Watching as he struggled with his words, I resisted the desire to scream out an answer. I would let him take his time and get out everything he wanted to say. He seemed appreciative of my patience, gripping me by the hand.
“I love you,” I said, and he smiled as if it were the first time I’d ever said it.
“I love you too, baby. Which is why I want to know…Emily Jasmine Madden, will you make me the happiest man on the planet and do me the honor of being my bride? Will you marry me?” he asked.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I offered him my hand while silently nodding, not trusting myself to speak.
Owen laughed, slipping the ring onto my finger before leaping to his feet. He gathered me in his arms, pressing a kiss to my forehead as his parents clapped joyously in the background.
“Congratulations! Oh my, I’m so happy I could see this moment,” Barb squealed, while Gary smiled, giving us a nod of approval. “I just have one teensy tiny question, you two,” the older woman continued.
Owen looked at her as if he could predict what she was going to say.
“What is it, Mom?” he asked, glancing towards me with a sly smile.
“When can I expect grandkids?” she said seriously.
Owen grimaced, but it was all I could do to keep from erupting in laughter.
“First, the wedding. Then, grandkids,” Owen’s father said firmly.
I couldn’t have agreed more.
Chapter 24
Emily
Our wedding was a small ceremony that was only made possible by selling the necklace my father had given me what seemed an eternity ago. Of course, I’d asked his permission before doing so.
It turned out that my father had turned himself over to the FBI around a week after my disappearance. He was finally ready to make things right, and he could see why I had chosen to leave behind the life that had been forced upon me. We spoke on the phone every few weeks, and I had been to see him in prison.
We’d decided to move to Mexico after our U.S. road trip, having fallen in love with a beach town we found on our travels. It was the perfect mix of what felt like home to each of us—just as tropical and beautiful as Guam and Hawaii. Plus, there was no risk of the FBI finding out Owen had stolen me away and married me.
It was a small ceremony, and a short one as well. Owen and I were eager to get to the house we’d purchased, using what money remained from Owen’s service with the SEALs. I wished my father could have been there to give me away, but things didn’t always go as one might have planned.
However, there was something to be said about pleasant surprises. After all, I’d never planned to get kidnapped and marry my captor, and yet there he stood at the end of the aisle, tears in his eyes as I walked along to the tune of the bridal march.
It was a beautiful moment, but there was something to be said for simplicity. We exchanged our vows, slipped on our rings, and all but danced away from the service. Getting married was the happiest moment of my life by far, but I was also ready to enjoy the honeymoon in our new home.
The house was nowhere near as extravagant as the estate I’d grown up in, but it was still plenty spacious. What it lacked in size, we made an effort to make up for with amenities. We got a jet bathtub and the comfiest couch we could find, and the view from the back porch was truly stunning, looking out over the ocean. My main concern at the time, however, was our king-size bed.
Owen carried me over the threshold of the front door like a proper gentlemanly groom, and as I was carried through the house, I couldn’t help making a mental note of all the places I wanted Owen to make love to me besides the master bedroom. The tub, the sofa, against the refrigerator, and even on the porch all seemed suitable decisions.
For our first time as husband and wife, however, my gorgeous military man wanted to keep it traditional.
My new husband didn’t waste any time in pinning me to the bed, and as much as I wanted to keep my dress from getting rumpled, I was all the more concerned about getting out of it. He helped me to shimmy out of the garment, pulling it off and tossing it to the side of the room as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Truth be told, neither of us seemed to have any concerns while we were in each other’s arms. He kissed me gently, holding his lips against mine in a tender kiss. I pulled him down on top of me, running my hands down his sides as I marveled, not for the first time, at how handsome he was in his suit.
A shame to rip him out of it, but I had never been the most patient woman in the world.
“If you don’t take that suit off, I’m not going to guarantee it will survive as anything more than tatters on the floor,” I said, my voice husky.
He laughed, moving to unbutton his jacket so slowly that I was sure Christmas would come and go before he got it off.
I pouted, trying to help him as he disrobed. However, he simply took off his tie, tying my hands behind me so I couldn’t jump the gun.
“You’ve gotten so impatient; it’s hard to believe you went 21 years without having sex, and now look at you,” he teased, grinning cheekily.
I whined, but didn’t tug too hard at the tie restraint. Honestly, it was kind of sexy, and I didn’t want to get out of it until my new husband directly expressed that he wanted me to.
He pressed me back against the bed, looking so deeply into my eyes it was like he could see my very soul.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?” I asked, breathing a sigh as he ghosted his palm to my breast.
He hummed under his breath, seeming to give the question some thought.
“I guess since I asked you to marry me a month ago. What a long and tortuous month it must have been,” he teased.
All right, so maybe I was being just a tiny bit dramatic. How could anyone blame me? I was the luckiest woman in the world, with the most handsome husband in the world.
“I never actually thought I’d wind up married. Excuse me for being a little excited,” I sighed, tilting my head back as he kissed my neck and began to suck.
I could tell that he was going to leave a mark, and I had no doubt that marking me as his own was very much all part of his plan. He nipped at the bruising skin, kissing his way down my chest. He had offered to shave his stubble for the wedding, but I so loved the feeling of it against my skin. It tickled, feeling the slightest bit scratchy against my breast, but I loved every minute of it.
“Well, just because you’re excited doesn’t mean you get to be a bad girl,” he teased, tracing his fingertips down the expanse of my stomach.
As he dipped his hand beneath my underwear, I breathed a sigh as he dragged his finger along my lower lips, gathering the moisture there. I’d been turned on from the moment I saw him in his fancy suit, but I wasn’t going to give him a big ego by saying as much.
Owen laughed mischievously, and I grumbled, feeling even more moisture gather in spite of myself.
“What’s so funny?”
“You either got worked up really fast, or you’ve been thinking about this all day,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes, giving my hips a suggestive little jerk.
“You say that like you haven’t been thinking about it all day. Anyway, enough talk—aren’t you going to show me why I married you?”
He didn’t seem to mind my attitude, pulling down my panties and watching me lovingly.
“And here I thought it was for my personality,” he teased, shifting out of his dress pants and boxers.
I sighed as he lowered himself on top of me, nudging my thighs gently and stroking himself all along my entrance. I whined at the teasing, but he didn’t seem inclined to give me what I wanted all that soon.
I parted my lips to complain, only for a sharp squeal to erupt from me as he plunged inside.
“Mouthy, mouthy girl,” he scolded, grinning.
“Oh, you love what I do with this mouth,” I moaned, wishing my hands were free to tangle in his golden locks.
There w
as something about not being able to touch him, though, something that brought me to new heights. He moved slowly, patiently, working me up to an agonizingly pleasurable peak before I could even properly beg him to make me his. That didn’t stop the words from spilling past my lips, however. I wrapped my legs around him, the one thing I could do to edge him closer.
Continuing to keep an even and steady pace, I wasn’t sure how many orgasms he’d subject me to until he finally came. I thoroughly enjoyed the process of finding out, though.
When he pressed his lips desperately to mine and began to piston furiously inside of me, I had already orgasmed four times. When he emptied himself inside of me, filling me to the brim with even a bit of spillover, it made for the fifth.
“Oh my God,” he moaned, falling limp beside me.
He drew me into his arms, resting his chin atop my head as I nuzzled into his chest.
“So, this is what it’s like to be married,” I murmured, sighing as he untied my hands.
I caressed his cheek, feeling so much love in that moment that I thought my heart might burst. He seemed equally taken with the moment, tilting his head to meet my gaze.
“Well, that’s the fun part, anyway,” he replied.
I rolled my eyes, giving him a light shove.
“One of the fun parts. It’s exciting to think about the future we’ll spend together, isn’t it? Wild and free, without a care in the world. We have the rest of our lives to have fun together. I can’t think of anyone I would rather spend my days with. I love you, Emily,” he murmured.
I felt tears pool in my eyes and gave him a soft kiss on the lips.
“I love you, too. Here’s to our future. Here’s to love. Here’s to us,” I said softly.
He chuckled, his breathing slowing to an even pace as he gave himself to the exhaustion of a long day spent making memories. I took comfort in the fact that we had years to make millions of wonderful memories together.
Placing my hand on my stomach, I giggled as I wondered if we would be fulfilling his mother’s wishes sooner than anyone expected. Happily, I fell asleep, knowing only one thing for certain about our future.
I would never have to live in a cage again.
The End
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Triplets For The Billionaire
Ana Sparks & Layla Valentine
Last but by no means least, settle in for one salacious offer, two lustful lovers, and three adorable babies!
Triplets For The Billionaire is up next!
Copyright 2018 by Ana Sparks and 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.
Chapter One
Charlotte
The steady clacking of the keyboard is soothing as I sit alone in my apartment, searching for a job to replace the temporary position I was let go from a week ago. The job pool is as sparse as always; finding decent work seems to be harder than ever.
Since being made redundant two years ago—when the company I worked for was taken over by the unstoppable juggernaut that is SharkTEC Financial—it’s been an agonizing and unending search, trying to find a position I can settle into. Jobs for temp agencies have reigned supreme, with small jobs in between that I’m almost always overqualified for, such as cleaning rich assholes’ penthouse apartments.
I worked for years to get my bachelor’s in business and finance, and when I started working for Stratton and Company, I thought I had my whole life figured out. I thought all the hard work had paid off, and I would be set for life.
I realize now how naïve I was, but when Dillon Bradshaw decided to sink his claws into the struggling company, no one expected just how many employees he would actually lay off. Even though I’d worked hard and made a name for myself at Stratton and Company, that didn’t save me from the dreaded ‘restructuring’ that CEO Dillon Bradshaw insisted upon. I was booted just like the rest.
I would be lying if I said I don’t hold some bitterness, but I can’t exactly blame the Stratton family for selling up. With such stiff competition, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find loyal, reliable clients. SharkTEC Financial yanked the few clients we managed to snag right out from under us with the ease of taking candy from a baby.
Ultimately, Bradshaw is to blame. The rich pretty boy is famous in business circles for his ‘talent’—though I’d say he’s just had a lot of dumb luck. He got a pretty big check from his folks when he turned 21, and unlike any normal guy in his early twenties, he decided to stick the cash into some investments.
Now, eleven years later, he’s one of the richest men in the country. As much as I hate to admit it, the guy does have some entrepreneurial skills. He was able to start up and successfully run a multibillion-dollar company before 25, an achievement not many can ever dream of.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to like the man. He’s number one on America’s Top Ten Hottest and Richest Bachelors, meaning thousands of women fawn over him, but I’m not exactly considering throwing myself at the man who ruined my life—absurdly good-looking as he may be. He doesn’t even know I exist, but his large presence in the world of finance continues to haunt me, even to this day.
Realizing I’m a month late on my rent, my search for a job is admittedly growing a bit desperate. I scour the local job boards every day, longing to find someplace I can settle in, at least for more than a few weeks. Someone with my resume shouldn’t be struggling this much; the unfairness of it all makes me want to scream.
Realizing I’ve spent far too much time dwelling on the past, as well as that bastard Dillon Bradshaw, I refocus my attention on the screen in front of me. I’ve entered several key phrases to narrow down the already lacking job selection. In spite of myself, and the feeling that I deserve better, I decide to click off all the filters and check sections that had previously gone ignored.
One listing catches my attention almost immediately, having been posted half an hour ago. A click to the link takes me to a short and succinct job description.
Apparently, whoever posted the ad is looking for a ‘discreet’ maid. I’m not quite sure what they mean by that, but the payout on offer is enough to put that thought on the back-burner. No real details or clues give me an idea of who posed this ad—even the email address given was clearly made specifically for this listing. I scan the requirements briefly, humming under my breath as I read them.
Truthfully, it seems a little bit on the sketchy side. I like to think of myself as a tenacious and well-rounded woman, though, and in the worst case scenario, I’m sure I could defend myself. Best case scenario, this job could end up being long-term, or at least tide me over until I can find something a bit more professional.
It’s not like this stranger is asking for a hooker; all they seem to want is someone to clean their house. In all likelihood, it’s just some guy with more money than sense. You can’t expect everyone to know how to make a good listing.
Filling in my information, I attach a photo of myself to the email as the post specified. Another bit of information that seems a little odd, but as I hit send, I’m past the point of return. From here, I can only fill in a few additional applications before going about my day as best as I am able. I skipped breakfast, and my stomach isn’t letting me forget it’s almost lunchtime.
Though I have very little cash left in the bank, I hope it’s enough to grab a chick
en sandwich from the fast food chain down the road; I’m not often one to indulge in fast food offerings, but you get a lot more bang for your buck from a burger joint than any of the health-conscious cafés in the city.
Perhaps the calories will do me a bit of good. I’ve been skipping meals more than ever, lately. When you’re not even positive you’ll have a home at the week’s end, things like eating regularly seem less important, and anxiety has been making it all the more difficult to stomach three meals a day.
Closing my laptop with a sigh, I grab my phone and purse before heading out. As I walk outside, I muse that it might seem an altogether pleasant day in other circumstances. I’ve been reluctant to acknowledge good days, as of late. Nothing seems particularly good when you’re struggling to get by.
Unable to afford gas most of the time, my mode of transportation around Chicago has mostly become my own two feet. Faced with the choice between gas for my car and internet—with which I could more easily search for a job—there really wasn’t much of a choice at all. At the very least, the walk to the burger place is a good excuse to get out of my apartment for a while and enjoy the sunshine.
About midway through my walk I feel my phone begin vibrating in my pocket. I fumble around for a moment, grabbing it with a bit more force than necessary and considering the number that is calling. It’s an unfamiliar one, but considering the job applications I’ve been putting in all day, I can’t risk missing a possible lead. I swipe the screen to answer, bringing the phone up to my ear.
“Hello, this is Charlotte Law speaking,” I answer, as professionally as I can manage.
There’s a sound of papers shuffling on the other end of the line, and I step off the sidewalk somewhat to allow others to pass me.
Power Play - A MFMMM Reverse Harem Billionaire Romance (You Can't Resist a Bad Boy Book 6) Page 71