by Abby Angel
We already decided on what we were going to name the baby, if we have a girl...and maybe you’ll think this is crazy, but maybe since you got to see our whole story unfold, you’ll understand why we want to name her Emma. It was her case that brought us all not just together, but to a place in our lives where we felt understood and connected to each other. We felt free to do what we loved, and be with who we loved. I mean, lawyers certainly shouldn’t get too personal with all their cases...but I kinda like to think that Emma wouldn’t have minded at all.
A Special Treat from the Authors
I love ya my fab readers!
I know that like we totes don’t say it enough but this whole thing is about you Angels.
With that in mind, we want to share some more love with you.
After this you’ll find six hot reads attached.
As an extra special bonus, you’ll see a title by Cara Angel. Me, Lana, and a hot new author got together to make Cara Angel. Let us know what you think!
And if you love it and would like us to write more then join Cara’s Angel’s email list at http://eepurl.com/c0q7Hv!!
Mr. President by Alexis Angel
Mergers & Acquisitions by Abby Angel
DILF by Alexis Angel
Prince Me Harder by Cara Angel
12 Inches by Alexis Angel
The Virgin Market by Alexis Angel
Thank you so much for reading!!
xoxoxo
Alexis Angel
Mr. President
They call me President Player. I got my finger on your button.
You wanna be the chief of my Staff?
Rub my 12-inch lust muscle till it shines?
I can make you explode with the flick of a wrist.
Give you what I like to call an Executive O.
When the media starts going after my bad boy lifestyle I know its time to switch it up.
That’s when I hire Ashley. She’ll pretend to be engaged to me so I can get the press off my back.
We gotta be careful and not get caught.
But its hard because she’s just so damn gorgeous.
I just want to push that tight little body of hers up against the wall.
Make her hail to her Chief. Over and over, till she can’t walk.
Yeah, the relationship may be fake.
But her face is telling me that the pleasure is simply Presidential.
America…it time to meet your future First Lady. Also known as…my fake fiancée.
Austin
"Oh, fuck me harder, Mr. President!"
I slam my 12-inch cock into Jia Park—the ambassador from South Korea—hard enough to knock a vase of flowers off the side table that she's clutching in both hands. I watch as the flowers tumble to the floor.
I've bent her over every inch of this hotel suite—the toppled sleek American chairs are a testament to this—and I'm just getting fucking started.
With both of my hands on her hips, I thrust again and again; my hips are rocking back and forth as I ravage her from behind with the force of a storm. With my thunder, I aim to give her a hot fucking bolt of lightening that she'll never forget.
"A dragon was born in a stream," she purrs, her long blue-black hair as dark as ink, and sticking to her neck with sweat. "And that dragon is you." She's looking back at me with smoldering eyes, waiting to see if I understand this Korean idiom.
It's not lost on me; I've done my homework.
I've prepared for this moment.
The dragon is a good reference. What the fuck did she think she was dealing with, a bunny rabbit? No, I'm a man on a mission, and I pack some serious fire between my legs.
"Kamsa-hamnida," I reply, thanking her in Korean, which surprises her.
Yes, I can be savage between the sheets, but I'm also diplomatic.
"You're a man of many talents," she smiles, and the way her lips seductively turn up at each corner of her mouth makes my cock hard as granite.
Of course I am. I’m Austin fucking Bain.
President of the United States.
The youngest President. At 35 years old.
The hottest President. Check out my bedroom eyes on the cover of TIME Magazine. My 8-pack abs on CNN. My defined body on Fox News.
Whether you’re a Republican or Democrat, conservative or liberal, there’s no denying you want my cut pecs and broad shoulders to be the one holding up this country.
And while you’re at it, I can bet you want to be on your knees. Get a good view of my giant fucking python as it pulses in your mouth.
That’s right. I might be the President. But I know what I’m packing.
I pull my cock out of her pussy with a wet pop, and turn her around. I pick her up in my strong arms, lifting her off the floor, and I watch as she runs her hands over my bulging biceps.
She's impressed.
She then wraps her slender legs around my waist, and I angle my cock toward her wet pussy, teasing it by rubbing it back and forth over her slick folds.
"Fuck me, just keep fucking me," she cries out loud, as if it's some kind of torture.
I smile back at her and do as I'm told; this time, there's no teasing. I thrust at once, and drive my 12-inch cock so deep into her that she lets out a violent scream.
She curls her toes and rakes her nails across my back and shoulders before running her fingers through my hair and pulling wildly.
She's now fucking me, grinding her pussy up and down my cock, squeezing her legs around my hips for support. And then her entire body tenses and she throws her head back, her mouth is open wide.
"Oh, fuck," she moans mid-orgasm, the walls of her pussy clenching and spasming on my cock.
I feel a trickle of sweat zigzag down my chiseled chest, and I grin; this is better than any fucking gym workout.
I carry Jia Park to the bathroom, her legs still wrapped around my waist and her wet pussy impaled on my cock. I'm going to keep it buried inside of her pussy for as long as I can.
"Ga-ji-mah, don't go," she purrs.
"I'm not going anywhere without you right now," I reply, grinning. And I'm about to prove it to her.
Let me just say that I'm not your average politician.
As the youngest president to ever assume office in the US—even younger than Theodore Roosevelt—and like Teddy and his band of Rough Riders, I do things my way.
You don't get to be the youngest president ever elected by playing by the rules; you know what I mean?
And my cock is one of my greatest diplomatic tools. While it's true that, for me work and sex go hand in hand like white on rice, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it. There's no shortage of pleasure.
"I want more," Jia smiles devilishly, "so much more."
"So do I," I reply, grabbing her ass cheeks in both of my fists. "So do I."
I head for the glass-walled shower. The elegance of the Sofitel Hotel is everywhere, even in the bathroom. I feel the cool marble flooring beneath my bare feet, and I slide the glass door open to the shower.
I take her off my cock, and we both step foot into the shower. I turn the knob, and in a minute, we're standing beneath a steaming jet of water that's beginning to fog up the entire bathroom.
I smile and turn her around, grabbing her hands and placing them up against the marbled shower wall. I reach down and slide my hand down the crack of her ass, and slide a finger into her wet pussy until I reach her G-spot.
"Yes, oh yes," she shivers. "More."
I pull my fingers out of her pussy and drag them across her lips. She smiles and opens her mouth, and begins sucking on my fingers as I angle my cock with my other hand into her pussy, and piston in and out of her.
"Does your pussy taste good?" I ask her, thrusting my hips. She nods to me with a smile.
I keep thrusting until I feel the walls of her pussy spasm on my cock once more. Jia is moaning and arching her back.
"That's it," I tell her, "Come for me."
"Oh yes, Mr. President! Yes! Yes!" she yells o
ut, as her orgasm takes over her body, loud enough for everyone in this fucking hotel to hear. She's screaming loud enough to shatter the glass of these shower walls.
"That's it," I grin. "Just like that."
You may be thinking that I just fuck people for the hell of it. Sure, I love fucking beautiful women just as much as the next guy—and I'm fucking good at it—no the best—but you've got to believe me when I say this is work too.
You see this little tryst with Jia Park? It's all a part of my job.
Don't believe me?
Well, it's just all part of my overall plan to help turn the country around. Just you wait and see.
"Bae-go-pa, I'm hungry," Jia says, "for your cock."
"On your knees," I smile. I know I'm the best fuck she's ever had. I'm the best fuck any woman has ever had. It's no secret that I'm good in bed. Women worship my cock.
I watch as she obeys, and then opens her mouth as wide as she can. I seize the opportunity and roll my shaft all the way in, inch by inch.
There’s a wet sound when my tip hits the back of her throat, but there’s no denying it—she loves every single moment of this.
There’s nothing like almost choking on a 12-inch long cock, is there?
"That’s it… Suck it," I whisper to her, slowly sliding my cock in and out of her mouth.
I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand and then, with more force, rest my hand on the back of her head, pushing her deeper onto my cock.
She's so deep that my balls are resting against her lips.
And then, I come undone.
Pleasure rages through my veins with an undeniable intensity, and there’s no stopping it.
"Fuck," I hiss, with my teeth clenched. "You feel so good."
I can feel my pulse beating a quick rhythm in the chords of my neck. And then I bury my cock as deep as possible in her throat again and explode—rope after rope of hot cum is running down her throat and she's eagerly swallowing it. I look down and watch as her throat muscles contract, waves of pleasure coursing through me.
Then I pull my cock out, and watch as she milks the last strands of cum from my cock. She rubs the tip across her lips and licks at it eagerly.
"Dangshin-eul aju manhi johaha eyo," she purrs. "I like you."
It's a good thing I brushed up on my Korean. "I think this is going to be a good partnership," I smile.
Fuck. I love my job.
You see, I'm making the world a better place, one fuck at a time.
I may be a bad boy, but I've got a good heart. Yes, I'm rich but I was raised to value public service and charity.
I know what you're thinking. And I know what this looks like, but I'm not just in politics for the ego trip.
I care about the country … maybe too much. The media loves to portray me as some sex crazed bad boy, making waves just for the fuck of it. But they don't understand my motives. There's always a diplomatic reason behind my actions.
I look back at Jia as I prepare to leave. "Remember our deal," I say.
"I assure you," she replies, slipping her arms into a hotel robe, "I will do my best to sway the South Korean President toward a more open trade agreement with the US."
"Good," I reply, pressing my lips to hers in a final good bye. "We'll be in touch."
I reach for my clothes, and get dressed.
Another deal consummated. This one will bring back a lot of jobs back to America. Good, solid, manufacturing jobs. Back to the fucking heartland. Where politicians forgot all about the people.
See, I made my billions on Wall Street, but I was already rich.
But I realized, life isn’t just about making money and fucking women. Well, that’s good, but there’s more. I already did the Army after college. But I wanted to give back.
I could run my own charity, or I could actually help people by running for office. Because sure as hell I could see that ordinary Americans were getting shafted by the system. No one was listening to their voices.
It was time to change that.
I promised to bring back jobs to America. To make opportunities come to every American again - not just the token few or well connected.
How can you be against that? How can you be against a President who gets shit done?
I try to discreetly exit the hotel, but with the Secret Service in tow, how discreet can you be? It's like trying to leave this place undetected with bells on my shoes.
So despite my best efforts, as soon as I exit out the back of the building, the press is all over me.
And watch. This is where it’s gonna start.
The flash of lights is everywhere and I pull a pair of dark-shaded sunglasses over my eyes, waving off reporters.
"Mr. President, is it true you're having sexual relations with a South Korean ambassador?" asks one red-faced reporter.
Another reporter jumps in, "Could I please have a moment? The people would like to know what exactly you were doing at the Sofitel Hotel. I'm guessing more than work."
I keep walking, looking straight ahead and ignore the question.
Then another reporter jumps forward, waving her arms, "Mr. President! Over here! Just one question—I—"
But Secret Service agents are all around me, and they don't let her finish. Their arms are outstretched, "Step aside," they say. "No questions. Give the President some space."
Just as I'm about to step inside of my limo, a scrawny reporter as thick as a licorice stick manages to weave his way through the crowd and in between the Secret Service agents. He has a microphone in his fist and he's pushing it in my face.
"How does it feel to know you're being dubbed, 'President Player'?" he asks.
President Player? Now he's gone too far. There's only so much slander I can take before I snap, and his comment is the final straw.
I feel my pulse kick into high gear. Who does this scrawny bastard think he is? I love this country, and I work hard.
Enough is enough. I have the urge to put my fist right into the middle of his face.
"Is that what you fucking think of me?" I say, feeling heat building under my shirt collar.
I reach over and try to grab hold of his coat, but two Secret Service agents hold me back. I'm trying to break free of their hold, but they urge me to stop.
"Sir, get in the car," one agent says, guiding me into the limo. "He isn't worth it."
I decide that they're right. These reporters aren't worth it, so I quickly slide into the cool, black leather seats of the limo and slam the door shut behind me.
I try to slow my breathing, as I lean into the seat, remove my glasses, and look up at the roof of the car. But there's no denying it.
I loosen the knot of my tie. As much as I try to shake this feeling, I'm frustrated.
Don't people understand how Washington, DC works?
They want results … I'm getting results.
God fucking dammit. This deal with the South Koreans will bring back at least fifty thousand good paying manufacturing jobs back to America.
But the media?
All they’re going to care about is about my 12-inch cock and who I’m sticking it into.
I look out at streets of Washington DC as my motorcade drives by.
Let me just warn you before you start, babe, that this book is designed with one specific purpose in mind.
To get you to forget your problems and make your panties wet.
More than make them wet. To make you cum.
After you finish with me, you better have that significant other or B.O.B. waiting for you. Because I can tell you that you’re gonna fucking need it.
Or…if you’re a bad girl, go ahead and flip the page and read this in public. But by the time you’re done, the person next to you will be able to smell you.
I guarantee it.
So find someplace quiet. Preferably where you can take those panties off.
And follow me for the fucking ride of your life.
Ashley
Give a man a gun, a
nd he might win a battle. Give a woman a dress tight enough, and she will win a war.
And tonight … tonight I’m here to win a war.
"You look so fucking sexy, baby," Walter Billingham says, and I can tell that he’s mentally undressing me right now, his wide eyes taking in every curve of my body. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his paunch stretching his white shirt.
"Do you think I look sexy?" I ask shyly while, at the same time, I let a devious grin light up my face. I close the distance between him and I, and throwing one arm around Walter’s neck, I sit on his lap.
"You do… You really do," he whispers, resting one hand on my naked knee, his fingertips brushing against the hemline of my Saint Laurent dress. I know I could’ve seduced Walter even if I decided to wear a simple off the rack dress, something equally cheap and trashy, but I don’t like to underestimate men. In my line of business, that’s a fatal mistake.
"I like how you say it," I tell him, leaning forward and brushing my lips against his ear. I feel something hardening between his legs, and I choke down a chuckle as I realize that Walter’s cock is as small as he is old. And he’s old enough to be my father—no, make that my grandfather.
CEO of a pharmaceutical conglomerate, Walter has been its leader for more than 25 years. He’s 60-something years old now, and one of the most successful businessmen in the US. Thing is, dear old Walter is as successful as he is greedy and immoral. He built his fortune by raising the prices of a few specific drugs, and he has never shown any remorse about it. What happened to the feel-good American Dream, right? But that’s the world we live in now; the sociopaths are running the show.
"You know what I find sexy?" I continue, turning around on his lap and opening my legs so that I’m straddling him. Without taking my eyes off his, I hike up the hem of my skirt, offering him a sight of my black La Perla thong. "There’s nothing sexier than a powerful man… I just can’t resist it," I whisper, running my fingers through what’s left of his hair.
