by Anarie Brady
“Well, from the letter and e-mails she’s sent, your cousin is quite eager to meet you. I have no doubt this reunion will go well,” he assured her. “However,” he stated, his voice taking on a sterner tone, “I believe I should do something about your anxiety.”
Alicia, immediately sensing his change of mood, dropped her eyes and answered, “As you wish, Sir.”
“Strip.”
Alicia pulled her dress over her head. Chancing a quick glance at her husband of one year, she sighed. He was so incredibly handsome. She still sometimes wanted to pinch herself, thinking that she was in a dream rather than living as the wife of such a strong, loving man. Seeing his slight frown, she realized that he was well aware of her woolgathering. Quickly, she stepped out of her knickers while unhooking her bra. Mr. Devonshire sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap. Unhesitatingly, Alicia positioned herself over his legs.
Ten minutes later, Alicia’s bum throbbed, her nether lips dripped with their own juices and all the stress and tension of the trip had left her body. She felt her husband’s fingers slid into her wetness. She closed her eyes, enraptured with his attentions. She squeezed her muscles as he worked his fingers into her core. Mere moments later, bright pink exploded behind her eyelids as she cried out her release. When her breathing returned to normal, she slid to the floor and looked up at him.
“Please, Sir. Let me thank you,” she begged.
Maverick considered, then licked his fingers and stood. Alicia held her breath. Lately, he had devised a new way to torture her. Denial.
“I don’t think so, my love. I believe I shall make you wait until we land on your native soil before allowing you to thank me. That way you’ll have something to think about and look forward to,” he explained.
He helped her to her feet, kissed her soundly, and said, “Now, put your dress back on, but no underclothing. We need to leave very soon if we don’t want to be late for our flight.”
Alicia opened her mouth to object but her training over the last few years stopped her from speaking. She snapped her lips shut and nodded.
Maverick laughed heartily. “That’s my girl! I plan to have a very enjoyable trip.”
Alicia’s eyes widened. “You mean…” she whispered.
“Oh yes, little one,” he answered, smoothing her dress over her hips, “the flight from London to St. Louis should take around twelve hours. Even accounting for eight hours of sleep, that leaves four precious hours that I can finger your beautiful, wet pussy.”
“But what about the other passengers?”
Maverick’s eyes darkened. “I suggest you remain very quiet so as not to disturb them.”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered. “And Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Coming soon from Totally Bound Publishing:
Pleasure: What’s Your Pleasure
Anarie Brady
Released 9th February 2016
Excerpt
Chapter One
Butterballs Shot
1 ½ shots butterscotch schnapps
½ shot coffee liqueur
Serve in a double shot glass. Can be mixed, but better if layered with schnapps first, then topped with the coffee.
Vincent ran his hand through his brown hair and sighed. He had been sitting at his desk for two hours, trying to balance the books, but no matter how many times he crunched the numbers, they kept coming up short. What he needed to save Hot Shots was nothing short of a damn miracle. Flexing his broad shoulders, Vincent decided he could use another cup of coffee.
Pushing open his office door, he entered his bar. At ten in the morning, the place was closed for business, but he still felt a rush a pride as he glanced around the establishment. He’d purchased Hot Shots in the historic Soulard area of St. Louis ten years ago in an act of desperation. Despite his high-paying position as the head accountant at a large St. Louis-based company, the stress of corporate life had been slowly killing him. At the age of thirty-four, he had been diagnosed with high blood pressure and suffered an ulcer. Six months after the diagnosis, he’d quit his job and invested a good chunk of his savings in this bar. Up until recently, he’d been turning an easy profit, but since the recession, fewer and fewer patrons frequented the once-popular nightspot. At least his bar was still open. Many area businesses had been forced to close their doors.
He poured himself another cup of strong coffee and heard a knocking on the front door.
Turning quickly around, he almost choked on the hot liquid. Standing just outside was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was a petite thing, couldn’t be more than five foot two, he estimated. Short, white-blonde hair tipped with electric-blue highlights framed her pixie face. He could easily tell that her small breasts rested free of undergarments beneath a light pink T-shirt. Grinning, he set down his coffee mug and walked to the door.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“You need help?” she quickly countered.
For a moment, Vincent thought the girl was nuts. What was she talking about? Apparently, his thoughts must have shown on his face because she pointed to the sign in the window.
“A bartender?” she continued. “Your sign says you need a bartender.”
“Oh,” Vincent said, remembering he’d placed the Help Wanted sign only that morning. Last night, his bartender had casually announced she was pregnant and would no longer work in such a raunchy establishment as Hot Shots. So maybe the bar was a bit dusty and the furnishings old, but to call it raunchy was simply an insult. Vincent preferred to think of the stained wood floors, the names carved into the tables and the fading paint on the walls as character.
“Y-yeah,” he stammered, hoping desperately he didn’t sound as stupid as he felt. “I just put the sign out there. Won’t you come in?”
“Thanks. So, what do you need to know about me?” she asked.
What do you look like naked? Vincent shook his head slightly, trying to rid himself of that rude, but legitimate, question.
“Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll chat. Would you like some coffee?” He indicated a tall table.
“Yes, please. Black.”
Vincent nodded, walked behind the bar and poured a second mug full of the steaming liquid.
“You sure? I make it pretty strong,” he warned.
She turned deep-green eyes to him and, without blinking, said, “I like it strong.”
Vincent damn near swallowed his own tongue.
Okay, don’t blow this, he thought. You need a bartender, not a quick roll in the hay. Think with the big head on top.
Forcing himself to look at her eyes, not her boobs, he walked back to the table and set the mug down in front of her.
“Let’s start with the basics. I’m Vincent Milo, owner of Hot Shots,” he began and held out his hand.
“Josephine Dunes,” she answered, grasping it firmly.
Wow! She has soft hands. Bet they’d feel great on my… Stop it!
Dropping her hand, he reached for his mug to steady himself.
“So, what experience do you have?” he began again, trying not to stare as her little pink tongue darted out to lick a drop of coffee.
“My parents owned a bar up in Springfield,” she started.
“Missouri or Illinois?”
“Illinois. They opened it when I was seventeen and I started working for them. You know, mopping, dishes, that type of thing, first. When I turned twenty-one, I began working the bar, so you could say I’ve worked in one for about ten years.”
“So that puts you at twenty-seven years old?”
Josephine grinned. “So you’re a math genius, huh?”
Vincent blushed.
Suddenly, the grin vanished from her face. “Oh, sorry. There I go with my smart mouth, and I’m not even hired, yet.”
“No problem,” Vincent assured her. “I like a smart mouth, as long as it’s attached to a smart brain. So, you’re experienced. Let me give yo
u the lay of the land here. First, the bar could be doing better. With the economy like it is, people just aren’t coming out like they used to. I need a bartender with enough personality and experience to help keep this place going.”
“So you’re looking for a bartender to save the place?” she asked skeptically.
Vincent shook his head. “No, not at all. I’m not doing that badly, but my last bartender quit due to a pregnancy. No loss, actually, since I was about to fire her for her bad attitude anyway. The one before that was a large, smelly guy many of the female patrons found objectionable, and the one before that was a hot redhead who ran off with her best friend’s husband.”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah. I’m looking for someone who is reliable but whom I can also bounce ideas off of. I’m open to new ideas, as well,” he added.
“Well, I also have a degree in marketing, so I might be an advantage there,” she said.
“I gotta say, I don’t usually make rash decisions, but I think you’re hired.” He smiled.
Josephine nodded but didn’t answer immediately. “When do I start?”
“Tonight? It could be a trial run for us both,” Vincent offered. “If it works out, we can discuss and agree on the particulars after the shift.”
Josephine stood and held out her hand. “Deal.”
Vincent again shook it and grinned.
“Just one more question?” she asked.
“Shoot.”
“Do you know of any decent but cheap hotels around?”
Suddenly, he noticed the ragged backpack and large purse she carried. “You’re not from around here?” he deduced.
“No.” She gave him that lopsided grin again. “I’m from Springfield, remember? I just got into town last night.”
Vincent frowned. “You came to a new town without a job or a place to stay?”
“Listen, Dad, I’m a big girl now. I can take care of myself,” she answered tartly.
“Sorry, but isn’t that a bit risky?”
Josephine sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I snapped at you, and that was inappropriate,” she admitted. “As to risky, yeah, probably. But I needed to get out of town, and I do have some friends here in St. Louis. I would just rather not take advantage of their hospitality if I don’t have to. My one friend, Renee, has a room I can use, but she’s recovering from a nasty stomach virus, so I’d just as soon stay away for a bit longer.”
Vincent ran his hands through his hair and considered her situation. “I know of a few places to stay, but if you want, there’s a small apartment upstairs. You can crash there for a few nights.”
Rather than answer, she just raised one eyebrow.
“Seriously,” he said, crossing his heart with an index finger. “I’m not a pervert or anything. I live a few blocks away, so it’s not like I’d be staying.”
Still, she said nothing.
Vincent sighed. “Take it or leave it. It can be on a trial basis, as well. Truthfully, it’s really small and probably dirty. Hasn’t been used in several months. Still, I wouldn’t mind someone living up there and keeping an eye on the place for me, and it would be convenient for you.”
Vincent waited, watching a variety of expressions pass over her delicate features.
Finally, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll take it, but this is just a trial. And I have to warn you, I have an older brother who taught me just where and how hard to kick a man so he won’t get back up again. Understand?”
Paling slightly, Vincent nodded. “Understood. Come on, I’ll show you the room.”
Order your copy here
About the Author
I’ve wanted to be a published writer all my life but have not had the courage, until recently, to actually submit my writings anywhere. I was raised in a VERY conservative, Catholic family in a VERY conservative Mid-Western small town (St. Louis is the closest city!). I’ve always been a bit of a rebel—wanting to forge my own path, state my own opinions. Erotic romances give me an outlet for both.
I also enjoyed writing poetry, but I am finding even more fulfilment in writing erotic stories. What else do I love to do? Cook, eat chocolate, drink wine or Jameson, listen to Celtic music, spend time with my amazing sons and sexy as hell husband, and entertain friends.
Email: [email protected]
Anarie Brady loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
