by Kira Blakely
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Epilogue
Table of Contents
Forbidden Santa
Copyright
Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Epilogue
Thank you!
Forbidden Daddy Chapter One
Also by Kira Blakely
About the Author
Blakely After Dark
KIRA BLAKELY
Hello, my naughty Kiralites!
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Copyright © 2017 by AG Media, LLC, a representative of Kira Blakely.
All rights reserved.
AG Media, LLC owns exclusive rights to all content herein. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from AG Media, LLC, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
A gold letter, wrapped in diamonds, addressed to me.
“You are cordially invited to Mystique Island.”
It’s a Christmas ball fit for a queen.
I’m going to be a special package.
A billionaire’s dream girl, delivered to his villa.
Bound in a tight red bow, ready to be unwrapped.
This is out of my comfort zone, totally unlike me.
I’ve been a good girl. Virginity intact.
But this island has a way of turning good girl’s naughty.
So I’ll sit on Santa’s knee.
And whisper my deepest desires in his ear.
He’s checking his list
And licking me twice.
This good girl will taste very nice.
Welcome to Blakely After Dark. This is a naughty quick read for mature audiences only. Happily ever after’s are guaranteed!
Forbidden Santa
This is book 3 of the Forbidden Series. Each book is a stand alone and does not have to be read in order.
Chapter One
Stuart
This happens every Christmas.
Rose Parsons comes strolling through this office, blond curls bouncing, all buttoned up in a big hound’s-tooth coat and some tragically modest dress. Mm. Wool tights the color of cream. And yet, I can still almost taste her through all those layers. I know her flavor… and it’s vanilla.
She shrugs off the bulky coat, revealing high, round breasts and a slim, girlish figure in a clingy sweater dress. I’m too old for her—the president of a charity run through her university—but hell, I feel young. Especially for someone who's going to be fifty. In nine years, but still.
I doubt my circulation has ever been better than it is when Rose comes to visit.
This is her third year coming to me, pleading with those big doe eyes. I take one look, and I'm gone. The checkbook is out.
"Stuart," Rose greets me breathlessly, as she settles into a chair across from my desk and crosses her legs. The wool tights make them only more shapely and mysterious. Besides, there's something so sexy about a woman whose undergarment can be made into restraints with the perfect amount of give... "Merry Christmas."
A thin golden cross necklace catches the light, and I scowl at it before my eyes flick back to hers.
"Probably not," I reply with a charming smile and a wink, "but we'll see." I loosen my jacket and shrug it off, never removing my eyes from hers. "Have you been naughty or nice this year?"
I'm rewarded with a good, deep blush, and her eyes focus on the floor at her feet. "Nice, of course," she says, and her fingers clasp that crucifix. She dares look at me and offers a meek smile. "After the relief effort in Cuba, I just see the world differently. There's so much need. And we have such an opportunity to give, Mr. Goldman." A premature pitch. She must be nervous.
"Stuart," I correct her. She used to call me Mr. Goldman but I conditioned that out of her. Still, every now and then, it pops up.
"Right. Stuart." I love her sexy voice wrapped around my name like that. Her gaze tilts down to my mouth, and then up again. "Your contribution alone built over twenty hospitals in South America. My chapter got to build one."
I smirk at her and shake my head. Why does she do this to me? She knows she's going to get the money. I know I'm going to give it to her. Not only have I caved to United for Global Health every year but I've given her more each year. But she still insists on going through her spiel about all their accomplishments.
I just want to flirt with her.
"How about you, Rose?" I ask. "How has your year been? You must be close to graduating."
"This spring." She nods and purses her lips to stifle a proud smile. "Then I'm going to be the one needing a charity fund."
She laughs at herself but I don't laugh with her. I know the details of every person who walks into my office. It's part of my security. Rose can only afford to attend college because of all the scholarships she earned. She's been an excellent student and will hopefully get an amazing job after all this but she's developed most of her experience with the charity work. Launching herself into the job market will be the true test, and my heart aches for her.
It's a cold world out there.
I’d give to United for Global Health no matter who they sent to make their case but sending this little cream puff is unfair. No man could say no to those eyes.
I’m soft for worrying about her but I do. I can’t help that.
"Maybe you'll get lucky," I say. "I'm going to give you a number here, and you let me know if it's enough." I snatch my checkbook from my desk and scribble down a number in the top corner. "Have any plans for the holidays?"
Rose's mouth turns down into a pout. How much of this "good girl" thing is all an act? She’s a vixen to me… but maybe even she doesn’t know that yet. "I always just stay on campus. I love Christmas but..." Her eyes go distant and soft. "I'm not close with my family anymore."
I rip the check from the book and slide it across the table. Rose leans forward to take it, and her creamy fingertips brush mine.
A rush of blood surges down to my dick, jolting him awake, and I'm thankful for the desk between us. I want her savagely but I'll never take that which doesn’t belong to me. If I ever have her, it will be because she lays herself down in front of me.
After that, I can't make any promises of gentility.
Rose looks down and yelps, shooting out of her seat as if electrocuted. "Oh, Stuart!" she cries, eyelashes fluttering, and my eyelashes flutter a little, too. The stiffness in my cock maddens me. "This is so generous!"
"It's nothing," I tell her. Her petite frame is highlighted in the sunlight pouring in from the window behind my desk. Her hair is a goddamn cloud of gold. "Staying on campus seems like such a lonely way to spend Christmas." I can't believe I've never asked her before, even knowing about the fa
mily she came from: drug charges, jail time, then adoptive parents who were just gaming the welfare system. Maybe especially because I knew about the family that she came from, I've never asked about those holiday plans.
"It's fine," she says. "Thank you again for your donation, Stuart." I love hearing her thank me. I wish I could give her more than money to remember me by. "This blows my donation out of the water by a long shot!"
"I didn't know you donated as well." I raise and button my jacket again, reaching forward to take her hand and give it a shake. This is our custom but I completely forgot that I've also got a raging boner.
Rose's hand slides into mine, and her eyes drift down to the turgid member poking at my trousers. They cloud with lust, maybe even curiosity, and then her gaze flicks up to my face and clears.
"Of course," she answers with a swallow. "I probably sank too much money into United for Global Health but... I just can't stop."
I love hearing her say those words: I just can't stop.
"Oh, Rose," I murmur to her, slinging my arm around the curvaceous small of her back. I guide her toward the exit. She's so small in my embrace but it's also a perfect fit. "How could any one woman—a college student, for God's sake—be so damn good?"
"For God's sake, I guess," she answers. Her eyes turn up to mine as we reach the door, and I suddenly feel the danger I couldn't feel before. It's in those eyes. Touching is okay... as long as we don't make eye contact. My rager stirs again. "Every time I think that I want something..." she goes on, eyes mercilessly glued to mine, "I remember how much other people need."
My finger sweeps under her chin, tilting her face. So close. So vulnerable. If I crushed my lips against hers right here, would she pull away? "They're not the only ones in need. You can want something and take it, Rose. Take it. There's nothing wrong with that. Taking is how I got into the position where I can give."
"Right," Rose croaks. "Just take it."
Are we still talking about money?
“Don’t tell me this is going to be the last time I see you.” I’m certain that it will be. United for Global Health is ran through the college, and she won’t be a student anymore.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rose begins, her eyelashes flashing down. A shock of hair falls into her face and she pushes her spring-like locks of gold hair back out of her face.
There’s a sharp knock at my office door, and Rose jolts. The connection of my finger on her chin is broken, and the spell with it. Damn it.
"Yes?" I hiss.
My secretary's meek voice bleeds through the door. "Your two o'clock is here, sir," she informs me.
I glower at the door and then smile down at Rose. "As always," I say, almost whispering. "It's lovely to see you. I wish Christmas came more than once a year."
"Me, too," she breathes.
I wish you could come more often, too.
"Merry Christmas, Stuart."
"Merry Christmas."
I open the door for her and watch her go, saddened. Then my eyes light across Leo di Reyes, one of the other billionaires in my network. He's one of the most powerful men I know—the owner of Mystique Island—and he watches Rose with the same hunger I have as she strolls through the office and into the elevator.
"Leo," I greet him, giving his hand a vigorous shake. I'm also trying to get his eyes off my Rose. "Shouldn't you be insanely busy right now?"
Mystique Island always throws elaborate holiday events for its guests, and Christmas is only a few days away.
"I am but I was in the neighborhood," he allows. "I have an offer to make you, Stu, and I doubt you're going to turn it down."
"Oh?"
"Oh, yeah. This year at Mystique Island... the guests have wish lists. And I bet I can guess who is on the top of yours."
Chapter Two
Rose
I'm always too hot after seeing Stuart.
The crisp December weather should cool my skin but it doesn't. It never does. I'm feverish, and what's worse, the crotch of my tights is all wet. My pussy throbs, and I feel the urge to stuff my hands down there and rub it hard. My pussy—ugh, I always struggle to say that word—torments me the entire way back to my dorm.
How can he stand to be gorgeous like that? He’s in his early forties now but he doesn’t look a day over twenty-eight to me. Okay, maybe thirty, but still.
His steely black hair has just a few threads of gray near the temples, enough to hint at his maturity. It’s always impeccably styled but that doesn’t detract from his masculinity. I like it most when it’s just loose, though. It looks so thick and soft. His only wrinkles are laugh lines. His bright gray eyes never seem tired, and his skin is perpetually sun-kissed.
Don’t even get me started on the way his body fills a room… Those shoulders. He might be a billionaire CEO now but he looks like a body builder. His sleek suits do little to dampen the biceps straining at the material of his sleeves, while the buttons on his shirt teeter and almost pop every time that broad chest takes a breath. I’m flushed and dizzy just thinking about it all. He’s so sexy.
And his body is so big, it makes me wonder about the parts of him I can’t see at all.
One in particular.
"Maybe I'm getting sick," I tell myself as I enter my dorm room. I strip off the large coat and the tights. Air circulates between my thighs, alleviating some of this desperate itch down there but it's still not enough, and I give in to temptation.
Like I do every time.
I throw myself onto my bed and spread my legs.
I normally don't do this. It only happens after seeing Stuart, and yes, I feel bad about it. I know that it's wrong but I can't stop. He brings it out in me.
My fingers tickle my clit and unleash a current of relief. The muscles in my thighs flutter and flex and my hips grind. I seethe and ride myself closer to orgasm, letting my imagination wander in ways that it never does.
Stuart and I are at his office door again but this time, the secretary doesn't knock. This time, his finger isn't under my chin. It's inside my panties.
"Oh, yes," I moan, writhing. "Fuck, yes."
My eyes roll back in my head and orgasm crashes between my legs.
I guess never masturbating has made my clit extra sensitive, and I sit up with sweat on the back of my neck, with my hair everywhere, my cheeks hot. That seriously took about thirty seconds.
I've never had a man inside me. Men are mostly pigs, I’ve been told repeatedly. And—when you have hair like mine and breasts like mine—you tend to find that out first-hand, if you aren’t careful. So I think more about my studies and my future than about sex or love. The ideas seem laughable, like something out of a fairy tale. Just not meant to be.
Not the men that I know, anyway.
But Stuart brings a new woman out of me every time I see him... and she’s different. She’s fully capable of saying words like “cock.” And “pussy.”
Sometimes I'm relieved to get out of there so I don't do anything stupid, like forget to talk while I’m staring at him.
It's Stuart who taught me how to masturbate, even though he doesn't know that, of course. I only felt the urge to experiment with my own fingers after I first met him three years ago, when I was nineteen. That was my first orgasm. I imagined my hands were his hands.
I'll probably never see him again after I graduate, and the thought brings a sigh from my lips. I roll over onto my side and my eyelashes drift shut. I exhale, long and low. And I drift off to sleep thinking about those warm, attentive gray eyes fixed to me, sleep thinking about his strong fingers scooped beneath my chin.
And that bulge in his pants...
*
I'm startled awake by the sound of knocking at my dorm room door, and I glower in confusion at the window facing east. Pure, soft light courses through the window. It must be morning. I came so hard I passed out and slept all night.
I feel a little victorious and smug at that, and swing my legs over the mattress. My dress from yesterday is wrinkle
d and the tights are gone. My thighs still have a light, sweet stickiness on them.
I open the front door and lean on the frame, peering with curiosity at the beautiful young woman standing in my doorway. She's got gobs of auburn hair, dangerous curves, and she wears what appears to be a uniform. She looks like a professional delivery girl but her outfit is short, tight, and sexy, more like the college Halloween version of a delivery girl.
"I'm looking for a woman named Rose Parsons," she informs me, her eyes sparkling conspiratorially. "I've got some priority mail here."
She flashes me a thick, waxy golden envelope, and what appear to be legitimate diamonds catch the light. I gape and almost snatch the thing from her, I'm so intrigued by it.
"I'm Rose," I tell her, stretching out my hand. She passes me the envelope and I rip it open, even though it’s a shame to do so. I’ve never seen stationary so fucking beautiful, pardon my French.
You are cordially invited to join us for the Christmas Ball on Mystique Island. Masks will be required at all times during the course of your stay over the weekend. All clothing, food, and accommodations will be provided for you. Welcome to the sexiest event of your life.
Hm. My brow furrows as I trace the beautiful calligraphy on this invitation. It's a Christmas ball on an island called Mystique Island? I've never heard of it. All expenses paid. But it also says “sexiest event” and “masks.” Huh.
"I’m pretty sure this is a mistake," I say, my gaze tilting back to the delivery girl. "Maybe there’s another Rose Parsons at this dorm.”
The redhead presses her lips together and shakes her head, slow and satisfied, as if she relishes with certainty the fact that this invitation was meant for me.
“No way,” she says. “It’s you, doll. Just look at you. I’ve been delivering these all day. You’re the one.”
I bite at my lower lip and glance back down at the paper. “Why was I… chosen? What is this?"
"Your attendance has been requested by one of our most elite Mystique Island members," she answers me, eyes still sparkling. "It's owned by a festive billionaire, I’m not at liberty to disclose his identity but he is a great man, and he loves to throw these elaborate holiday parties for the other men in his billionaire club. Elaborate… and sexual parties."
