Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  Whatever had started between us back at Sweetopia had been realized in this brief excursion to paradise. I never thought I could surrender my heart to another man after everything that had happened with Reed and River’s fathers. But Cy was…extraordinary. There was no other word for him.

  Except maybe sweet.

  And it was that sweet cascade into ecstasy that enveloped our intertwined bodies as we both found our release. Sweat beading, hips pumping, lips biting, muscles spasming as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over us. This was paradise as much as Greece was. It was everything I always wanted but never thought I deserved.

  Cy

  The moonlight painted the water with light silver strokes as the waves rolled toward shore. The view from the hot tub was perfect, and the company was even more perfect, if that was even possible.

  “Do you know how I said back at the press conference that I was falling in love with you?” I asked Jolie as I stroked my fingers down the side of her damp cheek.

  I watched the corners of her lips rise as she processed my question. “How could I forget?”

  “Well, I think my feelings have changed,” I told her, then watched those lips fall as fast as they’d risen.

  “What do you mean?” I detected a hint of panic in her voice.

  I squeezed her hand in mine and wrapped my other arm around her, bringing her into my embrace. “I mean it’s no longer a ‘falling’ sort of proposition.”

  “It’s not?” she whispered, her voice taking on a silvery edge like it was reflecting the moonlit waves.

  “No, I’m pretty sure it’s just…”

  No, I wasn’t going to beat around the bush here. I really wanted her to know how I felt. I turned toward her, taking her face into both of my hands as her eyes lifted toward me. I could see the moon reflected in them, and I’ve never seen a more gorgeous sight in my life.

  “What, Cy?”

  “I’ve never said this to a woman before,” I admitted—and it was true. I’d never been able to see past my own selfish needs to truly put someone else above myself. But there was something about Jolie that made me want to be a better man, to be the man she deserved.

  She smiled at me as if she knew what was coming, but she didn’t say a word.

  “I love you, Jolie,” I breathed out before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I never thought it was possible to feel this way about someone…but here I am.”

  “I know I’m still working on trusting you. This is all new to me, and it’s been so long since I’ve let myself feel much of anything except for my mom and sons. But I feel it for you, Cy… It’s why I couldn’t be as mad at you about the whole undercover boss thing as I should have been. I just felt such a strong connection to you that I had to believe there was something there for you too—that it wasn’t all an act—”

  “None of what we did was an act,” I assured her.

  She laughed. “Yeah, now that I’ve gotten to know you better, I realize you’re not really much of an actor…”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “Yeah, Marcus Young was pretty much Cy Sweet with a beard, accent and glasses. I just wish everything hadn’t gone south. I wish we’d been able to work things out with your family. I actually think I’m going to miss that place—”

  “Eh, we’ll figure something out,” I promised.

  “Don’t you miss your family?”

  I shook my head. “No, not really. They’re all selfish assholes…just like I was on my way to becoming—permanently.”

  “Maybe they will redeem themselves someday?” Her tone had a hopeful edge to it.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “But for now I feel like I’m starting a new, better family…”

  “Wow.” She didn’t seem able to say much more than that. And I couldn’t tell if it was a good “wow” or a bad “wow.”

  “As much as I love it here, I’m anxious to get back to Florida and get to know your boys and your mom. And work on talking you all into moving in with me—”

  “At your condo?” Her eyes narrowed. “It was a little cramped…”

  “No, silly woman. Into the house I plan to buy with some of the money in my trust fund. I have a couple of properties in mind…been looking online a bit since we arrived,” I shared and watched her eyes light up as bright as the moon.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Super serious.” I chuckled at her surprised reaction as I brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “When I put my mind to something, I dive right in. Like I said, I love you. I want to dive in.”

  “I see.” The words floated off her lips and hung there like little bubbles that might burst at any moment.

  “Is that too much? Are you not ready to dive in?” I fought off the crack of worry in my voice but lost that battle.

  She smiled as she took my hands into her own. “Nope, I’m ready.” She breathed out. “Because I love you too. It’s all new—and I’m not going to lie, scary as fuck—but I am ready to dive in too.”

  “We have a lot of good times ahead of us, Jolie.” I settled back into the hot tub, stretching my arm over the side. “So many fun things to explore…”

  She giggled softly but then stopped when another couple approached the hot tub. I’d almost forgotten there were other people staying in this building, it had been so quiet all week. The woman was a tall, statuesque blonde and the man looked Asian, with long, lean limbs and a head full of thick black hair.

  “Mind if we join you?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Jolie agreed, and the couple slipped into the hot water on the other side of the tub.

  We began to make small talk, as you do. We found out the woman’s name was Katja and the man’s name was Moon-soo. She was from Finland, and he was of Korean descent, though he’d lived in the U.S. for most of his life.

  “So what brings you to Greece?” I asked them as I noticed them curling up affectionately in the tub together, her head resting on his shoulder, their skin colors contrasting beautifully in the pale moonlight.

  “Vacation,” she answered. “We both work for the same tech company.”

  “Right,” he agreed, “but it’s just been crazy there. They’ve had mergers, and we’ve both gotten promoted. It’s really stressful, and some days we want to chuck it all and become entrepreneurs or something. You know, work for ourselves.”

  As much of an optimist as I was, I couldn’t help but deliver a dose of pragmatism. “Entrepreneurship is hard too, though. It has its own challenges.”

  “What do you do?” Moon questioned. “It sounds like you are speaking from experience. You have your own business?”

  I laughed, not really sure how to answer. “My family had a business.”

  “Had?” Katja interjected.

  Jolie took my hand and squeezed it as if to tell me I didn’t need to go into all the sordid details. “It’s a long story,” I explained, and Jolie gave me a reassuring smile.

  “We’ve thought about just dropping everything, moving to some exotic island in the Pacific or Caribbean and starting an adults-only resort,” Katja said. “Clothing optional, you know?”

  Jolie’s ears perked up as fast as mine did. “That sounds fun,” she agreed.

  “So what was your family business?” Moon asked. “Maybe you could give us some advice?”

  I laughed. “Oh, well, my family ran a theme park…you know, for kids. So I’m not sure it would have much—”

  “Theme park!” Jolie’s eyes lit up. “You guys should do an adult theme park instead of just a resort.”

  “Adult theme park,” Katja echoed, rolling the idea around in her mind. “That sounds like a blast. Original, too.”

  I shot Jolie a look. “Don’t you want to get out of the theme park business?” She just shrugged back with a sheepish smile.

  Moon’s brow crinkled as if he was in deep thought. “What was your theme park called?”

  “Sweetopia,” Jolie answered for me. “You may have heard about it on th
e news recently.”

  “Oh, wow, that was you guys?” Katja’s gaze bounced between us.

  “It was my family,” I corrected.

  “Sweetopia,” Moon said, trying to make the connection.

  “I still think an adult theme park would be amazing!” Jolie was apparently stuck on the idea. “Just think of all the different rides and…games…we could have. There could be a BDSM land…you’d be surprised how many people just want a good spanking.” She laughed as she glanced around the hot tub.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised!” Katja replied, shooting Moon a wink.

  “Yeah, okay,” I went along with this crazy conversation. “So, not Sweetopia…but Spicetopia.”

  Jolie sat up straight. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what it would be.”

  “That sounds brilliant!” Katja agreed.

  “What? I’m just teasing.” I waved my hand to dismiss their crazy ideas.

  “No, Cy, it’s perfect. Spicetopia,” Jolie repeated. “We’re totally doing this.”

  “We want in,” Moon announced.

  “An adult theme park,” Katja repeated. “Brilliant.”

  Jolie grabbed my hand, making me turn to face her. “I’m super serious, Cy. Spicetopia. We need to do this.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t help but be skeptical. What did I know about building a theme park?

  Well, I knew a lot more than the average person, that was for sure.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

  “Spicetopia,” I said again. It was sounding less crazy every time I repeated it.

  “Spicetopia,” the three others repeated.

  “We can totally do this, Cy,” Jolie assured me. “Totally.”

  “Alright.” It wasn’t as if I didn’t have the knowledge and the capital to get this thing off the ground. “Let’s do this. Spicetopia it is!”

  Jolie slung her arm around my shoulder, drawing me toward her face. Her lips brushed against mine, and in the distance I heard the waves crashing along the beach. We may have been tipsy, and the moonlight may have been filling our minds with crazy delusions, but I really did believe in that moment, with this smart, beautiful woman by my side, I could do anything.

  Even build Spicetopia.

  The End

  Continue the Spicetopia Series in Book Two, Virtue & Vice.

  www.phoebe-alexander.com

  About the Author

  Phoebe Alexander writes #sexpositive #bodypositive erotic romance featuring compelling plots intertwined with passionate, fiery encounters. She believes that real, relatable characters can have even steamier sex than billionaires, rock stars, and the young and lithe-bodied. She also advocates for ethical non-monogamy through her writing.

  * * *

  Phoebe lives on the East Coast with her husband, sons, and multiple felines. When she's not writing, she works as an editor and consultant for indie authors. She also volunteers her time running a 4500-member indie author support group. Free time is her single greatest fantasy, and if she happens to have a moment she spends it at the beach, traveling, shopping or...wait, who are we kidding? That's about all she ever gets a chance to do.

  Read More from Phoebe Alexander

  www.phoebe-alexander.com

  The Middle Road

  K.G. Reuss & C.M. Lally

  The Middle Road © 2019 K.G. Reuss, C.M. Lally

  * * *

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  The Middle Road

  Sometimes it takes dying to remind you that you’re alive.

  * * *

  Sometimes it takes dying to remember to live.

  * * *

  Carter George thought he had it all—fame, fortune, and any woman he wanted. But when he was diagnosed with a terminal disease, Carter realized what he thought was a good life was really the worst life. He’d never been on an adventure. He’d never fallen in love. He’d never really lived.

  * * *

  Now, with only months left to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, he’s determined to make the last few weeks he has left count. With nothing but his driver, an RV, and an awakened passion for living, Carter embarks upon a journey that will change everything. Even his death. Because sometimes love finds you in the most unexpected places.

  * * *

  And sometimes, love can save a life.

  1

  Carter

  Karma is a fucking bitch.

  That’s the thought that pops in my head the moment Doctor Abrams says the three little words that alter my life.

  “Carter, did you hear what I said?” Doctor Abrams calls out to me, bringing me back to his office, his words from earlier still ringing in my ears.

  I take in his wizened face, graying hair, the fine lines etched into his skin indicative of his age. An age I’ll never be able to obtain.

  You have cancer. It’s terminal.

  “Yeah. I’m dying,” I grunt, feeling numb inside. I’m not even sure if my heart is still beating. Maybe I’ve already died, his words the nails in my coffin.

  “There are multiple tumors visible on the scans. We can keep an eye on them, see if they’re growing. But honestly, Carter, it’s not good. I wish I had more answers for you.” He surveys me carefully, clearly trying to be delicate in his wording.

  There are only so many ways you can kindly tell someone they’re dying. I get it. Sugar-coating it won’t change a damn thing.

  “I’m so sorry, Carter. We can begin treatment—”

  “What’s the point?” I snap at him, getting to my feet, my head aching. I sway slightly. Doctor Abrams reaches for me, but I flinch away, not wanting him to touch me. I don’t need his help. Not that he can help me anyway. I’m a dead man walking. And only thirty-two years old.

  The pounding in my head throbs tremendously, making me want to vomit. I swallow down the burning bile, unsure if it’s just from the headache or the sickness from the news. Either way, this headache has been killing me for months. I guess that’s the fucking understatement of the year.

  I make my way to the door and pause, looking over my shoulder at him. “How long do I have?”

  “Maybe six months. Tops,” his voice is somber, his mouth turning down into a deep frown. The sympathy in his brown eyes kicks up the nausea rolling around in my gut. “Here.” He steps forward and hands me a script for pain medication. “These will help.”

  “Will they cure me?” I ask softly, looking down at the small, white square of paper clutched in his hand.

  The scribbled mess of his handwriting reflects the images of my life as they flash before me. I take note of his gold wedding band. I’ve never been married. Hell, I’ve never even fallen in love. I’ve been too busy amassing a real estate empire and tearing down companies which won’t aide in the fight for my life that I’ve forgotten about marriage. Family. Love.

  “No,” he answers, patting me gently on the back.

  “Then they won’t help me.” I turn to pull the door open.

  “Carter, take the damn prescription. The headaches will only get worse. You’re going to want them.”

  Snatching the script from his hand, I stuff it into my suit pocket.
“My father died from the same disease. You know what the last thing he said to me was as he lie dying in his bed surrounded by all the stuff he’d accumulated over the years? All the money, the real estate, the enemies?”

  Phil Abrams had been one of my father’s friends. They’d gone to college together. He’d been the one to diagnose him with terminal brain cancer.

  “What?” he asks, his eyes filled with more sympathy.

  “He said, ‘Don’t make my mistakes.’ It looks like I’m the spitting image of him, right down to dying in a high-rise that won’t mean shit once I’m dust and ash. The only difference is I won’t have anyone to hold my hand on the way out.”

  “Carter, there are support groups—”

  “Fuck support groups.” I tug the door open, letting it bang against the examination room wall. The models of different body systems tremble on the table, threatening to spill to the floor. I don’t bother waiting for him to reply. I storm out of his office and out to the street.

  I only make it as far as a parking meter before I hurl my guts out onto a New York City sidewalk and someone’s parked Nissan. People dodge away from me as I continue to vomit onto the cracked sidewalk, my hand clutching the parking meter. The pain in my head soars to new levels, the noises and lights from the busy city making my vision blurry.

  When the nausea passes enough for me to pull my phone from my pocket, I call Derek, my driver. When he answers, I’m quick in my needs. After all, time is of the essence.

  “Come get me,” I croak.

  I don’t wait for his response. I end the call and straighten up, leaning against the parking meter, sweat pouring from my face. Within minutes, Derek maneuvers the sleek, black SUV beside the Nissan. Staggering forward, I open the back door before he can come around and do it for me.