by Alexis Angel
“Much better, isn’t it?” he asks me; I open my mouth to respond, but no sound comes out of it. Lucky for me, he doesn’t wait for a reply. Holding me by the hips, he starts to thrust, taking his time as he builds up the rhythm. His first thrusts are soft and gentle, but the fire in his movements starts growing and growing until he’s ravaging my ass so fiercely that I’ll be walking in a funny way for the next few days. I can already imagine Becca asking me why I’m walking like that, and I know I won’t have an excuse ready in time for her; saying I fell on the bathtub won’t quite cut it.
“So… fucking… good…” I moan, my vocal chords working again. My words only make him go harder and, at the same time, he takes one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit, rubbing it as fast as he’s thrusting.
That raw violent energy starts to pool in my muscles, and they tense up like wire. My lungs strain against my ribcage, and my heart is pounding inside my chest so fiercely that it might burst sometime soon.
“Don’t stop, don’t --” I don’t even have the time to finish what I'm saying. I go down from my hands onto my elbows, and I press my forehead against the floor as a thermonuclear explosion goes off inside my brain. Every single thought in its wake is destroyed and, for a moment, I don’t even remember where I am or who I am. All I know is that what I’m feeling is so good I’ve probably died and went to heaven. Because, really, if Heaven isn’t at least half as good as the orgasm raging inside of me right now, just buy me a one-way ticket straight to hell.
He’s about to pull his cock out of me when I reach for him, curling my fingers around his wrist. “No,” I tell him, “all the way.”
I don’t need to explain it to him. Without a word, he thrusts again, this time even faster than before. His movements are completely unhinged, and I know that right now it’s all about him. I thrust back at him, matching the motion of his body, and then I feel a violent spasm taking over his cock. It pulses viciously for a second or two, and then it simply gushes a raging river of cum inside of my ass.
“Fuck,” he groans, drawling out the word as he stops moving, his cock buried all the way to the hilt. I stop moving as well, my eyes closed as I feel the spasms of his cock. We remain like that, frozen in time, for what seems like an eternity, but when he finally stops cumming and pulls his cock out of me, I’m almost saddened that it’s over.
I’m about to sit up and turn to him when he lays his forearm across my lower back. “No,” he tells me, this time his turn to take the lead. “Don’t move,” he orders me. Grabbing both my cheeks and spreading them wide, he leans into me. I moan as I realize what he’s about to do, closing my eyes as I feel his lips against my hole, cum dripping out of it and making its way to my pussy.
He licks my ass relentlessly, using both his lips and tongue to lick it dry. My mind turns into mush as he jabs at my hole with his tongue, circling it and then going in and out, and I keep on moaning as if he were still fucking me.
When he pulls back from my ass, I think that he’s done, but I’m wrong, of course. He takes his mouth to my pussy and, sucking my folds into his mouth, he licks away all the cum there. He flicks his tongue at my pussy at a furious pace, his lip holding my folds one at a time.
Slowly pulling on my pussy lips, he finally pulls back and sits up on the floor, his head thrown back as he closes his eyes. I turn to him and go on my knees; placing both my hands on his hips, I close the distance between us and kiss him, feeling the scent of his cum and my pussy blending in and turning into a maddening cocktail of sin.
“I love you, Chase…” I tell him once again, looking into his eyes and realizing that, for the first time in my life, I really know the meaning behind the word love. It’s funny, isn’t it? There are books, songs, movies and what have you about love… But no one really seems to know what it truly means to love someone. Now I do, but I can’t tell you what it’s like. You know why? Because it’s the kind of thing you have to find out by yourself.
But trust me, though the road might be bumpy, I can assure you that it’ll all be worth it in the end. At least it was for me.
“I love you too, Carla… You’re everything to me now,” he says, and I know he means it. From this moment on, I’ll be at the center of his universe, and he’ll be at the center of mine. And to think that he rode into my life like Prince Charming, on top of a horse.
I guess sometimes life can really be a fairy tale, and this is mine.
106
Epi
“Carla,” Becca says to me, putting her arms up to her waist. “You know I love ya babe, but I can’t keep doing this.”
We’re on the N train and we’ve just left the last Manhattan stop.
Where are we going?
Brooklyn, baby.
“I can’t keep going to Barclay’s Arena to see Chase with you, hun,” Becca pouts. “Not when I work for Madison Square Garden. I dunno, it feels faintly like I’m betraying them.”
I roll my eyes. I mean I work for Madison Square Garden too!
“Besides, you know I had a date tonight. Next time you need to go to Brooklyn and you don’t wanna go by yourself, can you like take Ashley or something?”
I sigh. She’s got a point. I’ve been taking Becca a bit too many times to go see Chase for his rodeo at Barclay’s Arena.
But who knew it would be such a hit? That New Yorkers would embrace the rodeo the same way they embrace their thin crust pizza, their Pabst Blue Ribbon, and their buffalo wings?
Not me. I’m still a city girl, despite whatever you want to say. Sure, I’m riding a cowboy. But there’s hope for Chase yet.
“Well, Ashley is always so busy doing that whole fashion thing at Blush,” I tell Becca. “Natalie has her St. Albans press secretary job. Alicia is getting married soon. Christine has school like always. Lisa - who knows what her and Diesel are up to, probably robbing a Polo store or something.
Becca sighs.
“That just leaves you and me for now, babe,” I finish with a smile. But then I feel bad. I mean, it wasn’t long ago that I was complaining about the lack of men in New York. I try to empathize. “Hows it with this guy anyways?”
Becca shrugs. “I think he’s good. I mean it’s been a solid month we’ve been going out. And I think he’s not as busy now that he’s working at Carter Jeffries, but you know those investment bankers.”
I roll my eyes. Do I ever. I’m so glad that my man isn’t a banker. That his money comes from something real. Not figures on a spreadsheet.
“Plus I start this assignment soon going to Connecticut. So I think I’m going to be a lot more busy.”
Becca has a far off look in her eyes and I wonder what she’s thinking.
“You okay, babe?” I ask, not sure about whether she’s happy or sad.
She nods. “I’m fine,” she says. “I’m happy for you. But I wonder when I’m gonna find me a cowboy.”
“Grady?” I ask, referring to her recent guy. “He’s not hitting the spots?”
“He’s everything you think a banker would be,” she says to me. “And life is good.”
“But?” I ask, knowing that’s not the end of it.
“It’s just so…boring,” she tells me. “I’m just so bored.”
I nod. Becca has seen a lot. She’s done a lot. I can imagine that she’d be bored.
“But enough about me,” she says to me and her smile comes back. “Are you excited about tonight?”
I nod my head and smile. “Chase and I are looking at apartments tomorrow,” I tell her. “He wants to look at Brooklyn Heights or Park Slope.”
“Oh God,” Becca winces. “So not only do you have a man that’s Mr. Brooklyn for work, but now you gotta live there too?”
Oh my God.
“Brooklyn is awesome, babe,” I tell Becca.
“Carla Roman, you are a total Manhattan slut. How are you going to do Park Slope?” Becca asks me. “That’s too much of a settling down for you.”
“Well,” I tell Becca. “We�
��re actually looking for an apartment that we can settle down in, babe.”
Becca bugs her eyes out at me. “Settle down?” she asks me. “Like you mean, for good?”
At the back of brain, I bet Becca didn’t think Chase and I would last. I mean, he’s a cowboy. He goes places. On a horse.
But he’s actually so much more than that. So kind. So gentle. So…big.
“We love each other,” I say, and smile. “We want to spend our lives together.”
Becca stares at me for a moment. “I mean, I guess I could visit you in Brooklyn, if cabs take me or whatever.”
I smile and get an overwhelming desire to hug my friend.
“We can go to Barcade and have coffee beers and play Pac Man,” I tell Becca. “And we can go to Carrol Gardens and Williamsburg and have pizza at…”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re just gonna have lots of sex for like so long and then you guys are gonna spit out some rugrats and push strollers around Park Slope,” Becca says to me.
“But Chase will still have a cowboy hat,” I say with a smile.
Becca smiles at me. “He will. That’s for sure.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. I know what we’re thinking. Chase has become a large part of my life. I still love Becca. I still love my friends. We will still hang out. But a large part of my life has changed.
Forever.
It’s nothing to be sad over. It’s the way life goes.
I’ve met my lobster. My hero. My best friend. My lover.
And I couldn’t be happier.
;)
Description
Careful, Mr. Bad Boy Prince. I may look sweet and cute. But this lil’ slip of a girl can bring the Devil to his knees…
I mean, sure, I like kitties! And I <3 wearing pink!
But that doesn’t mean that Connor D’Avington, the infamous prince of pleasure, is gonna sweep me off my feet like he does to all those other girls around the world who swoon over him.
I’m rolling my eyes when he’s taking off his shirt and showing me those 8-pack abs, rippling muscles, and amazing pecs.
Been there, done that…
I’m yawning when he’s showing me those 12 inches of…OMG! I didn’t even think they could be that big!
Right. Not yawning now.
Now he’s telling me he wants me to come with him.
I mean, just once? Shouldn't it be at least three or four times?
With as big as it is, that rocket should for sure shoot me into orbit, I think.
All I can say is…I’m all ready for blast off! ;)
*** It’s the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Prince in this third installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sexy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happy Ending? Always, babe ***
107
Connor
I gulp the 200-year-old aged whiskey and wonder to myself just how much of an asshole the people at JFK have to think I am.
I'm coming back to New York City from St. Albans and I need to land now.
But the problem is that I recently got a larger fucking plane to fly around in. Gift from my brother, Silas.
But that plane isn't going to be able to land at any of the available private airports in and around New York City.
That's right, love. It's too big to land at Peterborough. And it can't land anywhere in New Jersey.
Which means, it's going to need a commercial fucking airport.
Which means with diplomatic immunity that's afforded to me as Prince of St. Albans and as a member of the Royal Family, I am totally within my fucking rights to tell the fuckers at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey that manages JFK to clear a fucking runway.
There's only one problem.
"They're working sir, but they have a problem clearing the runway and it's going to take at least another two hours," my manservant Jacques is telling me. "They request we carry on a holding pattern till then. Keep ourselves entertained."
Jacques says the last bit with a fucking smile. He knows what I like to do on planes. I usually drink a whole fucking lot and have sex with as many fucking women as possible.
But I didn't bring any fucking women with me this time. It was primarily a state visit with my brother, the King.
I was actually surprised that I was summoned from New York.
"Connor," he said, walking with me down the royal gardens. "Six months ago after the incident where you got caught fucking the stripper, Dad thought it was best to send you to be the kingdom's representative to the UN. With the Constitutionalist party gaining traction, we need you now more than ever" Silas said to me. I nodded. I don't know he's so worried about the Constitutionalist party … I think it will die off. But he was right about the stripper. That's what had happened all right.
I got an apartment once I got to the city in Turtle Bay, overlooking the East River. And I brought the party and a whole new level of fucking debauchery to Midtown East.
"But the hope was that you'd learn your lesson and dry out," Silas says. "It turns out, you've only grown wilder."
The two of us shared a chuckle and then Silas told me that Mom and Dad were watching. Like any good brother who just became King, he was watching out for his younger brother the Prince.
And I mean, Silas had had his wild moments in the past.
Same as I'm doing now.
"Your Highness?" Jacques asks me. "Should I tell JFK we'll be okay?"
See, now this here is the problem, love.
You see, I am 6' 3" of blonde haired, blue-eyed, perfectly chiseled European royalty from the last remaining monarchy in Northern Europe. I have an 8-pack set of abs and a ripped body with muscles that literally ripple. A cock that’s 12 fucking inches and dangling from my legs. Why the fuck do you not look surprised at that?
Well, you know what will surprise you? When I pull out this bad boy from my pants and you see how thick and wide it is. About as thick as those Coke cans you Americans like drinking from.
World famous artists have tattooed on my body and my ink is a fucking masterpiece. The Museum of Modern Art wanted me to pose still as an exhibit once, and I agreed, but a fucking hottie came over and tried to get me to stop being like one of those robots and she began to stick her hand down my pants.
Let's just say the fucking robot didn't last. And the invite from the Met was declined after patrons began to watch the redhead and I start to fuck.
But with all of that, I still try to do right. And I remember Silas' words.
Be more responsible.
The problem is, I have a meeting in an hour.
With a PR firm, of all people.
You want to guess what they're being hired for?
Yup, you guessed it. To clean up my fucking image.
So, some fucking desk jockey who never got a chance to be a fucking pilot and wants to exercise his fucking power wants to keep me up in the fucking air, that's fine.
This prince does shit different.
"Where are you going?" Jacques asks me as I start running to the aft compartment of the 747. "Your Highness, it's only 2 hours. You really don't have--"
"Jacques, tell JFK that you'll land whenever they tell you that you can, but that the Prince is not going to be on board," I tell Jacques as I take off my shirt and my pants.
Yeah, love, I know what you're staring at.
Let's pause for a moment while you stare at my cock.
Here, I'll even grab it's thick shaft through my boxer briefs and give it a nice little tug for you, yeah? That's 12 inches of man meat. 12 inches of pussy pleasing power. Lust muscle. Fuck stick. Ready for the next victim.
Twelve fucking inches. But we'll talk more about this later, because I need to put on my flight suit.
"I really hope you would reconsider, sire," Jacques says to me once I zip up the suit.
Fuck that.
"I'll see you at the condo," I say with a thumbs up.
"If you survive," Jacques says with a droll voice. Don't ro
ll your eyes at him, love. He's been with me since I've been a wee boy.
"Open it," I order and Jacques latches onto a harness in the compartment to prevent getting carried away and pushes a button.
The aft compartment opens up and I shoot out into the fucking sky.
That's right. I shoot into the sky.
I have the destination coordinates for where I need to go near the UN plugged into my wrist tracker and it shows me the bearings I need to get to from where I am. I begin making course corrections, all the while trying to keep the fear of seeing the ground getting closer and closer from overwhelming me. My heart's racing at 2,000 beats a minute and I know that with one wrong move, I would just be the former Prince, having to be scraped up off the sidewalk. The tabloids would talk about how the Prince of the Party lived hard, and definitely died hard.
My wrist indicator starts beeping and flashing red. I'm too far off course! I begin to panic. If I don't correct myself in time, the parachute won't open properly. I focus. The ground keeps coming closer and closer.
Just when I seem ready to consign myself to death, I manage to hit a jet stream and am able to angle my body to move just right. I glide several yards north and change my trajectory so that I'm spot on. My wrist indicator goes from red to green.
Time to deploy the chute.
I tug at the drawstring and the chute pops out. But in my struggle to get the proper bearings, I had waited too long. This is going to be a rough landing.
108
Natalie
"He's a very important client for our firm," Lisa tells me. She has one manicured hand on her hip and the other cradling a paper cup of hot coffee. She removes the lid and blows on the steam.
"Why does the barista insist on making it so darn hot?" she asks, momentarily distracted.
I know why Lisa's giving me this talk. She's a veteran PR manager and has been at the Gage Price firm for over a decade now. She knows I'm young, fresh out of college, and she thinks my age and inexperience is a liability. But I know what I need to do, and I'm not going to mess this up. I'm motivated. If I play my cards right with this client, I know I'll be up for a promotion.