by Madison Faye
Her eyes went wide, and I grinned. I liked that I could make her blush like that, that I could scandalize her.
My hands grabbed her tight little ass firmly as I centered my cock at her entrance.
“Just like that,” I husked into her ear. “Be a good girl and sit right down on that cock.”
She moaned, kissing me fiercely as she started to sink her tight, wet slit right down my throbbing shaft. “Fuck,” she hissed. “Like this, sir?”
“Just like that,” I groaned as she sunk all the way down. “Exactly like that.”
We went slow that night at first, her rocking on top of me, my hands gripping her ass and grinding up into her as we made love in her room. She rode me up and down, her head thrown back, her hair strewn across her face, her fingers clawing at my back as she came again and again for me.
And then I’d pulled out, spun her face down on the mattress, made her bite the pillow, and fucked her like I knew she wanted to be fucked. With her parents sleeping right down the hall and her screams drowning in her pillow, I’d fucked that sweet pussy until she’d begged me to come — slamming her into the mattress on every thrust, her hair in my fist as she came like like a girl possessed.
And finally, I’d groaned, sliding in deep and gasping into the skin of her back as I’d pumped every single drop of my cum deep inside her.
After that, we slept like the dead, my arms wrapped around her and her breath on my chest.
Just like I’d wanted.
The perfect Christmas gift.
Epilogue
Isabella
When we’d woken up the next morning, the storm had died down. And in it’s wake, we all woke to a perfect winter scene of stillness and fresh snow. We had coffee in the kitchen I’d grown up in, before Colin invited all of us — my parents included — back to his home for Christmas Eve brunch.
He flew us.
Over the gorgeous, fresh winter snow, Colin flew me and my stunned parents back to the helipad at one of his buildings back in Boston. A waiting car took us to his townhouse, where his kids ran out the front door to wrap their arms around him, and then me. Andrew made us brunch, my parents tried to swallow the shock of where they were, and Colin went out of his way to promise them he had every best intention for me.
That night, in front of the Christmas tree, he proved it even further, when he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.
I don’t think any Christmas Eve will ever top that one.
After that, we just drifted into our very own happy ever after. I moved in permanently immediately, and married Colin the following summer.
Needless to say, we got a new nanny for Beckham and Lillian.
The kids were a big part of me coming into his life, and he told me later that their warming to me the way they did was one of the biggest reasons he’d asked me to be his wife. I had a special kind of relationship with them, and I carried the responsibility of that relationship with the highest regard. I wasn’t their mother — that I made clear. Stepmom, yes, but as broken as she was, they did have a mother. I loved the two of them as if they were my own kids, of course, but it was never my place to replace Helen, only to act as a better caregiver to them than she could be.
There was a sweet spot I found, somewhere between “friend” and “mom,” and it worked out wonderfully for all of us for a time.
Well, until the incident.
Helen had broken the terms of her parole by flying to Paris to intimidate Colin and I. A more vindictive man would have come after her for everything, and made sure she never saw her kids again. But while he was firm, and viciously protective of those he loved, the man I married wasn’t cruel.
Colin did eventually — eventually — grant supervised, in-home visitation of the kids with Helen. It was for Beckham and Lillian, of course, not for her, and for a time, it worked.
That is, until she’d shown up drunk to one of the visits and tried to attack Colin with a taser she’d smuggled into the house. After that, and after they found evidence of her planning another lawsuit against Colin — a breach of the terms of her visitation — Colin shut that door for good.
Cruel? No. Fiercely protective? You bet.
The thing is, Helen hadn’t ever actually been after her children, just a way back to Colin and his bankroll. After the incident at the house, when it was quite clear to her that she was never getting her hooks into him again, she quite readily and willingly signed away all parental rights to her kids. After that, she’d flown off to Europe somewhere with the disgraced Dr. Peters.
Her just giving up Beckham and Lillian like that sickened me though, and after that, the dynamic of our relationship changed.
Because after that, I formally adopted them as my own.
I finished school at Harvard, moved on to the Business School graduate program at the same college, and eventually moved into a leadership position with one of Colin’s acquisition firms. I loved the work and the challenges, and I loved that I’d been afforded a chance to do the work I’d always wanted to do.
I also really loved that my boss would occasionally drop by my office, lock the door, bend me over my desk with my hands tied behind my back, and fuck me until I was a puddle.
Separation of work and play?
No thanks.
Bridgette was born three years after we married — a beautiful baby girl and an anchor that just tied our little family all together.
Colin was nothing I was ever looking for, and yet everything I hadn’t even known I wanted. The kind, loving husband that centered me, the warm, doting father to our children.
And yet, he never stopped being the other things I loved about him.
Dominant.
Wickedly dirty and toe-curlingly demanding and controlling when I needed him to be.
We had both the sugar and the spice — the warm fuzzy love and the down and dirty steam that kept me moaning for more and begging for it harder. And he never disappointed on either front.
We still sometimes would go back to that club, where it all began. We’d approach each other as strangers, he’d buy me a drink, he’d let his hand trail over my skin. And just like that first time, I’d be dripping wet for him in seconds.
He’d take me through the crowds, pull us into the bathroom, tear my panties away from me and fuck me hard and dirty — rough and controlling just like I craved and just how he loved.
But unlike the first time, those times, we’d leave together, and go back the the life and the family we’d created together. And maybe that wasn’t everyone’s idea of love. Maybe to some people, my husband fucking me against the tiled wall of a nightclub bathroom with my torn panties binding my hands behind my back and my hair wrapped around his fist until I came like a banshee was something to look down on. Maybe to some people, him pulling me back through the club afterwards with our clothes disheveled, the sweet bruises from our roughness already rising, and his cum dripping down my thigh wasn’t love at all.
Those people didn’t bother us one bit, because it was for us.
We had it all, and that’s what mattered. We had the family, the love, and the sweet and the hot.
Sugar and spice, as they say, makes everything nice.
The End.
Also by Madison Faye
“Three Times” Series:
Bossed Three Times
Taken Three Times
“Twice” Series:
Twice Driven
Twice Bossed
Twice Tackled
“First Time” Series:
Legal
Professor
Freshman
About the Author
Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, streamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re
all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha heroes, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you!
(Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
MadisonFayeRomance
www.madisonfayeromance.com
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Baby It’s Cold
I really can't stay...
He's the handsome, older man next door. The one who works with my father; the one with the wolfish grin that's gotten me warm in places it shouldn't for longer than it should have.
And I shouldn't be here, not like this, not alone with him, and not on Christmas Eve.
I ought to say no.
But it's so cold outside, and so warm in here.
He's almost twice my age, but I can't say no to him. Not with that look in his eyes; that look that makes me want to try new things. Things like maybe giving him the sort of gift you can only give a man once...
And it really is cold out there.
Well, maybe just one more drink...
Copyright © 2015 Madison Faye
All rights reserved.
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
“Oh, honey, before you start that, would you mind doing me a favor?”
I groaned as looked up from the holiday movie I was about to start and frowned at my mother. “Now?”
Okay, I’d seen the old classic paused on the t.v. basically every Christmas, sometimes twice, for years. But still, I was cozy on the couch, and for the first time in months, I was home, and not at college thinking about finals or grades or studying or any of that stuff.
My mother gave me a look. “Yes, now, if you don’t mine. Oh don’t give me that look, Rachel, I’m not asking the world here.”
I sighed, dramatically.
“Look, I just want to see if you could possibly run up the street real quick and drop a tin of those cookies I made off at Jon Mason’s house.
I felt my whole face grow red, and my body flush with heat at his name. Jon, the perpetual bachelor. The handsome - okay, no, damn sexy - guy who lived up the street.
I'd crushed on the older, handsome family friend since, well, forever. He worked with my dad, always dressed smartly, always had presents, always in a nice car. As I'd grown, I'd fantasized about him enough to make me blush thinking about it.
Heck, he was all I fantasized about, truth be told.
I’d used to watch him from my bedroom window when I was little. I’d watch him lift weights in his garage, blushing at the strange and new feelings doing so created in me. Other times, if he left the bathroom blinds open, I could see inside there. I’d have the lights off in my room, hiding behind the curtain as I’d watch him step from the shower, the water trickling over his nude, muscled body.
As I’d gotten older, I’d notice his looks growing longer, his eyes lingering a bit more on me when he’d smile or say hi. In fact, he’d driven me home once from the mall, right before I’d left for college, and for those those wonderful fifteen minutes in his car, I’d pretended we were more than just neighbors. I’d pretended I was more than just the girl next door he was nice to.
We’d lingered in my driveway that last time, my blushing in the dark and never wanting to get out as he played me some cool new music on his car stereo. He’d hugged me then, as a final send-off before I left for school, and the touch had electrified me. We’d lingered in that moment a bit longer than we should have, and I could feel my pulse skip a beat and my body grow warmer in certain places as I’d felt his arms around me there in the dark of his car.
Yeah, that Jon. That Jon that my mother wanted me to go over and bring cookies too. My head spun with excitement at the thought - a thrilling rush tinged nervousness.
It lingered in my body as I pulled on my boots and wrapped myself in a coat. And the thought warmed me as I stepped outside into the chilly snowy air of winter, off towards his house.
2
“Thanks,” I murmured shyly, taking the steaming mug from him. “It really is freezing out there!”
He smiled at me, a warming, charming and disarming flash of teeth and a twinkle in his eye. The dimples in his cheeks, his smile lines creasing as he winked at me.
“Sure thing, kid”
He'd always called me that, ever since I was a little girl, and it brought a smile and a flash of warmth to me today just as much as it had years ago.
I took a sip of the hot, steaming chocolate and gasped at the heat across my tongue, and also at the hot, lingering taste beneath the cocoa.
“Is there - is there alcohol in this?” I flushed as I swallowed the chocolate. The added burn of something much more adult warmed my throat on the way down.
He winked at me again as he took a sip of his own mug. “Of course”. That grin, so disarming and heart stopping.
“I- I’m not sure if I should.”
He leaned a little closer, the smell of his aftershave -woodsy and rich - mingling with the crackling smoke of the fireplace and the pine of the Christmas tree lit up with lights, and winked at me. “Oh, like you’ve never had a drink at college?”
I swallowed dryly in the heat and soft fire-light of the room. Quickly, I took another, larger, sip of my spiked cocoa.
“So first semester was good?” He grinned at me conspiratorially. “Any boys?”
I blushed furiously. “N-no.” The word stumbled awkwardly out of my mouth. It was half true. I'd been too shy, and too busy with my freshman year at college for boys, though there had been attempts made.
I tried to change the subject. “No dates for the holidays this year?”
“What do you call this?” he said, winking at me.
I blushed furiously.
“Hey, it’s not every day a cute college girl brings me cookies on Christmas Eve.” He looked at me purposefully then, his eyes boring into mine.
“You’ve really grown up, Rachel.” I let out a small gasp as his hand dropped to my knee, fingers lightly stroking my stockings there, and I f
elt myself tense slightly.
“Hey, I’m serious you know,” His fingers stroked lightly at the crook of my knee, bringing a hitch to my breath and a flutter to my pulse.
Part of me thrilled at his hand there. I mean he was so handsome after all, and charming and I’d secretly crushed on him for years.
But the stupid, shy, nervous part of me somehow felt it necessary, appropriate maybe, to shyly move my knee back.
It was the part of me that knew the fantasy probably couldn’t, or shouldn’t, became a reality.
His hand lingered though, and the room suddenly felt hotter than it had when I’d first entered, arms full of cookies from my mother for him. It was silly, and I was embarrassed to think that I’d preened before arriving at Jon’s front door.
Jon, who I dressed up for, even if only to bring cookies to.
His grip tightened on my knee, his fingers stroking more purposefully now. My stomach flipped and I could feel a slow burning heat in my cheeks.
Again, I was split. There was one part of me that thrilled that this man was showing an interest in me. But there was another part that felt like this was wrong.
This was naughty.
“I-I really should go,” I looked at him shyly, my heart hammering as he flashed that gorgeous, totally disarming smile at me.
“It's cold out there.”
I laughed nervously. “No, I know, but it's getting late.”
I was forcing myself to say no here, I knew that. But staying would be a mistake. I wasn't ready for staying and all the implications that brought. Besides, it felt like things had begun to move quite, quite fast all of a sudden.