Unsatiated with Dad's Best Friend: Taboo Romance

by Ami Snow

  “Please, Mr. Crawford,” I groaned through my trembling lips, “I need you to fuck me. It's all I've been able to think about – I've felt your thick, fat cock throbbing in my hands...I need to know what it feels like in my pussy –”

  “As you wish, Cleo,” Mr. Crawford chuckled, his eyes twinkling, “As you wish.”

  He bent me over across his desk, a titillated moan escaping my lips as he shredded a hole in my pantyhose with his bare hands. My knees knocked gently against each other, feeling the smooth, warm tip of his rod rubbing against my dripping wet slit. He slowly slid his length inside of me, my eyes fluttering shut. The floating, morphing orbs of light frolicked behind my squeezed-shut eyes, the dancing of pain and pleasure between my legs coursing through my body. The colors were the most beautiful things I had ever seen, so untroubled, so carefree...

  I shuddered, a thick, warm stream slithering down the insides of my thighs. I sighed deeply, savoring the beautiful, agonizing discomfort. At that very moment, I could feel nothing but a glorious, calming pain...every drip of my repentance, leaking down the space between my legs.

  THE END

  WARNING: This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This ebook is for sale to adults ONLY

  Please ensure this ebook is stored somewhere that cannot be accessed by underage readers.

   Copyright 2014 by A.J Madison - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Royal’s Encounter

  An Alpha Billionaire Series: Book 1

  By: A.J Madison

  The Royal’s Encounter

  Chapter 1

  Let me just say that I’m not the type who usually takes guys that I’ve never met before home for one-night stands.

  I had been excited about this internship for months. I’d secured it at the beginning of the semester, thrilled to be finishing out my senior year this way. Two of my friends had gotten positions at the same accounting firm, and although I prided myself on my independence, it was nice to know that I wouldn’t be alone. My college in Virginia wasn’t small by any means, but navigating Washington D.C. on my own was a daunting, if exciting, prospect.

  I’d never felt more adult than when my best friend, Ashley, and I went shopping the weekend before to update my wardrobe for the three-month internship. My school wardrobe had largely consisted of shorts and t-shirts during the summer, and leggings with tank-tops and cardigans during the fall and winter. In other words—none of it was suitable for a D.C. accounting position.

  I’d saved up a pretty good chunk of money from my weekend job, and a painful amount of it had gone into that Saturday trip to the Loft and Banana Republic. We’d taken one lap around J. Crew and promptly left. Maybe one day.

  Actually, probably never. Ashley was really into the shopping trip, jumping at the opportunity to bring stacks of clothes into the fitting room and watch me try them all on. I felt really bad for the sales associates who would have to put them all back. I, on the other hand, was just trying to get through the day so that I could finish it out with a trip to Barnes and Noble before we headed back to our dorm room.

  By the end of the day, I had four pairs of dress pants, two pencil skirts and a black A-line skirt with a floaty hem, a handful of shirts, two blazers, and two new pairs of heels. I dreaded looking at my bank account statement the next day. It didn’t stop me from picking up two new books at Barnes and Noble, though, thick hardcovers that I’d been watching for some time. I usually didn’t have much time to read for pleasure during the school year, with the mountains of textbook readings and homework and PowerPoints to go over. The idea of getting off of work at five and getting home in time to read for an hour or two every night was thrilling. I wasn’t sure what I was more excited for, actually—the internship itself, or the lack of actual school assignments.

  Packing was excruciating. Ashley bought a bottle of wine—the novelty of being able to buy alcohol and have it in our dorms rooms hadn’t quite worn off yet—and kept me company while I folded clothing item after clothing item and tried to fit all the belongings I would need for three months into two normal-sized suitcases.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Ashley said glumly, staring into her glass. “It’s going to be weird not having you here for the semester.”

  “D.C. isn’t exactly far away,” I reminded her. “You can come visit on the weekends. I’ll be sharing an apartment with Catherine and Billie, so we can all go out and it will be fun! There’s all kinds of great places to go.”

  “And a lot of hot men, I’m sure.”

  “Men being the key word there,” I laughed.

  I’d never really dated very much in college. I went out with a handful of guys, usually once or twice before giving up. I’d had a six-month long relationship with a guy in one of my finance classes, but it fizzled out after a little while. College wasn’t a place where people wanted to get serious…but I didn’t really want to just fool around. I’d hooked up with a few guy friends here and there, but one-night stands weren’t really my thing.

  Which makes what happened that first night in D.C. even more out of character for me.

  We’d rented a car to drive to D.C., since none of us owned one. The trunk and backseats were filled with our luggage and paraphernalia, suitcases and pillows and quilts all jammed in together. Billie, the most petite out of the three of us, got first shift riding in the back squished in with all of our stuff. She complained a little, but I got the feeling that she didn’t really care all that much. It was prime napping space back there, and I as the passenger got first shift navigating and—this was the best part—controlling the music.

  I knew exactly what we’d be listening to on the way there based on who was in the passenger seat. I liked indie music—soft, crooning women who dressed like lounge singers or bearded, plaid-wearing men with gruff voices. Billie preferred rock—and could actually scream like some of the bands, which was always a little disconcerting coming out of her small body. Catherine would skip the curated music apps and go straight to the radio, and the popular music station. That would be my least favorite leg of the trip.

  The drive went surprisingly quickly. We were all excited and more than ready for this new adventure. Last semester, with our college careers drawing to a close, had felt long and drawn out and like more of the same old thing. This was something new, and we were ready to tackle it head on.

  The apartment we had sublet for the summer was a small row home in a series of other small, charming homes on a back street a few miles from the monuments. It was small and well-kept, and the owner had cleaned it from top to bottom before leaving it for us. It smelled of lemon cleaner and the soft, sulfurous hint of candles that had been burned. The hardwood floors in the living room and small bedrooms gleamed, and the granite countertops in the kitchen were shiny and spacious. I loved to cook but rarely had an opportunity, so that was very exciting. The internship would pay a stipend, and I still had my scholarship for this semester, so I actually was anticipating having some extra money. I’d save as much as I could, but the idea of going and buying groceries to cook meals instead of eating at the college cafeteria on my meal plan was thrilling.

  We unloaded the car bit by bit, dragging our suitcases into the house until the living room was a mound of luggage and bedding. There were two bedrooms—a master bedroom and a guest bedroom with two beds. We decided to play rock, paper, scissors to decide who got the master bedroom—I know, very mature of us.

  I was elated when I won. Billie clearly didn’t care, but Catherine looked mildly put off. I knew it was because she was looking forward to the
party scene in D.C., and all of the men that she might meet. She’d been hoping to have her own bedroom, and she probably didn’t think it was fair that I, who rarely ever brought men home, got the room all to myself.

  I didn’t care. The master bedroom had a queen-sized bed with a mattress that looked suspiciously like a TempurPedic, and a huge claw-foot soaking tub in the bathroom. I almost felt like I was on vacation. I shot Catherine an apologetic look, and immediately began dragging my things into the room.

  The bed was made up only with sheets. We’d been told to bring our own comforters and pillows, so it wasn’t really a surprise. I spent the next fifteen minutes making up the bed and started unpacking my clothes, hanging them up in the closet and tucking them away in the antique wooden dresser. I pulled back the curtains to let the sunlight in, and saw that there was a beautiful view of the trees, and the Potomac a ways off. I sighed. This was exactly the kind of place I could see myself living in after graduation. And it was within reach—if I could blow this internship out of the water and possibly secure myself a spot at the firm.

  I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes, hoping to get a nap in before dinnertime. I could hear the girls laughing and talking in the living room, and sighed. Billie had gotten plenty of naptime in on the drive over, and Catherine had seemingly boundless energy. I, on the other hand, felt exhausted. I knew the girls would want to go out tonight—our first night in D.C.—and if I was being honest, I kind of did, too. I wasn’t really into the party scene at school, but there was something grown-up and glamorous about going out in the big city. I sighed, sinking back into the mattress, and barely had time to think how much more comfortable I was before I was fast asleep.

  ***

  Chapter 2

  The sound of Catherine and Billie knocking on my bedroom door was what finally woke me up. “Come on, Ellie! Are you awake? Let’s go get dinner and then go out!”

  “This guy I know who lives here says he knows some really great bars to go to!” I heard Billie say through the door.

  “Okay,” I grumbled, sitting up in bed and running my fingers through my tangled hair. “I need to get a shower and get dressed.”

  “Two hours,” Catherine said firmly, and I promptly rolled my eyes. I wouldn’t need that much time.

  We’d planned on a shopping excursion Sunday to pick up toiletries and things we would generally need for the house, and I was grateful to see that the owner had stocked a small supply of travel-size toiletries for us in the meantime. There was a stall shower in the bathroom separate from the tub, and I thought blissfully of how much longer the hot water would last here than it did in the dorms. I pulled a fluffy, dark-blue towel out of the small cupboard built into the wall, and turned the taps in the shower, running my hand underneath the water until it was steaming hot.

  I tilted my head back, letting the hot water run over my scalp, and bit back a moan of absolute pleasure. I didn’t care what everyone said, this shower was better than any sex I’d ever had. I reached for the small, expensive-looking bottle of shampoo—it looked like the travel size probably cost as much as my full-size pump bottle at home—and squirted some into my hand. It smelled like herbs and some kind of spicy berry as I lathered it into my hair, and I took a deep, relaxing breath. I could handle this kind of life, for sure.

  Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the shower, my hair conditioned, and my limbs soft and shaved. I felt like an entirely new person. I spritzed some of my blow-dry spray into my hair—a gift from Ashley that I rarely ever used, as I was more of a wash-and-go kind of person—and began to dry my hair, running a round bristle brush through it as I did so. The result was the kind of full, bouncy hair that I saw in commercials, and that I rarely took the time to do for myself. I usually threw it up in a top-knot, or a ponytail if it was dry. I had to admit, though, peering into the mirror, that the result was really quite nice.

  Still wrapped in the fluffy towel, I looked through the clothes I had brought. I finally settled on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a tight black merino sweater with a fairly deep V-neck, and a pair of velvety knee-high, high-heeled boots. I’d always felt at a loss as to how to dress for going out in the winter. I knew sweaters and my typical cardigans weren’t exactly “sexy”, but the truth was that I didn’t really care. I knew Catherine and Billie would probably give me some kind of hard time about it, but I felt pretty. I also would be much warmer than they probably would be. I was having a hard time reconciling the choice of high-heeled boots as it was, considering that there was snow on the ground and the sidewalks were likely icy.

  I left my hair loose and floaty around my face, and put on just a little makeup. I knew how to do a nice winged eyeliner, something that made most of my female friends very jealous, and so I took advantage of that, flicking it out and putting on a few coats of mascara. My green eyes looked bigger in the mirror, and bright, framed by the black fringe of my lashes. I eschewed lipstick for lip balm, knowing how badly my lips were likely to get chapped in the cold air if I didn’t. If there was one thing I didn’t believe in, it was trading beauty for comfort.

  I had a pair of small, teardrop-shaped ruby earrings that my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday, and I decided on a whim to put them on. This was supposed to be a step into my new, adult life, and I wanted to feel at least a little glamorous.

  Squaring my shoulders, I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and I was happy with it. I wasn’t sure if I fit in with the party crowd, but I felt like me, and I felt beautiful. That was more than enough.

  I walked out of the bedroom, my black leather cross-body purse in hand, and gave Catherine a look as she started to open her mouth. She was dressed in a tight, long-sleeved, knee-length navy-blue dress, with bare legs and black high-heeled booties. Her short hair was curled at the ends, and she’d worn full makeup, her eyes smoky and her lips red. Her cleavage swelled up at the V-neck of the dress, and I was sure she had a push-up bra on. “You’re going to freeze,” I pointed out.

  “But I’ll look hot,” she retorted.

  Billie was marginally better. She was wearing pants, at least—tight, moto style pants with two parallel zippers on each thigh. She was wearing a long sleeved shirt with a rock band print on it, and it was clear that she’d joined in on the push-up bra idea. She had long black bar earrings dangling from her ears, and she’d painted her nails a deep, metallic red.

  I folded my bare, bitten nails into my palms, and reminded myself that maybe I should get a manicure before starting work on Monday.

  “You look like you’re going to a book club meeting,” Catherine pointed out. Her tone wasn’t unkind, but I felt myself turning a little red.

  “I’m comfortable like this,” I said, feeling the need to defend my choice of clothing. “I don’t really care if it’s trendy or not. I just want to feel like myself. And anyway…I don’t own anything like that.”

  Catherine shrugged. “Well, as long as you’re okay with it, I guess.” She picked up her small, gold clutch purse. “Ready to go?”

  Billie and I nodded, and followed her out the door to where our Uber was waiting for us.

  The restaurant that Catherine had picked was small and quaint, with long farmhouse style tables and industrial chandeliers over them in increments. The large bay windows faced the Potomac, with an outside seating area that was covered over and closed for the cold weather season. A waiter in crisp, dark brown chinos and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up approached us with his pad in hand.

  “Can I get some drinks for you, ladies?”

  Billie ordered a gin cocktail. Catherine ordered a glass of white wine. I avoided looking at the wine list altogether. “I’ll have a water, please.”

  “Alright,” the waiter said slowly, looking at me with something that I interpreted as suspicion.

  Catherine leaned past me. “She’ll have a glass of the Malbec,” she said, giving me an imperious look. I started to open my mouth, but the waiter had already scribbled it down and
turned away.

  “Catherine…” I began, but she shook her head.

  “This is a night to celebrate. You love red wine!”

  I started to say something about the prices, and that I would rather do my drinking at the bars, where there would likely be some sort of reasonably priced beer on the menu. I didn’t, though. I just opened the menu, printed on thick card-stock meant to look like butcher’s paper, and scanned the appetizer list.

  Three miniature fried green tomatoes, with jumbo lump crab and a buerre blanc sauce. 15.

  I bit my lip. I could feel the weight of the credit card that my mother had given me a week ago, sitting in my wallet. My mother had been the VP of a marketing firm for years, and she’d worked in D.C. when she was younger. “There’s going to be nights you want to go out with your friends,” she’d said. “And there will probably be times you’ll need to go out with your co-workers for happy hours and meals to network. I don’t want you to have to worry about money. D.C. can be pricey.”

  Up until now, I’d financed my college and living expenses all on my own, and with scholarships. I knew that wasn’t the case for most of my friends. Most of them had credit cards already that their parents paid for monthly, not even bothering to question the balances on them. I didn’t even have a credit card of my own, and the idea of the slim, black card nestled next to my debit card made me feel a little queasy. I hadn’t expected to use it so soon. But from the look of the menu, tonight would be its debut.

  The wine came, and although I would have preferred not to spend that much on one glass of wine—a quick glance at the menu revealed that it was $12—it was delicious. Catherine ordered a round of appetizers for the table, saving me from having to turn down that portion of the meal. They were perfect too, when they arrived. She’d gotten the tomatoes as one of them. They were perfectly crispy, the crab sweet, and the sauce creamy. I felt a long way from the salad bar and grilled chicken sandwiches at the cafeteria.