The Perfect Holiday: A Bad Boy New Year Romance

by Mia Ford

  “Mmmm, what are you doing?” he asked, tossing the magazine to the floor and wrapping his arms around me. His cock was long and hard in my hand. I worked my fingers up and down the veiny shaft and teased his hard nipple with my tongue.

  “I’m forcing you to take a break,” I said, my tongue working its way up his neck. I took little bites out of his jaw on my way to his lips.

  “Do I look like I need a break,” he asked, opening his mouth so my tongue could slide inside.

  “You do,” I said, moving to straddle his thighs so I could milk his cock in front of me. His hands came up to my tits and gave them a firm squeeze. He rolled my hard nipples between his fingers, making me moan in delicious pain.

  “Can I read my magazine after you fuck my brains out?” he asked, putting his hands on my hips to pull me onto his cock.

  “You can try,” I said with a smile. “But I doubt you’ll be able to.”

  I held his cock with one hand and slowly impaled myself onto it. The breath rushed from my lungs as he filled my entire cunt with his long, thick manhood.

  “That feels amazing…” I moaned, putting my hands on his chest as I slowly slid my hips back and forth down the length of him. He dug his fingers into my sides to help me along.

  “Yes, it does…” he said. “Amazing…”

  “God, you’re setting me on fire,” I said, closing my eyes as the heat from my cunt radiated throughout my entire body. It was warm in the bedroom. I started to sweat as the heat from our bodies intensified.

  “Oh… fuck…” he moaned, arching his hips to drive deeper into my cunt. “You’re so fucking… tight…”

  I licked the sweat from my lips and lowered my mouth onto his. He was sweating, too. He was salty on my tongue. His skin was glistening and slick beneath me.

  “I’m cumming…” I moaned as the orgasm began to shudder through me.

  Nicky slid his hands around to my ass and started pummeling me onto his cock. “Cum with me, baby… cum… cum…”

  He growled and stiffened beneath me, every muscle in his body rippling as he filled me with his hot seed. I came with him, gushing hot juices over his cock and balls, making a wonderfully sticky mess. The room filled with the scent of our sex and sweat. We thrust at each other for a moment more, then I collapsed on top of him, panting in his ear,

  “Fuck… I needed that,” he said with his lips at my ear.

  “So did I,” I said, getting up onto my elbows. I was literally burning up. I brushed the back of my hand acros my forehead. I was sweating like crazy and so was he.

  “I may have turned the heat up too high,” he said with a happy sigh. “I didn’t want you to freeze when you got out of the shower. Now I’m sweating like pig. Wait, Dr. Donovan, do pigs sweat?”

  I smiled and kissed his lips. “I’m not sure,” I said, gazing into his eyes. “But there is one thing I know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When I’m making love to you, sweat is so fucking sexy.”

  He ran his tongue up my neck like he was licking an ice cream cone and said, “Yes, ma’am, it certainly is.”

  I put my hands on his face and looked deeply into his eyes. “Thank you for buying me, Mr. D’Angelo. You saved my life.”

  He smiled and nuzzled his nose to mine. “My darling, it was the wisest money I have ever invested… With the most wonderful returns.”

  ***The End***

  Continue on to read FALLING FOR THE SEAL – a full length military romance novel with loads of steam and an awesome HEA!

  Falling for the Seal

  Blurb

  Even after all these years I can see her when I close my eyes at night; Annabel Lee, young, naked, fiery, her soft body covered in sweat, her dark hair cascading over her breasts as she rides atop me like Lady Godiva riding through the streets of Coventry. I loved her as much as any teenage boy has ever loved a teenage girl. Then, as teenage boys are prone to do, I screwed it up by cheating on her with another girl. Annabel caught us together and that was the end of that. She wouldn’t even talk to me. I was angry, alone, wallowing in self-pity. I was a ticking time bomb. I knew it was just a matter of time before I went off…

  My name is Captain Shane Mavic. I’m a United States Navy SEAL. I’ve spent the last decade going into the worst shitholes in the world to take out the worst people. They’ve shot at me, tried to stab me, tried to blow me up, but it takes more than some asshole with a suicide vest to get the best of me because I’m fearless. I volunteer for the most dangerous missions because I’m not afraid of dying. You see, the joke’s on them. I’ve been dead on the inside for years. And that makes me one dangerous son of a bitch.

  My name is Annabel Lee. I was in love with a boy once named Shane. He was the love of my life, but he had… well… issues. He came from an abusive home. He loved me, but cheated on me and that was something I couldn’t forgive. Then tragedy struck. Shane’s little brother died and Shane blamed himself. Then he had to confront his father, the man who had beaten him every day of his life. It was no wonder Shane lost control and did what he did. I should have been there for him. I should have taken him in my arms and told him it was going to be all right. Instead, I helped drive him away.

  Now, Shane is back and all grown up. All muscles and tattoos and smoldering heat… My head is telling me to stay away, but my heart—and other parts of me— are screaming to be back in his arms again. Can I trust him this time to not break my heart? Or will history repeat itself and leave me broken and alone again?

  PROLOG: Captain Shane Mavic

  Who the fuck am I?

  That’s a good question. And one that I have asked myself hundreds—if not thousands—of times over the years.

  Others have asked the question, too, mostly strange women in strange bars in strange lands who wondered what it would be like to fuck a strange guy like me.

  Or dangerously-stupid men who saw fit to challenge me on and off the battlefield, only to regret it once my boot heel pushed their bloodied faces into the hard barroom floor or the gritty Iraqi desert sand or the soft Columbian mud, like I was some kind of old timey gunslinger they wanted to gun down to further their own silly reputations.

  I could understand the attraction on both accounts. I stood out like a sore thumb in their dark, little worlds, this big American motherfucker with no tolerance for bullshit and no look of fear in his eyes.

  Most women wanted to fuck me and most men wanted to kill me.

  Hell, I’d even fucked women who wanted to kill me and killed men who wanted to fuck me up, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

  Anyway.

  Welcome to my world.

  I wasn’t afraid of anything other than the past.

  And the past couldn’t hurt me anymore.

  At least that’s what I kept telling myself here in the present.

  And fuck the future.

  I never think beyond one day at a time.

  It would be insane to do so, given the life I lived.

  I went out, did my duty, and tried to come back alive so I could go out and do it all over again tomorrow. That was as far ahead as I ever looked. My world could end now and that would be just fine by me. I’d pretty much done everything God put me here to do and then some.

  So, to answer your question, brothers and sisters, who the fuck am I?

  I have no fucking idea.

  Feel free to let me know if you ever figure it out.

  CHAPTER 1: Shane

  Fine. You want the rundown? Here it is.

  My name is Shane Andrew Mavic. Captain Shane Mavic. I’m twenty-nine years old. I’ve been in the United States Navy for 11 years now, or to be more precise, 4,105 days, 15 hours, and 26 minutes, give or take a couple of minutes.

  I’ve been a SEAL for 3, 875 of those days. Out of those 3,875 days I’ve spent less than 45 days in the United States and exactly zero days in my hometown of Gulf Breeze, Texas. And as you can probably tell, I’m a little hung up on numbers. I’m not math whi
z by any stretch of the imagination. To the contrary, I barely graduated high school. I just like keeping track of things in my head. Counting helps keep me clear. Plus, I just like numbers. I find comfort in them. Numbers are safe, predictable, always logical: unlike most of the people I’ve dealt with in my life, where two plus two equaled any number but four.

  During those 3,875 days, I’ve gone on missions in 24 different countries, most of that time having been spent in some of the world’s premiere shithole destinations like Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia, the Philippines, Columbia, Turkey, Croatia, and Iran; places you could not pay me to go unless I was there in service to my country.

  Still, I’ve loved every fucking minute of being a SEAL. The intense training, the constant adrenaline and exhaustion, the heat, the cold, the dirt, the mud, the swamps, the shit, the danger, the fighting, the knives, the bullets, the bombs, and yes, the pussy. Hell, I even loved that tingly feeling that inched its way up my spine, like a spider creepy-crawling under the skin, knowing that the motherfucker asking to bum a cigarette or wanting to know the time might be wearing a suicide vest or waiting for you to let your guard down so he could slit your throat. That shit gets my adrenaline pumping, man.

  So, to answer your question: who the fuck am I?

  I’m a motherfucking Navy SEAL, motherfucker.

  That’s what I do.

  That’s who I am.

  Don’t get me wrong. It hasn’t been all work and no play. During that time, I’d had sex with 432 ladies of various shapes, sizes, colors, and nationalities. My standards tended to waver based on the amount of readily available pussy and the amount of alcohol consumed.

  I’d been the beneficiary of 319 blowjobs that ranged from “just okay” to “fucking mind-blowing”. In my humble opinion, there was really no such thing as a bad blowjob, although there was one Peruvian chick that had one hell of an overbite who left me with teeth marks on my cock that took a few days to heal. I didn’t mind so much. I just considered them to be battle scars, like the three bullet holes in my back that got me my first Purple Heart and the jagged scars on my forearms from that cocksucker in that Columbian bar who came at me with a butcher knife when he caught me talking to his old lady.

  I’d been on the receiving end of 272 hand jobs and spent an entire furloughed weekend in Bogota once, cuffed to a metal bed while identical twins named Lola and Lulu—who didn’t speak a word of English—did things to my body that I wished they’d videotaped because you’d have to see it to believe it.

  I walked funny for a week after that, but it was worth it.

  I reckoned my looks were the main reason I got laid so much. God knows it wasn’t my sparkling personality that attracted the women. I didn’t smile much. And I wasn’t much of a talker. And my intolerance for bullshit had led me into so many fights that I didn’t even bother counting them anymore.

  A Ukrainian chick whose name I couldn’t pronounce and can’t remember once told me, “Is good thing you good looking. You have personality like dog shit.” She said it while she was straddling my hips, riding my cock like a jockey in the Kentucky Derby. I just told her to shut the fuck up and keep on riding. And she did.

  “Tall, dark, and dangerous,” is how my buddy Troy introduced me to the ladies who hung out in the bars we hit when we had some down time. My SEAL call sign was Vader, which I thought was kind of cool. It fit me. I’m 6’4, with buzzed dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, and I can grow a full beard in less than a week. Over the years, I’ve packed on 225 pounds of solid muscle, and have black tribal tats all over my shoulders and arms. Women dig tattoos. At least a certain kind of women do. And those women of a certain kind seem to flock to me and it would be rude to turn them all down (I just turn down the dogs… I know… I’m shallow that way…).

  One woman in Germany wanted to fuck me because she said I looked like the dude on the cover of some dirty romance novel she used to get herself off when her husband—a German Army colonel—wasn’t around. I think the name of the book was like, Big Dick SEAL, which fit me because I was a SEAL and I did have a big cock. It’s exactly 10¼ inches from base to tip when fully erect, to be precise. I know… numbers again…

  What’s that? Have I ever been in love?

  Once. But that was a long, long time ago, when I was just a kid.

  I lost my virginity when I was 16, roughly 4,745 days ago, to a girl named Annabel Lee back home in Gulf Breeze. Her daddy said he named her after that Edgar Allen Poe poem, but I knew that was bullshit. Billy Ray Lee had trouble reading the backs of cereal boxes. I knew for a fact he didn’t know who the fuck Edgar Allen Poe was. Somebody smarter than him must have pointed out that he named his baby girl the same name as the poem and it made Billy Ray feel smart, so he went with it.

  Anyway, in the poem, the narrator fell in love with this girl named Annabel Lee when they were both very young. She was so beautiful, and their love so deep, he believed the angels were jealous and took her from him. His love for her continued even after her death and he never stopped pining for her. I remembered reading the poem over and over again in high school, hoping in some silly teenage way that it was not an omen of things to come for me and my Annabel Lee. No, she didn’t die, but her love for me did the moment she caught me with my dick in another girl’s mouth in the back of my mom’s old Chrysler after a football game. I tried to win her back, but she wouldn’t even give me the time of day, and I couldn’t really blame her. I royally fucked up. I fucked us up. It wasn’t too long thereafter that the sheriff put me on the bus headed for boot camp clear across country and that was all she wrote.

  I never saw or spoke to Annabel Lee again.

  It was the one regret that topped all others in a life filled with regrets.

  I can still remember a few lines from the poem. I recited them in my head every night the first few months I was gone.

  For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

  And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

  Like a lot of girls from south Texas, Annabel was one part Mexican, one part Cherokee Indian, and two parts “who the fuck knows”. Her hair was the color of a raven’s wings and her eyes were as deep a blue as the Gulf of Mexico at sunset. Fine, I’m no Edgar Allen Poe, but that’s how I remembered her, so fuck you.

  Annabel and I were just sixteen-years-old the night we popped each other’s cherries in the back seat of my mom’s Chrysler (that old piece of crap Chrysler had a back seat like a mattress on wheels).

  We had been unofficially dating and fiddling around sexually for a long time. We were young and horny and loved to experiment and make each other cum. I didn’t count things back then, but there were a lot of hand jobs, finger jobs, blow jobs, and massive amounts of tongue fucking. I lived for those moments when I could suck on Annabel’s tender clit and part her pussy lips with my fingers and shove my tongue deep inside her sweet hole. Her juices flowed from her pussy like a warm stream over my tongue and into my mouth. It was like drinking the nectar of the gods. I lapped it up like a kitten attacking a bowl of milk and prodded for more. Even after all this time I could still close my eyes and taste her on the tip of my tongue… sweet… salty… pungent… I could still smell the scent of her cunt when I inhaled deeply, recalling the memory of her squirming against my lips.

  We had done everything except fuck at that point, so we knew each other’s bodies well and knew how to quickly reach the point of orgasm. Slipping my cock inside her pussy just seemed like the natural progression of things, at least that’s what I’d been trying to convince her of. I’d been begging her for a while to let me fuck her, but she kept saying no, no, no. I had cum in her mouth, on her belly, on her tits, on her ass, and on her face, but I longed for the tight, wet, searing heat of her pussy around my cock.

  And then the night came when Annabel said we could take things all the way. She had been milking my cock and I’d had my fing
ers buried all up inside her pussy for nearly half an hour when she whispered, “I want you to fuck me, Shane” in my ear. I was so fucking excited I almost shot my load just hearing those words. I could barely get the rubber out of the wrapper, my hands were shaking so bad.

  Annabel calmly took the rubber and expertly slid it over my cock and climbed on top of me. I could remember the exact moment her tight pussy opened up like a delicate flower and allowed my big cock to slowly come inside. Her pussy was so tight it hurt going in at first, like a thousand fingers squeezing my dick as it forced its way into a hole the size of a thimble. Then, the tip of my cock hit her hymen and she froze. I watched her take a deep breath. Then she smiled at me with tears in her eyes and impaled herself on my cock in one quick movement. She gasped and fell still for a moment, then she exhaled deeply as her hips started to slowly move back and forth, sliding me in and out of her gushing virgin hole.

  I exploded within seconds and so did she.

  And from that moment on we never looked back.

  That night still stands as the greatest night of my life.