First Love: A Single Dad Second Chance Romance

by Amy Brent

  “How did you do all of this?” she asked, glancing over at me. “I’m speechless.”

  “Finally.” I joked.

  “Seriously, Trevor, this is beautiful.” She leaned over and smelled the flowers in the center of the table.

  I reached into my bag and pulled out a small black box and lowered myself down on one knee. She stood there with her back to me gawking at the candles flickering in the ocean breeze. I cleared my throat to catch her attention, and she looked back at me, covering her mouth and turning to face me. I smiled big at her, reaching my hand out and waving her forward toward me. She walked slowly, her hands trembling as she reached out and took mine.

  “Caroline,” I said. “I have been thinking about what to say at this moment since the day I met you, I think. I can still remember you that Valentine’s Day a couple of years ago, standing there in your Bohemian evening gown, your perfect waves of hair cascading over your shoulders. Until that moment, I didn’t think anyone could look elegant and wild at the same time. That was the day you turned me down, and it took another year or more to get you to go out with me. Then it took a trip to Hawaii and a trip to Maine to make you mine. Every single moment of that was worth it. Every single need, lust, and want was worth it, now that I have you in my life. You’re the light that shines my way. Please, please, make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife.”

  “Trevor,” she said with tears in her eyes. “How will that work?”

  “I finished my financial plan early with the help of Brandt, who gifted me enough shares of the company to be considered his partner,” I said. “He’s going to keep me on the board, so I have to be in New York a few times a year, but I’m now financially stable enough to do whatever I want with the rest of my life.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” I smiled. “And I want to be with you.”

  “Then yes,” she exclaimed. “Of course, I’ll marry you!”

  I stood up and took her in my arms, hugging her tightly. I set her back down on her feet and slid the ring on her finger, kissing her sweetly on the lips. Just then, Emma, Brandt, Gillian and her boyfriend, walked around the corner, clapping and cheering. Caroline gasped and turned around, clapping her hands over her mouth and squealing. She ran forward and hugged her two best friends tightly and then turned to Brandt and threw herself onto him, thanking him profusely. Everyone laughed, listening to Brandt assure Caroline that I still had my work cut out for me being part of the board.

  “We’re going to miss him as Vice President,” Brandt said. “But where I lost my VP, I gained a partner, something well worth the hassle, especially with it being Trevor.”

  “Thanks, man,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “What are you guys doing here? This is so great,” Caroline screamed.

  “Your fiancé invited us all out, set it all up, put us up at the resort,” Gillian said.

  “And your friends from down the beach picked us up and brought us over here tonight,” Emma said. “They wanted to stay, but they said they would see you and congratulate you tomorrow at the luau.”

  “Aw,” Caroline cooed. “I love them. They are the best. Okay, well let’s get this party started!”

  We turned up the music and popped the champagne, laughing and talking about the surprise. Caroline and the girls immediately started to discuss wedding plans, and of course, Caroline said she wanted to get married in Hawaii. I personally couldn’t think of a better place to do it, and with my new partnership, we could afford to fly anyone we wanted out there. All I really cared about, though, was being with Caroline and starting our lives together. She was the love of my life, the light in the dark, and there hadn’t been a day that had even come close to that one. We partied through the night until all of us were so exhausted that I had to call a service to come pick everyone up and take them to the resort.

  We stood in the driveway saying goodbye and making plans for breakfast the next morning. Caroline held my hand tightly as we watched the cars pull out of the driveway and back toward Oahu. When they were out of sight, I kissed Caroline sweetly, and we walked out onto the beach, sitting down in the sand. The sky was already starting to lighten in the distance, and we could see the ocean crashing against the shore. Caroline put her head on my shoulder and sighed, looking at her ring.

  “This was an amazing day,” she said. “You are full of surprises.”

  “You’re the love of my life, I had to make you one of those moments for your metal scrapbook.” I laughed.

  “You did a good job, mister,” she said.

  “I love you, Caroline,” I said, looking into her eyes.

  “I love you, too, Trevor,” she said. “Forever.”

  I finally got my own happily ever after.

  ***The End***

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  Fighting for Her

  CHAPTER ONE: Fiona Cassidy

  As crazy as it sounds, I think Kyle wanted me to catch him screwing Wendy Lowenstein in our bed that night. I mean, there was no way he couldn’t know that I would walk through the door just after ten o’clock. It was as if the whole thing was planned just to see the look of shock and disgust on my face.

  Wendy was the head of Public Relations at Kyle’s company, Cassidy Event Management. She was a short red head with oversized boobs and undersized expectations who would have jumped off a bridge if Kyle had told her to do so. She was pretty in a harsh, overly-made up kind of way, with trusting blue eyes and plump lips that she always seemed to be wetting with her tongue, especially when Kyle was in the room.

  It was sad, really, how pathetically taken she was with my husband. Granted, Kyle was a good-looking man; tall, fit, sandy blond hair, deep tan, bright green eyes, a quick smile that in the old days made me melt into my panties. He looked more like a surfer dude modeling an Armani suit than the CEO of a multimillion dollar event management company. And more often than not, he acted that way.

  He was also flirty, overly so when it came to women he wanted to sleep with. Kyle was a self-proclaimed toucher and hugger. If you were a woman he’d find a reason to touch your arm or put his hand on the small of your back to walk you out. He hugged you when you came into the room and hugged you when you left. Sometimes, the hug lingered a little too long to be anything other than suggestive. He used to hug me like that. I used to enjoy it. Now, not so much. I find his hugs repulsive.

  The most shocking thing about catching him fucking Wendy was that she was not his type. Wendy was short, full-figured, and a little too eager to please. Every woman he had cheated on me with, at least those that I knew about, had been tall and thin, with blonde hair and blue eyes, like me. Perhaps my bruised ego was assuming too much, thinking that I set the stereotype for women Kyle cheated with. Perhaps the fact that he cheated with women who looked like his wife was just a coincidence. Or maybe he never had a type at all. Maybe he had worked his way through tall blondes and was now moving on to chubby redheads.

  I was not surprised in the least that Wendy would fuck my husband. She would have fucked him in the town square at high noon if he wanted her to. She literally drooled when he looked at her. Her self-esteem wouldn’t even have registered on the scale if there was a way of measuring such things. She practically had the words “USE ME” tattooed to her forehead, at least as far as Kyle was concerned. I always felt a little sorry for her, until I found her fucking my husband in my home on my bed.

  It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if he had just bent Wendy over her desk and hammered it to her ample backside, but he brought her into my home, stripped off her clothes and fucked her on my bed. I had stopped caring long ago that Kyle fucked around, it was just a fact of life, but there had to be boundaries if he expected me to stay married to him. And my home was out of bounds.

  Kyle knew that the charity dinner I was attending with his parents, the dinn
er his company was sponsoring, would end around ten and that I’d come straight home, putting me there by ten-thirty at the latest.

  I should have known something was up when I saw that baboon Danny O’Shea standing outside the front of our apartment building smoking a fat cigar with the doorman. Kyle couldn’t have a bowel movement unless he knew Danny was guarding the door. It wasn’t like Kyle’s life was in any danger. He wasn’t a mobster, for petesake, though sometimes I think he pictured himself as one. His favorite show was The Sopranos. He loved Tony Soprano; the murderous, cheating, heartless, beefy mobster who did whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted without regard to the consequences. The thought of doing anything he wanted without accountability fascinated Kyle.

  “Imagine living life without repercussions,” he once said as we watched the show in bed after a half-hearted round of sex. “How fucking cool would that be?”

  That was his way of letting me know that I was a repercussion. I was the only one he answered to and he didn’t answer to me for much anymore. He didn’t care what I thought, so long as I kept up appearances and didn’t spend too much of the family fortune.

  The biggest difference between Tony Soprano and Kyle Cassidy was that Tony Soprano was a heartless mobster and Kyle was just a heartless prick.

  Danny O, as Kyle called his pet gorilla, didn’t say anything to me when I got out of the limo and waited for the doorman to open the door so I could go inside. Danny was a former MMA fighter whose face carried the marks and scars of a dozen years of having other large men slam their fists into his head. His forehead hung over his eyes like a caveman’s brow. His nose had been broken numerous times. The bridge had a large bump and the fatty tip skewed oddly to the right. His right ear had been beaten to cauliflower and his shaved head was lined with scars that he wore like badges of honor.

  He was big, with broad shoulders and thick arms that looked like they might rip out the seams of the expensive suits he wore; suits purchased by my husband. The most threatening thing about Danny O’Shea, at least to me, were his eyes. Our eyes met just briefly when I got out of the limo and walked toward the door. It was like staring into the dead eyes of a shark right before it sank its teeth into your soft flesh. I couldn’t stand to be around Danny O’Shea and I knew he wasn’t too fond of me. He looked at me like he would just as soon kill and eat me as give me the time of day, but Kyle loved him like his pet pit bull. Danny would do whatever Kyle told him to do; things Kyle would never have the nerve to do himself.

  Once inside the elevator, I put my keycard in the slot and punched in the keypad numbers so the elevator would take me up to our thirtieth-floor penthouse apartment. I leaned back against the back wall and gave a heavy sigh. I stared at the woman staring back at me in the mirrored doors. I looked tired despite the professionally done makeup and perfectly styled hair. The little black party dress and heels made my toned, tanned legs look amazing, but the shoes were killing my feet and the thong I was wearing had wedged its way uncomfortably up my ass. I couldn’t wait to strip off everything and soak in the tub.

  I assumed Kyle was being alerted by Danny that I was on my way up. Kyle was probably drunk already, parked in front of the big screen watching some fight on TV. I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t show up at the charity event, even though he had sworn to me that he would. Kyle’s promises carried very little weight with me these days. I wasn’t sure why he even bothered lying to me since we both knew how full of shit he was. I guess it was just habit. We were just going through the motions. Sometimes I wondered how long we’d try to keep it up.

  Kyle hated anything that didn’t involve sweaty men beating the shit out of each other or women dancing naked around poles. The charity benefits were his mother Ramona’s pet projects and since Kyle’s father Edward, who owned the company and controlled the purse strings, had to attend, he wanted his only son there to share in the misery. Kyle typically came up with a last-minute excuse why he couldn’t go and I would go alone. That was fine. I actually liked his dad and could tolerate his mother. Plus, it was nice to get away from him, even if it was just for an evening.

  “I’ll meet you there, Fee” he had told me over the phone around eight. He called me Fee because Fiona took too much effort to say, I guess. When I tried to call him back around eight-thirty, his phone went directly to voicemail. His mother was disappointed. His father was furious. He’d give Kyle hell on Monday, not that it would do much good.

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to our foyer. The penthouse was huge, nearly six thousand square feet, an homage to gaudy decorating and indulgent spending. Kyle’s mother had insisted on decorating the penthouse as an anniversary gift to us and Kyle refused to let me redecorate because it would hurt his mother’s feelings. I fucking hated the place with its ornate fixtures, antique furniture, and heavy wallpaper and blinds. It looked like something out of an old movie. The day Kyle’s mother died would be the day redecorating began.

  The penthouse was also much more room than two people needed. Even two people who usually avoided each other by retreating to separate ends of the place. My bedroom was my sanctuary while Kyle spent most of his time in the media room watching the TV that covered one entire wall.

  When Kyle bought the place without even consulting me, he said it was because it would be the perfect place to start a family. Lots of room for lots of kids. That was five years ago and it was still just him and me. We tried to get pregnant for a while, then it seemed to become a burden for him, having sex with the intention of procreating rather than just for fun. Then the sex steadily decreased and talk of starting a family fell by the wayside. I was glad we’d never had kids. I wouldn’t wish our relationship on a child. I also couldn’t remember the last time we’d had sex. I would be willing to bet that it hadn’t been very good.

  When I stepped off the elevator the penthouse was quiet. I set my purse and keys on the little table in the foyer and slipped off the high heels that were killing my feet. I picked up the shoes and let them dangle from two fingers as I made my way toward our bedroom.

  The master bedroom was at the end of a long hallway. I was halfway down the hall when I heard the moans coming through the bedroom door, which had been left open a crack. I immediately knew what was going on inside my bedroom. I vaguely recognized Kyle’s wheezes and grunts. They were sounds that I hadn’t heard in a while. I couldn’t believe I’d ever found such sounds sexy.

  I crept to the door and peered in through the crack. Wendy was lying on my bed with her ass hanging off the edge. Her legs were spread wide and her feet were in the air. Her toes were curled into tight balls. Kyle was standing between her thighs, holding her legs up by the ankles as he rammed in and out of her in a jerky motion that made him look like he was riding a mechanical bull.

  I focused on Wendy for some reason. Probably because I’d seen Kyle fuck and it was never that impressive. Her big tits flounced like water balloons on her chest. She clutched at them, digging her fingers into the flesh to hold them steady. She took her pudgy nipples between her thumbs and fingers and stretched them away from her breasts (ouch). She had her eyes closed and was biting her lower lip. She was making little squealing noises each time Kyle thrust into her, like her balloons were losing air through her stretched nipples.

  Kyle was going at it hard and fast, pulling almost all the way out of her skanky pussy, then slamming back in so hard that his balls slapped against her meaty ass and caused her whole body to jump. Kyle’s cock wasn’t long, but it was oddly thick, more like a fat pickle than a penis. I had to give him credit. Back in the day, he made great use of what he had. Apparently, he had not lost his touch because Wendy was wailing like a banshee being set free from Pandora’s box.

  “Fuck… me… fuck… baby…” Wendy moaned, tugging so hard on her nipples it made me wince. Christ, how long would those things stretch?? She barked out the words. “I’m gonna… cum… baby… make… your baby… cum…”

  “Yeah, baby,” Kyle said, pan
ting, wheezing, his narrow hips jerking back and forth. “Cum baby… cum for daddy… gush that sweet pussy juice all over my cock… baby… cum with me…”

  Cum for daddy?

  Gush that sweet pussy juice all over my cock?

  Seriously?

  Dirty talk was a new weapon in Kyle’s arsenal.

  My God, how fucking pathetic.

  Wendy squealed like a stuck pig and arched her back so Kyle’s cock could go deeper into her cunt, which probably had the tightness of a stretched rubber band (wow, too catty?). Kyle leaned his head back and roared, pushing his hips into her as he came. The whole scene would have been comical if it had not been my husband fucking another woman on my bed.

  When it was over, Wendy dropped her legs and collapsed in a trembling heap. She lay there panting like a dog, massaging her poor abused tits.

  When I looked back toward Kyle, he was still standing next to the bed, staring back at me with a greasy smile on his face. His pickle cock had deflated and hung sadly between his legs like a used rubber.

  Without a word, I walked back through the penthouse with my shoes still dangling at my side. I slipped the shoes back on, picked up my purse, got into the elevator, and rode it down to the lobby.