by Ana Sparks
The kiss began slowly, then grew with passion and hunger the longer we stood on the beach. Of course, being the dream that it was, I had no idea how long we actually kissed, but it felt like blissful heaven no matter how long it was. I’d let my hands explore him, peeling off his shirt and revealing his toned and muscular body beneath.
I’d had my hands at the belt of his jeans and eagerly undid the zipper. All the while, his own hands and mouth were caressing my body with passion, curiosity, and fervor. We explored each other, feeding into our lust and our passion all the while. A warm breeze was running up the beach, flowing through my hair and bringing out goose pimples on my skin.
As I lay in bed with my eyes closed, I thought about how satisfying an experience it had been, and how I hadn’t wanted it to end. Of course, in the dream I had no idea that I was doomed to wake up, and all I could think about was the thing coming next. I’d pulled down his pants, revealing his large, hardened self. I’d been so wet I didn’t need any more foreplay, and I remembered how I felt an intense pressure between my legs as he entered me.
I could hardly breathe, my body moving in the same rhythm as his own. I’d arched into him, allowing him to slip his hands beneath my hips and lift me toward him. In the dream, all my inhibitions had vanished, and I was a tigress, knowing exactly what I wanted and not being afraid to reach out and take it. I wasn’t sure how long it lasted exactly—all I knew was that I had woken all too soon.
From the feel of my underwear, I had grown wet just through the thought of it all, and I knew exactly what my next move would be.
Sliding out of bed, I had a sly smile on my face as I headed for the bathroom. The dream was still fresh enough in my mind, I knew it wasn’t going to take much for me to reenact at least part of it in the shower.
Chapter 8
Sasha
“I’d like to take it for the whole day, if possible. No, they are going to use it in the afternoon, but we’re going to need time to set everything up. That’s right. No, it doesn’t matter who’s there. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Yes, okay then, goodbye.” I sighed as I hung up and looked up toward the ceiling.
There was a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine anything more romantic than the idea of spreading out my things and working in a coffee shop, and if my childhood self could see me now, I would have exploded from excitement knowing one day I would get to sit in an actual Italian café and sip on coffee while I made a series of last-minute phone calls.
As I absentmindedly stirred the coffee, I thought about the stroke of luck I’d just had. A venue I had called several times the evening before had had a cancellation, and I had been able to secure the room for Antonio’s wedding. Of course, that was just the first step. After taking a breather, I was going to be back on the phone to set up an appointment to get flowers, look at decorations, and, of course, check out the cake.
Antonio had messaged me that morning and told me that I had his full permission to go crazy with the wedding, and to do things however I wanted. I didn’t understand how royalty worked or what they expected from their wedding, I just knew that I wanted to make it a day neither one of them would forget.
Perhaps if I impressed them enough, they would recommend me to others—other royalty even. I didn’t know for sure, but I could imagine that if someone was in a royal family, or at least the Prince of some nation, they would have connections to other princes and princesses.
As the day wore on, I was surprised at the fact I felt guilty, off and on. It wasn’t at all like me to feel this way after having an erotic dream, but there was something about the previous night’s fantasy that left me feeling unsettled. Perhaps it was because of the incredible detail of the dream, or perhaps it had to do with the fact I hadn’t yet met the bride. In fact, didn’t even know her name.
Though I had Antonio’s number, I didn’t want to bother him unnecessarily, but I found myself facing a surprising number of questions. This wasn’t my first wedding, by a long way, but there was something about Antonio that made me really want to impress him. Nothing would be better than seeing him walk into the ceremony and have his mind blown away by everything that I had lined up.
I wanted candles to adorn the walls, flowers scattered along the pews, and petals on the floor. I wanted there to be grand bouquets at the front of the room, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I wanted the room to be pure white, though I could sense that this man hadn’t necessarily kept himself for the marriage bed.
I wanted there to be a regal elegance to the room—one that the King and Queen would be proud to walk into as they supported their son in his union. And that was just the beginning. I had planned the reception hall to be just as elaborate, and I couldn’t wait to put my ideas to use inside the room.
The cake was to be glorious—pure white with gold trim and an exquisite design running throughout. I wanted the cake to capture the imagination of all the guests, and leave them feeling as if they were in a fairy-tale wedding. The more I planned, the more things came to mind, and the more I wanted to accomplish in the little time that I had.
Part of me wished I had met Antonio at the beginning of my trip. If I had, I would have had more than enough time to plan and achieve everything that was running through my mind. As it was, I found myself limited to what was available. The ideas running through my mind were boundless, but making them a reality was going to take a lot of work.
There just wasn’t the manpower available to do everything I wanted to do, and I was constantly asking him for further funds. It became so incessant that he gave me the number of his accountant, telling both us to take care of these things ourselves and leave him out of it. I had to admit, though I was pleased to have what appeared to be unlimited funding to pull off this wedding, I was slightly disappointed that I didn’t have a reason to communicate with the Prince directly.
I was looking for a reason to text him, simply because I liked the way his name looked when it flashed across my screen. Ignoring the feelings of guilt that would crop up every now and then, I would get flutters in my heart when my phone lit up and I saw it was him. Of course, he kept all the contact with me strictly wedding-related—as he should—but it didn’t matter to me.
All I wanted was to have some kind of interaction with him, however brief it may be. But, with the way things were coming together for the wedding, I was having less and less reason to contact him. That is, until another thought struck me.
I had a strange feeling in the back of my mind that I was forgetting something. It wasn’t at all like me to feel this way while I was working, and I blamed the fact I was incredibly attracted to the groom as the reason why I felt unsettled. However, when I finally realized what it was causing me to feel like that, I couldn’t get on my phone fast enough.
Instead of texting, I immediately tried to call him, but there was no answer. I thought about leaving a message, but this was just too pressing, so I tried once more. When I got his voicemail again, I hung up with an exasperated sigh. After a few seconds of hesitation, I grabbed my phone and flipped open the keypad.
Something’s come up that I need to discuss with you, call me as soon as you can.
I hit send and waited, hoping Antonio would get back to me quickly. It was forty-five minutes before he did, and by that time I was nearly frantic.
“Antonio! Yes, sorry to bother you like this. I’ve got most everything taken care of on this end, but there is one thing that I can’t do from here—the dress.” I laughed nervously, but I could hear by the way he let out air on his end that he wasn’t as amused by the situation as I thought he would be. There was a moment of silence, and I wondered if I ought to say something else when he spoke.
“Of course! What was I thinking? The dress is the most important part of the wedding, and here I am in England without you having anything to go on! I’ll tell you what, I’ll send my private jet back for you and fly you over here this afternoon. You’ll meet my bride and the two of you can go and get the d
ress fitted, all right?” His voice was cheerful, but I could hear that it was forced.
Something wasn’t right. I didn’t know what it was, but I had a feeling about this marriage that made me wonder if there was something going on behind the scenes. They certainly didn’t appear to be getting married for love, but what was it?
“Oh wow, um, okay. That would be great. I’ve never flown on a private jet before, but I’d love to. Where do I meet you?” I felt a mix of excitement and nerves at the prospect, but he didn’t seem worried about it.
“You’ll be met with a cab when you land, and they’ll bring you here. Don’t worry, you’ll be looked after, I’ll see you soon.” He didn’t stay on the line much longer, giving me only a few directions of who to look for and what to expect, and with that, he hung up.
I quickly gathered my things and stuffed them into my purse, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t believe the turn my career—and my life—had taken. Here I was, preparing to fly to England by private jet. It seemed unreal. I glanced over my shoulder at the café as I left, wondering once again what it would be like to live this kind of life all the time.
“Come on, Sasha, focus. You’re going to have to return to the real world soon enough, may as well live this up while you can.” I smiled as I muttered to myself, slipping out of the café and onto the sidewalk.
I was happy to postpone real life for as long as possible.
What’s next for Sasha and Antonio? Is the Prince truly getting married, or is there more to this wedding than meets the eye?
Royal Baby: His Unplanned Heir is available on Amazon now
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The Boss’s New Plaything
Layla Valentine
Ready to meet a boss who will push you to your limits?
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Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
Aimee
Inhaling a shaking breath, I steel my nerves as I apply my makeup, my reflection scowling back at me from the mirror above the sink. Here I was, straight out of college and knee-deep in debt, and the time had finally come to move to my dream town of Seattle.
When I say dream town, that’s not an exaggeration. Ever since I was a girl growing up in the small town of Colfax, it’s been an aspiration of mine to live the good life in the city.
Sure, I could work as a grocery store clerk or something, but sue me for wanting something more. I worked hard at Washington State, earning my marketing degree, while my art-major friends partied their way through college. My hard work paid off, it seems, as I’ve just landed a prestigious internship at a multibillion-dollar real estate company. As you might have guessed, it’s in my dream city of Seattle.
The company, SharpeFocus, is notoriously guarded about its internships. I know I’ll be serving under the lead marketing director, but beyond the initial job description, I’m clueless. You don’t ask questions when a job like this is dangled under your nose. You just reach out and snatch it in your claws, as perfectly manicured and painted as they may be.
It might seem like I have everything well in hand, that I’m confident and sure of myself, but the truth is that I feel like a fish out of water. Seattle is about as unlike Colfax as you can imagine, and while my dreams have always been huge, living them out is proving to be a bit more stressful than I expected.
All the same, I must be doing something right to even be considered for the internship. Obviously, getting in on the ground floor isn’t the most glamorous way to begin my career, but I’m more concerned with what awaits me at the end of the tunnel.
But unless I get my ass out of this apartment, the end of the tunnel won’t be coming any time soon.
My expression looks no softer than when I started applying my makeup, so I try a smile. I find myself looking more demented than anything, but maybe that’s my nerves talking. I’ve been told that I’m attractive, and while every girl has days where she feels less than pretty, most days I feel pretty confident in what I see in the mirror.
Pulling my long blond hair back, I allow a strand to frame either side of my face. One more attempt at a smile, and I don’t look half bad this time. I take a moment to internally celebrate the small victory, then, pulling my purse over my shoulder, I grab my keys and slip out of my new apartment.
Considering how lonely I’ve been since moving out here, it occurs to me that it might have been nice to find an apartment that allowed pets. I’ve received my share of calls from family, mostly my father sounding terrified that some criminal from the big city will lay hands upon his only daughter. Unfortunately, the calls do nothing to replace the company of another living being.
Shaking off the thought, I make my way down to the lobby, cursing the steep flight of stairs that I have to ascend and descend every day. I’m not out of shape by any means, but it’s a change of pace—I’m used to descending two steps, off of the porch of my childhood home. My younger brother would have already beat me to the door at this rate, but he’s always been far too energetic.
My gorgeous, red, classic muscle car sits waiting for me in the parking lot, and I can’t help but breathe a sigh of contentment. I approach the driver’s side, unlocking the door and easing comfortably in the seat. The one thing that has remained reliable in my life is my car, the trooper that she is. We fiery-spirited girls have to stick together, after all.
The engine thrums, seemingly in time with my heartbeat as I start the car, smiling a toothy little grin to myself. Coming out of college, my car was the one extra expense I allowed myself. Every other paycheck has gone towards funding this move.
Hopefully, my persistence will pay off.
I shift the car into reverse, pulling out of the lot and onto the main street. I’m not awfully familiar with the route to my workplace yet, but I know it will come in time. In the meantime, I set my GPS to take me to SharpeFocus headquarters. A peppy song plays on the radio, and I tap my fingers along to the beat.
Pulling up to the skyscraping offices sooner than I expect, I thank my lucky stars that I chose an apartment that was close to the office. Finding a parking space is a bit harder than I had originally expected, and it becomes increasingly clear just how many employees work in this building.
I find parking about a thousand miles away from the office, but at least it’s a little cheaper. Stepping out of my car, I move as quickly as my high heels will allow, checking my watch all the while. I have time, but not as much as I had hoped.
When I step into the building, I stride over to the front desk, smiling and presenting the letter I’d been told to bring with me. The receptionist is an older woman who considers me with vague interest. I try not to fidget beneath her gaze, and she gestures away with a gnarled finger.
“In front of the camera, Miss…” she trails off, looking over the letter.
“Rhodes. Aimee Rhodes,” I quickly supply, shrinking back as she turns hard eyes upon me.
“Right,” she drawls, tapping a small camera on the top of her desk.
I step far enough back for her to get a decently angled picture, and moments later, she provides me with a badge. My picture is atrocious, and I’m briefly tempted to ask if I can retake it, but she’s speaking again before I can ask.
“You head on up to the twelfth floor. Your manager’s office will be down the first hall, to the left,” the receptionist says coolly. I sm
ile nervously before edging away towards the elevators.
I rush once I’m out of the receptionist’s sight, jabbing the button to summon the elevator. It dings pleasantly before the doors part for me to step inside. All at once, a flood of people storm out of the elevator, while another crowd stampedes towards it. I lurch inside before I’m trampled, desperately hitting the button for my floor.
I lean against the back corner of the elevator, trying to ignore my anxiety when faced with the close proximity of what I can only assume are other SharpeFocus employees. One or two people file out at each floor, and the car is nearly empty by the time we reach my floor. I put on my best smile as I step out of the elevator, breathing a deep sigh of relief.
Now, to meet my manager.
I march in the direction the receptionist had directed me, finding a door with a name that’s barely legible on it. It appears to be ‘Jack’ something, but the last name is long and hard to pronounce. While I’m considering it, the man in question steps out, not looking remotely pleased to see me.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“Yes, Mr…” I trail off, averting my gaze.
“Jack is fine,” he grumbles, gesturing for me to continue.
“My name is Aimee Rhodes. I’m the new intern. I was told to meet with you,” I smile awkwardly again. He considers me for a long moment, humming under his breath before nodding and slipping past me.
“You’re just in time, Miss Rhodes. I’m just on my way to a staff meeting and I’d like you to accompany me,” Jack announces, and I raise a brow before rushing to fall into step behind him.
