Naughty Ladies! Spicy Romance Collection

by Bree Branigan

  When she walks into the hotel everyone seems to be looking at her, and she feels like this is because they know what she did on Friday night, and what she is about to do. She knows that they couldn’t possibly think that she is an escort, looking absolutely fabulous in Chanel, her staple. Then she remembers Andre’s personality, and she remembers that she was seen entering the hotel with him two nights ago. So they must have put two and two together, and the women, who make up the bulk of people looking at her, must feel a little jealous.

  She gets into the elevator, and they go up to Andre’s room, the nerves forming inside her stomach so that she is really anxious when she walks into his room. He is wearing nothing but boxer shorts, and she feels overdressed, suddenly. As soon as she is safely inside, Andre locks the door behind her. This time she takes her own clothes off, slowly, seductively, looking flirtatiously at him as he just stands there, his dark green eyes intense as they watch her, a half-smile on his handsome face. Then she turns to Andre and drops to her knees, pulling his shorts off as she gets onto the floor. He isn’t hard yet, but his cock is still thick and intimidating.

  Leigh takes him into her mouth, and as the cock gets thicker, harder, it becomes more difficult for her to suck on. But since she has initiated this, she just stretches her mouth as wide as she can, and takes as much of his shaft as will fit into her mouth. Then, when she has sucked on him as long and hard as she can, she pulls her mouth off the bulk of the shaft, and sucks on the head, before licking it ravenously. She takes it into her mouth again, and sucks on it for a while longer before she wets his balls with as much saliva as she can from her mouth.

  As she stands up, she runs her fingers over his balls, and brings her mouth up to his. He has to bend down to meet her, and as he does, he starts to moan loudly. When their mouths join, Leigh pulls on his balls, hard. He moans louder, into her mouth, and she knows that she has found his spot. She tugs on his balls for a while longer, and then turns to the bed, walking slowly towards it, knowing that he is following her.

  When they get to the bed, Andre pushes her down, turning her onto her stomach, and finding her cunt quickly with his mass. She cannot move, so she figures that she will let him have round one. He fucks her so beautifully from the back that all she can do is sink her head into the bed covers, clenching them in her fists, something made easier by the fact that the bed is not made. He fucks her long, deep and hard, and soon enough she is coming; a fiery rumbling emanating from inside her. Fortunately, Andre hasn’t come yet, and she feels that this is a good thing, even though she would have liked them to have another simultaneous orgasm.

  Andre pulls out, and turns her over. She sits up quickly and pushes him down onto his back. She mounts him, and gets him inside her before he can object. He doesn’t want to, but there is nothing that he can do, Leigh already grinding hard against his hardness. She pulls his cock in every direction and he is suddenly drawn completely into her world. She moves in small circles, then bigger ones, and then small circles again. She is getting dangerously close to orgasm, and when he starts to thrust up into her, she knows that he is too. She times it perfectly, and soon enough they are having a simultaneous orgasm brought on by nothing but the muscles between her thighs.

  THEY FUCK FOR THE NEXT two weeks, two, sometimes three times a day. Neither of them want to get too close, so they make it all about fucking. But there is something happening between them; something that neither of them can help. And when Andre finally boards his plane for Germany, Leigh has something growing inside her; something that will forever remind her of the two beautiful weeks. She knows that she cannot tell Andre about it, believing that this will just tear him between two worlds, something that he doesn’t need.

  Later, when Leigh tells her friends they all say that she should tell him. It’s only fair. He may want to know that he is going to be a father. So she plans a trip to Germany, but she isn’t sure what she will say to him when she gets there. It is better this way, since Andre probably would never forgive her if he found out later. She is worried about what he will say; even more worried than she is about how her parents will react. But she knows that the child growing inside her was conceived of more than just sex, even though the two people involved tried to deny it!

  Germany, here I come,’ Leigh says to herself a month later when she is seated on a first-class flight to Europe. She places a hand on her belly, and really hopes that this goes the way she dreams it may . . .

  THE END

  Full Circle

  CHAPTER 1

  “Look at her.” With a nod, Alana indicated the woman who had just walked into the club. “Did nobody teach her how to dress properly? Those shoes do not go with that dress.” She shook her head, delightedly horror-struck. “And that hair? She should see a stylist. There's an emergency if ever I saw one. I'm telling you Marie, there should be fashion police. I'm not even joking.” She shook her head, eyes merry. “Or a fashion health service. I have a good mind to call 911 and see if they won't send an ambulance out right now and save that woman from herself.” Alana spoke with dramatic gestures and matching facial expressions, leaning toward her friend Marie.

  The two women sat, elbows resting on the table, at the trendy Monarch Club, a frequent haunt of theirs. A half-empty bottle of wine stood between them. Voices raised, they chatted and gossiped in the midst of the club, the rhythmic music pounding relentlessly around them. Both were strikingly attractive women in their early thirties. Alana, a slender, sultry brunette, sported long, thick hair reaching down to the small of her back. Taller than most women, she was striking. She stood out in a crowd. Her sharp features and dark lashes caught the attention of men, and she made sure that her appearance was always flawless. On this particular evening she wore a white dress that clung to her figure and revealed just enough flesh to be enticing. Marie was blonde and shorter, cute and curvaceous, she was no less beautiful, and the two of them made quite a pair. Both perched on their chairs and observed the scene like hawks, for they were on the hunt.

  Alana and Marie frequented high-end clubs like these because they had one mission in life; to find a rich man and get married. The club was dark. The dance floor, now flooded with patrons dancing and grinding, took up most of the room.

  “She's a slut,” Marie said, waving toward at a voluptuous red-head dancing provocatively in front of them.

  “You know she's going to give everything up on the first night,” Alana said, sizing the woman up.

  “Like you never have.” Marie winked at her friend, grinning.

  “Never! I have never had sex on the first date. You can't give it all up right away. Gotta make them work for it.” She winked.

  They continued surveying the dance floor.

  “I can't believe he's with her?” Marie rolled her eyes.

  “He's a sugar daddy looking for a young thing to spoil.” Alana snorted softly.

  “There's a little princess who only has to flutter her eyelashes and men come running. I hate girls like her.” Marie gestured dismissively at the object of their conversation.

  “You used to be a girl like her.”

  They broke into laughter, then sighed. So many of their nights had been spent in the Monarch and clubs like it. Alana pushed the dark thoughts away. This wasn’t what she’d planned. By this time in her life she had expected to be married and raising a family, not stuck on these chairs in this dark place where the lights were low and people hid. Only the most desperate kept coming here, and she was one of them. She was well aware that time was moving forward inexorably and as she looked at the pretty young things dancing around the club she remembered being one of them. At the time she had seen older women and thought how sad they were, sitting on the sidelines, dried up, washed-out; desperate. Slowly, she had turned into one of them.

  Ten years ago Alana had only been concerned with having fun and she'd had plenty of that over the years. But it was time to be serious now. It wasn't right that a woman like her was still single. No ring
on her finger. No prospects. She was tired of endless nights at the Monarch, tired of the way her head ached the following day, aware that it took a little longer to get her natural glow back . . . Still, over the years this place had become like a second home to her, a fact that did not please her very much.

  They sat in a semi-circle ringing the dance floor. On the other side of the room was a long bar, staffed by sexy bar-maids and sophisticated hosts. The music was a mixture of disco and R&B that swelled and ebbed like an ocean. For a moment time stood still, and Alana looked at the sea of faces before her. All the misery and hollow pursuit of love and sex suddenly disgusted her. Yet most of that was borne from jealousy. She grabbed the bottle and poured the sparkling white liquid into her glass, then filled Marie's.

  “This is all bullshit isn't it,” she said, pinning Marie with her eyes.

  “What is?” Marie asked, leaning in.

  Alana waved her hand. “All of this. Look at those girls, just because their skin is tight they think they can get anything they want, and they're probably right.”

  “You shouldn't be too pissed at them. They're just younger versions of ourselves.” Marie sat back in her chair, shrugging indifferently.

  “Yeah, but they're making better use of it than we ever did! Where did we go wrong Marie? Why are we still here when we should have been married a long time ago?” Sadness clouded her features.

  “I knew we shouldn't have had all this wine. You know, you've turned into a depressing drunk. Where's the wild Alana I used to know?” She looked at her friend through narrowed eyes. “By now you would have been dancing on the table, not wallowing in self-pity.”

  “I can't help it,” Alana said in a hollow voice. “I've just changed over the years. I'm not the same girl I used to be. How can we compete with all of them?” she swept her hand toward the array of beautiful young things a decade younger than they were.

  It was true. In her youth Alana had been a more vivacious drunk with a bit of a wild reputation. As she had matured she’d grown somber, and now when she got drunk it often brought out the gloomier side of her personality. Evidently not fun for Marie.

  Marie sighed and twisted her mouth bitterly. She took a long sip of wine and clapped her hands together, a smile pasted on her pretty face. “Because, my dear, we have something they sorely lack. Confidence, experience, and a little sophistication.” With that she rose from her seat, winked at Alana, and sauntered towards the dance floor. The sea of people parted for Marie as she marched with purpose, her blonde hair, swinging as she walked. She made her way to a tall, well-dressed man dancing with a girl who barely looked legal. In one motion Marie stepped in, pushed the girl away, let her arms fall around the man's neck, pressed her body up against him and fell into a kiss. The scorned woman stood there aghast, but the man's attention was firmly on Marie. She broke the kiss for a second, tossing her head back to Alana and giving her a cheeky wave.

  Alana smiled, though it didn't do much to alleviate her gloomy mood, for now she was left alone and it only served to remind her that she would likely end up alone. The club was buzzing but there she sat with her bottle of wine, accompanied only by her thoughts.

  “Your friend certainly knows how to make an exit,” a rumbling voice behind her said, shaking Alana out of her stupor. She turned her head and saw, standing before her, a tall, handsome man. His dark hair was streaked with silver and his clean-shaven face was seasoned and mature. He wore an expensive suit. A gold watch shone as it caught the meagre light from the lamp above him. His aftershave was musky and heavy, playing havoc with Alana's mind. She hadn't been prepared for this, had thought that her night was over; that she’d been left on the sidelines. Where had this man come from, and why had he escaped her attention all evening?

  “She has a tendency of doing that. My friend knows how to get a man's attention,” she said with a sardonic smile.

  “Personally, I've always preferred the demurer approach. I find the most interesting people are the quiet ones, because they're the ones who listen to everything that's going on around them,” he said, and then gestured to the empty chair, raising his eyebrows a little. Alana inclined her head, giving him permission to sit down. He took a seat and held out his hand, introducing himself. “I'm Jack, Jack Martin.”

  “Alana Masterson,” she replied, taking his hand. It was warm and the flesh was smooth. He squeezed her delicate hand, sending little shivers through her body.

  “Can I get you another drink?” he asked.

  “Thanks, but I think I've had enough.” One advantage that came with experience was that she knew her limits, and right now her head was buzzing.

  “Fair enough. So, what are you doing now that your friend has deserted you?”

  “Wondering how long it's going to take for me to die,” she said dryly. Jack laughed, a warm, throaty laugh.

  “You don't strike me as the type that's worn out yet. What are you, twenty-five?”

  “You're sweet. No, I'm thirty-one, so sorry if that puts you off me.” Why am I sounding so bitter?

  “You really think I'm interested in twenty-year olds?” He cocked his head.

  “Everyone else seems to be.” She sighed.

  “They're a dime a dozen. Sure, could be fun for a little while, but I'd prefer to have a woman of substance, someone that can actually hold a conversation.”

  Alana studied him. He had a winning smile and his white teeth gleamed. He looked a little like George Clooney, but she didn't know how much of that was actually him and how much was the darkness and the alcohol playing with her mind.

  “I'm not sure you're going to find that here.” She looked down at her hands.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Alana, tell me a little bit about yourself.” His voice was chipper.

  Alana picked up the glass and swirled it around in her hand, looking at the remnants of the liquid inside. She brought it to her lips but did not take a sip.

  “Can we not do this?” she asked, feeling numb.

  “I'm sorry?” He leaned toward her a little, grimacing.

  “It's just that I've had this conversation a million times before, and I'm tired of it. I'm sorry, I should just leave.” She picked up her jacket and started to walk away, but found her arm grabbed by him. She yanked it away.

  “Wait,” he called out, running after her, but she hurried on. She was tired of the whole scene. She pushed past people and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Jack Martin behind.

  Chapter 2

  Sweating, feeling claustrophobic, Alana pushed her way through the club. Get out of my way, she thought as she shoved past gyrating bodies. Finally, she was out into the cold night air, stumbling a little at first. She leaned against the wall and looked out at the smokers, huddled, chatting, flirting, jostling. A mob of individuals who would find casual sex; an easy lay and a night of passion while she would be left to wander the night alone.

  She hailed a cab and rode back to her apartment. When she was there she peeled off her dress and looked at her body in the bathroom mirror. “Ugh,” she grimaced, seeing only sagging flesh. In truth, a woman five or even ten years younger would have been jealous of her body, but Alana was a harsh critic and she could only see the flaws. From a young age she had been obsessed with an idea of perfection. It had always been with her. Now it felt as though she was moving further and further away from that ideal with every passing day.

  She slipped off her shoes and sank into bed, aware of the vacant space beside her. For too long it had been empty. She'd always told herself that she was waiting for the right man, but she wondered if she had waited too long. Like tonight. Jack. He was nice. All he wanted was to talk and she had messed that up. Alana pressed her palms to her aching head, wanting to scream. She was her own worst enemy. Things would never get better unless she made a change. She was stuck in this rut. Nothing was going the way she wanted it to.

  It had all seemed so simple ten years ago. She had been a beautiful twenty-year-old with the world at her f
eet. Her troubled youth was behind her and she could venture into a new future. She was fit, looked good, had begun a decent career as a legal secretary. She had it all. Now she was a decade older and she hadn't made any progress. She was still searching for that elusive spark that would settle her for the rest of her life, still haunted by memories of her past; days with little or no food, constant, loud squabbling, the anguish of toy ads on the constantly blaring television, toys that she could never even dream of having, wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs and shoes with holes in them. She’d always felt inferior amongst her peers, a laughing-stock.

  That impoverished upbringing had steeled Alana's heart and given her a certain image of success. The shame she’d felt, and the ridicule she had been subjected to by classmates that teased her about her raggedy clothes, dirty hair, lack of school supplies . . . in her class had never left her. She vowed she would never feel that way again. To feel good, you had to look good. In the wake of her childhood something had changed dramatically inside Alana. She had forsaken her parents because they didn't fit into the life she wanted, and she had carefully crafted a new life for herself. When people asked her about her youth she lied, for she was ashamed of where she’d come from.

  Perhaps that was why she found it so difficult to make a real connection with anyone, she thought as she tried to sleep. She was hiding a part of herself, and she told no one . . . aside from Marie. Marie was her best friend and the only person that knew everything about her. Best friend or not, Alana was a little jealous of Marie, she had to admit. For Marie things seemed so easy. Like tonight. Jack was still on Alana's mind as she fell asleep. All he'd wanted to do was talk and she'd run away like a scared little girl. Something was terribly wrong with her if she couldn't even give a man like that a chance.

  Throughout the night she tossed and turned, unable to get a restful sleep, and when her alarm went off the following morning she was already awake, waiting for it. She sighed and pushed herself up, then put on her workout clothes and went outside to begin her run. She jogged to the corner where she usually met Marie, but Marie wasn’t there. Alana checked her phone and called Marie, who answered with a yawn.