by Dark Angel
Citizens polled during Election Day stated overwhelmingly that the Mayor’s burst of honesty was what had made them finally favor him. Many stated that holding back such a key facet regarding his personality had affected him in other areas in how he presented himself to the public, which all coalesced to create such low approval ratings for him despite his photogenic family. I think that once citizens learned the full story of their Mayor, we began to realize that we may not like him as a person on some levels because he’s so busy, but the job of Mayor requires someone who will give it their all and sacrifice everything else. And that made him the top choice, by a margin of 63% to 37%.
That about does it for my coverage of this election cycle. I either need a vacation from politics, a long, hot shower to feel clean again, or both.
I can’t wait till Lance and Jocelyn come back to New York though—they’re currently in London—and you can bet that as soon as they have their baby that this newspaper will be all over them, getting the facts for your reading pleasure. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.
60
Jocelyn
Epilogue
The limo glides next to the curb of our new home in the city. I get out, and Lance comes out from the other side, holding the baby carrier.
I look up briefly. I can’t see the top of the tower to One57.
“How did you say you came to a decision to live here, again?” I ask him.
He shrugs as we walk into the ornate lobby. “I got a buddy who lives here,” he says.
“Someone from your wilder days?” I ask, eyebrows raised.
I can’t help it. Lance looks very cute carrying little Lola Grace in the baby carrier. A bad boy, certifiably with his tattoos, now a daddy.
“A buddy of mine from a while ago, actually, Arsen Hawke,” he says.
The name rings a bell for me. “The porn king?” I ask.
He nods. “His dad was the porn king, but he met some girl and they run it like a business now.”
“The guy who’s making webcams come into the mainstream?” I ask Lance. I’m a bit skeptical. “He’s not going to want to film Lola Grace or something, is he?”
Lance laughs. “Nah, but he’ll probably be down to him us.”
I give Lance a look. He looks at me and smiles and whatever withering stare I may have tried vanishes. I love this man too much to even be fake mad at him.
You know that feeling, hun? Where you’re mad at your significant other for being too cute to not let you be mad at them? Like you try to be mad at you, but then they just smirk or smile, or touch you somewhere and you stop being mad? And then you get mad that they were able to take away your anger?
Let me just say that I’d rather be mad about this, than where I was one year ago. Right before the election.
We open the door to the apartment and walk in.
It’s already furnished rather tastefully. I hired someone while we were in Europe to make sure that the apartment was ready for us.
What? I would have loved to do it myself, but it’s really hard when you have to have sex three times a day and take care of a baby.
Although, hun, the sex part - I don’t have to do it. It’s just that my body seems to want it that often, is all. Like I’ve been walking in a desert, and now I finally have all the water I could drink.
Besides, the $10 million a month that Michael pays me as a settlement lets me not have to worry about these things. Combined with Lance’s trust fund, I’d say we’re doing pretty good. Considering where we were.
There’s a knock at the door.
“That must be Michael,” Lance thinks and I’m almost tempted to say speak of the devil.
It’s funny. I want to stay mad at Lance, but I’ve already forgotten what that’s like. But Michael. I’m not mad at Michael. It’s just a chill that runs through me when I see him walk in the door.
He doesn’t have the human feelings that are supposed to be in people. Something like that. No way else to explain any of this…
“Hello,” Michael says walking in. “I just wanted to stop by, welcome you to my city, and visit my granddaughter.”
Lance shakes his hand and I bite back the urge to tell him he’s not related to our little family in any way. I was never married to him. He was never Lance’s father. But I stop.
“She’s beautiful,” Michael says bending over and examining Lola Grace.
The baby looks up at Michael, in a few minutes she’ll be crawling around the apartment, exploring. But for now, she’s content to stay bundled up where she is.
Michael gets up and turns around.
He hands Lance an envelope.
“Come back to work for the company and the campaign son,” he says to him. “Here is everything I have, and I think I’ve met your conditions.”
“The media hitting you that badly, huh?” Lance asks.
Michael shakes his head. “Not at all, actually,” he says. “They’ve embraced this whole breaking barriers thing I’m putting up at them. Really taking the narrative of the first openly gay mayor to heart.”
“Then why do you want me back?” Lance asks with suspicion.
Michael shrugs. “Well, considering that I have no need for a family, having the two of you there associated with me can only help in the polls,” he says. He looks out the windows. “I mean, with the city the way it is and problems always cropping up, you can never have too few positives on your side of the table.”
Lance looks at Michael for a second. There’s a lot of history between those two men. A lot of anger. Pain. Hurt.
Finally he nods his head. “I can give you another chance,” he says and Michael smiles.
The two shake hands. There’s a moment.
Then Michael turns to me. He knows better than to take a step closer.
“Jocelyn,” he says. “I’ve given Lance copies of everything I had on your father. He’s free and no longer ever has to worry.”
I nod. It’s going to take time for me to trust Michael. But if Lance is willing to try, I can match.
Michael says his goodbyes after a while and I turn to Lance. He grabs me in his arms, and the two of us walk to the floor to ceiling windows of One57. Of our new home.
Our new life. Together.
Just the way I want it.
A Goodbye From Lance
Jocelyn really wanted to be the person that got to say goodbye to you. But I got here first, and since it’s only really one of us that talks to you at a time, I guess this is my turn.
But no, really, I wanted to tell you how fucking awesome I think you are for making it this far. Most novels are 40,000 to 50,000 words. If you’re reading this, babe, you’ve just digested 82,000 words of fucking story. Actually, wait, that’s pretty much what it was, wasn’t it? A story about fucking? Or a fucking story?
Whatever, listen, this is all I came to tell you and I wanted to tell you a bit about the chick who wrote this because she doesn’t usually like doing things the normal way.
So her name is Alexis Angel and she usually has all this shit she puts down about how she likes having fun and shit and whatever the fuck girls talk about they like to buy, and Jocelyn even gave me a list of things to say but I fucking forgot. It’s not my fault. Jocelyn got these black yoga pants from Lululemon and I was just staring at that ass. Wanted to fucking bury my face in those fucking cheeks. And slap that ass while I was rubbing my face in it. Got my cock so fucking hard I swear to God its a fucking wonder I’m even sitting here talking to you instead of fucking her right now. But I gotta do this first because Alexis took the fucking time to write about us that Jocelyn won’t forgive me if I forget.
What am I even talking about? Oh, right. So, you can reach Alexis at [email protected] if you want to email her about anything. She loves all the normal shit that girls do, but I sometimes think she’s a fucking dirty girl too at heart. I mean, she made us describe the sex we had in such fucking detail. Like, ‘wh
ere did you move your hand after that? How hard did you squeeze her nipple? What did it feel like when her tongue was at the tip of your cock? What about when it was on your shaft?’
I swear, it’s like I should have fucking invited her with the two of us, she seems to know every fucking thing about our lives.
Anyways, Alexis is on Facebook right now where she’s probably talking about me. You can friend her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/alexis.angel.754. But she’s also got a page where she took pictures of me and Jocelyn and put it on a cover. Her page is at: https://www.facebook.com/author.alexisangel/.
Ok, so that’s everything right? I forgot her fucking Twitter and shit, and seriously, Jocelyn can’t expect me to remember everything when she’s shaking her ass like that in my face. I swear to God.
I think I’m going to go fuck her now. It’s been a couple of hours and I’m fucking horny. Oh, you haven’t read about our wedding in Europe, have you? If you want to read about how we started, or the shit that you didn’t get to see - and trust me, you’ve seen more into my fucking life than me at this point, I think - then you can do all that by signing up for the Naughty Angels Newsletter, here.
But seriously, do whatever you got to do, just know that it was fucking good having you. And I’m serious, if you had met me before Jocelyn, or if you ask Alexis really nicely, I will totally come over and fuck you. Yeah, you fucking read that right. I’ll come over and rub my 12-inch cock all over your tits before I suck on them and make you fucking sigh. Then I’ll eat your pussy till you fucking squeal. Then I’ll stick my cock inside of you till you pass the fuck out.
You just gotta either be part of her Naughty Angels or ask her on Facebook. Don’t believe me? You already saw my ass on the Prequel, didn’t you?
See you around.
Scandalous is done! Now on to Client 5!
So Scandalous is pretty dirty, huh?
Now comes Client 5. It’s not as taboo but really sexual
And then we have some new stuff!
We round out with a copy of Man Chaser by Alexis Angel!
A copy of Fiona Vs. Football Player by Mona Cox.
Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an extended epilogue!
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 and Lana
Client 5: A Bad Boy Next 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.
61
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 fo
r 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.
