Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Daisy

  “Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Echo,” I said to the doorman. He frowned at me, pompous and silly with a twirly moustache and pill box hat.

  “Name?” he barked.

  “Daisy Smith,” I said quietly, looking down. I didn’t have any fight in me anymore, my capitulation to Tristan had been so complete, so overwhelming, that I was a limp rag now. I’d let Mr. Marks use me like a fuck doll and loved every moment of it.

  But today, I was in the foyer of Harvey Echo’s building. Our acquaintance had been random, our paths crossing during an open party he’d thrown in his penthouse.

  “Come on!” some girls from school had giggled. “It’ll be fun, there’ll be so many hot people.”

  And my curiosity was piqued because Harvey Echo is notorious as the founder of PrettyGirl magazine, a skin mag famed for its no-holds-barred poses. In the pages, women are giving it up every which way, the camera revealing glistening flesh, creamy spills, and sultry smiles all around. So yeah, we were expecting strippers, hos prancing around in platform heels, shaking their booties.

  But the party was curiously tame. Not that there weren’t plenty of hot women, just that no one was in a hooker get-up. Instead, we all cuddled together in a screening room to watch a movie and munch on popcorn, dozens of women in tiny cocktail dresses with old Harvey in a robe.

  And the geezer took a shine to me. After the movie ended, he came over to meet our little gaggle of girls, shaking our hands like an old-fashioned gentleman.

  “And you are?” he asked courteously.

  “Daisy Smith,” I responded, shooting him a wide smile, tossing a lock of hair over my shoulder. And believe it or not, we started talking about public interest law of all things. Turns out Mr. Echo got a law degree decades ago although he never used it, instead choosing to found the PrettyGirl empire. But he kept up with the bar, did some professional reading on occasion and was totally familiar with Legal Aid.

  “Which division do you volunteer with?” he asked, taking a whiff from an old-fashioned pipe.

  “Consumer debt,” I replied, biting my lip. It was already amazing that I was in Mr. Echo’s penthouse, much less having a conversation with the seventy year-old porn legend himself. “I mostly help old folks manage their finances. Sometimes they’re in big trouble.”

  And Mr. Echo threw his head back, laughing heartily then.

  “Maybe you could help me one of these days,” he said drolly, pulling at his greying beard. “I’m a member of the AARP, just turned seventy-two last May. You got any tips for me?”

  And I blushed.

  “Mr. Echo, you’re the head of an empire, you don’t need my help. The folks I work with, they’re in really bad financial shape, like really, really bad.”

  And in front of the other girls, he took my hand and kissed it with a flourish, wizened lips dry against my skin.

  “You let me know if I can assist in any way,” he said expansively. “The world has been good to me and I can afford to give back,” he added with a wink.

  And I’d be a dunce if I didn’t follow up with Mr. Echo, he was a magnate with deep pockets and powerful connections. The man would be able to contribute to Legal Aid in some way, if only through a donation.

  So we kept in touch, chatting once in a while, and over the course of a year he’s become a mentor of sorts. I know, it’s crazy right? Daisy Smith, college freshman, and Harvey Echo, legendary porn producer, best buddies. Except that it wasn’t so weird because we have a similar outlook on life that’s made for a real connection. And old dude’s never been a lech, he’s always been courteous, more like a father than anything. So yeah, I came to find Harvey when I was in the depths of despair.

  “Come in,” gestured Mr. Echo. “Come in, come in.”

  I tiptoed into the drawing room. Harvey lives in the penthouse apartment at the Time Warner Center and the room overlooked Central Park, its gracious lawns bordered by towering oaks, silvery statues gleaming in the afternoon light.

  “Wow,” I whispered. I’d never get used to this view, it was so magnificent. But my heart was heavy and serious matters were in the air.

  “Come my girl,” welcomed Harvey. “What brings you here today?”

  “Well, I have something on my mind that I thought only you would understand,” I began slowly.

  “Only me?” echoed Harvey, eyebrows raised. “My, my, sounds juicy, I can’t wait,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  And I launched into the story, slow at first but then picking up speed.

  “And Tristan and I … we slept together,” I concluded, choking a little. “Are still sleeping together,” I amended.

  Harvey said nothing at first, merely looking at me with appraising eyes, pale blue and cloudy with cataracts.

  “Let me get this straight,” he paused for a moment. “You’re fucking Tristan Marks, head of Marks Holdings, who also happens to be your guardian?”

  And I nodded miserably.

  “Not exactly my guardian anymore,” I hesitated. “I aged out once I turned eighteen, but it’s wrong still because my mom asked him to take care of me. Don’t you think it’s wrong?” I asked plaintively.

  A loaded silence.

  “I dunno,” Harvey shrugged noncommittally. “Sounds like you’re having a good time, doesn’t sound so wrong to me.”

  I was outraged, cheeks flushing pink, mouth hanging open.

  “But, but …” I stammered.

  “Hey, I’m the Czar of Porn,” the old man stated drolly, stroking his grey beard. “If two people are having fun and both are legal, I’m all for it.”

  “But, but …,” I sputtered. This would never do. I needed to present myself like a real attorney, to advocate for my point of view. “I realize there’s nothing illegal. But still, don’t you think this is fucked up? I mean, he only wants me back now because it’s gonna help his business,” I spat the words. “Because it’ll make him money.”

  Harvey leaned back in his chaise lounge.

  “You think money’s bad?” he asked neutrally.

  “No, I don’t!” I protested. “But I hate the fact that Tristan’s only decided to come back because he sold off some assets, so he doesn’t need to act the family man anymore. It’s fucking fucked up!” I raged. “It’s not fair! Our relationship shouldn’t depend on business!”

  And Harvey nodded his head, thinking for a moment.

  “Baby what do you think I do for a living?” he said, leaning back once more, relaxed in those striped pajamas.

  “You’re the publisher of PrettyGirl,” I huffed impatiently. “Everyone knows that. This is your company, you’ve been in charge for fifty years.”

  “That’s right,” nodded the old man sagely. “And you came to one of my pajama parties, you’ve met my girlfriends, plural. You think business doesn’t mix with pleasure?”

  “Well, of course it does,” I protested. “But you’re you! I mean, you’re Harvey Echo, everyone knows what you do. You’re a porn legend, you’ve been doing this for years! Tristan should know better.”

  Harvey just shook his head, taking another puff of his pipe.

  “You young’uns are all the same,” he said drolly. “All the same, believing everything you see.”

  “What,” I fumed. “Is this penthouse just a lie? Your girlfriends are just a lie? The pajama parties filled with cute girls a mirage?”

  Surprisingly, Harvey nodded.

  “It’s an image,” he said smoothly. “I keep up an image, just like Tristan Marks, to help my business. You think a seventy-two year old geezer can keep up with three young blondes? You think I’m really doing girl after girl, night after night? Hell no, I’ve got arthritis, and frankly Mr. Happy just isn’t that interested anymore. So yeah, I mix business with pleasure.”

  I stopped for a moment. So there was a mirage out there. Harvey had a public image that was totally different from his private.

  “But you don’t let it impact
your private life, do you?” I asked slowly. “Tell me you don’t, Harvey.”

  The old man took a deep breath, eyes faraway before turning back to me.

  “The fact is honey, it has,” he said brusquely. “This shit gets to you and I can’t maintain a normal relationship. Haven’t had one since I was thirty-five, so yeah, what you’re asking is a complicated question. You don’t want Tristan to be motivated by his business, but when you’ve grown a company for years, it becomes a part of you. You can no more separate the man from his baby than you could ask him to tear his own heart out.”

  That frazzled me.

  “But what do I do?” I asked in an urgent voice. “What do I do? He only wants me because it’s good for his business now.”

  And there, Harvey interrupted.

  “I dunno if it’s only good for his business,” he said wryly. “Sounds like there’s a lot more to this than business, a helluva lot more. So why don’t you ask him? Why don’t you get him to tell you what this is all about.”

  And I flushed, remembering how Tristan had called me to his office. The big man had been trying to have a real conversation with me, to tell me what was in his heart, but I’d brushed it off with a light laugh, a wave of my hand, seducing him with my body instead. So I hung my head.

  “Maybe I will,” I said in a low voice. “Maybe I will.”

  And suddenly, my heart cracked open just a little, and I knew what I wanted. Despite my reservations, despite my mixed feelings, I did want to be with Tristan. The big man meant the world to me, he was my universe, my Daddy, and I had to have this conversation, however painful.

  “Thanks Harvey,” I said with a kiss to the old man’s wizened cheek. “Thanks so much, you’ve opened my eyes.” And as I rushed to the door, stumbling on the way to the elevator, all I heard were the old man’s chuckles ringing in my ears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Daisy

  I stood with Tristan in the shower, pressing my curves against him. Mr. Marks was gorgeous and it was hard to focus as he shampooed my hair, massaging my scalp, rinsing the suds gently, making sure that no soap got in my eyes.

  “Oh Daddy,” I moaned, luxuriating in his gentle touch, the big hands skimming my curves, pausing to squeeze a breast, play with the nipple before moving lower to caress my waist, my hip, dip into the vee between my thighs.

  “Yes, little girl,” he rumbled against my ear, kneeling down and parting my legs, leaning forward to taste the nectar there, letting my cream run down his throat. “Yes.”

  But I forced myself to focus.

  “Daddy,” I said hesitantly. “I want you to know that I’ve forgiven you.”

  His eyes snapped open then, looking up at me through the spray, dark blue and dangerous. But his voice was deceptively mild.

  “Forgiven?” he rumbled, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize you were mad.”

  And I laughed hesitantly then.

  “Well, I have been avoiding you emotionally, a little bit,” I admitted. “But I’m through with that now.”

  “Mm-hmm,” the big man ground out, vibrating his lips against my clit. “And what’s changed?”

  I sighed, trying my best to stay focused even as he worked my sensitive nub, kissed my cunt.

  “I’ve realized that there are no Prince Charmings,” I gasped between breathy sighs. “I’ve realized there’s only you.”

  Tristan paused again, crouched between my legs, one finger still lightly trailing through the pink folds.

  “What do you mean, no Prince Charmings?” he asked. “I thought I was your Prince Charming.”

  “You are, you are,” I sighed, sitting down on the shower seat and pulling up my knees so that my pussy and ass were bared to him, the pink flesh steaming and wet, my little brown pucker winking. And like a man mesmerized, Tristan knelt before me, taking his dick in hand and running the tip through my folds, lubing me up with a trail of pre-cum. “But I’m not mad at you anymore,” I gasped as he pushed in, cock immediately bottoming out, ten inches straight up my inner channel, making me writhe with ecstasy.

  “So what does this mean?” he asked, stroking deeply in me, pulling in and out, massaging my inner channel.

  And I paused for a moment, putting my hands on his shoulders, both of us stilling.

  “What it means is that I get it,” I panted. “You had me in the closet for a while because the time wasn’t right. You had to get everything sorted out before we could go public with our relationship.”

  Tristan looked deeply in my eyes, cock still buried in my snatch.

  “But I told you all this before, from when we met in your apartment,” he growled. “What made you come around?”

  “Well I had a talk with my mentor and let’s just say he made me see the light. Life isn’t that simple, timing is everything and there are many types of happily ever afters,” I murmured, suddenly shy, cheeks growing red. “You are my Prince Charming, you’re my everything … and I’m not afraid to say it,” I panted slightly.

  But Tristan wasn’t completely convinced yet.

  “And who is this mentor, may I ask?” he growled into my ear, hips jerking reflexively, twitching inside me, making me moan. “Who is this dude I owe my life to?” he demanded.

  I flushed, it seemed so wrong to say another man’s name when Tristan was literally in me, my pussy wrapped snugly around his cock. But I figured it wouldn’t matter, that this wasn’t the time to hold back. We were on a roll in terms of baring our souls and besides, Harvey Echo was an old man, he’d never be competition for my alpha male.

  “It’s Harvey Echo,” I panted breathlessly, wriggling my hips slightly, trying to get Tristan to start stroking again. I loved him so much in my pussy, desperately needed to be fucked, to feel that delicious friction working my little cunt. “You know, the publishing magnate?”

  And at that, Tristan pulled out completely, leaving my kitty empty, shockingly hollow, a void opening at my core.

  “Harvey Echo?” he repeated disbelieving. “You know that we’re in the same business right Daisy?” he asked, seizing my shoulders, shaking me a little. “You know we’re competitors, that I’m buying his mag PrettyGirl. Don’t tell me he’s your buddy, that you’ve been confiding in him, telling him about our sex life.”

  My hand flew to my mouth.

  “I knew you were in the same industry Mr. Marks but I didn’t know that you were buying PrettyGirl! Oh god, I hope I didn’t screw things up,” I gasped, eyes wide.

  Tristan’s eyes grew dark, menacing even, dragging my butt rudely to the edge of the shower seat so that I was perched precariously, pushing my knees up, forcing my hips forward.

  “You, my silly girl, have been very, very foolish, and for that Daddy’s going to punish you,” he growled, his big hands gripping my thighs. And without any further ado, he pushed his cock deep into my ass, doing the anal drill, making me twitch.

  “Oh!” I squealed. “Oh oh oh!”

  Tristan just hissed in my ear.

  “You’ve been a very bad girl, Daisy, and Daddy’s not over it, not by a long shot,” he husked, pulling my ass on him tight, the hot meat buried deep up my backside, my hole violated. “But this is our first move towards working it out because you’re gonna make it up to me,” he hissed, cock making me tremble, burn, and writhe in ecstasy.

  And I screamed then, both in ecstasy and agony. What was he talking about?

  “You’re gonna make it up to me,” he rasped, biting the side of my neck as his dick rammed up my backside. “You’ve been talking to the competitor, spilling the beans, and you’re gonna make it up to me.”

  And at that moment, I was ready to give it my all.

  “Yes Daddy,” I cried out, writhing, impaled on his stiff shaft, bolts of lightning shooting through my cunt. “Yes Daddy, I’ll make it up to you, use me however you want.”

  And with that, Tristan grunted, spurting reams of white deep inside.

  “Baby, what I want is …,” he rasped.

/>   But I couldn’t hear because the orgasm tearing through me was so vivid and strong that his voice was drowned out. And I screamed my ecstasy.

  “Tristan, I love you!” I shrieked, lifting my mouth to the man, sealing him with my kiss, begging him to forgive me. And the big man took my everything, my little body, my voice, my ass, everything that was on show was his. But even those that weren’t, namely my heart, belonged to him as well. And as we came down from heaven, he stroked my back soothingly, helping me relax as the muscle spasms subsided.

  “Fuck you,” he rumbled in my ear. “Fuck you, Daisy Smith.”

  And I smiled lazily, languorously against his shoulder.

  “By all means,” I teased, out of breath. “You want to tell me how I make it up to you?”

  He held me tight, cock still embedded in my backside.

  “I just can’t believe this has happened,” he growled, shaking his head.

  “What, that I’ve fallen in love with you? And by the way, you haven’t said it back,” I mewled gently, lips in a teasing pout.

  And the big man grabbed my shoulders then, holding my small frame close.

  “Honey, it’s not that,” he choked out. “Well, it is, what I mean is …” His voice trailed off. But I was a brave woman now, I was changed, and had enough for both of us.

  “That you love me too?” I said with a gentle smile, stroking that strong jaw. “That you love me?”

  And mutely, Tristan put his head on my breast, resting against the soft flesh.

  “Daisy Smith, I don’t know what that old geezer said to you, but whatever he said, he deserves a reward,” he choked out once more. “Because yes, I love you, I love you so much and I’m so sorry about everything that happened. I know how it looks, that I only wanted you once it was okay for my business, but that’s not true,” he said fiercely.

  “It’s not?” I asked eyebrows raised.

  “It’s not,” he confirmed roughly. “I’ve always wanted you, I just couldn’t take it public until the time was right. I’m sorry honey, I’m a businessman through and through, and my baby is this business,” he choked out once more. “I founded Marks Holdings when I was twenty-one, I’ve grown it from a seedling. I can’t throw it all down the toilet in one fell swoop.”