by Sasha Gold
I groan and straighten. “Right. Thanks Ivan.”
Leah turns to look at me. There’s a small cut on her forehead and I can’t believe all that damn blood came from a cut that’s at most an inch and a half. The nurse has stitched the cut and I feel a little woozy looking at the stitches.
Leah grins. “What a wedding night. We’ll have some stories to tell our kids, won’t we?”
I nod. “I suppose.”
Chapter Nineteen
Leah
Miranda has arranged for Emily to have an extra-large suite so that George can stay with her. She’s pulled out all the stops for Emily and I’m filled with gratitude. Emily, on the other hand, is not. She’s fussing at everyone, but especially Riley. She tells him he has no business hanging around the hospital on his wedding night.
We say goodnight and head home in silence. He holds my hand while we drive. The night is cloudless and a sliver of moon hangs in the sky. Stars blanket the heavens and I wonder what time it is. After midnight for sure.
When we get home I lead him to the bedroom, I help him undress and coax him into the shower. A moment later, I’ve undressed and I step in with him. A glimmer of lust lights his eyes. I love the way he looks at me in spite of everything that’s happened.
“Hospitals are sort of gross.” I take the soap and work up a lather.
He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze wanders down my body, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. I turn him and work the suds over his immense shoulders and back. His build is heroic. Everything about him is massive and I can’t help but admire the bands of muscles along the expanse of his back.
This is the first time I’ve showered with Riley, and even though I’m doing this to offer some tenderness to him, I’m definitely enjoying skimming my hands along his powerful body.
When I turn him around to work on his chest, his erection brushes against my stomach. It’s clear he’s enjoying it too.
“Does your head hurt,” he asks.
“Not at all. I’m fine.”
He kisses me again and runs his hands down my back. I shiver at his touch. When he breaks the kiss, he washes me, gently and slowly. His gaze travels over me as if he’s studying my features. After he’s done, he pulls me into his arms and we stand under the stream of water.
He’s a big, stone fortress, and I feel like I’m just outside the door, hoping to be let inside.
We get out, dry off and he takes me to bed. Both of us are naked. I know he’s aroused and I am too, but neither of us makes a move to take it further. In the dark, he pulls me close and lets out a deep, shuddering breath. I’m tucked in his embrace and can feel him relax and drift to sleep.
He wakes twice maybe three times to ask me if I’m okay, if my head hurts. If anything hurts. When I tell him that I’m fine, he settles back to sleep with a sigh of relief.
Sometime in the night, I wake to the feel him kissing my neck. He’s crouched over me and he cups my breast with his hand. His touch is potent heat and when he rolls my nipple between his fingertips a moan slips from my lips.
“Leah,” he murmurs. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Riley,” I say on an exhale. The raw emotion makes me tremble and I reach for him.
He kisses me. Not a chaste sweet kiss, but urgent.
Riley has made love to me every night since the fight and we’ve slipped away a few afternoons too. Every time he’s been gentle and tender. The first few times he worried he might hurt me. This is different. He’s not being considerate or mannerly.
He kisses a trail of biting kisses down my neck and lower. His mouth sears my skin. I feel like I’m being consumed. Devoured. When he brushes his lips across my nipple I arch beneath him. A growl, a primitive rumble, tells me he likes my response. I thread my fingers through his hair. He sucks my nipple, rasping the tip with his teeth.
“Riley…”
His tongue brushes my sensitive skin and I writhe in response.
“Please…”
Pleasure and need combine to render me helpless beneath him.
He continues kissing a path down the front of my body, pausing when he laughs softly. “Please what?”
“I want you.”
“I want you too.”
When he kisses me between my thighs, he groans. He flicks his tongue. A wicked jolt of pleasure makes me moan.
“You taste so good. Like honey,” he whispers.
I’m shaking with need. I was already wet from the shower we took together. I’m more so now. Every stroke of his tongue makes my pleasure soar.
He loops his arm across my body, pinning me to the bed. When he’s done this before, he’s played with me, teased me, making me wait for my climax. Not tonight. When he sucks my clit between his teeth, I come. Pleasure washes over me. I’m overwhelmed, and at first, I can’t make a sound. The ecstasy steals my voice. It spirals and begins to ebb and I whimper, sob his name.
He kisses me and prowls up over me, kissing me again, this time on my lips.
“Beast.” My voice is a feeble whisper.
“That’s right.”
He cups my breast and sinks into me, taking me with a single thrust. I’m shocked by his rough, primitive actions but almost immediately he kindles new pleasure. I meet his thrusts, lift my knees to clasp him. His hand slips under my hips. He lifts me, deepening his strokes.
“You’re mine,” he snarls.
“Yes.”
“Not letting you out of my bed.”
“No.” He is a beast. He knows I’ll agree to anything. His touch undermines any thought, any argument. I’m captive. I’m under his spell and he’s had me there from the beginning. I have no choice but to submit.
He lowers me to the bed and kisses me again. His fingers brush my clit and I shatter beneath him. He follows an instant later. He sinks down but holds himself on his elbows to keep from crushing me. I can feel his cock deep inside me. He’s still hard and it makes me wonder if I’m already pregnant. My thoughts drift.
“Charlotte says if I get pregnant before she does, she’ll never forgive me.”
He rolls over and smiles at me, splaying his fingers across my stomach. “I can’t wait, Leah.”
I trace my fingers along his jaw and try to imagine our child. The thought steals my breath. I’ve never wanted anyone but him. Never. He’s all I want, him along with a house full of children. I rest my head against his chest and sink into a deep sleep in the shelter of his arms.
Chapter Twenty
Leah - Four Years Later
The phone rings and I see it’s Charlotte. Since it’s eleven in the morning I can tell it’s going to be a desperate sort of call, the type of call I get when her nanny can’t make it. Caller ID announces her name and Riley chuckles. He’s eating breakfast with our toddler, Thomas.
“Do I want to take that call?” I ask him.
He looks up and flashes me a smile. His three day beard contrasts with his white teeth and his hair is still mussed from bed. It’s longer now than when he used to fight.
“You can take it, but you’re busy.”
I pick up the phone. “Hey, Charlotte.”
“I’m hiding in my closet. Do you think that makes me a bad mother?”
I lean against the counter and watch Riley coax little Thomas to eat the last few bites of the waffles they made together.
“I don’t think that makes you a bad mother, unless, of course you have liquor in the closet. Do you?”
“No, just chocolate, but booze… definitely going to have to have a little bottle of something in here.”
She’s kidding, probably even about the chocolate. Both she and Dane have turned into insufferable health nuts. Charlotte, who wanted babies and lots of them, got her wish when she got pregnant with triplets. She has two boys and a girl and refers to the trio as ‘the trips’.
“Did the nanny call in sick?” I ask.
“Just late. I’m counting the minutes until she gets here.”
Through the ph
one I hear a bang on the door followed by a small voice. “Momma, the program is all done. The credits are even done rolling.”
I snort. Carly, Charlotte’s daughter has the verbal abilities of an English professor. She talks all the time and sounds weirdly like Miranda. Charlotte’s boys might have a few dozen words between them, most of which are sound effects.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Charlotte promises Carly. “I better go. The boys went down for an early nap and I need to get dressed. I’m meeting Dane for a little lunch.”
“Lunch,” I scoff. “Sure.”
She laughs. “When you have three kids you have to be creative.”
“I know what you mean,” I say softly.
Riley looks at me and arches a brow. I have a surprise for him. A little staycation I’ve planned for just the two of us.
Thomas clambers down from his chair and makes a beeline for me, holding out his hands. They’re sticky from his waffles and syrup.
Charlotte sighs. “I need to get dressed for my hot date, I mean, lunch. Plus I need to tidy the playroom. Granma Miranda is coming over this afternoon to visit the trips, and the boys trashed it last night with Daddy. They built a city out of blocks and then demolished it.”
I say good-bye to Charlotte and wipe Thomas’ hands. He can’t stand having sticky fingers. He frowns, his grey eyes, a mirror of Riley’s, regard me with dismay.
“Mama,” he says.
“Better?”
He nods. “Better.”
“Gramps is coming to pick you up in a little while. We need to go pack a bag. Can you help me?”
Thomas nods, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
We go upstairs. The house is a little cottage on the coast we bought for weekends and vacations. It’s near the water, which is wonderful, but even better, it’s just a few blocks from Riley’s parents. They love being grandparents.
After Riley quit fighting he worked for the networks for a few years, getting sponsors and promoting fights, but he doesn’t work for them anymore. Now he just manages investments. Miranda gave me my trust and Riley has already doubled its value.
He also works on developing athletic facilities for under-served populations. That’s probably what takes up most of his time. He wants every kid to have a place to work out and get strong.
I help him with his work, but mostly I’m a mom. My favorite thing is to snap pictures of anything, but most of the time it’s my children. I never liked having my picture taken, but I love being behind a camera.
I pause half-way up the stairs to listen to Riley. He’s in the nursery with Molly our baby daughter. She’s cooing softly to him, and he’s telling her what a sweetheart she is. I put my finger over my lips to tell Thomas not to say a word. He answers with a grin that shows off his dimples.
My heart melts as I listen to Riley talk to Molly. Thomas loses interest quickly and wanders off to his room to gather things to take to his grandparents. He doesn’t really understand the idea of packing, but he knows what toys need to go. That part he has figured out perfectly.
I go to the doorway of the nursery. Riley holds Molly who is still waking up. She rests her head against his broad shoulder and her body molds to his.
Last week she took her first steps. We were eating dinner with Miranda, Dane and Charlotte. Everyone clapped and she laughed so hard she almost toppled over. I can’t believe my baby is walking.
The door opens downstairs. George and Emily let themselves in and the noise makes Molly lift her head and turn. When she sees me she reaches her arms for me. I cross the room and Riley gathers me close with his free arm. It seems like yesterday that we used to hug Thomas like this.
George and Emily want to take the kids to the park and then to eat some lunch, then take them home for the night. It doesn’t take long to pack little overnight bags. They take our son every few weeks to spend the night, but this is only the second time Molly has gone.
I kiss them goodbye and we watch them drive off.
Riley takes my hand and leads me inside and upstairs.
“What are you doing?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Having my way with my wife.”
“You’re pretty bossy.”
He doesn’t reply, but his hungry gaze says it all. Our bed is still unmade and moments later he has me naked and pleading. Love-making is different when we have the house to ourselves. Neither of us hold back and Riley make sure to take his sweet time. He won’t let me have what I want until I’m mindless with need.
“You’re more gorgeous every day,” he whispers.
He has my hands pinned above my head. He makes love to me slowly, each wicked stroke making me writhe. When we make love, he likes to tell me how beautiful I am, but he likes to tell me dirty things too. Riley has a filthy mouth, but today he just tells me sweet things. How much he loves me. How I’m the best thing to ever happen to him.
We stay in bed all afternoon, talking, making love, napping, and as the sun sets, Riley makes dinner for us. We eat on the deck and watch the day give way to twilight.
He kisses my hand. “I should have taken you out to dinner.”
I shake my head and stroke my fingers along his jaw. My fingertips skim over one of his scars but he doesn’t flinch. Not anymore.
“No,” I say. “This is everything I want.”
THE END
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One more bonus book, The Virgin’s Price, by Alix West. In case you didn’t know, Alix West is my alter ego, writing steamy, 19th century Texas Westerns with over-the-top alpha cowboys. Don’t be surprised if a man spanks a woman in these Alix West stories… It might happen…
From the cover
Ellie Fentress lives the quiet life of Colter Canyon's seamstress. Beautiful, shy, innocent, she fantasizes about Dylan Ford, the handsome cowboy who owns half the town. Dylan watches out for her, even protects her from thugs, but he maintains his distance, and his gentlemanly ways. When Ellie is pushed into a tight corner, she makes a drastic plan, selling herself for one night of sin, only to discover that Dylan is not always the gentleman he seems to be.
The Virgin’s Price
Western Spanks
Alix West
The Virgin’s Price - Chapter One
Ellie Fentress entered the saloon with a silent prayer that she would quickly find Clarice, the madame of the house. The Magnolia wasn’t the type of place good girls frequented, but she needed to speak to Clarice about a business proposition. What she had in mind was a short term agreement. The type of agreement a woman like Clarice could manage with discretion.
She spied Clarice playing poker with three gentlemen, her dress a splash of crimson in the gritty saloon. By the look on her face she was about to claim the pile of coins in the middle of the table. With an unladylike chuckle, she laid down her hand. The men stared in disbelief, then tossed down their cards.
Clarice glanced up. “Ellie, you look as white as a ghost.”
The men left the table, grumbling, taking a half-empty bottle of whiskey with them.
Ellie took a chair, leaned in, and spoke in a whisper. “I’ve been giving your idea some more thought.”
Clarice snorted. “Came to your senses? What you make in a week in your seamstress shop, you could make in one night with one customer.”
Ellie closed her eyes, her mind rebelled at the words, but she forced herself to continue. “I can’t make rent. Momma needed money.”
Clarice shuffled the cards. “Why don’t you ask your handsome landlord to let you pay your rent late?”
Ellie shook her head. “I didn’t pay last month because momma needed money then, too. He already thinks I don’t know anything about owning a business. He said he’d just let me make it up to him in sewing.”
Clarice stop
ped shuffling and batted her eyelids. “I’d think of a different way to make rent if I owed it to Dylan Ford.”
Ellie felt her face burn and fought the feelings she had every time she thought of her landlord. Long ago, she’d come to the conclusion that Dylan was the most handsome man she’d ever known. Tall, muscular, eyes the color of a summer morning, she lost herself in thought any time she pictured him. She’d been friends with his little sister, Lizzie, back when they were in school. Even when she was fifteen, Dylan made her nervous and flustered any time she saw him at church or in town. Inscrutable. Ice and steel.
A few years back Lizzie moved to Fort Worth to study music. Ellie still saw Dylan time and again, but whenever she said hello, he gave her a dark look and a response of no more than a word or two. She never knew what she’d done to offend him.
Last year, she’d summoned her courage and approached him about renting space for her shop. He dismissed her out of hand, telling her he didn’t do business with eighteen year old girls. A few days later, she rode out to his ranch to ask him to reconsider.
Sitting in his study, addressing him formally as Mr. Ford, she spread seven dress orders across his desk, three weeks of solid work waiting to be filled. He leaned back in his chair, his mouth set in a grim line. She didn’t back down, told him she was the finest seamstress in Colter Canyon, and with her income she’d have more than enough to pay rent, cover payroll, and support her mother and younger brother. Finally, he relented, telling her she’d better not expect special treatment.
In spite of his words, Dylan, in his quiet, gruff way, looked out for her. Once a month he came to collect rent and always lingered. He liked to sit in the chair by the window while she sewed. He always asked how she was doing. Anytime she mentioned a problem, it was always quickly and mysteriously resolved.
A customer, the town banker, who didn’t want to pay for his wife’s linen dress, sent payment not more than an hour after Dylan stopped by – the money accompanied with a polite note of apology. And then there were the Shelton brothers, who often wandered into the shop, smirking and commenting about needing trousers that would accommodate all that God had given them. Not long after she told Dylan about them, they seemed to be downright afraid, crossing the street to avoid her, one of them limping and the other with his arm in a sling.