Mmmmmm, leaning into him I savor the supple kisses skating the length of my neck and the panty dampening nibbles on my earlobe.
“Oh, Papa,” I softly groan, “If you keep that up our children won’t get any breakfast.”
“I would get mine.” Hotly, he breathes in my ear.
Fuccckkkkk…..If only I could bend over here and let him have his way with me.
“Will you two stop it?” Johnathan playfully chastises with a grin, as he enters the kitchen. “My wife doesn’t need any more ideas. She already had me up half of the night trying out our new Christmas present.” He winks at me with an even bigger smile, trots giddily over, and pecks me on the cheek, stealing some buttered toast from the growing pile in the process.
“Thanks for this.” He holds up the toast. “And an even bigger thanks for our new toy.” Chuckling like a happy kid in a candy store, he exits the kitchen, heading back into the living room with the rest of the family.
“You know that toy is just going to keep him even more occupied.” James kisses the back of my head and captures the two pieces of peanut butter and butter toast, that, I made especially for him.
“What if I made those for myself?” I teasingly put my hand on my hip and bump my butt into his protruding shaft. Getting a rather feral grunt in return. Serves him right.
“You didn’t. You, my darling wife, only like peanut butter when you get to lick it off my—well you know.”
Sweet Jesus and all that is holy! Let’s not announce it to Stacy and in turn the rest of the group. He does gossip sometimes. Tell the whole world, why don’t ya!? My dear husband!
Shaking my head, knowing damn well my face is as red as a turnip I ignore his sexually charged statement and turn my attention back to Stacy. Who I was chatting rather heatedly with, until I was so rudely interrupted with sex talk and now a greedy pulsating pussy.
Gee thanks, honey! Get your wife all hot and bothered, knowing damn well she’ll have to wait hours before she can pay you back. He might be able to control his raging hormones. I, on the other hand, seem to lose even more control the longer we’re together. It’s not my fault, I swear it’s not. He’s— for lack of a better term—a sexy god. And I can’t help that his magical tongue, fingers and cock have been blessed by the almighty himself.
“Now, Stacy, before we were so rudely interrupted…I was saying.” Winking at my hubby, I turn my focus back to Stacy. Who is just standing there grinning like a fool in his pj bottoms and a plain white tee, crazy wavy hair all over the place.
God, he’s an adorable man.
James grabs a glass of OJ from the fridge and slides me an oversized cup of coffee sprinkled with hot cocoa on top—just how I like it, then kisses my cheek and sneaks out of the kitchen, leaving me to deal with Stace and his latest confession, on my own. Oh joy!
“You bought him what I think you did…didn’t you?” He shakes his head, barking a laugh.
Great…now another thing I have to discuss. Not my idea of a fun Christmas morning. I want to be watching my twins in the living room on the floor tossing toys around their tiny bodies and giggling as Dylan runs around the house in his new Sponge Bob costume from Santa.
“Yes, Mr. And Mrs. Striker are now proud owners of a leather sex swing, ropes and a book on Shibari.”
What? Can you blame me? The sex freaks extraordinaire needed some new toys. It’s like buying a man who loves baseball cards, the crème de la crème for Christmas. Except my fellow married roomies are BDSM freaks, not card collectors. Admittedly, I had a blast picking out their unconventional present. I picked up a few things for me and James, when I did.
Shit…. I completely forgot to tell you. Here I am blabbing about married this and that. Duh! Emily! Tell them about the chicken before the egg. Ok, now, I’m lost. Fuck….
Anyhow.
Johnathan and Cammy tied the knot on November first in Las Vegas. It wasn’t a big ceremony but we all attended except the children. They stayed with Davis and his wife. The Wall was there with his fiancé, since they do live in Vegas. It was a really kick ass wedding. None of the traditional aspects, but still lovely. James happily walked Cammy down the aisle. He’s been pulling for them two for ages. I know it has something to do with Johnathan loving me. But, I don’t think James quite gets the fact that we are all pretty sure that’s never going to change. He’s not going to stop checking me out, flirting with me, occasionally walking in on me in the bathroom when James is working. And about once a month he has a break down asking why I didn’t marry him instead. He’s always drunk when that happens but we all know Johnathan is Johnathan and we love him with his big gaping flaws, just the same. I’m not the one who has to deal with him as much as Cammy does, now that woman is a pure saint, to the tenth degree. She’s his Sub and he’s her Dom, in everyday life as well as in the bedroom. Sure, she stands up for herself sometimes. But when she does I know damn well Johnathan will be punishing her that night in the confines of their sex room, located in the garage/studio. It’s weird, but it works and I don’t ask questions. Whatever works for them, works; I am not going to complain or judge. Like James so openly stated, I like to lick peanut butter off his cock. It’s true, I do. It’s a sex game and it gets me hot. Awe, who in the fuck am I kiddin’, my Papa Bear in any way, shape or form gets me hot.
Now back to the topic at hand. The wedding. Cammy wore a pretty white dress, Johnathan had on a pair of ripped jeans and his Nirvana shirt with a white tie. Totally rock-n-roll. It was a sweet and simple ceremony, afterward we took a limo to a badass night club, complete VIP treatment all the way. It helps the fact that you just got married and even more so when you are Stricken, one of the biggest bands on the planet. Every place we went in the city was a madhouse of paps and fans, we had six body guards along with my Bear—who can be my bodyguard any day of the week.
You think you get extra attention when your bodyguard likes you, nope, try being married to one and then you see how much extra attention you do get. When we are in public, he always finds a reason to pin me against a wall, or hug me close, all in the name of safety, of course. Plus, we’ve had some close calls with him around the past few months. No one can get enough of Stricken’s divine children. So family outings are crazy as hell. James has pulled his gun eight or nine times and not once have I felt scared or threatened, only because he’s with us. I wouldn’t want another man to protect me. And when he’s not my doting husband, an amazing and attentive father, or my personal bodyguard, he’s been tending to the, band’s finances as well as our own. My job duties are much less than his are. I’m a mother, wife, cook, and I run the behind the scenes for the band. I can’t be in the forefront any longer, considering all the stuff that has to go on here at home. So Johnathan and Stacy have been covering the rest. Stacy, god love him, is busy all the time.
“Emily! Are you going to listen to me?”
Son of a bitch! Arg! Not again!
“Yeah, sorry, Stacy.”
“Before you get your panties in a bunch. Yes, Kyle and I have knocked up a redhead.”
Um… Okay? What the hell kind of gibberish is he trying to pull over on me? I’m no doctor, but I’m fairly certain it takes one sperm and one egg to conceive. Or in my case, two eggs and two sperm. But that’s neither here nor there.
“Okay…,”
“What he’s trying to say, Emily, is we decided to have a child,” Kyle finishes for him, coming into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. Both of them are so freakin’ cute.
“You want to have a child? So you both slept with a woman? Ok, I’m confused.”
Chuckling, Kyle kisses Stacy’s cheek. “You cover that part, sexy,” he states and leaves the kitchen, with a piece of toast in hand.
“We hired a redheaded surrogate who willingly donated her eggs to us. A week ago we had both Kyle and I’s sperm implanted in her womb for conception. We’ll known in another three weeks if one of those embryos took.”
“Okay, so let me get
this straight, you want to have a kid so you both donated sperm, she gave her eggs and her belly to hold the baby, and you didn’t tell me this sooner? Why?”
He is supposed to be my best friend you’d think he would have discussed this with me, at the very least.
“Well, for starters you are so busy with the kids, and well, you aren’t exactly quiet when it comes to your views on the ignorance of people who don’t accept gay couples. We had a lot of hoops to jump through to get a woman willing enough to carry a baby for us. Even in this day and age, there are a lot of agencies who don’t accept our lifestyle, especially one where we live with a rock star, his wife, and her child, along with you, your husband and my niece and nephew. Adding that to the fact that we’re gay. It doesn’t exactly scream acceptance. I knew if I told you that we’ve spent four months trying to find a woman locally, after being rejected over a couple dozen times, you’d probably be on the phone first thing tomorrow talking to every news crew in the state, bitching up a storm about how unfair it is for gays to be treated unequally.”
Over a dozen times? Oh hell no!
“You are damn fucking straight I would do that. I could have helped, if I’d had known, I would have. Don’t keep me out of the loop. I’m in your corner.” I am pissed at anyone who wouldn’t accept him. What a crock of shit. He’s right; I would have been bitching up a storm. Being who I am does have some perks and the media listening to me happens to be one of them.
“I know babe, you are in my corner. You’re in every gay man and lesbian’s corner. And I love you deeply for that. But it isn’t going to change the rules. I didn’t need you worrying about this for me. It’s Kyle and I’s job to deal, if we want to be parents.”
“Yes, you are right it is. But I am the best friend… and I need the names to those agencies who turned you away.” These fuckers will not be getting away with this. Not if I have anything to say about it.
“I told you she’d be angry.” Kyle pops his head in. “You should have left part of it out, just like I told you to.”
“Calm down, Em. Let’s focus on the fact we are now waiting to see if we are having a baby. We wanted a redhead so maybe it could come out looking like you. Now, please stop and enjoy this. Don't scare the poor woman who agreed to it.”
Alright, alright, I guess I can try to calm down about it. He’s right, I am excited they get to be parents. I want nothing more than another baby to be running around our house with the twins and Dylan.
“I know, I’m sorry.” I walk around to the other side of the counter and pull my bestie into a hug. “I love you too much. I can’t help it,” I mutter, my nose stuffed against his chest.
“I know, babe, and we have been friends forever. I was never lying when I said I couldn’t live without you. You are my rock and Kyle’s. So let’s grab the casserole from the oven and the toast so we can go enjoy Christmas.”
Nodding, I pull away from him, but not before he has a chance to give me a big kiss smack dab in the middle of my forehead. Awe, he is so cute! And he’s going to be a mom, and Kyle a dad. James and I are in an amazing place in our lives. The twins are growing like weeds, Dylan starts school soon. Cammy and Johnathan are happy doing whatever it is they are doing. The band is still high in the charts and life is just perfect. Our own unconventional, sometimes dysfunctional kind of perfection.
If someone would have told me two years ago that I would have started to work for a band, get knocked up with twins by their crazy lead singer, have a few fun bisexual encounters, fall in love with my bodyguard, move to Malibu in a beach house with all my closest friends and be married to the best man on the planet, I would have told you that you were fucking nuts, and need to be locked in a padded cell. But life has a strange way of surprising you and teaching you how to make lemonade out of lemons, or some shit like that.
Thanks for reading my story and following me through my fun filled and rather emotional life. Sorry if it wasn’t what you typically see. I can’t say my life was meant to be a fairytale. But it’s turned out to be pretty great.
~ With Love ~
Emily Sue James
***
Finishing this Stricken Rock Novel means that you have read and completed the Stricken Rock Series.
I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking through this entire series, with its ups and downs. It has been a labor of love for me. And in the end, I hope that you agree with the outcome I have picked for each character.
Please join my Facebook author page to chat with me, meet many other book lovers and participate in giveaways.
And if you get the time, post a review, telling me what you thought.
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My others works are also available on Amazon, Smashwords and Barnes and Nobel.
Thanks again for walking this journey with Emily, James and the gang.
Much Love- Author S.K. Logsdon
Artful Attractions
Book One of the Attraction Series
Now Available
~Chapter One~
“Alexis Tylah Monroe—hurry your ass down here, we’re going to be late.”
“Jesus, Becka. It’s not like Brian can’t wait. We aren’t due to meet him until ten anyhow,” I yell down the hall from the bathroom. I’m getting dolled up, so sue me.
Becka, or should I say Rebecca Anne Davis, is my roommate and coworker, going on four years. We met through Brian, our boss — or, that’s what I call him. I think the politically correct term is pimp. Now before you go and get your panties all in a bunch, Brian is not the stereotypical pimp who hits his prostitutes and makes them fuck anything with two legs. First of all, we aren’t technically prostitutes. We’re escorts. High paid, highly functional, and educated. Yes I said it, educated. And I don’t mean 401 ways to give the best blow job.
I attended NYU for four years while landing this gig two years into my schooling. I graduated with a bachelor in Art History. Money was tight being on my own in New York City while attending college. I met Brian one night when I was cocktail waitressing at a small high class lounge— you know, the ones where all the rich business men go afterhours. I was pawed and hit on hundreds of times a night. I guess dropping the tray and working for someone who pays me well enough to get pawed at was the smartest career choice. Let’s face it; there aren’t a ton of job openings in the art history department, so I’ve stayed an escort. But it’s not like I don’t get to use my knowledge. Brian typically pairs me with high profile clients or rich business men who are attending galas or other cultural events. Sure, I actually know the difference between neoclassical and neo-expressionism art. And most of my dates consist of men who think ‘that, that blue blends nicely with that red.’ It’s simple for them and complex for me. Nonetheless, Brian thoughtfully pairs me to those types of clients.
And my dear friend Becka gets the jocks and sports nuts. She’s arm candy for rich men who attend Knicks games and poker tournaments. And every one of our clients come in all shapes and sizes with larger wallets or smaller. But you can’t pay for a date with me if your pocket book consists of tens and twenties. My cut is $175 an hour to escort and sexual favors are on a case by case basis. And yes, if you’re hot I’ll blow you for less.
Most people think escorts screw every night and get paid little to do it. They also think that the clientele are fat, balding, middle aged men with no sense of humor. Sure, I do get those types, but the rich and sexy float my way more often than not. Some wonder why those men need a date when they look as good as they do. But the truth is they don’t want the strings. If they take a female friend on a date, those women expect to be doted upon and get offended easily if their date walks off to chat with a hot waitress. I could care less. I provide a service of sex appeal, companionship, intellectual conversation; if needed and sex; if the price is right.
Growing up in the Midwest, I wasn’t raised wrong. My parents were divorced but I had both of them, and they love me, and my two sisters. I�
��m the middle child. My older sister Hannah is now twenty eight and married with two kids. And my younger sister Beth is twenty one and studying to be a teacher. I don’t hate either of them and actually I like Beth. Except my life here in New York is secret. I can’t tell my family about my career path. This isn’t Pretty Woman, it’s not a fairytale. I’ve never stood on a street corner and I’ve certainly never met a rich man who wanted to spend hundreds of dollars on me for nothing in return but friendship. I’ve gotten gifts, yes. But I’ve had to work hard to procure them.
“Woman, I said get a damn move on it. We need to take the bus to head into the city,” my roomy, says popping her head into the bathroom doorway.
I’ve spent the past hour showering, applying my ‘work’ makeup and dressing the part. We meet with Brian our boss once a week. We get our client list and specifics, some of which consist of great lengths of work. If a man prefers a slut, he gets a slut in a short dress and hooker heels. If they order a homegrown country girl, I transform into the wholesome girl I was raised to be, but failed at miserably. Long dresses, short dresses, heels, long hair, short hair, you name it, and we go through it. It’s specific work. Most men don’t care what we dress like as long as we are hot. But you get those types who want a blonde with a pixie cut. That’s where Becka’s and my wig collection comes in handy.
I have copper brown hair that’s long and straight. I don’t dye it because truth be known I actually enjoy my hair color. My eyes are a hazel green and I’m not fat or super skinny. My breasts are average and my skin is golden. I don’t go to the lengths as some of my colleagues do to perfect their appearances. I don’t do spray tans, fake nails, eye brow waxes, bikini waxes or anything that costs a fortune. I pluck my own brows, I paint my own natural nails, my skin is naturally a golden tan color and I sure as hell shave my own pussy. And I don’t mean bald like a twelve-year-old little girl. That’s a hard line for me that I don’t cross. If a man prefers a bare pussy, they can go elsewhere. I shave it all and leave a landing strip, which like my hair is a copper brown color, not black.
Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set Page 92
