“I’d like for you and Helen to have dinner with me this week. To meet my…girlfriend.”
Though it sounds foreign on my tongue, it feels right, growing teeth and latching onto my heart. My girlfriend. Mine. Yeah, mine sounds a helluva lot better.
“For fuck’s sake, man. Girlfriend? The William Foster I know doesn’t seriously date.”
“This is the William Foster you don’t know. Turns out, I think you’ll like this guy.”
“That remains to be seen,” he grumbles and then curses again. “Fine. You want to go this route, then we’ll go this route. Friday night let’s meet up for dinner. If I haven’t punched you in the face by the end of the meal, then I guess I’ll let it go.” A sigh of resignation. “She’s not my little girl anymore.”
No, indeed she is not.
“You know I love you, Mason,” I say with fierceness. “I always have. You’ve saved me from every low point in my life. Every time I lost sight of who I was, you were there to put me back on track.”
“And now?”
“She has your strength and loyalty. Your fire.”
“I’ll teach her my right hook too. Just in case.”
“I won’t fuck up,” I vow, my words threading through me in a binding way I feel down to my marrow. “I swear to God I won’t.”
“You can’t.” His voice cracks. “You can’t fuck up. Not now. Not this time.”
“I won’t.”
After a long pause, Mason finally says goodbye and hangs up. I’m pleased to have navigated the minefield with my best friend, our friendship not blowing up in the process. Now, onto my second order of business.
“Come in,” I call out, motioning to Ryan.
He walks in, a smarmy smile on his face. “What’s up, Boss?”
“Close the door.” My voice turns icy cold. “We have much to discuss.”
I remember the day Mason told me he was in love Helen. It was a cool evening in November and he’d invited me out for drinks. As we shared a basket of wings and downed a couple of beers, his sea green eyes turned soft, the bar lights above making them almost twinkle. He told me she just did something to him. Knocked him off his axis. Distracted him. Consumed him. Being his logical best friend, I’d had concerns. Grilled him about his swift fall into the infamous love trap. I couldn’t comprehend the term other than the platonic way I loved him. My bedroom conquests were almost cold. There were no sparks other than the general heat of lust for a warm body to sink into. No fire, not even an ember.
As Mason described—the most passionate I’d ever seen him—how she got inside him, burrowing her way right into his heart, I felt sorry for him. My levelheaded friend seemed naïve and so hopeful.
Every year after, I waited for the dreadful call. For him to tell me he was sleeping with his secretary or that they’d split up. But he always had this way about him when he spoke of her. And seeing them together, it was obvious how much he cared about her. Even now, nearly two decades later, I’m surprised he still talks about her with the same affectionate shine in his eyes and the same goofy-ass grin on his face.
Tonight, at dinner, my best friend attempted to play the protective father role. All of five minutes. Soon, however, Chelsea had worked her magic to smooth over the uneasiness at the new roles we played. I’d stared at her fondly, amazed that I’d somehow tripped over my own rules of how I run my life and stumbled into her. When Mason caught me smiling as she laughed at something Helen had said, he nudged me with his foot to grab my attention.
His green eyes flickered with understanding. Acceptance drew up his smile that is so similar to Chelsea’s and he gave me a nod. It was then, I realized he would never question my intent with his daughter again or worry over her wellbeing while she was with me.
But why?
He saw in me what I saw in him all those years ago.
Where his was a fully bloomed rose, mine is yet a bud, yearning to open up and flower, proudly showing the world I am capable of such an emotion too. With time, I know I’ll fall completely over this girl. Hell, I’m halfway there and we’ve only just begun.
Now that we’re back home—since she’s officially mine, I’m not letting her go back to her place anytime soon—I can’t take my eyes off her. Her blond hair hangs in silky, golden tresses around her pretty face, a smile teasing one side of her full lips, as she texts someone. She stretches one of her long legs out over my lap, oblivious to the fact she maddens me with such an innocent move. The navy dress she wore to dinner seems to dance up her thighs, giving me a tiny peek at the nude-colored panties she’s wearing beneath it. I splay may hand over her tanned thigh and ease my palm further up her leg.
“I thought we were watching a movie,” she says, a blond brow arched.
“Nah, I prefer to watch you work.”
“How do you know I’m working?”
“You’re making your work face.”
She laughs, such a sweet fucking sound, setting her phone down on the couch beside her. “I have a work face?”
“You do.” I smirk at her. “It’s sexy as fuck, too.”
“What’s this face?” she purrs as she sits up, repositioning herself to straddle my lap. She bites on her fat bottom lip, gently grinding against my aching dick.
“It’s not fucking innocent, no matter how hard you chew on that lip. This is your ‘I want dick face.’”
Her sea green eyes flash with amusement. “You’re good.”
“I know.” A wolfish grin splits across my face as I push her dress up her thighs. “I know all your faces now.”
She flutters her eyes closed when my knuckle grazes over her clit, the thin barrier of the material of her panties only serving to aid me in my effort to bring her pleasure. I’m transfixed by the way she rocks her hips and her tits jiggle as she works with me, chasing her orgasm. As she gets closer, I pull my hand away, pleased at the way her eyes pop open, flickering with annoyance.
“That’s your spoiled little girl face,” I say with a dark chuckle. “That one gets me really, really hot.” I go back to massaging her just the way she likes on her needy clit. “Don’t worry, beautiful, I enjoy spoiling you.”
She rolls her eyes making me laugh but then her breathing intensifies as she gets closer to the edge. As I draw her nearer to pleasure, I reach behind her to unzip her dress. It slides down her shoulders, revealing her nude bra to me. While I continue to rub at her clit, I peel her dress off her arms letting it pool at her waist. With a quick flip of my fingers, I unlatch her bra, tossing it away too. Her young tits are perky and round, but not too big. I’m addicted to the way her small nipples are always erect for me, hard like tiny rose-colored pebbles, always begging for my teeth.
Leaning forward, I suck on her nipple hard enough she yelps. Her fingers latch onto my hair, tugging in the animalistic way of hers that drives me mad with the desire to pin and claim her.
“Oh God,” she cries out, her body trembling with ecstasy.
I bite down on her peaked nipple, pulling back, my eyes drifting up to meet hers. Sea green mixed with flicks of navy seem to glow with overwhelming need for me. Once her body stops quivering, I cease rubbing at her clit and nibbling at her tit to lean back against the cushion. Always in tune with my thoughts, she sits up on her knees while I unfasten my slacks. She tosses her dress away, remaining only in her nude panties. I barely mange to get my pants and boxers yanked down my thighs before she’s back on me, rubbing against my length, the material of her panties an annoying barrier now.
“Move those,” I growl, my fingers biting into her thighs.
Her smile is seductive and confident as she hooks a finger into the side of the material, dragging them aside to reveal the most perfect, pretty pink pussy I’ve ever seen. She takes hold of my throbbing dick and teases her opening with the weeping crown of it. Then, with her eyes churning like an angry sea, she sinks down over me, her pillowy lips parted.
“Good girl,” I croon, once again leaning forward to feast on her
tits. “Now fuck me like you think you’re capable of conquering me.”
I don’t tell her she already has.
Her hips move like she’s dancing, smooth and rhythmic. Everything about her movements enraptures me. I want to taste her and see her and smell her and fucking feel her. All of her. All at once. She’s cutting through years of indifference and hardness at the world, sliding her sweetness into every nook and cranny of my entire being, not at all fucking sorry she’s invading me mind, body, and soul.
Gripping her ass cheek, I pull roughly on it, enjoying how she clenches around my cock and yelps. I urge her to fuck me faster, harder, hungrier. My girl obeys, changing the erotic dance to another one that seems to drive me crazy with need.
I pull my head back to look at her. So fucking beautiful with her neck exposed and lovely sounds escaping her. With a claiming grip on her jaw, I draw her mouth to mine so I can taste all the moans and whimpers to see if they’re as sweet as they sound. She devours me with urgency, equally consumed by me. Male pride clouds around us like a protective fog, keeping us locked away in our feral lovemaking.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
I’ve never wanted to claim and keep anyone. Ever. Chelsea morphs the man I was into the beast I’m quickly becoming.
I know I won’t last long, especially because her moans are growing louder and more ragged indicating she’s close to orgasming again. All it takes is a hard smack to the ass and for her pussy to clench from the shock of it for us both to find our release. She cries out my name, ripping at my hair. I’m drunk on pleasure and high on this girl, spinning off my axis as I try to bury my dick inside her forever. Finally, with her pussy full of my cum and my senses finding their way back to reality, I relax, pulling her against my chest.
She sighs against the side of my throat, in no hurry to slide off me and clean up. That’s another thing I like about Chelsea. Each time we’re together, she lives in the moment. Enjoys the wildness of the fucking but is content in the quiet of the after. Not needy or clingy, but instead, simply pleased. It never fails to stoke a fire inside me with the desire to please her every day until the end of time.
“You’re awfully intense today,” she murmurs, kissing my jaw before pulling back to meet my stare. “What’s going on inside that brilliant mind of yours?”
“Brilliant?” I smirk. “Someone is gracious with their compliments when she’s been fucked raw and been given a couple of orgasms.”
She laughs. “Don’t ruin it. Be serious.”
“Just thinking about how one day, I’ll own every part of your body.” Leaning in, I sweep her hair aside to expose her neck and kiss the sweet flesh. “Even here, Miss Parker.”
A gasp escapes her as I lazily run my finger up and down her ass crack.
“And if I resist?” she challenges, lifting her eyebrow in the sexy defiance that never ceases to make my dick turn to stone. Even now. Even after I’ve come deep inside her young, ripe body. She has my body convinced I’m a man closer to her age than her father’s. My dick twitches inside her, ready for another round.
“Hmm,” I rumble, taking hold of her wrists and wrenching them behind her back, glancing down at her tits that now jut into my face. “I think I’d quite like it if you resist actually. Scream a little.” I meet her amused stare and flash her an evil smile. “While you’re at it, call me Daddy, too.”
“Mr. Foster!”
THE END
About the Author
SAM MARIANO loves to write edgy, twisty reads with complicated characters you’re left thinking about long after you turn the last page. Her favorite thing about indie publishing is the ability to play by your own rules! If she isn’t reading one of the thousands of books on her to-read list, writing her next book, or playing with her adorable daughter… actually, that’s about all she has time for these days.
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Also by SAM MARIANO
Contemporary romance standalones
Untouchable (bully romance)
The Imperfections (forbidden romance)
Stitches (MFM ménage romance)
How the Hitman Stole Christmas (unconventional, a pinch of mafia)
Mistletoe Kisses (student-teacher romance novella)
Coming-of-age, contemporary bully duet
Because of You
After You
If you’re a series reader, be sure to check out her super binge-able Morelli family series! It’s dark and twisty mafia romance, and the first book is Accidental Witness.
CHAPTER ONE
James Caldron
Frankly, he looked ridiculous.
Which was really the only reason he was still occupying my incredibly precious time while blathering on about something I had absolutely no care about. I was running Her Majesty’s Government, not a charity, and the issue of archaeological preservation wasn’t even a blip on my radar. Unfortunately, strings had been pulled by the aristocratic pains in my arse, and now here I sat being advised on the importance of historical integrity.
I was more enraptured by the lad than the issue at hand.
I simply couldn’t fathom how a grown man––though admittedly, he seemed to be on the awkward, somewhat endearing precipice between boy and man, somewhere in his early twenties at a guess––could present himself in such a way.
He wore a thumb ring.
Bright gold, thick, inset with a glittering sapphire.
As I said, ridiculous.
Yet I couldn’t seem to unfix my gaze from it and, subsequently, from his hands.
To my knowledge, I had never actively studied someone’s hands before, let alone a man’s. But that silly ring locked my gaze to those long, nimble fingers and broad palms. The contrast of his white skin faintly marbled with blue and mauve veins against the black of his velvet jacket was oddly attractive. Though the man himself was tall, he still carried the coltishness of youth, but his hands were graceful, more eloquent than his speech.
Looking at the rest of him, I decided there was nothing spectacular about him. With foppish blond curls spiraling haphazardly into an open, earnest face eclipsed by eyes as blue and delicate as Spode china, he was fairly handsome, but not enough for me to take a second look at.
Particularly as I didn’t make it a habit to look twice at any man.
I narrowed my gaze at those flapping, animated hands as he dithered on about the importance of historical preservation and decided that regardless of his ridiculousness, he really did have beautiful fingers.
“There really is no reasonable way to defer the archaeological mitigation of such a large site, particularly when the Roman settlement of Londinium was a mere two kilometers away… Excuse me, Prime Minister, but are you listening to a word I say?” Tobias Talbot-Ullswater’s bright voice broke through my ennui and roped me back into the conversation that should have ended as soon as it began.
“I’ve heard you quite well,” I assured him. “In order that the football area for the new Kings Cross United team be built on the proposed site, you need six to unforetold months to properly survey the site, which will cost the government and unwitting taxpayers to spend millions of pounds on this project. I hear you, Mr. Talbot-Ullswater, but you have said nothing to convince me this isn’t a waste of time and money. The Battle Bridge Stadium stands to bring the city enormous economic growth, not to mention a neighborhood that fell into significant disrepair in the 19th and 20th centuries. We do not want to hinder or, God forbid, completely arrest the project based on your guess that there might be some bones of some kind beneath the ground.”
I arched a brow coolly as I leaned back in my chair and crossed one foot over the other knee. My best mate, Al
exander, called it my ‘affected professorial posture,’ but I didn’t let him teasing deter me in its use.
I found it intimidated people into getting to the point or getting out of my sight entirely.
It seemed to have the opposite effect on Mr. Talbot-Ullswater, who braced his feet farther apart and crossed his arms over his pastel pink paisley button-up.
“I am not here to waste your time, Your Excellency,” he said with a sweet smile masking his mawkish tone. “The issue of archaeological survey at the proposed site in Kings Cross is crucial to maintaining the history of the area. No! Of the city itself.”
“I wonder, Mr. Talbot-Ullswater,” I mused. “Are you always this dramatic? If so, it must be a characteristic of your age.”
Mona, my senior advisor and friend of twenty years, stirred in her seat beside me. It was an innocuous movement, but I knew she was startled by my show of personality and the simple fact that I’d let this meeting continue beyond the allotted five minutes.
I was efficient, calculated, and stern.
Not immature and irascible as I was now.
Something about the bratty cast of Talbot-Ullswater’s full, dimpled bottom lip irked me irrationally.
“I highly doubt you were ever anything close to dramatic,” he countered easily. “You’d have to be somewhat animated to manage that, and clearly…” He tossed his hand in the air as if the idea of me that way was utter rubbish he was throwing in the bin.
“That’s the first clever thing I’ve heard you say this morning,” I countered, idly adjusting the angle of the iron Barbary lion paperweight on my desk so it was precisely perpendicular to my computer on its leather matt. “Perhaps, in the remaining two minutes I’ll allot you, you might endeavor to continue in that same manner.”
“There is nothing clever about erecting a monolithic structure on the grounds of what could be a massive archaeological discovery.” There was a flush in his cheeks now, rose petals trapped beneath white wax that was oddly becoming.
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 35