Mountain Man Baby Daddy

by Vivien Vale

  “Get up here,” I say. “Get on all fours.”

  I get up from the bed and let Claire crawl up onto the mattress. She walks forward on all fours, right up to the headboard.

  “Perfect,” I remark.

  I take a moment just to stare at this vision of perfection that’s been bestowed upon me. Her ass is so sexy, and it’s covered in my cum.

  I have an idea. I climb onto the bed with her. I spit onto my cock, already hard again from the sight of this beauty.

  I take a bit of the cum from her ass and rub it in to my cock with the spit. I take more of it and rub it against Claire’s asshole, lubing her sufficiently.

  I push my cock into Claire’s tight, slick asshole. I hear her gasp in front of me and moan deep. She pushes herself back against my cock, making me slide further inside of her.

  Her ass is so fucking tight. I savor this moment for a bit. Her little puckered hole feels so perfect wrapped around my thick cock.

  My hands run from her shoulders, all the way down her back, and when I get them to her ass, I smack both cheeks at the same time from either side.

  I grab onto her ass and guide it back and forth onto my cock. Claire’s head is bowed down in front of her and she’s letting out quiet, short whimpers with each thrust onto my cock.

  The more she glides onto my cock, the more she relaxes. Her back arches further allowing me to fuck her deeper.

  I place my hands on her shoulders and hold her there while I hump against her ass hard. Her moans grow louder and shriller. She grinds against me, meeting my thrusts as I fuck her.

  My cock pulses against her asshole and I come inside her, expelling loads of my cum into her ass. I slow down and pull out of her when I’m finished coming, and I hold her butt cheeks apart and enjoy the sight of the cum slowly leaking out of her hole.

  I lower my face to her ass and lick up the cum that’s dripping from her. I reach my hand in front of her and pull her body up, easing her into a different position. She sits up on her knees and tilts her head back.

  I push her chin up with my finger and I deposit the cum from my mouth into hers. I know how much she loves tasting it and the unique flavor of her sweet ass on it is something she just shouldn’t miss.

  She pushes the cum around her mouth so she could savor it more before swallowing it. She licks her lips and closes her eyes, the taste lingering on her tongue.

  Spinning herself around, she grabs my shoulders and pulls me on top of her as she lowers herself onto the bed. I spread her legs with my hands and look into her eyes as I position my cock at her pussy. I want her to feel connected with me more than on a physical level.

  She gasps and tilts her head back as I thrust inside of her sweet, wet cunt. I lift her legs with my forearms and push them back against her body as I lean in and hump her. Then she tilts her head back and forth to either side, her eyes now shut tight and biting her lip.

  I love watching her as I’m fucking her. Her hands gripping the bed tight, she takes every bit of my cock in stride and is still always so hungry for more.

  I grab her left leg and toss it over to the side, laying it on top of her right leg. I hold her hip that’s now high in the air and plow into her from her side.

  Her hands reach up to my shoulders and grip into them, her nails digging into my skin. I slow my pace and grind into her cunt nice and hard, letting her feel every inch moving in and out of her.

  “Holy fuck, Liam. Don’t stop. Fuck me just like that!” she exclaims to me. She squirms under me, feeling intense new sensations in her pussy as I drill into her.

  I start fucking her a little faster, keeping the same motion and she shudders and whimpers at the thrust of my cock. I speed up even more and she arches her back, poking her chest out, her whole body tensing as she cries to me.

  “I’m coming!” she shouts. “Fuck, Liam! I’m coming! I’m squirting!”

  Music to my fucking ears. I pound into her relentlessly until her cum is sprayed all over the entire lower half of my body and her side of the mattress has a pool of cum on it as well.

  Her breathing is shallow and frequent as she tries to catch her breath, recovering from her intense climax. I feel myself getting close too.

  My body grows warm and my cock is throbbing and aching, ready for release. I look down at those perky breasts with rock hard nipples, that glistening skin, and most importantly, that satisfied, sexy look on Claire’s face and I let myself go.

  I pull out of her quickly and turn her leg back so I’m between her thighs, and as I come, it lands right in the center of her body.

  I stroke my cock tight and hard, until every bit of cum shoots out of it. I look at Claire and see that my cum has reached a hell of a range in her body. There’s traces of it on her face, in her cleavage, on her belly button, and on her pretty little pussy.

  She smiles as I come down from my high and starts scooping up the cum from each part of her body and licks it from her fingers. She doesn’t stop until she’s licked every drop.

  I sigh heavily, a bit fatigued from all the fun. I climb into the bed and lay down next to Claire. I lay out my arm and she snuggles up to me, nestled in the crook of my arm and her head just resting against my chest.

  “So, I get that the lingerie looks better on the floor, but I really like how it looks on me too,” she says to me.

  “It looks spectacular on you. And you have virtually an endless supply of it, sweetheart,” I return. “Feel free to wear it all the time if you’d like!”

  She nestles in further and brings her arm over my torso.

  “I think I just might.”

  Claire

  Life couldn’t be better.

  All my dreams have been realized.

  Epica’s doing great. It’s still my company but because of our expansion, we’re buying the building next door. It’s equally as historic and has a lot of charm.

  Being with Liam has changed my life in a lot of ways. For one thing, I consider him my mentor in business. Under his guidance, I’ve managed to grow my company, keep it financially solid, and yet still maintain the artistic flair that sets us apart.

  Epica is and will always remain small. I consider my team the best of the best and by keeping things intimate, we can cater to only the best clients and there’s an air of exclusivity around our services.

  I’m in Liam’s penthouse that I’ve all but moved into. My stuff is everywhere, and he says that he likes it that way.

  We try to spend as much time together as possible while running our respective businesses. The difference with Liam now is that he’s become a hands-on boss instead of the distant one he was before. He’s more freely expressing his creativity and he’s more apt to give his opinions now.

  It’s an opinion I’m seeking to get at this time. I find Liam is an excellent sounding board for all my ideas. He has a really sharp eye for design and I value his opinion.

  I’m working on my laptop, in his king-sized bed, when he comes in with freshly squeezed orange juice.

  “Here you go baby, compliments of the chef.”

  “He’s here?”

  “Setting up brunch right now. Shall we eat on the terrace?”

  I look out the window and see that it’s a beautiful day. The snow has subsided, and the sun is shining.

  “It’s so gorgeous outside. I wish I could work out there.”

  “Then why don’t you?” he comes into bed and kisses my forehead.

  “Okay,” I say. “But first, I need your opinion. Look at these new drawings I’ve prepared for Velvet Luxe. Do you think it looks too busy? Be honest.”

  He looks at my work and I appreciate the time he takes to go over the details.

  “Do you really want to know what I think?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  “I think you’re so good that you don’t need my advice. I think you should trust yourself and that solid intuition you have.”

  I smile.

  “Really? No advice?”


  “Really. Now come with me to eat on the terrace.”

  I get out of bed wearing the latest Velvet Luxe design, a black slip with strips of lace cut across it.

  “Am I dressed okay?” I ask, wondering if the private chef’s still there.

  “Don’t worry, he’s gone. You could come out nude and make me very happy.”

  I hold his hand and we go to the terrace. To my surprise and delight, it’s littered with rose petals. A romantic table’s set up with tall candles and flowers.

  Liam holds out a plush robe for me to slip into that will block out the cold air. The sun is out and that helps too.

  “What’s all this?” I ask. Liam is normally sweet, and he sweeps me off my feet with his grand gestures sometimes, but I don’t recall planning for anything special today. It’s too early for anything anyway.

  And then, I see him get down on one knee and it becomes apparent what’s happening. The moment I’ve been waiting for since I was a girl is before me.

  “Claire,” he says holding out a box containing a very large diamond ring. “Will you do me the great honor of never leaving my side, being mine forever, and marrying me?”

  “Yes!” I say without hesitation. “A million times yes. I love you, Liam. I think some part of me always has, since the moment we met.”

  His eyes gleam with happiness and satisfaction. He gets up and places the ring on my finger. Then, instead of brunch, he grabs a bottle of champagne from the table and picks me up in his arms.

  “I have to consummate this,” he says, and I can sense the hunger in his voice.

  Our connection is as deep as ever. It’s something between us that no one could ever explain. We both feel it all the time as if we’re soulmates or something.

  I know it’s meant to be. I know he’s the one and I guess I’ve always known since the first moment I laid eyes on him. I guess it’s the undeniable connection I’ve felt with him ever since.

  Tears stream down my face, and he smiles softly at me.

  “Look at you, vulnerable as ever. You’re mine, Claire. Let this ring prove that.”

  He takes me back to the bedroom and I know I can’t escape. I’ll never want to escape this intimate connection that we have which defies all words.

  I kiss him, and he throws me down on the bed. I can tell, this is just the beginning of our wild adventure together.

  Painting Her

  A Bad Boy Artist Romance

  By Natalie Knight

  Copyright 2017 by Crimson Vixens

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

  Natalie Knight

  Blake

  Call it a universal truth. All men want sex, myself included. But why then—with this hot, naked woman in front of me—am I feeling…uninspired? I’m in my studio, mixing paint and brushing it across a canvas in fast strokes. I’ve even found the perfect pink to brush on a nipple. It’s night, and the lights of New York City can be seen just outside of my window.

  The model—Mia, or Marissa, or Melanie—has one hand shoved down my pants, and she’s petting me and parting her legs, and all I can think about is how pathetic this art is. It feels like something I’ve done a million times already.

  “Blake, baby, you feel so good,” she purrs. “Give me that one-eyed python.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what, baby?”

  “Give it a pet name,” I say.

  “But it’s so impressive,” she purrs again, “that it deserves its own name.”

  She slides her hand down further, and I don’t stop her, but I ignore her advances.

  Why? Because this painting can’t wait.

  When I start a new piece, I’m compelled to finish it, and like a fish on a hook, I have no choice but to be pulled in and see it through.

  Art is as much a part of me as breathing, or eating. It’s my life.

  I place the long, wooden handle of the paintbrush between my teeth and sit back.

  Something is missing…

  It’s flat.

  I decide to bring in white paint, mixing it with my current palette and hoping to add light to the piece. Maybe give it some depth and dimension.

  I use a palette knife to scrape on rolls of paint for texture. I use a thin brush for details, and work with the concentration of a greyhound eyeing a rabbit—my focus is singular.

  I drag the brush against the canvas again, adding color here and there, then finally finishing the last of the model’s curves—her legs and the curve of her inner thighs. I just need to get those right. There’s something about legs that can be so expressive.

  “It’s perfect,” she coos, looking up at the canvas.

  The truth is, it’s far from perfect. Sure, it’s good, but it looks like every other piece I’ve painted.

  I want something new. I want something more.

  No, it’s more than a want; it’s a need—to elevate my art.

  The media will tell you that what all men only care about are a woman’s physical attributes—her scent, what she’s wearing, whether or not her push-up bra is bringing her tits front and center. Don’t get me wrong—I’m more than happy to sleep with a hot woman with any of those attributes, but what the media doesn’t tell you is that guys also like a woman who is confident and independent.

  And this model here in front of me? She isn’t showing me any of that.

  I walk away from the canvas, and the model stops me.

  “Should I stay?” she says, with one hand on my arm.

  “For what?”

  I can tell that my answer disappoints her.

  “I could stay and pose some more,” she says, “so you can finish the painting.”

  “It’s done. I don’t want to look at it anymore.”

  “In that case,” she says, “we can have a little fun now.”

  Her mouth curves into a suggestive smile.

  She walks over to me, swaying her hips, and presses her lips to my neck, giving it a playful nibble.

  Then she brings her mouth to my ear and whispers, “Tell me, baby…what’s your biggest fantasy? Do you like it rough or romantic? Did you dream about me last night?”

  Those words send a thrill down my body but I resist the urge to react, and when I don’t respond, she continues.

  “Where should I put my mouth next?” Her eyes wait for an answer, but when I don’t give one, she returns to my body, both of her hands on my chest.

  “Here? Or maybe here?” she asks, moving her mouth down my bare chest in slow circles.

  I still don’t respond.

  “No? Well, how about here?” she says, moving her warm lips down until they are resting at the top of my waistband. My cock is now standing stiffer than any of the tools in this studio, and she smiles.

  “I think I’m getting warmer,” she purrs. She starts to unbutton my pants. “Now let me kiss that big, hard—”

  But I stop her. I need a woman that inspires me in this studio. Not another nameless model eager to get into my pants.

  Been there, done that…and more than just a few times.

  “Maybe some other time,” I say.

  Her surprise turns to shock, and I watch as she gathers her things, still in disbelief. As soon as she leaves and I hear the door to the studio shut behind her, I walk back over to the painting.

  It’s not a bad portrait, but it’s not great either.

  There’s simply no emotion. It doesn’t evoke anything in me.

  The longer I stare at the painting, the angrier I become. I can feel a new sense of irritation wash over me.

  I can’t hold back. I ball my hand into a fist and punch it through the canvas. The material rips open, and where the model should be, there’s now a gaping hole.

  There. Now no one will be ab
le to look at this.

  Then I grab a can of black paint, along with a wide brush. I dip it into the paint and in big angry strokes I destroy the remaining canvas, painting obscene Xs over my work.

  I’m destroying the canvas so hard and fast that I feel a bead of sweat zigzag down my face.

  I look down at the destroyed art and kick it away in disgust.

  What the fuck am I doing with my life?

  I need to be creating great art, not mastering mediocrity.

  I need a new muse.

  Katherine

  Writer’s block.

  I’ve heard about it. But for all the years I struggled to become a published writer and even after my first book sold, I was never at a loss for words. Until now. They say this happens after you’ve had a bestseller.

  Well, I’m not only blocked, I’m paralyzed, motionless, incapable of putting one word next to another.

  My agent called today. Just like every other day for the last two weeks. I’m behind with the first draft. I’ve sent every call to voice mail. I just can’t face her.

  “Katherine, I know you’re listening to these. At least send me a text. Let me know you’re alive.” The messages are beginning to sound frantic. But I still can’t respond.

  What would I tell her? That I feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining? That I don’t have a first chapter, let alone a first draft.

  No, it’s better for everyone concerned that I let it go to voice mail.

  Maybe she’ll get the hint, and tell the publishers I’m dead, or at the very least I’m in a coma.

  That’s the bad news.

  The good news is, Dale is coming home tonight and I’m planning on holding on to all six feet, two inches of his deliciousness. His light-green eyes pull me in every time. And tonight will be no exception.

  Besides, I have writer’s block. And I personally know of no better way to unstick the flows than to, well… sometimes a girl just needs a good release…or two…or three.

  My best friend Robin thinks I should leave him.

  Robin and I have been bffs since forever. Well, actually since we were both kicked out of Mr. Stubbins’s ninth grade science class for giggling uncontrollably while he explained the reproductive system of a frog. We just couldn’t image kissing a frog no matter what they say in fairy tales.