by T L Swan
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me slowly. His tongue does a seductive dance against mine, waking my dormant body from its sleep.
I continue to slowly stroke him as he gets harder and harder. Our lips are locked. God, how did I think I could ever live without him?
No wonder my heart was broken. He makes it beat.
His fingers find the spot between my legs. “Open,” he breathes against my lips.
I roll onto my back and spread my legs, and he leans up onto his elbow beside me.
He slides two thick fingers deep inside me. My back arches in pleasure. “That’s it,” he breathes. “I know how to relax you, baby.”
His lips slowly take mine as he begins to pump me. The ripples of pleasure begin to build. I put my hands on his forearm as he works me, his movement getting rougher and rougher.
His dark eyes hold mine, and the bed begins to hit the wall with force.
Tristan Miles is the king of finger fucking. He gives it to me so good before we even get to the intercourse part. He has so much strength in his hand that I have no chance against him. No defense against his skill.
When he has me like this, he owns me.
Who am I kidding? He owns me wherever we are.
He pushes my legs back so they are bent against my chest, and he really lets me have it. The sound of my wet body sucking him in echoes throughout the room.
“Mmm,” I moan as he watches me. My eyes are rolled back in my head, and I hover somewhere in subspace. “I need you,” I pant. I grab the back of his head and drag him to me. “Fuck me,” I plead.
With dark eyes, he rises above me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He slides home deep. We bother shudder, close to losing control.
We kiss, and it’s slow and tender and moves in time with his body deep inside of mine.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips. I grip him tighter. I can’t believe I nearly lost him.
I bear down and shudder hard. His eyes flutter with fire, and he pulls out and slams back in.
Oh . . . here we go.
He rises above me on straightened arms and begins to pump me with full force. His knees are wide, and my hands are on his behind. I feel him flex as he gets all the way in.
So good . . . so fucking good.
“Fuck,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Knees up.”
I bring my knees up to rest on his shoulders, and his eyes roll back. I smile up at him in wonder. “I love you,” I whisper.
He kisses me aggressively, and then he lets me have it. Both barrels. The bed hits the wall so hard I think he might knock it down. He bites my neck, and I can’t take it. I clench and convulse as I come hard. He holds himself deep as he does the same.
We move together slowly to completely empty his body into mine.
“I missed you,” he whispers.
I hold him tight in my arms. “I missed you too.”
Tristan
We’re back in Long Island now, and I look around at her bedroom and slide my hand up over Claire’s hip as she sleeps. I inhale deeply and smile into her hair.
Today’s the day.
“Morning.” She sleepily sighs.
“I’m getting up, babe.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs with her eyes closed. “Why so early?”
“I’m taking the boys to the expo in New York, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right,” she replies. Her eyes are firmly shut. “Do you want me to get up to see you off?”
“No, I got it. The boys are already up. I can hear them downstairs. Stay here and sleep in.”
“Okay.” She smiles as she wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. “I love you.”
I kiss her softly. “I love you too.”
I climb out of bed, quickly shower, and make my way downstairs.
The boys are eating their cereal with huge grins on their faces. “Are we ready?” I whisper.
“Yeah, sure are,” whispers Patrick excitedly.
I smile. “Hurry up. We need to go.”
We walk down the mall in New York. It’s snowing, and Christmas carols play loudly throughout the space. Patrick is holding my hand, and Harry and Fletcher are by my side. We’ve been looking for hours. Still nothing I like. “What if we don’t find one?” Harry asks.
“We will.”
“You should have had one made.” Fletcher sighs with a roll of his eyes.
“I didn’t have time.”
The boys and I are looking for an engagement ring for Claire. We’re finally going to be a family.
“When do you need it for?”
“Well, we leave in three weeks for Aspen, and my plan is to ask her on Christmas Eve,” I reply as we walk. “I’ve got everything arranged. Now we just need the ring.” Nerves flutter in my stomach. Finally.
My wife.
I’ve never wanted anything so badly. “Let’s hope she says yes, eh?” I add.
“She better,” Harry snaps as we walk. He takes my hand in his. “She’s going to ruin the entire trip if she doesn’t.”
I chuckle. “Agreed. Two weeks’ skiing in Aspen is going to be very uncomfortable if she says no.”
I smile as I picture our first New Year’s Eve together as a family, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been this excited about a vacation before.
“Of course she’s going to say yes,” Fletcher scoffs. “As if she won’t.”
“I bet she cries.” Harry smiles dreamily, as if imagining her face. “She always cries when good things happen.”
“Remember, not a word to anyone about this.” I widen my eyes at Patrick to remind him specifically.
If anyone is going to blab to Claire, it’s him, but I didn’t want to leave them out of this.
“I know,” he says in disgust. “It’s a big secret.”
“You’ll ruin Christmas if you tell,” Fletcher adds.
“I won’t,” Patrick snaps. “Stop saying I’ll tell, because I won’t.”
We keep walking and walking and walking. “Where is it, Fletch?” I ask.
He checks the directions on his phone. “Just around this corner.”
We walk around the corner, and there it is.
NEW YORK DIAMOND TRADERS
“This is it.”
We all stand still and stare at the sign.
“This makes me nervous,” I whisper.
“Me too,” replies Fletcher. “What if we get one she hates?”
“We won’t.” With renewed determination, I lead the boys into the jewelry store, and we look around.
“Can I help you, sir?” the man behind the counter asks.
“Yes,” Fletcher interrupts. “We’re looking for an engagement ring.”
I smile, proud that he now speaks so confidently to strangers.
“For my mom,” Patrick adds.
“Well.” The salesman’s eyes widen in delight. “How wonderful.”
“Yes, it is.” Harry beams happily as he swings my arm by the hand.
I smile as I watch the boys. They’re as excited about this as I am. I’m so glad I included them in this.
“What are you after, sir?” the salesman asks.
“Gold.” I look to Fletcher in question, and he nods. “Yes, eighteen-karat gold. A solitaire diamond, not too big and flashy, but the diamond has to be perfect.”
“Okay. This way, please.” He leads us over to a glass cabinet where diamond rings are displayed in rows.
“Thank you,” I reply. “This could take a while.”
“Of course. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be just over here when you need me.”
The boys and I all peer into the cabinet.
“Do you see any you like?” I whisper.
“Hmm.” Patrick cranes his neck as he looks. “I’m trying to imagine if I were a girl.”
“You wouldn’t have to imagine too hard,” Harry mutters dryly.
“That one.” Fletcher points to a ring that sits on its own.
A solitaire
diamond ring in a black velvet case sparkles perfectly in the light.
“Oh yeah,” Harry whispers. “I like that one too.”
“What do you think, Tricky?” I ask.
“Hmm.” He frowns as he concentrates. “I think she might like a love-heart one instead. You know, for love.”
Harry screws up his face in disgust. “She isn’t ten,” he scoffs. “Nobody likes love-heart rings.”
“I think it would be nice,” I reply as I stare at the ring in front of us. “But maybe Mom would prefer a round one.” I shrug. “Good idea, though, Tricky.” I rub his little head and mess up his hair.
He smiles up at me. “I suppose.”
“Excuse me,” I call to the salesman.
“Yes.”
“Can we look at this one, please?” I point to the ring we like.
“Of course.” He takes it out of the cabinet and passes it over.
We all stare at it in my hand. “Can you tell me about it?” I ask.
“Yes, this is a perfect-cut solitaire two-karat diamond. Eighteen-karat gold in a traditional setting.”
I smile as I stare at it. I think this is it. “Can we have a moment alone, please?” I ask.
“Of course.” He leaves us alone.
“What do you reckon?” I whisper as I pass it to Fletcher. He studies it carefully. “I love this one.” He passes it to Harry, who inspects it in great detail. He nods in approval. He passes it to Patrick, who immediately drops it on the ground.
“Patrick, you idiot,” Harry whispers angrily. “Watch what you’re doing.”
“It’s slippery,” Patrick stammers.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry,” I stammer to the salesman as we all dive to the floor to retrieve it.
I pick it up and stare at it in my fingers, and a broad smile crosses my face. “This is it.” I turn to the salesman. “We’ll take it, please.”
Snow is falling, and the boys all stare out the window of our chalet.
It’s Christmas Eve, and we are sitting by the open fire, next to the Christmas tree.
This Christmas seems special . . . it is special.
My first with them.
Claire smiles over at me. “Thank you for bringing us here.” She kisses me softly. “It’s perfect.”
“Boys,” I call.
They all run to us and sit down, excited for what’s to come.
“We have something for you.” I smile.
Patrick puts his hand over his mouth so that he doesn’t blurt it out.
Claire’s eyes come to me in question.
I drop to my knee in front of her and hold out the ring. “Claire, will you marry me?”
The three boys all bounce on the spot in excitement.
Claire giggles and pulls me in to kiss her. “I thought you’d never ask.” We kiss, and the boys high-five. “I’ve got a Christmas present for you too, Tris,” she whispers.
I smile as I kiss her again, and then she takes my hand and puts it over her stomach.
“You’re going to be a father.”
My world stops.
She smiles through tears. “I’m two months pregnant.”
I stare at her wide eyed; then I look to the boys, who are wide eyed too.
What the . . .
Claire giggles as my hand rests tenderly over her stomach. “Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Miles. Now you have four.”
Two weeks later
I exhale heavily as I stand outside Jameson’s office door. I drop my head as I brace myself.
I’m about to do something I’ve never imagined in my wildest dreams.
I knock twice.
“Come in,” he calls.
Without a word, I walk in and hand him the envelope.
He frowns. “What’s this?”
“My resignation.”
“What?” His eyes hold mine. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m taking over as CEO of Anderson Media. Fletcher and I are going to run it together.”
His face falls. “I don’t think—”
“The decision’s already been made, Jay,” I cut him off. “I’m going.”
“What did Claire say?”
“She doesn’t know yet.”
He frowns. “You are leaving your family company to run someone else’s company? That’s madness.”
I drop my head.
“I can’t let you do this,” he stammers.
“I’m going to run my sons’ company . . . for them. I can build it back up so that by the time they are old enough to take it over, it will be booming.”
His eyes hold mine, and he gives me a slow smile. “You’re a good man, Tristan.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek.
I want to blurt out that we are pregnant and not to be sad, because this is the beginning of something wonderful—a life with the woman I love and four beautiful children—but I can’t. We’ve agreed to keep the pregnancy to ourselves for another month until Claire reaches her second trimester.
However, I’m well aware that this is the end of my time working with my brothers, and for that I truly am devastated.
It won’t be the same not working with them.
My eyes well with tears as we hug. The ending of an era.
Eventually I pull out of his arms and walk toward the door.
“When will you be back?” he asks.
I turn back to him. “When my boys are men.”
The End
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes an army to write a book, and I undoubtedly have the best army on earth.
To Sammia, Lindsey, and my Montlake team at Amazon, thank you for believing in me and my work—your support has been amazing.
Publishing with you has been a dream come true.
To my wonderful assistant of three years, Kellie, who we all know is the real boss around here. Thank you for everything you do: the travel, the covers, the books, my meltdowns . . . you handle it all with a beautiful smile on your face. I am so grateful for our friendship.
To my gorgeous beta readers, Rachel, Nicole, Vicki, Rena, Amanda, Nadia, and Lisa: you guys are the best. Thank you for everything that you do for me. You make me so much better.
To my family, the loves of my life. I love you. Xoxoxo.
To my beloved friends in the Swan Squad, thank you for your friendship and keeping me sane.
And last but not least, to my beautiful readers: it is because of you that I get to live this wonderful life, and words don’t seem enough to express my gratitude.
Thank you so much for reading my books.
Thank you so much for your continued support.
Thank you so much for believing in my characters and stories as much as I do.
Dreams really do come true.
Tee
xoxoxox
Read on for the first chapter of T L Swan’s backlist title Mr. Masters, available to buy now!
Prologue
ALINA MASTERS 1984–2013
WIFE AND BELOVED MOTHER. IN GOD’S HANDS WE TRUST.
Grief. The Grim Reaper of life.
Stealer of joy, hope, and purpose.
Some days are bearable. Other days I can hardly breathe, and I suffocate in a world of regret where good reason has no sense.
I never know when those days will hit, only that when I wake, my chest feels constricted and I need to run. I need to be anywhere but here, dealing with this life. My life.
Our life. Until you left.
The sound of a distant lawn mower brings me back to the present, and I glance over at the cemetery’s caretaker. He’s concentrating as he weaves among the tombstones, careful not to clip or damage one as he passes. It’s dusk, and the mist is rolling in for the night.
I come here often to think, to try to feel.
I can’t talk to anyone. I can’t express my true feelings.
I want to know why.
Why did you do this to us?
I clench my jaw as I stare at my late wife’s tombstone.
We could have had it all . . . but, we didn’t.
I lean down and brush the dust away from her name and rearrange the pink lilies that I have just placed in the vase. I touch her face on the small oval photo. She stares back at me, void of emotion.
Stepping back, I drop my hands in the pockets of my black overcoat.
I could stand here and stare at this headstone all day—sometimes I do—but I turn and walk to the car without looking back.
My Porsche.
Sure, I have money and two kids who love me. I’m at the top of my professional field, working as a judge. I have all the tools to be happy, but I’m not.
I’m barely surviving; holding on by a thread. Playing the facade to the world.
Dying inside.
Half an hour later, I arrive at Madison’s—my therapist.
I always leave here relaxed. I don’t have to talk, I don’t have to think, I don’t have to feel.
I walk through the front doors on autopilot.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” Hayley, the receptionist, smiles. “Your room is waiting, sir.”
“Thank you.” I frown, feeling like I need something more today. Something to take this edginess off. A distraction.
“I’ll have someone extra today, Hayley.”
“Of course, sir. Who would you like?”
I frown and take a moment to get it right. “Hmm. Hannah.”
“So, Hannah and Belinda?”
“Yes.”
“No problem, sir. Make yourself comfortable and they will be right up.”
I take the lift to the exclusive penthouse. Once there I make myself a scotch and stare out the smoked-glass window overlooking London. I hear the door click behind me, and I turn toward the sound. Hannah and Belinda stand before me, smiling. Belinda has long blonde hair, while Hannah is a brunette.
There’s no denying they’re both young and beautiful. “Hello, Mr. Smith,” they say in unison.
I sip my scotch as my eyes drink them in.
“Where would you like us, sir?”
I unbuckle my belt. “On your knees.”
Chapter 1
Brielle
Customs is ridiculously slow, and a man has been pulled into the office up ahead. It all looks very suspicious from my position at the back of the line. “What do you think he did?” I whisper as I crane my neck to spy the commotion up ahead.
