by Stasia Black
And I push our son into the world.
Epilogue
“Dada, Dada.” Dean toddles across the stable to Xavier as soon as he comes in with Samson. “Horsey! Up! Up! Horsey!”
I laugh as I run forward and scoop Dean into my arms before he runs straight into Samson’s giant hooves.
All the horses are good around Dean. As soon as the baby was born, the first thing Xavier did when we got home from the hospital was immediately start doubling down on training the horses on their halt commands. He trained them in every conceivable situation with dolls and with recordings of baby cries, squeals, and shouts. Every hour that wasn’t spent with us was spent out with the horses.
He had loops of baby noises on repeat in the stable while he groomed them, rode them, put them out to the paddock or pasture for the day—you name it, there was a non-stop baby soundtrack on.
The vet, Tom, had helped out while Xavier was away and I was pregnant by lending us Carlos, his intern for the summer. Carlos stayed at the resort rent free and took care of the horses in the morning and evening after his rounds with Tom. He was still with us after we got home from the hospital and the baby-soundtrack about drove him crazy. He constantly wore ear plugs. I think he was more than happy to say goodbye to us when his time with Tom was done and he went back to the city for school.
At the facility where Xavier spent several months, they worked with him on his need to control every little detail of a situation. He continues to work on it but argues that training horses is still about constant repetition. He has biweekly calls with his doctor to discuss boundaries.
And if you think it means he’s given up his love of discipline in and out of the bedroom when it comes to me, think again.
Case in point:
“Mommy’s looking a bit hungry, don’t you think, big boy? I think it’s time to take her in and feed her.”
Yep, while occasionally I get to feed myself, most meals still come from his hand.
And yeah, I kind of love it now.
“Horsey!” is Dean’s response.
Xavier scoops Dean out of my arms and hefts him up to Samson’s long nose. Dean immediately starts to blow in Samson’s nose. Samson blows back and Dean lets out a peal of giggles. He does it again and gets the same response. It’s become a game between them.
I roll my eyes. Dean’s only twenty-two months old and is already horse crazy. I rue the day he actually starts riding. Naturally, Xavier is already talking about getting him a small pony.
Which shows how far he’s come because there’s so much you can’t control when it comes to animals. He about had a fit when I wanted to get back on a horse four months after giving birth.
While there have been some bumpy moments, overall, things have been wonderful. The time at the clinic finally helped Xavier face his demons. His nightmares are only very occasional now and he’s able to talk about them in a way he wouldn’t before. The clinic helped him begin to believe that what happened at the air base wasn’t his fault and to work through his survivor’s guilt and his PTSD.
His relationship with his parents? Well, that’s still a work in progress. Pritchard still lives in DC for most of the year, but he and Xavier’s mom fly out every couple months to spend time with their grandson. Pritchard and Xavier have even managed to have a few civil conversations when I wasn’t present to referee.
My dad? We talk almost every day over Skype. We have a vacation to the Maldives planned for later this year, the first time I’ll see him since it all began and the first time he’ll get to meet his grandson face to face. Does it suck he has to live in exile all his life? Yes. But at the same time, what he did wasn’t a victimless crime. While a lot of the people defrauded by him were rich Wall Street assholes, there were plenty of regular folks who lost their pensions, too, in his scam.
At least I’m protected by Xavier’s father’s name. And the fact that no one else knows where Dad is and he stays disappeared. In the meantime, he enjoys fishing every day and has taken up pottery and painting.
I’m sad he’ll never get to know his amazing grandson beyond talking to him on a screen a few minutes a day. But my focus is on my new family.
Family. Something I never thought would be an important part of my life at all. And now it’s everything.
Progress all around.
“Okay, time to say bye to horsey,” Xavier says.
Dean starts to whine but Xavier just gives him a look. The serious dad look.
Ugh, that never works for me. Probably because whenever I look at my son who is an absolutely adorable tiny, little version of his father, I’m always far too tempted to give in to him. And he knows it and now tries to manipulate me and game the system. Smart little punk.
Ha, who am I kidding? He’s not little. He’s in the 99th growth percentile for his age. He was a ten-pound baby to start with. About tore me in two. Xavier actually had a reason for being concerned about me riding. Well, not being that concerned, but it did take me longer than average to heal.
I told him he had another thing coming if he thought I was birthing an army of his kids. Maybe one more. Well, that’s what I say until I see Xavier with Dean and I’m like, damn, I want a passel of these.
We’ll see.
As we head up toward the house, Dean drops his head on Xavier’s shoulder, his pudgy little cheek flattening in a way that’s so goddamned adorable I think my heart might split down the center. His eyelids flutter and then close.
“I think it might be time for someone’s nap,” I whisper as Xavier opens the back door to the kitchen. Which is good because we’re supposed to go to Tom and Janine’s later and it’ll go much better if Dean is well rested. They’ve become close friends over the past couple of years. Even if Janine can be a bit hard to take sometimes.
She’s more than a bit bitter about living out here in Wyoming. Tom was being generous when he explained the situation that day when he came for Hellfire. I try to be a friend to her, but frankly, both Xavier and I feel bad for Tom. Xavier’s solution is for Tom to invest in a good riding crop. I rolled my eyes at that suggestion. I hope that they’re able to either work it out or, as hard as it might be, decide to go their separate ways. I don’t see the point in them continuing to make each other miserable like they are now.
“Naptime. My thoughts exactly,” Xavier says, bringing me back to the moment. He steps inside with Dean. “Let me just run him up to his room.”
He does just that, walking smoothly so he doesn’t wake the kiddo up. Not much chance of that. One good thing about living on a farm, Dean spends his days running around outside so he always naps and sleeps hard at night.
I set up a late-afternoon lunch while Xavier’s upstairs. Just some sandwiches and chocolate pudding I whipped up earlier. I cut the sandwich into squares.
Then I take off all my clothes and position myself on the plush cushion at the foot of the head chair.
It’s rare to have the resort all to ourselves like this. After Carlos left, we’ve continued hosting volunteers to help out so we can take on even more horses in need. But Caroline, our current intern, is visiting family for a couple weeks, and I intend to take full advantage of the time alone.
“He went down easy, no problem at—” Xavier’s words freeze in his throat when he sees me. “Well, what do we have here?”
“Your pet is awaiting her meal, Master.”
A low growl is all I get in response. His feet scrape across the kitchen tile as he prowls toward me.
“Is that right?” His voice is low. Predatory.
He sits in the chair in front of me. “I’ve missed playing with my favorite pet. It’s been far too long.”
I swallow hard, my sex clenching as moisture gathers. “Yes, Master.”
I think he’ll start with the sandwich but instead it’s a glob of pudding he shoves in my mouth.
“Suck,” he commands, voice harsh.
I suck for all I’m worth.
He hisses out a low breath
.
And then he does something rarely does. I hear the sound of his buckle being undone and then, my head still down, I see his pants drop to his ankles.
My breath gets short in anticipation. Usually these dinner games always end with him dragging me upstairs. To the bath or the bed.
I wait for his finger to descend with more chocolate.
Instead, his chair scrapes on the tile as he shoves backward from the table. He grabs my upper arms and pulls me forward.
“Suck,” he growls.
And that’s when I see he’s coated the tip of his long, glorious cock in chocolate pudding.
I don’t need any more encouragement. I lean forward, about to eagerly gobble him up when I hesitate at the last second.
Instead, I extend the tip of my tongue and lick the chocolate just from the very tip of his slit. He hisses and his cock bobs toward me.
My core starts to melt at seeing his reaction and my sex gets even wetter. If I was wearing panties, they’d be soaked. Tentatively, I lick all around his crown.
Teasing licks.
Tasting then retreating.
“I said, suck,” he says.
But when I continue to nibble and smear my lips with chocolate and his essence without ever fully taking him into my mouth, he simply sits back in his chair and watches me through hooded eyes.
The only way I know I’m affecting him at all is the occasional hitch in his breathing and the way his cock jumps every so often under my torturous explorations.
“Goddammit,” he finally whispers, and I realize his fingers are white-knuckled on the side of the chair.
Only then do I bob my entire head down on his cock and swallow him so deep I’m choking on him. But I love it, knowing I’m driving him absolutely insane after the long session of teasing him.
I massage his balls as his hands come to my hair.
I think he’s going to hold me down while he starts pumping up and down into my throat, but instead, no, he’s getting my attention to lift me off of him.
I raise up, a little confused.
“Ride me, Precious.”
His pupils are blown with lust and that’s when I realize his cock is longer and harder than I’ve almost ever seen it.
“Oh,” I whisper as he lifts me by my waist and settles my aching sex down on his huge cock.
“Oh God, you’re hung like a horse.”
He laughs—that low, throaty chuckle of his that I adore.
“Not quite,” he says, “which I bet you’re grateful for. Now hush and let me love you.”
I meet his eyes and I swear, if there were any corner of my heart this man hadn’t already conquered, yeah, I’d be a goner right here, right now. As it is, I lost all of myself to him a long time ago.
He holds me, chest to chest, impaling me so deep that with every thrust he hits that spot. I gasp and he kisses me, swallowing it.
“I love you,” I whisper between kisses.
“Love you too, Precious. Forever and always.”
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Acknowledgements
Aimee Bowyer, like always, you are my magical unicorn beta reader and this book was no exception. Thank you for working on crazy timelines even when your own life was upended to get this one back to me on a tight deadline. You always help me shape my stories and characters into deeper, more meaningful places.
Trisha Wolfe—thank you again for reading while you’re on insane deadlines. Your feedback helped me with the last touchups to make this thing solid and I SO appreciate you! And I can’t wait to read your next book – I need it NOW!
Belinda Donaldson, thank you for your amazing, lightning fast read on this one. I’m always so nervous sending books out to my first few readers and your quick response and encouragement means SO much.
This book would be an ugly mess of miscapitalizations, grammar mistakes, and missing words without the proofreading genius of Maria Pease from The Paisley Editor. She’s awesome! Fellow authors, highest recommendations!
And thanks as always to super hubby, love of my life, shine in my star, google in my googolplex. Love you to friggin’ pieces.
About Stasia
Stasia Black is an author who’s drawn to romantic stories that don’t take the easy way out. She wants to see beneath people’s veneer and into their dark places, their twisted motives, and their deepest desires. She likes to toss her characters into the tempest and watch them hurt, fight, bleed, and then find out what, if anything, comes out the other side. Come along for the journey because it’s one helluva ride.
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Chapter 1
Bryce Gentry of Gentry Information Technologies doesn’t look up from his computer when I enter his huge corner office. Even though I know for a fact his secretary buzzed him to tell him she was sending me in.
Just from his profile I can see he’s as good-looking as the online pics I saw last night when I was researching the company. Blond hair, aquiline nose. Long face and squared jaw, like a model. Not that I was paying that much attention last night. Kinda hard when Charlie kept trying to climb into my lap and bang his favorite rubber spoon on my nose. All the while yelling, “Mama! Mama!” to get my attention.
Try telling a two-and-a-half-year old that Mama needs her me-time on the laptop or you’re both going to get evicted by the nasty landlord. Yeah. I shudder even thinking about Mr. Jenkins. He doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t staring at my boobs, no matter if Charlie’s with me or not. At least Mr. Jenks-a-lot waited till he caught me alone to tell me to get the rent to him by Friday or come around to some ‘alternate forms of payment.’ Said while blatantly rubbing at the crotch of his pants.
I stretch my neck and shake out my hands. Focus Callie. All that shit just means this interview is more important than ever. Which leads to the mantra I’ve been whispering over and over to myself all morning: Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up.
“Mr. Gentry?” I finally venture. Maybe he didn’t hear the secretary when she buzzed him or notice when I came in. The wall separating his office from the reception is that cool futuristic glass that can frost and unfrost at the touch of a button. It frosted over as I opened the door. I thought Mr. Gentry had control of it, but maybe I’d been wrong and that had been the secretary as well. Am I an idiot just standing here like a stalker and he doesn’t even realize there’s anyone in the room with him? “I’m here for the Personal Assistant interview?”
A grunt is all that greets me in return. I stand awkwardly and look down at my shoes. I immediately frown. Shit. I polished them last night but the left one has a giant scuff down the side. They’re just crappy knock-off pumps, but I thought they’d at least last the interview process. I’ve been desperately job-hunting all month ever since the lawyer’s fees and rent and student loan repayments have started stacking up too high.
Especially when another custody hearing is looming. My stomach cramps just at the thought, even though it’s the last fucking thing I need to be focusing on right now. But God, the money. It’s why I’m here. The money has to come from somewhere. Waitressing gigs aren’t cutting it, no matter how many hours I work.
And after a month of job hunting, interviewing with no call-backs, turning over every damn rock possible, this is my last shot—and for a job I’m only remotely qual
ified for. Personal Assistant. I can do that, right? Assist a person. I’m great at thinking on my feet, helping out where needed. And I know computers and robotics. Well, I’ve taken classes about them anyway…
I look around the pristine room and swallow. The space isn’t like the others I’ve interviewed in. It looks almost like one of those futuristic sets for a movie. Everything is white, glass, or chrome—the floors, the ceiling, the chairs, the desk. It’s all so… immaculate. Perfect.
At least I thought I was qualified for the job. My hands squeeze into fists but I quickly relax them again. The listing didn’t say the PA job was for the freaking CEO of the company. And to say that I engaged in a little… creative truth management on my resume would be putting it kindly. But doesn’t everyone? And if I can actually pull this off… there wasn’t a salary listed, it said full details would be offered at inquiry. But damn, who hasn’t heard of Gentry Tech? We talked about Gentry Tech products all the time in my classes at Stanford and studied research this man developed. God, this could be the break I’ve been looking for.
If I don’t fuck it up.
Bryce Gentry finally shuts his laptop with a loud clap and looks up at me. For a second I’m startled, just staring at him. He really is attractive, but with a Parisian suave vibe more than an overly muscled All-American football player way. No, he’s sleek. The kind of guy you imagine standing in the shadow of the building. Mysterious. Maybe smoking a cigarette. Although the blond hair does throw off the image a little. He’s really blond, like me. And younger than I would’ve thought. I’d guess he’s in his thirties, but just barely.
“Miss…?” He waves a hand in my direction and I hurry forward, realizing I’ve just been standing here stupidly instead of introducing myself like a normal human.
