The Boss's New Plaything

by Layla Valentine

  She lost herself in the sensations coursing through her body, kissing and touching everywhere she could reach, tasting the sweat that began to form on Ari’s warm, olive skin and contrasting it with the sweeter taste of his lips and tongue when he brought his mouth up to kiss her again and again. He lifted her up from the bed slightly and unhooked her bra, casting it aside quickly before kissing her as if he wanted to devour her whole.

  Eva reached down between their bodies and brushed her fingers against the hard, hot bulge in the front of his briefs. “We—we had a talk about patience,” she said, panting for breath.

  Ari laughed, kissing her chest lightly. “Did you not have breakfast this morning? You seem hungry,” he murmured, reaching down to hook his fingers in the waistband of her panties. He tugged them down over her hips, pulling back enough to pull the fabric along her legs, and Eva cooperated, lifting her hips up to hasten the process. She felt as though she might actually die if she didn’t get better contact between her body and Ari’s. But instead of taking his briefs off, Ari brought one hand up between her thighs and cupped her soaking wet folds, rubbing the heel of his palm against her slick labia.

  “Hungry—hungry is one word for it,” Eva said absently, reaching down to continue touching Ari through the fabric of his underwear. Ari’s fingers slid up and down along her labia, teasing her.

  “Poor, impatient little wife,” Ari murmured. His fingers slid up to barely brush against her clitoris, and Eva shivered with need.

  “I told—told you, that’s a terrible nickname,” Eva told him, twisting her hips to get better contact with his fingers. “I’m going to…have to…school you.”

  “I’m a quick learner—I think you told me that,” Ari said, and then his lips connected with hers once more, leaving Eva unable to reply.

  His fingers worked her steadily, teasingly swirling around her clitoris one moment, before sliding along her inner labia the next, increasing the tension deep down between her hips moment by moment. Eva moaned out, twisting and writhing underneath him, pawing at the waistband of his briefs to get at the thick, hot, hard erection she already knew so well.

  Ari slid two fingers inside of her, wriggling them, rubbing along her inner walls even as his thumb pressed against her pleasure center, and Eva gave herself up to the pleasure of his teasing caresses, barely focusing enough to continue stroking Ari as she trembled and arched and squirmed underneath him. Over and over again, Ari brought her to the edge of orgasm and then retreated, slowing down until Eva’s shivering began to subside, kissing her on the lips until she thought she might drown. She was so close to climax that she could have sworn she could taste it, but Ari—expertly—kept the best pleasure at bay, leaving her reeling and almost whimpering with need.

  By the time Ari lifted himself off of her, falling onto the bed at her side and tugging his underwear down to let his erection free, Eva thought she might die if she didn’t achieve orgasm soon.

  “You know, I think it’s not that I’m impatient,” she said, watching him slip out of the last piece of clothing on his body. “I think it’s that you’re a damn tease.”

  Ari chuckled, tossing his briefs away without a shred of concern for where they landed in the room. He reached over for her, pulling Eva over, lifting her off of the bed.

  “If you’re so worried about it, why don’t you call the shots for a while?”

  Eva frowned in momentary confusion, but as Ari began to maneuver her, hauling her on top of him, she realized what he meant. She straddled his hips, balancing her weight on her knees and her hands, and looked down at Ari with a grin.

  She rocked her hips against his, rubbing her slick folds against the heat and hardness of his cock, and Ari’s hands wandered over her body slowly. He gave her breasts a lingering, eager squeeze and played his thumbs against her nipples, teasing them until they hardened into tight, little nubs. Eva teased Ari for as long as she could stand, building up speed as she slid along the length of his erection, pressing her clit against the tip of him. Ari moaned, pulling her face down to kiss her hungrily, and Eva struggled to keep herself in control; she wanted revenge for his teasing.

  When Eva couldn’t stand it anymore, she shifted on top of Ari’s body and guided the tip of his erection against her folds. She sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch, letting him fill her up as slowly as she could make herself go.

  They both moaned out, clutching at each other, touching and kissing each other as they found their rhythm. Eva rode Ari slowly at first, raising and lowering her hips to take him deeper and deeper inside of her. She marveled at how deliciously full she felt, how hot and perfect Ari felt buried in her, rubbing along her inner walls. Gradually, she began to move faster, leaning in to kiss everywhere her lips could reach on Ari’s body, letting her hands wander over him as she shifted her balance from one to the other arm, twisting her hips.

  If Eva had marveled at how perfect their first times together had been, the sensations were only better with the knowledge that Ari wanted her for more than just sex and a cover story. They murmured praise and pleas to each other as they moved together, and Eva struggled to hold back the orgasm she could feel building deep down between her hips, tension mounting every moment.

  All at once, the tension broke, as if someone had cut through the knot she could feel buried deep down between her hips. Eva rose and fell, riding Ari harder and faster as wave after wave of pleasure racked her, so intense it might have been pain. Ari held onto her hips with a viselike grip, thrusting up to meet her movements, and Eva lost herself in the pleasure of her climax, moaning out over and over again as spasms of sensation jolted through her.

  She barely felt the telltale twitching of Ari’s erection buried deep inside of her, and the tension in his body as he came closer and closer to his own orgasm. When she heard Ari moan out, long and low, Eva’s climax intensified, and she rode him as hard and fast as she could, even as she felt the hot, slick gush of his fluids flooding into her.

  Eva fell to the bed at Ari’s side, panting and gasping for breath, trapped in the warm, soothing aftermath of her climax.

  “What am I going to do with myself?”

  “Hmm?”

  Eva rolled her eyes. “I mean—you have work, and this apartment won’t need that much in the way of cleaning. I’ve never really been the housewife type.”

  “You don’t have to be,” Ari told her. “Has it escaped your notice, Eva, that I’m incredibly wealthy?”

  Eva snorted. “That did not escape my notice,” she told him.

  “I will do whatever I need to do to make and keep you happy,” Ari told her, beginning to caress her once more.

  Eva could feel her desire heating up once more, and knew that it would be only a matter of minutes before they tested the new bed even more aggressively.

  She wasn’t sure what the future would hold, but she knew that whatever happened between the two of them, she wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with her. They would be able to hold together through just about anything, considering what they had already been through. And Eva knew—even more certainly—that she was never going to be involved in another con job or scheme for the rest of her life.

  The End

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  Take Me

  Layla Valentine

  Last, but by no means least, is my bad boy steals a bride romance, Take Me

  Settle in for twists, turns, and steam!

  Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular busi
nesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Alice

  I have never been happier.

  As my head was tugged, prodded, and pulled from all sides, I repeated the words to myself. It had to be true. Everyone seemed to believe it. And yet, my gaze was set longingly out the window.

  “Miss Pryce, please keep your head straight,” Melinda snapped, shoving my head so it was facing forward.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  But she was out of earshot already, halfway across the room, dealing with a flower catastrophe—pale blue ones had been ordered but navy blue ones had arrived. The color scheme was ruined.

  While she yelled at the cowering delivery boy, I tried to calm myself down. Just be cool, Alice. Just be cool, and by the end of today, this will all be over.

  My reflection was glaring at me from the gilded mirror. She was beautiful and aloof—her mahogany brown hair pulled into a slick bun, her blue eyes lined and highlighted. I almost wanted to reach out to the mirror and touch her, like one of those 3D images, to prove she wasn’t real. The woman in the mirror, the one who looked like me, knew what I was supposed to do.

  Hell, even the team of makeup artists and hair design specialists and other strangers knew better than me what I was supposed to be doing and how I was supposed to be feeling.

  “You must be sooo excited” was the refrain I heard every five minutes—the one that was becoming increasingly hard to make myself smile gaily in response to.

  Yeah, I should’ve been “sooo excited,” so why was I feeling like I wanted to throw up my breakfast all over my sparkling, gem-encrusted shoes?

  I looked away from my reflection’s icy glare. It was Lux’s fault really. This morning when I’d confessed my nerves, instead of her usual, infuriatingly accurate, “You sure you really want to do this?” my blue-haired friend had grabbed my arm, kidnapped me, and taken me to a run-down diner for an early breakfast.

  That had caused a minor catastrophe with Melinda, the wedding planner chosen by Papa, whose 10 a.m. “brunch with the girls” had been replaced by “FIND THE RUNAWAY BRIDE AND GET HER BACK.” And get me back she had.

  Ah yes, Melinda had been quite the sight, her false-lashed eyes bugging out and her lips so snarled it looked like she had none. When she had found me sitting in the corner booth of the diner, Melinda had handcuffed me with her magenta talons and steered me out of there, Lux laughing protests.

  It was only once we’d been safely inside the white stretch limo that Melinda had delivered her beady-eyed rebuke: “What were you thinking?”

  Instead of answering her, I had adjusted my 40-carat ring so it was sitting straight. I hadn’t answered her then, hadn’t even really thought about it then. Now, however, I knew. My reflection was glaring at me with the same disdain, with the same realization of my answer: I had been thinking I’d miss it. I’d been thinking, somehow, if I just sat in the diner long enough, if Lux rubbed my shoulders and I didn’t say anything, if we ordered enough blueberry pancakes and drowned them in enough maple syrup, the whole wedding would just happen without me. Then everyone could get their way.

  My phone rang. Speak of the devil, it was Papa.

  “How’s it going, kid?”

  I took a deep breath as someone attacked the back of my head with hairspray. Then I gazed at my reflection, which looked every bit as beautifully desolate as I felt.

  “Papa, I…”

  “Eh, nerves are normal. Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ve already got the paparazzi here, ready to go. Everything’s going to be perfect. I have everything handled.”

  And then, before I could get another “but Papa” in, he hung up on me.

  Now my reflection’s blue eyes were bluer with tears.

  I should’ve known. Papa hadn’t been calling to see how I was feeling; he had been calling to make sure I was there, that things were going according to his plan. It was his plan after all.

  Over a month ago, I’d gone to him, teary and breathless, sobbing about my doubts, about my uncertain gut feeling about Paul, about the need to call off the wedding or at least postpone it—anything to buy me some time.

  But Papa’s bristly gray mustache only lowered in displeasure while his eyes became hooded. When his wrinkle-creased fingers had reached for mine, I had known it was over.

  “Alice,” he had said, “let me tell you something.”

  “Papa, I know what you’re going to say, but please, listen to me. I’m begging you.”

  He had nodded as if he’d heard what I’d said, but then continued saying the words that proved he hadn’t listened to me at all.

  “Alice, when I was your age, I was marrying your mother. And you want to know something? I was scared shitless. And you want to know something else? It was the best choice I ever made.”

  At the mention of my mother, a light film of tears had misted over his brown eyes.

  “Your mother…well, your mother would be so proud, Alice. So proud to see you married to such a fine man as Paul.”

  I had kept my gaze on the thick fingers atop mine, each hair on them dark and well defined. Certain. That was what Papa was about this whole thing. And yet, for all I’d wanted to, I couldn’t have made his certainty my own.

  “But Papa, I hardly know him!” I had protested, and then his mustache had trembled.

  “Alice, now is not the time for some teenage crisis. You’ve always been indecisive—in college, in boyfriends, in everything. I’ve already paid tens of thousands of dollars for this wedding. The Van Pattens are a powerful family, and this union will mean great things for the both of us. Paul is a good man—kind, generous, good looking. You’d be a fool to let him go. I’m not going to let your indecisiveness ruin this for me, or for you.”

  When I had said nothing, he had continued.

  “I mean it, Alice. I have supported you indiscriminately up until now—paid for your education, your clothes, hell, who has been footing your phone bill all these years? But I am not about to sit by and watch you ruin your life without saying something about it. Nor am I prepared to support a deadbeat daughter who can’t decide on anything. If you don’t marry Paul now, then you leave me no choice but to write you out of your inheritance.”

  I had gaped at my father, at his face which was incongruously cool, as if he hadn’t just mentioned that he was ripping a billion dollars out of my hands.

  “Papa, you said…”

  “I don’t care what I said,” he had snapped, slamming his hand down so hard on the marble tabletop that his wedding ring had hit with a sound that had clanged throughout the room.

  Leaping up, he had looked down his nose at me, his mustache quivering.

  “Your mother always wanted you to be successful, to get into business, meet a nice man. She didn’t want you gallivanting off to Africa with a bunch of hippies and fleeing the best suitors in Denver!”

  He had taken a step toward me and, towering over me, his brown eyes alight, delivered his ultimatum.

  “Either you marry Paul and get your inheritance, or you are left without a penny.”

  And, just like that, my indecisiveness had been swept aside. My choice had been made for me.

  I had walked out of there with tears streaming out of my eyes. And as I’d collapsed onto the silk sheets on my bed, in my head a resigned voice had said, Well, there are worse ways to make a billion dollars.

  After all, I could finally open up the charity I had always wanted to. Go back to Freetown, Sierra Leone, and continue the work I had started.

  My phone had buzzed; a text from Paul that was all hearts and, at the bottom, I love you.

  As I’d stared at the message, tears had welled up in my eyes, obscuring it into a white blur. Even now I believed it as little as when we had been dating. I’d only known him for five months, and we’d never had a deep conversation. How could he love me when he didn’t even know me? />
  “You must be sooo excited,” Melinda, back from her flower brawl, said icily, smirking her blood-red lips victoriously.

  The flower boy was gone, presumably scrambling off to fetch the right flowers. A flurry of barks got Melinda’s head swiveling, owl-like, to the corner of the room.

  “Who let that thing in there?”

  Next thing I knew, she was scooping Randolph up in her arms and storming out of the room. In the mirror, Lux mouthed “sorry” to me.

  I smiled wanly back. It had been a good idea, bringing my little chocolate spaniel to cheer me up. But Randolph hated Paul and couldn’t even be in the wedding party like we’d planned since he barked at Paul so much.

  God, why was everything telling me that this was wrong?

  “Be careful you don’t smudge your face,” a familiar voice said.

  I turned to see Cynthia staring at me innocuously. I gaped at her for a minute. Her over-tanned skin was even more orange than usual, while her eyebrows had been sharpened into thick black points. She looked terrifying.

  “Don’t want you looking anything less than perfect for my brother,” she drawled, and I nodded.

  Cynthia was one of the most unwelcome parts of being with Paul. She was a vapid, self-obsessed, bitchy drama queen who had taken it upon herself to be my friend despite the fact that we had all of nothing in common. She frightened me, and, even now, I felt my heartbeat accelerate in her presence.