by Ella Fox
I woke up to the sound of Elvis shrieking, which had me up and off the lounger like a shot, my sunglasses toppling to the ground as I frantically searched the yard for him. I started to sweat when I didn't see him in his regular perch atop the waterfall wall.
“Elvis? Elvis!” I called as my eyes darted around the yard. My stomach dropped when I realized he wasn’t around.
“Where are you?” I yelled frantically.
When I heard the shriek again, I realized the reason I couldn’t see Elvis was that the sounds were coming from the other side of the wall, the one that separated Emery’s property from the extra-large mansion next door. The fact that the people living there were unknown worried me. What if they were animal haters? My anxiety spiked because I had no idea what kind of reception I was going to get when I asked them to let me in to find Elvis. Without another option, I pulled on my swim cover-up, slipped into my white flip-flops and raced from the yard.
I ran down the driveway at high speed, the slap-slap-slap of my flip-flops against the Spanish pavers an annoyance that only heightened my anxiety. I cringed when I heard Elvis shrieking again, causing my worry to grow exponentially. By the time I flung the wrought iron gate built into the exterior wall at the end of the drive open to get out to the street I was sweaty and out of breath.
The exterior of the house next door was on lockdown, and the gate was closed. Emery's place had a gate, but the neighbors were double the size and taller by about two feet. The wrought-iron masterpiece was blacked out so that there was no visual access to the property. I frantically pressed the button on the intercom outside the gate, but no one answered.
My eyes darted around as I tried to figure out a way to gain access to the yard. The wall that separated the two properties offered no line of sight, and I couldn’t find an entrance gate on the wall.
Chills raced down my spine when Elvis shrieked again. I panicked, thinking that he could be wrapped up in something, trapped with no way out. Emery would be devastated if her little man got hurt, the very thought of which made me ill. With no other alternative, I grabbed onto two of the wrought-iron bars and tried to lift myself up. I got a good grip, but my flip-flops couldn't get any purchase because of the slippery back panel on the gate.
Frantic with worry I kicked the flip-flops off, grabbed onto the metal bars and started maneuvering my way up. It felt like an eternity passed while I worked my way up the gate, bit by bit. It hurt like a bitch, and I knew my hands were going to feel raw later, but I didn’t care. Elvis needed me, which meant any pain was incidental. Although he didn't belong to me, I loved him to death, and I thought of him as family. The thought of something happening to him made me sick.
I was a sweaty and out-of-breath mess when I reached the top. The ornate arch only had one reasonably safe spot for me to sit on, so I carefully finagled my way to it and straddled the gate. It was as painful and uncomfortable as you’d expect, and I definitely wouldn’t recommend it. Having metal digging into my softest area wasn’t ideal. As bad as my level of discomfort was, my anxiety was the bigger issue. I freaked when I looked down the side of the gate into the neighbor’s driveway. The back of the gate was smooth, and there were no metal bars for me to use as leverage to get myself down. If I fell from the gate, I knew I'd be in an incredible amount of pain when I hit the Spanish pavers below. I searched the driveway and huge front yard for any signs of Elvis, but he was nowhere to be found. For all intents and purposes, I was well and truly screwed.
“Elvis!” I yelled. “Buddy, I’m here! Where are you?”
A new sound cut through the air—only it wasn’t from Elvis. No, the new noise was one that made my stomach drop as I looked back toward the street and saw a police car at the end of the driveway.
It was, without a doubt, the worst possible scenario. I was trapped atop a gate to a house I had no business trying to gain access to. I prayed I wasn't going to be spending my first night in Malibu in the slammer as I watched the officer get out of the car. Although his gun hadn't been drawn, he had his hand on his holster, which didn't give me a warm fuzzy feeling.
“Miss, would you care to tell me why you’re on top of that gate?”
I raised my hands for a second to show that I wasn't a threat and then quickly had to grab back onto the gate because I wobbled. I realized if I didn't play my cards right I'd either fall off the gate or wind up in jail—and neither option appealed. “I swear I’m not trying to break in to rob the place," I assured him. "My best friends little baby is in there, and I need to get him.”
“This baby managed to crawl over a wall onto private property?”
I shook my head. “Oh, no, of course not. He would’ve flown and jumped.”
I could tell he thought I was on drugs or just completely crazy because his expression was dubious.
“You’re after a little fella that flies?”
I opened my mouth to explain what the little fella was but didn’t get the chance because someone back on the other side of the gate began bellowing in Spanish.
"¿Que diablos esta pasando aquí?”
I started at the sound of the strong male voice but kept my eyes on the officer, afraid to turn away. After all, he had the gun. I’d have kept my attention glued to him if Elvis’s shriek hadn’t cut through the air again. When I heard that I whipped around to face the neighbor’s house. Unfortunately, my movements were too fast and my perch atop the gate too precarious. I screamed as I lost my grip and toppled to the side, headed for the pavers.
I landed on something that sure as heck didn’t feel like solid ground. It took a second for me to realize I hadn’t fallen all the way to the pavers because someone with strong arms who smelled mouth-wateringly good had caught me.
“Dios mios, eres hermosa,” he muttered in a low voice.
I lifted my head to respond, but no words came when I found myself looking at a man with eyes the color of the blue orchids Emery grew in distressed copper pots along the rear wall of her sunroom.
Seconds passed in silence, neither of us moving or speaking. I’m not even certain I was breathing as a sensation spread through me unlike anything I’d felt before. It was like being unbearably hot and insanely cold at the same time, my system in some kind of overload.
I forgot all about everyone else in the world for countless seconds because all I could think about was finding out who was he and where he’d come from.
Sin’s Temptation Excerpt
Sin’s Temptation
An Erotic Intentions Novella
Copyright 2017 Ella Fox
Chapter One
“Even though this piece is about your business success, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you some personal questions.”
I was lucky the interview was being conducted over the phone and not face-to-face because it meant I could roll my eyes.
“Fire away.”
“I can find no record of you having a steady girlfriend, at least not since you became a success…”
I waited, not surprised when there was no elaboration. Interviewers loved to ask leading questions. I didn't fall for that shit.
“That isn’t a question,” I said dryly.
“Oh! Well…” the reporter on the other end of the line spluttered for a few seconds, seemingly unable to think of how to frame his question.
I let him flounder. Cruel? Maybe. I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to help him. People were nosy as fuck, and I thought the question was completely unnecessary. The only reason anyone gave a damn about my relationship status was due to my wealth. If I were a janitor, no one would have cared.
“What I’m trying to ask is, do you have a girlfriend?”
I couldn’t contain my snort. “No,” I answered unapologetically.
“Is there a particular reason why?”
Again, I rolled my eyes. I loathed the way people felt entitled to dig in for answers to stupid questions.
“This is where you want me to say something along the lines of I haven’t
met the right woman yet,” I snickered. “Sorry to disappoint but that isn’t the case with me. I don’t do relationships because I think it would be shitty to let someone believe for even a second it might lead to marriage.”
I shuddered as I said it. The concept of marriage made me seriously uncomfortable. Agreeing to commit to one woman for the rest of my life? Not fucking happening. I’d never met anyone I wanted to spend a month with, much less a lifetime.
“You’re anti-marriage?” the reporter queried.
“Not for anyone who wants that life,” I answered. “It just isn’t for me.”
I’d seen the dark side of marriage, knew all too well what the fallout looked like. To the depths of my soul, I had no desire for it, and I didn’t believe for a second that anything or anyone would ever change my outlook. I was successful beyond my wildest dreams, and I wasn’t dependent upon or beholden to anyone other than myself. I was in control and I damn sure planned to stay solo. Besides—I liked variety.
“In your position, I wouldn’t want to settle down either,” he said enviously. “You’ve got it damn good.”
My lips quirked and I nodded to myself. It was the most accurate thing he’d said since we’d gotten on the phone.
“Life is great,” I confirmed.
The interview concluded shortly after that. With it behind me, I was able to relax and focus on the drive. Twenty minutes later my system was cranking Guns n’ Roses ‘Paradise City’ as I guided my black Range Rover into a parking spot at the rear of my store, Erotic Bent. It was a beautiful day, and I’d rather have been working at my record store by the sea than at the sex shop, but digging through vinyl wasn’t on the agenda. Instead, I’d just driven for a bit less than two hours to get from Malibu to Riverside.
The online component of my business made up for almost three-quarters of my yearly earnings, but the brick and mortar stores were still significant. I owned ten shops in Southern California, which meant sometimes I had no choice but to make those shitty drives. I cared about my company, and I wanted my employees to know I was hands-on.
Still, I wasn’t excited about having to spend the day sitting with my accountant to go over financials for a yearly internal review. The saving grace was that if all went according to plan, it would be my only face-to-face interaction with him until he generated his report.
My chief bookkeeper could've handled it, but I liked to make sure everyone knew who was in charge. People assumed it was easy being as successful as I was since in a lot of ways my products sold themselves. They couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d never been one to sit on my laurels, and I didn’t see obscene wealth as an excuse to be lazy. As a thirty-four-year-old billionaire, I could’ve sold or delegated everything, but I hadn’t. I’d gotten to where I was with a lot of hard work, and I was proud of it. Work was my one long-term commitment, and I was fine devoting my life to it.
After getting myself in the right frame of mind to look at numbers all day, I turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Closing the door behind me, I clicked my key fob to arm the system and then headed into the store. It was just after ten in the morning, which was a busy time. Peopled tended to assume that sex stores saw the most action at night, but that wasn’t the case. The morning was when most people found it easiest to sneak off to buy their sex toys.
In ninety percent of the marriages I knew of that were sexless (or damn near so) involved either the wife withholding sex or the husband completely ignored his partner—something our clientele reflected. We did a brisk business with unsatisfied suburban moms. They came in once the husband left for work and the kids were in school, looking for something to end the monotony of being neglected sexually by their man. They came in for plastic fantastic, and sometimes, if there were a connection, I’d give them the real thing. After it was over, I’d leave and never contact them again, which was just what we both wanted.
The narrative about women not wanting one night—or one afternoon—is dead wrong. It isn’t just men who have needs. There’s no one more willing to have it be a one-time thing than a woman who just wants to be touched. I aimed to please, and quite often they rode me like they were auditioning for the rodeo after they sucked my dick like their last name was Hoover. I was of the opinion that if their husbands didn’t want someone else to be giving their woman dick, they needed to get the fuck on it and do it themselves. I might have been anti-commitment, but I enjoyed women and took tremendous pleasure in making them happy.
When I entered the store, I stopped at the end of the dildo aisle, grinning when my eyes settled on an attractive woman tracing her finger over a package containing Big Barry. Barry was a nine-inch long, wrist-thick cock that drove women wild. My attention stayed on her as she licked her lips, her fascination with Big Barry more than evident.
It was as I started walking toward the bored housewife that I saw my fork in the road.
I’d taken maybe two steps when I realized there was someone on the other side of the woman holding Big Barry. Said woman instantly faded away as my eyes trailed hungrily over the features of a girl holding a five-inch suction-cupped cock in her hand. The pounding of my heart thudded in my ears like the sound of waves crashing onto the beach. Anxious to see the rest of her, I stepped to the side so that the woman I’d been intent on talking to, the one who had instantly become an inconvenience, was no longer blocking my line of sight.
The instant I could see the girl from head to toe, my cock went solid. Never in my life had the blood left my fucking head this fast. It was so abrupt I was dizzy for several seconds.
She was one of those girls—you know the ones. At first glance, they look old enough to get into the club, but on closer examination, you realize they’re jailbait. I’d have been completely oblivious to it if she hadn’t been wearing the uniform for public school students in California.
Somehow she made the khaki skirt look sexy as hell. Even her simple white polo shirt looked good. Her lustrous dark hair was in a ponytail that fell to just below her bra line. My eyes traveled hungrily over her neck as I grappled with a damn near overwhelming desire to bite and suck on the sensitive skin there, knowing it would make her wet. I couldn’t get over just how stunning she was, and I was only seeing half of her.
The side of her face I could see was perfection; flawless skin with puffy pink lips that I knew would look oh-so-fucking-good wrapped around my cock. The hunger I felt for her was instantaneous and all consuming. I was desperate to touch, to taste, and to devour her.
I remained completely entranced until it hit me that I was not the only one staring at her. When I looked up, I saw a man at the other end of the aisle studying her appreciatively. I hated the way he was looking her over like he was imagining doing X-rated things with her.
My response was swift. Over my dead fucking body would he ever lay one finger on her. With an urgency that startled me, I stepped forward and touched her arm.
“Hey—”
When she looked up and our eyes connected, I lost everything.
Every.
Fucking.
Thing.
Her beautiful blue eyes had me completely enthralled, and the world around me felt like it tipped over. The shift was thunderous. Up close I felt as if I’d been starved of her for the entirety of my life. I wanted her so badly I’d have fucked her right there in aisle six if she’d said it was okay. Of course, I’d only have done so after I got rid of anyone else who might have seen her. I knew down to my fucking marrow that she belonged to me. I also knew I’d drag any motherfucker who tried to touch what was mine straight down to hell.
The color on her cheeks and the sweet way she licked her lips made my dick twitch in my pants. I ached to kiss her, to taste her sweet lips and explore her mouth. I growled low in my throat when I glanced over her shoulder and saw two more men looking at her appreciatively. Anxious to get her away from their leering, I took the suction-cup dick from her hand and tossed it down on the shelf.
“You won�
��t be needing that,” I rasped. “Come with me.”
There was a dreamy smile on her lips as she looked up at me. “Okay," she said breathlessly. It seemed like she was as enchanted by me as I was by her, which pleased me to no end.
She inched closer to me before she abruptly stopped and shook her head as if to clear it.
"Wait! I don’t—” she swallowed as her eyes darted around the store anxiously. “Who are you?”
Realizing I’d scared her, I raised my free hand and gestured reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I own this store,” I explained. “I want to take you back to the office area because we need to talk.”
Just to talk, I reminded my cock. The fucker thought she was true north, and he was more than ready to go home.
Her brows rose in surprise. “You’re Jordan Sinclair?” she asked.
My name on her lips was heaven. I didn’t know how I felt about the fact that she had clearly heard of me, though. It bothered me that she knew I owned porn stores.
“Yeah,” I admitted gruffly. “That’s me.”
“Oh… okay,” she said with a hesitant smile. “I’ll go back to the offices with you.”
The instant she agreed, I was moving to guide her up the other end of the aisle, away from the gawkers. I walked us straight into the back, stopping when we got into the hall so I could ask her some questions.
“What’s your name?”
“Natalie Farrar,” she answered softly.
Fuck me, I thought. This girl.
This.
Girl.
She was like a goddamn dream.
A dream that could’ve become a nightmare if someone aside from me had approached her out in the store. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that someone would’ve followed her out to the parking lot. The very thought made me angry. Not with her—with them. Schoolgirls were like crack to creepers. A tidal wave of worst-case scenarios hit me all at once, each one more disturbing than the last. Why the hell did I own sex stores? And more importantly, why was she inside one of them?