One of the first, and most unexpected alterations to the infamous Maddox Petersen was that after saying adios to the Stiller and Petersen Corporation, he reinvented himself as an angel investor. And he did it the right way. This wasn’t some kind of money grab to steal a company from under those who built it, but to help entrepreneurs achieve their full potential.
It was during our first real date, over chicken and waffles and dirty martinis when we happened upon the idea of philanthropy as a career choice. He had the money, I had the heart. We were a recipe for success, really. Angelonia Empresa was born soon after.
Maddox was an investor savant. He had this bizarre instinct, this inherent knowledge which pointed out the products and ideas, even simple concepts, that showed the most promise of return. His professional aptitude was on equal footing with my inner creative.
With the burdens of revenge, guilt, and hatred removed, something within me was set free. My imagination was unleashed. And miracle of miracles, I could actually put my college degree to use. I came up with tag lines, brand ideas, and scripted commercials for the prototypes Maddox selected for a financial giddy-up.
Angelonia was unique from other investment platforms in that all its promising entrepreneurs came from either the wrong side, or no side, of the tracks.
Maddox wouldn't entertain a proposal from anyone with a household income of more than five figures. I called him out on it, told him he was being exclusive to that income bracket just because of me and my family's history with the lower end of the middle-class status.
He said that I was right.
Which was strange, because I assumed he was going to argue the point.
I'd come to find out that Maddox only argued when absolutely necessary. He was still an ultra-rich, and ultra powerful man. It’s just that there was no reason for him to spend the extra energy, or burn additional calories, unless he felt a good old-fashioned debate was in order. He'd already topped out at over six feet, and with his newly-cultivated, rugged outdoorsman look, he could get even more of what he wanted. From anyone, anytime. He had all the control.
Behind closed doors, however, he surrendered everything to me. Including himself. For me to hold dominion over that – even the very idea of that – was the most luscious form of foreplay I could have ever fantasized.
It was kinky.
It was naughty.
Even better, it was completely taboo. Totally forbidden.
Nothing could be finer.
It did make meeting the parents a little strange, though.
Hi, Mister and Missus Petersen, so nice to meet you. Your son isn't quite the asshole I initially thought him to be. Also, he turned me into a dominatrix. He's the submissive. Kinda digging that turn of events. Could you please pass the salt?
I'm paraphrasing, of course, but those thoughts did go through my head when I was first introduced to Anna and John Petersen – soon to be known as Mom and Dad. Also strange.
By far, though, our biggest problem was always having to keep the media's nose out of our personal life. It was like trying to alter the course of a river with a toothbrush.
No matter the extraordinary quality of care to be offered at Cliffside, the first and foremost priority on everyone's mind was where the Hispanic broad came from, and what the hell was she doing with a rich white boy like Maddox Petersen.
Ain't that a hoot.
I was the subject of conspiracy theories. Which I found to be a compliment.
One of my favorites was that I was an illegal alien who'd risked life and limb to cross the border in order to clean his gold-plated toilets.
According to the internet rags, Maddox started banging me, got me pregnant, and in order to avoid persecution from the federal government and newly enhanced immigration laws, had no choice but to succumb to marriage.
Apparently, the stress was too much for my petite Spanish frame, and I miscarried. In the throes of south-of-the-border hysteria, I demanded my own business to offset the pain and heartache of an involuntarily terminated fetus. And for those who didn’t care about my love-life, they took things a bit more financial, predicting that Angelonia Empresa was a doomed venture from the start.
Their articles claimed it to be nothing more than a way for Maddox to shut his crazy wife’s mouth. They also suggested that he would have been better served by offering me a nail salon, or a lingerie shop. A contemporary Mexican food restaurant. Or massage parlor.
It would have been easy enough to hold my own press conference, disparage the rumors of gold plated toilets, my citizenship, and tragically aborted child. I stuck by the No Comment gun. No reason to add fuel to the idiots' fire. I simply stated, through my personal blog, the speculations surrounding my relationship with Maddox Petersen were folly. I used a word like 'folly' on purpose, as there is no real English-to-Spanish translation for it. Also because no one uses such an old fashioned noun anymore. My budding internal poet liked it, however. Folly.
The only element of truth to their numerous flawed hypotheses was that Maddox did ask me to marry him, although by no means under duress, so to speak.
It was a Saturday night, and just on the cusp of Spring. He was captivated quite nicely on our four-poster bed, with his eyes covered by a silken black blindfold.
His chest was still heaving from his latest volcanic ejaculation, and when he finally did go flaccid and slipped out from inside of me, he gasped in such abject desperation, it was as if he were drawing his last breath.
I untied the blindfold, but left his arms secured to the posts. I liked to do that. Keeping him bound to the frame while I watched him recover was a turn on in its own tantalizing right.
Sometimes I would run my finger against his parted lips, or perhaps kiss him, maybe just brush my nipples across his mouth.
Once in a while I'd let him suckle on me, that is, if he wasn't too tired to lift his head up high enough to reach my tits. It was ten kinds of delightful to watch him try.
Maybe I was just imagining it, but his eyes were always greener after he came. On this particular Saturday night they were even greener, and studied me like never before. Locked on me, making me smile curiously as I began unbuckling the first cuff.
We'd opted for the more user-friendly design of restraint – sheepskin lined, leather manacles – much like the one he'd used on me, on the deck of the Insatiable, complete with galvanized chain. There was something about the sound the chains would make as he struggled and writhed beneath me, the muscles in his neck and chest straining like cords of rope, his teeth clenched together as he begged me to let him climax… better than any ambient love song, that's for sure.
“What?” I asked, freeing his hand, then straddling him to release the other.
I watched his Adam's apple rise and fall as he swallowed over it. And those eyes, like limpid pools of emeralds. So green.
He put his hands against my hips, supporting my weight against his pelvis.
I was still a few percentage points away from full surgical recovery, so the added assistance was a nice, and necessary touch. Especially after the grind we just enjoyed. Workouts like the one we just pounded through were a shit ton better than any god damn rowing machine. Hand to God.
“Seriously, what?”
Maddox took my hands, clasped them over his heart, and swallowed again. He asked in the most gentle, sincerest tone I'd ever heard if I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with him.
I instantly thought about being a smart ass. I thought about asking him where the ring in the champagne glass was. The pre-planned, choreographed proposal with a photographer hiding in the bushes. Speaking of, what about the bended knee? Don't I at least get that?
Instead, I curtailed the sarcasm. I looked down into his eyes, and suddenly understood why they were greener than before. He was in god damn love with me. I crossed my arms in front of my boobs.
“On one condition,” I said.
He nodded. Anything Ramona wanted, Ramona got. It was hard not to ge
t spoiled as shit with this guy. Maddox was like my own personal genie with unlimited wishes, an eye for business, and a nine-inch cock. Life, at the moment, was good.
“No asshole diamond ring.”
“What?”
“It's a scam. The whole spend a third of your monthly salary on a rock for the little woman? Total crock. Besides, three parts of your monthly salary would snap my finger in half. Hell, my whole arm.”
“If I promise not to get you one, will you marry me?”
I smiled. What a proposal this was.
“Yes,” I said, and flopped my body down on his because hell, I was so damn in love with him, too.
So, yes, life at the moment was good. Especially here. Now. Sitting on an Irish sex machine in an infinity pool.
The sun had set completely, and the moon was just beginning its nightly watch in the sky. God's flashlight, as Maddox told me his brother used to call it. I liked the metaphor.
“You want to go inside?” he asked, right up against my ear and sending warm, wonderful shivers down my spine.
“And do what?”
“We'll think of something,” he replied, cupping my breast and kissing the tip of my earlobe. Again, and again.
Very familiar heat began to rise in my groin. Blossoming, like the petals of a flower, but fast and eager, as if this bloom couldn't wait to open.
“Maybe we should have a special wing for sex addicts,” I whispered, thinking we'd be its best customers.
Maddox took my hand. “C'mon,” he said, and rose up from the water. I watched as it ran down his body in thin little rivers, and I couldn't look away. It made me hungry for him.
Maddox helped me from the pool, and I grabbed his ass with both hands and squeezed as hard as I could. His breath drew in between his teeth when I dug my nails deep into the muscled flesh of his buttocks.
The tops of the palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze, and stars dotted the evening sky.
Very magical.
Very dreamy.
The moon shone on the surface of the water, a soft silver light on fire.
I grinned, and pressed my finger on the tip of his nose.
“I think you love me,” I said, and kissed him.
“I know I do,” he whispered back, “and I know you love the heck out of me.”
THE END
Unsure of what to read next? Give ‘Them Seymore Boys’ a try!
The thing about bullshit is, no matter which way you cut it, it’s still bullshit. Unless you’re in the thick of it, of course. Then it’s all you see. The very thing you reek of. And in a sense, you become the bullshit.
My back stiffened as the door creaked open. The fact that we were here, waiting for exactly this moment meant that I shouldn’t have been as tense as I was. Plus, I didn’t really peg myself as the suspicious type. I guess you learn something new every day.
This party, if you could call it that, wouldn’t start until we’d gathered the entire tribe. Everyone seemed to be dragging their feet though, slowly making their way in.
“What did you do, stop at the mall on the way here?” Macy smirked, her blue eyes flashing darkly in the dim light as she shifted her to gaze to Julianne. She smirked back and shrugged, looking a lot less nervous than I felt in this dingy cabin.
Okay, so maybe that was the privilege in me talking.
Camp Wytipo turned enough of a profit every summer to put decent lighting in the cabins. I’m pretty sure the fading yellow bulbs were only there to create a rustic ambiance—an ambiance which didn’t extend to the glistening porcelain bathrooms, but this camp didn’t cater to kids who were used to digging a hole to bury their own shit in.
“Of course not,” Julianne sniffed, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. I swear she could have been a shampoo model if she didn’t think it was beneath her. Even in the dim light her hair shimmered and shone like magic. “You can’t do a real séance with an off the shelf Ouija board,” she said. “I—borrowed it from my grandma.”
Joan clapped her hands over her mouth and stared at Julianne with a combination of awe and horror.
“Grandmother Bird?” she whispered hoarsely.
I tried not to flinch or give off any sign of just how downright uncomfortable I was with this whole mess.
It wasn’t that I believed in ghosts and such. But it wasn’t like I didn’t believe in them.
“Of course, Grandmother Bird,” Julianne tsked with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Only the most famous Medium to ever bless Texas with her presence would have a real Ouija board.”
“One of the most famous,” I said blandly.
Julianne shot me an irritated glance. “You better not let her hear you say that. She’ll hex you faster than you can say, ‘sorry, granny.’”
“Sorry, granny,” I said sarcastically. “What? It’s not like she’s listening. Besides, it’s a fact. Lady Olaise is just as famous, maybe more.”
Joan shook her head furiously, her copper hair whipping the air behind her. “Lady Olaise isn’t half the medium Grandmother Bird is. Grandmother Bird told my mom that her baby would die, you know, and every baby she had after it. Told her she should get an abortion and spare everybody the pain. My mom would have sued her if her husband hadn’t talked her out of it.”
Joan scowled at the floor, an expression which had become almost permanent on her pretty face over the last few months. “Then the baby died. Mom hasn’t tried since. Grandmother Bird is the real deal—if that’s her board—”
“It is,” Julianne interrupted.
“—then it’ll tell us for sure whether the Seymore brothers had anything to do with Kitty May’s disappearance.” Joan didn’t take any notice of Julianne’s interruption, which vexed Julianne.
“Explain to me again why you think the Seymore kids did it?” Adam’s voice rang through the girls’ cabin like an invading force, prompting all eyes to shoot in his direction.
“Lower your voice,” Julianne hissed as she grabbed his arm and yanked him to the floor. “If they know we have boys in here, they’ll never let us finish this.”
Adam smiled slowly, his eyes half-hooded. It’s a look we’d all seen on TV more times than we could count—his dad’s a TV host, one who likes to make celebrities squirm. That smile usually followed a particularly uncomfortable or pointed question. I never watched the show much. It made me feel gross.
“Then pretend I’m a girl and tell me why you think the Seymore brothers disappeared Kitty May,” he whispered.
Julianne sniffed. “Because whenever anything goes wrong in this town, you can bet they had something to do with it. They’re all deviants, you know. Mr. Seymore only adopts kids who are too bad to stay with other foster families. He always did. The state just sends him troubled kids nowadays, because they know they’ll end up there eventually. So, yeah. Car stolen? Look at Seymore. House broken into? Look at Seymore. The townhall burns to the ground? You guessed it, Seymore. Kid goes missing without a trace? Seymore.”
“Are you talking about Kitty May or Sabrina Fisher?” I asked quietly.
Julianne gave me a sharp look. “Both,” she snapped. “You know they had a Seymore pinned for Sabrina. Had it in the bag. His pseudo-daddy bought off the judge, though.”
It rankled me when she talked about Jason Seymore being a pseudo-daddy, but I hadn’t been in town long enough to argue the point.
Maybe the guy really did just phone it in—but that wasn’t the impression I got.
For as much havoc as the Seymore boys wreaked, they always did it together. They didn’t share blood, but whatever bond they did have was as strong as any sibling relationship I’d seen. I couldn’t really imagine that being the case if Jason Seymore was just playing daddy and not actually putting in some real work.
Adam raised his eyebrows. “You don’t blame them for Sabrina Fisher’s death, do you? The oldest ones are our age. That would have made them, what, nine when she died?”
“You’re forgetting the older Seymore bo
ys,” Julianne sniffed. “Eric Seymore was dating Sabrina. He skipped town after his dad got him off for murder. You know the younger Seymores look up to the older ones, don’t you? Daddy sure as hell doesn’t raise them.”
Adam shrugged casually and pretended to examine his fingernails. “You’re making a lot of assumptions—unless you’re a lot closer to the family than you’re willing to admit.”
Julianne narrowed her eyes at him. Had he caught her gaze, his irises might have very well burned to ash.
I shook my head, trying to get Adam to put a halt on it, but he wasn’t paying attention.
Pissing Julianne off was a terrible idea, but Adam liked to stir the pot—whether it needed stirring or not. Better him than me, I decided.
The truth was, I agreed with him, but I wasn’t stupid enough to say so. Julianne had a temper. A hot temper, a quick and vicious temper—but also the kind that could burn slowly for years.
Macy, clearly aware of the tension, but choosing to ignore it, sighed heavily and flopped backwards on her bunk. “I’m bored,” she moaned. “Who are we still waiting for?”
Julianne rolled her eyes before shooting her an irritated look. Adam didn’t pull his eyes away from Julianne when he answered for her. “Stew and Renard,” he said. “They both decided to shower first.”
Julianne raised a perfect eyebrow at Adam, and he grinned like the cat who caught the gossip canary.
Nodding, Adam fed Julianne enough juiciness to temper her down. “Guess they thought the séance was an excuse to get friendly,” he added, which was bullshit, of course.
Julianne, though, she was ready to eat this shit up like buttered pancakes. “No chance in hell,” she squeaked, her jaw inches from her ankles. She didn’t rub her hands together and scream for more, but she didn’t need to because we all saw it. Joan, on the other hand, looked like she swallowed a hundred lemons.
Forbidden Sensations: A Dark Romance Page 28