by Claire Adams
"Yes, a billion times yes," I cried out happily, and tears of joy rolled down my cheeks as he slipped the enormous, princess-cut diamond ring onto my finger. It was the second most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Ethan's eyes when he looked at me was the first.
I kissed him passionately. When we made love for the first time as an engaged couple, it was even more amazing than it had been before.
"I don't think I've ever been this happy," I told Ethan, as we cuddled afterwards and I held my hand up so we could admire the way my diamond ring sparkled in the moonlight that was streaming through my bedroom window.
"Me neither," he confessed, but there was a subtle strain in his voice and I picked up on it. He sounded stressed, or worried, and I had to know why.
Looking him straight in the eyes so there would be no secrets between us, I asked him, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"You don't have to act invincible with me. I can tell when something is bothering you. If we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, you're going to have to get used to sharing all your hopes and fears with me. Now what's wrong?"
"Nothing. That's what's wrong." Ethan sighed heavily, and I didn't understand. Caressing my hair, he explained more clearly. "All my life, something has always been wrong. This is the first time I've been truly content and it scares the shit out of me."
"I'm scared, too," I confessed. "All the men in my life have wanted to use me and didn't really love me. Never before have I felt truly secured and cherished."
"So, I guess we're just two people who are scared shitless together." He grinned, and I couldn't help but laugh. "That's how we know we're meant for each other."
It wasn't the most romantic way to put it, and yet it was perfect. Ethan was right; we were meant to be together, and the fact that he was just as afraid of it as I was proved it.
Chapter Forty
Ethan
"Smile for the camera," someone said. I put my arm around Kayla and I stared into the lens with my best grin as she smiled radiantly beside me. The view of the ocean was behind us, with the sun starting to set on the horizon, creating a stunning background for the perfect picture.
"Perfect, thanks." The photographer looked at the image on his digital camera, and nodded with satisfaction. "This will be the new cover of Speed Magazine."
"I don't think so. I'm not the model; my wife is." I swiped at him, trying to grab the camera, but he moved just out of my reach.
Joey was one of Kayla's favorite photographers and followed her everywhere. She was as used to having her picture taken as she was breathing air, but I found it a little harder to get used to.
"That's what makes this perfect," Joey said in response to my objection. "The owner and CEO of the company Ethan Colson celebrating his one-year anniversary with the love of his life, supermodel Kayla Brandt-Colson. The two of you are one of the world's hottest couples and the media will eat it up.
“People will be clamoring to read next month's issue of Speed Magazine when they see this image of you and Kayla cheek to cheek on the cover. Now give me one more shot, this time of the two of you kissing."
"No way; our intimate personal time is private. No photography. Now get out of here before I'm forced to fire you and take your camera," I shouted out, but there was no anger in my voice, just love for my wife.
Joey was right; the public craved images of us together, and since we kept our private life well-guarded, images of us as a couple were rare, making them even more sought after. We had a contract with Joey that we would buy any photographs he took that we didn't want to go public. It kept him loyal to us and gave us control of all photos seen by the public.
"How do you deal with having your picture taking all day? It's exhausting," I said to Kayla as I leaned back into a reclining chair on the beach and a waiter brought us each fresh drinks.
"It can be, but that's why I'm careful to book plenty of relaxation time between photo shoots." She grinned at me, and her smile was even more radiant than it had been a moment ago.
Being with just one woman made her even sexier to me than a string of one-night stands. I knew Kayla's body better than anyone and could make her orgasm with just a touch. Nothing could be hotter, and as impossible as it was, I swear her breasts seemed to have gotten even bigger and her hips were definitely rounder. She was becoming softer and more voluptuous, and I wanted to make love to her constantly, and she responded to my touch with the same passionate desire. A full year into our marriage, and we were still fucking like newlyweds.
"What do you want to do for our anniversary tonight?" I asked her. "The sky's the limit."
"Well, you've already brought me here to this tropical island. We're staying in our own private bungalow right on the beach, and this morning, we made love under a waterfall in that secluded lake we found hidden in the jungle. We were serenaded by parrots and wild birds, and then served this fantastic lunch of fish caught fresh from the ocean this morning. What more could a girl want?"
"There has to be something special you want to do," I insisted. "You worked so hard last month, I only saw you a few days. You're becoming as bad of a workaholic as I used to be. I want to make sure you don't forget how to relax and have fun."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I plan on taking lots of time off very shortly. We'll spend days hanging out in the park, taking long walks, and just enjoying life."
"So, why were you working so much? I know that the year we were engaged, your modeling career far surpassed just being the ad-campaign girl for Speed Motorcycles. Within months of our engagement, you were being asked to model for the covers of major magazines and posed for some of the top companies in the country.
“Major corporations would fly you around the world, and offered you huge salaries, to pose with their products or to put your face on their magazine ads. Your rise to fame was unprecedented."
"That still drives you crazy," she teased me, and I leaned over from to chair to swat her ass playfully in mock aggravation. She raised up her ripe buttocks, allowing me to make contact with her round cheek, and when it vibrated under the impact of my palm, we both felt a thrill.
"No, it doesn't. I'm secure enough in my manhood to let my wife thrive. Besides, I'm proud of you."
"So why are you going on about it?" she taunted, making me grin. She'd gotten up from her beach recliner and straddled me on mine so she could tickle my chest with her manicured fingernails.
I put my hands on her waist and slid them up her pale body to cup her breasts. Fondling them gently, I said to her, "Because, you've been able to set your own demands and work schedule for almost two years straight now. You've always been really good about keeping your work schedule within reason so we'd have enough time to spend together. Having you out on photoshoots all day, every day for nearly a month was tougher on me than I'd like to admit."
"Sorry, but I needed to get in as much work as I could before my body starts to change and I can't model anymore. This last month may mark the end of my career for quite a long time."
"What are you talking about? Is this because you’re getting older? Don't worry, sweetheart. The shelf life of a model is short, but it's not that short. You still have plenty of years left to enjoy your career."
"Oh, I know that. But if I lose my skinny body, then I won't be as marketable. Besides, I don't think I'll want to work anymore, at least not for a few years. I think I'll want to stay at home, like my mother did."
"Don't tell me you’re burnt out on your career already? You've only been doing it a few years and you act like you really love it. Some days when you come home from work, you're smiling so big, I wonder if I shouldn't be jealous that you love your career more than you love me."
It was a joke and she giggled. Tickling my chest again, she said with a smile, "Don't worry, I don't love anything more than you. It's just that I'm pregnant."
"What?" I sat up straight so suddenly, I nearly knocked her off my lap. "I don't think I heard you right. S
ay that again."
"I'm pregnant." She was absolutely beaming as she smiled at me. I'd never seen her looking more radiantly beautiful.
"Are you sure? I thought you were on the pill." I gaped like a moron.
"I was, but it's not a hundred percent effective. I went to see my doctor when I had the flu last month, and she told me that it was morning sickness. I was six-weeks pregnant."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I was still in shock and didn't know how to feel.
"Because I knew you would worry and make me quit my job."
"Damn right, I would. You can't be on your feet all day in harsh weather conditions with nothing on but a bikini, keeping your weight down by starving yourself. My baby needs good nutrition, and his mother needs to pamper herself and relax." I was instantly protective and felt a glow in my heart I knew was pride and pure love.
"So, I told my agent, and he got my clients to compact their photo shoots into a one-month period of time. I was able to complete all the work I had committed to for the rest of the season in just four, short weeks, and now I'm officially on hiatus. I won't be accepting any new modeling jobs until after the baby is born, and maybe not at all."
"You're really doing this?" I could hardly believe how rapidly our lives had changed, and she nodded her head. I could see from the smile in her eyes and the glow in her cheeks that she was really happy, and I was, too.
Just over two, short years ago, I'd thought I was living the dream life with my secretary blowing me under my mahogany desk in my billion-dollar company offices, but I'd never been more wrong.
True happiness wasn't money, empty affairs, or even success. True happiness was this right here: having found someone you love who loves you, too, and turning that passion into a baby to raise and love together.
As I kissed Kayla with the tropical beach behind us and felt the love we had for each other envelop us, I knew that at long last, I had healed the wounds of my youth and was truly living the dream every man wanted, and I was going to enjoy every moment of it.
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BOSS’S VIRGIN
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Ian
This is what happens when you do favors for friends.
Jonathan asked if I’d do him a solid and give his friend an interview since we needed to hire a new secretary. What were the words he’d used? Smokin’ hot AND intelligent? I looked over my steepled fingers at the girl sitting nervously on one of the two chairs on the other side of my desk. The chairs were maple, straight-backed, very fine craftsmanship but no cushions, so whoever was sitting there would have to perched upright, slightly uncomfortable. At attention, if you will. My own ass was luxuriating in an ergonomic leather executive chair—Tuscan leather, mahogany accents, ability to recline, retractable footrest. I was reclining now, as a matter of fact, wishing that I had not agreed to do this favor for Jonathan. I mean, this girl, Daisy, was attractive, sure, but she dressed in such a way that was trying to disguise it, with her black A-line skirt that went past her knees, her blouse buttoned all the way up, those black, school marm oxfords. This girl didn’t need a job; she needed a goddamn crash course in fashion.
But we’d just sat down, and if I didn’t at least go through the formalities, I’d have to endure Jonathan’s bitching, and I already heard enough of that as it was.
“So,” I said. “You’re friends with Jonathan?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said again, a little more loudly. “We met at the gym.”
“And you were previously employed at . . . where?” I leaned forward and rifled through some papers on the desk, though there was nothing there that would give me any clues about her previous work experience.
“Shear Genius.”
“The hair salon?”
“Yes. I was the administrative assistant there.”
“You were the secretary.”
She shifted. “The administrative assistant. I handled all the reception duties, scheduling, payroll, filing, and some light bookkeeping.”
I nodded. “Okay, right. So you were the secretary.” I hated shit like that; it was like calling a janitor a custodial engineer. She was answering phones and making appointments and doing reminder calls; therefore, she was a secretary. Maybe she wasn’t fetching coffee or transcribing things on a typewriter, but she was still a secretary. “That’s essentially what we’re looking for here,” I said. “Someone to answer the phones, manage the calendar, keep the office in order.”
I decided not to mention that the reason for the vacancy was because I’d slept with the last secretary, and then there’d been this little misunderstanding about the true meaning of “no strings attached.” I had explicitly stated that, whispered it in Annie’s ear, in fact, right before I fucked her across this very desk, and she’d been more than agreeable.
“I did all of that at Shear Genius,” she said. “I’m a very organized person, and I think the best way to ensure that a business runs smoothly is to keep things organized and maintained.” She continued to espouse on what she thought a business needed to run successfully. I tuned this out and watched her talk instead. Watching someone talk can often give you a whole lot more of information about who they are than the actual words that are coming out of their mouths.
This was often how I’d decide whether or not my company, Hard Tail Security, was going to take someone on as a client. I was in the Marines for ten years, signing up for recruit training the day I turned eighteen. It was hell, of course, but paled in comparison to all the shit my dickhead stepfather put me through. I left the Marines at twenty-eight, after three deployments. Jonathan and I ended up reconnecting; he’d gone to college after high school and had graduated with a degree in business, but had taken an interest in Japanese jujutsu. We’d gone out to get drinks, had a few more than we intended, and started shooting the shit about how great it would be to start a security firm. Perhaps not the most glamorous or enlightened origin story, but there you go.
We started small but grew every year—last year we provided security for the community event when the Dalai Lama came to speak; our services were also used regularly for Seamus McAllister, who ran a high-stakes underground poker club, but also when he threw his daughter’s sweet sixteen. (Besides the poker, Seamus was the biggest mover of illicit drugs in the city, renowned for his ability to always be able to escape being sentenced, though the cops and D.A. had certainly tried.) In other words: our clients ran the gamut from the holiest of holy to the morally deficient. We didn’t discriminate. Well, we did, but it wasn’t based on the criteria that some other companies might have used.
I continued to watch Daisy talk, still not really hearing what she was saying. She was earnest, honest. She was the sort of person you could trust not to slack off if you weren’t around to oversee what she was doing. All good qualities, but the drama with Annie was still fresh in my mind—the tears, the pleading, eventually, the threats. I didn’t do well with anyone threatening me, and I finally had to tell her, in no uncertain terms, that she needed to back the fuck off. I’d never hit a woman, of course, but in that case, it had been especially tempting. She couldn’t take no for an answer. When a guy can’t take no for an answer, he’s a misogynistic asshole; when it’s a girl, she’s just persistent, or, as Annie claimed, in love.
Not that Daisy was anything like Annie. Annie had put her goods on display from day one, favoring short, tight skirts, ultra-high heels, and bl
ouses that her cleavage was just begging to be released from. Daisy didn’t have any of that on display, but my highly trained eye could tell that under all those prudish, dull clothing, she had a banging body.
Annie was still calling me, was the thing. She wasn’t calling from her number—I didn’t know whose phone she was using—but I kept getting these calls from random numbers I didn’t recognize. Sure, it could’ve been some scam or telemarketer, but I knew it was her. Daisy wasn’t like her in the least, I knew that, but I didn’t want the distraction.
Now she was looking back at me, the tip of her tongue coming out of her mouth to wet her bottom lip. She had stopped talking and was waiting for me to say something, maybe to respond to whatever it was that she’d just been saying, though I hadn’t heard a word of it. I laced my fingers together and stretched them, bending my fingers back, arms extended. This was a tactic I often used when caught in the situation of being expected to answer a question I hadn’t been listening to. Let a few seconds go by and then do something physical—it didn’t have to be anything big, it could be something as simple as smothering a yawn—and then respond however you felt. Your response didn’t even need to have anything to do with what the person had just asked.
“We’ve had a lot of interest in the position,” I said, relaxing my forearms. I leaned my head to one side, then the other, and felt a vertebrate in my neck crack. Ah. That was better. “I don’t know if Jonathan mentioned that to you or not.”
“No,” she said, looking down at her lap. “He didn’t.”
“I’m only telling you this because we’ve had a number of qualified applicants. So it’s not going to be an easy decision to make.”
“I completely understand.”
We sat there for a minute, neither of us saying anything. I leaned back in my chair. She was waiting for me to speak, but I was enjoying watching her squirm in the silence. Awkward silences can tell you a lot about a person. Some people will immediately try to fill them with chatter; others will shut down, and others will start fiddling with the nearest thing they can get their hands on. Daisy, while she looked a bit uncomfortable, folded her hands in her lap, looked me in the eye for a second, and then looked over my shoulder, toward the window, as though something very captivating had just caught her eye.