by Alexa Riley
“Always give me what I need before I even know I need it?”
His smile is a little cocky, and it makes me smile, too. Though I can feel that mine is lazy and a bit dazed after the climax he just gave me.
He doesn't answer. He leans down and takes my mouth, letting me taste myself. His kiss is as possessive on my lips as it was on my pussy. He consumes me and I just lie there and take it. His body moves and his cock presses against my opening. With one full thrust he’s inside me, filling me up. This is what we both need. Coming together as one to reconnect our bodies and souls. As silly as it sounds, he’s my soul mate. I know without a doubt that I waited my whole life for him. And I’m glad I did because he was worth the wait.
Our love-making is slow and easy, without any rush. Phillip takes the lead as he gives me endless amounts of pleasure. I cum so many times I lose count, but he demands more and more. Finally, when I’ve nearly passed out from all the orgasms, he floods my pussy with his cum and allows himself the release.
We lie there quietly, wrapped around one another, and I’m about to drift off when Phillip whispers into the dark.
“If it’s a girl, I’d like to name her after you.”
“Hmm?” I’ve nearly drifted off when his words reach my ears.
“I saw the test before I brought you to bed. I was right. As always.”
Epilogue
Phillip
Six years later…
“One, two, three, four…”
“Dad, why are you counting?”
I grit my teeth because Noah is sitting beside me and I don’t want to cause a scene. We’re at MJ’s soccer game and I don’t want to embarrass her.
“Nothing, son,” I say to Noah through a clenched jaw. Instead, I watch carefully as MJ’s coach talks to Molly on the sidelines, leaning in a little too closely for my liking. He’s always smiling at her, acting all friendly, but today it’s getting obnoxious. He’s leaning in and laughing at everything she says, and it’s pissing me the fuck off.
MJ’s our almost-five-year-old daughter, named after Molly. We started calling her Molly Junior when she was born, and MJ just sort of stuck. She’s currently on the field deciding between picking flowers and tackling the other kids, but she’s having a blast.
The only problem seems to be coming from her over-friendly coach.
Molly mentioned in passing the other day that the coach sends a lot of emails and it was a little annoying to her. When I logged on to see Molly’s emails, I noticed that she was the only recipient of the emails. Molly kept blowing it off, saying he was just trying to help MJ focus.
I started watching him around her and making an effort to always be by Molly’s side whenever the games were going on. I trust my wife, and I know that she would never cross a line, but this motherfucker needs to watch himself.
He reaches out and places his hand on her upper arm, giving it a squeeze, and I glare at them when I see it happen. I’m up off the bench before I know it.
I see Molly take a step back at the contact, and that enrages me further. She doesn’t like anyone touching her but me. And neither do I. I’m the only one who gets to touch her, even in the most casual way. She’s mine. In every fucking sense of the word.
“Touch my wife again and you’ll be writing letters to your mom with your toes.”
His look of shock on his face should be comical, but I’m seeing too much red to appreciate it. I feel Molly put her hand on my lower back, and I relax a little, but the anger is still boiling inside of me.
“Excuse me, Mr. Tanner. I didn’t mean to offend—”
“Keep your hands, and your email, to yourself.”
Another man comes up from the sidelines and steps in front of the coach, getting between us.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d step back from my husband before there’s a scene these children don’t need to witness,” the man says.
I look over his shoulder to the coach, who’s now blushing violently.
“Phillip,” Molly says from behind me, “this is Brad and his husband, Ron. They invited us over for a cookout this weekend. I was just telling him that we’d love to attend.”
I’m unable to say anything, so I just nod. I feel Molly peek around me and wave to Brad and Ron.
“We’d love to get the kids together if you’re still interested. Let us know.”
Before I can apologize or say a single word, Molly is pulling me back into the stands with Noah.
“Well, that went great,” she says, letting out a little sigh.
“He shouldn’t touch you,” is all I’m able to grumble as Noah and Molly fall into fits of laughter.
She leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek and all’s right with my world. How is it that this woman can give me exactly what I need, exactly when I need it?
Wrapping my arms around her, we watch the rest of MJ’s game and I offer a wave of apology to her coach after the game. He may not have wanted my Molly, but I’m not taking any chances. She’s mine until the end of time, and I’ll make sure no one and nothing stands in my way.
THE END
An Alexa Riley Promise
Welcome to Alexa Riley Promises. This series is dedicated to old romances. It’s tropes galore, with all of our usual over-the-top alphas and sweet cheesy goodness.
These short books will focus on traditional and classic tropes while sticking to the Alexa Riley code: no cheating and always with an HEA. That’s our Promise to you.
Blackmailing the Virgin
An Alexa Riley Promise
When Calder Cox sees Felicity for the first time, he has to have her. There’s nothing that will hold him back…until he finds out she’s his business associates’s daughter.
Felicity Chandler is graduating college soon but has no idea what she wants to do. While playing her violin one night, she sees Calder and feels instantly drawn to him. But when he tries to keep his distance, she doesn’t know what to do with all of her feelings.
Calder can’t be held off much longer, and when his control snaps, there are consequences. Felicity might be trying to run, but he’ll make sure she stays…even if he has to blackmail her to do it.
Warning: This is an Alexa Riley Promise, so it’s over the top, contains no cheating, and will always come with an HEA. It’s ridiculous baby-making drama that’s packed full of heat.
Copyright © 2016 by Author Alexa Riley LLC. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to [email protected]
http://alexariley.com/
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
To all of you that snuck into your mom’s secret collection of dirty books and got your first taste. These stories are for you!
Chapter 1
Felicity
Can someone love and hate a city all at once? The new chill of winter blows, hitting my cheeks as I stand on the balcony of my father’s condo in the middle of Manhattan while his Thanksgiving party rages on the other side of the building. More than fifty people came to celebrate and drink until God knows when. I know maybe five people at the party and tried to make an escape.
It’s only been my father and me for years, and I know he feels the need to make holidays bigger than they really are for us. I’d rather spend that day with just the two of us. I don’t like being around a lot of people, and the party below ma
kes me uneasy in my own home. Even more so when I don’t even really know the people. My father, being a top lawyer in New York, has a lot of people in and out of his life. New faces always seem to be popping up.
I’m only here for a few days before I’m back off to university once again, but this has been the pattern for the last eight years. I come home from boarding school or uni to a list of things or events that we will do or he’d like me to do, never really giving us much time alone. It’s almost like my father fears the silence between us. I know he loves me. I’m just not sure he knows what to do with me. Sometimes when he looks at me, I wonder if he only sees my mother. A woman I know he cares nothing for. Maybe even hates, though he tries to pretend he doesn't.
Placing my hand on the clear glass railing of the balcony I look over the edge to the people hustling down the street below, on their way to anywhere and everywhere.
I lift my violin to my collarbone, holding it in my left hand, resting my face on the side as I let my eyes fall closed. The music flows, drowning out the sounds of the city, and the tension leaves my body. This is the one place I feel like I can play for an audience, something I’ve never really wanted to do. Do I love to play? Yes, more than anything. But I never felt the need to do it for others. My father says it’s because I’m shy, which is true, but I don’t think that’s what really stops me. It feels intimate. I pour more into my music than I want to share with just anyone.
I know my mother loved to be the center of attention. To put on a show for all those that would give her attention, or so the whispers said. Who knows what’s really true. There was always a lot of whispering growing up, and I know my father tried to shelter me from that. He says I’m a lot like her, but if the stories are true, he’s wrong. I have no desire for material things and no wish to hop from one man’s bed to another. Nor do I wish to use a child as a ploy for financial gain. I also don’t like when people watch me, and I don’t draw attention to myself. It’s a trait I apparently hadn’t inherited from either of my parents.
I play for the whole city, but no one knows I’m here. The music flows from me, and it makes me feel like I’m somehow connected to my mother. I’ve only ever seen a few pictures of her. She was long gone by the time I was four, and photos are all that remain. I remember nothing about her, just little fantasies I cultivate based on what the other girls at school have.
This is the only show I can bring myself to put on. I can’t remember my life without a violin in my hand. Always the shy girl, but something about it makes me feel like I come alive. Each note leaves me and enters the world. It’s a piece that I put out there and it belongs only to me. Saying so much without saying anything at all.
The music slides through me to my core, where I put everything I have into it, feeling the world start to lift from my shoulders and drop all around me. Normally I find peace here in this place, but today it’s like I can’t reach that spot. So close but still so far away. The loneliness pushes in and I don’t want to be alone. I feel myself lean forward, trying to get closer to the people below.
It does nothing; the peace doesn’t come. I play harder, moving my hand quicker, the movements pushing me towards it. But the harder I push and the faster I go, the farther away it moves.
“Beautiful.”
The deep word startles me, making me spin. A man grabs me, pulling me towards him. My body goes easily, melting into his. I stare up into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, finding a little bit of the peace I was looking for moments ago.
“You shouldn’t play so close to the edge.” His deep voice rolls over my skin, warming the winter chill that has coated me. His concern is sweet.
I should tell him he shouldn’t stand so close to me, but the words don’t come. I just stare up at him. His midnight hair is just a little long, such a contrast to the brightness of his eyes. Everything about him is a contrast to his eyes. The rest of him seems dark. From the hard set of his jaw to the little crook I see in his nose, and even the small scar that marks one of his eyebrows.
He looks nothing like the boys I go to school with, or even the professors. They carry a softness to them, and he doesn’t seem to have any. Except for those eyes.
I just stare at him, the words not coming. Not that they ever really do.
Then he moves, his mouth coming down towards mine. I gasp as his lips hit mine. One of his hands goes to my hair, grabbing hold and tilting my head back. I give him total control of the kiss, dominating and powerful as his tongue pushes into my mouth.
I don’t even kiss him back. He takes the lead and then takes it all. My body goes lax, his other arm catching me as he holds me to him, devouring my mouth. Devouring me.
The taste of sweet, smoky scotch fills my mouth. I don’t know if the moan comes from him or me, but I try to push my body into his. He’s so big he easily surrounds me. The loneliness falls away and peace drops over me as the kiss goes on. This. This is what I was looking for when I came up here.
All too soon he’s pushing back, pushing me away.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks. My hand comes to my lips, wanting to feel something there again. It’s my first kiss, and I want more.
I go to step towards him. It’s a bold move for me, but I can’t seem to help myself.
“Felicity?” At my father’s voice, I jump away from the man whose name I don’t know.
“Here, Dad.” He’s standing in the doorway that opens onto the balcony. I glance over to the man next to me, who cocks his head as if putting together who I really am. It’s now I really get a good look at him. The light from the open door spills out onto the balcony. It’s clear he comes from money, his suit shows every inch of that, but a tattoo peeks out from of his cuffs, as if trying to escape. Even though I’m farther away from him, he looks even bigger. He must have really had to bend to kiss me. He has at least a foot and a half on me and I’m in the heels that I’d put on for the party.
“Calder?” my father says, following my line of vision to the mysterious man. “I didn’t know you were here. I saw Sidney downstairs and was wondering if you were around.”
“Just stepped out for some air,” he replies, looking over at my father, then back to me.
“I see you met my daughter, Felicity. She’s home from school this week.” My father steps out onto the terrace and makes his way towards us. He stops next to me, picking up my bow—I must have dropped it during the kiss. My violin’s still held tightly in my other hand, the strings digging into my palm.
Sidney? my mind asks.
“Yes, I caught her playing.”
“You’re lucky then. She hardly plays for anyone, no matter how hard I try to get her to.” I can hear the pride in my father’s voice. He loves when I play, and I always do it for him.
I feel my cheeks warm at my father’s admission. I lick my lips. They suddenly feel so dry. Calder’s eyes track my tongue.
I know his name. Calder Cox. My father has mentioned him a few times in phone calls we’ve had. A new client of his. A big one. And that’s saying a lot. My dad has countless powerful clients, so if he’s using that word, he must be something special.
An awkward silence grows, as if Calder doesn’t want to comment on my playing, and I still can’t seem to find words myself.
I just stand there like a silly girl who has no idea what to do or say.
“Why don’t you go inside, sweetheart? You don’t have a coat on,” my father finally says. I’m wearing a knee-length dress without sleeves. The temperature seems to have dropped at least five degrees since I got out here. I hadn’t noticed until Calder stepped away from me, taking all that warmth with him. My father’s tries to dismiss me nicely, knowing I probably want to go. I do but I don’t.
I just nod and go to make my way past him, hoping Calder will say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. I hurry down the stairs and into the house. They lead right to the kitchen. I bypass the caterers as they hurriedly work in the kitchen, putting together trays of food and gl
asses of wine and champagne. I go straight to my bedroom.
After putting my violin away, I flop back on my bed and listen to the sounds of the party outside my room, wondering if Calder is out there now or if he’s still on the balcony with my father. Had he caught us kissing? I don’t think he did but I can’t be sure.
That kiss. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life.
I wonder if all kisses are like that. I try to think about the time Mark from university tried to kiss me. I’d turned my head right before and got an awkward kiss on the cheek. He just laughed it off. I didn’t get any kind of fluttery feeling with that kiss. Not compared to what I’d just felt on the balcony. Almost like the world had stopped for a moment.
I should have kissed him back. Will this be one of those moments I look back at and always wonder about? But even greater than my regret is my curiosity about Sidney. Her name keeps floating around in the back of my mind.
I sit up and slide my heels back on before going over to the mirror. I pick up some lip gloss and slick a little on. I wonder what I tasted like to him, if I’d left a taste in his mouth like he’d done to me.
Dropping the gloss back down onto the vanity, I try to tame my hair. The wind had gotten a hold of it and it looks pretty wild. Maybe it’s wrong to want to try and sneak another kiss from someone my father works for, but I’ve never wanted anything like this before. Maybe it’s time to push some of my shyness away.
Would he even want to kiss me again? His cold indifference after the kiss makes me feel unsure. Did he feel what I felt, or is he one who kisses every girl he sees. I know a lot of men in New York get around. Some of my father’s friends have been married a number of times and the whispers of mistresses are always around.
