by Marr, Maggie
“Hey guys,” Becca calls from the sliders. She waddles out onto the lanai with Jake behind her. I’m big but Becca is even bigger.
“How you feeling?” I don’t even try to get up.
“Okay,” Becca presses her hand to her back and slowly waddles toward me.
“Where are the twins?” I ask.
“With my mom,” she says. “They’re baking today with Grandma.”
“Becca, honey, you need to drink more water,” Jake says. He presses his lips together. Worry etches fine lines across his face.
“If I drink any more water I’ll spend the rest of the day in the bathroom,” Becca grumbles. She presses her hand to the side of her belly. “Her butt is under my ribs and her head is on my bladder.” She turns her back to the chair and holds out her arms so that Brett takes one and Jake takes the other and helps her sit.
“I’m ready,” she says and smiles at me.
“We need to go for another walk,” Jake says. “The doctor wants her to walk and hydrate. They’re hoping she’ll go into labor on her own. We don’t want to induce.”
Becca rests her hand on her baby-belly. “They aren’t going to induce, I’m telling you she’s coming today.”
“You said that on your due date,” Jake says and smiles, “and that was four days ago.”
Becca scowls and shakes her head. “Well, I feel it today.” She winks at me. “How you doing Mama? You’ve got two in there.”
I press my hand to my belly. “Good. I’ve really wanted ice cream all day.”
“Hmm, for me it’s been lemonade,” Becca says. She reaches out and takes the bottle of water from Jake and gulps down a long drink.
“Uh-oh,” she says and clutches her side. Her eyes close and her lips press together. She bites on her bottom lip.
“Becca?” Becca, what is it?” Jake asks. His voice rising.
“It’s time,” Becca says.
I smile. Brett smiles. Jake’s eyes grow wide.
“Uhh…”
“Let’s go!” I say. “The lady says it’s time.” I reach out to Brett who helps me stand.
“Uhhh…” Jake says.
I grasp Becca’s arm and help her stand. We both waddle toward the house knowing it will take us both a lot longer to get to our cars than it will take Jake and Brett.
“Uhhhh…” Jake says again.
“Come on buddy,” Brett says. “You’ve done this before. Just like riding a bike. You go again and then the next two are mine.”
“Right, right,” Jake says shaking his head. “Here we go!”
Yes, indeed. Here we go.
Read about Jake & Becca’s sizzling love story in BUILT! FREE in KU!
Will Carmen & Dave have a sizzling second chance romance in BUMP! FREE in KU!
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Read Devon and Ilana’s hot romance in A Forbidden Love!
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The End
A Surprise for YOU!
Wonderful Love
By Maggie Marr
Introduction
I loved once.
And then the woman I loved died in front of me.
Sex and giving women pleasure are all I’m capable of now. And I’m good at
providing pleasure. A master.
Until my sexy neighbor drags me into her messed up relationship.
Tara and I weren't friends. We were barely acquaintances. But one day there
were tears and a fistfight with her McDouche fiancé, which lead to sex with
her. And not just any sex.
The master got played, and now I want Tara and only her.
But having this woman means allowing the walls of my carefully crafted
existence to come down. I can provide unlimited pleasure, but love? Not
happening. Unless I’m willing to risk both of our lives with the nightmare of
my past.
Part I
Chapter 1
How did you find me?”
“A friend.” Her voice cracks and her gaze drops. She stands on the far side of my hotel suite like a doe in the crosshairs. Her words are a lie. I see this in how she brushes her hand over her hair and tilts her head.
Keep in mind she called me. They always call me.
I stay still. I don’t move. I’m draped across a chair on my side of the room. All pent-up sexual energy and alpha male, restrained and waiting for her command. My suit coat is slung over the couch. I’ve untucked my dress shirt and unbuttoned two buttons. The sleeves are rolled up just enough to show my forearms. I am the fantasy.
My gaze remains locked with hers. I keep my eyes up. Now is not the time to let my gaze drift over her body, although I know every inch already. I watched her come in. I watched her spot me across the room as though she’d just seen a panther. I watched the muscles in her body tighten and her pupils dilate with desire, combined with the type of internal conflict I often inspire in women.
I remain still. I never move toward women, not in the beginning. She needs to know she’s safe. That I’m safe. Meeting a stranger alone in a hotel room is a risk for a woman. A big enough risk, that I know when a woman calls my number, when she shows up here, that she needs this. She needs what I can give her with every fiber of her being. She needs the Wonderfuck.
She’s stunned by her own brazenness, and yet compelled to stay.
She’s not young, but she’s not old either. No wedding ring, but that means nothing. I don’t ask, I never ask. She’s ash blonde with blue eyes. A solid B cup, and I’d guess about ten pound more than she thinks she should weigh. Which is utter bullshit. She’s gorgeous. All women are gorgeous, each of them in their own unique way. My fucking God, I wish every woman I met could get it straight in her mind that she’s fucking beautiful no matter what some fashion magazine tells her.
“What should I call you?” My voice rasps out. I’m hard. Her mere presence makes me hard.
Panic races through her eyes. I can practically hear her fluttering hummingbird heartbeat all the way across the room. “You said no names.”
“Exactly.” My voice a deep rumble. My cock responds to her femininity, her beauty, even with her standing fearful on the far side of the suite. “No names, but what do you want me to call you?” I lift my eyebrow. “When we’re together.” Always interesting to see if a woman gives me her real name or a false one. I can tell based on their shoulders.
She places her fingertip to her lips. One tap. Two taps. Three taps. A thought brightens her gaze. “Natasha,” she says, her voice taking on a silky, sexy, deeper sound, laced with a thread of desire.
My lip twitches upward. A lie. But a lie with a purpose. Something about this name, Natasha, this persona she’ll inhabit when we’re together, will allow her to feel what she wants. To be who she’s always wanted to be. This name, this alias, will enable “Natasha” to embrace her sexuality.
A concept I completely understand.
“Natasha.” I let the name roll over my tongue. The word comes out of my mouth like a long languid caress. On the syllables I place an unspoken promise of all the pleasure my mouth will give every inch of her body.
She shudders. Her breathing is shallow, but not from fear. The hand that clutches her purse drops and her breasts press forward. Her hips tilt a bit toward me as her nipples pebble against the fabric of her dress.
“I love the name Natasha,” I say. I remain seated in the chair. My body is open, one arm laid along the back of the chair and my legs spread. I own this chair. I am all male. Sexy alpha in the domesticated position. All sexy beast simply waiting for her command.
Any command.
My cock is hard. I want this woman. I want to make her come. I want to make her feel. I want her to know when she walks out of this room that she is the all-powerful and
beautiful woman I see standing in front of me.
My gaze meets hers and I smolder. I smolder for her. For the physical. Because this is all physical for me.
Heat sears between us.
Her gaze drops to my crotch. My cock is tough to miss when it’s erect, and it’s definitely hard and ready. Her mouth, with those pretty rosebud lips, drops open. A blush starts on her chest and rises over her neck to her cheeks. Her tongue darts out of her mouth and licks her lips. She bites her bottom lip and her eyes lift to meet mine again.
Natasha is nearly ready, but she needs permission, she needs a command, she needs me to tell her what to do. In this moment, she needs me to make this okay for her.
“Natasha come to me. I want to touch you.”
She swallows. She has every bit of control. She doesn’t know it yet, wouldn’t believe it yet if I told her, but she’ll have all the control the entire time we’re together. Every time we’re together. I’ll tell her what I want to do to her, I’ll even command her to do things, but she won’t ever have to comply. This meeting, and any others we have after today, will always be about what she wants. For her pleasure.
She drops her purse onto the nearby table, and as though another woman takes over, Natasha pulls her hand through her hair and swaggers toward me. Her hips sway with a sexual confidence that she may be faking but is most definitely being conveyed. She stops in front of me. Her pulse pounds in her neck. Her shortened breath telegraphs both her anxiety and her excitement. Natasha is scared, she’s uncomfortable, but she’s also turned on as hell.
She leans forward over me and places a hand on each arm of my chair. Her hair falls along the side of her face. Her breath smells of mint. I recognize the citrus and floral notes of Chanel No. 5. The lines of her face are deeper than I thought, and her eyes are more green than blue.
“May I touch you, Natasha?” I ask, my voice low.
She takes a halting breath. She nods. But a nod isn’t enough, not now, not this first time. I need to hear her. I need to hear her say yes or no, and know that she is getting exactly what she wants. I raise my face, my gaze still locked to hers, not moving, waiting. Finally, she answers.
“Yes.”
I reach out and my hand clasps her waist, just above her hip. I stroke up the side of her body. Her face is near mine, her body bent over me. Her eyes are closed. “May I touch you here?” I ask. She nods.
“Tell me, Natasha.”
“Yes,” she whispers. My thumb strokes over the hard nipple beneath the fabric of her dress.
I’m completely engorged. Her face is flushed with desire. I want her and she wants me, but this first meeting is meant to be slow. Needs to be slow. My focus is to unleash the sexuality that remains hidden within her.
“You are incredibly sexy, Natasha. Do you know that?”
She licks her lips. Her energy shifts and her eyes remain closed. She doesn’t know she’s sexy. My hand glides over her body to her hip.
Her eyes open and drop to my cock, which presses against my pants.
“Do you want to touch me, Natasha?”
She nods.
“Tell me,” I whisper. My fingertips circle her hip.
“Yes, I want to touch you.”
“I’m yours. My body is yours.”
Her gaze widens. She glances at my face as though this thought, this idea, is more than she can comprehend.
Natasha reaches forward, and through the fabric she grasps my engorged cock. My breath hitches in my chest and she tightens her grasp. A moan comes from my lips as my eyes close. Because yeah, a hot sexy woman has my cock in her hands.
“You’re . . . ,” she pants. “You’re so big.”
I open my eyes and smile. “I am. And every inch can give you pleasure.”
She takes a deep breath. Her hand grabs my belt and she unzips my pants. She grasps my flesh.
“Your cock . . . your cock is beautiful.”
So I’ve been told.
“Can I take off your dress, Natasha?”
She nods and turns. I reach up, slide the zipper down, and let the dress fall from her shoulders. “I want to kiss you here.” My fingertips skim the small of her back.
“Yes,” she whispers, and I press my lips to her skin. I unsnap her bra and pull her panties down over her hips. She turns to me, naked. Her body is perfect, beautiful. She has a small four-leaf clover tattoo over her right hip.
How many people have seen that tattoo? What prompted that image, something that seems so far from Natasha’s character?
Her pussy is front of my face and the scent of desire comes from her, the scent of want. “I want to kiss you here,” I say, looking at her sex. “May I?’
“Yes,” she gasps. What I really want to do is pick her up and take her to the bed. To spread her legs and suck her clit until she comes, but that is for later, that is for when Natasha is ready and wants to be ravished. Now, this moment, this time, is for the slow methodical process of getting to know her sexual triggers.
I lean forward and place a kiss on the edge of her sex. Then I spread her with my fingertips and I kiss her. I let my tongue lick up over her clit. A moan splits the silence. Her fingernails bite the flesh of my shoulders.
“My God, that feels so good.” Her body trembles. I know, in this instant I know, that Natasha has never experienced oral sex.
“I want to put you on the bed and I want to eat your pussy. Can I do that? I want your pussy.”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes meet mine. Her breath is short. She can barely form words. “You want my . . . you want . . .”
“I want your pussy, Natasha. Your pussy, the taste, the smell—all of it turns me on.”
It’s like I’ve told her that aliens have invaded earth.
“But men don’t like pussy. They think—”
“I do. Men do. I want your pussy. May I take you to the bed?”
“Yes, oh my God, yes.” Tears form in her eyes and she presses her hand to her mouth. I stand. I lift her. I carry her to the bed. I silently condemn to hell whichever asshole taught this gorgeous woman that “men don’t like pussy.” Then I proceed to give Natasha the best afternoon of her life.
* * *
“Why do you do this?” Natasha lays beside me, naked and gorgeous. Her eyes are bright, and a smile dances on her lips. She’s beautiful, pleased, sated, no longer sad or afraid or quivering, and unable to acknowledge her own sexual power.
“Why?” I smile. “I’m a man with a penis and this is the best vocation ever.”
“So that’s what this is? A vocation?”
I lift my hand to her cheek.
“It’s not a job—there’s no monetary transaction. Besides, that would be illegal and it’s truthfully not how I feel about this . . . our time together. Vocation seems to be the word. It fits how I feel about what I do and how I do it.”
My explanation seems to satisfy her need to understand. Most of the women I sleep with don’t dig too deeply for details. They’re here for their own reasons, which they often don’t share. Some women need to know things about me, others don’t.
“What about you?” I ask. Natasha’s gaze flits to mine. “Why are you here?”
She looks away. Her body is molded to mine, with my arm draped over her waist.
“I . . .” She sighs. Her eyes glisten. “I . . . uh . . . He . . . he’s having an affair. Or he was. Maybe he still is.” She starts to roll away from me, but I pull her closer. She rests her head on my arm. “He said the affair was my fault. That I’m frigid, that I . . . that he couldn’t get hard because I wasn’t attractive anymore.”
The last words are whispers on a breath filled with shame. Her bottom lip quivers as though she’s just admitted the worst secret any woman could carry.
“We both know that isn’t true.”
She looks up at me, and her smile bursts through her tears, like sun after a thunderstorm. “I do now.” She sighs. “You . . . you’re amazing. I feel more myself now, after these
few hours, than I have in the last twelve years.”
And those words, spoken by a satisfied happy woman, are all I need to hear.
“May I see you again?”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
“Well if it’s up to me—” She pushes me onto my back and swings a leg over to straddle me. “Let’s start now.”
Chapter 2
Uncle Jake, will you come visit this weekend?”
“You know it.” The elevator stops on the thirty-second floor and the doors slide open. I shift the Chinese take-out bag into my other hand. I’m freshly showered, but exhausted and hungry. I want to be alone with my food and the soon-to-open Asian stock markets, but I always have the time and the energy to talk to my niece.
“Will you bring me doughnuts? The ones with the sprinkles.” This kid has my number. One hundred percent, her wish is my command.
“Is your mom there?” I whisper. I stop in front of my condo door.
Lily drops her voice. “She’s in the kitchen.”
“Don’t tell her, but yes,” I whisper back. I pull my keys from my pocket. “Doughnuts with chocolate icing and rainbow sprinkles.” An uncle’s job is to bring his niece doughnuts and toys and any other thing that a precious bundle of freckles and pigtails wants. “Okay? Don’t tell Mommy, but—”
“Don’t tell Mommy what?”
Ruh-ro. I immediately stand at attention and clear my throat. My older, authoritative sister has liberated her phone from her daughter. My sister is also freckled, but without pigtails. “That . . . that I’m eating two entrees from Mr. Chow’s for dinner,” I offer up, knowing Rachel will see through my lie.
