by Luke Steel
My slim-fitting tux leaves no room for a holster, regrettably. Sally turns toward me as she’s fastening an earring, and I notice it’s the pair my mother gave her. The month we spent visiting my mother and hiking through Ireland was perfect. The two most important women in my life loved each other, and Sally settled into the rhythm of Irish family life like she’d always been there.
And when we got back to Los Angeles, it seemed natural for me to move in with Sally. Where else would I be? For the first time in my adult life, I have a base of operations. A place to come home to. A permanent position opened up with the studio’s security firm, one that allows for flexibility and even authority. After a few years here, I can see myself opening my own security business, something I wanted but never saw as achievable. But Sally’s unwavering belief in both of us gives me a new sense of purpose.
Sally’s father eventually got desperate enough to sell his story to some bottom-rung trash. My girl lifted her chin and owned it, every bit of it. Every bloody talk show host who asked about it walked away feeling two inches tall, because Sally would wryly explain how the man made it necessary for her to pay her own way in the first place and had tried to blackmail her with the story first. So they stopped asking. And the public cheered her honesty. Everyone likes a hard luck story that comes right in the end. A couple of her takedowns even went viral on social media.
No one else saw what it cost her to face that gauntlet. That’s a face she only shows to me.
Based on the early reviews and the positive buzz around her interviews, the studio has already greenlighted the next film in the franchise. Filming is set to begin in France in a few months, and I’ve managed to place myself as head of security on set.
Sally sits carefully at her dressing table, spreading her dress aside. She fiddles with brushes and things on the table, performing some mysterious feminine rites. I watch her, and my throat closes as I think about this woman I love. How proud I am of her ambition and drive. How sexy and smart and fun she is. How perfect for me.
“I can’t wait to start filming in France,” I say casually. “You know it’s a short plane ride to Ireland, right?”
“Mmm, yes. I’d love to see your mum again.”
“And there’s a church I want you to see. I think maybe next time we should visit.”
She picks up a tube and touches up her already perfect lipstick. “A church? Okay, that sounds nice.”
I move behind her at the table. I cough because words are suddenly caught in my throat. She’s still distracted, poking around in drawers.
“Yes, a church. The one I’m going to marry you in if you say yes.”
Sally stills, finally, and her eyes meet mine in the mirror. I hold out my palm, and the motion draws her gaze. In the mirror, her eyes widen as she takes in the stunning vintage ring I purchased a month ago. The three carat, princess cut diamond in an art deco setting screams old Hollywood glamour, and I thought of her as soon as I saw it. It’s one of a kind, over the top, and a fraction of what she deserves.
“Oh, so you came prepared, I see.” Mischief dances in her eyes.
“Always.” I sink to my knee and hold the ring up.
“And you already know my answer? How do you know I’ll say yes?”
I spin her around on the little swivel chair and capture her hand. Her eyes say yes as she watches me slide the ring onto her finger.
“You’ll say yes. I’ve got ways of making people talk, you know.”
“I’m familiar with your diabolical methods. Do your worst, villain!”
I’m laughing as I rise to apply a gentle, sucking kiss on her neck. She inhales sharply and tilts her head aside to give me access. My tongue traces a wet trail down her neck, and I nibble on her collarbone. Meanwhile, my hands are nudging her forward in the seat, and when she’s perched on the edge, I curl my palms around her ankles and follow the curve of her muscled calf, over the knees, and between her quivering thighs. The slit hidden in the folds of her dress allows it to part and fall aside, almost like a stage curtain, framing the world’s most beautiful pussy.
I silently bless the fact that her stylist forbade panty lines. Perhaps after the screening I can take advantage of the no panty rule again in the limo. The thought makes my already hard dick throb against my pants. So as I push her dress higher, I put those thoughts into every nip and suck along her inner thigh. Her smell reaches me, her floral bodywash mixes with the sharp musk that betrays her arousal.
Gently, I open her knees wider to allow me closer. My tongue teases right up to her slit, and then she twines her fingers into my newly grown curls and pushes my face into her pussy. I groan and delve into her wet slit with my tongue. As much as I want to make this last, the limo will be here soon, and I’m not leaving this bedroom without my yes.
So I draw my tongue up her cleft to her clit, flicking gently. Her grip on my hair tightens. She breathes faster. With my left hand pressing against her thigh, I work one, then two fingers into her and begin to stroke. My tongue circles her clit with relentless pressure as my fingers pump into her with a rolling motion that pulls my fingertips against her upper wall on the down stroke. She releases my hair to grip the arms of her chair, thrusting her soaking wet pussy at my face. I eat her like a last meal, lapping and sucking, and her gasps turn to moans. When her muscles tense, I flick my tongue over her clit again in a fast, steady beat.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants as her hips rock and spasms rack her body in fading pulses. Then she grasps my head and tilts it to meet her gaze. “Yes.”
Our limo pulls into the line of cars dropping celebrities off at the red carpet in front of the Sunset Boulevard theater. Even at this distance, the buzz of excitement and flash of paparazzi bleed into our cocoon.
“I’m still half surprised that you’re not driving us to this thing yourself,” I tease.
“Shut up,” she says. “I’d have gotten us here quicker, anyway.”
She pinches her dress and rubs it between her thumb and forefinger.
“Hey, are you nervous?”
“Yeah, a little. Or you know, a lot.” She takes a couple of steadying breaths. “The last time I felt this nervous was my very first audition. As a dancer.” A bitter smile mars the moment.
“You’ve got this. There’s no going back, only forward. Your future is out there waiting for you to kick its ass.”
She smiles, more genuinely this time, and looks down at her ring as she tilts her hand to catch the light.
“Think anyone will notice?”
“Guess we’ll find out. We’re next.”
“Are you ready follow me down this carpet?”
“You know I’ll go with you anywhere. Always.”
The door opens, and a wall of light blinds me. I climb out anyway, turning my back on the flashes to the one thing that matters. Sally’s hand in mine as I help my beautiful woman step out into our future.
Dirty in Charge
Here is the first chapter of my other book, Dirty in Charge, which is available on Amazon now.
Chapter 1
James
“I’d kill you if I didn’t think you’d kick my ass. Again.” My brother Joe’s voice is lower and deeper than when he used to whine when we were kids, but the tone is still there.
We’re in the back of my car, heading to Blake House en route from New York. The glass between the driver and the rear cabin is up. I’m on a conference call with my assistant from my office, while Joe slouches in the limousine seat diagonal from mine, barely conscious.
The voice on the line is tinny and professional. “…and negotiations will be wrapped up by Thursday for the lawyers to divvy the spoils. You have an awards reception next Friday at Peak Gallery, I’ve emailed the location and…”
The droning continues both on the phone and across from me.
“Everything hurts—my abs, my calves.”
“Your pride,” I offer, holding a hand to the speaker, then go back to my secretary as she continues to
run through a week’s worth of notes and updates. I grin at him, but all Joe seems to have the energy to do is glare back at me.
My assistant continues, “And finally, everything is set for this evening. We’re expecting a hundred or so guests tonight, and then your remaining houseguests and visitors arrive tomorrow. The decorating crew should be finished ahead of schedule. Although the vans will likely still be there when you arrive today. We’ve asked that they pull them to the left of the driveway. We have a note that the floor of the foyer is–”
I cut in. “Thanks for the summary, Kenzie. Email the bullet points and we’ll call it for today.” When I realize she’s about to launch into some final thing about arrangements, I cut the call short. “Save it for the bride, please. I’ll get back to you when we’re at the house.”
Beyond the car windows, the sun is shining. It’s a crisp late-October morning in the valley and my brother and I are heading to Blake House for a wedding. His wedding. My brother Joe is marrying his fiancée, Lena, at a week-long house party at the newly rebuilt and renovated estate.
Blake House has been in our family for years. When we were kids, my immediate family even used to live in a smaller guesthouse at the edge of the property. In its former life, it was one of the great family houses along the bay, similar to the famed Gold Coast of Long Island. All old money and wealthy robber barons. But, like many others, the giant estate fell to near ruin after the Great Depression. Over the years, my grandparents kept it in the family by the skin of their teeth, but eventually, the main house fell into disrepair and the later generations moved to the outer edges and sold off some of the land. Blake House has been a kind of obsession for my family for years, the idea being that if fortune smiled on any of us, that person would restore the house to its former glory. A few (well, more than a few) start-up business ventures after college later, I was the one who eventually had the money to restore it. The wedding, itself an occasion for the family reunion, is my gift to the happy couple. I promised Lena her dream wedding, and somehow the event bloomed into a week-long family affair capped off with the ceremony on Saturday.
My brother is a sad mess in the corner of the car right now, but it’s not because of wedding jitters, though there are those, too. I keep a pretty intense workout schedule and little brother decided he wanted to join me—to keep in shape for his big day. Weights, cardio, and then some boxing. OK, a lot of boxing. And we’re brothers, so we don’t go easy on each other. What he didn’t know (and I didn’t tell him) is I’ve been working out for over a year now with a new personal trainer, a former boxing pro. Which meant Joe took a bit of a beating today, though I was careful to keep his face pretty for his big day this Saturday. Still, by the look of him now, I have a feeling I’m going to get an earful about beating up on my baby brother when our mother hears about it tonight.
We’re still in warm-up clothes from the gym, the only clothes either of us had energy enough to crawl into after the morning’s shellacking.
“Was it really that bad, Joseph? Come on.”
“Yes, James, it was,” he says, opening one eye and glaring more. “I feel like I’ve been run through a meat grinder.”
“More like a tenderizer,” I say, in full on big-brother mode now. “I beat you like a steak.”
“Yeah, yeah… well, I don’t feel so bad about you paying for my wedding now. So there.”
I laugh about that, too. “Happy to do it, Joe. You know that.”
Joe closes both his eyes and his head falls back in the seat again, but I can see him smiling.
We’re both quiet for a while until the house comes into view as the car glides through the gates of Blake House. When Joe opens his eyes to look, I know it’s his first time seeing the house in person since the renovations were complete.
“Oh man, Jamie,” he says, trailing off. He looks at me, then back to the house. “It’s just like great-grandma Esther’s old pictures!”
I sigh and smile, nodding. “That was the frame of reference.” I’m trying to sound modest, but I am very proud of the work we were able to do. It’s completely restored, from the foundation to the roof.
“It’s like a dream come true. Seriously. The whole family is going to go crazy.”
“Yeah. Wait ‘until you see the inside. I thought I was going to go crazy.” The project took years of money and effort, all of it meticulously recreated to match the reference of the time, while also making allowances for modern comforts and materials for plumbing and heating. Whole walls ripped out and replaced when possible for the electrical.
“You didn’t like doing it?”
I think about his question for a minute before answering. As the car rolls up the drive, we pass stone arches and sculpture.
“I did it for the family, of course, but halfway through I started to really wonder at the sheer level of detail. Maybe I’m not a builder at heart. It all just seemed so indulgent to me. They had all this money to make an estate for one family that a small village could live in. Hard to see the point.”
Joe nods slightly but then turns back to the window. “I know, but all the art and beauty of the thing. This is history. Family history, the history of the country even.”
“So it’s a monument?”
“Yeah, in a way. But…wait until you see how happy everyone is going to be. I haven’t even been inside yet, and I’m so proud of it. And Lena! She’s going to freak!”
The car pulls to a stop in front of the grand stone arch at the house’s entrance.
A massive staff is required this week, even more than the regular crew of folks it takes to keep a house like this going. It’s all bustling and activity as we arrive, more like a hotel than a private house. I don’t even live here, though the house is technically mine; I keep an apartment in the city.
As we climb out of the car, I watch skeptically as Joe lurches out and makes a show of dragging his sorry ass to the door.
“Dude, Mom’s not here. Save the performance for her!”
Like the little brother he will forever be, he grins back at me with all his teeth, then pretends his arms are hurt reaching for his suitcase. I slap his hands away and grab the bag for him, waving off one of the valets with a slight smile. I still open my own doors, carry my own bag and jacket. I do, though, hide a wince as I straighten up with the suitcase. Little brother got a few good hits in today, too. In my head I’m already up and past the high sweep of stairs that lead to my bedroom suite, making a mental beeline for the closest shower and hours of hot water.
“Holy… what is this, a movie set?” Joe’s voice echoes back from just inside the doors.
I follow after him…and into something out of Never Never land. A version of it, anyway. The front foyer of Blake House is a giant Art Deco hall, with curved staircases winding up on either side, or the vaulted ceiling rising high. Impressive all on its own, but now the whole thing has been transformed. Rows of towering columns line the long front hall, each with inset shelves covered with ivy and books. When I step in and the door closes behind me, the light of the morning is cut out completely and we’re in the mouth of a half library, half wooded fairyland. I wouldn’t know I walked into a house at all if I didn’t own the damn thing. A fairy cave, maybe, but not my own house.
Thick ropes of vines and flowers hang around the columns, wound like tentacles along the ceiling, walls and down to the floor. And the marble floor is covered with something that looks like gold speckled leather.
I take a few more steps into the place. Joe hangs back, checking out one of the columned shelves. I lean closer to a statue on a shorter column, with a naked fairy nymph statue on top of it.
“Noooooo!”
A shriek splits the air. For a moment I think the sound came from the statue.
There’s a rush of air and pounding footfalls behind me. Ahead of me, I see Joe look past my shoulder, eyes wide at the oncoming sound. I hunch down and turn to face the threat just as the attacker moves in. Crouching low, I snatch the attacke
r’s left wrist in a punishing grip and then pivot backward, using the momentum to swing the assailant out and off balance in front of me.
Later, I can’t decide if it’s the feel of creamy soft skin in my grip or the lightness of the body as I swing her around, that breaks through my initial rush to defense. When I see it’s a woman, an entirely different instinct kicks in. My body switches from offense to protector and I snatch her close to my chest before she can fall. Off balance, she grabs my shoulders and hangs on.
Everything stops then. Everything. I am chest to chest, hip to hip with a woman I don’t know. She’s clinging to me. Bright green eyes are wide and looking straight into mine behind a pair of hipster horn-rimmed glasses. Through my warm-ups, I can feel her panting. The friction this causes is like a match striking a kerosene lamp. I’m so close, I can feel her breath on my face. The vanilla smell of her, combined with the feel of her breasts crushed against my chest, provoke another aggressive rush. I still have her in my arms at an angle, her feet have no purchase on the floor, but she doesn’t struggle. Too stunned? Like me?
We’re kissing distance away, but she doesn’t speak. She’s not screaming anymore, though. A plus.
I give us both a small shake. “Who are you?”
It takes another tiny shake before she finally stammers, “Emma.”
I jerk back. Holy shit, what am I doing? Holding her gently but firmly by the arms, I help her to stand upright and then I step several feet back, my arms up and in front of me to show her I mean her no harm.
