by Alexis Angel
“They’ll never see this coming.” I wink at him, despite the tingling ache overwhelming me.
“They never do.”
His lips crash back into me, and he takes hold of my face.
But I have other plans, ones that I definitely see coming.
Reaching for his cock, I unbutton and unzip his pants. His cock bobs out, eagerly greeting my hand. I firmly wrap my fingers around it and cradle his balls, teasing them.
A deep groan, resulting from ripples that climb from the base of his spine, escapes him. His hands travel down my body, with one lifting my leg up again, and positioning my cunt in front of his throbbing cock.
“Forgive me, for I will sin,” he says, smirking smugly.
“You’re so damn clever, aren’t you?”
He laughs, distracting me from his cock slamming into me.
“Ah, god!” I scream, fiercely clutching his shoulders.
“Don’t say his name in vain, angel. Shouldn’t you know that by now?” he grunts out with a smile.
I pull his lips to mine, wanting to tame his brash mouth. But I can’t keep up with his rhythm, his rough and fast thrusts pushing me up against the wall, forcing my lips away from his.
Our skin glistens together, sticky from the frosting. And I pull at his hair, finding more cake crumbs.
Grabbing them, I push them into his mouth. He licks my fingers, teasing them with his tongue.
His gaze pierces me; what would I give just to be that cake?
Though his cock is treating me better than that cake ever could. And that’s damn impressive.
“I fucking love seeing you like this. In our lingerie, with our baby...filled and covered with me.”
“I feel fucking amazing.”
My breathing softens, and my body begins to tense.
I feel my cunt clench around his cock. He pounds harder, knowing I’m on the edge.
“I vow to always make you come,” he grunts, tasting the frosting on my cheek, “and to always have this cake on standby.”
“Then make me come, damn it!” I yell at him.
“Yes, dear.”
I feel him smile against my skin, and his fingers begin to play with my nipples over the lace.
Pulling my leg up higher, his cock hits my G-spot directly. And I spiral, losing myself in his arms.
My body shudders violently as my hips grind against him, my cunt milking his cock. And I feel his body becoming still as his breathing goes shallow. His heart pounds against my chest, and with a few quick pulses, he releases into me.
We cling to each other as we fall from our high. He bites my shoulder, and I dig my nails into his skin.
Our breathing’s erratic, but we slowly catch it once our eyes meet.
“Not too bad for married sex.” He winks.
A knock on the door pulls us from our haze, and Tanner pulls out of me—far too quickly—and hands me his jacket while zipping himself up.
He opens the door slowly, peeking out first, and we’re greeted by the always charming Lis Langley.
Her face immediately reddens, and she squirms in discomfort.
I smile but try to cover my face with my fist.
I know this doesn’t look innocent—me in stockings and Tanner’s tuxedo jacket, while he has a disheveled and unbuttoned shirt, and his hair gelled back with cake.
“Apologies. But I just wanted to extend my sincerest congratulations. You two deserve all the happiness in the world.”
She smiles and nods, turning on her heels before jogging out of the church.
Tanner and I exchange knowing glances, and in unison, burst into laughter. He closes the door, pulls me into his arms, and we continue to laugh.
“I can’t wait to read that story!” I exclaim.
Chapter 34
Tanner
The expansive room—there must be close to 1,000 people in here—has been decorated to match the bridal theme of the fashion show to launch Pretty Little Vixen’s first bridal lingerie line.
You would think that running a lingerie company, I would have gotten used to being surrounded by soft, feminine fabric like lace. But I’ve never seen so much tulle in my life.
Between that and the flowers and fairy lights, it looks like there might be an actual wedding taking place here. But the floor-to-ceiling hangings of the Pretty Little Vixen logo and our various designs reveal the true purpose of the gathering.
No marriage ceremony will take place here tonight, although the occasion marks a new beginning for PLV.
I leave the backstage area to take my front-row seat. Getting to my seat proves problematic as I’m stopped by editors, buyers, and the usual smattering of ex-models, athlete’s wives, and socialites. They all want to be the first to congratulate me on the Phoenix-like rebirth that Pretty Little Vixen has had this year.
If they only knew.
Taking my seat, I wish that Elsa could watch the show and the launch of this line beside me. It’s amazing how much my life has changed.
What’s even more amazing is that I’m okay with it. More than okay.
I may not be fucking a different woman every night—those were fun days and great memories—but I’ve never been happier. Or more like myself, as crazy as that sounds.
“Congratulations on your...what? Marriage? Food fight? What are you calling that spectacle at the church?”
And just like that, my fucking father, Jackson Halo, sits down beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Hello, Dad.”
Jackson looks around at the decorated runway surrounded by a packed audience, and says, “This is quite the accomplishment. I’d like to think I was the first one to see your business acumen when I hired you at Crooked Halo.”
“Of course, you would find a way to take credit for my success,” I say. “Just think—if you had been in my life as a child, you could have jumped on stage to accept my award for Little League Athlete of the Year.”
“I’d like to think I had a part in it, that I have shaped you, guided you.”
“If only you would have been there?”
“If only I would have been there.”
“I turned out just fine without you.”
“Yes, you were well on your way with your Harvard degree in your hand,” Jackson says. “But, you can’t deny that your career took a decidedly upward trajectory once I started pulling the strings in the background.”
“No, I guess I can’t,” I say, “but I’d like to think I would have become successful regardless. Even if it would have taken me a few more years to get to the top.”
I can feel Jackson staring at me, but since he took it upon himself to sit on the front row of my show, I’ve refused to look his way. Instead, my eyes have been locked on the empty runway and prepped for the show to begin.
“I’d have to agree with your assessment,” Jackson says, surprising me. “I’m proud of you...son.”
That got my attention. I turn to look at him as he smiles smugly. The kind of smile where I’m not sure if he’s actually proud of me or if he invoked the “son” title because he knew that would elicit a response.
“Proud?”
“Yes, you’re right—with or without a little nudging from me here or there, you’re the one who built all this,” Jackson says, sweeping his hands open to encompass the runway and everything surrounding it. “What’s more, you’ve become quite the man in the process.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Considering you’re a chip off the old block, it’s definitely a compliment.”
“And how exactly am I like you?” I ask as the lights dim slightly and the introductory music comes on.
“You’ve built a successful lingerie company, bedded countless women. It’s like looking in a mirror. Only you took it a step further than I ever did. You settled down with the most delectable, desirable woman. And then you were somehow able to get that woman to bend to your every whim, even to the point of stepping dow
n from her own company. Quite the obedient little wife you have there.”
It’s my turn to stare at my father’s profile as the room erupts in applause to start the show. As the models start their walks one by one, I think about what he said. It’s true that, like it or not, everyone inherits some traits from their parents.
I’d like to think I got my perseverance and intelligence from my mother.
What did I inherit from Jackson Halo? The dark hair, sure. Although his is sprinkled with gray.
I guess you might say we have some similar facial features—our eyes, definitely.
Plus, his arrogance, without a doubt.
My models, dressed in my creations of lace and silk, continue their procession on and off the runway. The grand finale is next.
The audience has been eating up this show and is primed for the finale. You can feel the energy humming at a higher frequency with each model who sashays down the runway. And I plan to deliver a finale they’ll never forget.
The music abruptly changes just like we planned it, segueing into the moment everyone in the room has been waiting for—even though they have no idea what’s coming. Oh, they know something out of the ordinary is going to happen. After all, it was my stealing Elsa’s models at her show that started everything.
All my models return to the runway for their final walk and are greeted by thunderous applause.
As they begin their walk, I lean over to Jackson and say, “You might have gathered the wrong impression of Elsa after all. Obedience isn’t the word that comes to mind.”
And just like that, the models break away so that my angel Elsa can appear in the center of the runway, looking magnificent.
As she works the runway like the pro that she is, the audience goes wild. Who can blame them? It’s not every fashion show that ends with a drop-dead sexy maternity lingerie look.
Correction: a bridal maternity lingerie look.
With every step Elsa takes in her stiletto heels, she is proving that pregnant and sexy are not mutually exclusive. The white lace lingerie set, complete with a garter belt and seamed stockings, was designed to show off her shapely form, not hide it. Because Elsa Blakely Sharpe is no shrinking violet.
As Elsa makes her way back to the models lined up for the finale, they bend over to display matching Property of Dirty Little Angel stamps on their cheeks. Suddenly, everyone is standing up to cheer our good fortune.
Jackson and I stand as well, and as I acknowledge the applause with waves to everyone, I lean over to my father.
“You were right. I did learn a lot from you,” I say. “Not how to ride a bike or drive a car, though.”
“Oh?”
“More of your business practices, you could say. We crashed the stock for Dirty Little Angel, then we bought it all back for pennies on the dollar. You see, Elsa and I, we’re a team. And we’re going to run our joint company together—as a team.”
With that, I leave Jackson, my past, standing there and join my present and future waiting for me on the runway.
As the crowd cheers, I take my wife and the mother of my child into my arms, showing her and everyone in that room, including my father, just how much we mean to each other.
“Elsa Blakely,” I say against her lips. “Has anyone ever told you you’re the most incredible woman in the world?”
“It’s Elsa Sharpe now,” she purrs back to me. “But...ah, yes. I do believe someone has mentioned it a time or two.”
One of the models brings some rice, and they shower us with the grains as we kiss, as if we’re the only two people on the runway...or in the world for that matter.
Protein Shake
An MFM Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2018 by Naughty Angel Publishing
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Eric
The label on the protein shake reads Hot Fuck Sunday. With a name like that, you’d think this bitch would be dying to gulp it down her slutty little throat—but apparently, she’s refusing.
She has a name-tag that reads BECKA stuck to her t-shirt over her left tit. When she lays her eyes on me, her nipple gets so hard beneath her shirt that she nearly removes the C from her own fucking name.
I walk into the taste test room like I own the place—because I fucking do. Protein Plus Labs is just the latest addition to my health and fitness empire, and I’m not in the mood for any hold-ups in getting our first product—Protein Plus shakes—to market.
“Drink the damn thing,” I tell her, calm and casual as can be. “Or we’ll find some other slut who will.”
Her eyes go wide when she hears that. I can practically smell her get wet from halfway across the room. The scent only intensifies as my business partner, Chase Flint, follows me in.
“I’ll drink whatever you want me to,” Becka sasses back, looking smug. “As long as it doesn’t taste like shit—which, I know this is going to.”
She gestures to the protein shake in front of her, then crosses her arms beneath her tits—as if I don’t know exactly what she’s doing.
Fuck, it’s not even a challenge with women like this.
I unraveled her kinks the second she opened her pouty bimbo lips.
See, right about now, Becka is thinking to herself that she’s going to prove to us what a bitch she can be. She’s going to try and draw attention to how fucking hot she thinks she is—not even realizing that I’ve fucked hotter women than her three times today already.
She thinks she’s going to get my temper going. Thinks she’s going to throw her fucking attitude around, and it’ll earn her the privilege of wrapping her mouth around my cock.
“The last five flavors you made me try tasted like garbage,” Becka says, licking her lips. “Unless you give me something actually fucking drinkable for once, I’m done.”
“Let her leave.” Chase leans in and turns his head away from her to talk in my ear. “She’s just being a cunt because that’s all she’s thinking with right now: her cunt. She’ll be back.”
Chase looks about as comfortable in a collared shirt as a nuclear warhead looks in the back of a pickup truck on a bumpy road. If he so much as flexes the wrong way, he’s going to rip right the fuck through the fabric. It would leave him in nothing but a collar and two shirt-cuffs like a fucking Chippendale dancer…not that Chase would mind that.
But when we’re playing CEO, we have to look the part. Luckily, I’m as comfortable in a tuxedo as I am in a pair of gym shorts. As for Chase, the sleeves cover up all his scary-ass jailhouse tattoos.
I value Chase’s opinion. He’s the other half of this operation, and usually his judgment is sound.
But today, I’m fed up with this bitch.
“It’s alright,” I tell him. “I want to see how this plays out.”
Chase drops back, and I move forward, running a thumb across the buckle of my belt.
“You want something tasty to drink. Is that what you’re telling me?”
Becka licks her lips again. I watch her fucking pupils dilate as she stares blatantly at my crotch.
Like I said: so transparent, you could read a book through her.
“Answer.”
“Mmmhmm,” Becka whines.
“Use your words.”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Mm. Totally.”
I flick my belt open, unzip my fly, and pull it out. 12 inches of man meat slaps down on the table so hard and heavy, I see the surface of the protein shake tremble.
If Becka’s eyes get any fucking wider, they’re going to pop right out of her blow-up doll head.
“You want
this fucking cock?” I ask.
I can hear the head of our research team, Linda, clear her throat behind me.
“Um, Mr. Hale—I don’t think that’s—”
“Not now, Linda,” I dismiss her. My fist wraps around my cock at the base, gripping it nice and tight. “I’m going to give Becka what she wants.”
“Yesssss,” Becka celebrates, leaning forward.
I stop her with ease, putting the heel of my hand on her forehead and pushing her back into her seat. Her slutty little tongue is still hanging out of her mouth in disappointment.
“Not so fast. You haven’t fucking earned this cock.”
I flex my thighs and my cock rises up in my fist of its own accord. I can feel the blood rushing to it, making it harder and thicker and longer with every passing second.
As for Becka, she’s practically fucking drooling.
Good. Horny little bitches like her ought to be drooling over a cock like mine.
It doesn’t take me long to cum. I don’t need porn or dirty talk or any of that shit. I’m in control of my body—and I want this little slut to see that.
Rope after rope of thick, creamy cum blasts out of the big, fat tip of my cock. My aim is impeccable—every fucking one of them lands in the protein shake. If I thought she could count any higher than ten right now, I would say that Becka counted every spurt.
I haven’t just filled it to the fucking brim—it’s pouring over the edge as well. She looks fucking dumbstruck as she watches the long, pearly strands drip down the side of the glass.
“Go on then,” I tell her. “Drink up.”
I tuck my cock back into my pants and zip up. Becka reaches for the shake. Behind me, I can feel Chase snort in amusement and Linda holding her fucking breath.
“Oh my god,” Becka moans, taking a little sip. It’s immediately followed by a second, louder moan as that sip turns into gulp after fucking gulp. “MmMmmmmMMMMM!”
I watch, unsurprised, as she chugs the whole fucking thing. She’s so eager to get it onto that slutty little tongue of hers that it leaks over the corners of her lips and spills down her chin. The shake pours down her throat, pooling between her breasts. It smears over her name-tag, until her name is just a fucking smudge.