by Hart, Romi
Yeah well, so much for keeping it simple, but he is a writer so go figure.
My vows were a bit sillier.
And wouldn’t you know, I kept things very direct and to the point…and slightly humorous, which is my style.
I think now is as good a time as any to tell you something, Simeon. I am pregnant. No really, I think it’s just kind of fitting and funny to tell you now. So how much do I love you, Simeon Hollock? So much that I waited half a lifetime for your exclusive love. So much that I had your child, and so much that I didn’t even complain about the backdoor loving or mile high club shenanigans you talked me into.
Seriously, it took us many years to find each other and yet only a few boinks to really test our relationship. Things became ugly…shards of glass came dangerously close to the heart. It only takes a few flying fucks to ruin a good friendship. Maybe that’s why I always was so hesitant to rush into things with you. Sex is over quickly…thirty minutes and then done! Now the angst and the regret and pain begins! Well, to be honest you do kind of take three hours with all that Tantric stuff, but I digress.
I love the way you kiss me, I love the look in your eyes and how you make me breathless whenever you come into a room. Yes, I wanted you to make the first move, but I also wanted the timing to be right, just like you. We deserved each other…and so it was best we wait.
But your strong hands hold me tight. Your lips keep me grounded. You make me feel loved. I wanted you so much and now I have you. I want to be your sweet lover, my beauty and my natural artwork just for you, and only you, available at any time so you can unwrap me and taste my sweetness. Taste me, my love, taste my every orifice, my every freckle and mole. I want to soak in your uxorious attention.
Too much? Probably but hell, I had to upstage the writer on my wedding day!
After we got back home, it was time to leave the fantasy of Paris and come back home to reality. That reality, naturally, brought its own host of problems.
Parents…his parents and mine causing more drama, but well that’s for another story. And Zander! Oh don’t get me started on Zander! That guy is terrible! And though I owe him my happiness and marriage I also think he’s a true pervert and a bad influence on my hubby!
But oh well boys will be boys. But I’m glad the world knows now who my heart belongs to. I chose Simeon not because he was rich or even exciting. I knew I loved him because he was gentle and I knew, once again, that lovemaking itself could be gentle. It could be a healing thing, to love someone, even to fuck someone. Little did I know that every moment we spent together, even 10 years ago, was all foreplay. We took things slow and with a perfect rhythm. He pushed and pulled with perfect rhythm giving me tremors of pleasure and introducing me to therapies I never even fathomed—like climbing natural rock formations and screaming to the sky!
Maybe that’s what every woman wants, for a man – not a rich man, but a strong man – to take her by the hand and guide her to pleasure, sensual and sexual, emotional and intellectual. Rubbing her away of haunting memories and embracing the peace and calm of the present day.
Now I know we’ll be connected forever. You can’t escape me now, Simeon Hollock, because you are, quite literally inside of me. Your seed will always be in my life, like it or not—though I know you love it!
While it’s true that Mister Hollock does tend to travel a lot, a lot more than I do since I still work and he’s a househusband who occasionally wants to buy really expensive toys—er artifacts—we do keep in touch. Whenever he’s gone he sends me texts and emails like this one:
I have nowhere else to be, my love. I’m just one three-hour flight from home. I need you like you need me. When I am with you, I feel at peace. For the first time in so long, I feel in control. Of where I’ve been, where I am, and where I am going. You healed me. You are, and always will be, as long as I live, my greatest muse.
Our son is so beautiful. He has his father’s eyes. He’s even developing dad’s peculiar way of speaking and his weird sense of humor, even as a one-year old child. Quite frankly, I never thought this mountain of a man had a soft side, until I saw him with his son.
As for the “supporting characters” of our lives, sadly, or not so sadly, we never heard from them again. Mickey was a blast from the past I never had to endure, and no I never saw him again, nor did I bother finding him via Facebook or Google. He was a bad seed and he walked away from the one he loved, much to her relief. He may be dead by now, for all I know. But I all I care about now is the present.
The past has to stay behind us, I’ve learned that much especially if we’re ever going to reach that “happily ever after” ending as intelligent people. My hubby of all people understands this now.
I’m proud of who we both are, what we did for each other, and yes, what this new man, this new identity Simeon Hollock, Philanthropist, wants to do for people. He is taking his promise to Sarah seriously and using his money and influence to better the world, erect charities and homeless shelters, and the like.
So now I write this letter to you, my dear husband, eager for you to return home from your business trip to Greece. I am reminded of the many reasons why I love you. Because even though your way with words is beautiful, you still take the time to read my letters and send me letters.
You’re not a man of little emotion, but a man of great emotional complexity. The type of deep thinker and feeler that has to express carefully what he feels, because emotion just pours like rain, doesn’t it?
* * *
And I know deep down you probably wonder why I ever liked you in the first place or why I said yes the second time but kind of freaked out the first time.
It’s just kosher for a woman married to a billionaire to say, “Why of course I loved you because of your heart, soul, and so on—and definitely not your huge bank account!” But the truth is I loved you because of your monster cock! Come on, Simeon, smile! It’s a joke. You’re feeling stressed right about now and need a good laugh.
No seriously, you know it was your heart. Not just your brilliant mind, since every girl loves a successful writer’s mind. It was the two Simeons—the lover and the gentleman.
Mickey was a creative guy, you know, a musician and all. I remember being amazed at the power he had in his words and the ability he had to take my mind places I never went before. And as I got to know him, I realized that having such great power is a curse. It gives some people attitude. It robs them of their soul.
I always knew you had great power and great moral restraint. You had the rare gift of a big heart as well as powerful mind. A woman just had to peel through the layers to find it. And once I found your heart, it was the most beautiful thing in the universe. A glowing sun of warmth and compassion. So the reason I married you and fathered your son is because you were the best damned writer I had ever met—dramatic, exciting but with a moral of the story that just stuck in my throat and reduced me to tears.
Hurry home, I say! I can’t wait till you come home again and bring us presents and stories about your latest book. And by all means, feel free to write me any time and share bits and pieces of that resonating mind of yours, Mister Hollock.
Love, your wife
The Billionaire Bull - Special Preview
Chapter 1
Maya
A flower is something beautiful and the world resents it. Untarnished, it glimmers with hope. When it’s out of place or unwelcomed, it’s customary for some angry, cynical person to crush it under a strong foot. Shame on the flower for being innocent. Shame on the flower for being damaged. It inspires nothing but lust and greed even in the best of people.
Yet I’m a woman who still cherishes my idealism, especially since believing in something as out of date as flapper hats. Most of my friends despise being a “virginal woman”. I should too…since I’m already twenty-one years old and haven’t even felt more than a long kiss. But I figured out something important from the very first moment I noticed guys staring at my tits:
The more you give it away for free, the less value you have…at least in the eyes of men. Men all want what they can’t have. The moment they take a girl to bed, they start thinking they can do much better. Everything a man does is prompted by horn-dogging and feeling “thirsty”.
But I don’t want to hate them for it. I know how it feels. I know how it feels to have an incurable passion inside…to masturbate and to still feel horny. To touch yourself so much that your clit just becomes numb…and to still want more. I know what it’s like to write an erotic poem and to just want to explain to a handsome stranger why I wrote it.
Of course, I don’t actually go around begging for guys to do me. Call me crazy, I just think that’s low-class. I come from a long line of moms who never begged for anything. Not food, not sex.
And yeah I do get a lot of offers from guys. Well, I guess I should clarify I get a lot of friendly invitations to do dumb things. Dinner with his folks. Square dancing. Once got asked to tag along in a squad car with a police officer.
All of them were perfect gentleman. And I found it very sexy that underneath all their respectable conversation and gentle eyes, they were really asking to plow into my virginity and unload their balls in a strange new place.
That’s the one side of me, the side of me that totally feels like a man, at least when it comes to wanting sex.
But then there’s the other side. The side who still longs for flowers. For romance. The teenager in me that longed to meet a Prince Charming. What is it about romance that’s so different from fucking, anyway? Is it the way he looks, or the kind words he uses? Or is it something else? The emotional bonding of two souls that might comfort in each other, maybe.
I know at some point, everyone’s favorite “little girl”, Maya DeBank will have to do the unthinkable and take a risk. I’m not a saint. I don’t want to stay a virgin for life, or even until marriage. There’s just too much to do in the world. It’s like that song says… “What good is sitting all alone in your room? Life is a…a…”
How does it go? Damn, I can’t remember it. I used to love that song because I learned it as a teenager, right around the time I fell in love with my first fictional character. The Maximilian von Heune, such a sexy guy! Some of that was the actor, but I just loved his dialog…his wild streak. Maybe when I think of romance, I think of a man like that. Someone who just commands the room. He’s not arrogant, per se, but he’s dominant. He knows what he wants. He respects me but not so much that he won’t fuck me if he gets the chance.
What terrible thoughts unbecoming of a virgin! Am I shallow for saying for the FIRST TIME, it has to be a man who knows what he’s doing? A man for whom I don’t have to fake attraction or award pity fuck points because of his sincerity. And I do reserve the right to reject him based on bratty imperfections unbecoming of my fantasy world.
Maybe love isn’t perfectly timed…maybe fantasy is far removed from reality. But for my first time I want the earth to move and shake. I want the mountains to fall and for miracles to happen because I know my value…I know how unique and wonderful I am. And to quote another song, it’s my party, I can cry if I want to!
Sure, and I also know that the moment I lose my virginity, everything special about me will disappear. Maybe that’s what I’m most afraid of. Maybe that’s why I have the right to be a little snotty. Because after that one magical night, I’ll be damaged goods like everyone else.
I want to be special…for as long as possible. Even if it’s all just leading up to one special day. Where I lose it…and when I then realize, life will never get any better than this right now. This is the top of the mountain.
* * *
I blink away my anxiety and smile as I notice a man walking closer to me on the sidewalk. I’m walking home from the bus and suddenly very aware of his presence, meaning he’s probably been looking at me for minutes on end. I suppose a young brunette woman of generous proportions and with innocent blue eyes is hard not to notice. I also like wearing quaint clothes from the golden era—the nineteen fifties. Love the old Hollywood look, makes me feel classy. Revered. Today I’m wearing a head scarf and yellow dress combination, with the wavy hair. Why own this moment now? Why not a moment from seventy years ago?
I glance back and smile, noticing a rugged-looking black man tailing me. He’s dressed well, with shades, probably thinking he’s the gangsta rap star of tomorrow. I love it when men are bold, like they can’t help but speak of the sexual tension in the air. He has no problem speeding up his pace to meet me. I even make him wait for eye contact. I make him wait for our eyes to meet.
I won’t make this easy on him. Nor does he expect me to be easy.
“Uh, hi?” I say with a half-smile.
“How’s it going?” he says in a deep voice.
“It’s okay…are you—?”
“You want to get high?”
I laugh in his face but he’s still staring me down.
“Come on, no introduction?”
“My name’s Balzac.”
“Ball Sack? That’s your name?”
“No, Balzac—the writer. The poet. I renamed myself after him. I figured you for a girl who likes poetry. You’re smart.”
“And do you know who I am?”
He smiles gleefully, as if he knows I’m going to fight him…every last moment, until he beds me. That’s what makes it hot for him…and it’s starting to make me hot too.
But alas…
As I stare into his eyes and let him probe me mentally, I still can’t shake the feeling that he’s not the “peak” I’m looking for. Maybe I’ll fall for a guy like him later in life. But for now, he’s still not grabbing hold of my mind and stroking me to new intellectual heights. It’s all body with him. It’s all in the moment. But this isn’t a moment. This is The End. The beginning of The End.
I know he will never understand. Maybe no man will ever understand this type of thinking. But at least they understand the principle behind it.
“Sorry, dude. I don’t smoke and I’m not looking.”
“Got a boyfriend?”
“No. I’m just not looking.”
“Got to open your mind, girl. Prince Charming is late. Live life while you’re young.”
“I deserve more than free pot, Balzac.”
He slaps his hands together in a laugh. “Who says it’s free? Know what I’m saying?”
“Touché!”
“All right, you have a good Valentine’s Day, little girl. Don’t be paying attention to those big bad wolves.”
I point at him in good fun. God, Valentine’s Day. It’s always such a drag.
I hurriedly start to walk home—at last, my own apartment away from mom and dad!—and cringe at the thought of the Big V.
Valentine’s Day, the sour reminder for every single person that no one loves you, and for the moment, no one’s even lusting after you. You’ve successfully alienated every man who could have been the one and are now one of those pathetic doggies in the window, just hoping for pity sex.
God, I have to be strong. I keep reminding myself being alone is a good thing. It’s empowering. It’s brave. Fucking Elsa from Frozen was alone and that was the best part of the damn movie.
I keep telling myself that I reject men all the time, everyone from gangsta ass badboys to Christian boys, to nice guys and dirty old perverts. I COULD have anyone I want for Valentine’s Day. I’m the one who’s decided to wait—I’m proud, dammit!
But then why do I feel so sad on Valentine’s Day? Because it’s all corporate-sponsored lecturing, suggesting that love is the only thing that keeps us going? Or maybe I’m resentful because I haven’t met The Right One yet and that he’s long overdue to make an appearance in my life.
Well, maybe this Valentine’s Day will be different. Maybe this time I’ll win. Maybe this year, I will meet the Right One…the one man who is my “Maximilian von Heune” but in real life!
And if I have my wish, the one and only will be Zander Troy.
“Ugh!” my portly father says, as both my parents scurry around the kitchen, having prepared dinner. “Are you talking about Zander Troy again?” He shakes his head, as if trying to understand why I would do something so physically unhealthy as obsess over such an Evil Man.
“I was just saying!” I laugh. “He’s what I consider an attractive man. I’m not saying I would like marry him or anything.”
Mom interjects, grabbing her graying hair in terror at the thought. “Well he’s not the marrying kind! You deserve a man who will cherish you and marry you! Zander is a total skirt chaser from what I’ve read.”
“He’s horrible!” Dad says, as if Zander was actually a serious option in my life. “Have you heard the way he treats women? He’s a very ugly man. Well, mentally and emotionally I mean.”
I guffaw at the thought. “But physically he’s okay, Dad? Right, is that what you mean?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know. He’s not ugly. He’s better looking than the Elephant Man, at least.”
“That, he is!”
Speaking, of course, of Zander Troy’s gorgeous, movie-star-meets-warrior-king face. His eyes are voracious. His skin is perfectly tan; his lips soft, in deep contrast to the strong lines of his face. His hair is jet-black but wavy and he has just a spot of rough shadow on his chin and upper lip. He looks at the world the same way he looks at women. With his chin held high and a “what can you do for me?” taunt.
Everything in my skin changes when I think of him. And the fact that my parents hate him, well, that only helps. But I’m well aware the odds of me actually meeting billionaire-playboy Zander Troy are depressingly low.
