His strong arms circle around my waist, and I feel his hands moving against my back. As we kiss, our bodies begin to fit together. Soon, his erection presses into my pussy. We’re still kissing passionately as he enters me.
Waves of pure love and bliss course through my body, and suddenly I’m slipping away, falling into that mysterious place that always seems to open up to Hunter and me when we’re together like this. There’s no thought as we move as one. As we each fall over the edge of an orgasm that lasts for longer than ever before, reality starts to return to me.
He asked me to marry him.
I’m going to be his wife.
My heart feels so full. I’m completely satisfied. In this instant, I know that there’s nothing I want more than to be Hunter’s sub for years and years to come.
Epilogue
One Year Later: Maria
I step out of the shower and dry myself off with a fluffy white towel. My stomach is full of butterflies. Tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow, I will walk down the aisle and see Hunter waiting for me.
I begin daydreaming as I rub lotion into my skin. In my mind, I can see myself standing on the beach across from Hunter, surrounded by our family and friends. I can almost hear the surf lapping the sandy shore and feel the hot sand beneath my bare feet. It’s going to be perfect.
I finish massaging lotion into my legs and then reach for the lingerie that I’ve draped across the loveseat next to the bath. It’s a black, lacy number. As I shimmy into it, the lace feels delicate against my freshly pampered skin.
I hear Hunter moving around in the bedroom beyond the door. He doesn’t know about the new lingerie I’ve purchased. I wanted to surprise him.
At first, I picked it up thinking it would be perfect for our honeymoon in Rio. However, as my shopping spree continued, I ended up buying a dozen more items to wear on our honeymoon. A billionaire’s wife can never have too much lingerie, I decided.
Once I have it on, I examine myself in the mirror. Tomorrow I will have my hair and makeup professionally done, but tonight the task is up to me. I sweep my long hair over one shoulder and swipe on a quick layer of lip gloss.
When I pull the bathroom door open, I see that Hunter is half sitting up in the bed, a magazine on his lap. As the door opens, he looks up at me.
“Well, Mr. Larson,” I say, walking toward him. “As a good couple with traditional values, I suppose we shouldn’t spend the night together, since the wedding is tomorrow. Should I go sleep in the guest room?”
Hunter has been flipping the pages of his magazine, but at the sight of me, his hand stops moving. He sets it aside and looks at me.
“Hmm…I suppose you’re right.” His eyes travel up and down the length of my body as he speaks. “I do remember something about couples staying apart before the wedding day. To the guest room, you go.” He’s clearly not being serious. He waves a hand toward the doorway to complete his act.
I climb onto the bed and sashay my hips side to side as I crawl toward him. My hair falls over my shoulder, and I give a playful pout.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes. We should never deviate from the norm, Maria,” he says, all the while reaching out toward me. Our slate grey, down comforter is draped lightly over his waist. I hop onto his lap and straddle him.
He places his hands on my hips. “Especially now that we’re getting married.” He furrows his brow with mock seriousness. “We need to do things exactly like other couples do. We’re going to be absolute sheep, Maria. It’s best to be a part of the flock.”
I giggle as his eyes wander over my outfit, taking in the see-through lace corset that accentuates the curve of my breasts and the shape of my waist.
“Exactly,” I agree. “Sheep. For instance, since it’s the night before our wedding, we absolutely shouldn’t go into the playroom. A good, upstanding citizen would never do something like that.”
“Absolutely not,” he agrees playfully. “As a normal, traditional married couple that would be out of the question.”
“Definitely out of the question,” I say. “And it probably isn’t normal for the bride-to-be to give her husband-to-be a gift, either. Normal couples never do that.”
“And we’re completely normal,” he says.
He laughs as I lift my weight off of him and then reach for the nightstand on my side of the bed. I open the stand’s drawer and pull out a little box. Then I resume my position on Hunter’s lap.
He raises his eyebrows. “Wait, you really got me a gift?” he asks.
“Just a little thing,” I say, holding the box out to him.
He accepts it and gives me another curious look before pulling on the white satin ribbon that I’ve tied around the silver gift box. When it falls loose, he lifts the box’s lid and peers inside.
I watch him smile as he reaches inside the box and pulls out a gorgeous new watch.
“To add to your collection,” I say, smiling too.
“Why, am I one short?” he asks. “I haven’t been checking your purse each night.”
We both laugh. “Babe,” I say. “Stealing from you is no use anymore. You’re marrying me, remember?”
“Remember?” he says. “How could I forget?” Effortlessly, he rolls over in the bed, so that I’m pinned beneath him instead of sitting on his lap. I don’t mind at all.
“Are you excited?” I ask.
He playfully peeks beneath his shorts, as if checking the status of his cock. “Affirmative,” he says.
“No!” I say, giggling. “I mean about tomorrow.”
“Yes.” He leans down and kisses me quickly, before pulling back up. “Very. You’ve already made me the happiest man in the world, Maria. And it’s only going to get better.”
“I’m going to miss this apartment,” I say.
“The new house is going to be even better,” he says. “Of course, I’ve had a special crew in to outfit it with all of the equipment we need.”
“As an average married couple,” I say laughing.
“Of course.” He winks at me. “The new playroom is going to be even better than this one.”
“How is that possible?” I ask.
“You’re going to have to wait and see,” he says mysteriously. And then, “Are you excited Maria?”
I purse my lips, pretending to think. Then, unable to pretend any longer, I grin. “Yes. Very. I can’t wait to truly belong to you.”
“Mmm…” Hunter gives a soft growl and then leans down and kisses me. “I like when you put it that way.”
“Of course, you’re going to belong to me, too,” I say. “It will go both ways. When I need you, you’re going to have to satisfy me.”
“Gladly,” he says, burrowing his head into my neck and kissing me again. He kisses a trail up the side of my neck, and then he nibbles my earlobe. Gradually, he works his way to my lips, and we share a passionate kiss.
After a long, lingering moment, he pulls away. “I have something for you, too,” he says.
I recognize the lively sparkle in his eyes. He has a surprise up his sleeve.
“You do?” I ask. “Mr. Larson, you shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, but I have,” he says. Now it’s his turn to reach toward a nightstand. I hear the drawer opening, and I turn my head to try to see what it is he’s pulling form it.
“No, no, no, Maria! Close your eyes.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Hunter’s weight feels divine on top of me. I want him to pin me down like this forever.
I feel him square his hips over me. Next, I feel soft cloth over my eyes and temples.
Hunter works the blindfold around my head, as he’s done many times before. Once it’s in place, I feel him slip cool leather straps over my wrists.
“My gift?” I ask.
“You’re about to get it,” Hunter promises.
Excitement fills me. With Hunter, I’ve realized over and over again, anything is possible. My life will never be average; it will never be mundane.
<
br /> Though I’ve already experienced a fullness of the spectrum of what life has to offer, I know that Hunter will keep on expanding my perspective. He’ll take me places that I didn’t even know existed. As I surrender to the sense of anticipation that is taking over my body, I’m filled with awe.
He’ll never stop surprising me.
He’ll never stop pushing my limits.
With him, color has slowly but steadily been seeping into my black and white world. And now, miraculously, all I can see is color.
The End
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Up next I’ve included the first chapter of the previous book in my San Bravado Billionaires’ Club series, Take My V-Card
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Layla x
Copyright 2018 by Layla Valentine
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Prologue
2012: Rhona
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” I hissed into the phone, dodging the friendly but curious smile of the security guard by the door.
“Oh, hush! What if he shows up when you’re saying stuff like that?” Sara had her mother-hen voice on full blast, using the same tone that had convinced me to do this in the first place.
“I’m early,” I argued. “He won’t hear me if he’s not here.”
“He’s notoriously early,” Sara sniffed. “Get off the phone and keep a lookout! He’ll be there any minute.”
“Okay.” I blew out a tense breath, trying to calm the butterflies in my belly. “Ugh, tell me how I’ll recognize him, again?”
“Italian,” she said slowly, as if I were a child. “Tall, dark, handsome. Carrying a red rose. Got it?”
“I got it, I got it,” I said, my belly twisting again.
“Great. Now get off the phone and relax! You’re going to have a great time.”
“Sure I will,” I muttered as I hung up. “One of these days, Rhona, you’re going to have to learn how to say no to that woman.”
I hovered around the entrance to the San Bravado Observatory, watching like-minded people drift in and out. I had chosen the venue based on the intrinsic romance of star-gazing, but now I was regretting it. What if he thought the outing was weird or nerdy or boring?
“Then he’s not your type anyway,” I told myself under my breath. “Assuming I have a type…”
I checked my watch, and realized that it was now time for us to meet, and I’d been there for ten minutes already. My desperation was showing, I could tell. Shaking it off, I pasted a fake smile on my face, then quickly let it fall when I caught my reflection in a window.
“Let’s not scare him away,” I whispered pertly.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to relax. I shook my disobedient mane of blond curls off of my shoulders and straightened my miniskirt, regretting wearing something so short.
I’m fine, I told myself firmly. I’m fun, I’m pretty, I’m smart… That’s what all the movies say guys want, right? Besides, there’s no way to lose in this scenario. Even if he isn’t my happily-ever-after, he’ll give me dating experience.
I paced around, looking at the sculptures dotting the observatory lawn, keeping one eye on the thin crowd trickling in from the parking lot. I checked the time again. Ten minutes wasn’t that late, right? He probably hit traffic. Twenty minutes… Okay, maybe he spilled coffee on himself and had to change. Thirty minutes… Maybe…maybe nothing.
Out of excuses for a man I didn’t even know, the full force of the disappointment slammed into my chest. I felt like a fool, utterly embarrassed that the guard at the door had witnessed me getting stood up. Hot tears sprang into my eyes as I glimpsed his sympathetic expression. Mortified, I turned to leave, whirling too fast to outrun the awkwardness.
Instead, I crashed face-first into a broad back.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I said in a rush, realizing with a shock that my tears—and mascara—had ended up all over the back of his sports coat.
“Whoa! You all right?” he asked, turning to catch me as I stumbled in my too-high heels.
“Oh! Yes, I’m sorry.” Flustered, I desperately wanted to extricate myself from the situation. But something about his dashing, confident smile and the warmth in his sea-green eyes made me pause.
“You look upset,” he commented matter-of-factly.
“Yes, I… Well, I hate to admit it, but…”
“You got stood up?” he filled in.
“Yes,” I admitted with a little laugh.
“Me too. At least, I think I was. She’s, let’s see…about forty minutes late at this point.”
“Mine too,” I sighed. “Who stands up a blind date, anyway?”
“Ouch,” he said with a wince. “You don’t think…?”
“That he got here, took one look at me, and turned around? I’ve been trying not to.”
“If he did, then he really is blind,” the man said, flashing that smile at me again.
My cheeks heated, and I glanced up at him through my lashes.
“Was yours a blind date too?” I asked, more to keep him talking to me than anything else.
“No, but it was a first date. I probably shouldn’t have asked her out at all… Office romances, and all that.”
“Hard to avoid when you spend all your time at the office,” I said ruefully. “At that point, it’s either date a coworker or let your pushy friend set you up.”
“Exactly,” he laughed. “What is it you do?”
“I’m an intern at an advertising agency. The work’s brutal, but the pay is worse.”
He laughed authentically, giving me a much-needed ego boost. Telling me I was pretty made me happy, but laughing at my humor… Well, that was something special. I found myself hoping that our dates would never show up.
“Does your friend push you into things like this often?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Oh, yeah. This wasn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. She made me go bungee jumping with her last year, and my stomach still hasn’t recovered.”
His laugh rippled like hot fudge over my senses, warm and delicious. I checked the time; our respective dates were nearly an hour late.
“No-shows,” he said, looking through the glass doors at the small crowd lingering in the foyer.
“Looks like. Maybe they met each other, fell in love, and are halfway to a chapel as we speak.”
“Maybe,” he said with a little sigh. “C’est la vie.” He blew a kiss out into the dark with a flourish.
“You speak French?” I asked, delighted.
“Oui, oui, mon ami. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir, amour?”
“Wow,” I breathed. “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea,” he said with a self-deprecating shrug. “I picked all that up from movies.”
I giggled, completely smitten. I reminded myself that he wasn’t my date, that the tardy woman still had first dibs, and that if my Italian blind date ever did show up, I would be obligated to spend the evening with him. I fervently hoped that wouldn’t happen, and wrestled with my own guilt on that point for several minutes while the charming man in front of me continued to make me laugh.
“I’m Blake, by the way,” he finally introduced himself.
“Rhona,” I t
old him, reaching out to shake his hand. Sparks skittered over my skin the instant his warm, strong hand encased mine, igniting a fire in my cheeks.
“Rhona’s a great name. I love Rhona.” He disarmed me with that cheeky grin, leaving me flustered.
“Rhona loves…er…I mean…”
“It’s okay,” he laughed. “You don’t have to confess your undying love for me just yet. Plenty of time for that later.” He winked at me, and I just about melted into the floor. “Say,” he said, looking at his watch. “I think it’s safe to assume that they’re never going to show. What do you say we try to salvage this night together?”
“Are you asking me out?” I asked, attempting a coquettish smirk.
“Easy to do when you’re already dressed up and out of the house,” he said with an appreciative glance up and down my body. I blushed, then giggled, feeling delightfully giddy.
“Well, I accept,” I told him, taking his arm. “Where shall we go?”
“Hm… You know, I hear the observatory is having their monthly open house tonight! What do you say? Care for some stargazing?”
“I love stargazing! I do hope the observatory is nearby.”
“Oh, look!” He twirled me around in a full circle, pointing me back at the entrance. “We’re here!”
“Magical!”
“After you, my dear,” he said with a theatrical bow.
“Why, thank you, good sir!” I answered in kind, curtsying deeply; it was an awkward feat in a mini skirt, but I managed it. Barely. Laughing like old friends, we walked arm-in-arm into the observatory.
“Look!” He pointed at a sandwich board in the hallway. “The Milky Way show is about to start!”
Excited, we hurried inside. The dome was half-filled with amateur astronomers, all reclining in the theater seats, gazing at the swirling projection above.
“You choose the seats,” he invited with a sweep of his arm. “I chose the venue, after all.”
Bought by the Boss Page 16