by Holly Hart
I leaned forward, making out as if I was about to take one of his huge balls in my mouth, about to suck at it and fondle his testicles until finally, slowly accepting his big cock into my warm, wet and willing mouth…
… And then I stood up.
It took Conor a couple of seconds to realize what I'd done and a couple longer to actually say something. For a while, he just stood there with a gobsmacked look on his face, with his mouth open in a cartoon-like ‘O’ of surprise.
When he finally managed to get his tongue to work, he stammered, "You aren't gonna..?" I couldn't help but feel proud – it wasn't easy to throw a man like Conor Regan off his game.
"Aren't gonna what?" I smiled slyly. "Weren't you just telling me you were worried about what the other parents might think about you? How's you turning up late going to look?"
Conor looked shocked, even betrayed as he fell backward and away from me. I could tell he was almost ready to blow, that all he needed was a little push from me to send him over the edge – and I wasn't going to give it to him.
I felt terrible. Kinda…
I smirked, because I knew what this meant for later on.
Oh yeah, I thought. You're going to be like the Duracell bunny.
"You didn't just do that!" Conor said, leaving his mouth hanging open with astonishment. He looked down, pointing at his cock. "How do you expect me to get my jeans on with this monster all worked up?"
I grinned. "You should've thought about that before you decided that ten minutes before the school run was the right time to start hitting on me."
"There's no wrong time," Conor grumbled. "Especially not when you're looking that fine."
I blushed. I knew he hadn't meant it as a compliment – well, not an intentional one, anyway – but that's how I decided to take it. Every single day Conor made me feel hot, sexy, like his very own princess. He was everything I'd ever wanted in a man, and everything I'd ever dreamed he could be during all those years after when I was taken from him. Better, even.
But I couldn't just stand there all day thinking about him. If I did, I'd have to do it every day and after all – I had errands to run.
"Come on," I said, pulling the red sun dress down over my shoulders. "We don't have time for you to sulk."
"Sulk," he repeated grumpily with a face like thunder. "I'm not sulking."
I smiled but held my tongue. Oh, he was sulking all right. Then again, I could hardly blame him. Not after after how I'd played him. There was every chance that he'd be so horny on the way to school that he wouldn't even be able to get out of the SUV to walk Eamon to the school gates.
Not without, uh, showing.
I felt kind of guilty, if only for a second.
"No, of course not," I said, grabbing my purse. "Come on, Eamon should be ready. I went in and woke him up while you were in the bathroom."
Conor's face lit up the second I mentioned his son's name. "You're right," he agreed, forgetting his stubborn grumpiness in what seemed like seconds. "We should get going."
I held my tongue. His enthusiasm for Eamon surpassed everything I'd ever hoped for. He didn't just tolerate his son, which I would have understood – after all, Conor hadn't exactly seemed to be the settled down type when he'd appeared back in my life, he absolutely positively loved him! Hell, sometimes I had to drag him away from Eamon's side at night, just so I could get laid.
Conor almost broke into a run as he crossed the hotel suite toward Eamon's bedroom.
"I'm coming to get ya!" He yelled.
I heard a corresponding squeal of excitement from inside. As much as Conor loved Eamon, sometimes I couldn't help but think that my son loved his new, and old, father more. I couldn't blame him. After all, his previous male role model in life had been my father – and Mikhail Antonov was the kind of man who was better suited to a life in prison than to being a grandfather.
You'll never have to worry about him again, kiddo.
"Eamon, darling," I called. "Are you ready?"
Predictably, I didn't hear a peep back. Not when he had something more interesting to occupy himself with – that something more interesting being his father. I leaned against the door frame and smiled as I watched them play. Conor lifted Eamon up with one arm, and my little boy stretched out his arms pretending to be a plane.
Conor effortlessly looped him up and down, moving him about the bedroom as if he weighed less than some of his son's new toys. To Conor, with all his strength, he probably did.
"Boys," I said quietly, hating that I had to be the bearer of bad news. I wished that I could just stand here and watch them play forever. Eamon looked happy, truly happy, for the first time that I could remember. I felt a lump growing in my throat, and I knew I had to say something, or lose the ability to do so entirely. For a while, anyway.
"Boys!" I laughed, finally grabbing their attention. They looked at me like a pair of naughty schoolchildren, which at least one of them was.
"What, mommy?" Eamon yelped as Conor dangled him by the ankle.
"It's time you got to school, kiddo."
"Can't I just stay here and play with Daddy all day?" Eamon asked, as if it was the most natural question in the world. It seemed as though he had already forgotten what life was like all those years before Conor had come into his life.
"I wish you could," I said.
I really do.
"But it's not up to me," I continued. "Time for school."
Conor looked at me sadly, with the kind of expression that said: "does he have to?"
I nodded. Sometimes I felt like my head was spinning – had this all really happened so quickly? How had Conor just slipped into our lives as easily as if he'd always been there, as if we'd always been a tripod.
"Awww," Eamon complained. "Really, really?"
"Really, really." I confirmed. "But you can play with Daddy later, okay?"
As Conor put Eamon down, the boy looked glum. "Okay," he said sadly. "I guess so."
"Race to the lobby?" Conor asked him.
Eamon forgot his disappointment instantly, and took off running. I knew the look on his face, because his father often wore one that looked exactly the same. He was determined to win.
"How do you do it?" I asked, astonished by how easily Conor seemed to know how to act around Eamon. Hell, I felt kind of jealous, it had taken me four years to get to this stage, and yet Conor seemed to take it all in his stride effortlessly.
"What can I say," Conor winked as he ran past me for the door. "Kids just love me."
Not just kids.
The pair of them were waiting for me by the side of our brand-new Mercedes-Benz M-Class SUV by the time I made it down after them. According to Conor, it was the year's safest model. I told him we didn't need to spend a hundred grand in cash on the car, that any old used car would do, but he'd said that he wouldn't dream of putting us at risk just to save a few dollars.
Damn, I never thought that safety could sound so sexy!
Eamon piped up with a grin on his face. "Can I drive?"
"Did you pass your test?" Conor asked him with a straight face.
Eamon took a couple of seconds to reply, as if he was trying to figure out whether his dad might actually let him drive. "I passed a test," he said with a cheeky grin on his face.
Conor tossed him the keys. "That's good enough for me!"
"Conor!" I shouted, laughing. "He passed his first spelling test, not his driving test. Don't you dare let him anywhere near that steering wheel."
"Mom!" Eamon complained, staring at me with a face like thunder as he climbed back out of the driver side seat. "Why did you spoil it, I tricked him!"
"Oh, I guess you did. Sorry," I said. "But we’ve gotta get going. Come on, kid."
I turned to my lover, who was already gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles and concentrating on the road ahead of him like it was the most important thing he'd ever done. "Conor, you know the speed limit's sixty?"
He poked his tongue outside his m
outh with concentration, and didn't glance away from the black asphalt ahead of him for even a second as he replied.
"I know."
Then again, a response that short couldn't have taken much thinking time…
"You're driving at forty." I said, a little stumped.
Again, all I got was. "I know."
"Care to share why?" I asked, baffled by his behavior.
He spoke in a monotone, as though he was devoting as little of his brain's resources to dealing with my question as he possibly could. "I'm trying to get us there safe and sound, that's all."
I sat back, realizing what the hell he was doing. And once I did, I knew better than to push him, or to pry.
He's afraid of letting anything happening to us.
I didn’t say anything at all that might distract him until we’d pulled up at the school.
…
The sound of my purse vibrating broke me out of another happy daydream. I'd let Conor walk Eamon to the gates alone. Not that there was much ‘letting’ involved. Conor was a hands-on dad if I’d ever seen one.
What the hell?
I could see Conor standing by the school gates, apparently unwilling to return to the car until he was completely convinced that Eamon was safe and sound inside. But he was the only person who had my number. At least, he was the only person who was supposed to have it…
I put the phone against my ear hesitantly. "Uh, hello?"
"Miss Antonov, you're a very hard lady to track down." A mysterious voice said.
My sense of danger kicked in immediately. Nobody should have this number, so the fact that someone found it was worrying, to say the least. "I'm sorry," I said carefully. "But I think you must have the wrong number."
"Wait, Maya," the voice said apologetically. "Hear me out."
I kept silent. I needed to know who this person was, why they were calling, and whether they were any danger to me or my family. I couldn't bear not knowing.
"Thank you. We met before, actually," the voice said.
I didn't say a word.
"It's Gene Simmons, from Simmons and Simmons, your father's law firm. I'm calling to discuss the will."
Surely the old man didn't leave me anything?
My mouth burst out before my brain had time to catch up. "The will?"
"Yes. I think it's best that we meet to discuss how your father's estate is to be distributed."
A red flag went off in my mind. "And I," I said firmly. "Think it's best that we keep this strictly over the phone."
I heard Gene sigh into the phone. "I understand. I'll keep things simple. Your father died," his voice broke, but he continued as if it hadn't happened. "A very wealthy man."
"Not surprising," I said bitterly. "He stole from a lot of people."
"Ah, well I wouldn't know anything about that, of course," the man hemmed.
Right. Like you didn't hide every penny for him.
He hurried to keep talking, to stop any awkwardness from kicking in. "As I was saying, a wealthy man. According to his will, there's only one beneficiary…"
"Oh…"
"Yes, one Eamon George Antonov."
Eamon?
"Oh."
…
On the way back, Conor drove like a man possessed. He was an entirely different a different man than the one who had driven his son to school, and the journey took less than half the time the way out had taken – and I knew why. The whole way back, his cock had been doing its best to break free from his pants, and I knew exactly what was on his mind.
Me.
The expensive gray German SUV screeched to a halt, and I half-expected the tires to be smoking when I stepped out. Conor tossed the keys at a surprised-looking valet, grabbed my hand and ran to the room, dragging me behind in his wake.
"Conor!" I laughed. "Hold up."
He didn't listen, and by the time his legs stopped pumping, we were back in the hotel suite – and I was gasping for air with my hands on my legs.
The hotel concierge had given me a sly wink as we brushed past him, so I wasn't just red with exertion, but embarrassment too. I knew he knew exactly what we were about to do. Then again, it was hard to care too much when I knew how good I was about to be feeling.
Conor pushed his mouth up against mine and kissed me hungrily, his hands roaming across my body, never stopping, not even for a second.
I wasn't even sure the hotel room door had swung closed, but I didn't really care. We'd fucked more times than I could count over the past few days, but I was still rediscovering Conor's body, and he mine, and there was plenty more to learn. I never wanted this honeymoon phase to end.
We're rich enough, now, that it doesn't have to. I marveled.
I pushed my lover off me. I needed to tell him something important. "No fucking around, Conor," I said.
"What are you talking about?" He asked. I couldn't keep my eyes off the outline of his thick cock poking against his pants. It was exactly what I wanted, and I think he knew it.
"I want you to fuck me, got it?" I said seriously, but letting my eyes do enough smiling to let him know I was joking. Kinda. "No messing around."
He let out a throaty growl of approval and pushed me back onto a sofa. I fell back lightly, and before had a chance to compose myself he was on top of me.
I guess he's taking me seriously now…
It was the last thought I remembered.
He ripped the dress that I'd so painstakingly chosen not even an hour before off my body, and when I say ripped, I mean ripped.
"I guess I won't be wearing that again…" I laughed.
"If it were up to me," he growled, half way through bending his lips to my nipples, "you wouldn't wear anything ever again."
I didn't say anything, just let my head fall backward as he took my left nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.
"Yes…" I breathed.
I was wet already, and Conor was as hard as a rock. We'd been teasing each other all morning, and I didn't see any point in waiting. I was naked, near enough. "Hey," I moaned through the pleasure. "I'm half-naked, and you're still fully dressed. No fair."
I barely managed to get the words out of my mouth before Conor tore the shirt of his own back, unbuckled his belt and let his cock hang out, proud and free.
"You were saying?" He chuckled.
I leaned forward and grabbed his cock, stroking it gently. His balls jerked a little in response, and I felt an inordinate sense of power. "You know what I said about not messing around?" I said, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded.
"I meant it."
"You’re filthy, you know that?" He asked. He didn't give me a second to respond, just let his body fall on top of mine so that every pound of his delicious, lean bulk was pinning me down. I couldn't move. I didn't want to.
He reached over for a drawer. "No!" I said.
"You didn't bring your pills with you," he said. "We need to."
"No," I said firmly. "We don't."
Conor cocked his head to one side, thinking about what I had said. The primal half of his brain won. Hell, maybe both parts did – because he was just as good at parenting as he was in bed.
"You're the boss…"
He reached down and guided his cock between my legs. I let them fall as wide apart as I could manage. I wanted every inch of him in me, and I wanted it now. I bit my lip. "I love you, Conor Regan. You know that?"
He leaned forward and kissed me, and as he did I felt his thick cock bury itself to the hilt between my thighs. My lips began to pulsate around it, and I knew that after a morning of teasing, I wasn't going to last long.
He grabbed my hips and pulled himself tight into me, and it felt like his cock was impaling me almost into my stomach. I pressed against it, desperate to feel every inch of him inside me after so many years apart
"Me too, love, me too."
"Conor." I said, poking at my sleepy lover's chest.
He turned over and looked at me with
eyes that seemed to go on forever. "What is it, love?"
"I got a phone call, when you were dropping Eamon off."
He stiffened slightly, and not in a good way. I could tell he was worried, even protective. "Who was it? Did you give your number to any–."
I held up my hand. "No, nothing like that. Turns out Eamon inherited everything dad owned."
"We don't need that dirty money."
I shook my head. "No, you're right, we don't…"
I could tell that he could tell there was something more. "But?" He prompted, with a slight smile on his face.
"But… I want to go back." I confessed.
"Back? To Alexandria?" He said, sitting bolt upright in bed.
"Yeah. My father destroyed that city. Now that he's dead, and Arkady too, I want to save it."
Conor studied me for a few seconds, and I worried that he thought I'd gone mad. I started to say something.“We don't have to–."
"No, love, you're right. I think we do."
"Oh, and Conor, there's one more thing?"
"Shoot." He said.
"I realized that Eamon’s full name is Eamon George Antonov..."
He grinned. "You're right. I never did like that name. Let’s do something about that before we go back."
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Bonus Book - Missing in Action by Holly Hart
1
Mike
Hill 57
35 miles east of Kandahar, Afghanistan.
