Mr Right Now: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  “Tell me what you want.” His voice was low, harsh with desire. It made me dizzy, made me bold. “Say it.”

  His touch was making my whole world spin, there was only the feel of his skin, the touch of his fingers and lips and the way I opened up to them, only the soft wet sounds of our bodies coming together…

  “You,” I managed. “You, always you, only ever you…”

  He pulled back and flipped me onto my stomach, the cool fabric exquisite agony against my stimulated nipples. He spread my legs, one hand holding me open as the other slid up to cup my breast.

  “You ready to take my cock?” he growled against the back of my neck.

  I nodded, and then he was inside me.

  He thrust into me hard, and I shrieked, the feelings all the more intense for not being able to see him, for having to trust him, for being completely at his mercy as his strong hands held me hostage and his long hard cock slammed into my pussy, again and again, filling me up, stretching me, lighting up my nerve endings and electrifying my veins.

  With a moan I pushed my ass up against him, wanting him deeper still, and the hand on my hip stole around to stroke my wet pussy, his long fingers tweaking my clit as I clenched around his cock. As he rocked into me I let go of everything bad I felt inside, everything that had been hurting me or dragging me down for years. Grinding into his hand, feeling the steady beat of his cock, hearing his gasps of pleasure behind me, the ecstasy pushed me higher and higher, until I found myself falling over the edge.

  We came at the same time, moans wrenching through us, calling out to each other. Finally we collapsed boneless onto the bed, Hunter’s weight like a comforting blanket settling over my body as he tucked me back against him. I reached up behind me to stroke his hair, the smooth skin of his powerful shoulders.

  He pressed a soft kiss to my neck, just below my ear.

  I had never felt so much a part of another person, so connected and together, so warm. I never wanted to leave the safety of his arms.

  “I’m glad you’re here with me,” Hunter said, his words barely more than warm puffs of air against my skin. He squeezed me tight. “You make me strong.”

  I twisted around just enough to press my lips to his jaw. “You make me strong here.” I found his hand, interlaced my fingers with his. “I’m glad we’re in this together.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The expo was a whirlwind of activity, people embracing and shaking hands as they bustled between tables and booths overflowing with samples of products, jingles, and packaging. The roar of conversation dipped and fell like the waves of an ocean, and the sea of people before us seemed about to swallow us whole.

  Hunter took my hand as we stood off to the side, ran his fingers over my knuckles. He bent to murmur in my ear: “You nervous? Or excited?”

  I chuckled. “Both, honestly!”

  He nodded. “Tell me about it.”

  Unfortunately, we couldn’t spend the whole day joined at the hip. We had to let go of each other—well, of each other’s hands, anyway, and head out to mingle. We were both locked and loaded with flyers and an elevator pitch for our bourbon beer booth.

  “We got this,” I told Hunter.

  He grinned. “I know we do, babe.”

  And we headed out together to conquer the expo.

  An hour later, flushed and exhilarated, we began to make our way back to the booth to pick up more flyers. We’d been picked clean by eager expo-goers who were intrigued both by the new beverage and the fact that Hunter Knox was in the saddle again. Our pockets were bulging with the business cards from potential investors and distributors, and I’d already scheduled interviews for Hunter with three different journalists who’d expressed interest in writing articles about the company.

  And then, like a zit on the face of a supermodel, Chuck appeared on the floor of the expo, strolling through the crowd as if he owned them all, flanked by two serious-looking older men in blue European-cut suits and two women in tailored pastel dresses.

  “Ah, if it isn’t Hunter Knox and sweet little Ally Bartlett,” he greeted us, oozing insincere charm. “How nice to see you here. Holding up nicely? Not burned though all the charity yet?” He laughed like a hyena.

  “We’re fine, thank you,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “So glad we were able to work out a deal,” he said with a malicious smile. “But oh! I’m being rude! I haven’t introduced my companions.” A sweeping gesture indicated the well-dressed men and women behind him. “Still, I’m sure you recognize the Big Four. Don’t you, Hunter?”

  “I do indeed,” Hunter said, not deigning to look at Chuck. He gave a respectful nod to the others, instead, who returned it. I gave them a friendly smile, and we all exchanged handshakes.

  “I’m sure we’ll speak later, Hunter,” said one of the women, gray-haired with a regal profile that reminded me of Viola Davis. “I’m certainly interested in what you’re up to these days.”

  “Nothing much, I’m sure,” Chuck put in quickly. “Not like the exciting things you have going on.”

  The woman forced a thin smile. “Quite.”

  Interesting. They seemed to be tolerating Chuck more than anything. I wondered how quickly the tables would turn if he no longer had something they wanted…

  “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing with these fine ladies and gentlemen, Hunter,” Chuck said, his grin ever more malicious. “Well, let me put you out of your misery. These are the soon-to-be new owners of Knox Liquors.”

  Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, I suppose it’ll be in better hands than yours then.”

  One of the men stifled a chuckle.

  Chuck was thrown, but to his credit he shook it off and kept plowing forward. He’d gotten one over on us, and by God, he was going to grandstand about it, current evidence to the contrary be damned. “Without your shares we couldn’t sell,” he sneered. “But now the playing field is clear. Knox Liquors is mine to sell to the highest bidder. And so I shall.”

  He was so busy gloating, he didn’t notice the looks that crossed the faces of the four people behind him.

  “One moment,” said one of the men, balding with blue eyes. “Did you just say Hunter Knox has left the company?”

  “Yes, yes,” Chuck said impatiently, “which means that now we can move forward—”

  “But this changes everything,” the man said.

  “Agreed,” said the second woman. “With the way sales are dropping, the only reason we were considering a takeover was with Hunter’s management. He knows how to lead the business with the best interests of the company legacy in mind.”

  Chuck scoffed. “Mr. Knox’s business practices have driven the company straight into the mud.”

  The Big Four narrowed their eyes, furrowed their brows. Chuck’s face paled as he realized the implications of what he’d just said out loud to them.

  “I mean,” he backpedaled, “Not such that we can’t recover! We’re recovering as we speak! Now that he’s gone we’re moving forward stronger than ever before, and if you’ve seen the new ad campaign you’ll agree that soon enough the younger demographic will more than make up for the sales that the older customers’ve—”

  The regal woman scowled in disdain. “We’ve seen the ads. Appalling, really. Clearly a misstep, and one which we’re looking to correct if we move ahead with this plan, which seems increasingly unlikely given the…recent changes in management.”

  Her colleagues nodded in agreement.

  Chuck looked around like a drowning man searching for something to grab on to. “But—but—well, I’m sure we could work something out, I could invite Hunter back, offer him a consulting position—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hunter said. His voice was quiet, but commanding; everyone stopped and turned to him. He went on: “I have no interest in working at the same company as Chuck ever again. So I’ve left. And I’ve set up a new brand.”

  And like a stage magician, he pulled ou
t one more flyer.

  The Big Four immediately clustered around him like flies around honey.

  “Tell us more—”

  “—the stock options for early investors—”

  “—and in terms of marketing, how are you planning to account for—”

  “—flavors does it come in?”

  Hunter and I swept them away, answering their questions as we guided them towards our booth.

  We left Chuck behind, the smirk wiped off his face, gaping like a fish left stranded on the shore.

  We thought the booth had been busy before, but as we neared it now, we saw Martha’s arms windmilling in a blur, desperately trying to keep the booth stocked in the face of the mob that had descended upon her, desperate for the free samples and only slightly less interested in the business plan. People spotted us and began to push towards us, shouting to make themselves heard above the rest:

  “I run a small distributing company with good connections in the Georgia area, I can—”

  “—completely free all week if you’d like to speak about a substantial investment—”

  “—I’d like to stock this in my supermarkets, if you’ll just meet with the board—”

  Meanwhile, another mass of people couldn’t have been pried away from the table of free samples with a crowbar. I passed a journalist, caught a glimpse of some notes she’d dashed off on her tablet: bold yet earthy, full-bodied, flavorful, sweet.

  Someone else shoved a microphone into Hunter’s face: “Mr. Knox! How are you planning on staffing this new venture? Will it continue to be a one-man operation?”

  “Well, it hasn’t been a one-man operation for quite some time now,” Hunter said with a friendly grin. “In fact, you folks wouldn’t be enjoying this fine beverage today if it weren’t for the efforts of a small team, foremost among them these two ladies here.”

  He indicated Martha and me with a sweep of his arm, and Martha threw a hand on her hip and flashed a megawatt smile at the camera, probably imagining her future fame as a bourbon-beer goddess and all the pretty new boys it would bring her.

  “But to answer your question, no, this won’t remain a small operation for long. I’ve recently come into some money—” he winked at me—“that will allow me to rehire my entire team from Knox Liquors, should they wish to join me in this new venture. Nobody will be losing their job today!”

  Cheers drowned out the rest of the questions and answers, and camera flashes erupted like fireworks.

  Past the glare of one, I saw Chuck looking on in dismay, his face slowly registering the fact that he had overpaid for shares that would soon be dropping like Sherlock Holmes off the Reichenbach Falls.

  I gave him a sweet little wave and giggled, warm satisfaction filling me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

  Today was shaping up to be a perfect day.

  “Need any help finishing up?”

  “Nah, I’ve got just about the last of it.” I chucked the last box of empty bottles into the back of Hunter’s car, the Rolls that Martha loved best. “There. All set.”

  He grinned, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “Well, I do believe this calls for a celebration.” He offered me a bottle of the beer. “If you’re not sick of it yet, that is.”

  “That’s about as likely as me getting sick of you,” I shot back, and took a long, refreshing draught.

  We sat down together on the trunk of the car, passing the bottle back and forth in silence for awhile, savoring the feel of our bodies at rest against each other.

  “So,” I said finally, leaning back into his shoulder. “I’d say today was a success. What about you? Did you cross everything off your list you wanted to say and do?”

  “Almost,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “There’s just one thing I haven’t said yet. But I’m hoping to cross that off very soon.” And then he leaned into me, his lips pressed against my hair, and whispered: “I love you.”

  Time stopped. The world ceased to turn. Fireworks burst above my head, cannons roared, angels sang.

  Tears pricked in my eyes.

  “Ally?” His voice was concerned now, verging on panicked. “Ally, are you all right?”

  I leapt into his arms, twining my legs around him, cupping his face in my hands, his stubble scraping slightly against my fingers. “Oh, you beautiful, beautiful man.” His eyes were so wide and worried. I kissed each eyelid, and his nose, and his cheeks, and his lips. The tears were streaming down my face now, and I was laughing, and I was smiling, and I was happier than I could ever remember being. “I’m all right. I’m more than all right. I—oh, Hunter, I love you too!”

  Relief washed over his face and he pressed me to him, our foreheads touching as we shook with joy and the release of our long-held tension.

  “Never let me go,” I whispered against his stubbled cheek.

  “Never,” Hunter promised, his voice rough with unshed tears. “I never could. We’re a team. Always and forever.”

  I kissed the tears from his cheeks, not sure which were from me and which from him. Then I smirked a wicked smirk and dangled the half-empty bottle of bourbon beer between us.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  THE END

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  HOT BACHELOR

  by

  Katie McCoy

  Dash Hennessy is the hottest bachelor in the country, looking for love in front of an audience of millions… He just wasn’t supposed to pick ME!

  I just landed my dream summer gig: working as a production assistant on TV’s smash-hit reality show, Ever After. Two months of sun and fun at the beach? Sign me up! Until the moment I come face to face with this season’s bachelor, racing’s bad boy Dash - aka, the mysterious hottie I just hooked up with at a creepy motel off the I-80.

  Can you say, awkward?

  Dash is sexy, charming - and totally off-limits. But the chemistry between us is way too hot to ignore. He’s playing to win, and he’s got his sights set on the prize: me!

  Soon, the action is heating up off-screen. But between ratings-hungry producers, backstage drama, and twelve of the most cutthroat glamazon contestants known to womankind, I’m in way over my head. Can I find my happily-ever-after, or will it be lights, camera, heartbreak?

  The Bachelor gets a rom-com twist in Katie McCoy’s hilarious, sexy new read! AVAILABLE NOW!

  Paige

  The guy across the aisle from me was giving me the eye. You know, the eye. It was neither subtle nor appealing. All that was missing was him doing that gross gesture of wiggling his tongue between two of his fingers which no girl in their right mind considers to be a sexy, or effective, come-on. And this rando had been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes, his gaze darting between me and the bathroom, as if he thought he could convince me to join the mile-high club with him.

  Ugh. No thanks.

  “Hey.” His sleazy, faux whisper was just as unappealing as his leering gaze. I tried to ignore him, but he didn’t give up. “Hey, hey, hey. You with the red hair.”

  I sighed. Most of the time I loved my red hair. I didn’t love it when it became some sort of beacon for dudes who thought it meant that I was fiery or slutty like Lindsay Lohan. I looked over at him, hoping the only redhead I was reminding him of was Melisandre from Game of Thrones. When she was burning men at the stake.

  “Yes?” I kept my tone light and disinterested.

  “I gotta ask.” He gave me a once-over. “Do the curtains match the drapes?”

  “Wow,” I said dryly. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

  He grinned as if I had paid him a compliment. Great, he was gross and dumb.

  “You know,” he kept going. “I think the bathroom is empty if you want to, you know.” He made an obscene gesture.

  I held up
my hand, wishing I could just make it stop. Make it all stop.

  “No thanks,” I said firmly.

  His goofy expression quickly morphed into a combination of disappointment and anger.

  “Whatever, bitch,” he sneered. “Didn’t want to deal with your fire-crotch, anyways.”

  “My fire-crotch thanks you,” I told him, and turned away.

  Whoever first thought of using an airplane bathroom for sex had clearly been insane. The last place I wanted to bare my special bits to a dude was in a restroom fifty thousand feet in the air. Especially in a restroom as small and cramped as airplane bathrooms were. How did people even have sex in that tiny space? Were they just doing it against the door? That seemed like a recipe for disaster, as I imagined getting down and dirty with someone and the door swinging open in the middle of it, exposing both parties’ special bits to everyone on the airplane.

  And even if you managed to do the deed without falling into the aisle, you still had to contend with all the passengers who would be waiting in line for you to, um, finish. There was no getting out of that situation without everyone knowing exactly what you had been doing in there. Because who the hell went into an airplane bathroom with another person?

  The whole thing seemed like the worst possible sexual encounter, but apparently this flight was full of guys who thought it was the best idea ever. After getting rid of Fire-Crotch Dude, I was getting the eye from another guy a few aisles ahead. He winked at me, and this time I gave him the patented Paige Pollack brush off—the finger and a sneer. It was a carefully cultivated look that tended to keep strangers out of my way.

  Resting bitch face has nothing on my “talk to me and die” face.

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, trying to fight the nausea that was rising in my throat. It wasn’t just from those creeps, but their gross leering combined with the turbulence we had been fighting ever since we left London made me sick to my stomach.

  Not exactly the triumphant return to America I was hoping for. I’d spent the summer after graduating college with an epic trip to London, working and hanging out with my BFF, Emmy. It was a blast, but I knew I’d have to return to reality eventually—I just didn’t figure on it being reality TV. But two days ago, I got a call from my college friend turned makeup artist, Lorna, offering me a gig working as a production assistant on the reality TV show Ever After.