by Madison Faye
We pulled Mia behind us as we pushed Ryan back, fists raining down on him as he stumbled further and further back in his futile attempt to get away from us.
This was for Amy. This was for Mia. This was for every single other woman he’d hurt over the years.
“Okay! Okay!” he screamed. “I’m sorry alright?! Fuck, keep her!”
We kept moving.
“You want money?!”
Oliver laughed bitterly.
Ryan’s face paled. “Well what the fuck do you want?” He gasped as he felt his back come against the shattered frame of his floor-to-ceiling windows, the wind from the city streets thirty stories below whistling past us.
“What the fuck do you want!?” he screeched.
“What do we want?” Erik said softly, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him close.
“We want our fucking sister back, you piece of garbage.”
The three of us grabbed him, and without a second’s hesitations, we pushed.
His heel caught, his body tripped backwards, his eyes went wide—
And we turned away.
Mia’s eyes were wide as we turned back to her, and I shook my head. “Before you say anything, before you tell us that was wrong, or murder, or—”
“I’m not going to say any of those things,” she said quietly, stepping over the rubble before she just gave up and ran into our arms. She melted into us as we held her tight, breathing in her scent, and letting the warmth of her radiate into us.
She lifted her face and pressed her lips tightly to Erik, kissing him fiercely before pulling away and moving to Oliver, who scooped her close. She pulled back and turned to me, her face flushed as she threw her arms around my neck and let my mouth sear itself to hers.
“I was just going to say thank you for flushing that piece of trash away,” she finally said as she broke away.
I grinned. “My kinda girl,” I murmured, as I leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
“Can we go home now?”
Oliver grinned. “Oh, it’s home now?”
“I could keep calling it the tower, where the wicked beasts have me locked up.”
“The locking up part could be arranged,” Erik murmured.
“I’ll wear my finest choker.”
We all grinned as we pulled her close, kissing her, claiming her.
Loving her.
Always.
Epilogue
Mia
And somehow, the three evil beasts who locked me in the tower turned out to be the knights in shining armor after all.
Well, maybe more like knights in black, tailor-fit, non-shiny armor, but you get what I mean.
You’d have thought crashing a helicopter into a building in midtown Manhattan, getting into a gun fight, and then throwing a man off said building would land you in a world of trouble. And you’d be correct — that is, unless you worked under the table for the US Government. And let me say, friends in high places are a very good thing to have if you plan on doing any of those things.
Especially the helicopter part.
Whoever Ash, Erik, and Oliver’s “friends” were, they made the whole thing disappear. Completely. The crash was deemed an accident, and the gunfight and dead thugs swept under the rug. Ryan’s death was declared a suicide in the papers, but the message had been sent.
And it was heard.
The night on that penthouse roof changed a lot. It’s funny to think of there being “good” criminals and “bad” criminals, but the fact of it is, there are both. After that night, the bad ones — including Johnson Cunningham and the rest of his goons — sort of disappeared.
The Auction House has reopened — back to its original concept, and with its original clientele — both the women who choose to be there and the men who take them home. It’s still a funny concept to me, but then, it’s not a scene I or my men have anything to do with anymore.
Not since we decided four was a pretty solid number.
My mother never heard the real story, because honestly, there was no need to freak her out. I did come clean about the fact that I was moving in with three rich, powerful men, and I even leveled with her about the nature of that relationship. Eyebrows were raised, and pearls were clutched, but at the end of the day, she was just happy that I was happy. It certainly didn’t hurt that when she met them, Ash, Oliver, and Erik were the most freaking charming versions of themselves I’d ever seen.
Andrea was another story. Andrea got the whole story because she’d been dragged into it.
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Ryan’s people had her when I’d called. They’d kicked down the door to our apartment earlier that very day, dragged her away, and waited for me to call. They’d had the chopper and the men on standby, and made her at gunpoint talk me into stepping outside, where they could grab me. Luckily, we’d found her right after Ryan went over the edge that night, pounding on a closet door a floor below. She was a wreck, of course, and she’d thrown her arms around me as we’d both let the tears come.
“I’m so sorry! About all of it!”
She felt the whole thing was her fault, of course, what with setting me up with Blaine’s friend. But Ash, Oliver, and Erik set her straight soon enough, helping me to calm her, and to let her know about the divide in the scene. As it turns out, Blaine really was a good guy, and out of the Auction House scene enough that he had no idea what kind of guy Ryan really was. My three men actually knew him, at least peripherally, and I think them vouching for him being one of the good ones went a long way with Andrea.
He’s since stopped paying her for dates and asked her to marry him, and their wedding is next month.
And the month after that?
Well, the month after that I get to figure out how to throw a wedding with one bride and three grooms without causing the scandal of the century.
I know the saying is “three is crowd,” and you know what? That’s actually true. But who’s to say a crowd is a bad thing? A crowd is a group, or a tribe, or a club. A crowd can be connected, and bound together. And our crowd?
Well, our crowd is a family, and that’s something I’m never giving up, no matter what they say.
Besides, let ‘em talk.
…We’ll just have to go out of our way to give them something to talk about.
The End.
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Sugar & Spice
Sugar & Spice
A little bit sweet and a whole lot of naughty.
Colin:
She shouldn’t have been there that night. She never should have lied her way into that club and stepped into my world.
She’s off-limits – too pure, too sweet, too innocent – too good for a man of my tastes.
But she did, wearing that dress, wrapping her sweet lips around the straw of the cocktail in her hand, and looking at me like that. Just a taste of that pure, innocent sweetness, and now I HAVE to have her.
I have to own her – dominate her, make her scream and make her beg for more.
A man like me shouldn’t be anywhere near a girl like her - but that’s why I want her. That’s why I want to bend her over my knee and take her every way I please.
She’s been v
ery, very bad - and bad girls get punished
Isabella:
I know I’ve been naughty. A good girl like me had no business in a dark and dangerous nightclub like that. No business flirting with a man like that.
But I’m tired of being good. For just one night I wanted a taste of something else – something toe-curlingly bad and deliciously sinful. So I let go completely and let the gorgeous, rough stranger take what he wanted from me, piece by piece.
Except now, the man who stripped me of my reservations, my hesitations, and my innocence is standing right in front of me.
In his office. Hiring me.
Bringing me into his world.
Telling me there are rules.
And good girls follow the rules...right?
Sugar & Spice is a hot, steamy read involving a very dominant and totally obsessed alpha hero – hell bent on having her submission. This one’s a little bit nice and a whole lot of naughty – so make sure Santa isn’t watching! A very sweet HEA, plenty of steam and heat along the way, and no cheating!
Happy Holidays
Copyright © 2016 Madison Faye
All rights reserved.
Editing: Sennah Tate
Cover: White Rabbit Creative
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
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1
Isabella
“We abide by rules in this house.”
His voice was honey and scotch; the deep pull of a haunting cello. Clean and crisp, it resonated against the lush wood, leather, and marble of the room.
I swallowed heavily and nodded.
There were nine of us in the richly furnished, darkly lit study. Me, seven other college-aged girls just like me, and him.
Despite being just one of the nine people in the room, he took up ninety-nine percent of the air in the room.
His lingered over each of us as he purred the words. “Is that clear?”
One of the girls, a brunette standing a few applicants down from me, nodded quickly.
“Absolutely Mr.—”
“Sir.”
His words sliced through the room, cutting her off and making her lips snap shut before she frowned and turned to him.
“Wait, seriously?”
I felt something inside of me clutch up at her casual tone, and I wanted to shake my head. I wanted to open my own mouth and tell her, “Shh! That’s not how you speak to him!”
Because I knew. Maybe the rest of the applicants thought I was just another stranger to him — just one more vaguely anonymous applicant.
Except I wasn’t. We were not strangers.
Well, we were — to an extent — but that’s not to say we didn’t know each other. Not in the usual sense, at least. I didn’t know what his favorite color was, his favorite song, or what type of books he read.
I knew his drink was scotch, but that was just a tip of the iceberg.
Because in that room, with the seven other applicants, I was willing to bet I was the only girl that knew how Colin Kensington’s cock tasted.
I was willing to bet I was the only one who knew how he fucked.
And he knew I knew that. He hadn’t — not at first when he’d first strode into the study to address the potential au pairs. God, I didn’t know who he was until he recognized it. How in the world could I have ever imagined that that man, from that night would be him? Colin Kensington, famously secret billionaire investor.
Famously secret billionaire investor and my potential employer. The interview was set up by Dr. Rice, my freshman academic advisor at Harvard. That’s who I’d thought I was meeting this evening at his lavish townhouse up on Beacon Hill. The wealthy friend of my economics professor who needed someone to watch and care for his children for the holidays. One with a strong educational background, a valid passport, and fluency in French.
That’s who I’d expected.
What I had not expected, was him. Him being the man from the nightclub a week before. Him being the dark, dominant, arrogant and panty-meltingly gorgeous stranger that made me throw away all reason.
I was five minutes into a very important job interview, and I wanted to sink into the floor.
And he knew it.
He’d stepped into that study, started speaking, and my heart jumped into my throat. He’d closed the door, asked us all to stand in a line, and stepped in front of us. His eyes moved over each of us until for one single second, something in that armor of his cracked when his eyes landed on me.
And then he knew.
And he’d grinned.
And now here was this other girl, questioning him? I wanted to laugh. Because I knew what speaking to him like that would bring out. I knew the dominant, demanding way that man got exactly what he wanted.
I’d thrown away every last bit of my reason with him a week before at that nightclub. My reason, my caution, and most importantly, the last cloying shreds of my innocence.
“Excuse me?” The crisp English in his accent was edged in steel as he paused, turning slightly to look at the girl who’d spoken up.
The girl immediately looked like she’d realized her mistake. It was too late, of course.
“I will be addressed as sir,” he purred, moving to stand directly in front of her — towering over the small girl and leveling that steely sharp gray gaze at her.
“I— Yes, of course,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to the floor in front of her. “You’ll be addressed as sir.”
The corners of his lips turned up slightly in a smile as he nodded. “Yes. But not by you, I’m afraid.”
She looked up quickly. “What?”
“Andrew will see you out.”
She blinked as the rest of us and quickly looked straight ahead. “Oh, I—”
“Now.”
He nodded at the door to the study behind us, and she almost looked like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she whirled around and ran for the door.
That’s what speaking to him like that would bring out, because Colin Kensington got exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it.
And again, I knew this, because of the weekend before at the nightclub I had no business being at. The nightclub where he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from me in the stall of the women’s room. And though I’d given it to him, he’d taken it from me, gasp by gasp, and whimpered moan by whimpered moan.
He’d demanded it from my body and left me begging for more.
The door shut on the girl who’d spoken out, and he turned. “Now then, shall we continue?”
Sure, why not. Let’s continue with one of the most important interviews of my life with the man from th
at night.
The man who’d whispered those filthy things in my ear. The man who’d stripped me of my reservations and hesitations. The man who’d taken the last bits of my reason, my caution, and my innocence.
Oh, right.
And the man who’d taken my v-card, seven days ago, in a nightclub bathroom.
What the hell was I getting myself into?
2
Isabella
“As I was saying, we abide by rules in this house. Is that understood?”
My breath drew in as he paused right in front of me. I couldn’t look up — simply couldn’t. I couldn’t look into those eyes, because I knew if I did, I’d be melting for him all over again.
“Is that understood,” he murmured, this time directly to me.
I nodded, still not looking up at him. “Absolutely, sir.”
I could almost feel him smile slightly before he moved on past me, and the breath I’d been holding inside came rushing out when he did.
“I do apologize if I seem overly formal but this is, after all, a job interview is it not?” His voice was crisp, resonating, and staunchly accented in a sharp English enunciation born of high education, which caressed it with a gilded edge of wealth and prestige. I looked up then, thankful that his eyes were moving over all of us instead of being leveled at me. He raised an eyebrow, with the smallest glimmer of a smile in the corner of his eyes, before he finally did turn and look directly at me.
I felt myself flush under his unblinking gaze, feeling the charge of his presence reach out and touch me through the air between us. I swallowed again and shifted slightly in the heels I wasn’t used to wearing.