by Dark Angel
I don’t even remember more than him turning us over, his cock still inside me, because I fall asleep almost instantly. My eyes are shut before I realize it — maybe I was squeezing them shut? I feel the rise and fall of his chest against my cheek, hear his heartbeat, and nothing else matters. The world around me fades and my arms pull up to hold him as he’s holding me, and I feel so safe.
I know it wasn’t an easy road here, but now I’m happier than I could've possibly imagined.
“I love you, Lucy,” Gian says, kissing me.
“I love you, too,” I tell him. I mean it. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything in my life. “You saved my brother. And you saved me. Thank you, Gian,” I say and then yawn because I’m so spent, so satisfied, so sated.
“You saved me, baby girl,” Gian says, kissing me again and holding me even closer. “Marry me, please,” he says so softly I almost don’t hear him.
“Yes,” I say with all the strength I have left. “I want to be your wife, Gian.”
He holds me tighter and I’m happier than I ever knew that I could be.
With such perfect happiness surrounding me, I can fall right asleep. A dreamless world of warmth and happiness greets me in the black velvet behind my eyes.
I’m Gian’s, and he's mine.
A Note From The Authors
We hope you liked our first foray into dark romance.
We always view novel releases like a day at the fair or something fun. At least that’s how we view it as readers - a way to spend an afternoon.
So even though this novel was 50,000 words, we wanted to give you some more content.
To that effect, we’re attached a brand new short 10K story, called Daddy Pease! Never before seen anywhere else!
We’ve also put a copy of Scandalous by Alexis Angel.
And then a copy of Client 5 by Alexis Angel.
We round out with a copy of Man Chaser by Alexis Angel!
A copy of Fiona Vs. Football Player by Mona Cox.
Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an extended epilogue!
Our goal in this is simple.
To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us closer together we feel.
Thank you so much for reading!
xoxo
Alexis and Lana
Daddy Please
By Lana Angel
16
Tara
Marcus’s tongue claims my thighs and the quivering wetness between it. Every stroke of his warm, velvety tongue against my soft thighs stokes the fire within me, making my pussy even wetter and making me want him more.
I’m begging. Daddy, please. Please touch me. Lick me. Fuck me. Make my first time with you everything I don’t even know I need.
Because this is so fucking wrong but so fucking perfect.
Of course, I can't really get out more sounds than some moans. Despite wanting to beg so much, I can barely breathe because Marcus is touching me.
My stepdaddy is touching me like I've always wanted him to. Marcus is touching me like I've never been touched before. His rough fingers are grazing me and strong tongue is tasting me is making my mind race. My heart races faster. How could my breathing, much less my thoughts, keep up with the pressing point of his tongue teasing me, tantalizing me about what's to come?
After all these years of telling myself not to want the want thing I can never have, it is actually happening. It is terrible to want my stepfather like this. Wrong. Dirty. Bad.
So why is it so good to imagine Marcus as mine? To imagine I’m his?
Wait, I know why it is so good. Still…I’m desperately searching within my soul and begging for it be anything but perfect.
For a few painfully confusing seconds, I let myself be conflicted. Marcus is gliding his tongue down my thighs and closer to my pussy.
There’s nothing about my stepfather running his tongue deeper between my thighs, after my mother’s funeral, that should be perfect.
But Marcus's tongue is gliding over my thighs, torturing out every breath I can manage when he touches me. I've never wanted anything as much as I want him. But now I'm not aching for some abstraction. No vague ideas about him touching me. His tongue's next lick is what I'm aching for. I'm begging for his tongue to lick between my thighs. I know exactly what I want at this moment, and I can't resist how much I need his tongue on my pussy.
My mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ while I give up on wrestling with the moral quandary of what we’re doing. I sigh out, exhausted by this new pleasure. I know that there’s no other word for the intensity of the ecstasy I feel with his touch on my skin, no better word than perfect. When his knuckles stroke over my quivering pussy I whimper. Perfect. When his thumb slides into my slick wetness and his tongue laps over my clit, I yelp. Fuck, this is what perfection means.
And when his thick bare, massive cock spears into me, unprotected and splitting me thunderingly hard, I groan loudly. All of the propriety I normally have?
Any decency?
All of that is lost.
I'm just my stepdaddy's little girl taking his huge cock in my previously virginal pussy. We didn't use a condom, and his massive cock is filling me up so much. I've never felt so full in my life. Not in this way. I can feel body stretching to accommodate him. My inner walls squeezing around him, desperate for every inch Marcus has to offer me. My head falls back, and I'm panting heavily in time with his every thrust. His teeth are scraping over my neck, one of his hands cupping my ass hard to him and the other clutching the curtain of the chocolate waves of my hair bouncing around my back. The possessive hold he has on me makes me feel more alive than I ever have.
But just like he always has, he makes me feel safe.
And that feeling is absolutely perfect to me.
Of course, I couldn't think about how this never should happen, no matter how many reasonable arguments there are for why. So many obvious reasons, and so many stupid ones. I so don't want to think about that.
When Marcus's large, roughly skinned hand closed over mine, it destroyed my ability to resist. Remnants of the sane part of me that would ignore his touch and step away from it were decimated. The appetite I had for him was awakened with new erotic possibilities. His real touch brought new, filthier thoughts. Before I'd thought vaguely about how I'd want my stepfather Marcus to take my virginity. Those thoughts were in me. Ones I had desperately tried not to entertain. Marc had been my stepfather since I was ten, a tender age of learning my way around how I felt about sex and myself. I'd always thought that the attraction I'd felt for him at such a young age…they were things that I should ignore because they were just foolish. But as I got older and he was so much a part of my life as a father figure? My feelings for him only grew. I shoved the thoughts down with the same frequency I shoved my hands into my panties when I went to bed at night and thought about what it would be like to make the sounds my mother made with him in their bedroom above mine. But his hand touching mine? That wasn't about some vague sexual urge I had for him. It inspired very specific thoughts about those hands touching very specific parts of me. I wanted to feel what those rough fingers would feel like on my neck. On my nipples. On my pussy. I was so wet for him, instantly.
Long before cancer started killing my mother, the sounds of her being pleasured by my stepfather had stopped coming from upstairs in their bedroom. I knew their marriage wasn't working, and it wasn't hard to figure out why. My mother had always cared more about her work and had a natural coldness about her. Things, certainly, that Marcus had thought were going to change for him as when they were first together they had that honeymoon phase. She'd stopped caring about what was happening in my life before Marcus, and she'd stopped caring about Marcus in even shorter time.
In some of my nau
ghtiest fantasies, I imagined pulling him into my bedroom and showing him just how much I wanted him to get me to make the kinds of sounds that I knew he could make a woman do. I wanted to call out his name.
Marcus!
He’d corrected me, his fingers near bruising my lips with his rough touch.
Call me my full name; I love the way it sounds rolling off those soft lips.
The way he'd licked my lower lip, sucked on it after he said those words…erotic flashbacks kept playing in my mind.
Then, his rough hand touching me changed everything…
17
Tara
Marcus's rough, calloused hand comforted me, but it brought rushing through my blood every naughty thought I'd had about him. That sensual, rough hand taunted me. Tantalized me.
Leaving the cemetery, my thoughts blurred. Everything changed somewhere between the caress of Marcus’s comforting hand and lingering grope of his hand between my breasts.
First, that grope’s rough feel against the softer skin between my breasts had me wondering how a wealthy businessman like Marcus had those callouses. Callouses that seemed more like they belonged to someone who worked for his real estate development firm rather than the hands of the man who ran the company.
Sometime after exiting the creaking gates of the cemetery. After the intensive reddening of my eyes and nose from my tears and blowing my nose. Between seeing the lines of sorrow darken Marcus’s gorgeous face. His forehead creased, his eyes darkened. One look at his face and I saw that his pain only made him more beautiful to me. When our eyes connected, he must have seen how much I needed him.
Another blur, fast forward and Marcus is holding me to his broad chest.
I felt safe when he held me. I never wanted to leave those arms, unless it was to be on my knees for him.
My every thought was full of naughtiness for him. How much I wanted to belong to Marcus.
When I hugged him tighter, as he held me close and his hold on me tightened as well, I felt all of him. His gorgeous, hard body, quickly filled the distance between us. His hard abs, strong chest and huge erection were pressed, hard, into the soft curves of my body and there was nothing separating us. I’d hugged him plenty of times in the past, but when I held onto him this time as he held me tight against him, it was different.
I hadn’t let go of his hand. So now his hand was trapped between my breasts.
It had been an accident; I'd tried to convince myself.
Well, for a second. Marcus's hand was close to my heavily beating heart. My nipples got hard, doing their best to beg for his attention. In a split second, I’d felt a thick rod of hardness pressing into me, and I moaned. Such a small sound escaped my lips. So lightly, a quiet sound but he didn’t miss it. But a flickering glance of the flame between us, and everything changed. We couldn’t go back. And I didn’t want to. That sound had escaped my lips and lit a candle in the darkness of our desires. No longer could we hide the flames growing between us.
I wanted to want to go back to before when I could try and hide my feelings. But that couldn’t happen because I needed to belong to Marcus more than I'd ever needed anything in my life. When he touched me, every desire became a possibility. I wouldn’t let this opportunity pass, even if was my damnation. I was ruined for any other future because I had to belong to him.
Marcus had walked back into our home silently. He made a pot of coffee. We remained nonverbal, not able to discuss what was happening.
I had always imagined that I’d seduce him. That I’d be the aggressor.
Of course, even when I heard my mother’s cancer diagnosis, I still didn’t imagine her death as the catalyst to my seduction attempts. Still, the events were set in motion because of what had passed between us.
When he handed me a mug of the hot elixir I should have found solace in, I closed my hand around his again, and with my other hand, I placed the mug he’d offered me on the counter. Marcus surprised me by then putting his mug on the counter.
We stared into each other’s eyes. Every second we looked deeper into each others’ souls. Our thoughts, our desires, bared between us without a single word. And, then, he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry, that was…you’ve always been a daughter to me, Tara.” His gruff voice hardened my nipples into an instant peak. I hadn't thought they could be any stiffer or more alert after feeling so much of him moments ago when he'd held me.
His eyes were on my thin black dress, and I knew Marcus saw my stiff nipples aching for his touch. His face flushed and I knew this was incredibly awkward for him. Marcus was always a good man. It was one of the things that I loved about him.
Loved.
Shit.
Wanting to fuck your stepdaddy was one thing, but loving him was even worse.
“You’ve always been more than a father to me, Marc.”
He brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “Everyone else calls me that. You should call me Marcus. I’ve never liked Marc.”
“M-Marcus,” I said, shivering suddenly with a chill through me. That feeling of a point of no return.
He wrapped and arm around me, and I knew I should have grabbed my coffee and ended this situation. But this was everything I wanted.
“I’ve tried to take care of you,” Marcus said, his words stilted and obviously difficult to form because of their fumbling cadence. His voice was deeper, darker somehow then it ever was. I felt his words tingle all over me. His full lips pressed together, pursed, relaxed. He was struggling with how things were irrevocably changed between us. Any resistance that he had brought mine to a screeching halt.
This man was the reason I never had a boyfriend, never kissed a boy, never had sex. Because no one could compare to what I could never have. His voice was the only one I wanted to say my name. His body was the only one I wanted to know mine.
This was what I wanted, and I prayed for the courage to go after it rather than to resist wanting it.
"You have taken care of me. You're the best stepfather, the best father that a girl can have. But…" I felt hot tears streaking down my cheeks, and I felt like my whole body was cold and hot all at once. My knees wobbled, and my throat was scratchy and sore. I practically collapsed on him.
Those big arms scooped me, and I wrapped my legs around him, but it wasn't sexual. The sexual attraction was there, always there between us, but this was a comfort. Caring. The passion between us was wordless and necessary. Effortless, and right. He carried me to his chair in the living room, and I sat on his lap, pressed my head into his chest, and squeezed my eyes shut. Tears poured out my clamped eyes and stung my cheeks, but I wasn't cognizant or capable of the conversation or the seduction. This was nothing like my fantasy, but I wasn't fretting over that, either. I was so safe in my stepdaddy's arms that I didn't need to worry about anything. It was the most calm I'd ever felt in my life, even though I was shattering and melting with all my tears. In his arms, everything was safe. I was grounded with his strength.
I wept until I was sleepy in his arms. When I’d fallen asleep in his arms, I focused on nothing but how Marcus held me against him. And I didn't analyze, for once, anything about how he felt or how I felt about him. I just was, and that was enough.
When I woke up some unknown time later, his large thumb was brushing away my tears with a firm, possessive touch. I felt small, fragile, porcelain in his grip. Protected from my pain. It was like he could consume everything that hurt me. Calm my every wound. Marcus was strong for me, my strong daddy when I was just the little girl in his arms. He peered into my eyes, his reddened eyes deep pools of pain searching my own while reflecting his utter anguish.
The doorbell rang.
Reality crackled through the air with the trilling sound. In that instant, the intrusion was warring with the electricity sparking between Marcus and me. We shared a stolen glance, and each headed for the door, trying to compose ourselves. The magic spell around us was broken, but it couldn't be forgotten as if some invisible power held me
still in his arms, and the space between reality and that truth of us pressed together was a physical pain for us both.
18
Tara
Ironically, the disturbance was the neighbor, Cathy, informing us that they’d be looking out to make sure that we weren’t disturbed. She’d collected everyone’s seemingly endless barrage of casseroles. I hustled them into the fridge as quickly as I could. My thoughts were still very much distracted. Currently, by the sharp contrast in the scent of casseroles versus the woodsy, spice, clean linen scent that Marcus always had. It was an intoxicating, male scent. It made me want to rub all over him, bury my face in his shirt, and breathe him in as long as I could. Now, I was practically smelling the salt from various condensed ‘cream of' soup creations. I would appreciate them later when I was able to think about food.
Marcus touched her arm, thanking her for her compassion. "Thank you, Cathy," he said with a sweet, heartbreaking voice that made me want to hug him. I didn't realize for a moment, but I'd reached up on my tiptoes to put my hand on his shoulder. I needed to comfort him.
I turned to Cathy, looking in her caring eyes. I was grateful that she was doing everything she could to look out for us. “We just need to be alone with our thoughts. Our memories,” I said, reaching out and hugging her. My eyes distant and out of focus. Nothing about today felt real. I wanted to thank her, but I also wanted to regain my footing in reality. After losing my mother, and gaining this new territory with Marcus, everything seemed like some macabre dream.