get distracted with all the fame and blow the opportunity I fought so hard for at Price Coopers. I might be turning into some kind of celebrity, but I will never let that get to my head, or has that already happened? Because, I admit, I might've been somewhat unprepared to deal with all this. Why? Well…

One.

Danny lost just one game and the dark side of the media reared its ugly head. That happened two days ago; we were spotted leaving a restaurant a bit late (not scandalously late, mind you), and when Danny had a terrible game the next day, everyone started piling up on me. I went from savior to being the devil’s spawn in a matter of hours.

Right now I’m holed up in his apartment, my eyes puffy and swollen from all the crying I’ve done. Danny left a few hours ago for his morning workout and, since it’s Saturday, I sat down on his couch and propped my laptop up; I was in for a surprise.

I’m still reading through all the articles and thousands of Facebook posts made about me. Do you want to know how many times I’ve been called a gold digger? Too many to count. Not to mention that people got in their heads that there's a problem in our relationship, which translated as Danny’s weak performance two days ago.

It’s not like he played that badly, anyway. It was just an average performance, nothing to write home about, and since every single team is thirsty for blood, they did their best to steamroll the Nailers—and steamroll them is exactly what they did.

Trouble in paradise? One article reads, stating all the reasons why Danny wasn’t his heroic self during that last game, all of them, spoiler, concerning me.

“Fiona has to go”, some bald overweight pundit is blabbering on TV right now, telling his viewers that, instead of helping Danny, I’m hampering his performance. Seriously?

You know what I need to do? Tune all this out. I close my laptop, shut down the TV and stretch; maybe I’ll do some yoga to clear my head. I’m sure that in a few days nobody’s going to care about this. Danny will be back to winning, and no one will care about the game he lost. Besides, the media loves me so much that I doubt they’ll completely turn against me.

Yeah, that’s it. In a day or two things will go back to normal, and then I’ll be back to being America’s darling once more.

Or so I hope.

137

Danny

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I’ve just got home and I can already tell that something’s not quite right. She’s usually on me before I take two steps inside of the apartment, and by the time I take off my shoes I usually have already made her cum twice. But now she’s sitting on the couch, wearing yoga pants with a blanket over her head and a giant bowl of ice cream on her lap. Sigh, this again.

“Look at that,” she points at the television without even looking at me, waving the spoon she has in her fingers at the guy on the TV. “He’s saying that I’m a bad role model for young girls.”

Without saying a word I just go around the couch, grab the remote, and turn off the TV. “Hey!” she protests, but I’m not even listening now.

“Why are you watching that garbage, Fiona?” I ask her, sitting down by her side and taking the bowl of ice cream out of her lap. She’s gorgeous even in her old yoga pants, so I pull her into me, propping her up on my knees and pressing my mouth on hers.

Her face lightens up with a smile and she turns around, opening her legs and straddling me.

“I missed you,” she whispers, pressing her forehead against mine. She’s happy to see me, that much I can tell, but there’s a sadness in her voice that I’m not really into.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been watching that trash on TV since you got here,” I say, and the look on her face gives away the answer. I gave her my spare key, and told the doorman she could come up anytime because I wanted her around, not because I wanted her to be gorging on the news.

“What was it today?” I ask her, vaguely aware that the media has been raising a trash storm since that last game. That’s all I know, though, I don’t give a idiot about what some jerk on the TV says about me. As far as I’m concerned they could be saying I’m a alien from Mars hell bent on dominating the human race, and I wouldn’t care any more than I do right now.

Of course, now that I’m with Fiona, maybe I should start caring. This trash has started to take a toll on her. Even though she’s a natural in front of the camera, she’s too green to handle the ugly media beast. And I guess she’s slowly starting to realize it.

“Oh, the usual. They’re still being hard rears about that loss,” she whispers, sliding her hand down my chest and guiding her fingers to my crotch. By now I already have a massive hard-on, and I’m only half-listening to what she’s saying. Hey, don’t look at me like that; when it comes to sex, I’m a one-track kind of man.

“Harass ‘em,” I whisper, running my fingers through her hair and yanking on it. She throws her head back and I press my lips against her neck, slowly kissing her skin in a downward line that leads straight to her breasts.

“They’ll come around,” she says, placing both her hands on my neck and sighing heavily. Somehow, I don’t like the way that sounds. They’ll come around; what does that even mean? Does she care that much about what these jerks think?

“Fiona, idiot, forget about them,” I say, looking her straight in the eye. “Who cares if they come around, or if they hate us for all eternity?”

“I care,” she tells me, and I just blink my eyes, staring at her in disbelief.

“Why?” Really, why? Why would a normal person worry about trash like this? Sure, I get it that having your name dragged through the mud isn’t that much fun, but it shouldn’t be that important.

“Why? Because it matters, Danny!” She cries out, rolling to the side and sitting up on the couch. Folding her arms, she purses her lips and looks at me with exasperation. “I don’t like being accused of… of everything that’s wrong with the world!”

“I don’t like saying this… But I told you so.”

“Well, you’re used to it! You have all the attention, and people love you! You lost that game, and I’m the one being blamed for it!” Okay, idiot, what is this? Are we actually fighting? We've never had a fight before, and I can’t believe that our first fight is about the media. Goodness.

“Okay, Fiona, I don’t know what's got into you, but you have to forget about --”

“Forget, forget! That’s all you know how to say. I can’t forget; I can’t walk around as if this isn’t happening. No matter what they say about you, you still have your career, your contract… Everything! And what do I have? I’m just another overworked twenty-something being massacred by the news because I dare to exist!”

Well, idiot, I don’t even know what to say. I try and reach for her, but she swats my hand away. Before I think of anything to say, she gets up, tears welling up in her eyes and walks upstairs to the bedroom. I go after her, but by the time I’m walking up the stairs, she’s already coming down, her purse against her chest.

“Fiona, I--” Without allowing me to say a thing, she walks past me and goes straight for the door. She bolts out, slamming the door on her way out and leaving me alone in the apartment.

I stand there, looking around completely dumbfounded. I just got home, for idiot’s sake. I drove here as fast as I could, anxious to be with her, to feel her naked body against mine… And now this! I feel angry, but I don’t even know to whom I should direct that anger—if to her, to me, or to the media. Forget about money, fame, or even the Super Bowl. I just want things to work out with Fiona.

Is that too much to ask?

138

Fiona

THE END IS COMING.

Four words, and they are written with such confidence that they sound like the truth. I’m standing outside a newsstand, holding the latest New York Daily Journal in my hands, and that’s the headline over a picture of me running out of Trump Tower. That was yesterday, right after my fight with Danny. Somehow, there must've been some paparazzi waiting around for something to happen, and I guess they got what they wanted.

I left the house for a walk, thinking that it’d help me clear my head, but now I wish I had just stayed home. I read the article, my fingers trembling with each sentence.

Twenty-two-year-old Fiona Barnett was seen yesterday leaving Trump Tower in a hurried state. Judging by the way she left, completely alone, it seems that her fiery romance with the Nailers’ quarterback star is coming to an end.

An intern at Price Coopers, Fiona saw her chance to climb the social ladder when Daniel Manning asked for her number on live TV, minutes after accidentally crashing into her. What started as an invitation made out of pity for a young girl, turned into a nightmare for Daniel Manning. After somehow dazzling the Nailers’ quarterback over dinner, Fiona Barnett soon started taking credit for his success, and even moved to his high-rise condo at Trump Tower.

Still, there’s hope for Nailers’ fans. It seems that Daniel Manning finally came to his senses, and a separation seems to be imminent.

The article goes on and on, blaming Danny’s faltering performance and, somehow, putting me as the main culprit behind the rise of a vain society. Like, seriously? I don’t even know if they’re really talking about me, because this is total garbage. They went as far as digging into my personal life, and a few passages are particularly vicious.

Friends with some of New York’s crème de lá crème such as the wife of the notorious St. Alban’s prince, Connor d’Avington, and the wife of billionaire Apollo Kane, it seems that Miss Fiona will stop at nothing to achieve the same thing her friends have: a high-status marriage.

I feel like killing someone right now. Or crying. I’m not sure which. Feeling lightheaded, I place the newspaper back on the rack and start walking back home. People are staring at me in the same way they used to do when I started dating Danny, but now… Now it’s different. New York feels hostile. Maybe it’s all in my head, but it seems that when people look at me, they’re not smiling.

There she goes, that gold digger, I can almost hear them think. And maybe it’s true. Maybe I let myself be swooned by the media because I wanted to be something I’m not. I mean, look at all my friends… They've all found their Prince Charming, and they’re living in mansions and palaces. And I’m just fighting trying to survive my internship while trying to scrape enough money to pay the rent of the apartment I share with Becca.

Maybe my romance with Danny was just an illusion. And maybe the newspapers are right too; maybe I’m hindering him, distracting him while he should be focusing on the playoffs. Goodness, I feel so worthless right now.

I start walking faster, desperate to get home as soon as I can. I think I’ll just sit down in front of the TV, put on some Grey’s Anatomy and forget about the whole world while drowning in ice cream. Sure, go right ahead and add walking cliché to the horrible list of things people are calling me. See if I care.

I’m so distracted that I don’t even notice there’s someone blocking the way to my building, so I just bump against him.

“Sorry,” I cry out, taking a step back and realizing that the person I bumped against is Danny himself. My heart sinks inside my chest; after yesterday’s fight, what other reason is there for him to drive here? He’s breaking up with me, oh goodness. This day is quickly going downhill.

“Fiona,” he says, his eyes locked on mine, and a sad smile on his lips. “I had to see you.”

Before I can let him break up with me, I just take one step forward and wrap my arms around him. I press my face against his chest, closing my eyes as I feel the tears making their way to my eyes.

“I should've listened to you,” I whisper, making one tremendous effort to choke down a violent sob. “I’m so sorry… I really am. I let the press come between us and now… I’m sorry, Danny.”

He just holds me without saying a word, placing one hand on the back of my neck and holding me against his chest. I try not to cry, but it’s getting harder; just thinking that this might be the last time he holds me against him hurts too much.

“I let myself be seduced by the fame… I know. I should've listened to you,” I say, almost desperate. Now that he’s here, I know the truth; I was a fool, yes, but I love him. And not because he’s rich or famous, but just because of the kind of man he is.

I don’t want to lose him.

“Fiona,” he whispers my name, and I grit my teeth as I imagine what his next words are going to be: it’s all over. I can already hear them echoing inside of my head. “It’ll be alright. I promise you.” He pulls back from me and I just blink my eyes, not sure if I heard right.

“What… do you mean?”

“Make sure you’re up tomorrow morning. And turn on your TV,” he tells me, leaning into me and kissing the corner of my mouth. I just stand there like an idiot, and he smiles and walks to his car. I watch him get in without a word and, as he drives away, his words make my heart flutter with hope.

It’ll be alright. I promise.

139

Danny

I stroll inside the Nailers’ conference room with my head held high, and the whole room falls silent as I walk up to the microphone. All eyes are on me right now, and every single person inside the room is expecting me to drop a bomb. They’re right, I’m about to do that, but it’s not the kind of bomb they’re expecting.

I look around, completely in silence, and it doesn’t take long for the room to erupt with questions.

“Is it all over between you and Fiona?”

“Are you retiring?”

I don’t know what kind of drugs these people are taking, but it must be the good stuff. Retiring—what the actual idiot?

“Everyone, shut the heck up,” I say into the mic, and they all fall silent at once, as if I’ve suddenly turned into Satan himself. Good, I want them to be afraid, because right now I’m pissed.

“As you all know, I’m in a relationship with a woman by the name of Fiona Barnett,” I start, and they all seem to lean forward in expectation as I drop her name. “I don’t know the reason why—nor do I care—but it seems that all of you decided to gang up on her. She’s the best person I know, and you’ve decided to ruin her life just because you might get a spike in audiences and a raise. Well, that stops this moment. As of now, Fiona is off limits.” I let the words hang heavily in the air, allowing them to sink in before I continue. “If you've got a problem, you can take it up with me. If you insist on going after Fiona, I can promise you this: you’re going to have a problem. A serious one.”

They all stare at me with wide eyes, afraid to even make a question. So much for their bravery and smugness; now that they’re standing right in front of me, they don’t dare defy me.

“One more thing, since you’ve all turned into football experts overnight and decided that my career was going downhill, I have one more promise to make: I’m going to win this year’s Super Bowl. That trophy is mine already; the game is only going to be a formality. Now, excuse me, I have to go and meet the woman I love.”

With that, I just walk past the dumbfounded press and make my way out of the conference room. My shoes click across the floor, and the silence is so deep you could hear a pin drop. Yeah, I think these jerks learned their place, once and for all.

I go straight to the parking lot, a smile on my face. Getting inside my Aston, I rev up the engine and pull out from my spot, the engine roaring as loudly as my heart seems to be thumping. I pull into New York’s traffic one minute later, making my way downtown.

When I get to Fiona’s building, she’s already standing at the entrance, tears in her eyes. She runs up to me the moment she sees me, and as soon as I get out of the car, she falls into my arms.

“You jerk,” she cries, “couldn’t you've told me what you were going to do? I barely slept last night.”

“Oh, a little suspense never hurt anyone,” I grin, and then pull her into me and kiss her. “I love you, Fiona. I waited too long to say it, but I love you. And no way am I allowing anything or anyone to step between us.”

“I love you too,” she whispers, looking in my eyes. Her face is a perfect portrait of happiness, and she looks just as beautiful as when I first saw her. I close my eyes just for a second, seeing it happen in my mind’s eye all over again: that touchdown pass, her voice in the crowd, her beautiful face… She was just a stranger among thousands but, in that moment, I knew I couldn’t just let her walk away.

And I didn’t.

“I’m sorry… about everything,” she tells me, but I just place my index finger over her lips.

“That’s over, babe. It’s in the past,” I say, and then pick her up from the floor. With a grin on my face, I kiss her again.

“Now, where to, m’lady?” I tease her. Wherever she tells me to go, I’ll go. I don’t care if it’s my place, The Ritz, Paris, China, or the North Pole. I’ll go to the ends of the world for her.

“Just take me upstairs,” she whispers, lacing her arms around my neck.

“Upstairs sounds perfect,” I say, walking across the sidewalk and carrying her inside the building just in time; at least a dozen news vans are pulling up in front of the building, cameramen jumping out of them as if they’re part of a SWAT squat.

Without Fiona noticing, I look back over my shoulder, throwing a menacing glance at the guys mounting their cameras. They sure are free to do their jobs, as annoying as they may be, but if they step out of line again… Well, let’s just say that I will stop at nothing. Nobody messes with my woman.

I put her down the moment we’re inside the elevator, and the doors are still closing when she jumps on me, crushing her mouth against mine and taking her hands to my chest.

“I could forget you right here,” she tells me, tugging at my shirt in such a way that the fabric might just rip.

“I could forget you anywhere,” I shoot back, pushing her back against the mirror in the elevator. I pin her arms over her head, kissing her in abandonment.

Even though I’m sure that I’m going to make my way toward the Super Bowl (and win the thing), I doubt that it’s going to be better than this moment right now.

I’m the happiest man in the whole planet. And that… Well, that calls for a celebration. The naked kind.

140

Fiona

My apartment seems like a different place.

Before Danny’s surprise press conference, the walls seemed like they were closing in on me, and the colors were dimmed and lifeless. But now that I’ve stepped inside again with Danny by my side, it’s almost as if I’ve entered a completely different apartment. Sunlight streams through the drawn curtains, and everything seems bright and shiny. In a way, everything’s exactly the same, but at the same time, everything’s different now. It seems that happiness—and love—really have the power to change the way you see the world around you.

“That was the sweetest thing anyone ever did for me,” I tell him the moment we’re behind closed doors, my eyes locked on his. He smiles at that, closing the distance between us and placing both of his hands on my hips.

“I can do more sweet things, you know?” he says, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t talking about breakfast in bed, or flowers on Valentine’s Day.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot,” I purr, my hands on his chest. I feel his heartbeat under the palm of my hand, the outline of his rugged muscles turning my brain into mush. I was terrified that I was going to lose him, and now here he is, back in my arms. This is my lucky day, that’s for sure.

“I love you, Fiona,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine, and I feel my knees growing weak.

“I love you too,” I whisper back at him, these words leaving a sweet taste in my mouth as they roll over my tongue. Smiling, he leans into me, and my eyelids droop as I feel his lips on mine. I open my mouth slowly, his tongue finding its way toward mine, and we kiss in complete abandonment.

Right now, it’s almost as if we are in a world of our own; forget about the games, forget about the media. We’re here, together, and that’s the extent of our whole universe.

“Come here,” he says, pulling back from my kiss and picking me up. Carrying me in his arms, he makes a beeline toward my bedroom and then lays me down on the bed. I lie back as he climbs on top of me, his mouth once again fitted against my own. I start unbuttoning his crisp white shirt as we kiss, my fingers working in a hurry. When the last button comes undone, I untuck the fabric out of his pants and then push the shirt down his arms, feeling the ropes of muscles in his arms on the way down.

I throw the shirt off the bed and then my hands dart toward his crotch. I flatten the palm of one hand there, and a shiver of anticipation crawls up my spine as I feel the thick shape of his hard cock tenting his pants and threatening to rip the fabric on its way out.

“I missed you,” I tell him, wrapping my fingers around the hard shape in his pants and squeezing it. “And I missed this.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he responds, looking at me with a soft smile. “And I’m not going anywhere…” He goes to his knees, still between my legs, and grabs the hem of my button-up blouse; pulling on it, he forces the buttons to pop out and then he pushes it down my arms, his hungry eyes going straight to the curve of breasts.

He leans into me, his mouth right between my belly, and I let out a soft moan as I arch my back, feeling his lips on my skin. My hands dart to his head and, running my fingers through his hair and disheveling it, I force him to keep his mouth pressed against my body. Sliding one hand between my back and the mattress, he finds the clasp on my bra and pulls it free. With one yank, he takes the bra off my body, the straps sliding fast down my arms, and throws it to the side.

He looks at me in silence, his eyes taking in the sight of my naked chest, and I do the thinking for him. I grab both his hands and, slowly, place them over my naked belly. I close my eyes as I feel the palm of his hands pressing on my hard nipples, and another moan finds its way out of me when he squeezes my breasts.

Easing up the pressure, he uses his thumb and index finger to pinch my right nipple, and then he does the same to the left one. I look into his eyes as he does it, biting down on my lower lip as I feel the (oh so sweet) pain travelling from my belly to brain.

“I want to devour you,” he says, his voice heavy with anticipation.

“Do it,” I breathe out.

“I want to forget you,” he continues, and I’m not sure if he's even listening to me. His eyes are wide and glazed, as if he’s hypnotized by my body. “I want to taste you. I want to make you mine, and then never let go.”

“Do it… Do it,” I repeat, closing my eyes as he pinches my nipples harder than before. My words spread their wings and turn into a moan, and that’s when he finally lets go of my nipples. Sliding his hands down the side of my body, he takes them to the hem of my tight fitting skirt and pulls the side zipper down.

Looking up at me, that wild hunger dancing in his eyes, he pulls my skirt down my legs. He lays on top of me again, kissing me, and I lace my legs on his lower back; holding onto him like that, I press my crotch against his, swaying my hips just so that I can feel his thick cock.

“I want you, I want you so much,” I whisper into his ear, my hands going down from his shoulder blades to the hem of his pants. I move them around his waist and, finally finding his belt buckle, I open it up. Anxiety making my heart beat faster, I slide the belt out from its loops and let it fall from my fingers. I go back to his pants and undo the top button, my trembling fingers then taking care of his zipper; the moment I start pulling it down, his cock pushes back against my fingers from under his boxer briefs, making my heart beat even faster.

Turning my wrist around, I grab his cock underhandedly, feeling it pulse against my curled fingers; I start moving my hand up and down, stroking him over his boxers, and I let out a gentle moan against his ear. He reacts by tangling his fingers in my hair and yanking, forcing me to throw my head back. He rolls to the side at the same time and, moving quickly, he takes his parted lips to my left nipple; he wraps them around my rosy tip, sucking it inside his mouth, and then presses down with his tongue. I let go of his cock as pleasure flutters inside of me, one hand of his going over my stomach in a downward line.

“I need this so bad,” he whispers, his fingers going over my drenched thong and pressing on my pussy.

“Then take it, take it now,” I tell him, the desperation to feel him, to be messed by him, completely overpowering me.

“Yes,” he says, and then he hooks his fingers on the string of fabric that laces my outer thigh and pulls. The sound of the thong ripping reaches me a fraction of a second after, the cool air of the room lapping at my naked pussy. Now completely naked, I moan as he takes two fingers to my clit, rubbing me there for a few seconds before hiking down to my drenched folds. He goes up and down over them, and then starts to part them with his index finger; my back is arched as anticipation makes my muscles tense up, but he just keeps on teasing me with no end in sight.

Only when I start relaxing does he go for it; flicking his wrist fast, he slides his index finger all the way inside my pussy, curling it upward and only stopping when it’s pressed tight against my G-spot. I open my mouth in surprise, a sudden scream welling up to my lips, and he takes the chance to start rubbing my clit with his free hand.

Pleasure fills me up to the brim, pooling in my muscles and biting at my nerve endings. It demands all of my brain’s attention, controlling every single cell inside my skull as it keeps on growing and growing, like a never-ending stairway to heaven. It grows so much that it bursts, an explosion of sheer ecstasy taking over me; arching my back again, I let out one wild scream and, when my vocal chords grow tired, I resort to hissing like a madwoman.

Danny takes his fingers out of my pussy then, but never lifting them off my body. He traces an upward line over my stomach with his wet fingertips, my fluids glistening on my skin, and goes all the way to the valley between my breasts. From there, he climbs the straight line of my chin and only stops when his fingers are on my lips. I part them slowly, and he wastes no time, sliding his fingers inside my mouth; I suck on them, my brain burning as the sweet flavor of my pussy inundates it.

“Good, isn’t it?” he asks me, his lips once again brushing over the curve of my breasts. This time he takes his mouth down my body and, positioning himself between my open legs, he starts kissing my inner thighs, using his tongue like a torture device.

Grabbing at his hair, I try to force him down, but he fights back against my hold. He keeps on teasing me, brushing both lips and tongue on my inner thighs while I try to thrust with my hips. Countering me, he presses his forearm over my waist, pinning me down to the mattress, and just keeps on circling my wetness without going for it.

“Please,” I pant, my voice quivering as I try to fight back against his hold, moving my hips from side to side.

“I love to hear you beg,” he says, looking up at me with a devious grin on his face.

“Then please, please... “ I beg him, looking into eyes with an expression of pure desperation. His eyes become narrower as his grin widens and, just like that, he’s on me; he wraps his lips around my clit and starts to suck, using his tongue to run soft circles around it. Hooking his thumbs under my knees, he forces my legs up and then takes his open mouth to my pussy lips, pressing it against my wetness and jabbing at my insides with his tongue.

This time he doesn’t stop me while I try to thrust, and so I just press my pussy against his face as hard as I can, rubbing my wetness against his mouth. “Yes, yes…” I keep on saying, the words coming out of me in a torrent. I want to moan and scream at the same time, I want to tell him how good he is, and how much I love him… But all I do is repeat that yes over and over again, like a delirious broken record.

Sucking and licking, he presses one thumb over my clit and starts rubbing on it while he devours my pussy. Violent pleasure starts rising inside of me again like a ticking bomb, each tick one step closer to ecstasy.

I want this every day. I need this every day. And I swear to heaven, I will never again be blindsided by everything else when my relationship with Danny is at stake. I need his lips, his naked body, and his cock, as much as I need the air to breath… And I will never risk that again.

“Oh goodness,” I blurt out the moment a hurricane of pleasure takes over me. There’s a storm in my brain and, for a moment, I can’t even see or hear anything; my brain shuts down everything in order to process all the sweet pleasure reaching it. I’m grinding my teeth so hard I can feel the pressure building around the bones in my jaw.

With my brain seemingly busy, my body goes out of control; still grabbing him by the hair, I start swaying my hips in a frenzy, crushing my pussy against his face in deep desperation as I come. By the time pleasure finally starts receding, there are already beads of sweat pooling on my forehead.

“So good…” I whisper, more to myself than to him, as I collapse on top of the bed, sprawling both my legs and arms.

“I can say the same,” he whispers back at me, going up to his knees. I force my eyes open and look at him, a delirious smile taking over my lips as I see his lips and chin glistening from my fluids.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I reach for him and tug his pants down. He does the rest, rolling to the side and kicking them off. He’s only in his boxers now, but I’m going to take care of that really, really soon …

Moving like a cat, I place my hands on his chest and push him down. He lies on top of the mattress willingly and I jump on top of him in an instant, straddling him. His cock is tenting up his boxer briefs, and I just can’t help but to press my aching pussy against that pulsing shape. Sitting on top of his shaft, I start swaying my hips, moving my body in a flowing motion as I grind against him.

“Idiot,” he groans, running his tongue between his lips as he lays his hands on my rear. Squeezing my cheeks, he makes me grind against him even harder; I do it for a few seconds, but the desire to feel his huge cock turns into a raging need and I slide down his body. My fingernails slide down from his pectorals to his abs, leaving the red marks of claws on their way, and I finally hook them on his boxers.

Tugging viciously, I almost rip the fabric out. That doesn’t happen, though, so I just push his boxers down his legs, never taking my eyes out of his cock as it springs free. I look at it with wide eyes, and for an instant I don’t know where I need it the most—inside my mouth, inside my pussy, or… somewhere else. All I know is that I need it.

Much like he did before, I position myself between his legs, reaching for his mast and grabbing it harshly. Unlike him, though, I’m not in the mood for any kind of teasing; I need his cock, and I need it now. Looking into his eyes one last time, I lean into him as I angle his cock, pointing it straight at my mouth. I part my lips and wrap them around his tip, slowly lowering myself and allowing his shaft to slide over my tongue.

“Idiot, so tight,” he groans, gently placing his hands on the top of my head and pushing me down. I let him do it willingly, and I only stop when my lips are at the base of his cock, its tip pressed tight against the back of my throat. I hold my position there for a few seconds, using my tongue to press on his shaft, and only then do I allow him to slide out.

The moment only his tip is in my mouth, I grab his shaft with one hand and start stroking him. Bobbing my head back and forth, I suck and stroke at a perfect rhythm, my body in complete sync as I please him. The pace keeps growing furiously, and it doesn’t take long for the muscles in my neck to start cramping. Still, instead of pushing through, I decide it’s time we change gears.

I pop his cock out of my mouth and, sliding both hands up his naked torso, I sit on top of him. “Idiot me, Mr. Quarterback,” I purr, grabbing his cock and pointing it upward. “Show me your winning moves,” I continue, raising my hips and then lowering myself until I feel the tip of his cock against my pussy lips.

“Touchdown,” he grins, his word a barely audible whisper. In a heartbeat he takes his hands to my rear cheeks, and burying his fingers into my flesh, pushes me down. I throw my head back and scream as I feel his shaft digging deep into me, my insides burning up as if Danny’s body was made of fire and sin, and as far as I know, it really is.

He keeps down as he thrusts, his cock making its burning way until his twelve inches are all lodged inside of me. I cry out, clawing at his chest as I feel my inner walls stretching to accommodate his massive cock. I guess it doesn’t matter how many times we’re together, my body’s never going to get used to how big Danny is. And that’s fine by me; every time is like the first time.

Letting my head down, my hair falling over my shoulders, I start rocking my hips. I ride him hesitantly at first, still getting used to his pulsing shaft inside of me, but in a matter of seconds my body has already worked itself into a frenzy. I go back and forth over his cock as fast as I can, and he starts thrusting too, pistoning into me in a feverish state.

I ride myself to exhaustion, my coming and going motion only slowing down when I can’t go on any longer. And, when that happens, I’m already screaming at the top of my lungs. Pleasure makes its way up from my pussy and, in my throat, it turns into a raw and primal sound, exploding in the air like the sound of a grenade.

I think of rolling to the side, spreading my legs, and let him do the heavy lifting. But no, I want more than that; as such, I take my knees off of the mattress and, with both feet on the side of Danny’s hips, I squat over him. His cock is still inside of me, so all I have to do is take a deep breath and order my body to start moving again, which he does. I jump up and down on his cock, the thunder of the orgasm he gave me still roaring inside of me, and I do it until a second orgasm explodes on top of the first one.

This time I really roll to the side, breathing hard while fireworks go off behind my closed eyelids.

“C’mere,” I whisper lazily, spreading my legs while I hear the mattress sighing as Danny moves. He lies on top of my body and, grabbing his cock with one hand, he guides it home. He’s inside of me in one sudden thrust, one hand holding my head while the other one runs through my hair.

“I could stay like this forever,” he whispers into my hair, gently moving his cock in and out of me.

“Me too,” I tell him with a smile, resting my hands on his back. I let my fingers lay there as I feel his muscles moving, every inch of Danny’s body designed with one sole intent in mind: pleasure.

He keeps on thrusting at that gentle pace until time seems to melt away around us. Our bodies float down the river of eternity, our minds adrift but never letting go of one another. This moment is perfection itself.

“I love you,” I tell him once more, brushing my lips against his. I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of having these three words in my mouth. I’ve never been cold or anything like that, but I never thought I’d be this… in love. Yeah, that’s the right term, and I don’t care if it sounds corny.

“I love you too, never doubt that. Not for one second,” he says, and then pulls his cock out of me. He climbs off of me, lying on his side, and places one hand on my waist. Making me roll to the side, my back turned to him, he presses his body against mine and guides his cock between my thighs. He’s inside of me just like that, almost as if his cock never left my pussy, and his thrusts resume that soft kind rhythm.

We remain like that, two bodies fused into one, for heaven knows how long, time just a word without meaning. This time I don’t moan or scream; I just grab at the sheets hard, exhaling sharply as a bright ball of ecstasy rolls up into existence deep inside of me.

He stops thrusting as I come, and he simply holds me tight, his cock still inside of me. When I finally open my eyes, my breathing still hard but returning to normal, he finally slides out of me. I turn on the bed to face him and kiss him on the lips.

“Now,” I whisper, gently smiling, “I want the X-rated version.” My smile turns into a grin, and the flicker in his eyes tells me that he doesn’t need any clarifications.

“The lady asks, the lady gets,” he says, sitting up on the bed and then going on his knees. “Now come here.” I exchange one last glance with him and go on all fours right in front of me, wiggling my rear as he grabs me by the hips, pulling me into him.

He takes one hand off of my waist, and I wince as I realize what he’s going to do. I purse my lips, hold my breath, and then I feel the palm of his hand landing heavily on my rear cheek. He does it over and over again, imprinting the mark of his fingers on my flesh, the sound of it echoing in the room.

“Idiot me,” I moan, thrusting my rear back at him; this time he doesn’t make me beg. The moment the words leave my lips, I feel the tip of his cock brushing against my inner lips. Then, a heartbeat after that, his cock is sheathed to the hilt inside of me. He drives it all the way in, his fingers hooked on my hips as he thrusts and holds his position.

Slowly, he starts building up a rhythm, but he does it fast enough; in a matter of seconds the sound of his thighs slapping my rear fill the whole room and drown my brain in a symphony of lust.

“Harder,” I tell him, the tone of my voice harsh and commanding, and he obliges happily; he rocks his body so hard against mine that if he wasn’t holding me by the hips I’d just fall forward. At the same time, he laces my waist with one arm and takes two fingers to my clit, pressing on it while he ravages my pussy.

Me while working my clit, he drives me to the edge of pleasure and then throws me off it. I go from my hands to my elbows, barely enough strength left in my arms to support myself. And still he keeps on thrusting, his movements vicious and wild, a sweet savagery to the way he moves and demolishes my pussy. I scream as an explosion goes off inside my body, one so violent that I dive head first into the mattress, the sheets muffling my scream of utter ecstasy.

“More…” I say, turning my head to the side so that I can get the words out. My muscles are still twitching and burning, but I need more; I need him to mess me until my conscious mind fades away entirely, and all that’s left of me is unbridled unconsciousness.

“Gladly,” he groans, taking his cock out of my pussy. He places his hands on my rear cheeks and, spreading them wide, he then starts rubbing the tip of his mess up and down my crack. I grit my teeth as he presses his thickness against my jerk and I scream again as he starts sliding it in. He does it without no hesitation or gentleness; he just slides it in at a steady pace, his thick shaft pushing my inner walls back on its way in.

“Idiot,” I groan, grabbing at the sheets and bunching them up with trembling fingers. He drives all of his inches into me, and then he starts pounding me furiously, my body rocking back and forth with each coming and going motion of his. Now that he’s in control of my mouth and pussy, it’s time he takes my rear as well. And that’s exactly what he does; he idiots me as if I exist just to please him and, right now, I’d say that’s the truth.

“Don’t stop,” I tell him, this time wanting him to cum as well. I need to feel his warm juices on me, his cock gushing out that raging river over my body… Goodness, I used to be such a sweet innocent girl, and now look at me: desperate to have Danny cum all over my naked body after me in the rear.

I love it.

“All the way, Danny…” I moan. “I want you to… idiot me… all the way…” I continue, my eyes closed shut as pleasure tears my brain apart. My rear tightens up around his shaft like a vice as I come again, waves of merciless pleasure crashing against both my mind and body, but this time I feel his cock pulsing too.

“I’m going to --” he starts, but he never gets to finish his sentence. He stops thrusting and, his cock buried deep inside my rear, he starts gushing out in a torrent. I feel his warm semen filling me up, and it only takes a few seconds for it to start dripping out of my rear. I crawl slightly forward, forcing his cock to pop out of my rear, and I feel thick strands of cum hitting me straight on the back.

“Yes, do it…” I moan, turning around so that I’m lying flat on my back, my hands squeezing my breasts as he holds his cock in one hand and sprays his seed all over me. His head is thrown back, an expression of utter bliss on his face.

When he opens his eyes to look at me, I can only imagine the glorious sight in front of me; I’m covered in cum, almost from head to toe. I feel it dripping out of my mouth and down my face, and both my belly are drenched in it, streams of semen making their way down the side of my body and staining the sheets underneath me.

By the time he’s done, his cock no longer spraying me with cum, I’m almost drowning in it. I sit up on the bed and, without thinking, place both my hands on his face and pull him into me. Our lips touch and the world around us fades away into nothingness.

Our tongues battle one another, dancing over the blanket of cum inside my mouth. But he wants more, and so he pulls back from our kiss and, using the tip of his tongue, traces a straight line toward my breasts. Scooping up all the cum he can find, he then returns to my mouth and we kiss again, gooey drops of semen glistening on our chins as we surrender to uncontrollable lust.

“This is it,” he whispers suddenly, looking into my eyes with an expression far more powerful than a lustful one - an expression of love. “This is everything I want. Forget about the Super Bowl, as long as I’m with you I’m going to be the happiest man on Earth.”

“I can say the same, you know?”

With that, we hold each other and sit there, in silence. We’ve said everything we needed to, and now we only need our eyes to keep the conversation going.

Danny Manning, my heart’s MVP.

141

Epilogue - Fiona

“Holy trash, he’s going to -- TOUCHDOWN!” Cody yells, jumping from his seat and brandishing one fist up in the air. I jump up too, and it seems that the whole stadium is going to erupt. The crowd roars like a giant monster, and I scream as loud as I can, a big smile on my face.

Danny ran through the defense like a hot knife through butter, cocked his elbow with clockwork precision and then sent the ball through the air in a perfect arch. It landed neatly into the wide receiver’s hands, and all he to do was dive into the end zone. Touchdown with five seconds on the clock, and the Nailers were down by three. And this is the big game - SuperBowl.

“I did it! I did it! Danny shouts, running through the field and heading straight for me. He takes the strap off his helmet, lets it fall on the grass and then jumps over the barriers between the field and the seats. He grabs me with his big hands, pulling me into his arms and crushing his mouth against mine. “I did it, babe!” He cries out, an expression of pure ecstasy on his face.

“I knew you would,” I tell him, kissing him back. “Now go get that trophy - you earned it.” With a wink and a smile, he gets down onto the field again, and assumes his position for the mandatory five seconds left.

The MILFs try to make a miracle, but it’s too late for them. The referee call it in, and everyone goes completely crazy. I wave my Nailers’ flag up in the air, grinning like crazy as the whole Nailers team congregates in the middle of the field, two big guys grabbing Danny and carrying him on their shoulders.

The Nailers comeback is one for the history books - they took a mighty beating during the first half of the game, and then they completely destroyed everyone in their during the last twenty minutes. And all thanks to whom? Danny Manning, of course - the best player in the league, and my man.

Working like crazy, the stadium workers set up a stage in the center of the field, and a parade starts as the Nailers line up on the stage, eager to get their hands in the big prize. Two scantily clad women bring the trophy onto the stage, and they head straight to Danny.

I can almost see the excitement in his eyes as he curls his fingers around the trophy’s handles. He raises the trophy into the air and the crowd roars once more, chants of Danny! Danny! echoing through the stadium.

Someone shoves a mic into Danny’s hands, and the chants die a little as everyone wants to hear what the Nailers’ savior has to say. Do you want to know what his first word is?

“FIONA!” He cries out, looking straight toward me. “Get down here!” He says, and the cameras focus on, my confused face showing on the Jumbotron. “Get down here,” he repeats, and Kim pinches my arm.

“Go,” she whispers, and Cody pushes me up to my feet. I climb down the barriers clumsily with the help of two police men, and then I start making my way toward the stage, suddenly feeling as if I’m at the center of the universe, every single pair of eyeballs in the States watching me.

The moment I’m close enough to Danny, he laces my waist with one arm and pulls me into him. “This here,” he raises the trophy in their with one hand, “I owe to this woman.”

The crowd claps and shouts, and it takes almost a minute for the commotion to die down.

“But you know what?” Danny continues. “Although I wanted this trophy for a long, long time… Now that I have it, I discovered that I had already won the big prize - Fiona’s heart.”

He passes the trophy to one of his teammates and then turns to me, looking me straight in the eyes. I look back at him, not knowing what to say - or how to say it -, and then he does something I wasn’t expecting at all.

He goes down on his knees.

“Will you marry me, Fiona?” He asks me, his words echoing through the stadium as someone hands me him a small velvety box. He snaps it open, and an enormous diamond ring gleams inside.

The whole stadium has gone silent, and the only thing I can hear right now is the steady pulse of my heart. I open my mouth to speak, and I feel salty tears rolling over my lips. Goodness, I’m crying.

“Yes! Yes, I will!” I cry out, going down to my knees in front of me and kissing him. “I will marry you, Danny Manning…” I whisper, trying to choke down a sob. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy enough to start crying, but here it is - I’m a whimpering mess of happiness right now.

The stadium erupts in a chant, the sound so deafening I can’t even make out what everyone’s screaming. Right now, the whole States - if not the world - is seeing Danny propose to me and slip his diamond ring into my finger. And now the whole world also knows that I’m the happiest woman on Earth.

“Let’s get out of here,” Danny tells me, going up to his feet and picking me up from the floor. I place one arm around his neck and just hold tight onto him as he walks down the stage.

“Where are you going? You need to be here for the celebration, Danny!” The league’s commissioner starts to say, rushing down the stage and following after us. Without even bothering to slow down, Danny’s reply is a quick one.

“We’re going to do our own celebration,” he says, looking back over his shoulder at the commissioner.

“I love you,” I tell him as he walks inside the stadium’s tunnel entrance.

“I love you too,” he whispers, the long shadows inside the tunnel wrapping themselves around us.

Happy endings - the hype is real.

And Finally, More Gian and Lucy

The last thing we have for you is a peek back at Gian and Lucy.

We hope you’ve enjoyed your journey with us today.

Please feel free to check back into our world with Lana and I again!

Thank you so much for reading!

xoxo

Alexis

142

Gian and Lucy - The Honeymoon

“Tommy, I can’t believe you did this!” I wrap my arms around my brother’s neck, kissing him on the cheek. “You do realize that you’re incredible honeymoon gift, crazy work schedule – none of this is going to keep us from spending time together when I get back, right?” I laugh as I say this, because now that Tommy is well, we eat lunch together several times a week. I’ve seen more of him that I had in nearly ten years, and not just because of the fact that he wasn’t busy drinking, gambling, or doing drugs.

No, thanks to my wonderful new husband, Gian, my brother got help. My brother got better.

He even got a job and bought me a honeymoon getaway. I let him go and smile at him. He looks better than he has in ages. Young again. Happy. I couldn’t be more grateful.

I see Gian give him a look before they do the manly pat on the back hug thing that I will never quite get, but they’re both smiling in genuine, wide smiles that reach the eyes. The very air around us seems magical. I have literally everything I have ever wanted.

Well, there’s one more thing. Something that you don’t exactly hope for when you think you are going to be a virgin for the rest of your life. But a married woman with financial security and happiness totally thinks about these things.

“When we get back, maybe you’ll be uncle Tommy,” I say with a grin and pat my stomach.

“Are you?” Gian’s hand closes over mine.

“Not yet,” I say. “But I doubt we’ll stop practicing…and you’d be such an excellent father,” I say and kiss Gian’s cheek.

I see something flicker through him. Before Gian and I figured out that he and I could really be together, that all the rocky stuff from his past and my fight or flight survival mode existence could both end, neither of us thought we’d ever get to be so domesticated.

Now, we can have anything. And I want to have Gian’s baby.

I think I actually see moisture welling up in Gian’s eyes, but no tears fall. I’ve never seen him have such a strong reaction before, but judging by that smile that’s still there, and the love in his eyes when he looks at me, I think we’re both in agreement.

“Work on that, then, because I know that Lucy will be a fantastic mother,” Tommy says, turning to head back to his car. “She always takes care of me,” he says in a quiet voice, but I hear him.

I’ve always done my best, and I’m so glad that he’s in such a good place right now.

“Tommy told me about this trip…and I took the liberty of upgrading us to first class and extending our stay. I suppose the paradise away from home will be an excellent place to work on making a baby. Though the mile high club will be nice, too,” Gian says, pulling me up into his arms and holding me up.

My lips drop down to close over his and I think about what he’s just said.

Sex on an airplane is something that I never even would have thought of. I don’t even know what first class is like.

Gian and I get in the car, the driver getting us to the airport, and we head for the first class lounge. This is nothing like the few times I’ve flown before. But I’m not terribly surprised that flying with Gian already makes me feel like I’m in a new world. Being wealthy – as Gian’s wife, I am technically wealthy as well – doesn’t exactly come easy to me but I’m trying to get used to it.

When we board our plane, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Well of course we can have sex on the plane,” I say, perhaps a little too loudly, but I’m flabbergasted. There’s a private sleeping cabin with a door and I remember seeing something crazy like this on YouTube and the brief memory of the price tag on something like this makes my eyes widen.
“Did you think I was going to be able to wait until we were at the beach to be inside you?” Gian wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me against him so I can feel the full width and length of his erection. His cock is harder than the stuff they make the plane out of, and I can tell exactly what he wants. I can’t say I want anything else, either. The outline of his cock against me makes me bite my lip before I can register anything else.

We had sex this morning, doggy style, in the shower, and I feel like that was a million years ago now.
“I don’t think I can wait another minute longer,” I say in a surprisingly breathy voice. That’s the effect Gian has on me. Since I met him, I’ve found him so irresistible.

Gian takes my hand and leads me in to our cabin, where we close the door, and he lifts me up like I weigh nothing and lays me down on the bed.

He eyes me like he’s going to eat me up for a second, and when his finger is at the drawstring of my sweatpants, I don’t think I can wait a second longer, shaking off my flip flop sandals quickly. I insisted in traveling in something comfortable, and I’m glad I did, because my pants slide right off, giving him near instant access to me. Gian tears down my panties and cups my pussy, sliding his fingers through my wet folds.

“Idiot, you’re always so wet for me,” he purrs at me.

I whimper. Goodness, can someone hear us? I realize that I don’t care if they can, though, because I need him so much I would scream and beg for him if he wasn’t already so eager to mess me.

“I can’t wait any longer, dang,” Gian says, tearing off his pants. His hands pull my legs up so high that he’s practically folded me in half and he slams his cock into me, hard.

He’s so deep inside me so fast that I can’t breathe for a second, my eyes roll back in their orbits, and I’m seeing stars.

Gian slams his cock into me so fast, over and over again, and the wet sound of us is filling the air as much as the scent of my pussy. It smells like sex all around us, and I know someone else on the plane has to know what we’re doing.

First class flying has some pretty incredible perks.

Because I know that Gian has enough money, he can do whatever he wants.

And I love Gian so much, and want him so much, I would let him do anything to me.

“Idiot,” I groan out, him slamming his cock so hard into my pussy that I forget any urge I might have had to be quiet.

Gian gives me a smile that is so wide and satisfied it makes my pussy squeeze around him, my clit twitching at how incredibly sexy he is.

“Kiss me,” I whimper out, wanting him to put the weight of his body on me while he folds me in half like this.

Leaning so close and pressing his body against me, I can feel Gian’s sexy stubble tickling my face and feel his hot breath on my mouth. “Cum for me,” Gian growls before his lips capture mine. His drugging kiss makes my hips rock up and take every last inch of his enormous cock. My pussy strangles his cock, milking out his cum while mine is gushing out of my pussy. I feel how wet my thighs are getting, can feel his balls slapping my rear and how wet they are with cum.

When Gian breaks our kiss, his mouth travels down to my breasts and I barely finish one orgasm before his tongue swirling my nipple brings me to another.

“You’re mine, forever,” Gian growls, sinking his teeth into me.

“Yes!” I cry out, wrapping my arms around his neck and bringing my legs to lock around behind his back. He pulls me up so I’m sitting on his lap. Gian holds me while I shake from the incredible orgasms I just had. I rest my head against his chest, kissing him where I can hear his heartbeat.

“I love you so much,” I say against his skin.

“You’re my whole dang world. I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” Gian says, kissing the top of my head. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life. I love you.”

Everything that happened between Gian and I felt like it was happening so fast, and then when we finally got married and knew that we really, truly were going to be together and nothing could tear us away from each other, that’s when I knew that all my years of hoping for more for my brother helped me to be open to a future for myself. Gian and I bared the darkest parts of our souls to each other, and together, we found the light to live in.