"Right, I'm coming to get you, you little shit."
I pulled on my boxers and went out into the hall, looking up at the ceiling until I noticed the entrance to the attic.
"Fucker, you're dead."
I pulled the rope for the latch and it came down with a clatter. Cooper stirred in his sleep but somehow didn't wake. That man could probably sleep through an apocalypse. Jumping up, I managed to latch my fingertips onto the edge of the opening and hoist myself up into the attic.
“Right, where are you?”
The bird was at the far corner of the room pecking away quite happily and I was getting hungry just watching him. I approached slowly but just one creak of a floorboard startled him and he flew away out the gap he’d just made. I peered out through it and saw him disappear far away into the distance.
“Fucker.”
It was time to get back to bed even though I doubted I could sleep in this heat now. I was just about to walk away, stooped down low with the slanted ceiling almost pressing up against my back when I tripped over a cardboard box.
The first thing that struck me was that the logo on the side was from an ice cream company that went bust in the fifties. The next thing I noticed was the stacks of newspapers inside. I wasn’t a cop for no reason. I had the urge to investigate.
Kneeling down, I picked out the first paper and saw a police sketch artist drawing of a peculiar looking man with familiar eyes. There was a headline just below him:
WANTED
D.B. COOPER
$15 000 REWARD
Best Friends To Lovers
Her Dominant Alpha Male Possessive Romance Series
Book 1-3
Brooke Kinsley
© 2016 All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses per law
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
"Erotica is literature designed to be read with one hand.."-Brooke Kinsley
Table of Contents
Insta Love (Book One)
Juicy Details (Book Two)
Uncensored (Book Three)
Insta Love
Best Friends To Lovers
Her Dominant Alpha Male Possessive Romance Series
Book One
Brooke Kinsley
© 2016 All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses per law
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
"Erotica is literature designed to be read with one hand.."-Brooke Kinsley
Description
Paige Manning has the seemingly perfect life, a respectable husband, a nice house in the suburbs and an easy job. But it doesn’t matter how many people envy her, she still can’t shake the feeling that everything’s wrong and of course, husband, Arthur is at the center of her troubles.
With her life in turmoil, she finds herself casting her mind back to being a teenager when the real love of her life, Sean was in her arms. If only their relationship wasn’t harboring not one, but two dark secrets. Things that could never let her sleep easy again…
With an aching desire to resolve the past, she seeks out Sean, now a successful psychiatrist. Posing as a patient, she reveals all and soon he can’t stop himself from falling in love again. But after eight years, life is increasingly complicated and both of them will have to learn to face the impossible.
Will Sean be able to stop himself falling into old dominating patterns? Or will Paige be only too happy to be his little girl again?
Chapter One
There was a strange wailing sound coming from the next room. Everyone in the waiting area glanced over at the mysterious green door as though we hoped we could see through to the pain and misery beyond it. The sign read Dr. Sean Slater – Psychotherapist.
Beside me, a stout woman with a pink shawl pulled around her shoulders, twiddled her fingers nervously in her frizzy, red hair. Her eyes were widening by the second as the wailing increased.
"Do you think she's okay?" she asked me.
"I hope so," I said. "I'm next."
The woman gave me a weak smile and turned to the magazines on the coffee table. I couldn't help but notice they were all women’s magazines, with headlines that simultaneously told us we looked great at any size while dishing out cake recipes. Would it hurt to toss in the occasional National Geographic?
At last, the wailing stop and the green door opened to reveal a girl about my age with smudged mascara. She dabbed a tissue at her face and sniffed as she said her goodbyes. I watched her exit through the waiting room and hurry into the elevator.
"Mrs. Manning?" a creamy voice asked.
I recognized that voice and it made my heart race. Keeping my eyes locked on the elevator, I gripped the upholstery of the seat and took a deep breath.
"Mrs. Manning?" he asked again.
Slowly, with my cheeks burning scarlet, I turned toward the doctor who leaned against the green door with a cocky smile. For the first time in eight years, our eyes met and there was a flicker of recognition across his face. He stood up straight and took a step back.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Slater," I said as though I'd never seen him before.
"Yes, erm. Please, do come in."
He ushered me inside and closed the door with a gentle click. The room smelled of old books and a new carpet. Fake house plants covered the window ledge, their rubber leaves tickling the top of medical journals.
"Please, do have a seat," he gestured toward the soft blue armchair.
He sat across from me in his own oxblood, leather seat that, in the confines of the room, seemed to resemble a throne. Pulling out a notepad, he crossed his legs and tilted his head back just enough to accentuate the squareness of his jaw. His face was just as strong and rugged as I remembered and, as the memories came back, I clamped my legs tight, worried that he'd somehow smell my arousal.
"So, this is your first time here, Mrs. Manning?"
"It is," I smiled politely.
Pulling out the small tub of lip balm I always carried, I pushed my finger into the coconut scented shea butter and ran it over my lips slowly. His eyes followed my red nail as it ran the circumference of my mouth, his pupils dilating ever so slightly as he licked his own lips.
Shaking his head to clear his mind, he turned back to the notepad with his golden fountain pen poised on top the royal blue Moleskine.
"Have you used other psychological services before?" he asked casually.
"No, you're the first. You have a tremendously good reputation in the psychodynamic community."
He smiled and ran a hand through his hair. I noticed it was longer now. I remembered it as being cropped, almost stubby like parched grass. Now it reached his ears and slicked back naturally over his head, a sign of his growing maturity perhaps.
He licked his lips again and looked at my shoes. They were too high and too tight to be worn to a doctor's office. That was why I chose them. His eyes traveled up my calves before tracing the line of my pencil skirt up and around my hips. At last, his eye
s focused back on mine and he parted his lips into a wicked smile.
"And that's Mrs. Manning? Is it? Dare I ask how long you've been married?"
There was a regretful look in his eyes as he scribbled something frantically.
"Yeah, Mrs. Been married eighteen months."
"It's still early days then," he said as he looked up.
I didn't respond.
His eyes were hovering over my hair. He was no doubt wondering when I turned platinum blonde.
"Well then. Let's get started."
He reached over to take a sip of coffee and I noticed the corny pun on the side of his cup.
"Freudian Sips. Very funny," I said with a rigidly, straight face.
He smiled and set his cup down.
"What can I say? Psychologists aren't famed for their humor."
We both laughed and again, there was that regretful look in his eyes.
"So, Mrs. Manning..."
"Please, call me Paige."
"Okay, Paige," he grinned. "Can you tell me a little about why you're here?"
I let out a frustrated sigh and began picking away at a fingernail.
"Well, I guess you could say I'm depressed. Can't shake the feeling I have a problem with my big toe."
"Your big toe?" he raised his eyebrows.
"My theory of everything," I explained. "Everything feels wrong, displaced, empty, as though maybe I made all the wrong choices when I was younger and now I'm experiencing the consequences."
His pen moved fast across the page.
"Hmmm... Uhuh... And can you tell me when this depression started? Was there a moment when the symptoms came to a head?"
I cast my mind back and rolled my eyes up to the ceiling.
"There's always been a darkness inside me," I said. "A self-loathing, a feeling that I never quite belonged. I thought it would disappear as I grew up. I thought it was just teenage melodrama or whatever but it's been getting stronger. I have everything I ever wanted in life but somehow, it's not really what I wanted at all."
"You almost sound as though you're experiencing some guilt about feeling that way."
I pursed my lips and tapped my foot against the chair leg.
"Yeah, there's a lot of guilt."
Again, our eyes met.
"And your husband, have you mentioned your depression to him?"
I looked back down to the ragged fingernail.
"I can't really tell him much of anything and to be honest. He's one of the reasons I think I'm depressed."
"Oh really?"
Again, he raised his eyebrows and stopped writing. Slamming his notebook shut, he set it down beside his empty coffee cup. Behind, his certificate hung on the wall. It felt so peculiar seeing his name prefixed by the two letters D and R. It made the situation a little surreal, more adult.
Leaning forward on his knees, he tangled his fingers together and gave me a knowing look.
"Can you tell me about your husband?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "It doesn't sound as though things are going well with him."
For a second I closed my eyes and thought about Arthur with his receding hairline and watery eyes. He was always in a perpetual state of dithering, flapping around from room to room as though he had no idea what to do. And still, despite knowing him almost three years, I couldn't describe his job. It was something in the city, he wore a suit and carried a briefcase. He often worked in procurement and there was the odd mention of pension schemes and insurance. He'd start to tell me about his day and I’d drift off.
When I met him I was on the rebound and just wanted to feel safe and know that I'd never have to worry about anything. So when he proposed and assured me he'd stay faithful and give me a comfortable life, I thought it sounded perfect. At the time it didn't matter that he was a little old for his age, that he hated going out and thought math puzzles were his idea of a fun night. It didn't even matter that his penis was chronically small and he could never satisfy me. He didn't cheat and he didn't hit me. What more could I want? As it turns out, there was always something I wanted but could somehow never grasp.
"My husband," I said as I opened my eyes. "He's a nice man. Really he is. Wouldn't hurt a fly but... he's, you know, lacking in some areas, doesn't understand that I need more."
"And is the bedroom an area he's lacking?"
His eyes drifted to my breasts. I could tell he was remembering the way they felt in his mouth. He sucked on his lower lip absent mindedly and flexed his hands.
"The bedroom..." I began as I uncrossed my legs. "Is definitely an area he's lacking in."
"Is he unable to satisfy you? Is that maybe one of the reasons you're depressed."
"Definitely," I nodded. "It's so hard, you know. I mean he tries to satisfy me but he just can't."
He relaxed back in his chair and smirked.
"Would you be able to tell me a little more about this? Is it, for instance, his penis length that is the problem? Or do you fail to find him attractive? Or is he inexperienced?"
"All of them," I said. "He's just awful in bed. I mean, really, just terrible."
"And you compare him to other lovers you've had in the past?" he suggested. "Lovers that could satisfy you."
"That's exactly right," I nodded.
"And you thought I would be the best doctor to remedy your problem," he said as he stood up. "Is that what you're saying?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
He walked over to the window and looked out across the city skyline with his hands clasped behind his back. I wondered what he was thinking. Did he think I was crazy? An unwelcome memory?
I squinted to see better and focused on his left hand, pleased to see that he wore no wedding ring. But what did that matter? I wore one and in the moment it felt meaningless.
"Paige?" he asked without turning around. "Have you sought the help of other therapists?"
It was a loaded question.
"No," I answered honestly. "You’re the only one I felt could help me."
He unclasped his hands and spun round, his cheeks slightly flushed. Now, as his full body was illuminated by the sun's rays shining through the window, I saw how big he had become, how muscular his arms were as they bulged through his shirt. I looked over every inch of his body with a nostalgic yearning that was both forbidden and desperate. I had missed him so much, and seeing him again made me feel as though I was a teenager again.
Walking over to me, he leaned against the nearby bookshelf and looked into my eyes. When he reached out a hand to touch my face, I felt as though I was so hot I could faint. The blood rushed in my ears as his fingers delicately grasped my jaw. His touch was firm but gentle, just like how I remembered. Yet he smelled different. The cheap deodorant of his teenage years had been replaced with something more refined and masculine.
"I always hoped I could help you," he said.
To my left, something caught my eye. I realized it was my reflection looking at me from the small mirror beside his desk. It was something only someone as vain as Sean could have in their office at arms' reach. For a moment, it seemed as though I wasn't really looking at myself but was merely looking at someone who resembled me. I recognized my own hair and noted where the bleach had dried the ends. I noticed the heavy eyeliner and the sharp cheekbones that cast a shadow in the hollows of my cheeks. But I didn't recognize how thin I looked.
My collarbone protruded from the top of my dress and my eyes looked ever so slightly sunken. I looked a million miles away from the homely girl that he knew me as. Back then I had been strong and athletic with a layer of baby fat puffing out my cheeks. Freckles had peppered my nose and my hair had been a sandy brown, lustrous and thick.
"You always were fragile," he said. "I can still see the softness in you."
His grip around my jaw tightened but I wanted it tighter. I wanted his hands to crush me and never let me go.
"Where have you been?" he asked as his other hand reached for the ribbon that held my shirt togeth
er.
"I've been growing up," I replied.
"You're just the same," he said. "You're still my little girl."
He pulled the ribbon hard, the front of my shirt ripping slightly as it fell loose. Hooking his fingers inside, he pulled it from my body to reveal my breasts, pert and pale.
His breathing quickened. I could see the heat rise in his face. As he leaned in close, I could see his hardness and the way it bulged through his pants. Reaching up, I placed a hand on it and closed my eyes, my fingers trembling as he ran his fingertips over my nipples.
"We shouldn't be doing this," I whispered. "I'm married."
"But you were mine first."
He fell to his knees and slid my skirt up my legs. His lips met the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and I quivered slightly as it tickled.
"Did you miss me?" he asked.
"I've never stopped thinking about you," I gasped as he pulled my panties to the side.
I was slick and wet and rocked my hips back and forth as I ached to be touched. He pushed his tongue between my lips and grunted as he sucked.
"Fuck!" I cried as I wound my fingers in his hair. "Oh, God!"
It had been the first time I'd been touched properly in years. It was everything I'd ever dreamed of, the one thing I so desperately needed. As I flung my head back, my teenage years flashed before my eyes. I was eighteen again and his face was buried between my legs as the sun glinted off the ocean. Discarded beer cans and cigarette ends littered the sand, and the smell of soot from last night's bonfire mingled with the salty air.
Shuddering against him, I stifled a scream and pulled his head in close as he groaned between my thighs. An orgasm ripped through me like a tidal wave. Heat and pure ecstasy rushed between my legs and the world around me disappeared. There was nothing but the sound of my breath and the feeling of his mouth. I let all my problems float away. There was no Arthur, no job, no bills, no regrets. There were no missed opportunities, no thoughts, no mind of my own at all. There was just pleasure and nothing else.
Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series Page 75
