Reluctant Bride

by Sam Crescent

  “Your eyes don’t lie, Cecilia, but I want to hear you say it,” he demanded.

  Her breath caught. Sven stopped moving. Time seemed to freeze for an instant before the reality she’d come to earlier spilled from her lips. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Sven smiled down at her. His hold on her softened and slid to her cheek, cupping it.

  “Good.”

  “Good? Is that all you have to say?” She scowled and wriggled her hips.

  Sven laughed. His palm went around her neck, holding it lightly. Arousal hit her faster than a freight train.

  “Sven,” she whispered, begging him for more than simply sex. His lips descended over hers, kissing her so softly, she feared she had passed out and was dreaming.

  “Pet, I’ve loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. I was just waiting for you to catch on.”

  “What?”

  His kiss deepened, speaking for him, and possessing not only her body but also her heart. Gradually, he resumed fucking her in slow, measured thrusts.

  “Tell me you love me, pet.”

  He built up his speed. Pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced blanketed over her.

  “Tell me,” he growled, slamming against her.

  “I love you,” she admitted with a cry. Relief washed over her physically, emotionally, and mentally as her orgasm exploded.

  Sven groaned and his gaze locked with hers. His cock rippled within her, heat filling her.

  “I love you too, pet.”

  The End

  Explore more books by Elyzabeth M. VaLey

  AMBIVALENCE

  Jessica Jayne

  Copyright © 2021

  Prologue

  Eric

  Five years ago

  I swirl the amber liquid in my highball glass. The sweet hint of vanilla and butterscotch wafts under my nose, and my mouth waters. I’d already finished two fingers of the Colorado whiskey before asking the bartender to pour me two more.

  My business partner’s daughter turned twenty-one today, and in usual fashion, John Hawkins threw her a soirée to beat all soirées. A live band warms up on the stone patio out back overlooking the intracoastal waterway. Open bars adorn all corners of the room. And men dressed in black tuxedos wander with trays of hors d’oeuvres.

  When I turned legal drinking age, no one even so much as bought me a drink. After a morning shift of cooking for the breakfast rush at a diner, an afternoon shift excavating dirt at a construction site, and two evening business classes, I’d finally saddled up to a dive bar at eleven o’clock to order my first legal drink. Being a product of the foster system left me no family to throw me a party. I didn’t have time to socialize to make friends who could take me out on the town. I needed to focus on building my dreams, so I’d never have to wonder where my next roof would be or if I’d eat a decent meal.

  So this party seems excessive. Several employees from Hawkins Holdings, as well as a horde of family and twentysomethings, meander through the large living room and dining room of the Hawkins’ seven thousand square foot home waiting for the guest of honor—who is late.

  Also, in usual fashion.

  Fuck this. I throw back the liquor and set the glass on the bar. I’ll take a piss and get out of here. I owe John a lot after taking me in as soon as I graduated college and teaching me the ropes. But I’ve proven myself. Hawkins Holdings is worth at least triple what it was, and I’m just confident enough to know I had a role in that. I don’t need to waste a perfectly good Saturday evening celebrating a spoiled brat.

  John’s daughter has flitted through life with little to no worries and has always enjoyed making everyone wait for her grand entrance. My appearance has been noted. Hopefully, my absence won’t be.

  I stalk down the hallway, my shoes clicking on the cream marble floor. I could be sitting in my favorite black leather club chair, sipping whiskey at the Flute and Dram in downtown Saint Petersburg, looking for a woman to warm the back seat of my Mercedes.

  Someone occupies the nearest guest bathroom, so I turn down the hallway toward John’s home office. There’s another restroom across the hall. I reach the white oak door and shove through, closing the door behind me. I’m eager to do my business and get the fuck out of dodge. But I pull to a stop at the sight before me.

  A woman rests on the edge of the gray granite sink counter, legs spread and over the shoulders of a man, who sits on his haunches and is eating her pussy like it’s his last meal. Neither has stopped their actions or moans. The sweet and musky scent of the woman permeates the air and mixes with the scent of jasmine.

  Few things turn me on more than burying my face between a woman’s legs.

  I should leave. But I cannot look away.

  I scan the woman up from her red heels to her creamy white thighs, to the bunched-up black dress around her hips. Her long fingers thread through the man’s dark hair and grip the strands, holding him close. She arches her back, thrusting her breasts—barely contained in her low-cut dress—forward.

  Fuck. The urge to stroke my cock almost overpowers me. It’s one of the most erotic scenes I’ve ever witnessed firsthand.

  I follow the curve of her breasts up over her collarbone and the long line of her neck. All creamy skin flushed from her arousal. When my gaze finally reaches her face, I suck in a breath.

  Shit. I blink, but she’s still there. Celia Hawkins.

  Long blonde hair falls in waves down her back. Her sultry lips part with a breathy moan. Piercing gray eyes stare back at me then roam down my chest, over my abdomen, and to the bulge in my pants. She skates her tongue across her bottom lip. My dick pushes against my black slacks and I swallow, hoping the growl clawing its way up my throat gets washed away.

  She snaps her gaze back to mine and rocks her hips into the mouth of the starving lucky bastard.

  “You like watching, Mr. Walker?” Her voice is raspy with desire.

  My dick goes from semi-hard to stone.

  I should walk out of the bathroom. Leave the party. There could be irreparable consequences for simply witnessing this spectacle. She is my partner’s daughter. And though of a legal and consenting age, she is nineteen years younger than me.

  But I can’t leave. Not yet. I want to see her come. I need to see the princess come apart. I want to know what she looks like at her most vulnerable.

  The man feasting on her pulls away. Her juices cover his mouth and chin. “Who the fuck are you?” He narrows his eyes on me and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

  She looks my way as if interested in my response.

  “I’m here to make sure you finish what you started.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare from him to her. I should let this go. If I walk out of here now, this will only be a blip of indiscretion. But I can’t, especially with the mid-twentysomething male cocking an eyebrow my way as if I owe him an explanation. “Are you going to finish, or do you need someone who knows what he’s doing to take over?”

  The guy puffs up his chest. “Who? You, old man?” He snickers.

  I have half the urge to kick him in the face and drop to my knees. It’s not hard to make a woman come, but to give her the best orgasm of her life over and over again takes special talent. Which I possess.

  Plenty of women have been a recipient of my giving. I could spend an eternity between a woman’s legs, listening to her moan and beg for more. I get as much pleasure from her release as I do my own, which is just another reason why I cannot walk away from this scene.

  “Lenny can make me come.” A sultry confidence floats in her voice. She tightens her fingers in her lover’s hair, bringing him back to her core. He’s more than willing, but he raises his hand and flips me the bird before devouring her once more.

  I chuckle. To be twentysomething and invincible again.

  “You have a house full of guests waiting for you, Celia.” I jerk my head toward the closed door. “You better come quickly before you have a bigger audience.”

>   She smirks as if the idea of more voyeurs turns her on. “Right there,” she commands. Her hips roll forward. A soft moan escapes her. The dipshit growls. “Yes.” She shudders, but she never takes her eyes off me as her orgasm rolls through her.

  She’s always been beautiful. A little on the attention-seeking side. Obviously. Spoiled. But until this moment, I’d never thought of slipping my dick in her. Now I can think of nothing else. I want to feel her tight pussy tremble around me. I want to be the one to make her moan like she’s reached a level of heaven only I can bring her. I want it so bad at this moment I don’t care if John finds out. I want it more than my next breath.

  “Good girl.” I growl. She’s even more beautiful after an orgasm. Pink tints her cheeks. Her chest heaves with each breath.

  I turn on my heels, open the door, and edge out into the hallway. I beeline toward the front door. I feel drunk. It’s not the two whiskey drinks. It’s lust.

  “Eric,” John calls from the living room.

  Fuck. I stop and look at him. Though an inch or two shorter than I am, he isn’t a small man. The years have been good to him, not a beer belly or whiskey belly in sight. The tailored gray suit he wears matches his slicked-back hair, giving him that mafia boss look even if everything about him is legal. He marches in my direction.

  “What?” I quirk an eyebrow. My tone is short. My cheeks heat as if he might somehow know I watched another man get his daughter off. I have to get outside and calm myself down. The tent I’m pitching in my pants is almost impossible to hide.

  “Where are you going?” He pats my shoulder. “Celia hasn’t even come yet.”

  Yes, she has. A small chuckle percolates in my chest, but I swallow it down. “I’m just going outside for some fresh air.”

  He nods. “Don’t go too far. I need to discuss something with you after she arrives and the party settles in. She should be…”

  “Daddy!” Celia cries from down the hallway. Her red four-inch heels click on the marble floor. The hem of her black dress barely reaches mid-thigh. At least it covers more than it did a few minutes ago.

  John turns around and grins at her. “Sweetheart, happy birthday!” He opens his arms, and she waltzes into his embrace. Several guests shout out, “Happy birthday.” Some clap their hands.

  “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” She stares at me over her father’s shoulder. Her gray eyes smolder, and her gaze lingers on my body, stopping at my dick before journeying back north to my face. God damn!

  I pull my lips into a tight smile before walking away. I belly up to the bar in the far corner. Though I should walk out that front door as planned regardless of John’s need to talk to me, I don’t.

  “Glass of your best whiskey.” I drum my fingers. I need the alcohol to stop my hands from trembling and calm my racing heart. I’m usually in full control of myself, but I’m in lust with Celia. My balls ache and I hope the whiskey will dull the attraction so I can stick it out until John’s ready to chat. The bartender slides a tumbler across the bar. I pick it up and take a swig. Then I saunter out to the back patio where the band plays some Rick Springfield song, clearly a cover band. The sky is dark but for a smattering of twinkling stars. The night will, at least, disguise my erection.

  The warm, humid Florida air sticks to me. I stand in the back corner of the patio, resting my elbows on a high-top table. I can wait for John here. Guests surround me, chatting or drinking or swaying to the beat of Jessie’s Girl.

  I steal a brie, fig, and prosciutto crostini from one of the penguin-suited waiters. John knows how to throw a party. Only the best of everything. Ten minutes tick by, and I’ve finally regained my composure. The salty fresh air has done me good.

  I smell her before I see her. She smells like blooming jasmine on a bright Florida spring breeze. My dick jumps to life on her scent alone.

  “Thank you for attending my birthday party, Mr. Walker.” She leans next to me on the high-top table. She sips from her glass of white wine before offering me a smirk. “Did you bring me a gift?”

  I chuckle. “What do you give a girl who has everything?”

  “I don’t have everything.” Her finger draws a lazy circle on the back of my hand holding the drink.

  I raise my hand and bring the glass to my lips, breaking our contact. Throwing back a big gulp, I let the whiskey burn the back of my throat. “You have everything you need.” I set my empty glass on the table.

  “I don’t have you between my legs.” She brushes up against me, her scent intoxicating. “I saw the way you watched me. You liked it.”

  Understatement of the year. Visions of her spread out on that bathroom counter race through my head and my cock rages to break free of its confines. I could drag her out into the pool house just ten yards from where we stand and bend her over the couch or take her against the wall. I could satisfy this itch that has me crawling out of my skin.

  “Celia.” I shake my head. “You couldn’t handle me.”

  “Says who, Mr. Walker?”

  “Says me.” I turn to her and lean in close to her ear so no one can overhear my next words. “You’ve been fucking boys. They may get you off, but that’s not so hard. They don’t take you to the next level. They don’t make you crave them day and night. They can’t. They don’t know how to yet.” I tuck a few strands of her silky blonde hair behind her ear. I don’t know if I’m telling her this to push her away or to excite her. “You wouldn’t survive me between your legs, Celia.”

  She gasps.

  My lips pull into a wry grin. “Happy Birthday.”

  “Fuck you.” She snarls, her eyes narrowing on me. No one tells this woman no. She’s not used to that word or being denied anything.

  “No, sweetheart. Not tonight.” I turn and walk away.

  “Not ever.” She calls after me, but I just laugh despite the pulsing of my dick in my pants.

  Chapter One

  Eric

  Present Day

  I stand from my cherrywood desk and stretch. My back is stiff from sitting so long. Some days, I’m out and about scoping properties, never seeing the inside of my office. Others, I’m chained to this desk like it’s a prison cell. Today, I’m a prisoner.

  I walk to the floor-to-ceiling window and glance out over Tampa Bay. Though my office faces east, the setting sun paints the sky every shade of pink and purple. It’s magnificent.

  I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon staring at several different contracts and reports, trying to figure out what John has done. He’s entered into several unlucrative deals on properties that will never further the objectives of Hawkins Holdings.

  Maybe Celia knows what he’s up to. His daughter should have some idea. With John traveling outside of the country, she’s my only option.

  I exit my office and march down the hallway toward Celia’s. Despite having the pick of whatever she wanted as daddy’s little girl, she strategically selected an office on the opposite end of our floor when she came onboard. Probably best. Bumping into her fifty times a day would make both our lives miserable.

  I’d rather not engage her. Since her twenty-first birthday party and my voyeuristic adventure of finding her spread like a meal in a back bathroom, she treats me like a toy she’s discarded. I’m okay with it. We’ve become more adversaries than coworkers, but the banter is fun. At least for me.

  She still flaunts her ass around me as if making sure I understand what I’m missing—and I do. I’ve thought of laying her out a thousand different ways and having my way with her. Every time we’re in the same room, my cock rises.

  But her father and I are partners in this business. He took me under his wing after I practically broke my back working two jobs and carrying a full load in college. I did whatever I could to pull myself out of the foster system and into a world where I made good use of my brains and brawn, if necessary, to pad my wallet with enough money to live exceptionally well.

  And I have. After almost twe
nty years, I am the executive vice president of operations at Hawkins Holdings. I oversee all real estate transactions but handle most of the commercial real estate purchases and sales personally, which is why this stack of contracts has me so perplexed.

  “Good Afternoon, Mr. Walker.” Jill stops typing and looks up at me. She’s the assistant to the residential property group, which is where Celia is so she can learn the business from the ground up.

  “Morning, Jill.” I wink at her and a blush pinkens her cheeks. “Is Celia available?”

  She quirks a questioning eyebrow. “Uh, yes, sir. She has a meeting in fifteen minutes though.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  The door to Celia’s office is closed but for a small crack. I push it open, toe it almost closed, and stop in my tracks. She’s bent over a table with architectural plans sprawled across. The red material of her sheath dress hugs her ass like a second skin. My stomach tightens and I clench my fists to keep from reaching out.

  Damn this woman.

  Why is it that everything about her makes me hornier than a prepubescent?

  “Are you going to stare at my ass for a bit longer or announce your presence, Mr. Walker?” She glances over her shoulder before returning her attention to the table.

  If I truly had the option, I’d stare at her ass, especially in this position. She’s not that skinny woman most twentysomethings strive for. She’s curved in all the right places. I’m positive she has men dropping to their knees for her attention. But my fantasies of fucking the sass right out of her are just that—fantasies.

  I wave several documents in her direction. “Can you tell me about these?”

  She stands to her full height, which in three-inch heels brings her just above chin level and turns to face me.

  Fuck me.