by Lola Darling
“He gets everything he wants.” I hear Blaine’s voice from somewhere inside “Not this time. I’m winning this one!”
The parking garage is dim and it takes me a second to adjust my eyes. I spot Blaine pulling Lillian toward a car a few rows away. I crouch down to stay out of sight and creep after them. I have no idea what I’m going to do once I get closer, but I can’t let Lillian out of my sight.
“I think you’re taking this too far, Blaine.” Her voice shakes. She’s scared. “You know I want to help. Just bring the car up from the basement. I’ll wait for you inside—”
“I’ve waited for you long enough!” Blaine suddenly grabs Lillian and slams her backwards into a car. She cries out in pain. “You never noticed me, did you? You were so obsessed with Dominic!”
“Please, Blaine, get hold of yourself.” Lillian’s trying her best to keep it together. “Just calm down, and we can talk about this. Over a romantic dinner—”
“Bullshit!” Blaine yells. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing. You’re toying with me, just like you’ve kept those Rexford idiots dangling. Well, I’m not going to fall for it anymore. I should have cut Xander’s brakes myself!”
He slaps her across the face, hard. Lillian reels back in shock.
I panic. He’s losing it. Even from across the parking garage, I can see his crazed expression. We didn’t plan for this, and now Lillian is right in harm’s way.
Think.
I force myself to stay calm. I look around. We’re alone in the basement. If I tried to run for help, he might spook and hurt Lillian more. And if he gets her in a car, he could take her anywhere. Do anything. But what can I do to help?
I start peering in car windows, still out of sight. I need something to use as a weapon, anything to stop him before it’s too late. Finally, just a few cars away from them, I see a toolbox on the backseat, and beside it, a tire iron.
Yes!
I try the door, and almost cry out in relief when it opens. Thank God. I reach inside and grab the tire iron, all the while listening to Blaine raving, totally out of his mind now.
“You think I don’t know you’re all laughing at me?” he yells, as Lillian cowers. He’s gripping her arm so tightly she can’t get away. “You and Dom and Xander, you always had everything, and you never let me in. Well, we’ll see who’s laughing when I take the Rexford. I’ll kill you, and Xander. I’ll take everything Dom ever loved, until he has nothing!”
I take a deep breath and start to edge closer. I creep out from the parked cars and approach Blaine from behind. If I can just get close enough—
But I’m still six feet away when Lillian’s eyes go wide. She’s seen me, and she doesn’t cover quickly enough. Blaine whirls around. There’s no time. He shoves Lillian aside and lunges toward me as I raise the tire iron and swing with everything I have.
CRACK.
The iron catches him on the shoulder. He stumbles with a pained grunt, but it’s not enough. He lunges for me again. Lillian leaps up and grabs his shirt as he comes towards me, but he throws her down and she hits the concrete with a cry of pain.
“Who the fuck are you?” Blaine demands, breathing heavily. “Oh yeah, the latest whore. Still think your precious Dom is worth all of this?”
“He’s ten times the man you’ll ever be,” I spit back, wielding the tire iron. I’m trying to be brave, but I’m terrified. Blaine is bigger than me, and stronger – and he’s got a wild look in his eyes. He’s not thinking straight right now.
Suddenly, Blaine lunges again with a savage cry. I try to swing, but I’m not fast enough. He grabs the tire iron from my hands and yanks it away. Then he’s on me, barreling me to the ground. I struggle, but he’s too big. He gets his hands around my neck, squeezing hard.
I flail, trying to escape. He’s crushing my throat. I can’t breathe!
I grab Blaine’s wrists, struggling as my lungs burn for air. He won’t move. I can’t do this. Things are just getting hazy, when I hear a loud yell. Blaine is yanked off me, and air fills my lungs in a cool rush.
I struggle upright, reeling, in time to see Dom slam Blaine’s face in a fierce right-hook. Blaine falls to the ground, but Dom doesn’t stop. He hits him hard, over and over, until Blaine’s face is a broken mess of blood and bone.
“Stop!” I manage to gasp, pulling Dom back. “That’s enough.”
Dom freezes, panting heavily. “It’s over,” I tell him, seeing Lillian sitting up against a car. Even after everything, she’s smoothing down her hair and checking her makeup. She’ll be OK. “It’s all over now.”
He holds me close. I hear sirens in the distance as I sink against him, his arms tight around me like he’s never letting go.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It turns out that the one thing we needed to turn the Rexford around was a huge, juicy scandal. The press was all over the story before the cops had finished hauling Blaine Prescott away. His black and blue face made the cover of every newspaper in town, busted lip and all. By the next morning, we were fully booked, with a waiting list a mile long.
The Rexford is back in business.
I want to get back to work ASAP, but Dom won’t hear of it.
“You need to recover and rest up,” he insists the next night, when I meet him at the hotel.
“I can rest at work. At my desk,” I protest, laughing as he guides me through the lobby. “Now, are you going to tell me what this surprise is all about?”
“If I did, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Dom winks as he hustles me into an elevator.
I kiss him the minute the doors close, savoring the feel of him against my body. I expect him to take me to his suite, but instead, when we get off on the top floor, he takes me to a stairwell, and up another level.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been up here,” I say, looking around.
“Just wait.”
Dom leads me down a narrow hallway. We’re under the eaves of the rafters here. “They used to house the servants up here,” he tells me. “Now it’s all storage. Almost all.”
He stops at a door at the end of the hall, and unlocks it with an old-fashioned key.
The door swings open, and I gasp.
“Dom!”
I step inside, not believing my eyes. The small room is like a time capsule from the past: rich brocade drapes, an antique rug, and a massive four-poster bed made with fresh linens. But it’s the view that takes my breath away: all of the city spread before us out of the window, twinkling like jewels.
“I don’t understand. I thought I’d seen all the guest rooms. This isn’t on any of the manifests.”
Dom smiles. “I’ve been having it restored as a special surprise. A secret. Off the books. Just for us.”
“Us?” I’m overwhelmed. I can’t believe he found a way to create a secret hideaway for the two of us right here in the hotel.
“Do you want a drink?” Dom asks. “I have champagne, chocolates, everything your heart could desire.”
“I only want one thing,” I tell him, bold. “You.”
Dom pauses, and I see the lust flare in his eyes.
“Take off your clothes and let me look at you.”
The dominant tone of his voice makes my stomach twist. I shiver, and do as he says: slowly stripping off my dress and heels until I’m standing naked in my bra and panties.
Dom slowly circles me. “God,” he says, his voice thick with lust. “From the moment I first saw you… Nobody else has this power over me. Only you.”
My nipples harden. My thighs clench. I’m already wet, waiting to feel his touch, hear his wicked commands.
“Are you ready for me?” he growls. I nod. “Show me,” he demands. “I want to see you touch yourself.”
My legs go weak, but I manage to stay in place. Slowly, teasingly, I begin to stroke my breasts and bare stomach. I hold his gaze, showing him just how much I want him.
I tug my panties down, kicking them aside. I stroke my clit and moan softly
, and Dom’s jaw tightens.
“How do you want it?” he asks roughly. “Do you want my hands on you, my fingers inside you? My tongue fucking your sweet cunt?”
Oh God, he’s so hot.
I could melt in a puddle, but I stand firm and shake my head.
Dom arches an eyebrow, looking amused. “Say it.”
I bite my lip, flushing. “I want your cock.”
“Where?” Dom smirks. He’s close enough to touch, but the distance between us is electric.
“Inside me,” I gasp. “Deep. Please, Dom. I need you.”
“Then ride me.” Dominic yanks his pants down and sits back on the bed. “Ride my dick and take me as deep as you want.”
Fuck yes.
I don’t need to be told twice. His cock is standing erect, so thick and ready for me, but I want to make him wait too – tease him, just a little.
I drop to my knees and take him in my mouth.
“Fuck!” Dom groans as I take him all the way, lost in the texture and taste of him on my tongue. Sucking, sliding and caressing with my mouth, I drive him crazy, right the way to the brink, just the way he’s tormented me. Then I rise to my feet.
He looks like he could devour me right now.
Good.
I playfully push him back on the bed, then straddle him, positioning myself over his gorgeous cock. Then I sink down in one blissful movement, all the way, taking him right to the hilt.
Fuck.
I arch, grinding against him. He feels so good inside, every fucking inch. Dom grabs my hips as I move, helping me glide up and down until I’ve found a fast, incredible rhythm. Tilting his hips, he angles his cock to hit just right, sending shocks through my clit with each thrust. Fast. Hard.
More.
His hips slam up into me, thrusting deeper than ever. Fuck. I can’t hold back, it’s too good. I come screaming his name, an epic orgasm that shatters me into a thousand pieces, convulsing so hard I feel his own climax rip from his body.
We collapse back on the bed, breathing hard.
“Wow,” I gasp. “I’m liking this room already.”
He chuckles. “Any time you like, my darling. Just say the word. Always.”
The word lingers between us with new meaning. I turn to look at him, my heart suddenly beating faster in my chest.
“Always?” I echo, not wanting to hope.
“Forever.” Dom says, and I can see it in his eyes, he means it.
Happiness floods through me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Forever.”
THE END
Want more of my alpha heroes and sexy stories? Read on for a sneak peek of my new book, Teacher’s Pet (A Forbidden Romance).
TEACHER’S PET: A FORBIDDEN ROMANCE
When Harper Reed came to Oxford, her dream was to study modern poetry with the infamous Professor Jack Kingston, NOT to sleep with him. But his lectures are intoxicating, his knowledge captivating, and his accent drops panties faster than Charlie Hunnam on a Saturday night.
Harper has never made good decisions when it comes to sex and Jack has never been able to commit, yet there’s something between them that neither of them has felt before. But students and teachers are not supposed to fraternize, even as this out of control connection puts both of their futures on the line.
When their forbidden love is tested, can they make the grade?
AVAILABLE NOW!
Harper
I’m late.
I force my legs to move faster, hugging my sheepskin coat around my body as I hurry through the cobblestone streets. By day, I’ve gotten decent at navigating Oxford—it’s not as big as London, so I can remember most of the major streets around the colleges. But it’s not as well-organized as London, either, so when I try to guess where a side street ought to be based on which road it runs parallel to, it doesn’t end well.
And, of course, I still haven’t fixed my US cell phone, so I don’t have GPS service either, only a basic text and call plan. I am actually using a paper map to get around.
Mary Kate had better be grateful I’m coming to this damn party.
I pause in the glow of windows from a corner pub to study the paper.
“Need a hand there?” drawls a Scottish guy, a cigarette drooping from one lip and a foamy beer cooling in his fist. Beside him, an older guy is chugging a Guinness like there’s a prize for first to finish.
“I’m looking for, um.” I squint at the text she sent me once again.
Hey there my favorite USian pen pal. So excited you are finally coming to Englandia for more than just a week! You’re gonna love Oxford. I get into town the night before term starts—my friends are having a fancy dress party at 5 Pusey St. You better come or else!!! How long has it been since you were last in London, 2 years? You owe me a visit Xoxo. P.S. —wear your best habit! ;)
“5 Pusey Street?” I say.
The man shakes his head and takes the map from me. “This is us.” He points at one side. “You gotta go back up Broad to St. Giles, hang a right—you know where the Bird and Baby is?”
I shake my head.
His friend finishes his beer and belches. “The Eagle and Child,” he corrects the first guy. “Can’t you hear she’s not from around here?”
“You don’t sound like you are either,” I snap, though I feel bad the moment I do. He’s from closer to here than I am. “Sorry. I know it. Thanks,” I tell them both. I’m just grumpy because it means I walked fifteen minutes in the dead wrong direction.
I trudge past the row of stately buildings and colleges that look like they were plucked from a medieval movie set and plunked down in a modern-day parking lot. The Eagle and Child was the first pub I visited on my first day in Oxford. I’ve been trying to soak up the literary scene here, and that pub is famous for being Tolkien and C.S. Lewis’s haunt back in the day.
My grumpiness eases as I study the side streets I pass, where old-fashioned street lamps illuminate cobblestones and chatty gaggles of students, voices loud from drink and white with smoke. Even the air smells inspiring. Fall mixed with the faint musk of rain on its way later.
If there’s anywhere in the world I’m going to forget about Derrick—no, don’t even think his name, I scold myself—it’s here. If there’s anywhere I can find my inspiration again, anywhere I can start to write the poetry that I’m starving without, it’s here.
And now I’m on my way to my first-ever British college party, to meet up with the girl I’ve been best pen pals with since we were 11 years old.
Life is good.
I have a huge grin on my face once more by the time I find the turn off of St. Giles and onto the side street where she sent me. At the entrance, I ring the buzzer and unbutton my jacket to smooth down my gray silk blouse and knee-length black skirt. It hugs my hips just right to show I’m fun, not enough to show I can’t handle myself at a high society event.
Mary Kate said fancy dress party, after all, and her joke about me dressing like a nun aside, I assume she meant I should wear my classiest outfit.
This is, after all, my fresh start. Things are going to be different here. I’m going to be different. No more screw-ups. No more sneaking past Derrick’s roommates because I need to be kept secret; no more hooking up with that jerk film major who, it turns out, was just using me for my key to the English House. No more any assholes like that. I’m starting over here.
A buzzer sounds from somewhere inside the building. I push open the door and follow MK’s text directions upstairs to the third floor. Even through the door, I can hear the sound of raised voices and loud music.
I guess fancy parties can still be fun ones. I try the knob, find it open, and push open the door.
Then I freeze like a deer in headlights, and gape at the scene within.
The first people to catch my eye are a trio of guys in pope hats, fishnet leggings and black high heels. A girl in a nun habit and what looks like a bathing suit bikini takes photos of the guys while they perform a chorus kick li
ne.
“Welcome, welcome!” Another girl, this one in a low-cut shirt and bodice that look like something out of Oktoberfest, sweeps toward the door. “Don’t be shy, come on in!”
“Sorry, I—I think I have the wrong address,” I stammer, fumbling in my coat pockets for my cell.
“Don’t be silly! You must be Harper—MK’s in the kitchen.” Oktoberfest girl grabs my jacket from my shoulders and slides it off me and onto a coatrack nearby. “Can I get you anything? Some Pope Juice maybe?”
I blink at her in confusion, and my gaze drifts back to the guys in pope hats.
She giggles. “It’s punch, darling, don’t worry. Nothing sinister.” She grabs my hand and leads me through an old, rundown looking apartment toward a dingy kitchen. “I’m Amber, I went to school with MK. She was always talking about you, you know. I gotta admit, you aren’t what I expected.” Amber’s eyes dart up and down my long skirt, and the conservative, expensive blouse I picked out for this occasion, which I clearly and totally misunderstood. “What are you supposed to be, an actual nun?”
“Escaped from a convent,” I manage.
We reach the kitchen, and a mass of boobs and hair assaults me in a giant, bone-crushing hug. Mary Kate is dressed in her sluttiest best. Somehow she makes the skintight neon red miniskirt and matching pleather bustier totally work. It probably helps that she’s 5’10” of Victoria’s Secret model proportions.
“Hi MK,” I manage to squeak out.
“I thought you’d never get here!” she exclaims dramatically, still squeezing all the air from my lungs while she plants a wet kiss on my cheek. Someone’s already been at the pope juice, I see.
When she finally lets me go to breathe, I grin up at her. I could never stay mad at MK for long. She’s the one friend I could always pour my soul out to, ever since we were kids and our parents arranged for us to write letters through a pen pal program so we could both “experience new cultures” through each other.
She’s the only person who knows the whole story about he-who-must-not-be-named, too.
“Me?” I exclaim. “I thought you would never get here! You left me wandering around Oxford alone and confused for a whole week of foreign student orientation.”
