Royal Baby

by Layla Valentine

  Epilogue

  One year later

  The plane dipped low over the surf, and I could practically feel the salty spray across my skin. I shrieked with joy and smacked Joel lightly on the arm the second he pulled us back up to a suitable cruising altitude.

  “You're showing off,” I scolded.

  He laughed. “Am I not allowed to show off my insane pilot skills to my wife from time to time?”

  “Insane is definitely the correct word,” I shrieked playfully. “One of these days you're going to kill us!”

  Joel laughed and I turned my gaze to the side window so he couldn't see me smile.

  We were flying along an atoll in the South Pacific, exploring all the little islands that were difficult to get to otherwise. When your husband owned a plane, however, you could just pick a spot on the map and go. It was one of the many things I enjoyed about living with Joel, though that was an incredibly long list.

  “Look at that one,” Joel said, pointing off to the left at a little island. I looked over and smiled, loving the way the sapphire sea licked at the edges of the white sand beach, surrounding it in its cool embrace like a lover. The view from up here was always spectacular, but the view inside the cockpit was unparalleled.

  “You know,” I said. “I had a crazy thought the first time I came up in the plane with you.”

  Joel looked over at me, and I saw my reflection mirrored in his aviators. “Oh yeah? What kind of crazy thought?”

  I grinned. “It was more of a desire.” I nibbled on my lower lip, and Joel watched as long as possible before he was forced to turn back to look at the sky.

  “Tell me.” It was a command and a plea rolled into one. I had his full attention, or as much of it as he could afford to spare while piloting the steel bird.

  “I thought about how much I would love to make love to you in here,” I said, stroking my fingers along the cool metal interior reverently. “I had this mental image that was so hot, I blushed like crazy. And you had no idea.”

  The plane's nose immediately tipped downward. My eyes widened with concern.

  “Joel? What are you doing?”

  He grinned but kept his gaze straight ahead. “I'm landing.”

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Nope.” He chuckled. “But I think you've waited long enough for your fantasy to be fulfilled. Don't you?”

  Excitement rippled through my body. We descended so quickly that my heart flew up into my throat. It was a bit like going downhill on a rollercoaster, except I knew what waited for me at the bottom wasn't a loop. It was an incredibly sexy man.

  “Aye aye, captain,” I said, stripping off my shirt.

  Joel groaned, and I could tell it was because he had to keep both hands on the wheel and thus couldn't reach over and touch me. To that end, I touched myself, running my hands along my stomach, over the front of my bra, and up my neck. I wasn't sure if it was particularly wise, given the fact that Joel had to land the plane, but I was too turned-on to care, and my husband certainly wasn't complaining.

  The plane bumped over the surface of the water, jolting the cabin. My breasts jiggled enticingly with the motion, and I noticed Joel giving me the side-eye as they did.

  I loved how one look from him could make my insides burn, could light a fire in my belly that only he could put out. Every day with him was an adventure, whether we were at our house in L.A., or the one in Miami, or the cute little cabana in Nassau. I couldn't believe that everything I loved about my life today was the unanticipated result of my sister stealing a bunch of money from her employer. It was so surreal.

  Joel killed the plane's engine, tossed his sunglasses onto the dash, and grabbed my hand.

  “Come on,” he said.

  I hopped into his lap, heart hammering in my chest. He opened the door to let in some air, then started to undress.

  “You're not going to romance me a little first?” I whined jokingly.

  Joel's eyes flashed with lust. “I'll spend the whole night romancing you if that's what you want,” he growled. “But right here, right now, I can't wait another second to have you. Any questions?”

  My body grew heavy with desire, nipples pressing against the lace of my bra. “No questions.”

  “Good.” Joel pressed his mouth on mine in a passionate, heart-stopping kiss. It was demanding and unrelenting, like being caught in a storm that sucked the breath from my lungs and made me feel wild. I hung onto him for dear life, hands roaming over his taut muscles, nails digging into the skin of his back.

  Joel lowered me onto the cool metal floor and began to undress me, tearing my clothes away more than undressing, really. My core burned for him. I kissed him as though I was dying and he was the only thing that could keep me alive for one more second on this earth.

  “I love you,” I murmured between kisses.

  Joel, completely naked now, nipped at my lower lip. “I love you, too.”

  There were no more words. We tumbled together across the floor, and I couldn't tell whether the plane rocked from the passing swells beneath its pontoons, or our energetic lovemaking.

  My fantasy had finally come to life. Being with Joel was like existing on the final page of a fairytale. There was always that feeling that pure happiness would continue until the end of time, even if it was impossible to read beyond the pages we'd been allotted.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Joel gasped an hour later, his naked body half-draped across me.

  “You make it sound like I'm some sort of trouble maker,” I replied.

  Joel chuckled. “You are a troublemaker.” He nuzzled into my neck, kissing the spot against my pulse. “But you're my troublemaker.”

  “Well, in that case,” I sighed. “I suppose you'll just have to keep me in line.”

  The man I loved look deeply into my eyes. “Count on it.”

  The End

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  Boss Me, Bind Me

  Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks

  Ready for more?

  Last but by no means least, here is mine and Ana’s previous book, Boss Me, Bind Me, in full!

  Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine and Ana Sparks

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Donna

  Today was the first day of the rest of my life.

  As the protestors and I advanced toward the police, I wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. This was my fourth protest, and this time, I had even managed to drag Helen out. No, I wasn’t afraid, because I needed to do this. Justice was going to be served, even if I had to wrest it out myself.

  The other protestors had similar thoughts. A sea of faces twisted with the same injustice my heart was fighting against. Fists were pumped and mouths opened and closed with the chant that tied it all together: “RayGen not again! RayGen not again! RayGen not again!”

  This same mantra bloomed from my own throat, and soon, I was one of the twisted faces and pumped fists, my voice a part of the collective voice. “RayGen not again! RayGen not again!” It was a voice for good, one against RayGen’s latest oil pipeline, another development on our land that shouldn’t have been allowed, that had been taken unethically. Just how my family’s ranch had been.

  The sun was shining obliviously, the sky an almost insultingly clear blue. Helen, my fellow waitress at Blue’s, still hadn’t released her death grip on my arm, her hand acting as a manicured handcuff.
>
  The police and private security had their own twisted faces, their own chant: “Get back! This is private property. I warn you—get back! You have to dissipate, or you’ll be facing arrest.”

  They were advancing and we were drawing back.

  “Donna, there’s no media,” said Helen, and she was right.

  There were no reporters, no videographers, no one. Without them, our cause was more hopeless than futile, our rebellion less than invisible. Without the media, this was as good as a gob of spit on RayGen’s impassive face.

  And yet, as I looked around me, at the faces I was growing to know better and better each protest—Peter and Sam, the hippies with their tie-dye shirts and shaggy hair; Yan, the petite mother with the loudest voice; Kyle, my own manager—I knew it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about standing up for justice when the odds were good, when we were bound to be victorious.

  No, fighting for justice wasn’t about winning. It was about doing what was right, fighting for it—often hopelessly, uselessly, and stupidly—and yet fighting all the same. It was about standing up for the good in the world when no one else would.

  And yet, the dirt underfoot was slippery as we drew back, farther and farther, the police and security advancing with their riot shields and their unseeing faces.

  As we passed a digger, its black teeth already dug into the ground, Yan ran over to it. Out of her green canvas backpack she extracted a long, thick silver chain. It clanged as she took it out and swung it round her bare tan arm and the digger’s golden yellow one.

  But she was too late. Two scowling officers were already there, one at each arm, shoving her back into the still-withdrawing crowd of protestors. Their faces wore only a mild annoyance, as if they were swatting away a fly. As the group of protestors neared the dirt road we’d come in on and looked around, seeing the bowed heads and set-in frowns, it was clear: we’d failed.

  Yan had tears in her eyes. I went over to her and hugged her.

  “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  Because this wasn’t over, and her brave act of rebellion hadn’t been in vain. I had an idea.

  Chapter Two

  Carter

  The alarm went off at 6:55 a.m., as it always did. I got out of bed, put on my robe, and went downstairs.

  Breakfast was on the table—a bowl of shredded wheat. I had fifteen minutes to eat, but I did it in five. There was no time to waste. Wasted time was wasted money. Bad habits were like flesh-eating diseases; once you developed them, you had to amputate to remove them.

  Karen was nowhere to be seen. Good.

  Today’s suit was hanging on the outside of my closet—black with blue stripes. Once it was on, it was time to brush my teeth. After thirty seconds on each quadrant of my mouth, the toothbrush buzzed and I was done.

  My briefcase was ready by the door. I picked it up and went outside where my car was waiting.

  Inside, I sat down and paused. My phone was buzzing with notifications, but they could wait. My screen went black, and I stared at my reflection. I felt strange.

  I turned the key in the ignition and pressed my foot on the gas.

  No matter. Once I got to work, I’d pop a caffeine pill or a painkiller depending how I was feeling—lazy or annoyed. Or both.

  The roads were clear, the cars like clumsy turtles bumbling out of my way, the same way life always had.

  Weird, how no one else saw the patterns that underlay everything. The equations, the fractions, the rules that were absolute, that, once found, made the user unstoppable. That was what I was and, after today, what I would be—immutably.

  “I’m going to make you proud, Father,” I whispered under my breath.

  I got to work in seven minutes, three better than usual. Today was turning out to be a success already. I pulled into my parking spot, the one labelled “CEO,” then strode into my building.

  In the lobby, the suited peons were swarming, a horribly frightened, busy mass. I strode through easily; all stepped aside for the CEO of RayGen, the wonder kid, the boy who was tapped in, unstoppable, ruthless. The last man who had annoyed me had ended up flipping burgers.

  The black marble echoed as I walked across it, and the elevator beeped for a split-second before arriving. I’d had it installed after all. “The best elevators in the country,” the seller had said before I’d lowballed him into the price he gave them to me for. Sometimes it was so easy. It astounded me how others didn’t get it. Take, or be taken from. Choose, or have your choice made for you. They were simple yet incontrovertible laws, and still, these days it seemed like I was the only one who got it. No matter.

  In the elevator, people had pressed themselves out of the way and were shooting admiring looks at me. I nodded back. After work today, I would eat the meal ready for me on my table, go to the gym, and then sleep.

  Floor by floor, more people scuttled out until the silent box reached the top—my floor, the penthouse. The elevator doors opened, and as I sauntered out, Cynthia shot me a significant smile.

  Ah yes, Cynthia. Maybe between work and going home to eat, I could spare twenty minutes for her. Why not?

  My office door opened at my touch. I surveyed it with a swell of pride: the rich mahogany desk and shelves, the panoramic view of the city, the scowling picture of my father presiding over it all like an omnipotent god. I nodded to him and smiled a close-lipped smile. Today would be as expected and orderly as all other days were.

  Chapter Three

  Donna

  This cannot be a good idea.

  As I strode up to the tall dark tower of a building, the fearful voice in my head repeated the words: This is not a good idea. There’s still time to turn back.

  But I only picked up my pace and clenched my fingers around my black purse so they’d stop shaking.

  I wasn’t going to turn back. I couldn’t. I’d bought this suit—a fitted gray two-piece—just for the occasion.

  Images of my parents, their kindly faces all crumpled as they surveyed our new house, and of my final view of our ranch in the back car window as we drove away slid through my head. RayGen had snatched our home away from us without so much as a “please” or even a fair payout.

  No, I was going to do this. I had to.

  Inside the building, I weaved my way through a scowling crowd of people, all of whom seemed to be hurrying, and looked just as scared as I felt. Their gazes rested on me too long, as if they knew already. This was not a good idea. My plan was never going to work.

  And yet, my legs were locked in motion. I wasn’t going to stop.

  Consulting the black glass directory on the wall beside the elevator told me where I needed to go: the penthouse.

  The elevator arrived immediately, the wall of people inside shifting to make room for me.

  When I pressed the golden “P” button, their stares lingered. I kept my gaze straight ahead.

  You’re a successful businesswoman. You’re Lillian Stafford, CEO, I reminded myself.

  This is never going to work, the other voice said.

  Swiftly, the elevator rose, emptying out the other people, bringing me closer to the floor I didn’t want to reach, to the finality that wasn’t going to be good. After a few more floors, it was only me, the silver chrome box, and, as it stopped at its final destination, the penthouse.

  The doors opened, and I stepped out. From a too-high clear glass desk, a blond receptionist looked down her nose at me.

  “Yes?”

  For a few seconds, I stood there speechlessly. Her utter disdain, the way her features were tensed in a bored sort of disgust—she had to know what I was about to do. Yet, how could she? When her gaze shifted away to the computer at her desk, I found my voice.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Ray.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  She didn’t even look at me.

  “No.”

  “You have to have an appointment.”

  She still hadn’t looked at me, and suddenly, I wa
s horribly, horribly angry.

  “I don’t think you realize just who I am.”

  At my confident ‘fuck-you’ tone, she looked up. Squinting at me, her eyes narrowed, she was about to speak when I did.

  “I am Lillian Stafford, CEO of Stafford Corporations.”

  As she prepared to speak again, I added, “I wouldn’t want to be the person who prevented me from seeing Mr. Ray, if I were you.”

  In the following silence, we stared each other down, her skeptical, narrowed eyes matched by my haughty glower. Let her deny my entry. Let her just try.

  “Okay,” she said slowly, rising and walking over to an out-of-place wooden door.

  Opening it and sweeping her hand inside, she continued. “He just stepped out for a minute. He’ll be back momentarily.”

  Then, she and her strained, polite voice were gone, thankfully, and I was left with the enormity of what I was about to do.

  Truth be told, I had never expected to even get into the office of Carter Ray. I had expected them to laugh me away at the front desk, require an access card that I had to flash at the elevator—anything. And yet, now, somehow, despite everything, here I was.

  My gaze stopped on the wall, on a portrait of a malevolent-looking man. There was no time to waste; Carter could be back any minute.

  I hurried over to his wooden desk, trying not to be distracted by the intricate carving on the front of the impressive thing. Focus. Just focus, Donna, I told myself. Just find a loop, a drawer, a—gotcha! The brass handle on the top drawer would do.

  Taking the handcuffs out of my pocket, I secured one around my wrist, and then the other on the handle. Then, I sat down on his navy cushioned chair, staring down the door, taking deep, slow breaths. I had made it this far. I could do this.