by Alexis Angel
Others may not have lasted as long as you did. Many others wouldn't have had the courage to stand up and declare that they had done nothing wrong. For them, we thank you as well.
Going forward, this paper will be conducting a thorough review of everything that is printed in these pages to ensure that something like this never, ever, happens again.
While we can only apologize as many times as needed publicly, we also acknowledge that we can never repay and repair the damage that has been caused to Magnus Davion and Penny Wright.
It's small compensation, but for whatever it's worth, we would like to note to readers that the Equinox Towers project will stay with Davion Development going forward.
And future city contracts will probably be easier.
Indeed, New Yorkers, we here at Gossip Central want to apologize to each and every single one of our readers for leading this witch hunt. It was beneath us and those that came on board with Rhoda Wright have left en masse.
The inmates no longer control the asylum.
The only thing we can wish upon this couple as they embark on their journey of love is that they never again find themselves in the papers.
May their life be quiet and peaceful, and may they never have to work with a mob of journalists pushing down the door to their privacy.
May they enjoy happiness and may you, my dear denizens of the city, enjoy yours.
Till next time, keep your ears open, New York. We're listening.
36
Penny
Epilogue
Felicità!
That’s happiness in Italian, and it pretty much describes the way I’ve been feeling for the past few months. It’s hard to believe, but it has been almost an year after everything that happened back in New York. Which is almost as saying it was centuries ago. Time really flies when you’re having fun.
Two months after Laurel’s impeachment, Magnus got down on one knee and slipped the biggest diamond ring I had ever seen in my finger. I don’t need to tell you how much I cried, do I? The most perfect man I had ever met, asking me to marry him? Yeah, I cried so much I thought I was going to dehydrate. And, with that, he also told me we’d be taking a vacation.
A year-long vacation.
That same night we grabbed his Learjet and, the following day, we touched down on the tarmac at Florence Airport, Italy. I had never been to Europe before, but Italy was my destination of choice when Magnus asked me where I wanted to go. I don’t know, there’s something about Italy that just adds to happy endings, don’t you think?
Magnus already had an old Aston Martin from the ‘60s waiting for us, and he slipped behind the wheel with one of the biggest grins I’d ever seen on his face. Boys and their toys, uh? I gotta say, though, I was pretty excited about it too - there’s nothing like cruising through narrow Italian streets in a car that looks like it came out of a James Bond movie set, its engine roaring loud while the wind whipped at my hair.
That first night in Europe we stayed in a villa in the outskirts of Florence, but we hopped all across Italy as my belly grew into a respectably sized bump. Milan, Turin, Rome - you name it, I’ve been there. We’ve also made a few detours to visit some other cities in Europe, from Berlin to Barcelona, but we mostly stuck with good ol’ Italy.
In fact, we’ve been in Italy for so long that I find myself calling it home. We even decided we’re going to wait for me to give birth here before we head back to the states. We timed it so that Magnus could be in New York just before the Equinox Tower construction begins. It’s been a few months since he clinched the deal, and it took all that time to straighten out all the required paperwork. But now he finally has the green light to start building the tower, and I can tell he’s aching to go back to work.
I feel the same too. Sure, one year of vacation sounds fine, but I have grown restless as well. I don’t want to be a leech and live on Magnus’ money, you know? Besides, I’ve always wanted to be a journalist, and that hasn’t changed. In fact, I’ve used the little Italian I’ve learned (maybe I should consider myself a fluent speaker by now) to write a few columns for some local newspapers. I guess Italy really sunk its hook in me, huh?
Even though we’re probably going back to the states in a few months, Magnus and I have already talked about buying a villa in Florence, a cozy and secluded place where we can raise our children. I love the hustle and bustle of New York City, sure, but it turns out I also have a penchant for a quiet country life.
The way we see it, we can split our time between New York and Florence without breaking a sweat. We just go where we want, when we want. Sure, a lot of that is going to depend on how busy Magnus is, but there’s always some leeway.
I stretch lazily in my chair, remembering every turn of the path that led to me being here right now with Magnus, and look up at the first glowing stars in the sky with a smile. There’s a slight breeze in the air but the night is a warm one, the fingers of summer already reaching for the green hills of Genoa.
I hear Magnus’ footsteps coming from inside our bedroom, and I turn back on my stretcher to see him walk toward the balcony. “Hey, babe,” Magnus whispers, leaning down and planting a kiss on my cheek. I look up at him, smiling, both my hands on my oversized belly.
“Hey there, handsome,” I whisper back, and he sits by my side. We’re sitting on the balcony of our room in a villa in the vicinity of Genoa, one of Italy's most important port cities. The sun has just set, but its orange glow still falls over the world like a curtain, and I can’t help but feel like I’m inside a living picture.
“How’s my boy?” Magnus asks me, slowly reaching for me and caressing my bump.
“Girl,” I correct him with a laugh, but he just shakes his head.
“Nah, it’s a boy. I can feel it,” he tells me, a smile on his lips.
We decided against knowing beforehand if it’s going to be a boy or a girl, but now we find ourselves betting on who’s right. I tease Magnus by telling him it’s going to be a girl but, deep down, I think he’s right - there’s a miniature Magnus growing inside of me.
“Did you know everything would turn out the way it did?” I find myself asking him, looking at him with a gentle smile. He smiles right back and, leaning toward me, brushes his lips softly against mine.
“I didn’t have the slightest clue,” he shrugs. “I just knew I wouldn’t leave your side, come hell or high water.” Without saying a word, I reach for his hand and squeeze it in mine; this time I’m the one leaning in toward me, planting a kiss on his lips.
“I love you so much,” I whisper, feeling the warm summer breeze caress my skin.
“So do I,” he replies, softly pushing me out of my stretcher and taking it for him. He pulls me into his lap then, and I swing my legs over his, my arms laced around his neck.
We sit there in silence, the steady chirping of crickets filling the atmosphere around us. Closing my eyes, I press my head against his chest and take a deep breath. Sometimes happiness is as easy as this - one smile, one kiss, one hug. And, with Magnus by my side, happiness has never been any easier.
If I had to describe my life with one word right now, I know exactly which one I’d use.
Felicità.
About the Author
Alexis Angel writes steamy contemporary romance about bad boys for the bad girl in all of us. She is still single at 30, in case anyone is interested to know, and still very much looking for love.
Her favorite things in the world are flowers, chocolate, lingerie, high heels, lipstick, perfume, and the credit card award miles that she gets from buying all that.
Prior to writing, Alexis used to be a financial analyst in New York City. She quickly decided that working for a faceless corporation run by men was not her dream job. So she began to write. And as she began to write, she began to use those credit card award miles to travel all over the world.
Alexis is still single, in case you forgot from above. She spends winters in California, fall and spring in New York Ci
ty, and summers in Europe. You can join her mailing list at http://eepurl.com/csXC2P or email her at [email protected]
[email protected]
A Note From The Author
I always view novel releases like a day at the fair or something fun. At least that’s how I view it as a reader - a way to spend an afternoon.
So even though this novel was 65,000 words, I wanted to give you some more content for picking up the book and letting me spend some time with you.
To that effect, I’ve attached a copy of some more fun!
We have a copy of Scandalous - which is a sexy older woman, younger man kinda thing. Just wait till you try it.
Client 5 - which is sooo sexy I guarantee you’ll love it.
Man Chaser - first time to be included on Thank You Content.
I’ve attached a Mona Cox book - Fiona Vs. Football Player.
An added treat. After leaving Magnus and Penny, I attached a short story of Penny and Magnus set past the epilogue. Almost extended epilogue, but can be read as short story too!
And finally a preview of a Mona Cox, Becca Vs. Biker.
Our goal in this is simple.
To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us closer together we feel.
Thank you so much for reading!
xoxo
Alexis
Client 5: A Bad Boy Nex Door Dark Romance
Client 5: A Bad Boy Next Door Dark Romance
There isn’t a woman alive that I can’t buy…and I’m rich enough to pay.
I knew I had to have Ashley since the night I saw her. She was so f*cking gorgeous.
I know it’s only a matter of time before she’s mine. With my 8-pack abs, chiseled face, muscles, and tats, I’ve never met a woman whose panties didn’t melt just by looking at me.
Take the pants off and ain't nothing in the world gonna save her from Arsen Hawke.
Sure, she can say whatever she wants to pretend she’s got a choice.
She can say she doesn’t fall for bad boys.
She can try to scare me off by saying she comes with a high price tag.
But none of that f*cking matters to me.
Because I’ve already fallen for that curvy body of hers. For that beautiful face and soft lips. And I’ll pay anything to ravish her. Even if it means agreeing to pay the ultimate price…my heart.
Client 5 is a full-length standalone romance with a guaranteed Happily Ever After, no cheating or cliffhangers.
37
Arsen
“Oh baby, I love sucking this huge cock of yours,” Sophie says as she runs her tongue up and down my shaft in the way that only a stripper can. “It’s getting me so fucking horny.”
I can hear the steady beats of Lil’ John playing through the club as I look down through the glass at the main stage of the strip club. It’s a pretty crowded evening, and I idly wonder if some of the patrons—those poor, lonely schmos with no place else to be—realize that the mirrors they’re looking up at are really one-sided and that I can look down from them at any point. Including times like now, where I’m completely naked getting my cock sucked by a blonde stripper as a brunette one rubs her hands all over my body.
But just as soon as I wonder, the brunette—I think her name is Heather?—starts twisting my nipples and I decide it’s a stupid fucking thing to wonder about and I should just concentrate on the task at hand. That task being namely to fuck the living shit out of these two strippers—new girls to the club, but definitely old hands at this game. They know what’s fucking what, that’s for sure. The moment they started at the club, I could tell they were fucking eyeing me. Deciding if it was in their best interests to fuck me or not. Could they advance their careers by boning the owner?
Let me take a moment to fucking introduce myself, since it’s clear we haven’t met and you’re just now popping into the picture as I have my cock going in and out of one woman’s mouth and my hands roaming the fake tits of another.
My name is Arsen Hawke.
Yes, I know what you’re saying to yourself right now.
That Arsen Hawke. Yes. The 30-year old son of the billionaire smut lord of America. The son of the man the nation knows as the Corrupter. Collectively, my fucking dad is responsible for putting out 83 Internet live web cams, 23 Pay-Per-View channels, 3 magazines, and 5 different streaming porn services through the Internet. All beamed directly into your home for your little son or daughter to consume when you’re not looking – further destroying what little of the moral fiber is left of Western democratic values.
That Arsen Hawke that you read about in the tabloids. The same one that you see on E! Online. With the chiseled 8-pack abs, rugged face, icy blue eyes, and tattoos designed by some of the most gifted artists of our time. Fuck, I don’t even know why I’m describing myself. You know everything about me. You know that I’m good looking as fuck. That on the off-chance that I decided to stop by your town or city, you would probably tell your husband that you were going out so you could see me signing autographs at the mall. Just catch a glimpse. Maybe you’d hope to see me take off my shirt. Maybe you’d even get close enough to see my ripped physique. Fuck, maybe I would make eye contact with you and flex my pecs for you. Tell you to come closer so you could see my 1% body fat body. You’d be pretty close then, maybe I’d even touch you. That’s when you’d go fucking crazy, because that’s what I do to every girl around me.
You’d try not to at first, but you wouldn’t be able to help yourself from looking at the bulge in my pants. That 12-inches of pussy pleasing pistoning that you’ve read about. Fantasized about. You’d be so close to touching it. Tasting it.
If I told you to get in the limo with me, you wouldn’t even think about anything else. Fuck life. Forget every fucking obligation you ever had. All you’d want to do is get in for maybe the most illicit and exciting moment you’d ever have with someone who is fucking larger than life.
Once inside and in private, I’d take your hands in mine and tell you that this is temporary and it’s nothing permanent. You’d agree. Anything to have a taste of me. Anything for a feel. You’d nod your head, and I’d take my pants off, showing you my thick, pulsing, veiny cock.
And fuck if you wouldn't go fucking crazy. Sure, I’d let you suck it like these two strippers right now, who are both taking turns running their tongues around the tip of my cock. But then, I’d turn you over on all fours and I’d fuck the living shit out of you. I swear to fucking God you would cum enough times that by the time I was done with you, you would be nothing more than a quivering mess of flesh on the seat. Sex coma? Talk about fucking sex amnesia.
And you would do anything for another taste of that cock. Anything I fucking wanted you to do. That’s why I’d want to get the fuck away as soon as possible. But I would leave you with memories that would last a lifetime as I flew off to my next destination. Maybe Singapore. Or, maybe London. I hear it’s nice this time of year.
So, yeah, that Arsen Hawke.
But there's so much fucking more that you don’t know about me. What about the fact that I haven't talked to my dad in 6 years, ever since my mom died of cancer and got no help from him since he had already divorced her. That I’ve been living on my own, at the age of 30 at One57 on Billionaire’s Row in New York City. That despite my body and looks and my fucking cock, I have a fucking brain. Harvard fucking MBA, baby. But, no. You don't know that about me. And quite honestly, I’m not surprised.
“Arsen, I want your cock inside of me, baby,” Sophie moans in her most slutty voice. I look down at her. She sees the look in my eyes and smiles lusciously and takes Heather. The two trade a wet, sloppy kiss for my benefit, and then turn away from me, facing the window overlooking the club. They're both naked—fuck their strippers—what do you expect? But what really blows my brain is when they both bend over, jutting
their asses out at me.
“Which one of us do you want to fuck first?” Heather asks, her eyes twinkling with this lust game that their playing for me.
I’m only fucking human, okay? I tear open the condom wrapper and sheath myself as I grab Sophie’s waist with both hands, and push my quivering cock into her pussy. She’s wet, I’ll give her that. But not really that tight. Fuck it, it’ll get the job done.
Within seconds, I have a good, steady clip going, pistoning in and out of Sophie’s canal as she moans lewdly. To further stimulate me, Heather starts licking and sucking Sophie’s tits. I’m building up my tempo, increasing my pace, and I can hear my balls slapping against the underside of Sophie’s ass in tune with the music.
“Fuck me, harder, Arsen!” Sophie screams and I oblige the slut, pounding into her with enough force to topple someone over. It’s a good thing she has the window as leverage, steadying herself as I go mercilessly at her cunt.
Another few seconds and I can tell I’ve gotten Sophie past the point of no return. Three more strokes, two, one, and bingo. Her pussy clamps up around my cock like a vice and I feel her entire body shudder.
“Oh fuck!” Sophie screams and I can tell that her body is being wracked by an orgasm as her muscles clench and unclench.
“My turn,” Heather says and uses her hands to play with my tennis-ball sized balls as I slow down. Heather guides me out of Sophie and leans her back on the window, lifting her leg and giving me easy access inside of her. I slide in, slick with Sophie’s juices and begin the process again as she wraps her arms around me.
I feel Heather’s tits against my chest. Sophie is still quivering and shaking next to me as the new song starts up.
