by Claire Adams
“We have our ways.” Stacey said and shrugged as the Christmas carol ended. “You will get used to it soon enough. Now dance with your wife, I think the party is about to come to an end.”
The final song was a perfect representation of the wedding and Christmas, as Mariah Carey sang “All I Want for Christmas is You,” just as Nick and I switched partners and Aria was back in my eager arms.
“Your friend is quite funny,” I said, starting to move with her. “And rather intoxicated I believe.”
“She should be. I would never forgive her for being sober at my wedding. I don’t plan to be sober at hers!”
“You guys have the strangest friendship,” I said, screwing my nose. “Although, I suppose you develop a very special kind of bond after skinny dipping at a neighbor’s pool when you’re fourteen. Wow, now that I think of it, that was only six years ago.”
“I am pretty sure you weren’t supposed to tell me you knew about this,” Aria said scornfully. “If you want to be friends with Stacey, you better learn how to keep her secrets.”
“That sounds like way too much work,” I joked. “I think I am fine without the friendship. I’m joking,” I added when she looked at me with almost murderous rage. “I really like your friends.”
“Good,” she said sharply and went back to placing her chin on my shoulders. “Now on to some important things. You know what all I want for Christmas is?” She looked at me with a naughty glint in her eyes.
“Me?” I suggested. “That is what the song says anyway.”
“I want to secretly disappear from our wedding reception and make our way into your hotel room. Then I want you to rip my wedding dress – and by that I mean carefully remove it from my body because if there is a single actual rip on it, I will have to kill you – and make love to me until we are both so tired we can no longer perform basic human functions such as breathing.”
I got so hard that I had to employ all the strength I could muster to not fuck her right there with all of our friends and family watching.
“I’ll go first, through the back door,” I said quickly. “If someone asks, I am going to the bathroom. You should use the front door so we don’t raise any eyebrows. Just say you need some air. It’s pretty busy in here, people should understand.”
She burst out laughing. “We don’t have to plan so hard, baby,” she said. I couldn’t remember her ever having used that term of endearment before, and somehow it had the effect of making me harder than before. All I wanted for Christmas was to fuck her as my wife for the first time. “I am sure people will understand that as newlyweds we cannot wait to take each other’s clothes off. Of course, we don’t have to tell them for the sake of not embarrassing them, and ourselves but it is kind of understood. There is no need to play 007 here.”
“Alright,” I said, breaking off as the song ended. “The thought of my mother knowing what we are off to do makes me uncomfortable. The thought of your mother too, but since she has already heard more than she should have, she happens to be the least of my concern. I think my way is safer. I agreed to change my name, now you must agree to this little request. And hurry because I don’t want to fuck you in the limo and make Ned uncomfortable. So the sooner we get to the hotel the better.”
“I’ll see you in five minutes, Mr. Roberts-Sinclair,” she said and kissed me hard on the mouth before turning her heel and walking away.
Chapter 9
Aria
As the champagne had started to wear off by the time we reached Zayden’s hotel room, I started to feel rather nervous and I couldn’t figure out why. We had done this repeatedly countless times. There was nothing different about this time, was there?
Except there was.
We were married this time and it made a whole world of difference. I sat down in the bed with my legs crossed, a meaningless feat since my wedding dress covered up to my ankles. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was trying to accomplish here.
When Zayden got back inside with two fresh classes of champagne in his hands, the look in his eyes was radically different from that during the wedding ceremony. He looked hungry, ravenous and excited. My feelings matched the look in his eyes as I longed to get out of this twenty thousand dollar dress and devour him.
“Hey,” he said, sitting next to me and handing me one of the glasses. “You should drink this.”
“I don’t need to,” I said, taking it from his hand and placing it on the bedside table.
“Well it might help,” Zayden said, devouring his own glass in one giant gulp.
As soon as he was done, it was like a heat wave had suddenly attacked our hotel room. He dragged me by my hands and took me into our private hot tub. Then he placed his lips on mine firmly and his mouth urged me to open my own. His tongue met my longing mouth and explored every inch of it as I grasped on to him like this was the last moment of us ever being alive. My hand found its way to the cusp of his pants and I gasped by how hard I had made him. Soon enough we were so wrapped up in each other that I couldn’t quite tell where his body began and mine ended. We made out while standing by the hot tub– just like teenagers who couldn’t get their hands off each other – for almost half an hour, desperately and passionately before he broke off first.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, panting.
“We need to get you out of that elaborate wedding dress. I could rip it off your body, of course, but not long ago I was threatened with my life if I did that. Plus we should get into this hot tub. The water must be fantastic right now.”
I stood up and turned around. “Gently. It’s all yours.”
He approached my back and ran his fingers through the bare skin, visible in my sleeveless gown. He leaned down and kissed every inch of the skin, running his warm tongue against my cool, willing bodice. After continuing the torture for a while, Zayden slowly unzipped the back of my dress and unhooked my bra almost simultaneously. His tongue ran down the back of my spine, as his hands slowly worked towards sliding the dress of my body. Before long, I stood in front of him with only my white lacy wedding panties on, while he undressed himself.
Throwing me into the warm tub, he began to kiss my neck, sending all kinds of shudders down my spine. He worked his way from my neck, licking and sucking, down towards my breast, as the water made my mind numb. His mouth found room for my throbbing nipples and his hand cupped me through my panties.
He stopped.
“Not yet, Aria. You are not allowed to come yet,” he said sternly. He lifted me up and sat me on the edge of the hot tub and covered his face around my panties. “You smell just like my wife.”
“That might be because I am,” I said in a raspy voice. It was difficult to be clever when my whole body was screaming to be fucked.
“Uh-huh,” Zayden moaned, apparently not even hearing me.
He ran his tongue over me through my panties and then something took over him. He ripped them with his teeth and dove into me, his mouth completely encapsulating my pussy. I heard him moan, “Oh Aria” against me, as he sucked and licked harder and harder on my clit, making me forget the whole entire world around me. He continued sucking and licking for the longest time, stopping every time I would nearly climax.
He finally said the words I was hoping to hear, “Come for me. Make it hard, Aria. I want to taste every bit of you coming in my mouth for the first time as my wife.”
He slid his tongue deep inside me, moving it in and out while the top of his lips still rubbed against my clit. It must have been seconds before I exploded violently into his mouth, trembling from the sheer intensity of the sensation. I was shaking for over a full minute, but Zayden did not stop his exploration and continued to work his way inside me. He thrust his tongue as fast as he could so that within minutes I felt another surge of eruption bubble inside me and grabbed every inch of his hair as a second orgasm followed the first one with equal intensity.
---
I didn’t know how we made it back into the room and onto big pl
ushy bed. We were entangled in each other once more and I wasn’t sure I could take it any longer.
Finally, he looked at me completely naked. His cock was pointing at me in anticipation and he said, “As much as I would like for your mouth to devour my cock right now, I don’t think I can take another minute of this torture and I will probably come within seconds, delaying our opportunity to fuck as a married couple right away. So,” he said and held me tight by my arms, pushing me flat against the bed. “I am just going to,” he said every word with great emphasis. “Fuck you,” he finished, sliding himself right through me while his mouth found its way to my neck.
The feeling of him inside me – my husband, who I had just married – was so overwhelming; I almost had another orgasm on the spot. But I wanted to match his climax, so I did everything in my power to stop my body from reacting to its natural tendency. Instead I moved with him as he fucked me, every thrust harder and deeper than the last, hitting me in all the right places. I fucked him back with all my might until both of us couldn’t take it any longer and we both exploded with what I was certain was the most intense climax either of us had ever experienced.
“I love you, Mrs. Roberts-Sinclair,” my husband said to me a few minutes later, after we made love as a married couple for the first time in what was to become a lifetime.
“I love you too, Mr. Roberts-Sinclair,” I said, the happiest I had ever been in my life, before passing out into the arms that had become the most comfortable place for me in the world.
Click here to continue to my next book.
Get Each of My Newly Released Books for 99 Cents By Clicking Here
Click here to get my book Swipe for free
ESCORT
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 © 2015 Claire Adams
Chapter One
The Last Time I Saw Me
Grace
“You’re not listening to me,” John Parker, my outgoing boss says, leaning back in his oversized office chair. “We just don’t have the kind of support we’d need for a move like this.”
“We’ll get the support,” I tell him. “It’ll take a little bit of time, but I’ve been working on this for a while, John. I know what I’m doing.”
I think he’s just pissed that he’s going and I’m staying.
I’m not too sure about the specifics, but I know that whatever the reason is that he’s resigning, it’s the kind of thing that could seriously damage our stock prices.
“Well, I know you’ve put a lot of time into this,” he says, “but we don’t have the resources, we don’t have the personnel. We don’t have the support, Grace. Ainsley’s not going to go for this unless you’ve got everything locked down tight, and we both know you’re not there yet.”
The problem is that I think we — that is, Memento Entertainment — should expand into additional markets. John, though, is of the old hat. He thinks that by staying small, we stay secure.
On the other hand, I think that staying small will only prevent us from growing to our potential.
“John, with a little investment and some good faith right now, we’re going to be in a better position to take on the big guys and maybe we can stop being the station that people flip past on their way to NBC or CBS,” I tell him.
“You’re delusional if you think we’re poised for that kind of an uptick,” he answers. “I respect your ambition, I really do, but at some point, you’re going to have to learn to be realistic. Otherwise, you’re going to end up driving the company under or, best case scenario, someone realizes that’s where this thing is heading and they’ll have no choice but to fire you before it gets that far.”
John and I have always had friction.
I graduated from high school early: three years early, to be exact. I was eighteen when I graduated college with honors and, rather than do what mommy and daddy told me to do and go for a higher degree in a more respectable field, I decided to use my Bachelor’s in Communications to get my foot in the door.
I can always get a doctorate in something boring when I lose interest in media.
Anyway, I’m not sure if our friction stems from the fact that I’m smarter than John and he knows it or that he was pressured into hiring me by Ainsley, a family friend and CEO of Memento Entertainment.
It very well may be a combination of the two.
“I’m just saying,” I start again, “if we purchase a few stations in markets where we don’t yet have a foothold, we can lay the groundwork for a lot more down the line. I’m not saying it’s going to happen overnight, but if it doesn’t happen sometime soon, we’re not going to be around long enough to-”
“What?” he asks. “We’ve been around for nearly fifty years, Grace. If we were going to go under, it would have happened by now. You’ve got to realize that our business model works because we don’t take unjustifiable risks. That’s why we’re still here and why so many of our competitors have lost out to the bigger guys over the years.”
“I get that we’ve got longevity,” I tell him. “What I’m saying is that we could have longevity and profitability.”
“Oh, come on, Grace,” he says. “What kind of car do you drive?”
“That’s not the point, John,” I start, but he picks up before I can continue.
“The point is that you’re pushing for us to do something that we’ve never done and it’s going to kill the company if any single part of your plan doesn’t pan out.”
“Oh, we’ve moved into new markets before,” I argue.
“After a great deal of careful consideration and planning,” he says. “We never dove in somewhere without knowing just how warm the water was going to be.”
It’s a stupid metaphor. He’s only trying to cover the fact that his work at the company has been marked by advising our CEO, Ainsley Winters, and the rest of the members on the board not to run before we can walk.
We’ve been walking twice as long as I’ve been alive.
Still, I’m not sure if it’s what he’s saying or the way he’s saying it, but my palms are sweaty and I’m struck by a sharp feeling of terror and panic.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I breathe, but my throat has gone dry. “We need to do something, John. If we stick with the same old approach, we’re going to get the same old payoff right until the moment when one of those companies whose jingles people actually recognize swallows us up and you can say goodbye to Memento Entertainment.”
I reach down and pick up my purse.
“Where are you going?” he asks. “We’re not done here.”
“I’m not leaving,” I tell him and grab a piece of gum. Out of nowhere, my mouth tastes like I just finished eating pennies and blueberry pie. It’s not a good mix.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks. “You don’t look so well.”
We’ve done this before. We’ve had this exact conversation before, only I can’t actually place when it would have happened. The feeling, though, is overwhelming.
My mind races as I think back, trying to pin it down, but I can’t think of anything that would fit.
“What the hell was that?” I shout.
John’s brow furrows. “What the hell was what?”
“It sounded like someone was trying to break…the door…with a…”
I’m dizzy and my head hurts, but my legs are numb and my vision’s gone double, so I don’t feel confident excusing myself.
“Grace?”
“I’m…fine…” I mutter and that’s the last thing I remember.
After that, my consciousness is an infrequent series of pictures and words in a language that I’ve never heard.
I’m not in the
office anymore, and for a while, I don’t know where I am at all.
There’s a man standing over me now, shining a light into my eyes, and I’m asking him, with great difficulty, what he’s done to me and why I can’t move.
He answers me, saying, “You’re in a hospital. You had a seizure.”
I try to respond, but it’s difficult for me to find my tongue to speak again.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I look up at him, the world slowly coming back into focus. “I don’t…” I start. “What’s happening to me?”
“It takes a little time to regain yourself after a seizure,” he explains. “Do you remember anything?”
It takes some time to get the words out, but I tell him about the pictures, the unrecognizable sounds.
“Well,” he says, “my name is Dr. Jones. We’re going to get you in for some tests to see why this happened, but if you’re feeling up to it, I have some questions.”
“Okay,” I agree, trying to keep my eyes open. I’ve never felt this exhausted in my life.
“Do you have a history of seizures?”
“No,” I answer.
“Does anyone in your family have epilepsy?”
“No.”
“Do you have any numbness, tingling in your body right now?”
“My left side,” I tell him, “and both my legs.”
“All right,” he says. “I don’t think you had a stroke, your pupils are round and reactive, but we should know more once we’ve gotten you in for an MRI. For now, you should just get some rest, all right? The remote next to your bed has a red button on it; just press that if you need a nurse to come in and give you a hand with anything. Otherwise, just lie back and close your eyes. It looks like you’ve had a pretty rough day.”
“John…” I start.
“Your friend?” the doctor asks.
I nod.
“He had to go back to the office,” the doctor answers, “but he said he’d be back later to check on you. Why don’t you just get some rest?”