by Sasha Gold
He kisses a trail of biting kisses down my neck and lower. His mouth sears my skin. I feel like I’m being consumed. Devoured. When he brushes his lips across my nipple I arch beneath him. A growl, a primitive rumble, tells me he likes my response. I thread my fingers through his hair. He sucks my nipple, rasping the tip with his teeth.
“Riley…”
His tongue brushes my sensitive skin and I writhe in response.
“Please…”
Pleasure and need combine to render me helpless beneath him.
He continues kissing a path down the front of my body, pausing when he laughs softly. “Please what?”
“I want you.”
“I want you too.”
When he kisses me between my thighs, he groans. He flicks his tongue. A wicked jolt of pleasure makes me moan.
“You taste so good. Like honey,” he whispers.
I’m shaking with need. I was already wet from the shower we took together. I’m more so now. Every stroke of his tongue makes my pleasure soar.
He loops his arm across my body, pinning me to the bed. When he’s done this before, he’s played with me, teased me, making me wait for my climax. Not tonight. When he sucks my clit between his teeth, I come. Pleasure washes over me. I’m overwhelmed, and at first, I can’t make a sound. The ecstasy steals my voice. It spirals and begins to ebb and I whimper, sob his name.
He kisses me and prowls up over me, kissing me again, this time on my lips.
“Beast.” My voice is a feeble whisper.
“That’s right.”
He cups my breast and sinks into me, taking me with a single thrust. I’m shocked by his rough, primitive actions but almost immediately he kindles new pleasure. I meet his thrusts, lift my knees to clasp him. His hand slips under my hips. He lifts me, deepening his strokes.
“You’re mine,” he snarls.
“Yes.”
“Not letting you out of my bed.”
“No.” He is a beast. He knows I’ll agree to anything. His touch undermines any thought, any argument. I’m captive. I’m under his spell and he’s had me there from the beginning. I have no choice but to submit.
He lowers me to the bed and kisses me again. His fingers brush my clit and I shatter beneath him. He follows an instant later. He sinks down but holds himself on his elbows to keep from crushing me. I can feel his cock deep inside me. He’s still hard and it makes me wonder if I’m already pregnant. My thoughts drift.
“Charlotte says if I get pregnant before she does, she’ll never forgive me.”
He rolls over and smiles at me, splaying his fingers across my stomach. “I can’t wait, Leah.”
I trace my fingers along his jaw and try to imagine our child. The thought steals my breath. I’ve never wanted anyone but him. Never. He’s all I want, him along with a house full of children. I rest my head against his chest and sink into a deep sleep in the shelter of his arms.
Chapter Twenty
Leah - Four Years Later
The phone rings and I see it’s Charlotte. Since it’s eleven in the morning I can tell it’s going to be a desperate sort of call, the type of call I get when her nanny can’t make it. Caller ID announces her name and Riley chuckles. He’s eating breakfast with our toddler, Thomas.
“Do I want to take that call?” I ask him.
He looks up and flashes me a smile. His three day beard contrasts with his white teeth and his hair is still mussed from bed. It’s longer now than when he used to fight.
“You can take it, but you’re busy.”
I pick up the phone. “Hey, Charlotte.”
“I’m hiding in my closet. Do you think that makes me a bad mother?”
I lean against the counter and watch Riley coax little Thomas to eat the last few bites of the waffles they made together.
“I don’t think that makes you a bad mother, unless, of course you have liquor in the closet. Do you?”
“No, just chocolate, but booze… definitely going to have to have a little bottle of something in here.”
She’s kidding, probably even about the chocolate. Both she and Dane have turned into insufferable health nuts. Charlotte, who wanted babies and lots of them, got her wish when she got pregnant with triplets. She has two boys and a girl and refers to the trio as ‘the trips’.
“Did the nanny call in sick?” I ask.
“Just late. I’m counting the minutes until she gets here.”
Through the phone I hear a bang on the door followed by a small voice. “Momma, the program is all done. The credits are even done rolling.”
I snort. Carly, Charlotte’s daughter has the verbal abilities of an English professor. She talks all the time and sounds weirdly like Miranda. Charlotte’s boys might have a few dozen words between them, most of which are sound effects.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Charlotte promises Carly. “I better go. The boys went down for an early nap and I need to get dressed. I’m meeting Dane for a little lunch.”
“Lunch,” I scoff. “Sure.”
She laughs. “When you have three kids you have to be creative.”
“I know what you mean,” I say softly.
Riley looks at me and arches a brow. I have a surprise for him. A little staycation I’ve planned for just the two of us.
Thomas clambers down from his chair and makes a beeline for me, holding out his hands. They’re sticky from his waffles and syrup.
Charlotte sighs. “I need to get dressed for my hot date, I mean, lunch. Plus I need to tidy the playroom. Granma Miranda is coming over this afternoon to visit the trips, and the boys trashed it last night with Daddy. They built a city out of blocks and then demolished it.”
I say good-bye to Charlotte and wipe Thomas’ hands. He can’t stand having sticky fingers. He frowns, his grey eyes, a mirror of Riley’s, regard me with dismay.
“Mama,” he says.
“Better?”
He nods. “Better.”
“Gramps is coming to pick you up in a little while. We need to go pack a bag. Can you help me?”
Thomas nods, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
We go upstairs. The house is a little cottage on the coast we bought for weekends and vacations. It’s near the water, which is wonderful, but even better, it’s just a few blocks from Riley’s parents. They love being grandparents.
After Riley quit fighting he worked for the networks for a few years, getting sponsors and promoting fights, but he doesn’t work for them anymore. Now he just manages investments. Miranda gave me my trust and Riley has already doubled its value.
He also works on developing athletic facilities for under-served populations. That’s probably what takes up most of his time. He wants every kid to have a place to work out and get strong.
I help him with his work, but mostly I’m a mom. My favorite thing is to snap pictures of anything, but most of the time it’s my children. I never liked having my picture taken, but I love being behind a camera.
I pause half-way up the stairs to listen to Riley. He’s in the nursery with Molly our baby daughter. She’s cooing softly to him, and he’s telling her what a sweetheart she is. I put my finger over my lips to tell Thomas not to say a word. He answers with a grin that shows off his dimples.
My heart melts as I listen to Riley talk to Molly. Thomas loses interest quickly and wanders off to his room to gather things to take to his grandparents. He doesn’t really understand the idea of packing, but he knows what toys need to go. That part he has figured out perfectly.
I go to the doorway of the nursery. Riley holds Molly who is still waking up. She rests her head against his broad shoulder and her body molds to his.
Last week she took her first steps. We were eating dinner with Miranda, Dane and Charlotte. Everyone clapped and she laughed so hard she almost toppled over. I can’t believe my baby is walking.
The door opens downstairs. George and Emily let themselves in and the noise makes Molly lift her head and turn. When she
sees me she reaches her arms for me. I cross the room and Riley gathers me close with his free arm. It seems like yesterday that we used to hug Thomas like this.
George and Emily want to take the kids to the park and then to eat some lunch, then take them home for the night. It doesn’t take long to pack little overnight bags. They take our son every few weeks to spend the night, but this is only the second time Molly has gone.
I kiss them goodbye and we watch them drive off.
Riley takes my hand and leads me inside and upstairs.
“What are you doing?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Having my way with my wife.”
“You’re pretty bossy.”
He doesn’t reply, but his hungry gaze says it all. Our bed is still unmade and moments later he has me naked and pleading. Love-making is different when we have the house to ourselves. Neither of us hold back and Riley make sure to take his sweet time. He won’t let me have what I want until I’m mindless with need.
“You’re more gorgeous every day,” he whispers.
He has my hands pinned above my head. He makes love to me slowly, each wicked stroke making me writhe. When we make love, he likes to tell me how beautiful I am, but he likes to tell me dirty things too. Riley has a filthy mouth, but today he just tells me sweet things. How much he loves me. How I’m the best thing to ever happen to him.
We stay in bed all afternoon, talking, making love, napping, and as the sun sets, Riley makes dinner for us. We eat on the deck and watch the day give way to twilight.
He kisses my hand. “I should have taken you out to dinner.”
I shake my head and stroke my fingers along his jaw. My fingertips skim over one of his scars but he doesn’t flinch. Not anymore.
“No,” I say. “This is everything I want.”
THE END
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Sasha
Author’s Note: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to other real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2016 by Sasha Gold
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Chapter 1
Olivia
Just three weeks shy of twenty-two, I should be over my fear of the dark and thunder. I’m reminded of that pitiful fact as I drive up to my mother and step-father’s house. At night time, especially during thunderstorms, I’m suddenly eleven years old all over again.
In middle school, I had a collection of nightlights that kept me safe, little cartoon heads that kept the bogey man away. I loved them, but felt ashamed, too. None of my friends seemed worried about the dark. What was wrong with me? The last day of eighth grade I threw them away. I think about them at times, especially during thunderstorms. The thunk as they hit the bottom of the trash can is still a vivid memory. The last one I pitched was my favorite, a faded and chipped Snoopy.
I pull up to the wrought-iron gate, turn up the music and snort with disgust.
Lightning stabs the sky and illuminates the sprawling home on the ridge. The split-second explosion of light confirms my worst fear – the house looks like the set of a horror movie. The roofline bristles with a half dozen chimney spires and the windows in the turrets gleam with the flash of lightning. Maybe every Victorian house looks haunted during a thunderstorm, but this monstrosity is empty. That right there gives it extra fear-factor points.
I pull the remote out of my glove box and click the front gate opener. This is no ordinary remote control. It is something Howard had custom-made… three different automatic gates, ten overhead garage doors, and various controls for outdoor lighting. And still it fits easily in my hand.
For the next ten days I’m house-sitting. The idea sounded great at first, a chance to live in a historic house that comes with a cook and staff, but now I’m wishing I’d said no.
It’s not all bad though. I need to lay low for a while and this is a good place to do that. I just closed on the sale of my gentleman’s club to some high-rollers in Houston. Yesterday was my last day of work. Not everyone in town is happy I got such a sweet deal. I keep getting strange text messages from an unknown number. Every two or three days, I get some picture of a guy’s dick or a nasty text explaining what he wants to do to me. I try to block the number, but somehow his messages still get through.
Rain drums down on the top of my convertible as I pull up the driveway. My windshield wipers are on max and they can barely keep up with this wrath-of-God downpour. I pull past the front of the house to the garage and press the button to open bay seven. The first six bays are all occupied. Six cars… and ten garage doors. I’ve never seen that many garage doors in a row.
Four of the glittering vehicles should be on the cover of some sort of collector’s magazine. They are really old, like from the 1930’s, and they look like they just came off the assembly line. Shit, they probably look better than they did when they were built, knowing Howard. The other two are the latest and greatest from Mercedes. The first thing he did when he married my mother was buy her next year’s model.
I turn off my car and push button seven to close the door behind me.
They had a one month courtship. She met him in the ER after he suffered a mild heart attack. He was her patient and both swear it was love at first sight. Mom went from working sixty hours a week as an RN to jet-setting with Howard Thornton. I was pretty shocked. She’d always loved nursing. It was her identity. But now… if she’s happy, I’m happy.
I walk the length of the garage stopping to look at each car, marveling at my mother’s own little Cinderella story. She worked hard and made good money, but she spent it quicker than she made it. We lived month to month. Rent was always late, and several times we got evicted.
I’ve moved too many times in my life. If there’s one thing I hate it’s packing and unpacking. After I get the check for the club, the first thing I’m going to do is buy a house.
If things go my way, I’ll be able to pay back my grandparents and buy my own historic home somewhere in town. I picture a sweet, little brick cottage, or maybe a craftsman. I’ll pay for it with cold, hard cash. I won’t even have a mortgage payment. I’ll also go on a trip somewhere. I’ve never done that, either. Never gone to the beach or stepped foot on an airplane.
I came by this morning to drop off luggage and meet the staff. La-di-da. Howard has a half dozen house keepers. One of them is helping me with a cleanse I’m planning for the ten-day stay, lots of raw vegetables and fruit smoothies… my body could use a fresh start.
Marion, the head housekeeper, helped me unpack two hundred dollars’ worth of groceries for this diet and offered to help with meal prep. She also showed me around the house and how to arm and disarm the security.
I stop at the door, punch in the code and push the door open. The little key pad flashes a message about alarm not set. Maybe Marion didn’t activate it when she and the rest of the ladies left that afternoon.
A blast of thunder shakes the house. I stop in the foyer. Down the hallway, a light flickers. Someone is watching television.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Maybe the maid left it on. When I came by earlier, none of the housekeepers said anything about staying late. I try to tamp down my fear. Another blast of thunder crashes and I feel the hard wood floors shake beneath my high heels. The lights dim and then go out.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I reach into my purse and feel around for the tiny flashlight I always carry. My hand brushes against a table and I set down my purse.
A movement behind me makes me jerk with surprise. The next thing I know, someone grabs me. I want to scream but a hand clamps my mouth.
Adrenalin surges through my veins. My thoughts slip into survival mode. Stomp my heel on his foot or head butt? I’m frantic and go with what seems best. Ramming my head back, I connect with a wall of muscle, not the man’s face. Holy hell – how tall is this beast? My move is met with a rasp of laughter.
