by Nikki Chase
“Yeah, I’ll just join you guys and we’ll all cry together,” Zeke says.
I laugh. “You know, I have this funny thought. It’s like Joanne’s playing the role of my wife right now.”
“I hope you’re not coming out as a lesbian right now. That will really fuck up all my plans, especially if you’re leaving me for my own sister.”
“Not like that, you idiot,” I say. I laugh a lot these days—more than I ever have in the past. Being with Zeke just makes me so happy.
“Then what’s it like?” Zeke asks.
“The only reason I can attend classes full time is because Joanne picks up the slack when I’m not around, right?” I ask. “Up until last week, when she finally landed a job, she didn’t have much to do, other than house chores and taking care of the kids. So for once, I got to experience how nice it is to have a wife.”
“If you’re the husband in a traditional household, wouldn’t you have to work to support your family?” Zeke asks.
“Well, yeah, I’m going to school so that’s almost like a job. Point is, I think it’s so much nicer to be a guy, because you can have a wife to do all the work at home. I wish I could have a wife.”
“No, wait, you’re thinking of this wrong. You got to experience having staff,” Zeke says. “You can hire people to do house chores and child care. That’s what we’re going to do. We’ve already agreed that’s the only way you can continue going to your classes, right?”
“Yeah. And Joanne will drop Brody here before work so the nanny can take care of both boys,” I say. “But it’s different. Joanne is family. She cares, and I trust her with everything.”
“Yeah, okay, too bad for you, you’re not having a wife. You already have a husband you’re ignoring,” Zeke says.
“What? We’re having a conversation right now. And that wouldn’t be possible if I were ignoring you,” I protest.
“Why don’t you put that thick, boring book aside? I have something else that’s thick for you,” Zeke says, raising and lowering his eyebrows.
“That’s real sexy. Really great dirty talk right there,” I say sarcastically, laughing.
“You know Joanne’s leaving next week, right? Little Sammy—”
“Samuel,” I correct him.
“As I was saying, next week Joanne won’t be here to tend to little Sammy when he wakes up in the middle of the night anymore.”
“Yeah, I’ve thought about that. It’s a depressing thought,” I say. I decide to ignore Zeke's attempts to use a shortened nickname to call our son. Samuel is a perfectly dignified, sufficiently short name. Sammy’s not going to stick.
“So before we start lumbering around like sleep-deprived zombies, don’t you want to take advantage of what little time we have? Go out with a bang?” Zeke asks, running his hands up and down my legs, distracting me from my book, which I’ll admit is boring.
“Zeke, I really need to finish this before class tomorrow.
“You can continue reading if you want. I’ll allow it.” Zeke pulls my legs apart and kisses my thighs.
“Zeke, I’m serious,” I say, although what he’s doing to me right now is definitely more appealing than my legal textbook.
“I’m serious, too. You can keep reading if you want. I’ll just entertain myself.” Zeke’s lips travel up my inner thighs and reach the top. He kisses me over my shorts, letting me feel the heat and pressure from his mouth on my pussy.
My resolve starts to crumble. Maybe it’s okay to miss a few pages of the reading material. It’s only one class.
And Zeke makes a good point; maybe we’ll be too tired to have sex, once it’s just the two of us. Samuel has been getting up, like, five times every night.
I try to keep reading, but the sentences stop making sense. The words look funny, like they’re just random groups of letters. At the same time, I can’t just tell Zeke to stop. This feels too good...
I close my eyes and lean my head back on the headboard. My book falls on my lap, but not for long. Zeke pulls it away and puts it on the floor. I let him. I can’t say no to him, especially during intimate moments like this. It’s a real weakness.
I just love it when he takes charge, when he wants me so much he’d just take what he wants.
I know, I know. That’s not the most enlightened thing a woman can say, especially a career-minded woman who aspires to be a lawyer.
But what can I say? I like what I like, and I can’t always explain why.
All I know is, there’s nothing hotter than when my Zeke claims my body, manipulating it like only he knows how, turning me into a shuddering heap of orgasms. I love the fact that he knows exactly what to say and do to get me there.
“Lift up your ass,” Zeke says in an authoritative voice. Yeah, he knows full well he’s got me right where he wants me now.
I do as he says, and he yanks my shorts and my panties off. He pulls me by my legs until I’m lying on my back on the bed.
He sucks me lower lips into his mouth and keeps his eyes on me while I squirm and moan for him. His tongue licks me everywhere but my clit, and he pushes two digits into me, hooking those fingers until they rub against the sensitive front wall of my pussy.
And just like this, Zeke brings me to my first orgasm of the night. He has done this enough times that I’m not surprised anymore when the waves of pleasure come over me, making my body shake uncontrollably.
I swear Zeke has raised my sex standards so high that if, for some horrible reason, I ever find myself single again, I really would never find a man to satisfy me. He has really ruined me for other men now—although, come to think of it, the moment he walked into my life, there was already no option for me revert to life as I’d known it.
From the beginning, it was always supposed to be him, this magnificent man who’s now climbing up over me while his fingers are still buried inside me.
His lips land on mine—hot, firm, and possessive. I part my lips to accept him, and he takes everything I have to offer. He tastes like lust and warm, cozy nights.
My breath grows ragged from the exertion. Zeke’s fingers are still pumping in and out of me. As much as I want to, I can’t return his kiss with the same intensity. All I can do is close my eyes and open up my body for him.
Zeke pulls away. When I look at him through foggy, lust-filled vision, I realize he’s watching me with a cocky smirk. Arrogant jerk knows he’s got me wrapped around his finger.
But I don’t care—I want him to objectify me right now, to sexualize me, to use me for his own pleasure.
He, too, is possessed by his primal, animalistic urges. The front of his sweatpants is already tenting as his cock hardens and strains against the fabric. I can see the outline clearly.
My hand moves, as if of its own volition, and touches his hard bulge. Zeke’s mouth opens, although no sound comes out. His eyebrows are furrowed.
Even though I’ve seen this expression on him hundreds of times before, it’s still the sexiest thing ever.
There’s no better aphrodisiac than knowing I’m wanted by the one man I care about. Desired.
Zeke takes his pants off, letting me grab his shaft, the skin hot and velvety. He pushes my shirt up to expose my breasts, then he puts his lips around a nipple. He starts off slowly, gently, then he bites me so hard it hurts.
I bite my lower lip to stop myself from screaming. But I push through the pain, letting it enhance the pleasure in my core from Zeke’s skillful fingers.
He watches me intensely, with eyes that don’t miss the smallest micro-expression on my face. Just as my muscles begin to tense, Zeke pulls his fingers out, making me whimper from the loss.
“What’s wrong?” Zeke asks as he takes off his shirt. “Did you want to come?”
“Yeah,” I nod, my answer ending in a half-sigh, half-moan.
“Were you just about to come?”
“Yeah.”
The room is dark, except for the table lamp on my night stand. The minimal lighting casts harsh
shadows on Zeke’s skin, making the ridges and lines of his hard chest and abs more pronounced.
“If you’re going to come, you’re going to do it with my cock buried deep inside you,” Zeke says darkly. “I want to feel your pussy grab my cock like it’s not letting go.”
I part my legs further, eager for Zeke to fulfill his promise. I can just imagine how good it would feel to have him inside me, and my pussy muscles start to clench around air. When he gets going, Zeke can really talk dirty.
“Good girl. Spread your legs for me,” Zeke says as he gets up on his knees. He pushes his cock against my opening and keeps going, inch by inch, until he bottoms out. His finger circles my clit without directly touching it, teasing me.
I moan, feeling myself open up to him, my muscles giving way to his thick cock. I’m still sensitive from having already climaxed once. And the way he's teasing me now makes me crave that high.
It felt so close before, within reach. I can almost feel it again.
I rock my hips up to meet Zeke’s thrusts.
That finger just over the hood of my clit is driving me crazy. He presses down, and a shiver runs down my spine. Zeke watches me with a mixture of lust and tenderness.
“Zeke, please,” I beg as I lift my ass off the bed, pushing myself against him.
“Please what?”
“Please make me come.”
“I love it when you beg.” Zeke continues to slide in and out of me, while his finger presses down on my pleasure button.
I grab the sheets, feeling my body heat up. A thin film of sweat forms on my skin.
“Aren’t you going to thank me in advance for making you come?” Zeke asks.
“Thank you,” I say between gasps as my muscles tense, ready for what’s to come. I’d say anything he wants at this point. “Please, Zeke…”
True to his words, Zeke doesn’t make me wait anymore. He thrusts into me again and again, grabbing my waist and pulling me against him with one hand.
He keeps a finger on my clit, pressing and rubbing until finally, I reach the peak. I grab onto the sheets as my body quivers and shakes. Zeke maintains his steady speed, as well as the steady pressure on my clit, drawing out my orgasm.
Just as I’m coming down from my climax, Zeke slams into me, his movements wild and forceful. When he bites my neck, I feel a shudder rip through my body—a third orgasm. Zeke fucks me mercilessly until finally, he comes with a growl as he empties himself deep inside me. I wrap my arms and legs around him, pulling him like I want our bodies to merge into one.
Maybe we’ve always been one, since before we even met. Maybe we’re soulmates, and we’ve loved each other many times before in our past lives.
Who knows?
After everything that we’ve gone through, I still can’t explain why we can never part, why our connection remains, despite everything.
And maybe that’s it. Maybe we’re meant to fall in love, time and time again, with each other. Day after day. Year after year.
Life’s so much better now that we’ve chosen to love each other while living together, because the only other alternative is to be apart, while still loving each other.
We’ve been through that already, and now I just want to enjoy as much time as I can with Zeke.
Together. Always.
He’s my beginning and my ending.
My A to Z.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Ali and Zeke’s story.
Click here to join Nikki’s VIP List and never miss a release!
As a member of the VIP List, you’ll be the first one to know about Nikki’s new releases, which are always priced at $0.99 for a limited time. And you’ll gain access to exclusive updates, bonus content, freebies, and giveaways.
Preview: Single Dad’s Fake Bride
Megan
My boss, Ethan Hunter, is a ruthless, heartless monster.
It’s okay, though. Justice will be served.
I’m going to put him in his place. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“Megan, my office, please,” his deep voice suddenly filters through the speaker of the phone on my desk.
I roll my eyes. It’s like he can smell it when I so much as think about him. He’s like a shark that can sense blood in the water.
As usual, his tone is authoritative. His word is law.
I, a lowly servant, must now obey.
“Yes, Mr. Hunter,” I reply through the phone.
I hate that speakerphone thing. It just goes to show how conceited and self-important he is.
We could’ve gone with a normal phone. You know, the kind that rings and lets you decide whether to pick up before the other party gets to say anything.
Instead, we have this thing that leaves me no choice as to whether I answer or not. I have to listen, and I have to listen right away. It doesn’t matter if I’m in the middle of something else.
It has interrupted me many times. I’d be typing, and then a message would come in, and my fingers would just hover over the keyboard of the computer, forgetting where I was before hearing his latest decree.
Mr. Hunter wants me to be at his beck and call, to instantly answer whenever he chooses. He’s always the only one who gets to make all the decisions.
I let out a sigh. I’d better get my ass into his office before I incite his wrath.
I knock on the door.
Even if he’s the one who has summoned me, even though he knows full well that I’m coming, knocking is still mandatory.
I know he’s my boss and I’m being paid to do his bidding. Still, it annoys me that he can demand my time and attention whenever he wants, and I have to get his permission for every little thing.
“Come in,” he says from behind the door.
I grab the handle and push the door open. I never get used to what I see in his office, because it’s so picture perfect, it’s almost unnatural.
This scene belongs on a business magazine. There’s no need for styling of the office or the man; no need for wardrobe tweaks or make-up; no need to even clear any clutter. Even the lighting from the big glass wall behind Mr. Hunter is perfect.
This space is always flooded with light, although somehow that doesn’t help make the space feel any warmer. Mr. Hunter’s office is steel and glass, cold and unyielding, black and gray.
It looks good, but it’s sterile. Soulless. It suits him, I guess.
“How can I help you, Mr. Hunter?” I ask with a smile, standing at the doorway. I can’t step further inside this office without him explicitly ordering me to do so.
Mr. Hunter’s previous assistant, who quit to be a stay-at-home mom, taught me to always address him in this formal, excessively polite way.
It suffocates me, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I just keep reminding myself that I’m not going to be here forever. I’m not really his assistant. This is just a cover—a temporary one.
“Please pick up my daughter, Penny. Her school let out early today, and I have an interview to do,” he says as he flips through the folder in his hands, not even bothering to look up at me. “Normally, I’d ask my driver to get her, but he’s on sick leave today.”
“Yes, Mr. Hunter. Should I take the cab?” I ask, suppressing the urge to yell at him about how rude he’s being.
“Yes. She goes to The Lawrence School and she needs to be picked up half an hour from now. Just bring her here, and please hurry.”
Of course she goes to the most expensive private school in the whole state. Why wouldn’t she? Only the best for little Miss Hunter. I bet she’s an insufferable brat.
Mr. Hunter finally glances at me when he slides a scrap of paper across the glass surface of his big desk. “Here’s her phone number so you can find her.”
My heart races when those steel-blue eyes land on me. They’re so piercing, so perceptive. They scare me. They make me worry he’ll look at me a second too long and figure me out.
I guess it’s a good thing he’s not a big fan of
eye contact, or much contact at all.
My heels click-clack on the reflective marble floor as I approach the desk, my heart pounding harder and harder the closer I get.
I avert my gaze, not daring to look directly at him. Maybe that makes me the rude one right now, but it feels too dangerous. I can’t blow my cover.
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Hunter.” I give him a quick smile as I take the scrap of paper.
As I turn around, I become hyper-aware that Mr. Hunter can see my ass wiggle in my tight pencil skirt as I walk away. The thought makes me quicken my pace, even though I wore it to get his attention in the first place.
But of course he’s not even looking. When I reach the door, I turn around and catch a glimpse of Mr. Hunter, his nose already buried in his folder.
A pang of disappointment ripples in my chest, and I feel stupid.
Of course he wouldn’t be checking me out. The man is a robot. Those angular facial features and sculpted body are wasted on someone like him.
Why would I want him to check my out anyway? He’s my enemy.
Megan
“Please wait here,” I say to the taxi driver as I step out onto the pavement, remembering to swing both my legs over to the side.
After seeing Britney Spears flash the paparazzi her hoo-ha, I could never forget the correct way to enter and exit a vehicle when wearing a skirt.
I wouldn’t be caught dead with such a vulgar picture of me being circulated for men to jerk off to. Not to mention, that particular guy who took the original snap must’ve made a ton of money off it.
Men are going to sexualize women. That’s just a fact. There’s no escaping it.
All I can do is make sure I stay classy. I wear conservative, office-appropriate dresses and blouse-and-skirt combos. Most of my skin is always covered, but that doesn’t mean I’m frumpy.
After all, I need to attract some male attention, just enough for me to get what I want from them.