by Alexis Angel
Austin used to joke that he wasn’t still a few millions away from becoming a billionaire, but that changed pretty fast. We’re making so much money with Python that we’re already considering opening another club just like it on the West Coast. That is, if you find someone trustworthy enough to run it. Strokes isn’t really interested in running a club again.
Oh, yeah, you’re probably wondering about her. She actually spent half a year in Barcelona, and then she travelled all over Europe for two more months. She came back to the States the day she found out I was about to give birth. She bawled her eyes out when I told her we were naming our baby after her.
She eventually settled in New York again, the city no longer feeling like a bad place full of bad memories. These days, she only sees possibilities wherever she goes. She’s gotten into her mind that she wants to be a lawyer, and Austin promptly said we should pay for all of her tuition. I agreed in a heartbeat.
“Come here,” I whisper at Austin, placing my arms around his neck and pulling him in for one long kiss. I close my eyes, savoring his kiss as if it was the first one. It seems like everything happened a lifetime ago… Remember when I went to Python just so I could spy for Lester? Everything spun out of control after that day and, by God, I couldn’t be happier that it happened the way it did. In a twisted turn of events, Lester was the one bringing us together.
Oh, about him… He actually did leave New York as Austin made him promise. He quit his position as the Police Commissioner, and then just packed everything and moved to Las Vegas. There, he decided it was good a good idea to try out the roulette and, next thing he knows, he’s flat out broke.
Eventually he decided to turn his life around. The last time we’ve heard from the people keeping tabs on him, it seems that he had gotten a job at a coffee shop. That’s right, from Police Commissioner to minimum wage barista in Las Vegas. If you ever come across him, make sure you place an extra complicated order for him. And don’t tip.
“Do you think we have the time before she wakes up?” Austin whispers, that mischievous grin of his flaring up something inside of me. It’s like this every day, really. You’d think that all that electric lust would start dissipating after a few months of fucking every single day, but in fact it’s been just the opposite. Sure, it’s trickier nowadays with the baby; I have learned to be quieter, that’s one, but we still can’t go a day without sex.
“I think we do,” I whisper back at him, my arms still around his neck. I pull him after me and he lies down on top of my body, his hands going down to my waist.
“You know… Sometimes I find myself wondering if all this isn’t just a dream. You, Anna, the club… How in the world did I ever get so lucky?”
“I wonder the same sometimes,” I take my hand to his crotch and then squeeze his cock, feeling it already hard and pulsing against the palm of my hand. “But then I just feel you inside of me and I realize that this is as real as it could be…”
“Well, let’s make the test then. Just to be sure,” he smiles as I start unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. Yeah, let’s be sure.
But he’s right, you know? Our life seems like something out of a fairy-tale. We’re the envy of the whole world. Could life be any more perfect?
I doubt it, I really do.
Second Epilogue - Austin
So, that’s what ends up happening, in the end. Sure, I’m a cocky fucking asshole. But I ended up getting my fucking comeuppance pretty good, don’t you think?
I have to say though, I’m a very grateful man. And I’ve changed. Destiny’s changed me. She’s so invariably cute. Like a fucking button. Then one day, something crazy happens. I see her walking around the condo in her lace white boy shorts and belly shirt and my cock grows in a second. But she ends up looking at me with those wide eyes of hers and shakes her head, “Maybe if you’re good and follow instructions,” she says, crooking her fingers. And I growl, like an animal and follow her around the apartment - being led around like a dog. She sits down on the couch and turns on a movie. I don’t like the looks of what I’m seeing - a movie called ‘Hope Floats’ has never really floated my boat, but Destiny grabs me by the cock - I swear she grabs me by the cock - and pulls me closer to her.
I end up cuddling with her the entire movie. Smelling her hair. Holding her arms. Feeling her ass wriggle and nestle itself in my crotch - enveloping me with her ass cheeks. Any other girl, this shit would not be okay. But for Destiny, I actually fucking enjoy it.
Destiny turns over to me as the movie ends and looks deep into my eyes.
“You know my friend Alexis is finishing up her novel about us, right?” Destiny asks.
I’ve met Alexis a few times. She’s a cute girl. She’s a bit quirky. I know she’s fucking crazy about being sexy in every part of her life. Whether that means being outside in beautiful weather, or sitting at home reading a fucking book, you'll never see her go more than ten minutes without smiling and saying something fucking dirty.
And let me tell you, when she dirty, she’s talking about us.
“So, Alexis writes steamy contemporary romance about bad boys for the bad girl in all of us. She is still single at 30, in case anyone is interested to know, and still very much looking for love,” Destiny tells me.
I nod to her, not sure where this is going as she continues, “Her favorite things in the world are flowers, chocolate, lingerie, high heels, lipstick, perfume, and the credit card award miles that she gets from buying all that.”
This is just fucking strange. But I watch as Destiny talks to me.
“Prior to writing, Alexis used to be a financial analyst in New York City,” Destiny tells me. “She quickly decided that working for a faceless corporation run by men was not her dream job. So she began to write. And as she began to write, she began to use those credit card award miles to travel all over the world.”
“Okay, what the fuck is the point?” I ask.
“Alexis is still single, in case you forgot from above,” Destiny says, her hands tracing lines on my chest as she props herself up on my body. God, her fucking body is keeping my cock hard as a fucking brick. If she doesn’t do something soon, I’m just going to cum right there. “She spends winters in California, fall and spring in New York City, and summers in Europe.”
“Why are you telling me all this, babe?” I ask, a bit of fucking exasperation showing up in my voice. “Do you want me to fuck her?”
Destiny scrunches her nose and gently slaps me on the side of the head.
“No,” she says, rolling her eyes for added effect. “But she’s done without all that because she’s been writing about us. And our story is going to go on sale soon.”
Fucking nice.
“Where?” I ask.
“Amazon,” Destiny says, “But you can join her list to keep up with updates or find out bonus content to read about our childhood if you sign up at http://eepurl.com/csXC2P or just email her at [email protected]”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if anyone wants to read any more about us.”
“Well, we’re going to be going to a few of her parties at Dirty Lil’ Angels on Facebook. People can click on the links to join or like,” Destiny replies.
“Click what links?” I ask. I’m fucking confused. “Where?”
“Don’t you want to be a Dirty Lil’ Angel, Austin?” she asks me.
That’s too much. I bring my hands around and grab her ass. She squeals. Her crotch grinds against mine and she closes her eyes.
When she opens her eyes again, she’s no longer the good girl and mother of my child. She’s a fucking porn star that I’m going to fuck like a whore.
I grin as she brings her mouth lower and we kiss.
Its time for the Python to come out and play.
Alicia Vs. Billionaire
Like the one time I’m even slightly naughty, it comes back to bite me. Literally…
So what if I gave into a moment of weakness with a hot stranger on a t
rain? Maybe did some things that would make my mom shake her head.
No problem, right? Go on about your way, right? It’s a big city…millions of people and you’ll never see them again, right?
Wrong.
It turns out this guy I let myself go with is my new client, Derek Lowell. Not only that, but of course he has to be a hot, single, billionaire and all, and obviously he has every woman at my job salivating over his ultra-ripped body with his 8-pack abs and beautiful, rugged face and his monster…uhmm…ego?
You know by now what all those alpha-male billionaires say in these blurbs. Like, ‘Oh I always get what I want and I want her, haha’ or ‘She doesn’t know it yet but she’s going to be on her knees begging me not to stop, haha’.
Ya, whatevs, dude. You wanna get me on my knees it better be because I’m about to sit on your face.
Oh, what’s wrong? Is the Big Bad Alpha-Male Billionaire scared of lil’ ol’ me?
Oh, now he’s mad and he says he’s gonna teach me a lesson. I think this is gonna be fun…
*** It’s the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Billionaire in this first installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sexy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happily Ever After? Always, babe ***
Alicia
You have to be kidding! I look at my phone and see that it has a 20% charge. I'll never get through the day on that. I rush over and plug it into the charger for a few minutes while I continue applying my mascara—it's amazing what good mascara can do for a girl—and I count down the minutes till I need to leave for work. 15 minutes. I can feel every one of those minutes trickling down my neck like rain flooding a roof. If I don't get on the 6 train soon, I'm going to be late—and I'm never late.
I rush over and gather what I need in my purse, and pick out my heels for the day—black or beige? I'm going with black. Throwing them on my feet, I grab my phone, my keys, and run out the door. I make it out of my apartment with two minutes to spare and I'm feeling good. As I head to the subway station I stop at Starbucks. It's my one indulgence. I can't function without my skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso. And it never fails that I always get some morning entertainment out of how they spell my name: Alisha, Aleesha, Alissya, and one time even Alisheé—do I look French? For the record, my name is the standard Alicia.
I pull my phone out of my purse and double-check the time. Shit. The slowest barista is working today and the line is backed up. Why would they put the slowest person behind the bar during the morning rush? I should be at the Midtown Manhattan offices of Carter Jeffries in a few minutes, but I can see now that I'm going to be late. Just as I'm considering skipping the drink, I hear my name: "A skinny vanilla latte with an add shot on the bar for Ashley!" I grab the drink and head outside, rushing to the 6 train from 81st street as fast as my heels will carry me.
A crowd is building for the train. It's the morning rush, so it's a familiar scene. As soon as the train pulls up, everyone is bumping shoulders. Every seat is taken, and most of the overhead handrails are taken as well. I look down and one guy is 'manspreading' himself across two seats, which is annoying, but I get lucky and lean up against a metal pole in the middle of the train with a sliver of space to spare. The train lurches with forward momentum and I accidentally bump into a guy standing next to me.
"Sorry about that," I say, waving at him apologetically. He gives me a sympathetic smile and says, "It's fine. Busy morning."
As he says this, I notice his face. He's clean cut, with soft brown hair and he smells good—what is that—smoky, woodsy, and citrusy? Oh god, and he has a million dollar smile. And those eyes—the color of perfect weather. He smiles at me a moment longer and then looks away. I suddenly feel drawn to this man. Is it my hormones? Maybe it's the fact that I haven't slept with a man in over a month, and the last time it happened wasn't a memory I want to relive. My ex—Michael—and I had just broken up—we agreed to remain friends and he suggested we go for one drink. Yes, one drink. I know, how stupid could I be? I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. One drink turned into three, which turned into a couple more and before I knew it, I was inviting him back up to my apartment. And let's face it; I don't think anyone makes their best decisions under the influence of five or more cocktails. So, there we were, making out and peeling our clothes off faster than you can scratch an itch. The sex was mediocre at best—okay, I'll be honest; it sucked. Michael was so drunk that he couldn't even finish, so even under the haze of alcohol we both laid there in an awkward semi-embrace.
Now that you know my sex life—or lack of one—over the last month, can you blame me for wanting this cute guy next to me? We're already standing pretty close to one another, but I decide to scoot in closer. I mean YOLO, right?
Without pausing to think about how much my mom would be disappointed in me right now, I move in casually, looking in another direction, and I gently rub my ass against his crotch.
Oh my God! This is like the craziest thing I’ve ever done!
It’s morning rush hour! On a packed subway! But this guy is hot, and desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Can you blame me?
I scooch back just a lil bit more. He doesn't move, and I can feel him looking down at me. He's tall, maybe 6'3", and I'm 5'4" so I come to his shoulders, and I continue to grind my ass into his lap. First, in gentle, delicate strokes—I'm testing the waters—and then I continue with increased bravery—my touch becomes firm and I can feel him harden underneath me. His bulge feels massive—I'm guessing he has a 12-inch cock.
He reaches up and places his hands onto my hips, guiding my movements. He's enjoying this, and if I'm being honest, I am too. His consent spurs me on. I feel so wet. My thong is soaked and my pussy is throbbing for more. Much more, I realize, than I can get on this train during rush hour.
"59th Street-Lexington Ave," the overhead says, and I feel the train glide to a stop. As it stops, I turn around to face this handsome man, we lock eyes, and an electric current travels down my spine. He leans down, placing one strong hand behind my head and gently brings me to him, placing his lips on mine. Actually, he kisses the corner of my mouth at first, and then nibbles on my bottom lip, bringing it between his perfect teeth. I melt under his touch and open my mouth, eagerly taking him into me. Our tongues press together, one on top of the other in a fervent embrace, and our warmth travels from each other like an electric current.
It's not until 51st street that I realize where I'm at. I need to get off this train and go to work. My mind snaps to the present, and I back away. The doors of the train swoosh open and without saying a word, I turn around and leave. I don't look back. I can't afford to. I can hardly believe the whole encounter, and I'm now running as fast as I can. My mind is reeling. What exactly happened? I chalk it up to an only-in-New-York experience, collect myself, and head into work.
The offices of Carter Jeffries are bustling. I don't even make it to my desk before I'm approached by my Managing Director, Nadia Moore. She’s tough as nails but she’s always been fair to me. She’s climbed the corporate ladder and I kinda wanna be just like her when I grow up – powerful and strong. But something about her sorta scares me. Like she traded in her soul.
I don’t know if I want to do that to myself.
"Where have you been?" she asks.
"I know; I'm sorry I'm late. It's been a crazy morning," I say. Crazy is an understatement, but it's the word that immediately comes to mind. I mentally tell myself that I'll have to fill her in later.
"It just so happens that our client is late too, so you're in luck, but you should hurry."
I thank her and walk to the conference room, reviewing the main points of today's meeting.
Remember, this is an ultra high net worth individual, I tell myself. I know that I have a golden opportunity to help this client grow his wealth and plan it accordingly.
I mentally review his portfolio performance.
I've spent the last week preparing for this moment. I
suspect he'll want to discuss tax and estate planning as well, so I make a mental note to bring this up with the client.
And just as I enter the conference room, a secretary buzzes me on the intercom and alerts me that the client has arrived. "He should be there any moment," she says.
And true to her word, I see that he's not alone. With him is an entourage of lawyers. Serious looking men in black suits. They file into the conference room and begin sitting at the long mahogany table. I'm wondering to myself which one of these men is the client—could it be one of these serious looking men in a black suit?—when another, younger man enters. He's clean cut, handsome—wait… I know this man.
No way… This can't be! He's the man from the train. This is the billionaire client. He walks into the conference room with that million-dollar smile lighting up his face, when he turns and sees me. Our eyes lock onto each other with a knowing gaze.
Have you ever been so nervous that you felt your heart in your throat?
That's me right now.
Derek
"Mr. Lowell, beyond your portfolio's performance and the tax and estate planning concerns that we just discussed, what goals are the most fundamentally important to you?"
I nod my head because that's a good question. A lot of wealth managers seem to miss this. I'm trying to focus on her words—I'm trying to keep this all business—I'm trying to keep my eyes above her neck—but let's be honest; the image of us on the 6 train keeps replaying itself in my mind like a song stuck on repeat.
"Sure, let's break down these goals," I say.