First Comes Love: A Billionaires, Brides, and Babies Romance

by Alexis Angel

  I’m about to show her exactly what being neighborly means—and it’ll be a night she’ll never forget.

  Five

  Naomi

  He drags me away from the fancy hotel and back to the limousine.

  The man’s got some confidence to do a thing like that, but I’m not about to argue. Something about the look on his face and the blaze in his eyes tells me that he’s not a man to argue with.

  I find myself submitting under the pressure of this moment. Besides, I want to be with him in all ways, especially this—especially what I know is coming.

  I trust him, though I don’t know why.

  Maybe it’s the way he handles me so roughly—and yet there’s a tenderness there, too. Maybe it’s because I’ve been secretly obsessed for so long.

  He’s in control, and I’ve never had a man be like that with me before. It’s something I’ve been craving in the dark recesses of my soul, but I haven’t even been able to admit that to myself…until now.

  With him, my deepest desires threaten to come to the surface, and I think I might be game.

  And yet, his touch, his force—as thrilling as it all is, he causes a steady stream of nerves to run through my body.

  “Come on, baby,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist.

  Gravity gives way to his touch, and I feel like I’m falling into an ocean of need, an abyss of temptation and entrancement—and I never wanna come out. I want him to touch me all the time, to talk to me all the time, and to ravage me in any way he sees fit.

  “I want you, Naomi. And tonight you’ll be mine. Understand?”

  Oh, fuck, yes, I understand. I’m dying to quiver underneath his capable hands. I’m dying to feel and to taste that large cock of his that I can see is straining against his pants.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask. And then I joke to lighten the mood, “Your place or mine?”

  “Mine,” he growls, and the gravelly sound of his voice sends shivers down my spine.

  I feel myself getting wetter by the second.

  Paul gets me into the limousine and instructs the driver to go fast.

  The entire ride, my heart is beating hard against my chest, and I wonder if he can tell how fucking nervous I am. His commanding presence makes me feel weak, and I ask him for another bourbon to try to gain some liquid courage.

  He pours me some in a crystal glass, and I take it down in one gulp, thankful that the liquid burns my throat and does something to offset my focus on him.

  He’s my dream guy, and this is my fantasy come true—and yet I can’t help but feel like my world is about to shatter into a million pieces.

  We get to his place, and I feel…not ready.

  I take his hand and allow him to lead me into his building. I look at The Bradford and think how my home is close, and I’ll be okay. I can handle this. He’s just a guy, after all.

  He goes to a private elevator in the building, and once we get inside, his fingers are snaking through my hair, and he’s pulling me in for a kiss. He tastes and smells like bourbon and earthy sandalwood…a masculine scent all his own that I find myself becoming addicted to.

  He tugs the hair at the nape of my neck, forcing my mouth to meet his own. And he kisses me there in the elevator. I feel like all the parts of me that have been fragmented are falling into place.

  I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  This man is the one.

  Is it crazy to say that? I just know. It’s a feeling.

  He’s the guy I’ve been dreaming about all these years—and it’s finally coming to fruition. A dull ache of desire forms inside of me as I realize what I’m in for.

  “This is me,” he says as the elevator doors open to reveal his extremely nice place.

  I walk in and try to take measure of it, but before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling me towards the double doors that lead to his bedroom.

  The master suite is bigger than my entire apartment. It’s all grays and blacks, luxe and chic and manly.

  He throws me down on the bed and makes good on his promise.

  “Let’s get this dress off you,” he says, and he begins to tear the fabric away.

  “Not my Valentino!” I find myself objecting.

  “Fuck the Valentino,” he says in a measured tone. “You better be focused only on me.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I say automatically, and I don’t even know why I say it—except that it seems like the correct way to address his commanding presence.

  “Good girl, Naomi. You already know how to play the game.”

  Game? Wait a minute, is this a game to him?

  Because it’s not to me. I like this guy…a lot. I think I could maybe love him one day.

  I’m suddenly afraid that this is all one-sided. Unrequited love and all that.

  Before I have time to ruminate any further, he’s pulling me towards the edge of the bed, sliding my legs open. I feel utterly exposed, and yet I’m craving him to consume me, to fill me up with his darkness.

  He kisses my inner thighs lightly, and then I feel it: his tongue probing along my heat, forcing my clit out of hiding.

  I breathe deeply and try to keep up with what he’s doing down there, but the spasms begin all too quickly, and soon I find myself in another world.

  “No, Paul, fuck, it’s too soon,” I say, pulling at his hair.

  Like I said, my world just shatters, and it’s so fucking worth it. Game or no game, this moment is mine.

  “Yes, baby. You came so quickly like a nice little fucking slut.”

  His words turn me on more than I care to admit, and I find myself giving in to him in every way.

  I watch him take a step back, and then to my delight, I see him slipping out of his pants and there’s that beautiful, huge fucking cock that I crave.

  He strokes it and looks at me, spread out on the bed.

  “Like what you see, baby?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, licking my lips.

  I watch him, not daring to move a muscle. I can’t believe this man—the guy I’ve been window-stalking for the past couple weeks—is here doing this to me, doing this for me.

  I’ve never been so turned on in my life. A flush of hot desire spreads across my body, and there’s only one way to cool down: him.

  But then instead of entering me, instead of climbing on top and sinking his thick muscle deep into my soaking pussy, he does the unexpected.

  He turns to a panel in the wall and opens a secret door. It’s lit perfectly, and I see all manner of…toys.

  He has a glow in his eyes as he checks my reaction. There are whips and chains, handcuffs and blindfolds, and things that I’ve never seen before...like clamps and stuff.

  “Shall we get started?”

  My senses are heightened, on high-alert. I’m not sure if this is right or wrong or somewhere in between. The only thing I do know is that there’s this fierce arousal threatening to overtake me if I don’t get him between my legs soon.

  Do you ever think you’ll just explode from the feeling?

  I’ll do anything to be his—even this.

  I had highly underestimated Paul. I figured he was just your average tall, smoking hot hunk…but this? Looking at the closet, I shudder to think what might happen to me under his control, but I invite the feeling willingly.

  I don’t know what he’s planning, and I don’t know how I’ll feel later, but the thing is: I inexplicably trust him, like I’ve never trusted anyone before.

  Weird, right?

  In this moment, it feels like he’s always existed in my heart somewhere.

  And in this moment, I can choose—to run away and to never see him again, or to give into the passion and desire and to let him do what he wants with my body, mind, and soul.

  I bravely choose the latter.

  I choose to confront this raging fire that burns so bright for him.

  I’ll walk through the flames and become a fucking phoenix, free at last.

 
; He’s my undoing and my rebirth all at the same time.

  I close my eyes and wait for it to begin.

  Alexis and WineBar #9

  It was the most amazing of times.

  But scary at the same time.

  WineBar had two bars in Miami. He traveled there every other week.

  When he was in town, he fucked me like it was the first time he met me.

  But when he was gone, I tried to find ways to distract myself.

  I went to the spa. I spent time with my parents. I babysat for my aunt.

  But there was a hole in my heart.

  And no amount of FaceTime was able to fill it.

  It got worse the closer we got.

  He missed my friends’ birthdays where we were invited as a couple.

  He missed my book launch parties.

  He missed the time Victoria’s Secret had a Memorial Day sale.

  So I sat him down when he was in town.

  I told him I couldn’t do this long distance thing if he didn’t find a place to settle down. But he couldn’t phone in a relationship from Miami.

  He looked at me and told me he’d have a solution in a few days.

  He loved me.

  It was on his face. In his words.

  And now it would be in his actions.

  Samantha & Brad

  One

  Samantha

  “Jesus, Sam. You look like you slaughtered a whole army by yourself.”

  “I’ll take as a compliment,” I sigh as I take off my disposable gloves, both of them covered in fresh blood. I throw them into the bin and then I take off my surgical cap and shake my head, freeing my hair and allowing it to cascade down my shoulders.

  I look down at my scrubs—blood stains everywhere—and sigh again. Another perfectly good uniform ruined. It’s the second this month.

  Oh, well, nobody said that being a surgeon would be easy.

  “How did it go?” Mary asks me, leaning against the room door and cocking one eyebrow at me. “You kicked ass, right?”

  “Damn right I did,” I reply, finally allowing a smile to creep up on my lips. Being a surgeon is demanding—I’ve been at work for close to fourteen hours now—but it’s all worth it when, at the end of the day, you know you made a difference in someone’s life.

  “That’s my girl!” Mary squeals, holding her hand up in the air. I high-five her, run one hand through my hair, and glance at my wristwatch. It’s ten p.m. already, which means my shift ended about two hours ago.

  “What do you say we grab a drink and celebrate?” Mary asks me.

  “I don’t know if it’s fitting to celebrate an open-hearted surgical procedure over drinks,” I tell her, praying to God that she doesn’t go on another one of her tirades: Oh, Sam, live it up—you’re twenty-eight, no boyfriend, you don’t drink, you don’t party, yada yada.

  “So, just calling it a day, huh?”

  “That’s right,” I nod, every single muscle in my body aching. Sweet mercy, I think I could just lean against the wall and fall asleep right here.

  “Right, fair enough. But if you change your mind, me and some of the staff will meet at The Ensemble for drinks.”

  “Gotcha,” I tell her before I march straight into the locker rooms.

  That went well—usually, Mary doesn’t give up this easily. I guess she’s growing tired of having to drag me everywhere.

  Well, goes both ways. I’m also tired of having Mary egging me all the time, trying to have me go on dates and whatnot. Sure, I don’t have a man in my life…but it’s not like I need one.

  Look, I’m not a bore, alright? I’m just driven. Being a cardiac surgeon at twenty-eight isn’t an easy feat, and I studied hard to get here.

  I intend to keep on working hard so that I’m the best at what I do. What can I say? I’m an ambitious young woman.

  I never bought into the notion that success was something reserved for men, and I made sure to carve out my own path in life. That’s how you get an apartment at The Bradford at twenty-eight—by working your ass off and being the very best at what you do.

  Getting out of my ruined scrubs, I then step under the shower and close my eyes, allowing both my body and mind to unwind from a hard day’s work. By the time I’ve finished showering and changed into my clothes, I actually feel so much better. Maybe I can still read a few medical studies before calling it a day?

  As I get out of the hospital and start walking toward the cab I’ve already hailed, I feel so wired up that I have to resist the urge to simply turn back and pick up an extra shift.

  “Where to?” The cab driver, an old balding man with an easy smile, asks me.

  “The Ensemble,” I find myself saying.

  Wait—fuck, what the hell am I doing? Is my brain so exhausted that it has stopped working rationally?

  What the hell am I gonna do at The Ensemble? Drink like all the others, wake up with a terrible hangover, and waste tomorrow?

  “The Ensemble it is,” the driver nods, and then he drives off.

  Oh, what the hell. It’s not like a single night is going to ruin my life. Besides, Mary’s right: I work way too hard for way too long. Maybe a night of drinks will do me some good.

  By the time the cab stops in front of The Ensemble, a small jazz bar everyone at the hospital seems to love, I’ve already reconsidered turning back and going home a thousand times. But I’m not a quitter, so I just pay the driver and step out of the car. Well, at least I have a nice dress on and won’t look like a dork.

  Hurrying toward the bar so that I can escape the cold Manhattan breeze, I step inside. I was expecting to hear a chorus of drunken nurses and doctors, but the place is almost deserted. There are only a few couples sprinkled here and there in the dimly lit room, and they’re all talking in hushed tones.

  Just great. The day I decide to meet Mary and the rest of the guys for drinks, it’s the day they decide to go somewhere else.

  Sighing, I sit by the counter and take my phone out of my purse. I’m about to call Mary when a deep voice interrupts my train of thought.

  “So, he bailed on you?”

  “What?” I ask, raising my gaze to meet the hottest bartender I have ever seen. Impeccably dressed in an immaculate white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, he looks like he just stepped out of a billboard ad.

  His hair is tousled, but carefully arranged at the same time, and there’s an easy smile on his lips. Taller than me, he has the kind of body that makes me believe he could easily throw me over his shoulder and carry me into his bedroom for a good session of—

  Stop right there, Sam! I admonish myself, trying to get my mind out of the gutter. Not an easy thing, if we take into account that I haven’t had sex for…oh, I don’t even know.

  “Did he bail on you?” he repeats.

  “Who?”

  “Your date.”

  “Oh…no,” I start, feeling warm blood rushing to my cheeks. “I’m not here on a date.”

  He smiles then, a glint on his eyes, and my heart goes wild.

  “Lucky me, then.”

  Two

  Brad

  Some women are smart, some women are hot. Some are funny, others seductive. But some women are just…something else entirely. They’re part of a rare breed of women, the kind that knock the air out of your lungs the moment your eyes meet theirs.

  And one of those women has just walked into my bar.

  Elegant strut, tight-fitting dress, and the kind of face capable of turning a cold-blooded asshole into a romantic wimp.

  “Brad,” I say, offering her my hand. Hesitantly, she reaches for it and shakes it.

  “Sam,” she tells me, the sound of her voice so sweet that I can’t help but imagine how she’d sound like moaning out my name.

  What? It’s not my fault I have an active imagination. Besides, sex isn’t dirty and taboo anymore, right? Yeah, we’re not in the 19th century anymore—and thank god for that.

  “So, who did exactly bail on you?”

/>   “Why do you say that?” she asks me, and I can tell by her guarded tone she’s not used to being approached by men.

  Which is weird—she’s a beautiful woman and, more than that, she’s fucking hot. And that can only mean one thing…this girl doesn’t go out that much. Like I said: a rare breed of women, that much is for sure.

  “Well, you have that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “That one,” I laugh, pointing at her surprised face. I take the chance to take a mental picture of her cherry red lips, and my heart skips a beat as I imagine how they must taste.

  “Alright,” she laughs back, slowly loosening up. “I was supposed to meet here with friends, but I guess they went somewhere else.”

  “Well, their loss, ain’t it? Why would anyone choose to go somewhere else when they could come to the best jazz club in town?”

  “The best jazz club in town?”

  “You bet,” I nod.

  “You’re too protective of this place for a bartender,” she comments, and I can’t help but laugh again.

  “What? Can’t bartenders be protective of their place of work? But, anyway, I’m not just a bartender. I own the place,” I tell her.

  Does it sound like I’m bragging? Because I’m not. It’s just a fact of life—I worked fucking hard to get this place up and running, and if I have the chance to tell a beautiful woman like this one that I own it…well, you better be sure that I’m gonna use it. If it sounds like bragging, I don’t give a fuck.

  “Oh. That’s nice…I suppose.”

  “You’re not that good at making conversation, are you?”

  “Not really,” she laughs, that voice doing something to me.

  Fuck, is my heart rate going up? Chill the fuck out, Brad, I tell myself, doing my best to keep my cock under control.

  “I noticed. Here.” I push a glass across the counter and, grabbing a whiskey bottle from the shelf behind me, I pour her some.