by Alexis Angel
“Hey!” I shout out.
And I realize that Ethan Kane—the real thing—is standing right in front of me.
“Figured you’d want me in the flesh?” he asks, a smirk, on his lips.
I smile at him and stand up.
I’m dressed casually, just yoga pants and a tank top. It’s a Sunday and neither of us has work today. Thank God.
I’m serious, hun. If you only knew the kind of year that we’ve had.
Oh, no, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact it was several orders of magnitude better than great.
First, let’s do the work bits.
So Conners Media and everything controlled by Simon Conners kind of blew up after the disaster that was Times Square. As one of the largest companies in the world of pornography began to implode, Ethan found himself on the front seat. Illicit Entertainment began to start picking up and buying pieces of Conners Media from the banks after they were sold off.
The final death knell came when HawkeLane Media, the direct Internet sex entertainment company run by Arsen Hawke and his wife purchased the rest of the assets at fire sale prices and fired Simon Conners.
After that, Simon began to try and nurse his depression and spent six months blowing through millions of dollars.
I mean, he made even Ethan Hawke look frugal. But he was burning out. Constantly strung out and finding no one who wanted to fuck his coked up limp dick, he began to do more and more drugs. He got busted a few times with massive amounts of cocaine possession. The busts were so big that the authorities wondered how he was even still alive.
They stopped wondering six months ago when his body went into a cocaine-induced overdose and he was found dead outside of his 3rd Avenue apartment building.
He died poor. And alone.
I never learned how he found out about Robert until Cheryl approached me a few weeks after the Times Square matchup.
“I hope you know I had nothing to do with Robert and his untimely ending,” she told me.
I looked at her, not believing her at first.
“His wife was inches away from killing him,” she continued. “And when I first went out there, it was mainly to do research and see what we could do to pay him off or scare him.”
I think I was a bit relieved when she told me this, but still a bit curious.
“Sure, we were probably going to scare him,” Cheryl continued. “Like have him wake up with a dead horse head in his bed like the Godfather or something,” she said.
I remember nodding, you know? As if this was the most normal thing in the world.
“But apparently my visit actually pushed her over the edge,” Cheryl told me. “The constant years of lying and cheating must have taken their toll on the poor woman because literally one hour after I left, he came home and she killed him.”
“So you didn't kill Robert?” I asked, too happy to express myself.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad that Robert is gone. But if it were because of me, I would have felt really horrible.
“No, but I helped her bury the body,” Cheryl said to me with a deadpan stare. “And if push came to shove, and I had to defend myself, there would be no question.”
I remember thinking maybe that was the best I could hope for.
And maybe to never fuck with Cheryl. Ever.
So that took care of Simon. And Robert. Now, a year later from when the whole thing started I think I’ve turned a page in my life. That I’ve moved on.
I look up at Ethan, who’s staring at me and smirking as he looks at me, contented and sitting on the sofa.
“So,” I say, looking up at him. “I think since you interrupted my little session, you might be owing me something."
“I thought we were waiting till the wedding?” he asks me, deadpanning.
I pout. He’s right of course. Six months ago, as I was approaching my last trimester, Ethan proposed to me.
He told me he wanted to make an honest woman out of me before we got married.
I told him yes. I mean, come on, right? Why would I have doubts about marrying the man I love.
But I also told him I wanted to wait.
I wanted our daughter to be born first. And then have her at our wedding. I wanted to share the happiest day of my life with everyone that I loved, you know?
Plus, get a chance to work off all the pounds so I could still turn heads.
“You’re right,” I pout. Three weeks ago, we told each other that we’d re-virginize ourselves and not have sex till our wedding night.
The only problem is, our wedding is still another seven days away.
I know, stop rolling your eyes, hun. You’re probably asking yourself what’s seven days without sex, huh?
Don’t lie.
And just remember, seven days without sex may not seem like much, but when you’re living with the absolute hottest piece of man meat on the planet, every minute feels like a month.
“You can do it, babe,” Ethan says with a laugh and gets up as I stare at his ass. “Besides, we can’t get too crazy. Cheryl and Walter are bringing Anna back from the park.”
Anna. That’s our little baby girl’s name. She was 6 pounds and 3 ounces when she came out and she’s been the apple of her father’s eye since then. I’ve never in my life thought I’d see that day when Ethan Kane began to change diapers.
But it’s true.
Walter and Cheryl. That’s another surprise that I never saw coming. Turns out our assistants decided to follow the example that their bosses set and get together as well. Who would have thought it, huh?
But they balance each other out. Cheryl is strong where Walter is thoughtful. He’ll come up with the plan and Cheryl will make sure its executable.
Together they’ve been looking after Anna a lot and really taken to their godparent duties with gusto.
“We don’t have to get crazy if we’re quick,” I say to Ethan, standing up and sauntering over to him. He eyes me. I can feel his stare as it goes up and down my curvy body. I smile. I have him. “Besides, a blowjob isn’t sex, right? On the West Coast, they call it a California handshake.”
Ethan grows as my body presses against him. It’s been a long time for him too, and I can feel his hard cock tenting his dress pants.
“Oh, is that your cock, Ethan?” I ask as I rub up against his body. “It feels good, poking into my stomach. I want to run my mouth over the head. I want to lick it, suck it, and make it squirt.”
Ethan’s hands grab me and in that moment, it’s better than any virtual reality I could have had. I have the most amazing man in the world. And he’s all mine. Forever.
“Is that the best you got for me, Man Chaser?” Ethan asks me, pulling me close to him, his nostrils flaring.
“You think you can handle any more of me, Woman Tamer?” I shoot back.
Ethan smiles and I kiss him as he pushes me back to the sofa. My hands are grasping at his trousers and I unbuckle his belt and unzip him.
Sure, we said we’d wait.
But we’ll have plenty of waiting when Anna is back with Cheryl and Walter.
For now, it’s all about celebrating the times to cum.
Second Epilogue - As Told By Brittney
I know it’s been a while now since you first met me, but you ever wonder if things like this could really happen?
I do.
Or at least I did.
I mean, again, don’t tell Ethan, okay? But there are days where I literally wonder if I’m living in a dream.
I have the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Who seems to have a cock that that can do its own bench presses at times with the power and intensity that it fucks me with. I have a beautiful daughter. Living a gilded life in the skies of Manhattan.
But you know, none of this story would have ever been possible without Alexis.
That’s why when I walk into the master bedroom and see Ethan still getting ready, I tell him to hurry.
We don’t want to be late for the launch, that�
��s for sure.
“You know, usually it’s the woman that runs late,” I tell Ethan, rolling my eyes.
He glares at me. “You want to tell Cheryl that you have to go to a party when she’s going over the weekly schedule?”
I shrug. Cheryl is a sweetie, and I know Ethan realizes that.
“Besides, what’s this party for again?” he asks me.
I swear, he may be handsome and intelligent and sweet, but sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t have selective memory. Or selective hearing.
“Alexis invited us to the launch of her book,” I tell Ethan. “You know, like I told you at least three times this morning.”
“Oh, fuck. You’re right,” Ethan says. “What book again?”
Oh. My. God.
I swear to…
That’s when I see Ethan smile and give me his infuriating but charming smirk.
“Got you, didn’t I?” he asks.
Ugh. Sometimes I love him, but I just want to punch him.
He comes over to me and stands close. “Here,” he says. “I got you this.”
He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me.
“What is it?” I ask even as I open it.
“Alexis wanted us to have it in case our lives ever got interesting again,” he tells me.
I look at it. Its a single paper.
With a few contact details.
Alexis Angel:
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alexis.angel.754
Newsletter: Naughty Angels.
Newsletter Link: http://eepurl.com/cu4ET9
I look up at Ethan. “Do you think our lives will continue to be as interesting?” I ask him.
He smiles at me. I’m sure that our lives won’t be boring, but I wouldn’t really mind. As long as my family is around me.
“Well, you know, after Alexis wrote Red & Blue and the Governor and that Mayor fucking the Senator, or Scandalous about the Mayor’s son fucking his hot stepmom, or Client 5 about Arsen and his phone sex business, she’s been pretty hot,” Ethan says.
“I think the only thing I haven’t read by her is Jailbait,” I tell Ethan, rolling my eyes. This is old news to me. I’m the one that found Alexis, remember?
“Yeah, but did you know she also writes in collaboration with another author called Erin Wright? They’re going to have a new pen name called Mona Cox,” Ethan tells me.
I look over at him. Big, hulking, cut, ripped, whatever you want to call it. He’s talking to me about fucking romance novels.
“Since when did you start reading the works of my author friends?” I ask him.
He smiles. “Since they started writing about the fucking hot as hell sex we have, babe,” he says to me.
He takes a step closer and I can already feel that giant monster sized cock of his poking me. I mean, 12 inches. It’s going to reach me before the rest of his body does if it’s hard.
“You know we have a party to go to,” I murmur as Ethan nuzzles his face on my neck.
“That’s what I’ve been doing the last half hour was reading her book about us, babe,” Ethan says. “And holy fucking Christ we are fucking hot.”
Oh, don’t I know it. Remember, the whole thinking I’m in a dream?
“Brings back some memories, doesn’t it?” Ethan asks. “Reading about us.”
He’s right and just thinking back to what you’ve read in the last 75,000 words and actually remembering those experiences - I dunno - I don’t resist as I feel his hands grab my ass and pull me towards him.
In fact, I may actually be doing a little grinding of my pussy against his cock.
Whatever it is, it’s enough to bring us in for a kiss.
And then one more. And another.
Until Ethan unzips the zipper on my dress and lets it fall to the floor.
I stand there in my strapless bra and black lace thong.
“Turn around and bend over,” Ethan tells me. It’s not a question. More a statement of what I’m going to do.
Which I am more than happy to comply with.
As I turn around, I see the clock on the nightstand.
Oh, fuck. We’re going to be late. We can’t do this.
But then I feel his cock against my ass cheeks.
That pulsing, throbbing, giant cock of his. I feel his hands squeeze my ass. My body begins to tremble with lust.
And you know what? I can be late.
I’d rather get fucked by this piece of gorgeous man meat right now than anything else in the world.
Alexis is a sweetie, though, so listen.
You’ve been with me this far. You’ve seen everything.
You’ve kept secrets when it was just me and you talking.
Can you do one last thing for me?
Can you email Alexis or tell her on Facebook that I’m going to be late? That Ethan and I are going to be late to her party.
Tell her, “They’re busy fucking again.”
She’ll know what you mean.
Thank you so much, hun! Love you and hope you had fun!
Stories From The 6 Train
*In New York City, HEA is just a subway ride away…*
Come follow ten couples as they meet, flirt, and play.
A cowboy looking for love. An ex-SEAL dealing with scars.
A billionaire. A rockstar. A biker. A professor, and a virgin.
Each looking for love. And finding it, as their lives touch each other.
*In a city that never sleeps, this collection will keep you awake. *
Each sizzling tale delicately intertwined with the others.
Stories that will make you smile. And stories that will make you sigh.
*Stand clear of the closing doors. This train is about to make you come…*
Foreword
For 5 years, I lived in New York City. I woke up in my Midtown East one bedroom apartment in Beekman Place and went for a run along the East River. I got home at 6:45 and got ready for work and was on the 6 train at 51st Street and Lexington Avenue headed towards Wall Street. Five days a week. 52 weeks a year, minus any vacations.
To say I’ve seen some things during that time would be an understatement. I’ve seen the best and worst in people.
I’ve seen moments that touched my heart. And scenes that made me ashamed to be a human being.
But through it all, there was a common theme. An undercurrent.
For anyone who is familiar with my writing, one of the themes that run through it is my predilection to set the story in New York City.
There’s no other city in the world that takes the best in people, combines it with the worst and creates a melting pot of absolute gritty perfection.
Like a wealthy, unshaven, well-dressed, handsome, man. A hint of danger. A touch of familiarity. A sense of being part of something greater than anything else. Feeling part of history just by walking the streets. As if you’re in the center of the world. Crossroads of humanity.
This is a book of love stories in multiple forms. Love stories between man and woman. Between various professions and statuses. And between me and the city I love where I spend 6 months of my life each year.
These stories are pre-Alexis Angel. They were written by me when I lived in New York City. They were never published. Until today.
I hope you enjoy them.
Love,
Alexis
Adrienne & Reese
Adrienne
“Are you freaking kidding me?”
I practically snarl the words over my shoulder as I elbow my way past the sweaty, greasy man in front of me. My new—and now equally greasy—red Louboutins hit the platform at the bottom of the stairs leading into the Thirty-third Street station, and I keep up my pace, not bothering to listen to the offensive words spewing from his mouth.
I don’t have time for this. My boss already kept me late in the office going over my new position as an executive marketing consultant at Dover Street Market. Normally somet
hing I’d be totally cool with. But today I have an appointment to view a new apartment and I cannot be late. It’s a good one, guaranteed to be snatched up if I miss my appointment. And with my current lease ending in a matter of days, I need to grab it fast.
I swipe my metro card through the turnstile and break into a run—not an easy task in my impractical and now filthy designer heels. A stream of people is already pouring into the 6 Train. I manage to slip through the doors just before they slide closed and slump against the edge of the seat next to me.
“Well, that’s just perfect,” I mutter, bending down and examining my shoes. Mr. Greasy McNasty left a huge scuff on them in addition to the grease marks. I want to be charitable and accept that it was just an accident, that anyone could have lost their balance and almost knock me down the stairs in the crowded rush hour terminal. But then I notice that he somehow snagged my thigh-high silk stockings. There’s a giant rip going all the way from my ankle up past the hem of my pencil skirt. How the hell?
I stick my leg out as far as I can on the crowded train and trail my finger up the tear, lifting my skirt to see just how bad the damage is.
Dammit! All the way to the top where my garter belt is clipped onto it. This is how I’m going to arrive to try to score one of the best apartment deals on the Upper East Side that I’ve ever seen—Adrienne Rhodes, a complete and utter hot mess.
Not if I can help it!
Knowing this is the only chance I’ll get to undo some of the damage, I turn back toward the door and reach up my skirt and unfasten the clips on my right thigh. I glance furtively around, hoping no one is paying attention. Yeah, I’m on a crowded public train with my hand up my skirt, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do when a killer apartment is on the line.
I slide the stocking down my leg and slip my foot from my damaged shoe, pulling the tattered silk off and stuffing it in my Prada bag. Just as I start to slide my shoe back on, the train jerks to a stop at Grand Central, throwing my already precarious balance way off. I grab for the pole next to me, but it’s too late.
