by Alexis Angel
And they prevailed over a corrupt Mayor and an Editor-In-Chief who lost her principles a long time ago.
For that, we thank you.
Without your ability to fight back on this, the Mayor would not have resigned 24 hours after your joint press conference.
Without your courage, the Editor-In-Chief wouldn't have been removed from her role by the CEO of the New York Daily Journal. The District Attorney is currently investigating her and her ex-mayor accomplice. That's the last thing that my spies have told me.
There's always been a bias in the press. We try to control it, but in this instance, we did not. We fed it and let it run free.
And a young couple who were in love paid the price for too long.
Others may not have lasted as long as you did. Many others wouldn't have had the courage to stand up and declare that they had done nothing wrong. For them, we thank you as well.
Going forward, this paper will be conducting a thorough review of everything that is printed in these pages to ensure that something like this never, ever, happens again.
While we can only apologize as many times as needed publicly, we also acknowledge that we can never repay and repair the damage that has been caused to Magnus Davion and Penny Wright.
It's small compensation, but for whatever it's worth, we would like to note to readers that the Equinox Towers project will stay with Davion Development going forward.
And future city contracts will probably be easier.
Indeed, New Yorkers, we here at Gossip Central want to apologize to each and every single one of our readers for leading this witch hunt. It was beneath us and those that came on board with Rhoda Wright have left en masse.
The inmates no longer control the asylum.
The only thing we can wish upon this couple as they embark on their journey of love is that they never again find themselves in the papers.
May their life be quiet and peaceful, and may they never have to work with a mob of journalists pushing down the door to their privacy.
May they enjoy happiness and may you, my dear denizens of the city, enjoy yours.
Till next time, keep your ears open, New York. We're listening.
Epilogue
Penny
Felicità!
That’s happiness in Italian, and it pretty much describes the way I’ve been feeling for the past few months. It’s hard to believe, but it has been almost an year after everything that happened back in New York. Which is almost as saying it was centuries ago. Time really flies when you’re having fun.
Two months after Laurel’s impeachment, Magnus got down on one knee and slipped the biggest diamond ring I had ever seen in my finger. I don’t need to tell you how much I cried, do I? The most perfect man I had ever met, asking me to marry him? Yeah, I cried so much I thought I was going to dehydrate. And, with that, he also told me we’d be taking a vacation.
A year-long vacation.
That same night we grabbed his Learjet and, the following day, we touched down on the tarmac at Florence Airport, Italy. I had never been to Europe before, but Italy was my destination of choice when Magnus asked me where I wanted to go. I don’t know, there’s something about Italy that just adds to happy endings, don’t you think?
Magnus already had an old Aston Martin from the ‘60s waiting for us, and he slipped behind the wheel with one of the biggest grins I’d ever seen on his face. Boys and their toys, uh? I gotta say, though, I was pretty excited about it too - there’s nothing like cruising through narrow Italian streets in a car that looks like it came out of a James Bond movie set, its engine roaring loud while the wind whipped at my hair.
That first night in Europe we stayed in a villa in the outskirts of Florence, but we hopped all across Italy as my belly grew into a respectably sized bump. Milan, Turin, Rome - you name it, I’ve been there. We’ve also made a few detours to visit some other cities in Europe, from Berlin to Barcelona, but we mostly stuck with good ol’ Italy.
In fact, we’ve been in Italy for so long that I find myself calling it home. We even decided we’re going to wait for me to give birth here before we head back to the states. We timed it so that Magnus could be in New York just before the Equinox Tower construction begins. It’s been a few months since he clinched the deal, and it took all that time to straighten out all the required paperwork. But now he finally has the green light to start building the tower, and I can tell he’s aching to go back to work.
I feel the same too. Sure, one year of vacation sounds fine, but I have grown restless as well. I don’t want to be a leech and live on Magnus’ money, you know? Besides, I’ve always wanted to be a journalist, and that hasn’t changed. In fact, I’ve used the little Italian I’ve learned (maybe I should consider myself a fluent speaker by now) to write a few columns for some local newspapers. I guess Italy really sunk its hook in me, huh?
Even though we’re probably going back to the states in a few months, Magnus and I have already talked about buying a villa in Florence, a cozy and secluded place where we can raise our children. I love the hustle and bustle of New York City, sure, but it turns out I also have a penchant for a quiet country life.
The way we see it, we can split our time between New York and Florence without breaking a sweat. We just go where we want, when we want. Sure, a lot of that is going to depend on how busy Magnus is, but there’s always some leeway.
I stretch lazily in my chair, remembering every turn of the path that led to me being here right now with Magnus, and look up at the first glowing stars in the sky with a smile. There’s a slight breeze in the air but the night is a warm one, the fingers of summer already reaching for the green hills of Genoa.
I hear Magnus’ footsteps coming from inside our bedroom, and I turn back on my stretcher to see him walk toward the balcony. “Hey, babe,” Magnus whispers, leaning down and planting a kiss on my cheek. I look up at him, smiling, both my hands on my oversized belly.
“Hey there, handsome,” I whisper back, and he sits by my side. We’re sitting on the balcony of our room in a villa in the vicinity of Genoa, one of Italy's most important port cities. The sun has just set, but its orange glow still falls over the world like a curtain, and I can’t help but feel like I’m inside a living picture.
“How’s my boy?” Magnus asks me, slowly reaching for me and caressing my bump.
“Girl,” I correct him with a laugh, but he just shakes his head.
“Nah, it’s a boy. I can feel it,” he tells me, a smile on his lips.
We decided against knowing beforehand if it’s going to be a boy or a girl, but now we find ourselves betting on who’s right. I tease Magnus by telling him it’s going to be a girl but, deep down, I think he’s right - there’s a miniature Magnus growing inside of me.
“Did you know everything would turn out the way it did?” I find myself asking him, looking at him with a gentle smile. He smiles right back and, leaning toward me, brushes his lips softly against mine.
“I didn’t have the slightest clue,” he shrugs. “I just knew I wouldn’t leave your side, come hell or high water.” Without saying a word, I reach for his hand and squeeze it in mine; this time I’m the one leaning in toward me, planting a kiss on his lips.
“I love you so much,” I whisper, feeling the warm summer breeze caress my skin.
“So do I,” he replies, softly pushing me out of my stretcher and taking it for him. He pulls me into his lap then, and I swing my legs over his, my arms laced around his neck.
We sit there in silence, the steady chirping of crickets filling the atmosphere around us. Closing my eyes, I press my head against his chest and take a deep breath. Sometimes happiness is as easy as this - one smile, one kiss, one hug. And, with Magnus by my side, happiness has never been any easier.
If I had to describe my life with one word right now, I know exactly which one I’d use.
Felicità.
Buyer’s Market
A Billionaire + Virgin Dark Fairytale
>
By Dark Angel
Copyright 2018 by Naughty Angel Publishing
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
Want Dark Angel in your inbox? Get freebies, new release updates, bonus chapters, and more!
Sign up for my newsletter!
Emmaline
“You can’t trust an academic website to tell you what you need to know about your professor!” Delia says, swinging the hand off her hip to grab my laptop. She snatches it and sits next to me on my bed.
“What?” I raise my hands and cock my head to the side, getting sassy about her just grabbing my laptop.
Delia raises her eyebrows until her forehead crinkles. She’s bringing as much sass as I am today. “You have to Google that shit, Facebook stalk, etc.,” Delia lifts a hand up from her frantic typing and waves her hand. “Otherwise you’re not going to find the real deal — and I hear there are some real treasures at our school, if ya know what I mean,” Delia says, waggling her eyebrows.
“That’s … well,” I don’t really know what to say back to that. I knew that Delia had plenty of boyfriends since I’d known her, but I wasn’t so sure that I would ever consider the teachers part of the dating pool. I started thinking about how weird it would be. I mean, staying up to date on reading is hard enough, how would you date someone who knew you stayed up too late in the library getting more sources for your latest paper? Weird. Not that I knew what to do with a normal boyfriend. That’s why I’m boyfriend-less and pretty much cool with it. Delia does not make me jealous with the fools she messes around with anyway.
Delia’s eyes go wide. “Wow, he’s fine as hell. And I bet if he reads poetry and shit, well that’s bound to give you a lady boner—“
I can’t let her finish, and I grab my computer back. We were supposed to be going over our schedules to find out details about our classes, and see what teachers were like as far as grading went. “Oh my God!” Delia makes everything about sex sometimes, but then I look at the screen.
Delia is right, though. Professor Ethan Wesley. I don’t think I’ve ever imagined anything more attractive than that man sitting at the edge of a desk and reading poetry. I think I'm actually getting a little wet at the idea. If I tell Delia she’ll never let me live it down, but I mean, she’s my friend so I have to give her something. “Well, actually, he’s …” I have no idea what to say.
“He’s fucking fine as hell, and girl your face is bright red. I guess old guys are your type. I don’t blame you, not with this man,” Delia says laughing.
I realize where I recognize that name. My freshman year my mom told me about him, said she had an old friend who worked at the school and said maybe I’d take some of his classes. Oh God.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Delia says. She shuts my laptop and holds my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Too hot for you, babe?”
I laugh nervously and squeeze her hand back. I think I’m actually sweating a little bit. “Umm, yeah, he’s hot. He was my mom’s friend though so that’s super weird. I mean, he’s already my teacher … and my mom’s friend … so it's weird that he’s hot but like—“
“Damn, girl, you got it bad!” Delia stands up and grabs her sunglasses and heads for the door. “I’ll leave you alone for some Googling. Use your birthday present! I’ll lock the door,” she finishes with a whisper. “Coffee, tomorrow, and tell me how many times you came,” Delia says, waggling her eyebrows at me and shooting finger guns.
“Delia, Jesus girl,” I say, exasperated. But the truth is … I'm going to dig around on the Internet and find out whatever I can about my professor. His face is like permanently burned into my brain right now and I can’t think of anything else. “I’ll give you the full dossier, cross my heart,” I say, drawing an x over my heart.
Delia winks, and then slides her glasses down over her eyes and heads out the door. I hear the click of the lock, and I head for the nightstand drawer. I slide down my joggers and my panties. I tell myself, I won’t go overboard, because I did actually plan to go for a quick run around campus before classes start up again and I’m thinking about more readings and papers. But I can already tell by how my pussy is aching that I might wear myself out in a minute just looking at pictures of him on the Internet.
This is by far the most inappropriate thing I’ve ever done in my life — leave it to Delia — but I mean, masturbating while thinking about your professor, that’s harmless. It's just a fantasy. I mean, when I see him and he’s my teacher, I’m sure I’ll feel totally different.
Maybe he just photographs well. Because why would my mom just be friends with him, if he’s that good looking?
Okay, that’s the sort of weird thought that could really kill the vibe before I even twist my vibe to turn it on.
My curiosity leads me to read a professional biography, and he’s published about basically every author I have loved, ever. I gasp, kind of shocked, but that turns me on as much as looking at his face. He wrote about Mary Shelley, my favorite author, on several occasions. For a few seconds, I think I might read those papers with the online library access the university has, but my twitching clit urges me to look at more pictures.
It isn’t long before I find him on a Forbes list.
Whoa!
So, Dr. Wesley doesn’t need to teach at all. He’s been in school more years than I’ve been alive, and he’s loaded. He ran a publishing firm for many years, and he owns a media conglomerate. He teaches, according to the article with the pictures, because that’s his true passion.
The shots of him holding leather bounds, or the one where he’s got both of his palms flat on a desk—God, I can’t turn that vibrator on fast enough.
I’m even going to tell Delia the answer at coffee tomorrow.
Four.
That’s how many times I cum just looking at these pictures of him. I stop when I realize that my whole dorm room smells like sex and I probably want it to air out before my roommate gets back tomorrow. I read more about him, and my heart is racing. He’s what I might build if I actually wanted a boyfriend … but not now. I’d need 10 or 20 years to be even worth his attention.
I sigh.
But that’s what a fantasy is for, right? I mean, there’s no way that he can be anything more than a fantasy. A teacher crush that I get over when I’m done with my course load. Though, majoring in English, I'm actually going to be taking a lot of classes that I know now that only he teaches. I gulp. I never should've done this. I could have just enjoyed the class but I let Delia put naughty thoughts in my head!
I think about texting her, but I don’t want her to pump me for details. As hard as the first day of classes are, we’ll have something fun to talk about over coffee tomorrow morning.
Maybe it'll give me enough time to accept that I was just doomed from the instant I got on his schedule, because he’s everything I didn’t know I wanted in a man.
Ethan
I fuck a lot. I fuck so many hot women that I should never, ever have time to look at students. I'm a college professor and that means I see lots of hot young girls staring intently at the body they just know I’m hiding behind my clothes. But none of them have a shot.
None until Emmaline. Emmaline is the kind of pure soul that I should never want. In fact, I know the instant I see those chocolate curls and big hazel eyes, this is the younger, hotter version of a woman that I grew up with and never loved. My best friend through elementary to high school, Emmaline’s mother Joelle was never interested in me.
Kids nowadays and their dumb 'friendzone' bullshit have no fucking clue.
Sure, I was fucking obsessed with Joelle and thought I loved her. She was clever, beautiful, and always there. As a friend. It took me years to realize that we simply weren’t a good pairing.
/>
We didn’t share any of the same values, Joelle didn’t share or understand my passions. And she was swept up in our mutual friend Daniel. Daniel was not like me. He was the good boy, and I was the bad. Joelle was a good girl, and she belonged with him. I’m not even sore about it. It's been a little while, but I even still hang out with Joelle and Daniel.
Am I still that bad boy? Well, my act hasn’t entirely straightened up now, but I’ve always been good about not fucking students, or even wanting to fuck them.
And we’re talking some hard work and dedication on my part because there have been literally a classroom’s worth of blondes and a few kinky redheads that left thongs (the redheads all left me filthy notes with them) but I’ve never even considered fucking them. I fuck women my age, or maybe a tad younger, but not the girls who are basically half my age. I don’t fuck students. I don’t want to fuck students.
And I’ve come to understand that even though Joelle loves me, she loves me as a friend. So when I see Emmaline, I can’t just be hung up on her mother. There’s something more.
So how come the second I see her daughter, I can’t fucking stand the idea of not touching those brown curls? It was just a sexual attraction at first and I told myself I could overcome that, in that instant. But my old, obsessive ways do spring into motion. I know that I can’t get this girl out of my head. Not right now.
This is how she breaks my concentration—I’m out here scaring the class like I normally do, sorting wheat and chaff and letting people know that this is not the class they’re going to fuck around in. You don’t have to love my subject the way I do, but you do have to work the course hard enough to earn your grade. I don’t believe in the curve, or in rewarding mediocrity.
I’m lecturing about all these expectations when Emmaline tries to slip in late, unnoticed.
