by Kira Blakely
Then, with a sound that could only be described as a roar, Dawson came too, pumping streams of hot, molten liquid deep inside her and triggering another trembling climax from her ravaged body. Her pussy milked him, clenching and pulsating around him as they both gasped for breath. Their bodies shook in the aftermath of what had been the most intense pleasure either of them had ever experienced, both on a mental and physical level.
She could hardly breathe, but she didn’t care. Dawson was still wrapped around her, his arms holding her tightly even as he softened inside her. If she had thought that she was frigid before, he had proven otherwise, and she reveled in the knowledge. He groaned and reluctantly pulled out of her, rolling over and pulling her with him to nestle her in the crook of his arm with her head on his chest.
They were both completely exhausted, and even though Alexa tried her hardest to stay awake, her eyelids were just too heavy. They fluttered closed as she started to drift off to sleep. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming, but just before she lapsed into slumber, she thought she heard him say something.
“My idea of heaven would be to spend all night, every night here with you like this.”
18
WHEN ALEXA WOKE UP the following morning, it took her a moment to remember where she was. And then the memories of the previous night flooded in and she wanted to pull the covers up over her head and hide in embarrassment. She wasn’t ashamed at what they’d done, but she did feel a little appalled that she’d gotten so drunk during the gala.
What on earth must Dawson think of me, she thought, feeling absolutely mortified by her behavior. Not only had she thrown accusations at him at the start of the night, she’d then proceeded to get drunk in front of some of his business partners and competitors.
She peeked over at the other side of the bed and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that he wasn’t there. He’s probably halfway back home by now, trying to get as far away from you as quickly as possible. She knew that he would never actually abandon her like that, no matter how much he might think about it, but she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had left.
“Good morning, beautiful.” The bedroom door opened and in walked the man in question. He gave her a smile that could only be classed as beaming and she found herself smiling shyly back at him. “I wasn’t sure what you like to eat for breakfast, so I ordered a little bit of everything. I figured that after last night’s exertions, you’d be ravenous.”
Alexa gave a moan of embarrassment and dragged the covers up over her head to hide the fact that she was blushing, much to the amusement of Dawson. “A gentleman wouldn’t have reminded me of that.” She felt the bed shake as Dawson started to laugh, and she grabbed the pillow beside her and threw it at him playfully.
“Wait. Did you say breakfast? Did you really bring me breakfast in bed? That’s another first for me.”
“That’s a crying shame. You deserve breakfast in bed every day, as far as I’m concerned.” She could hear the sincerity in his voice and was touched by it.
They shared the contents of the breakfast tray, making small talk about nothing in particular as they ate. Then, Alexa remembered what she thought she’d heard him say as she drifted off to sleep the night before.
“Can I ask you something, Dawson?”
“Of course. You can always ask me anything you want.”
She wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, so she just came out with it. “Just before I fell asleep last night, I thought I heard you say that your idea of heaven would be to spend every night with me like we did last night. What did you mean, exactly?” She sounded obtuse, even to her own mind, but she really wanted to know so that they didn’t get their wires crossed again.
It was Dawson’s turn to blush, and that was a sight that she’d never thought she’d see. But he didn’t try to change the subject or avoid answering the question. “I meant exactly what I said, even though you weren’t really supposed to hear me. You’re making me see the world through different eyes and in a different light, Alexa. You always show compassion to people, even people you don’t know, and you’re making me want to see more of the good in people, too.” He held her gaze as he spoke and she could see that he really meant what he was saying. “Ralph always told me that I should never try to judge them and that I should always try to see things from other people’s perspective, and that’s something that I think I’ve lost sight of a little. In the car yesterday, you cried for a little boy you’d never met and for the man that he would become. I watched as you gave money to a homeless man, and I know that it was money you could ill afford to give away, but you did it anyway, because his need was greater than yours.” His voice was filled with an emotion that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “I find myself wanting to be a better person because of you, even though I don’t think I’m necessarily a bad man.”
“You’re a good man, Dawson – no matter who may have told you differently in the past.”
He smiled and leaned over her to give her a kiss that left her breathless. “I have no idea where our relationship is going to go, but I would like a chance to see where it might take us. That’s if it’s what you want to as well.”
“I’d like that, Dawson. I’d like that very much.”
The End
Billionaire Bad Ass
Prelude
AS HE WATCHED CINDY GET DRESSED, Ashton’s stomach made a slow drop into his knees. Her body was okay – whip thin and covered with taut skin – but her face showed her age in every line.
Now uncomfortable, Ashton looked away, his dark blue eyes searching out the cobwebs in the corners of the room. One hand went up and raked through his thick, wheat-colored hair – a nervous habit. His morals, never strong or present, always leaped into existence after every one of these little romps in his current foster mother’s bed. It was inconvenient that his morals should pop up and bring with them a sense of shame and guilt he didn’t like having to feel. It wasn’t his fault he was in that bedroom or that king-sized bed. He was just a convenient hunk of hard flesh, and nothing more. He just happened to be closer to hand, so to speak, than whatever other guy she was cheating on her husband with at the time.
Cindy was the local ride for all sorts of guys. How her husband hadn’t found out yet was anyone’s guess, but Brody’s temper was legendary, and Ashton knew he damn sure didn’t want to be around when he did find out.
Candy stuck a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. Her other hand yanked at the covers, twitching them into place. Ashton’s belly dropped again. His foster dad, Brody, would come home later, and he and Candy would get busy right in that same bed on the same stinking sheets.
Gross and a pervert – that just about summed Candy up. The fact that he’d just had sex with a gross pervert wasn’t lost on him. That he’d wind up on the streets if he didn’t was equally not lost. He was weeks away from an eighteenth birthday that was bound to bounce him out of the foster system and onto the streets, and he needed to take advantage of every situation he had a grip on between now and then if he was going to survive.
The truth was that Candy expected any boy who walked through her door to cater to her. She gave him, grudgingly, a couple hundred bucks of the money she got for taking care of him in return, and Ashton added that to the money he made doing bullshit jobs. Sleeping with Candy was about as appetizing as eating a five-day old donut, but that small sum of money helped bolster his hopes that he’d be okay come his final birthday in the harsh system.
Her voice, all hard rasp and smoke, asked, “Why are you still here?”
Good question. Ashton headed for the door. The whole house was just about as dingy and smoke-tinged as that bedroom, and he needed to breathe. He headed to the front door and went outside, squinting as bright sunlight hit his eyes, burning away the dimness that Candy preferred in every room.
Jackson, a kid who lived down the street, walked toward Ashton, calling out, “Hey.”
Ashton lifted his chin and asked, “
Hey, what’s up?”
Jackson’s feet stopped just short of the driveway. Brody had a reputation for being an asshole, and that rep was deserved, and so most of the kids in the neighborhood steered clear. Jackson said, “I managed to hack past that stupid level in that new video game.”
“No shit?” Ashton wasn’t really that interested just then, but anything was better than hanging out in the house with creepy ass, cougar of the year, Cindy. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah, you want to come check it out?”
“Sure.” They headed down the street with Ashton still thinking hard. His dad had been dust in the wind before he’d even been born, and his mom had decided to take off when he was five, way past the ‘cute and little’ stage that would have helped him get adopted by loving parents. He’d spent his entire life bouncing from place to place. If there was one thing he wanted most, it was to have a place that was all his and that he would always be able to call home. If things didn’t improve fast, that home would likely be a cardboard box behind the cleanest dumpster he could find.
Ashton’s best friend, Dawson, another system kid, had just turned eighteen and hit the bricks. Unlike Ashton, he’d had a soft place to land thanks to Ralph, the guy that ran the gym where Dawson worked. Ashton knew Dawson would fight to get him into the room Dawson had there if it came to that, but the last thing Ashton wanted to do was screw up one more thing for Dawson. Dawson had gotten tossed out of school before he was supposed to graduate for a fight that involved Ashton. Dawson was guilty by association but tried his best to cover for Ashton. Not that it mattered. The knife-wielding rich prick ran home to tell, and he got a pat on the back and a college career out of the deal. Ashton had gotten stitches in his abdomen and a short stint in reform school. Never mind that the rich prick had been the one to pull the knife.
Life wasn’t fair, and unlike a video game or computer program, there was no way to hack the system. If there had been, Jackson would have found it already.
“Uh-oh.”
Jackson’s word made Ashton’s feet stop. His eyes went to the group of guys coming their way, and Ashton’s shoulders tightened. Gerald Manning was a cocky and arrogant punk who never let anyone forget that his dad, a local dealer of blow and weed, ran the three-square blocks of cinderblock houses and sagging rowhomes.
Gerald was eighteen and in the senior class with Jackson and Ashton. The other guys with him were all graduates of the street. They were also looking for a fight – everything about the way they came stalking toward Ashton and Jackson said so.
Jackson, a skinny dude with a habit of chewing his bottom lip, spoke up. “Dude, should we run for it?”
“Probably.” Definitely. Jackson was no chicken. He’d go up against anyone he had to, but the two of them were no match for half a dozen dudes known for carrying weapons and leaving whoever they decided to fight smeared across the sidewalk. Ashton was tough, too, though, and strong. His body had been honed by years of bad food and the need to stay active and to keep moving, because he never knew what might be coming at him. Even so, fighting those guys was sheer stupidity, and the odds were not in his and Jackson’s favor.
Jackson took a step back. Ashton did, too. Running wasn’t even in Ashton’s DNA, but even he knew the odds of walking away from that crew were too low to even risk. Still, he remained stuck. His brain yelled at him to run.
Jackson echoed that. “Dude, come on. Let’s buck it.”
Too late. Gerald strolled up, the smile on his acne-scarred face far from pleasant. “You,” he thrust his chin toward Ashton. “I got a bone to pick with you.”
“Yeah?” Ashton’s lips parted in a smile too cynical for his years. “Over what?”
“You know what. You’re horning in on my action, and I don’t like it.”
What was Gerald talking about? “No clue what action you are referring to,” Ashton said.
“Then how come I hear it all over the block that you’re doing lookouts for Pete?” The words came out of Gerald’s sneering mouth and hit the air. “Everyone knows this is my dad’s block, and nobody gets to creep in here and work.”
That was true. Pete paid well. Ashton didn’t have to carry or sell dope. He just had to watch the end of the street, check out the cars that didn’t usually cruise through, and use a walkie-talkie to let Pete know when a car that looked like it held a narc was headed down to the little corner where Pete did his street business.
It was easy money, but he’d known going in he might get caught up in a street feud between Pete and Gerald’s dad, and it seemed that he already had.
Ashton knew he should lie his head off and try to walk. But he didn’t. His mouth blasted off. “Your dad’s slipping. Nobody wants to buy what he’s peddling, because he’s too busy doing too much of his own product. Then he cuts whatever he doesn’t put up his own nose so he can still sell some. That’s bad business, yo.”
Jackson groaned. “Wow man, you should’ve just kept your fucking mouth shut.”
Yeah. He should have. Gerald closed in, arms already swinging. Ashton ducked the flying fists aimed at his face easily enough. His fist went right to where he knew it would do the most damage: Gerald’s balls. His other fist landed right on the point of Gerald’s chin.
Gerald didn’t go down though. Jackson sailed in as one of Gerald’s buddies tried to make it a two-on-one fight, and soon the two were fighting wildly and losing badly. Blood spilled down Ashton’s forehead, getting into his eyes and stinging hard. It impaired his vision, and he had to wipe it away, but when he did, he had to stop swinging on Gerald who was still punching and kicking so hard that Ashton’s body could barely absorb each blow.
He saw Jackson go down just as Gerald landed a hard blow in the center of Ashton’s gut. Ashton doubled over. That was bad enough. The cop cars pulling down the street was even worse.
The cops jumped out of the car. Ashton didn’t fight it and neither did Jackson. The cops had itchy fingers, something everyone knew. They’d shoot or tase or work a guy over with the business end of the baton just for the sheer hell of it.
The cop holding Gerald slammed him head first onto the hood of the car. The resounding ‘gong’ would have made Ashton happy if he hadn’t just realized the seriousness of the situation.
Gerald was holding.
The drugs – seven or eight baggies of assorted illicit things – came out of Gerald’s pockets and landed on the hood. Ashton, on the opposite side of the car, could practically count the felonies stacking up as each bag joined the others.
He hadn’t started that fight, not in the practical sense, but he had in the only sense that the street would care about.
He’d worked for a guy who’d been horning in on Gerald’s dad, and of course Gerald had had to jump him.
Nobody would say Gerald should have emptied his pockets first, either.
All of this was going to be pinned on his shoulders, and Ashton knew it.
Gerald was going down hard unless he ratted out his supplier – his dad – and no way was he doing that. Gerald was eighteen, so he was stuck in that adult collar now.
Gerald lifted his head and sent a vicious grin Ashton’s way. “I’m going to kill you for this one. Just you wait.”
The cop jerked Gerald up and said, “Well, he’ll be waiting a mighty long time, bud. You’re on your way to the big house. Him? He’s juvie bound.”
Just perfect.
Gerald had plenty of friends in juvie, too, and they both knew it.
****
Jackson, who’d never been in trouble before, made bail and swore that he’d try to get Ashton out of there.
Ashton had told him not to bother. He already had a record anyway, and there was no way he was getting out. He was shackled again and led to the van that would take him to the center. He kept his head up despite the fear and worry nagging at him.
He landed at the Bedford, a notoriously bad juvenile detention hall. Intake was hellish, and by the time he was in a uniform and being l
ed down the tiered walks that led to the cells, he already knew he was in for some hard time.
He’d do it, but he would be damned if he would do it lying down.
His cell was in the center, in full view of the other tiers. All the doors were open just then. The school hours were over, and young boys and older teens sat around on their bunks, watching him with wary eyes.
His roommate was a small and skinny guy with a nervous habit of ducking low and not meeting Ashton’s eye. The first five minutes in that cell told Ashton he’d find no ally in his bunkmate.
He was right. He’d barely unrolled the thin mattress and sheets across the steel ledge that served as a bed frame before three dudes walked in.
Ashton recognized one of them immediately – a guy from the block who ran weed and dope for Gerald’s dad. He called himself Speedy for a lot of reasons, and the twitch in his jaw told its own tale. He was sixteen and already drying out and doing time. In other words, he was one bad dude, and he was loyal to both Gerald and his dad.
And news traveled fast.
“Get out,” Speedy said to Ashton’s new roommate.
The guy didn’t even bother saying a word. He just bolted. Speedy and his buddies crammed into the cell.
Speedy said, “I hear you got my boy jammed up and locked down.”
Jammed up meaning arrested; locked down meaning in jail.
Ashton was exhausted. His whole body hurt from the earlier beating, and naturally, nobody had considered sending him to a doctor.
He didn’t answer. He ran at Speedy full force. His shoulder hit Speedy, and they went flying back out of the cell. What happened next would make sure Ashton was left alone for the rest of his stay there, but it would also end with him in the infirmary for two months.
Ashton used his legs like pistons. He shouted, “You want to die? Is that what you’re saying? Then let’s do it! Hell, I’ll kill myself to take you out!”
