by Kira Blakely
The bathroom door opens and steam from a hot bath comes rolling out. Rose enters the room, still dressed in her classic filmy white negligee, no panties, no bra... but she looks completely different now. She no longer seems so young. She’s huge, first of all, which she hates to be told... but it’s true. She’s huge, and she has a new strength in her every gesture that she didn’t have before. You can tell that being a mother changed her before our son has even been born.
“Hey, Rose,” I say, watching her cross the room. I’m already in bed. I’ll be in meetings all day tomorrow, which I hate, but it needs to be done. I’ll have an acting director in my stead for a few months after our son is born but right now, I’m still tying up all the loose ends. “You look beautiful, darling.”
“Oh, shut up,” she says but she does offer me a grin to let me know that my compliment did worm its way into her heart.
“Why don’t you come over here and cuddle with me?” I invite, even as she settles down at her vanity to apply a barrage of midnight creams to her face. She’s only twenty-three, and already, this is where we are. I think motherhood freaks some women out. They suddenly think they’re fifty. She’s not fifty; I’m the one who’s hedging in on fifty. In eight years but still.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Rose wonders. “Am I ever going to get too big to be fuckable?”
“Do you want to be unfuckable?” I retort.
Rose pauses in the middle of dabbing on her eye cream and then shakes her head. “No, I guess not. I just feel so unattractive. I feel like a fucking planet, baby.”
“You’re the planet our son is living on,” I tell her, stretching out a hand and beckoning her toward the mattress. “Come to me. You look beautiful and I want to be with you right now.”
Rose purses her lips and stands, obviously self-conscious as she semi-waddles toward the bed. It’s adorable!
Not to mention those swollen breasts... the thickness of her thighs...
“Come here,” I growl, gripping her hand when she makes the mistake of sliding it into mine. “You’re mine now.” I pull her on top of me and hitch her negligee, grabbing her knee and forcing her to straddle my waist. She yelps, as if uncomfortable with this position, but then she settles.
“I don’t want to crush you,” she says.
“Babe, even totally pregnant, you’re like one 150 pounds,” I remind her. “It’s nothing. Nada. Put your full weight on me.”
She places her hands on my chest and I feel her ass pillow like a cushion. My cock straightens itself out and beats insistently between her legs.
“I’m such a cow,” she pouts but I shush her and press my finger to her lips.
“Let me do all the work,” I say, and slowly grind against her pussy. She might be talking like she doesn’t feel comfortable but her wetness says otherwise.
As I thrust against her, feeling the erect ridge of her clit with the tip of my dick, I ask breathlessly if this feels good to her. Her eyes are busy rolling around in her head and she doesn’t answer me at first, except to let her head fall back and to lick her lips.
That’s one great thing about sex with a pregnant woman. No matter how unattractive she feels, as long as she’s not nauseated and she doesn’t currently hate you for doing this to her, it’s easy to convince her to have a little fun.
“It’s so sensitive,” Rose whimpers, and I place my thumb firmly against her swollen nub while my other hand straightens my cock and lets him sink into her hole.
The entire world flowers open in pleasure and my head goes back on the pillow, my eyes back in my head. My thumb works on Rose’s button and she unleashes quickly and easily over my dick. In preparation for childbirth, Rose started doing Kegel exercises every day, and now her muscles feel like a kung fu grip around my cock.
With my thumb working overtime on her button, she whips her head from side to side and comes hard all over me. I feel her clutch and twist over my dick and waves of tingly heat wash over my body. I can’t come, I command myself. Not yet. Make it last. Even though she’s so unbearably hot, it’s like walking on the sun... I still have to make it last.
Rose rocks back and forth on me and I open my eyes again, taking my now free hand and ripping open her negligee. I have to see her. I have to see her whole body. This is such a magical and fleeting time... I’m not going to miss it like some assholes do. I’m not going to let this slip through my fingers.
Rose’s eyes open, cloudy with lust and satisfaction, and she creeps forward on her hands and peers at me with a kinky little smile in the corner of her lip. “How about you?” she pants. A light sheen of sweat develops on her chest. “You feeling good?”
“I love you,” I say, because it’s so true. I have to say it right now. “I love you, Rose Parsons Goldman.”
The smile fades away from her lips and something more somber and tender touches at her eyes. “I love you, too, Stu,” she whispers, then blinks hard and jolts upright.
“Are you okay?” I’m a little surprised at the expression on her face, because it was almost one of pain. “I didn’t move. I wasn’t really moving.”
“I just...” She takes a deep breath and unsheaths me. I almost cry out in disappointment as the cold air embraces me. “I just felt something a little... weird.”
“Weird how?” I wonder, sitting bolt upright. My heart squeezes immediately. We’ve been anticipating this moment for months now. Is this it? “Weird like funny, or weird like bad?”
“Like a cramp,” Rose answers me shortly. She paces next to the bed and holds her big belly at the bottom. My heart softens at the sight. She could be a picture. I love to see her holding her belly… like she’s already holding our future child in her arms.
I stand and go to her, placing my hands over her belly, too. The baby rolls beneath her skin and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. It’s coming. He’s coming!
“Two weeks early,” Rose says, as if reading my mind. “Maybe it’s just Braxton Hicks.”
But I have a feeling that this is a legit and go for our overnight bag. “I don’t want to risk it. Let’s get to the hospital.”
Rose argues with me down the entire staircase, which I almost want to carry her down, until she cringes downward and water spills all over the marble.
I stare in awe and then wrap my arms around her, heart stampeding out of my chest but… suddenly overcome with a nearly spiritual calm.
“My water broke,” she whispers. And I know she’s scared. She trembles in my embrace.
“We’re doing this together,” I promise her, rocking her back and forth and burying my face against her wild blond hair. “You’ll never be alone again… and we’ll be great parents, baby. We’ll be the best.”
“All your meetings tomorrow,” she says against my chest, and then groans with another contraction.
“Canceled,” I tell her, no hesitation.
“I think his name should be Stuart Goldman Jr.,” Rose says, and I have to laugh. I thread my fingers through hers and press a kiss to her head, guiding her down the stairwell with our overnight bag slung over my other arm. None of this is going according to plan but that’s all right.
“We’ll figure that all out tomorrow,” I say, and we keep moving.
Keep reading!
Want more of Mystique Island? Forbidden Three is the newest book in the series. Read it after this page!
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Blakely After Dark
KIRA BLAKELY
A gold letter, wrapped in diamonds, addressed to me.
You are cordially invited to Mystique Island.
I’m the nanny to the world’s sexiest billionaire.
He spends his spare time at Mystique Island.
Days of masked sex. No names. No obligations.
Perfect for me. He’s my truest fantasy.
And I just received an invitation.
When I arrive, I’m moaning for hours.
But the rough hands, the ocean-bl
ue eyes, and the cologne…
They’re different on this island.
And when I find out why, my fantasy is twice as fulfilling.
It’s not just my boss who’s waiting to claim me.
It’s his twin brother, too.
Now, I have a choice. Take one. Take both.
Or leave the love behind.
I’m in over my head, but it’s too late to stop.
These big boys are making me beg.
Welcome to Blakely After Dark. This is a naughty read for mature audiences only. This is a 40,000 word story. About 200 5x8 print pages.
Forbidden Three
This is book 4 of the Forbidden Series. Each book is a stand alone and does not have to be read in order. This book is twice as long as others in the series, but still not full length. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Danielle
Holden Long is my personal form of torture.
He’s my boss. He’s my fantasy. He makes me ache in all the right places.
And I can never, ever touch him.
I stand in the kitchen of Holden’s two-story home, a brick-faced duplex in Manhattan, and prepare his daughter’s snack for her trip to her mom’s house.
Five-year-old Jessie is super excited to see her mother, and I’m always happy to see this precious little girl, whom I’ve only known for a month, reacting like this. Even if it means I have to take a weekend off, away from Holden and his sharp gaze, his sturdy silence, his presence.
Ugh, it’s been one month! Get a grip. You can’t fall in love with someone after a month. It’s never gonna happen, girl. And it’s totally wrong, too.
“Mommy’s here!” Jessie scoots into the kitchen, dressed in her princess outfit and grinning from ear to ear. “I’m leaving, Nansy!” She calls me that instead of “the Nanny,” and I kinda like it.
“That’s great, honey. I hope you have an awesome weekend with your momma,” I say, handing her the little Finding Nemo bag I’ve packed her lunch into. “Be safe. Where’s my hug?” I crouch in front of her.
Jessie flies into my arms and squeezes so tight I wheeze. “I’ll be back on Monday, Nansy.” She pats me on the back of my head. “Don’t worry. You won’t be lonely for too long.”
“Aw, thanks, sweetie.”
She steps out of my arms, grinning broadly, her blue eyes sparkling. They’re the same as her father’s.
“Ready to go, angel?” His voice purrs through the kitchen, and my heart tha-thumps against the inside of my ribcage.
Speak of the devil. The delicious, totally-out-of-reach devil.
The newly divorced Holden Long fills the doorway that leads into the kitchen. He takes up all the space—hell, he steals the air right outta the room.
Towering above me, with those ice blue eyes, a sharp, long nose, and full, expressive lips and that beard I’m dying to touch, he stuns me. A swimmer’s body. That’s probably the best way to describe it. So sexy.
But Holden Long is so much more than a hot, muscly frame and forever eyes. He’s strong and silent, and he’s borne the hurt of his divorce without showing any pain. He’s helped Jessie adapt to a new life these past few months.
The only reason I’m here is because it’s difficult for him to juggle a billion-dollar empire and all his duties at home without a partner to share the load.
“Bye,” Jessie cries out, one last time.
“Bye, sweetheart. See you soon.”
The two of them head out, and I hurry to finish cleaning the mess I’ve made. I may have gone a little overboard with Jessie’s snack. I’ll miss her, after all, and she deserves a treat after going through so much.
“What are you doing, Dani?” I mutter to myself.
This is supposed to be a way to save money for my studies. I’m twenty-two and desperate to go for my private pilot’s license, then the commercial, but I can’t afford a loan. This job is a total boon.
Holden pays well more than what I need to survive, and he’s put me up in the guestroom in his house, just down the hall from the master bedroom.
My core tightens—the thought of him in there, naked, under the sheets.
Stop! You need this damn job. You can’t screw it up!
I busy myself washing off plates then wrench open the door to the dishwasher and start stacking.
It’s probably a good thing I have to leave this weekend. I’m going to visit my sister upstate. Get my head away from Holden, out of his bedroom, out of his pants. God, I’ve had maybe one boyfriend in my entire life, and I’ve never been this hard up for it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The door slams and footsteps echo down the hall.
I tense up but keep stacking, bending so my ass is on display in the tight skinny jeans I chose this morning. Each day, I try a little something to grab his attention, as pathetic as that may seem. Nothing’s ever going to happen.
Still, I wiggle my butt and hum.
“Danielle.” His voice is a growl behind me.
I shut the dishwasher’s door, straighten, and flush hot from head to toe. Then I turn slowly to face my fantasy. He’s inches from my chest, looking down, his pupils dilated.
“Hi, Mr. Long,” I say. I never call him Mr. Long.
“I’ll be leaving this afternoon to see my brother.” His gaze lights on the sparse cleavage that shows above the lip of my blouse. I try to keep it modest around the house. “Have you got somewhere to go for the weekend? Or will you be staying here?”
My breath hitches in my chest. God, I wish that was an invitation. “Yes. My sister’s.”
“Good.”
Silence builds between us. Heat. I have to get out of this kitchen before I throw myself at him. Wrap my legs around his waist, grind my already wet pussy against the outside of his jeans, which fit him to perfection.
I lick my lips and look down to avoid his gaze. I catch a glimpse of his crotch, and the bulge there, a length of what looks like thick pipe.
Oh, god, he’s hard! He’s hard!
My nipples pucker and pluck against the cotton of my bra. I’ve chosen something comfy today, and it does nothing to hide my reaction to him.
“I hope you have a good weekend, Mr. Long,” I say. Again with the formalities. Cringe.
I scooch past him and make for the door, because I absolutely, 100 percent cannot afford to lose this job.
I won’t make what I need working at McDonald’s or any other restaurant around here. I’ve already tried waiting tables, and after my mom’s passing, money is super tight. We’re a family of five sisters and one tired dad.
I distract myself with the thoughts and rush out of the kitchen. “I’ll pack my bags,” I say, over my shoulder, then dart out into the hall.
I pause a second, press my back to the wall, and catch my breath.
Calm down. Calm down.
It’s the first time he’s ever been that close to me. That he’s ever reacted to me. And I’m tempted to go back in there, drag his dick out of his jeans, and polish him off with my mouth, my hands, every fucking part of me.
God, why do I want him this much? It can’t be normal.
I push off the wall and spot the mail waiting on the foyer table, a mess of envelopes I usually organize for Holden into two piles: junk mail and bills or personal correspondence.
Perfect distraction before I leave.
I grab the bunch and sort through them letter by letter.
Bill. Junk. Bill. Junk. Happy New Year Card—ha, that’s a little late. Junk. Junk. Ju—
What’s this?
A golden envelope addressed to me. Weird. I never get any mail. And I certainly haven’t listed Holden’s place as my current address.
But there’s no mistaking it. That’s my name embossed on the front, surrounded by… diamonds?
No way.
I’m tempted to crack a tooth on one just to see—yeah, I’m that kinda bad bitch—but I don’t. Instead, I slip the letter from the pile and hold it in both hands.
There’s another letter. This one in exactly the same print as the first.
Mr. Holden Long.
He’s got one, too. My curiosity hits the roof. I quickly finish sorting the rest of the mail then hurry past the entrance to the kitchen. I don’t dare glance in, in case I spot Holden in there and lose my resolve.
I take the stairs two at a time then rush down the corridor and burst into my bedroom. I shut my door behind me and lift the golden envelope again. My pulse races.
This feels important.
I’m not sure why. And Holden has one, too. That has to mean something, right?
I turn the envelope over, fingers trembling, and open the golden lip. I slide a delicate piece of paper out from within.
Dear Ms. Danielle Powell,
You are cordially invited to join us for a weekend of sex and mystery on Mystique Island. Masks will be required at all times during the course of your stay. All clothing, food, and accommodation will be provided for you.
Welcome to the sexiest event of your life.
The envelope is unsigned, but there’s an additional page of details. A plane ticket included, and a brochure explaining the island and what the parties there entail. Very explicit pictures dot the pages and my mouth goes dry.
Mystique Island?
And Holden is invited, too?
This sounds way more intriguing than a weekend upstate, but can I really do this? I’ve never been a prude. I’m more of a sixties child without the necessary sexual experience. Going to this type of “event” doesn’t scare me too much, though I’m kind of nonplussed about who invited me.
If we both have an invite, does that mean that it’s from him? No, it can’t be. Holden wouldn’t jeopardize this.
I scan the words again.
Masks will be required at all times.
What if I can be with him? No strings attached. Get rid of my desires for him once and for all. Live out my fantasies during this one weekend?