Savage: A Bad Boy Fake Fiancé Romance

by Kira Blakely

  I smile. “I said I was going to go to bed early,” I purr back.

  He chuckles. “Then we should hurry.”

  Dash surprises me by snatching me up and walking quickly to our bedroom.

  I sweep the bedroom door shut behind us, locking it. Dash pins me against it, his hands wrapping around my waist as his mouth devours mine, robbing me of breath and sending heat all the way down to my toes. Yeah, we’ve still got it like that.

  Dash twists my hair off my shoulder so he can kiss my neck, his other hand enclosing one of my breasts.

  I moan but I push him away. “Wait here,” I tell him. “I have something new.”

  I disappear into the bathroom, leaving him puzzled, emerging minutes later in a robe. I find Dash on the bed already naked, hard as a rock, lying on his side. My eyes trail appreciatively over his hard cock, giving him an once-over and a twice-over. That thing still kind of scares me, but my underwear still gets wet. I know it only looks like it will hurt. “This reminds me of our second time,” Dash says with an impish little grin, such a rare sight on his face. “Or our first time in twelve years.”

  I play with the sash of my robe and pout seductively at him. “We were already man and wife,” I remind him.

  “And I still need to see what’s under that robe,” he reminds me seriously.

  Grinning, I loosen the sash and shrug the robe off my shoulders. A dark blue, leopard print, silk baby doll chemise with a ribbon in front matches its black lace thong.

  Dash’s eyes widen as they trail down my body. I purse my lips, giving a whirl. “Do you like it?”

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” he answers. “Your body only gets better.” I see his cock throb in agreement and it sends a pulse of heat through me. “I think you’re overdressed, though.”

  “Was this not a black-thong dress code?” I climb on top of the bed and straddle his lap with a coy little smile.

  “Easy fix,” Dash growls, tugging open the front ribbon. My breasts swing free right in front of his face and sucks on one as he pushes my top off. As soon as it’s gone, his free hand makes itself busy again, moving the thin fabric of my thong to the side. His fingers brushing against my clit before they slip inside me.

  I gasp.

  Releasing my breast, he captures my mouth to swallow my moans, still stroking me, his other hand on a cheek of my ass. I place my hands behind his head, fingers getting lost in his hair. I kiss him back fiercely and gyrate my hips against him.

  Dash’s fingers move up again to rub the sensitive nub and I tremble, clinging to him. He sucks on my other breast, arms around my waist as he moves his fingers faster.

  As usual, that part of me submits to him completely, swelling and sending ripples of pleasure all through my body. I pull at his hair, pressing my body against him as the pleasure takes over.

  “Oh, God.”

  By now, my body responds to him so strongly, even as I recover from my first orgasm of the evening, I can feel the excitement buzzing in my veins, knowing that it’s only the beginning.

  “Already?” Dash teases as he wraps his arms around me. “Shut up,” I tell him, kissing him as I place my hands on his shoulders. “It’s your fault.”

  “Then I accept your punishment.”

  I give a smug grin before pushing him down.

  I kiss his nipples then circle with my tongue, drawing a gasp from him. Then I slowly move down as I hold Dash’s narrow, heated gaze until his hard cock is in front of me and gripping his hands, I begin to lick.

  He squeezes my hands as his eyes fall shut.

  I keep swiping my tongue up and down the length of him, beneath the tip and across him, making him gasp and shiver, which in turn, makes me shiver with excitement. Indeed, as he gets wetter, so do I, my body anticipating the results of my efforts.

  Eventually, I let go of his hands so they can find purchase in my hair, wrapping fingers around his cock to give a few strokes before taking him inside my mouth. It’s a task I’ve become good at and a task I’ve learned to enjoy especially as I hear the gasps and moans escaping his lips while his cock quivers between mine.

  “Janine,” Dash warns, pulling on my hair.

  Understanding, I pull away. I’m not about to relinquish control though.

  I climb on top of him, moving the thin strip of fabric between my legs out of the way as I grab his cock and slowly slide it inside me.

  “Fuck,” the curse escapes Dash’s lips.

  I close my eyes and hold my breath, taking a moment to savor the feel of his cock inside me, reaching the depths of me. I start moving my hips, in circles at first then up and down slowly.

  Dash places his arms behind his head, breathlessly staring at me as I move on top of him, my hair flowing past my shoulders and my breasts bouncing with every move I make, my pendant swaying between them.

  “Beautiful.”

  “Don’t stare,” I scold him then lean over to kiss him. “Well. Don’t just stare.”

  When I lean back, his hands finally move, reaching out to cup my breasts and rub my nipples.

  I moan, throwing my head back.

  My arms propped against his legs, I move faster, wanting to feel more of him. He grabs my hips and begins moving his own, thrusting up into my body.

  “So good,” I tell him, riding him.

  “You like being on top, don’t you?” he asks.

  “I like it every way you give it,” I pant down to him. “Good.” Dash reverses our positions. “Because it’s my turn now.”

  He slips out of me just for a few moments to get rid of my thong then slides back in, wrapping one arm around me as he begins to pound into me, the other stroking my cheek.

  He holds my gaze, his eyes half-lidded. Then he takes my pendant, kissing it.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I tell him, stroking his cheek in turn.

  I wrap my arms around him as he kisses me, moving in and out of me at the same time. When he moves faster, though, I pull away, turning my head to the side so that I can gasp for air.

  “Dash!”

  I can feel the pleasure mounting with each thrust. I’m close. So close.

  “Janine!”

  Dash moves his hips even faster, sharing the same feeling. Then he captures my mouth again, our moans mingling just as his body trembles above mine, against mine, inside me, and I am swept away with him, shivering beneath him, around him.

  He empties himself inside me then grows still. The sound of our ragged breathing punctuates the silence. He moves off me and I snuggle against him, kissing his cheek before resting my head on his chest. He in turn kisses my forehead.

  I smile. “Do you think we’ll have a girl?” I wonder.

  “I don’t know.” He strokes my hair. “Do you want one?”

  I nod. “You and Brandon play all the time. I want a girl to play with.”

  “Ah, but you and Brandon share the better moments,” Dash reminds. “Like when you tuck him into bed and kiss his scraped knees.”

  “You would do the same to our little red-haired girl.” “Probably.”

  I look up at him. “We make a great team, you and I.” “That we do,” Dash agrees.

  As I rest my cheek on his chest, he kisses the top of my head again, and I smile against his skin.

  Throttle

  BY KIRA BLAKELY

  *Amazon Top 100 Best-seller, 4.7 stars, 345 reviews!*

  I’m a boss with my hands.

  Right about now is when I mention how big my… wrench is.

  No need.

  It speaks for itself.

  My story is simple: Michelle comes to my body shop and can’t pay for the repairs.

  I give them for free. I guess that’s a turn on.

  We crash against my desk both wanting it like fucking animals.

  Then poof, she’s gone.

  6 months later, I punch a crooked cop, and Michelle is assigned as my court appointed lawyer.

  One prob
lem.

  The crooked cop in question will do anything to have her.

  Fuck that. She’s mine.

  Prologue:

  I’m Not This Kind of Girl

  My mother always used to say that I snap under pressure. Stack a ballet recital on top of a math test, and I’d pee my pants. So, what happens when your whole life is in boxes, traveling from Ohio to Texas, and then your Volvo’s heater pops– in January?

  You take it to the shop, naturally.

  I hadn’t done anything mind-numbingly reckless yet. But I was about to.

  My eyes tracked the mechanic from behind my box-framed glasses. I sat cross-legged in the waiting room, an open magazine on my lap, but there was this broad window peering directly into the garage. And the mechanic was dangling some metallic coil into the engine of my shabby wagon. It must have been heavy. His abdomen flattened and hardened from the strain. A band of muscle running from his back to his hips stood out beneath his skin.

  I knew because he was shirtless.

  In January.

  With the bay doors wide open, like a maniac.

  The mechanic shoved at my fender with his hips, forcing the hood down with a thrust.

  The sound of Stone Temple Pilots’ “Half the Man” seeped through the window.

  His mid-length hair was the color of pepper and void of any rhyme or reason. No comb, no product. It stayed wherever it landed. He moved around the garage as if the entire place was an extension of his body. Juicy biceps—

  “You aren’t wearing sunglasses, you know.” The teenaged receptionist interrupted my moment with a joyless grin.

  I tore my attention from the glass and cleared my suddenly tightened throat. “I was—looking at my reflection.”

  “Yeah, a lot of women do,” the girl replied with a smirk, returning to the task of texting someone.

  I focused on my dim reflection in the glass, critiquing the sloppy bun at the nape of my neck, overflowing with thick, dark hair. I’d been forced to wear clothes I wouldn’t normally wear: a white blouse a few touches too tight, a black pencil skirt with a small rip along the hem, wool stockings, a green plaid parka, and Converse sneakers. Boxes still lined the halls of my new place, and it was hard to find my good panties, much less a matching pair of heels.

  My first day as a public defender for Pelham County Court loomed over me. This heater was going to run me an extra $200 when my budget was already spread as thin as the frost on my damn windshield. And this teenager thought I was drooling over her boss? Please! I have much bigger—

  “Blown heater?” a gravelly baritone called with a thick twang.

  I adjusted my glasses and forced myself to a stand. He swaggered across the waiting room, flipping a black t-shirt over his forearm as he joined the teenager at the desk. Even though I was making eye contact with his nipples, I was the one who felt naked. I can’t believe I’m in here wearing sneakers. What would my mother say?

  As I crossed the room, I could see the details I’d missed. His shrewd gray eyes were dappled with hints of green, and his jaw was almost imperceptibly wider than his forehead and overgrown with stubble, giving him a near barbaric countenance. This wasn’t tempered by the fact that he couldn’t seem to summon a smile for me, even when our eyes met. I swallowed as I reached the counter, wondering if he might yell at me for mistreating the engine or something.

  “I’m the blown heater,” I announced meekly. Maybe he’d tear open my blouse and my bra and say, “I’m gonna teach you a lesson about cranking that coil too hard—”

  “You’re all set.” He gave me a perfunctory nod, clapped his secretary on the back, and retreated into the smaller, windowless office behind the front desk.

  I talked my nipples back down. “Yeah, a lot of women do,” the receptionist’s bored voice echoed in my head.

  She collected my bill from a DOS-era printer and passed it for my review.

  My eyes ogled the final number, tallying the itemized expenses, certain that labor couldn’t possibly be that expensive.

  This was almost nine hundred dollars, and I hadn’t even gotten my first paycheck yet.

  I swallowed the ball in my throat. “This was only supposed to be a couple hundred dollars,” I assured her with a little shake to my voice. “I made sure before I came here. I Googled it.”

  That teenybopper receptionist actually scoffed at me. “You should have requested an estimate,” she reminded me, like I was an idiot.

  I am an idiot. I should have requested the estimate. I thought it had been the blower, but it was the damn coil... Fuck. I was fucked.

  I pressed my palm to my forehead and gazed down at the floor, trying to do the mental math on survival. Technically, I had 918 dollars in my checking account. And that was about it. First month’s rent had already been paid, but there were no groceries in the fridge or anything. Fuck!

  “It’s nine—”

  “I heard you!” I snapped at the girl, even though she was about ten years younger than I and this wasn’t her fault. This was my fault. I frazzled and frayed under the pressure. I pursed my lips, and my eyes stung. I was not going to cry in front of this kid. I was not going to cry in front of this kid. It would be okay. I’d figure it—

  “Everything all right out there?” the mechanic called through his closed office door.

  “The lady’s got a problem,” the receptionist yelled back to him. “She doesn’t have nine hundred dollars.”

  The office door opened, and he leaned on its frame. I pulled my face out of my hands and willed myself to stop almost-crying. He wore a black t-shirt and an expression of stifled sympathy on his face. “Hey, come on in,” he invited, nodding toward the chair across from his desk. A dimple sank into one of his cheeks and his eyes sang as they touched on me. “This happens more often than you think.”

  I followed his command and entered the office, but I couldn’t settle in that chair like some beggar. I shook out the nervous energy in my hands and twisted, and he thrusted a handshake into my space.

  “I’m Ace.” His body heat radiated into mine and his scent tickled beneath my nose, a scent of sweat and metal and dirt, all things that should have been repulsive to me. But on him, that salty scent made my lips hot, made me feel bee stung and a little dizzy. Our palms slid together and the crisp winter air melted right off my fingertips. My throat pulsed. My pussy twinged sweetly between my legs, and my eyelashes softly fluttered.

  “I’m Miss—” I swallowed the lump in my throat and corrected myself. “I’m Michelle.”

  “Pleasure, Miss Michelle,” he said, retracting his hand and leaning his ass on the desk. Was it all in my mind that something had happened right then? “You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you?”

  “No,” I answered vehemently.

  “Just wanted to be sure,” Ace assured me, putting his palms up in the sign of surrender.

  A surprising welt of resentment formed on my heart. I was not fucking homeless. I was not a drug addict or a prostitute. This was just a hard year for me; I didn’t need his goddamn pity.

  If only Mommy and Daddy could see me now... begging for a payment plan from a total stranger. I could hear my mother in my head, scoffing, “A tradesman!”

  I stood there and seethed wordlessly, trying to figure out how to say that I didn’t need help and I really needed help at the same time.

  “We could always put together some sort of a payment plan.” Ace lightly plucked the bill from my hand and examined it. “Could you do three hundred dollars for the next three months? That sound fair?”

  I bent my lower lip between my teeth and bit it gently. I couldn’t bear to confess that it was still three hundred dollars over budget. Three hundred dollars could feed me all month.

  “Um,” I whispered. What could I do? “I... I might be able to do...” I had to give him something. “Fifty?”

  His eyes darkened with something unknown and his nostrils flared. “Hm. What about this?” Ace crumpled the bill into a ball in his
hand and nodded at me. “Welcome to Pelham County, Michelle.”

  My eyes ticked from the ruined bill to his eyes and back again, unable to compute such a gesture in this day and age. I wanted to tell him no, but my heart was already singing with gratitude. “Wh—really?” I squeaked.

  Ace flicked the ball of paper over his shoulder, where it landed and skittered away somewhere behind his desk. He grinned sheepishly, privately proud of himself in this moment.

  “Oh, my god!” I gasped, bouncing toward him and throwing my arms around his neck. I continued to jump up and down without thinking about how my breasts were pressed up against his chest, grinding with my every bounce. All I could think about was how my heat coil had been replaced for free, how I would be able to afford groceries all winter now. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Ace said, lifting his hands to grip my forearms and pry them from around his neck. He forced my embrace off him, but my breasts were still against him. My head spun until I recognized the sensation of an erection slowly blooming against my thigh. Then I took a step back and returned to my senses. In spite of the softness in his face, his brow was hard. “You’re welcome,” Ace croaked.

  “You don’t know how much this means to me,” I went on. “There’s got to be some way I can repay you.” Yes, in the context of the erection, that sounded bad. But I really meant it. I wanted to repay him.

  A smile cracked the corner of Ace’s lip, but he wouldn’t look directly at me. “I know exactly how much this means to you,” he reminded me. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

  I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around his neck one more time, no longer wild and mindless. Controlled and purposeful. “Thank you,” I said again, a soulful whisper against his neck. I could still feel his hard length pulsing on my thigh. The irrational urge to roll my tongue along his skin occurred to me, but I pulled my mouth away before I did something crazy.

  “You’re welcome,” Ace said again. He swallowed and I stood on the tips of my toes to drop a light, innocent kiss onto his cheek.