First Comes Love: A Billionaires, Brides, and Babies Romance

by Alexis Angel

  I can tell she wants to back away, that me closing the distance between us is making her waver, but she stands her ground, tilting her chin up to pin me with those crystalline eyes.

  “You’re an executive.” She purses her lips. “Wall Street, maybe? You work too much. But you make up for it by playing just as hard.”

  I smile. Maybe it’s the Armani suit, but so far, she’s right on the money.

  “You also aren’t used to being told no.” It’s her turn to smile now, cool and disdainful.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I say, spreading my arms wide, grinning like a fucking fool now because this girl has me pegged. “I know what I want, and I go after it.”

  She regards me for a moment, then takes a step toward me, bringing us close enough that all I’d have to do is shift my weight and our bodies would be flush against each other.

  “So what do you want…Evan?”

  The way she says my name, low, slow, and fuck-me-now levels of sexy, has my cock twitching, begging to be set free and to claim this woman as my own.

  I reach up and take a strand of her silky blonde hair and twirl it around my finger before giving it a little tug.

  “I want to push you up against that wall over there. I want to reach up under this tiny excuse for a dress and feel how fucking wet you are for me. Then I want to rip your lacy thong right off you and stuff it in your mouth while I make you come all over my fingers. Then I want to make you come all over my face.”

  Her mouth drops open, and she blinks rapidly, like she can’t believe what I just said.

  “What’s the matter, baby? Never had a man talk dirty to you before?”

  She bites her lip, then gives herself a little shake before smirking up at me. Then with a toss of her hair, she spins on her heel again and walks toward the door, her hips swaying in a way that makes me want to fuck her so hard she won’t be able to walk straight for days.

  With one last glance over her shoulder, she calls back to me, “Maybe next time.”

  Three

  Emilia

  What the hell was that? Dude is, like, intense.

  Those eyes. I’m still trying to figure out if Evan’s some kind of vampire or some shit, compelling me to do his will.

  And you know what? If he is, sign me up. Take a fucking bite out of me. Please.

  But not tonight.

  I walk toward the elevator, replaying everything that just happened. And god, if I’m still going out, I’m totally going to have to change my panties now. Because Evan was right.

  I’m totally fucking wet for him.

  As I reach for the elevator button, I realize my hand is shaking.

  I, Emilia Adams, am shaken up over a guy. What even?

  I pride myself on never letting my guard down. All fun, all the time. The party girl.

  The one you can count on for a good time, maybe for a good fuck, but who always has the upper hand.

  But right now, I’m totally rattled by what just happened.

  The only thing I know for certain is that I need to stay far, far away from this guy Evan.

  And I also know, somehow, that it’s going to be impossible.

  Not just because we live in the same building, either. But because I’m pretty damn sure I won’t be able to get him out of my head until I’ve satisfied my curiosity.

  It will be on my terms, though. Not his.

  I’m half-angry, half-turned on when I think about the way he oh-so-casually just assumed that all he had to do was flash that infuriatingly charming grin and say a few dirty things in that sexy, rumbling voice and I’d be putty in his hands.

  Nope. Not this girl.

  But fuck, I’m practically vibrating from his touch. Just the memory of how it felt to have his breath on my neck, his hard body beneath my hands has me whimpering out loud.

  Jesus.

  “Pull it together, Em,” I mutter to myself as the elevator chimes and the door whooshes open.

  He’s not my type. At all. Yet, somehow, I feel like he’s everything I’ve been missing and didn’t even know.

  But that’s ridiculous. Fanciful, even. I roll my eyes as I angrily punch the button for Erin’s floor.

  Nope. Not going to do this. I’m going to go straight to Erin’s apartment and drag her ass out for a night on the town.

  Just as the elevator door starts to slide closed, a tanned, muscled arm pushes back against it, and it opens up again.

  I plaster a pleasant smile on my face, not wanting whomever this is to see me in this conflicted stated.

  And…it’s him.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter.

  He grins, charming, dashing, debonair, all the bullshit words one would attribute to a guy like this.

  “If you insist.”

  For a moment, I think he’s going to try to pin me up against the wall of the elevator and do all the deliciously dirty things he promised in the lounge. He reaches his hand toward me. Then just stares at me expectantly, his fingers inches from my waist.

  I give him the stink-eye. “What the fuck, dude?”

  Evan clears his throat. “Um, just want to push the button for my floor.” He nods his head toward the row of buttons that I’m actually leaning against.

  I shift to my right and my face burns as I realize that in my attempt to be casual, I happened to light up almost all of the buttons on the panel.

  An amused smirk crosses his chiseled features.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a long ride.”

  I roll my eyes. Is he always like this with the innuendos?

  I wonder briefly what floor he’s on, but don’t bother asking. If I’m pretending I’m not interested…err, I mean, if I’m not interested, no sense in giving off the impression I care.

  “What do you do, Emilia?” he asks as the doors slide open at the next floor and neither of us get out.

  Small talk, then. Okay, I can handle that.

  “I’m a writer.”

  He looks genuinely intrigued. “What kind of writer?” The doors close again.

  “I write romance.” Then I wait. It’s inevitable.

  Now, a salacious grin crosses those perfect lips. Lips which are still burning my hand from their touch.

  “Like sexy romance?”

  And there it is, folks.

  Every. Fucking. Time.

  I can’t tell anyone I’m a romance writer without them immediately thinking I write porn or some shit. I mean…I do like it hot. Naughty. Filthy, even.

  But people don’t seem to see that it’s more than that.

  At the heart of it, it’s about love.

  Ironic, though, that I’ve never experienced that for myself.

  “Yes, Evan,” I reply, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice. His smile is kind of contagious like that. “Sexy romance.”

  I think he’s about to say something else, something stupid and immature like ‘Let me know if you need help with any research’ or some shit.

  But instead, when the elevator stops at the next floor—my floor—and the doors slide open, Evan gives me a wink and a grin, and says, “This is me,” then steps off the elevator.

  Just like that. Now I’m the one left hanging, wanting more? How did he flip the script on me so fast?

  I’m torn. Do I get off here at my floor? Maybe find out which apartment is his?

  Or do I keep it to myself that we’re closer neighbors than I realized and ride my ass on down to Erin’s floor?

  The elevator makes the decision for me as the doors slide shut again.

  But then I do something that shocks even me.

  I jab the button to open the doors again, then step out of the elevator myself.

  Fuck.

  I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.

  I know this guy is all wrong for me.

  But at the same time, something about him screams oh-so-right.

  It’s crazy. I don’t shy away from anything or anyone. But somehow, I instinctively know Evan isn�
��t just anyone.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me, that arrogant smile gracing that perfect face of a god yet again.

  “I thought you had plans.”

  He says it tauntingly, like he’s testing me.

  I tilt my head back and stare him dead in the eye. Challenge accepted.

  “Something better just came up.”

  Game on.

  Four

  Evan

  “Say it.”

  Our bodies slam against the door to my place. I’ve got one palm on the mahogany paneling, and the other wrapped up in a fistful of Emilia’s hair. Her eyes are shaded by the thickness of her eyelashes, but they’re not closed in ecstasy.

  They’re staring at my lips, so fucking close to hers.

  This fucking girl. Just begging to be kissed.

  “I’m not fucking saying it.”

  “Say it,” I urge. This time with a very convincing thrust of my hips against hers.

  I’m hard, thick, and long enough that I already know she’s going to struggle to take it.

  But first, I want to hear the words from her sexy little mouth.

  “Not on your life,” she growls, meeting my eyes.

  Jesus. Her eyes. They’re so fucking blue they almost look Photoshopped. If I saw a picture of this girl in a magazine, I’d blink twice and call bullshit.

  I get lost in them for a second anyway, searching for the edge of a colored contact and coming up short. Fuck me. She’s actually for real.

  I forget myself. I take her fucking lips.

  She tastes like nothing I’ve ever encountered before—and I’ve done a lot of taste testing in my life. It’s not strawberries, or champagne, or any of that bullshit. If anything, she tastes like blue agave.

  Like fine tequila, a lick of salt, and a squeeze of lime.

  But it’s not just that. My tongue slips between her lips and slides against hers, searching to verify and to figure her out.

  To taste more.

  It’s fucking unnatural, how good she tastes.

  A little tangy. A little bitter. A little sweet.

  It’s that taste you get in your mouth when you can feel the wind on your face and adrenaline coursing through your veins. It’s the taste of a moment in time when you know your entire life is about to change—better or worse.

  Which is fucking insane, when you think about it. This sexy little piece just followed me out of the elevator and came at me, hungry for man meat.

  Everything about Emilia screams I don’t do relationships anyway.

  She’s an ice princess, a fucking man eater.

  It’s a tale as old as time. But it’s not the kind of story that makes it into fairy tales—fuck no. Alpha male, alpha female. We’re a pairing better suited for the history books.

  “Say it,” I command. For the last fucking time.

  “Say what, Evan?”

  I smirk against her lips. “The something better that came up. Admit it. It’s me.”

  Now she’s the one grinding against my hips.

  “I’ll say,” she purrs.

  My cock throbs as I unlock the door behind her, and we stumble inside.

  This is a casual hook-up. I have to remind myself of that much. Casual. One night of passion. Nothing more.

  We’re two celestial giants that just got a little too close to each other in our mutual paths through the universe. Got wrapped up in each other’s orbits, and now, we’re going for a little spin in each other’s atmospheres.

  Emilia’s atmosphere smells like gardenias and lilies and wet cunt. I kiss her again, savoring the taste of her lips, as I pick her up and throw her onto my leather armchair.

  Wet cunt.

  There’s another set of lips I want to taste next.

  I don’t even have time for the expensive little piece of cloth she’s calling a dress.

  I drop to my knees and shove it up around her waist.

  The rest, I’ll deal with later. Right now, I have some promises to make good on.

  “You’re fucking soaked.”

  I breathe her in as I force her thighs apart, kneeling before her like a humble patron of a sex-crazed goddess. But if I’m a believer, I’m a greedy one. I remind her of it as I run my teeth along the smooth expanse of her inner thigh.

  “Why might that be, Emilia?”

  “Some asshole in the elevator up here went and got me wet.”

  She half-smiles, eyes drunk with lust, as she grabs the back of my head and reels me in.

  “Why don’t you take care of it?”

  “Yeah? Is that what you want?”

  She narrows her eyes at me, lips pulling back in a sultry snarl.

  “Evan, I don’t ask twice.”

  Fuck. Her voice—that breathy, dominant croon that makes my cock stiff as forged steel and my chest go tight. The fucking entitlement—like she thinks she can play me like a baby grand piano just because her slender little fingers know exactly where to push.

  She makes my blood boil and my mouth flood with saliva.

  I do want to fucking taste her.

  But not on her terms.

  On mine.

  “You little slut,” I snarl back at her. I pull her hips out from under her, placing her where I want. “You still think you’re in control here, don’t you?”

  There’s a grin on my lips now, and let me tell you—it’s not a nice one. This little princess followed the trail of crumbs I left for her, thinking that she could have her cake and eat it too.

  Now it’s time she learned her place.

  “I am in control,” she tells me, moving her hips toward my mouth in a way that would make a lesser man beg for mercy, lose his mind, and thank her for the privilege.

  It only makes me fucking laugh.

  “Is that what you think?”

  I hook my fingers around her panties, tugging them down off her broad, goddess hips.

  Pink lace La Perlas. And I wasn’t kidding earlier.

  They’re practically fucking dripping, they’re so soaked.

  “It’s what I know,” she tells me, all haughty and smug as I take her panties in my fist and raise them to my nose. “Think about it, handsome. Which one of us is on our knees sniffing panties, and which one of us is sitting pretty on the throne?”

  I feel a growl rise in the back of my throat as I look up at her darkly. The sweet musk of her cunt is in the air, and the source is right here before me, ripe for the taking.

  And I’m a man of my word.

  I fucking take it.

  In one swift motion, I slip two fingers between her hot, slick pussy lips and force them so deep into her cunt. Her sexy fucking mouth gapes open in a gasp.

  And those pretty pink La Perlas, soaked and dripping with her cum?

  I shove them between her lips so maybe she’ll shut the fuck up for once.

  “You’re about to learn a valuable lesson, beautiful.”

  My fingers twitch inside the tight, hot pink of her cunt while the pink of her panties pokes out between her lips. “It doesn’t matter if I’m on my knees or you’re tied to my fucking bed—I’m in charge.”

  Five

  Emilia

  He’s got the thickest fucking fingers I’ve ever seen—and felt.

  And right now, there are two of them knuckle-deep in my pussy, teasing me toward an orgasm that I don’t even want to give him the satisfaction of bringing me to.

  …Except that I do want.

  I want a whole fucking lot.

  It’s not often that I feel overwhelmed, but I’m quickly realizing that I’m in over my goddamn head.

  I’m undeniably attracted to all that alpha male bullshit. I’ll be the first to admit it. It’s obnoxious, it’s anti-feminist, but hey—at least it’s fucking hot.

  Just, usually all the male posturing has crumpled beneath me right now. There’s just something about me that does that to men—they growl at me, I bite back, and just like that, their manhood whimpers like a kicked puppy and curls up in a corner o
n the floor.

  Not Evan, though.

  When I bite this fucking man, he bites back.

  And he goes right for the fucking throat.

  “You fucking like that, don’t you?”

  A dark laugh spills from his throat, like cold water onto black ice.

  “Admit it, Emilia.”

  His fingers probe deeper still, and I cry out as they find what he’s been looking for.

  Bingo. Yatzhee. Jackpot.

  The sound of my whimper is muffled by the pink lace of my La Perlas, stuffed between my lips and wet against my tongue.

  Evan leans into me. His lips are only a fraction of an inch away from the place where my neck meets my jaw.

  “Ah…that’s right,” he purrs. “You can’t, can you? Christ…I hope you know what a fucking snack you look like right now with your pretty little panties in your mouth.”

  I bite down on the lace between my back molars as I try to shift my hips away.

  There’s an orgasm on my horizon. Especially if he keeps talking to me like that.

  And god. I seriously do want him to keep talking to me like that.

  Especially when he just keeps fingering me harder in spite of my struggles.

  “Taste yourself, beautiful,” he hisses in my ear. “Taste the evidence of how fucking wet you are for me while you come around my fingers…and I’ll give you what you want.”

  I close my eyes, breathing heavy…and I do it.

  I let the taste of my honey register on my tongue.

  Tangy, salty, sweet and musky.

  I’m a fucking dessert right now. Apple. Caramel. Vanilla. Coconut.

  “Come for me, Em,” Evan growls. “Come for me, and tell me what you want.”

  Fuck. The sound of his voice makes my fucking cunt spasm.

  And after that?

  After that, it’s all over.

  “Mmmphf!” I moan, tossing my head back against the leather back of the armchair.

  My pussy is in a world made of pink-hot heat, and I can feel my honey gushing over his fingers as my whole body spasms, soaked in warmth. The orgasm rips through me, violently and passionately, and with an equal force to every other orgasm I’ve had right up until this point—combined.