by Sienna Ciles
“You taste amazing.” He groaned in pleasure as he started to kiss up my stomach and pull my shirt off. Soon, he had me pinned down, completely naked underneath him with his own pants still tight around his waist. He reached down and undid his belt and then he stood up off the bed to slide his pants down. He was hard and he was caught in his briefs because the fabric had gotten caught on his stiffness. When it was finally free it slapped hard against his lower abs. I leaned over and took him fully in my mouth, reaching around to grab his firm ass and squeeze. He pulled my hair as I moved my tongue around him, tasting him and teasing him.
“Get back on the bed,” he commanded, and I obeyed, letting him ease himself back on top of me. “Brittany, I want no one else. You make me whole again.”
“You light a fire inside of me,” I whispered back to him, and he plunged his lips into mine. We held each other, enjoying holding our breath together as we kissed passionately. Then, he slowly pressed himself into me, and I called out his name in pleasure so loud that I swore the entire building could hear me.
Our bodies slipped against each other as our sweat started to mix, our skin hot to the touch as his chest pressed down against mine. He pushed deep into me, his hands still lost in my hair until he started to explore my entire body. His fingers circled around my nipples, rolled down the curve of my breast and down my midriff. It was invigorating to have him all to myself and all over me. He pulled me up and on top of him, spanking me as he did, and told me to do whatever I wanted to him.
I rode him until he couldn’t take it anymore as I clawed at his chest and ran my hands over his muscles. His large biceps were solid as I grabbed them, feeling him throbbing inside me as he almost released our tension. Before he could, he lifted me up without separating our bodies and slammed me on my back against the soft bed, increasing his pace. We stared intensely into each other’s eyes, and he brought his right hand below my neck to cradle my head as he rammed into me.
My whole body started to shake, and I could feel heat flood my skin like fire engulfing me. At the same moment, my body quickly became sensitive. Dalton groaned in pleasure and whispered my name in my ear as he buried his face in my neck, unable to contain his ecstasy. He fell down on top of me and wrapped his arms completely around me, holding me tightly against him as we finished together.
We lay there, not moving from each other’s arms, enjoying our warmth as we breathed together.
“I’ll always be here, no matter what you do, or who you become. No matter what, I’ll always love you,” Dalton whispered.
Speechless and grinning like a fool, I turned to him and kissed him. He nuzzled his nose against mine.
I grinned against his skin. “I’ll always love you too, my bulldog.”
Epilogue
Dalton
I was her bulldog. I didn’t understand her nickname for me until I saw the painting she had entered to be put on display down at the harbor a few weeks later. She had done it all without telling me a word. I had no idea when she found the time to paint since I’d seen her every day after her father had abruptly halted payment for her room in 2A and she had come to live with me in my room. My father didn’t find out for an entire day, and when he did, he also threatened to kick me out for good. When he called me, his voice dripping in rage and disappointment, Brittany and I decided in that moment that we would elope. Nothing else ever felt so right in my life. We didn’t tell anyone. No one would have come to the wedding anyway, and when both of our fathers found out at first, their heads nearly exploded but they both soon calmed down when they realized this was what we truly wanted. Even though they were still pissed, we didn’t care what they thought one bit.
We said our vows in an empty chapel, none of our families around, and within a week I received access to my trust fund. Instead of instantly spending a lot of the money to move far away, I invested a considerable amount into a new business I wanted to run instead of forever being an apartment manager for August Jones. It was the start of what would soon become an important refuge for victims of domestic violence and abuse in the city.
It didn’t take long for Brittany to make her way into some prestigious art galleries around town. Her father never came to see any of her pieces on display, but once her mother came and she even bought one to support Brittany’s dedication to her new career. She wasn’t the only one who bought a painting, and soon Brittany was making a significant earning from her work.
I wanted to help pay Brittany’s way for art school, but she refused, saying that she wanted to push herself and find the means to pay for art classes herself. Seeing how hard she worked every night on her passion, I had full faith in Brittany’s ability to make it on her own. I had more than enough money from the trust fund to buy us a lavish apartment down by the harbor even though my new business was a non-profit. After we moved in, Brittany spent every waking moment either with me or alone on the roof with her paint. It took quite some time, but she caused so much buzz in the art world around the harbor that soon some very important critics in the city started to take notice. Once the snowball began rolling, Brittany was a force to be reckoned with. She gained a scholarship for a full ride based on her talents to a school not far from our home, and very quickly became a local household name to those in the industry. We started to travel together, using the money my father had entrusted to me, and many of her paintings were asked to be hung in Paris restaurants during the trip that changed our lives forever.
We had just come down from the Eiffel Tower and were walking hand in hand together in a park. I kissed Brittany underneath a cool, Parisian sky, tasting espresso on her lips, and we found a secluded spot underneath a sycamore tree to make out. Couples all around us were doing the same, and we fondled each other as we giggled in the spring breeze.
Going back to our hotel, I lifted her up in the elevator on the way to our room and kissed her exposed midriff, brushing my lips across that line that curved down from her hips to between her thighs. I carried her to our room with a view overlooking the city. Painters stood on the sidewalk far below, working as Brittany and I made love. It was before noon when we started, and we kept each other occupied in that room until late in the evening. Drinking wine and wearing only silk robes provided by the hotel, we sat together on the balcony and watched the night life bustle below us. Far off, we could her a woman singing a song in a language we didn’t understand, and we watched the stars of street lights blink on one by one as Brittany held my hand in hers while playing with my fingers and the wedding ring I wore.
Nine months after that, our daughter was born. Brittany, my goddess of a wife, was able to raise her and begin teaching art classes of her own at the same time. When she opened her own art school many years later, our daughter Talia Elizabeth Jones was the first to be enrolled.
Hard for Her
A Billionaire Romance
By
Sienna Ciles
www.SiennaCiles.com
Chapter 1
Alex
“Congratulations! Ten big years. How’s it feel?” Alicia stood in the office doorway and stared at me with her overly white smile. “I got you a little something to celebrate.” She padded over to my desk with the box of bourbon in her hands. It was strategically held so her breasts rested on top with the bow perched in between them.
“Thanks,” I said with a grin. “You… really didn’t need to.” I played with the ring on my hand, twisting it. It was a nervous habit, and something about Alicia made me nervous. Her five-foot-two frame made all six-foot-one of me nervous, mostly because I wasn’t sure what she would do next.
“So, can we drink it tonight?” Alicia flipped her blond hair over her back, revealing her shoulder and neck. Then she slowly placed the box on my desk. Her cleavage hung in the pink sundress that definitely wasn’t suitable for the office. No one seemed to mind that she didn’t follow the dress code, though.
I took a long stare and then looked up, meeting her blue eyes that had caught me steal
ing a glance. Alicia smiled and stood up straighter, accentuating her curves and breasts.
“Raincheck?” I said. “I have a meeting tonight with a client.” I pushed the box of bourbon aside and grabbed the portfolio on my desk and flipped it open.
“Sounds perfect. It’s a date!” She giggled as she lingered a bit longer and then pretended to pick a piece of something from my suit. “Is this a new client?”
“It’s an athlete… I’m hoping to land an endorsement deal. We’ll see.” I pushed past Alicia and headed toward the door. “Do you know if Charles is still in the office?”
“His light was on when I walked past.” Alicia followed behind as I left my office and headed down the hall of the Westbrooke, Inc. headquarters. “So, next week then?”
“Sure.” I quickened my pace toward Charles’s office. Charles. My father had always insisted I call him by his first name while in the office. As if everyone didn’t know I was his son. It seemed ridiculous but he wouldn’t even answer if I called him Dad. I did it anyway—oftentimes when I just wanted to get a rise out of him and piss him off.
When it really counted, I addressed him by Charles, and this particular instance just happened to count. A possible endorsement deal with a popular former athlete had come across my desk and I knew that my father would likely be interested in this particular individual.
Alicia continued down the hall toward the elevator, much to my relief, and had all but disappeared from my view as I approached my father’s private office. As I raised my hand to knock on the door, surprisingly, it opened as soon as my hand touched the cherry wood surface.
“Alex?” My father’s voice filled my ears as his piercing blue eyes met mine.
Everyone at the company said we looked a lot alike. I’d definitely inherited his deep blue eye color and thick brown hair. Also, my strong, well-defined chin and the ability to grow a perfect goatee were two other traits that were passed on to me by Charles Michael Westbrooke.
Another similarity was that I’ve been six-foot-one since my third year of high school and my current weight is roughly 215—give or take a pound or two. Back in my college days, I was an avid football player and fan, and over the years, I’ve been able to maintain my athletic frame pretty well.
“Charles,” I replied, clearing my throat, attempting to sound more in control than I actually felt.
“Come on in,” he said firmly, briefly raising his eyes up from whatever paperwork he was currently working on. I could see that he was on a business call, and the tone of his voice made it evident to me that it was likely an important one.
I entered his office quietly, taking in the wooden bookshelves and the large metal desk he was sitting at. Sitting down in one of the leather chairs, I made myself comfortable, still watching him intently as I waited for him to finish his call. He signaled me with his pointer finger and a fervent wink of his eye.
After what seemed like forever, he finally hung up the phone and turned his attention to me.
“So, I hear that you have some good news for me, then?” he asked, brushing his graying goatee between his fingers and raising his left eyebrow as he spoke.
“Ah, yes.” I set the folder I was holding down on his desk in front of him. “A former pro-football player. We may be able to talk him into an endorsement deal that will benefit our company and his career.”
Putting on his reading glasses, my father opened the folder and began to browse through its contents. Something about him always made me feel self-conscious whenever I was in his presence. I reached up and adjusted my tie as I watched him look over the athlete’s file.
“Well, Alex, seeing as you’ll take my place as the CEO of this company when I finally retire next year, perhaps you should be the one handling this particular deal,” he said sternly, closing the folder and sliding it across the desk back over toward me.
A small, sly grin was playing at the corner of his lips as he eyed me with a concentrated stare.
He had been discussing this shift in ownership of the company for the past several months. I had been the president of Westbrooke, Inc. for the past ten years but my dad had always been the CEO. When he announced his plan to retire a few months ago, he named me as the sole heir and future CEO of the company. Somehow, though, he had this way of making me feel intimidated by the way that he looked at me and addressed me whenever it came to important business matters and situations.
Though I’ve never felt exactly inferior to him in anyway, he just has a way of making me wonder whether or not I “measure up” to the incredibly high standards he has always had when it comes to leadership and responsibility. Knowing that I will have to “fill his shoes” one day soon is a constant reminder that it’s time to for me to put my playboy days behind me and man up to the task. Not just in my business life, but in my personal life as well.
This was one of the main reasons why women like my gorgeous and overly-flirtatious assistant, Alicia, are no longer on my personal “to-do list.” A few years ago, I would’ve had her bent over the desk in my private office and probably would’ve carried on a superficial fling with her until I became bored and moved on to another hot, big-tittied, long-legged vixen. However, with the constant pressure I’ve been getting from both of my parents to settle down and start acting like a “grown man,” I’ve had to stifle my boyish, superficial passions and start looking for a more meaningful relationship with a woman of actual depth and profundity.
Believe it or not, though, for a wealthy businessman like myself, that has actually been more difficult to find than pretty much anything else in my luxurious, sumptuous little world.
My father founded Westbrooke, Inc. nearly twenty years ago, and he and my mother built the company from the ground up. The patents their company invented on footwear and clothing technology helped them turn it into a multi-billion-dollar conglomerate within the first five years. Ten years ago this week, I’d graduated from Yale with a master’s degree in business management, and my father made me the company president. That was why Alicia had been so adamant about celebrating with the box of bourbon.
Now, at thirty-five years old, I was preparing to take over as CEO, and my father was giving me more responsibility than ever, yet his expectations had not wavered in the least.
I thanked him for the opportunity and stood up to leave his office. Just as I was about to walk out the door, he called out to me one last time.
“Alex,” he said sternly. I turned around to face him with my hand still on the doorknob.
“Yes, Da—er—Charles?” I replied, stammering over my words like a nervous, bumbling schoolboy.
“Don’t let me down, son,” he warned, winking. Had I not known any better, I’d have taken it as a playful, friendly comment. But, having been the only son of CEO Charles Michael Westbrooke, I absolutely knew better than to think that.
“Yes, sir,” I replied coolly, and then let his office door shut behind me.
Chapter 2
Holly
Am I really about to do this? Shaking my head, I made my way out to my small silver sedan parked in the far-left end of the Grantville Elementary School parking lot.
It was a few minutes after four o’clock and I had stupidly let my best friend Joana Wharton talk me into going out on a blind date. My date, a guy named Martin Langley, was supposed to be meeting me at a lavish restaurant called the Lovehouse—one of the nicest eateries in the area, which was actually the main reason why I’d even agreed to go in the first place. I figured that if the guy could afford to take me to the Lovehouse on our first date, he just might be someone worth getting to know.
Joana had told me that Martin was a friend of her brother’s and that he worked in the financial planning department at a huge corporation on the other side of town. Apparently, she thought that he’d be perfect for me because he seemed to be everything that my ex-fiancé was not.
I had been single now for several months, and ever since the break-up I’d been focusing most of my tim
e and energy on my teaching career. I had finally broken things off with my ex because his work was more important to him than I ever was.
We had been dating for nearly three years when he’d finally gotten around to proposing to me, and the way that it happened was way fucking far from the romantic, dreamy type of marriage proposal that most women fantasize about. To this day, I still wonder why I accepted.
We had just had a big fight, one of the worst fights of our relationship, and I was ready to call it quits for good. I had started packing up all of my things and had just filled my second suitcase when he came back to the condo after having stormed out in a fit of anger less than an hour earlier.
He walked in the front door and his jaw hit the floor when he saw that I was in the middle of packing all of my stuff up. Without saying a word, he rushed down the hall and went into the extra bedroom he often used as his personal office space. Less than a minute later, he came back out to the living room and stood in front of me, looking at me in silence. He no longer appeared to be angry, and he was holding something in his hand.
“Holly,” he’d said softly. “Please don’t go.”
But I was still in tears and my mind was all but made up. “Babe, all we ever do is fight anymore. Your job always comes before me, no matter what, and I just can’t live like this,” I explained through tear-streaked eyes.
“Holly,” he said again, bending down on one knee.