“Aw, man,” Brady whined. “I don’t wanna wear clothes. They get in my way.”
“Your way of doing what?” Laura asked him as she handed him over to his mother.
“In my way of being free,” he told her. “I like to feel fresh.”
“Well, I like to see my son wearing clothes, like a normal human boy, instead of a wild animal,” Aulora scolded him.
“Maybe he was a monkey in his past life,” Laura teased then messed up the dark mop of hair on his head.
“Maybe I was,” he agreed. “Come on, Mom. Let me be a wild monkey again! Please!”
“Shouting the word, ‘please,’ is no way to get what you want, Brady. Now, come on. Back to being a boy and wearing clothes.” Aulora took him back into the living area where he’d ditched his shorts and T-shirt.
Finding Weston reading to their daughter, had her heart fluttering. “I got him, Dad.”
“I see that,” Weston said as he put the book down. “Why is it that you want to be naked, son?”
“Apparently, I was a monkey one time. That’s what Miss Laura thinks. And I believe she’s right!” Brady struggled with his mother as she put his clothes back on.
“Well, you’re no longer a monkey. If you keep your clothes on, I might take you to the zoo later. That way you can see how monkeys actually live. It’s not nearly as nice as you have it,” Weston said, earning him a smile from his wife.
“Clever, West.” She gave him a wink.
He gave her one back. “Brady, what do you think monkeys eat, anyway?”
“I know they eat bananas. I saw it in a book. I like bananas too.” He climbed up on the sofa next to his father.
“The also eat bugs,” Weston informed him. “How would you like to have to eat bugs to stay alive?”
The face the boy made had both his parents laughing. “Yuk!”
“And monkeys live in cages,” Aulora added. “How’d you like to live in a cage?”
Brady shook his head. “No thank you. But can we still go to the zoo? I wanna show Bree the animals too. I’m her big brother, and it’s my job to make sure she has fun every single day of her life.”
“Let’s go. And we can stop by and pick up your Aunt Hope too,” Weston said. “Uncle Jimmy might want to come too.”
“He’s only a baby, Dad. Don’t be silly,” Brady said about his six-month-old uncle.
Aulora smiled as Weston got up and put his arm around her. They herded their two kids out of the room to get them to their rooms to get ready to go to the zoo. She felt it every time they touched. That spark that had started it all and continued to keep their fires going.
Becoming a mother was the best thing to happen to her. If it hadn’t been for Weston, she’d never know what love really was. She’d loved her mother and father. And she even loved Clara. But she would’ve never known what it really felt like to love someone you’re a part of.
As they went up the stairs, Bree tripped and hurt her knee. Weston snatched her up and kissed her boo-boo. “Daddy’ll make it better, sweetheart.”
As if the kiss was magic, Bree stopped crying and giggled. The pain all gone, it seemed. Aulora was always surprised by how easy it was to make the kids happy. A kiss on a boo-boo, a piece of candy, a nighttime story, all were easy to give, and all made their children happy.
Aulora realized that being a parent was scary. Fear was always an underlying thing when you have a kid. But fear was already there, anyway. She was afraid something would happen to Weston, her father, her mother, Clara, Hope all before she ever became a mother. It was life, Weston was right about that.
She’d learned that there could be a constant concern for people, but it was overshadowed by this sense of joy that was also constant. A continuous river of joy flowed through her. It hadn’t before. Aulora wondered how she had ever lived without it.
That stream of joy was what made her world turn. Without it, she didn’t know what life would be like. But she had reasons to believe, once you found that little piece of wonderful, it never went away. Hence, Weston’s always upbeat idea of life, even though he’d lost his first precious child.
Aulora respected her husband more than she’d ever admired anyone. He was the best husband and father she’d ever known or knew of. His support was unwavering.
They had their disagreements like anyone else did, but Weston never let them go to bed angry. If they had to argue a little bit longer to work it out, then they did that. If he had to kiss her into seeing things his way, they did that too. He was always there, never giving up.
Aulora wondered what she’d done to deserve such a man. She had to admit to herself that she could be a real downer at times. There was her penchant for seeing the worst in things. None of it stopped Weston from loving her.
On the other side of that coin, Weston wondered at times what his remarkable wife saw in him. She was a brilliant artist. Her work was coveted my many in the art world. And she saw fit to be with him.
He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. When imagination was needed, he had to confer with Aulora as he couldn’t seem to come up with a thing.
One of his favorite things to do was to sit and listen to his wife as she made up stories she told their children when she was getting them to go to sleep. Stories about fairies and kingdoms that she made up filled their children’s ears and sparked their vivid imaginations.
Weston couldn’t even imagine coming up with the stories she did, nor the ideas for her intricate paintings. She was a genius in his eyes, with both their kids and her imagination and ability to bring it to life.
Aulora had been so worried about becoming a mother. Weston found that hilarious as she was a complete natural at it. Hardly anything bumfuzzled her. She was like the kid-whisperer. She knew why Brady would get cranky or Bree was having a hard time sleeping.
Aulora had a sixth sense, Weston didn’t. She was fantastic in his eyes, yet she didn’t see herself in that light. No matter how many times she was right about the kids or him, she never saw it as a gift. She’d say any mom knows these things, but she was wrong. Weston knew she was a gift to him and their kids and he treated her as such. The couple had finally found their happily ever after and they were going to keep it that way.
The End
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ARSEN’S RULES
By Michelle Love
Arsen Sloan is a thirty-five-year old monster of a lawyer. Highly successful as a criminal lawyer, specializing in murder cases, he has only lost one case in his career. Allen White was the second defendant that he represented some ten years earlier. He was convicted of murdering one of his high school teachers after kidnapping her for a period of two months and eventually killing her.
Arsen is aware that the man who lost ten years of his life in prison has been released after serving only part of his sentence, gaining his freedom on parole as he turned his life over to God, or so he has made everyone believe he has turned into a prison evangelist.
Things begin to go very wrong for Arsen and very quickly his freedom is at stake as not one, but three of his kink-inclined lovers have been found murdered. Arsen is into some dark and shady things in the city of San Francisco where he works defending some of California’s worst criminals.
With his life hanging in a balance that he never thought possible, Arsen avoids his usual BDSM clubs, and goes out to a nice, normal club that many law students frequent in San Francisco.
After a drink or two, a group of giggly young women come into the club and he’s unimpressed. They take a table near him and he’s just about to leave as their jubilant behavior annoys him.
A curvy dark-haired beauty joins them just as he drains the liquid from his drink and is about to leave. The way she walks with only the slightest air of confidence intrigues him and he watches her as she has an awkward time with the group of young women
.
A popular song comes on and the group of girls scream and run to dance, except the young woman who has caught his attention. He orders two more whiskey sours and takes one to her as she sits alone, looking at her cell phone.
He finds her interesting yet she’s very vague as he tries to find out her name. She divulges that she is a first year law student at Stanford University. He offers her a ride back to her apartment and she refuses. He leaves, and she finds herself compelled by the older, very good-looking and confident man.
For Her - Arsen’s Rules Part 1
By Michelle Love
Cool air hit his face as he left the building he’d been stuck in the last eight hours. His tie couldn’t get off fast enough as his large hands pulled it away from his neck, letting it hang loose.
He’d felt his throat closing in on him as he was accused of things that were beyond him to execute, beyond him to perform and beyond him to even think of doing.
Arsen Sloan was a thirty-five-year-old criminal lawyer. Tall, at six feet and nine inches, he dwarfed most of his colleagues. To make sure they all had even further insecurities in his presence, he kept himself in peak physical condition. Pecs and abs that most men would die to have and biceps the mere sight of made women wet with desire for him.
Arsen prided himself on his appearance which he used to his advantage whenever possible. He was a machine of a man, using everything he could to get the results that he was seeking, whatever they were.
In law, he used his well-educated brain to find every last law or case to make sure he won his client’s cases. Arsen Sloan had never lost a case since he began his career as a criminal lawyer, ten years prior. Well, there was that one, but it had only been his second ever case.
Arsen tended to forget about the first few cases, the first two anyway. He never mentioned the first two, as a matter of fact.
When it came to sex, Arsen used everything in his personal arsenal to make sure that he stayed on top of that game. Love had played no role in his sex life.
Love was a word he hadn’t used since he was a naïve kid in his late teens before the girl he thought loved him watched him become broken and near dead.
Arsen kept his shoulder length waves in perfect order, accenting his dark brown, brooding eyes. Thick, dark lashes surrounded them, giving the slightest hint of a soft side to the hard as nails man.
After the day of horrible accusations, Arsen just needed a drink. A stiff drink and to be able to unwind, and get rid of at least a little of the tension which filled his muscled body.
As he got into the backseat of his Escalade the privacy window went down. His driver and long-time friend, Paul, looked at him through the rear view mirror.
The tension Arsen felt radiated off him and Paul knew better than to ask any questions.
“To the club, boss?”
Arsen nodded and closed the door, then ran his hand over his face and rubbed his temples. He pulled a bottle of beer from the little fridge and took it down in one gulp. The evening sky was growing dark and a thin fog was already moving in as they made their way up the coastline of the San Francisco Bay.
Arsen’s eyes followed the lights that were coming on along the edge of the road. He was wondering when it had gotten so bad. When had his world started to rule him rather than he rule it?
After the first five years as one of the top criminal lawyers in the entire state of California, Arsen Sloan had not only managed to gain a reputation as a winning lawyer who would do anything to win his cases, but also had become a billionaire. His ability to make great investments proved to be yet another thing Arsen did with near perfection.
Perfection was a thing he made great strides to achieve in every part of his life. Up until that day, he’d done pretty well at keeping his life near perfect at all times.
The alley was already dark as they pulled up to one of the main clubs that he frequented. Though, if not a member of the exclusive club, no one could tell what type of social gathering was going on there.
People tended to get dropped off at the clubs he went to. Clubs that catered to his tastes some considered to be immoral and worse. The rusted metal door was closed and only a small sign at the very top of the old door let on that it was a bit more than an old storage facility.
‘Fierce,’ was the word etched into a small metal sign and suddenly Arsen’s stomach was in knots. He knew he shouldn’t go in there. He knew that was why he was in the precarious situation he was in.
“You know, Paul, I better find another place to go from now on,” Arsen’s deep voice called out to his driver and friend.
Paul was a friend who knew all about Arsen’s past, and present, but he was being left out of why Arsen had been so moody when Arsen told him he had a meeting at the main police station in San Francisco.
“Sure thing, boss,” Paul said and pulled out of the alley and headed back to the part of the city where the regular people went to get drinks and socialize with one another.
“I’ll take you to the club my younger sister likes to go to, but if you see her in there, she’s off limits, bro,” Paul told his old friend. “Lots of young law majors in that place. You should find someone to your liking, boss.”
Arsen’s throat was growing tight again, so he unbuttoned the two top buttons of his stiffly starched white shirt he wore under a black suit jacket. The tie came all the way off and he stretched his long, lean-muscled legs out. Another beer he grabbed and popped the top, this one he took a long drink of, but stopped short of downing the whole thing.
“Paul, let the boss shit go for tonight. I need a friend, not another employee. Shit’s coming down on me and without any family to support me, I’m going to need you to keep me from jumping off a bridge.” Arsen looked out the tinted window and felt his eye twitch.
The first of many physical signs his body was sure to start exhibiting, just like it used to do when he was young and things were out of his control. Things he worked hard to get under control, and here he was with things beyond his control again.
His stomach hurt, another sign and another thing he’d left behind him, or thought he had anyway. Paul pulled along the curb and jumped out to open Arsen’s door. He gave him a clap on the back and said, “Arsen, things will work out, man. You’re beyond smart and whatever has you this worried I know you can figure out how to take care of it. You’re good at this shit.”
Arsen wished he had the faith in himself his old friend had, but the truth was his marks were all over the accusations made against him. He’d represented tons of people that he knew were guilty and managed to get them off the charges.
He just needed to figure out how to get himself off charges where the evidence pointed right at him and he had to tell the men who questioned him things he never thought he’d have to explain to anyone.
“I need a drink and a piece of hot ass would do wonders for me,” Arsen said with a deep chuckle. “I’d ask you to come, Paul, and help me drown my sorrows, but one of us has to drive and I think I pay you to do that, so I’ll go in alone and hopefully come out with a wicked little thing on my arm to take home.”
“There’s no doubt you will, Arsen,” Paul said and gave Arsen a smile. “Get in there and get rid of that frown.”
Arsen turned and walked into the door of the nightclub. The dance music was cranked up and a herd of young women were on the dance floor already, though the night was only beginning.
He took a table near the dance floor so he could watch the people dance. Arsen was not into dancing, but he appreciated the way women could bend and move their bodies to the beat.
He preferred a hard rock sound to the bubblegum pop that the DJ was playing in the social norm of a club. A pretty, young waitress came and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“What can I get you, sir?”
His dark eyes looked at the small, pale hand with perfectly manicured pink fingernails that was touching his left shoulder. In the clubs he went to, no female would ever approach him t
hat way, and he had to fight the urge to grab her and toss her over his lap and teach her how to act accordingly.
After swallowing hard, he answered, “How about a whisky sour?”
The young woman with red-stained lips and blue eyeliner, her black hair pulled back into a tight and high ponytail smiled at him and said, “You should try our Eastern Sour. It has bourbon, OJ, lime juice, and Orgeat in it. It’s really popular. I think you’d like it.”
He blinked at the dimwitted thing and thought about what would happen to a female who dared to suggest the thing a man wanted was anything but that. Through gritted teeth he said, “Bring me what I asked for.”
She removed her hand from his shoulder as her smile quickly turned to a frown. “Touchy! Okay then. A whisky sour it is. Top shelf bourbon or does it matter?”
His dark and now very moody eyes rolled with her endless questions. “Top.”
She hurried off, and he hoped his attitude didn’t earn him a good bit of her spit in his drink as well. Arsen had a hard time dealing with normal women. He liked women who knew their place. Not that he was chauvinistic.
Arsen knew strong women. Women who were smart and capable of doing anything a man could do. Those women he could respect and appreciate. But the little dimwitted things like the waitress would be so much better off if they let a man take control of them, even if just in the confines of the bedroom, or dungeon.
The song ended just as the waitress brought him his drink. She placed it on the table.
“You wanna pay now, or run a tab?”
“I think I’ll run a tab,” he said and took a credit card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “Keep ‘em coming and your tip will reflect my approval.”
She laughed and made a low bow in front of him. “Thank you, Master.” She sauntered away, shaking her head as she went.
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