Mr. So Wrong

by R. C. Stephens

  “Al, please,” I moan, and I don’t know what I’m asking for, but he does. His hands come up to knead my breasts, and my hips move against his sinful tongue. I come hard and fast. It feels like too much, and I try to inch away from him. He doesn’t relent, sucking my clit and drawing out my orgasm longer until my body is sated and my mind is calm. He stands and takes a seat beside me, wrapping me up in his strong arms. He reminds me that he will love me forever. We kiss, and he tastes like me, and I’m sure I taste like him. We mesh together as one.

  We lie together, and he brushes some loose hair off my face, looking at me with love in his eyes. “I love you,” he whispers, and I close my eyes and fall asleep on his chest.

  The phone rings, pulling me from my slumber. I open my eyes to see Al isn’t beside me on the couch, but I am naked with one of the throw blankets covering me, so I know that I wasn’t fantasizing.

  “It’s your dad on the phone,” he calls out from the kitchen. He walks toward me with a pair of boxers, his strong abs moving with the motion. My cell is in his hand. Papa doesn’t call often. He is who he is, but I try to stay in touch at least once a month.

  I press the talk button. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Sam,” his deep voice comes through the phone.

  “What’s up, Papa?” I ask, because there must be a reason for him to call on a Sunday evening.

  “I’ve got news.”

  “I figured as much,” I say, my own voice tired and raspy.

  The phone is silent.

  “Papa?”

  “I sold the ranch,” he says, shocking the hell out of me.

  “You what?” I ask, surprised. That ranch has been in the family going on a third generation now.

  “You heard me. Sold it to the Neumanns. It made sense. You and your sister weren’t going to take over here, and my old ass is tired of working. Neumann paid a good price, so I have that to retire on.”

  “Wow! I mean … that’s great news,” I mutter.

  “It’s the end of an era. That’s what the fuck it is, but it is what it is,” he says. “Just wanted you to know. You said that maybe you’d be coming back here for Thanksgiving. I thought that’d be a good idea. Told Neumann they can have the place first week of December.”

  “Okay, sure. Yeah …” I answer, still feeling a little frazzled by the news. I haven’t been home in eight months. I miss my best friends dearly, but they understand that I am trying to make myself a life, and Kell, Leslie, and I talk weekly. “We’ll see you Thanksgiving. I’m sure Mack, Autumn, and Ethan will be there too.”

  “Make sure to bring that man of yours too,” he says, and I can’t help but chuckle.

  “Al will be there too, Papa,” I say as if it’s obvious.

  “Good.”

  The other line beeps, and Izzy’s name lights up my screen.

  “Papa, I have Al’s sister on the other line. I have to take it.”

  “Alright. Bye then.” He hangs up and I switch calls.

  “Hey, Izzy. How are you?” She moved to New York around the same time Al and I did. She enrolled in a design program at NYU, so I see her around campus. We meet for coffee and she sometimes joins Al and me for dinner. We’re the same age, so we get along well. She’s been having guy problems as in she can’t find a nice guy to date.

  “Ugh,” she answers, and I wonder what that’s about. “I just got on a scale, and I put on fifteen pounds.” She groans into the phone. “It isn’t normal to put on fifteen pounds in six months.” I can only picture the sour face she’s making. She can be overdramatic.

  “You can come to the gym with me. I just signed up at this new place around the corner. It’s nice and clean. They have great classes too.”

  “I haven’t moved my ass since I started school last January. I’ll make a fool of myself,” she says, and I chortle. I’ve never signed up to a gym in my life, but Al keeps me in good shape with all the sex we have. I don’t share that info with Izzy.

  “Come on. I’m in class all day tomorrow, and Al has a late night at work. Why don’t we meet at the gym then grab some dinner?” I suggest. I really do like to work out after a long day of classes.

  “That sounds nice,” she says. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I answer.

  Al walks up to me and taps his watch. “Homework,” he mumbles, and his lips twist in a wry smile.

  “Izzy, I’ll text you a time tomorrow. I have a paper to finish up for my composition class, and I’m not so good at pulling all-nighters.”

  “Oh yeah, sure go ahead. Let’s touch base …” her voice trails off, and I wonder what’s happened to the call.

  “Izzy? You there?” I ask.

  I hear what sounds like a muffled cry. “Izzy, what’s going on?”

  “It’s my mother,” she cries into the phone.

  “Did something happen?” As I ask the question, I look up to Al and his brows pinch together. He hasn’t seen his mother in eleven years, even though she gives him an occasional phone call.

  “She’s got cancer, Sam. Breast cancer. The prognosis is good but …”

  “I’m so sorry, Izzy. That’s really scary even with a good prognosis,” I say, and Al watches me as I watch him. He’s wanted nothing to do with his family, but truth is they haven’t reached out to him either.

  “Mom wants to see Al,” she says, and I figured as much. I don’t know why Izzy is having this conversation with me instead of Al. The only thing I can think of is that she fears he won’t see his mother.

  “He’s right here. Do you want to tell him yourself?” I offer.

  “I was thinking you could convince him to go see her. I know she’s made a lot of mistakes where he’s concerned, but she’s full of regret, and now that she’s starting chemo … I don’t know, she just wants to set things right,” she says.

  “Let me talk to him and if you need anything just stop by or call. Whatever you need,” I say. That’s one thing about living in New York that I can’t get used to: we don’t have guests stopping by all the time and getting in our business. The downside to big city living.

  “Thanks, Sam. I really do appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” I sigh. “You take care, darling.”

  “You too.” She ends the call, and I look up to Al and blow out a breath.

  It looks like he understood a lot from the conversation already.

  “It’s my mom isn’t it?” he asks, and his face has paled.

  “Take a seat.” I pat the couch beside me. He sits and waits, looking straight ahead. “It’s breast cancer. She’s starting chemo. Her prognosis is good.”

  He blows out a harsh breath and nods his head. He runs his hands up and down his thighs, and I want to ease his pain. I know him, though. He needs to process this on his own time, so I give him quiet and space. I wait. A few minutes pass.

  “I should go see her. I don’t want to regret not seeing her,” he says matter-of-factly, but his eyes carry a heaviness.

  “Okay.” I take his hand. “I can come with you if you want me to.”

  “I’d like that.” He brings my hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

  “I’m going to go take a shower.” He stands from the couch and walks away. I give him a head start but decide to follow him because I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. I’ve had my share of bad times. I enter the bathroom. The glass shower walls are all steamed up. I place my arms around his neck and press kisses onto his back. He turns and captures my mouth, and I let him love me. He pushes my back against the steamed glass and lifts me in the air. I wrap my legs around him and he fucks me hard. His emotions and his frustrations come out in the way he touches me with rough fingers, and I know sex isn’t the solution. I know we will be faced with problems in our lives and hard choices. This is about me showing him that he isn’t alone, and it feels so different than sex for thrills.

  We leave the shower and my eyes widen when I look at the clock on th
e bedside table.

  “Shit.”

  “You better get your homework done,” he says with that deep voice that has an air of command. His lips twist a little, but the smile is weak. I scramble to my feet. “You love to tell me to do my homework.” I shake my head at him because he gets some kinky kick out of it.

  “You don’t like to pull all-nighters?” It’s a question. He wraps his arms around my waist.

  “To write papers,” I clarify. “With you in bed, no problem.”

  “Glad you cleared that up because I’m still hard,” he whispers against my ear, and his warm breath sends goose bumps and shivers down my body.

  “Don’t. Please. I need to get my work done. I can’t focus if I’m thinking of your hard cock.” I pout and take a few steps away from him.

  “How do you think I felt Friday morning in court when you sent me a pic of your breasts?” he asks.

  My eyes widen. “You didn’t mention having court.” I bite my lip, and my voice is filled with mock regret.

  “You knew I had family court,” he insists.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Okay, I may have known you had family court. I thought it would brighten your day,” I say, and it’s the truth.

  “Oh! It brightened my day alright. I pictured sliding my dick between your breasts when I was cross-examining my witness. I need to come across as assertive, not distracted.” He grins.

  “You thought of sliding your cock here?” I ask, touching the spot between my breasts. His eyes drop to my naked chest and heat sparks in his glare. Oh dear, I am never going to finish that paper. Or I’m going to finish it at the ass crack of dawn because we can’t stop fucking. I used to have to wake up for the cows that early. Now I need to wake up to do my school work because Al and I can’t keep our hands off each other. It isn’t a complaint. He’s my person, my rock, the man of my dreams.

  “Come here, Princess,” he says. I walk toward him and wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. I allow him to carry me to bed. I allow him to love me because he taught me to love myself, to respect myself. He taught me what love is, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving him in a way that he deserves to be loved.

  About the Author

  R.C. Stephens is the best selling author of the Twisted Series, Dick, Halo, Where Promises Die and Mr. All Wrong.

  She lives in Toronto with her husband and three children. Loving Canadian winters she could never think of living anywhere else.

  Also by R.C. Stephens

  The Twisted Series

  Bitter Sweet Love

  Twisted Love

  Wild Cards

  Standalones

  Dick: A Bad Boys Novel

  Halo

  Where Promises Die

  Mister Series

  Mr. All Wrong

  Mr. So Wrong

  Mr. Unexpected (2018)

  Sneak Peek

  Turn the page to read the first two chapters of Mr. All Wrong

  Chapter One

  “I thought we were heading to Greensboro Elementary,” I say to Albert, my chief of staff, sitting beside me.

  He glares at me with his dark blue eyes giving me a sidelong glance, and I sense a hint of guilt in his glare. That’s never a good thing coming from him. He straightens his tie and tilts his head to the side. “We have a slight detour.” His lips twist into a wry smile.

  “Detour?” I cock a brow. “I promised those kids a pizza lunch. They won a contest. I don’t need to tell you that I’m a man of my word.”

  Albert, also known as Albert Walsh the III, winced. “Your father thought we should make a pit stop at Henderson Place. The Bachmakers are having a ribbon-cutting ceremony. They’re tearing down Henderson Place and building a strip of condominiums there,” he explained as if it all made sense and it did, only I didn’t like the reason my presence was needed. I kept quiet, and Al continued. “Mr. Bachmaker believes in you. He wants to give his support for your campaign. Your father thought a quick show-your-face-and-handshake would go a long way in securing the contribution.”

  For fuck’s sake, I mutter under my breath. “I don’t know if I’m making that announcement.” I shake my head, and a light chortle escapes my mouth as I realize what my life has become. “Al, can you see me running for President of the United States? It would be a fucking gong show.”

  Al throws back his head laughing at the thought. “I guess most people don’t know you stuck your head in a toilet when you were six because you wanted to save poor old Marty,” he reminds me of the time I tried to save my goldfish. I had come home from kindergarten to an empty fish bowl. Dad fed me the story that Marty needed a swim and he accidentally got flushed down the toilet by our maid. The truth was, Marty died, and Dad didn’t know how to break the news. I went all superhero and tried to save poor old Marty. In my six-year-old mind, it was feasible to look down the toilet drain. Of course, there was no Marty.

  “Exactly, I’m the guy who shoves his head down the toilet. I’m not the right fucking guy to run for office.”

  Al’s lips press together, and his head tilts to the side assessing me as if he doesn’t get me. “And yet here you are Mr. Governor of the Great State of Illinois.” His tone is playful yet reminds me how I became governor. How my father’s constant meddling in my life got me to do things I didn’t want to do. If it were up to me, I’d be working in the prosecutor’s office, or maybe I’d take on some pro bono cases. Lord knows I didn’t need the money.

  “Yes, and as governor, you would think I would have control to make decisions about the little things in my life like having a pizza lunch with Ms. Fitz’s second-grade class while learning about the innovative learning strategies used at Greensboro Elementary.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my tone, but sometimes my father’s meddling was too much.

  Al looks at his watch. “This’ll only take twenty minutes tops.” He gives me a have some patience for my father’s meddling look because Al believes I should be the next President of the United States. The polls are agreeable too. I’m the one itching for something different in my life. Sort of a mid-life crisis but since I’m only thirty-five, it probably doesn’t classify. It’s more like I am having an awakening. I don’t like the direction my life is taking. Before I know it, I will be forty and the ex-president of the United States. It’s a huge accomplishment for a person whose passion is to become president. It’s just not my passion. I sound like a spoiled brat born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but that doesn’t mean my life’s been happy or straightforward for that matter. It gets to a point where material things are meaningless. Even titles for my power-hungry father become obsolete.

  I nod. “Sometimes I think my father hypnotizes you in your sleep. You fucking bend to his every whim.” I chastise my chief of staff, who is also my best friend.

  He chortles. “I did see a faint old figure hanging over my bed last night.”

  “Not fucking funny. I love my old man, but sometimes his need to have me succeed gives me fucking nightmares. I should finish this term as governor then go back to being a lawyer,” I say, knowing my best friend wouldn’t agree. When you’re raised with old money your parents and, in my case my father, has ingrained in me a need to achieve more, move higher up in the ranks of power. Money can provide for materialistic bliss but can’t buy love. My father comes from the Mathis family. One of America’s wealthiest families. They make candy. I know it sounds cool but even getting all the free candy you want as a child becomes old. My father left the family business to become a lawyer and was a partner in the most prominent law firm in Chicago. He planned to enter politics, but there were glitches along the way. He found himself a single father to a young boy instead. Now he lives his dreams through me.

  “You know that isn’t how life works,” Al retorts and I watch as his blue eyes turn dark like he’s thinking of something morbid. I’ve called him on it a few times, but he’s a hard shell to crack. His father, a tycoon in the technology industry, wanted Al t
o come work in the family conglomerate so he could groom him to take over the Walsh empire one day. Just as Al was getting ready to take on the reigns of Walsh Industries they had a big blow out. Al was all hush hush about it. Said some family secrets were best laid to rest. He walked away from his family who then blacklisted him for over a decade even though his mother kept in touch with him secretly behind his father’s back, and his little sister also made visits out to see him since they live in Texas. I remember that day like it was yesterday. He was angry, seething and hurt. He had heard my father’s plans for me on more than one occasion. That day he said let’s go for it. “Let’s pave our own way to the white house. You can be President, and I’ll be behind the scenes.” I huff out a puff of air. He had no clue how jealous I was of him that day. The way he walked away and didn’t look back. The way he went after what he wanted. That day I gave my father the go ahead. Told him I’d run for the position of the state attorney. I won. Only the price I was paying was too high. All my life I’ve felt like I had a noose around my neck. My father’s grave baritone voice is constantly ringing in my head, brainwashing me to be the best. I never had the chance to be a kid, have fun. I was always in one extracurricular activity after the next. Most of them were private lessons, so I didn’t even get to socialize. My existence was pathetic. Even today at age thirty-five and a long list of accomplishments, I felt inadequate.

  “You mean how my life works.” I couldn’t help but snap. “Say it, Al. I’m a fucking coward. I’ve let the guilt of my father’s sacrifices rule my life but when does it end?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t always let the guilt rule. Africa was you sticking it to the old man. And working in the prosecutor’s office,” Al reminds me of all the times I defied my father. The list is short. Working in the prosecutor’s office was a big one, but I didn’t want to work in his law firm as a defense attorney. And Africa… while attending Harvard, Al and I decided to join the Peace Corps while we were on summer break. We loved it so much we went back for another two summers. My father had other plans for me. He wanted me to spend some time in Washington making political allies.