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

by Alexis Angel

  Lucien Stone. The love of my life.

  Epilogue - As Told By Kerri

  “Two margaritas, as ordered,” I say placing the tray down at the table and handing the women their drinks.

  To call them women would be flattering them. In their daily lives their great-grandmothers, tasked with raising an army of children and maintaining order in their families.

  But every evening in the tiny Mexican seaside town of Ciloteca, these ladies who must be pushing 90 leave their worries at home and come to this bar as they sit and drink margaritas and watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.

  “Gracias, chica,” one of the women says to me and I smile. It’s the end of my shift and I put my tray on the bar counter and walk around the bar.

  It’s a quiet evening today, the local soccer match that’s happening at the stadium has much of the town focused on that. I walk up to the bartender who’s counting the money for the evening. He turns to me and smiles and I return the smile back. No words need to be spoken as he leans over and I wrap my arms around him and we kiss.

  I feel his arms go around me and his hands descend down my back as we kiss some more. I raise myself on my tiptoes as I feel his hands reach for and cup my ass cheeks. I smile into him and pull back.

  “Lucien,” I whisper, “We have an audience.”

  Lucien Stone turns around and the ladies are looking at us and smiling. Or rather, they’re looking at him.

  “Hola, guapo!” one of the ladies says as she raises her glass at Lucien.

  “Muy chico!” I say with mock severity as I pull Lucien closer.

  The ladies laugh good-naturedly and I smile to see if there are any customers left who will get info on the teasing that is most likely to commence.

  But there are none. The sun is on its trajectory in descending over the Pacific Ocean and the bar is empty. People are all at the soccer match.

  “Guess we better lock up?” Lucien asks me. I nod and we start going through the motions in closing up the bar for the evening.

  After the first night in the motel, we realized we couldn’t stay in Southern California.

  The next morning, we really ended up leaving everything that we had behind, converting as much as we could to cash, and hitching as many rides as we could find until we ended up in Mexico.

  Once down south, Lucien was able to take charge again, finding us a place to live and a restaurant to work at.

  We didn't have much. But we had each other. And we were happy.

  And knowing Lucien, it wasn’t long before he purchased the bar and restaurant outright. I continued to waitress and Lucien continued serving drinks, only now he did this from behind the bar as opposed to walking around with a serving tray.

  Life has been good. I have the man I love standing next to me.

  I peek into the back room and look at the bassinet as it sits quietly. I crane my neck to the side a bit.

  “Babies can tell when you’re watching them, Kerri” Lucien says from behind me, startling me.

  I turn around and stick my tongue out at him and he chuckles, walking over to stand behind me so we can both take a look at our beautiful little baby daughter, Miranda.

  I feel Lucien place a hand on my shoulder and I reach up with my hand to grab his.

  We could have maybe stood there all night, watching our little daughter as she slept, but we’re interrupted by one of the town boys who runs up to the bar.

  “Senor Marshall!” the boy yells as he comes up to the open-air bar that Lucien owns. “Senior Marshall! You have a letter! From Estados Unidos!”

  Lucien turns to me and I shrug. Neither of us have been expecting anything from the US. Lucien never had much to look forward to since he was in jail, and once I sent off the paperwork to the attorney regarding his case, I had stopped looking for mail as well.

  So, it is with some haste that Lucien leaves my side and goes over to the boy, thanking him, and begins to read.

  I look to Lucien’s face to see what kind of reaction he’s having as he continues to read. But then again, I realize that this is Lucien Stone we’re talking about here. Rock sometimes has more expression than you can find on the face of this man.

  Bereft of an expression to tell me what Lucien is reading I go up to him, curious as to what he’s seeing. But he looks up at me as I arrive.

  “They’re dismissing all charges against me,” Lucien says. “They’re even awarding me a summary judgment for all the time and suffering that I’ve already endured. But basically, when they re-examined my case, they found that I wasn’t the killer who they had thought of at first.”

  “So, you're cleared?” I ask, clapping my hands.

  Lucien shrugs. “Well, they say I got an additional one year for inciting a prison riot,” he says. “But they’ve said that it’s started retroactively from the date of the riot.

  “But Lucien,” I say trying to figure out what’s happening. “That's….”

  Lucien nods. “That’s right. Even that sentence ends today.”

  The enormity of what is happening takes a minute to dawn. Lucien helps me along.

  “You did it, Kerri!” He says, grabbing me by the waist. “You looked at my case and found the problems with it and you sent it in to the lawyer. I would be absolutely fucking nowhere without you.”

  I blush to myself. I knew he couldn't have committed those crimes that he had been accused of and I remember myself thinking how amazing this man had been to me at the time. I think how amazing he really turned out to be. Like nothing I could have ever expected in any man.

  And sure, I’m also happy and satisfied that the man I had held as mine had stayed this long and been this wonderful.

  All this time, we stayed in Mexico because we could never go back home.

  But now, with his sentence basically over and the state awarding him money for wrongful imprisonment, Lucien Stone has many options open to him.

  I have become attached to the life we've built for ourselves. The bar on the beach. The sunsets over the Pacific Ocean. Moonlight strolls along the water as the tide rose. Sex on the beach every evening.

  Was I ready to let this go?

  “I don’t want to leave either, babe,” Lucien says, and I look up at him. I realize that he’s been staring at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  He smiles at me. “Just because I’m not running from the law doesn’t mean that we have to leave paradise, Kerri,” he says as he looks over at the room that Miranda sleeps in. “We have a life here. Friends. Purpose.”

  I draw myself closer to my lover. We hadn’t gotten married because we were technically illegal immigrants in Mexico, with fake papers. But we could even get married now. I smile, thinking to myself that at a time like this, the first thing that was going through my head was marriage.

  The two grandmothers finish their margaritas and wave at us, blowing kisses at Lucien as they leave the bar. The sun has set and dusk is now turning to night slowly.

  “I don’t want to leave here,” I tell Lucien, raising my head to look up at him. “I love it here.”

  He nods.

  “I’m with you,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”

  “And you’re free too,” I say with a twinkle in my eye. “You’ve been free down here.”

  Lucien looks at me for a long moment and then he smiles.

  “I may not have been in jail for a year, Kerri,” he says with a smirk. “But I can tell you that I haven’t been free since the day I fucking met you.”

  Smartass.

  I pull him close to me as we kiss. My hand descends down to his crotch for me to start squeezing his giant organ that's begun bulging in his pants.

  There’s no rush to decide anything. The world is our oyster.

  And for the first time, we’re free to do anything we like with it.

  It’s an amazing feeling. Being free as a bird.

  And making sure that you’re trapped with your soulmate.

  Hey, it could
be a lot worse.

  But it isn’t. So, I’m glad.

  The End

  Head Hunter

  By Alexis Angel

  Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

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  Carter

  Fuck yeah.

  I lean my head back on the leather seat in my hotel penthouse and grin like the cocky bastard I am. I don’t even know this girl’s name—I just met her tonight, but she’s going down on me like this is her last chance to ever suck a cock. Resting my hand on the back of her head, I push her down even further, making her take my huge cock all the way down her throat.

  When she gags a little, I ease up and let myself enjoy the wet slurping sounds she makes while she drags her tongue up and down my shaft, and then circles it around my thick head.

  It’s a decent blowjob. I’ve had better. I’ve had worse. In fact, I’ve had fucking thousands of blowjobs. Bitches line up to blow me. Makes my job as easy as it gets because I get paid to get head.

  Well, kind of.

  Allow me to explain. I’m Carter Blaine, star of the hit show Head Hunter. That should say it all, but just in case you haven’t heard of me, let me give you the details.

  I’m twenty-six years old and the world’s oldest alpha male virgin. That’s right. This twelve-inch cock that’s currently being sucked and licked has never been inside a woman. Not in the way that counts. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I get off on the regular. Like daily. Like I said, the ladies line up to get this cock in their mouths. Or in their asses.

  But technically, I’m still a virgin. Oral and anal sex don’t count. What counts is that my cock has never been inside a woman’s pussy.

  Why the fuck would I do that? A good question, especially considering the media has crowned me as one of the sexiest billionaires in the world. I can have any woman I want. I do get any woman I want. But let me tell you something. People love the idea that I’m waiting until I meet the woman I’m going to marry to have sex. They love it so much that I’m one of the richest young billionaires in the country. I have my own reality show empire.

  Head Hunter is one of the most watched shows for the fifth year running. For the past five years I’ve made a fortune marketing myself as a virgin … and not just any virgin. Remember, I’m one of the hottest alpha billionaires on the planet. Getting some pussy isn’t a problem. But here’s the thing. If I stay a virgin, I make serious bank. To the tune of ten million dollars per episode that I don’t give it up. But it’s become a bit of a joke.

  Like I said, women line up to get a piece of me because each one is determined to be the one to make me give in. Each one thinks she has a magic pussy or some bullshit like that. But the joke’s on them because I have an iron will. And each and every one of them can’t resist me. By the end of every show, I’m getting head, and getting ass. Basically getting off.

  Every. Fucking. Time.

  Why the fuck would I actually fuck someone when I can get head and make a cool ten mil? Yeah. I wouldn’t.

  “Uh…mmm…oh,” the chick moans as she bobs her head up and down on my cock. She’s doing a pretty good job, so I return the favor and reach under her skirt and slide my fingers inside her soaking pussy. She clenches around me and comes immediately.

  See? That’s how fucking horny I make these women. One touch from me and they explode.

  She sucks me even faster, pumping her hand up and down my shaft in time with her head, and I feel my balls tighten. Yanking her up off my cock, I shoot jet after hot jet of cum all over her face, and she looks like she loves every fucking second of it.

  I smirk. This won’t make it onto the actual show due to censorship, but you better believe there'll be some leaks on the web. It’s all part of the marketing. We make sure people can’t get enough of this. And that keeps them tuning in week after week.

  Pushing the girl aside and leaving her to clean herself up, I tuck my cock away and stand up, walking across my hotel room to pour myself a drink. I don’t even bother to look back at her. She’ll be out of here in the next few minutes, having failed at what she came here for and making me ten million richer in the process. The sooner the better. We’re moving out of here tonight.

  The next season of the show is filming in New York City.

  Glancing back at the girl, I see that she’s headed to the restroom, so I decide to make a break for it. I’m not in the mood for having to deal with the brush off. They don’t always get clingy, but occasionally they do. I’m always like, what the fuck? They know what they signed up for. I shake my head. There are always the few that seem to think they’re different or special or some shit.

  Come on, really? They come on a show where the whole idea is for me to convince them to blow me but they think they might be The One?

  I head out of the penthouse, rolling my eyes at the idea, then knock on the door across the hall where the control room is and walk in without waiting for an answer.

  “Hey, man,” Chase calls out. He’s the head of filming. “Nice job with the cum shot.”

  I should feel weird that all these cameras were on me while I was getting my dick sucked, but I’m used to it.

  Instead, I just smirk and jerk my head once. “I’m headed out but I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t have sex with her at any point tonight. Check the camera crew that followed me if you need to verify.” I turn, ready to leave, and then add, “I expect the next ten million in my account tomorrow morning.”

  “You know it, man,” Chase says, shaking his head in awe like he always does. “I don’t know how you do this week after week.”

  I laugh. “What, get head?”

  He nods. “That too, but I mean how you still convince them that’s what they want to do after all this time.”

  Shrugging my shoulders, I wink. “It's what they want to do. What can I say?”

  “One of these days you’re going to find someone you want for more than just some head.”

  I look at him like he’s crazy. This shit is way too lucrative to even think about having sex with someone. I’m the fucking Head Hunter. “Yeah right, dude. I’ve got it made. What else could I possibly want?”

  Chase laughs, but he still looks skeptical. Whatever.

  Time to head out. “Let’s go, man. Time to hit up the Big Apple.”

  Ashley

  “Oh, baby,” the guy groans, “you’re so fucking sexy.”

  I bend at the waist and make sure he has a perfect view of my ass in my black lace lingerie, rolling my eyes as I do so. This guy may think I’m hot, but he's so fucking not.

  He smacks my ass, making me jump, and I decide right then and there that there’s no way I’m sleeping with him. Not that I mind having my ass slapped. But this guy is so not doing it for me.

  I turn around and straddle him, schooling my expression into one of desperate lust as I rub my pussy against the cock tenting his over-priced designer suit pants.

  “I’m gonna fuck you so good. Better than you’ve ever been fucked before,” he says, panting as he swipes a hand across his sweaty brow.

  Um. No.

  It takes everything I have not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. I highly doubt he could even get me off, much less give me the best fuck of my life. I mean, the guy’s packing a decent size cock from what I can tell, but he’s sweating like a damn pig, his bald head shining in the light I have on above us in the hotel room.

  Instead, I bite my lip and lean in, shoving my tits in his face as I grip the sides of his head and force him to look up at me. “Tell me how,” I say in a low, breathy voice that makes his cock twitch.

  “How?” he as
ks, confused.

  Jesus Christ. “Yes,” I breathe. “Talk dirty to me.”

  Maybe I can get him so worked up that I can make him cum without having to actually do much. We don’t need much out of this one.

  I grip the little bit of hair at the back of his head and bring my mouth inches from his, steeling myself for what I have to do.

  It’s all part of the job, Ashley, I remind myself. The clients aren’t usually this repulsive, though.

  Grinding my hips on his cock, I lean in and bite his lip, tugging gently, angling my head to make sure everything we’re doing is visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass that lines the wall of the hotel room, looking out on Manhattan. If I’m going to get out of here without actually fucking the guy, I need to make sure to set up some good shots.

  “Touch me,” I whisper, hoping he can’t tell how totally not turned on I actually am.

  His meaty hands come up to cup my tits, squeezing clumsily, and I tilt my head back and let out a very fake but well-practiced moan.

  He pants even harder, his breath coming so fast that I start worrying he might go into cardiac arrest. A strangled grunt comes out of his mouth, and I know he’s close.

  God, it’s almost too easy.

  I’m pretty sure it won’t take much more. Reaching down, I slide my hand into my panties and start rubbing my clit, closing my eyes and imagining I’m here with someone else. I resort to my favorite fantasy. Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get the job done. And I’m a professional. The best in the business, in fact.

  Which is why in spite of this completely unsexy man with his face in between my tits, I’m still able to get wet.

  Pulling my fingers out, coated with my juices, I lift them to his mouth and tease his lips. He opens up and I slide my finger inside, letting him taste me.