Claiming His Forever: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  “Answer her,” I snarl, pride sparking inside of me.

  “Yes, yes,” the man gasps. “I’ve got it. Jeez. I’m sorry.”

  “Good,” she sighs. “Then I don’t think you need to die.”

  “But you’ll be going to prison,” I tell him.

  I want to kill him – my body aches for it – but I will defer to my queen on this one.

  “You’ll turn us in?” the man says, voice shocked.

  I chuckle grimly. “Of course we’ll turn you in. We don’t owe you a damn thing. You’re lucky my woman has accepted your apology. Otherwise, you’d be digging your own grave for speaking about her way.

  The man shivers, recoiling from me.

  Of course, he’s a coward.

  Just like any man who would stoop to insulting a woman is.

  For as long as I live, I’ll never stop defending what’s mine.

  “It’s all arranged, boss,” Maury says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. They made me bring them.”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” I sigh darkly.

  I just hope it doesn’t end with a bullet in Maury’s head.

  I glance at my lady, but only briefly. I have to keep my attention on the men. Even concussed and disoriented and beaten, they could still try something.

  Still, Kimberly looks gorgeous in her prom dress, her hair ruffled around her shoulders, her cheeks a fierce red. She glances at me, biting her lip, and then smiles.

  The smile travels deep inside of me, spreading warmly.

  Looking at her, I know everything is going to work out just fine.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Kimberly

  I wake with the sun shining on my face.

  For a few groggy moments, I’m still trapped in the dream. I remember the hotel room and the way Kris and I became fused together in lust, rocking together at the end, melting into each other.

  Then the dream turns into a nightmare when I hear Aaron’s voice.

  In the disordered clutter of my sleepy mind, I see Aaron explode, reveal a secret gun, and shoot Kris.

  But no, that’s not what happened.

  Kris kept them pinned down until a bunch of Italian looking men in suits arrived, all with slicked back hair and glinting watches at their wrists. Some were older or younger than the others, but they all looked at Kris with unwavering loyalty flaring in their eyes.

  After that, it was simple. They took the men to the police station. Aaron is facing fifteen years in prison and his accomplices – all hardened criminals – are facing life.

  That was all two days ago.

  We’ve tried to forget by falling into each other, hunkering down in Kris’ apartment. Everything’s sleek and minimalist here, a modern bachelor’s base camp. I can already envision a few feminine touches here and there.

  I search for Kris when I get up.

  I’ll find him in the gym, his naked torso drenched in sweat, his muscles firm against the giant chains that hang from his neck as he does dips. My body tingles just thinking about yesterday morning, the way he bent me over the weights bench and made me his.

  But he’s not in the gym or his study. Maybe he’s gone into work. But he usually texts me.

  Suddenly, my heart is fluttering.

  Anxious thoughts try to invade my mind.

  In the aftermath of the hotel room, I begged Jackie to take Kris’ offer of private security. She only agreed after I almost broke down into tears. But nothing bad has happened. The men are facing a long time in prison.

  Kris had to exile Maury. It was the only way to stop some old-schoolers from killing him when they learned about what he’d done. He’s alive, free to forge his own path, but this city is off-limits to him. The truth is, I’m glad.

  We’re safe.

  But where the heck is Kris?

  I return to the living room. It’s all sleek obsidian marble flooring and hard modern edges. The furniture is sleek and steel-silver. The coffee table is glass so well-polished it looks invisible, floating between the suspended charcoal legs.

  There’s a folded-up piece of paper on the table.

  I snap it up, unfolding it.

  My Kimberly, he writes, his handwriting elegant and looping.

  I’m not at all surprised. He might have the hands of a giant, but he sure knows how to use them.

  Your chariot awaits you when you’re ready. Don’t keep me waiting too long. I ache for you. Always, I hunger for you. Wear something pretty … so anything, Kimberly, wear whatever the hell you want. Because you’re always beautiful. Yours, with love, Kristian XX

  My heart flutters when I read with love.

  We haven’t said that yet.

  But I feel it.

  I ache for him just as badly as he aches for me.

  I bite my lip, staring down at the note.

  Could this be it?

  I pace toward the bedroom, heart thudding.

  I shrug the faux-fur jacket around my shoulders, shivering against the late winter wind. There’s a hint of spring in the air, though, to accompany the first real sunlight.

  I let out wild giggles when I see two horses sitting in the executive parking space of Kris’ apartment building. The carriage is sleek white, bridal-white, I can’t help but think.

  Kris appears from beside it, looking suave in a steel-gray suit, his eyes flaring when he sees me.

  He strides over, and I rush to meet him. I don’t care about the pedestrians walking all around us, huffing as they rush to avoid my path.

  I just need to be with my man.

  I throw myself at him and hug him close, squeezing hard, as though if I let him go he’ll disappear.

  I cough back a sob, and that’s when I realize that this is all spinning me out of control.

  The break-in—waking up to find Kris gone—and now this …

  What if I’m wrong?

  “Kimberly, what is it?” he growls in my ear, clutching me close to him, easily holding me off the ground.

  “I’m just, oh, Kris, I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin this.”

  He sets me down and stares firmly into my eyes, his quicksilver dancing.

  “No,” he snarls, his voice so loud people start taking a wider track around us until it’s like we’re on our own little planet on the sidewalk.

  “No?” I whimper.

  He reaches down and strokes my cheek with his thumb, a bright smile spreading across his face.

  A smile that appears like sunshine through clouds, so hot it begins to melt me, but in a different way than in the bedroom.

  “I was going to take us on a ride out to our house in the suburbs,” he tells me. “But that can wait. I can read you, Kimberly. I’ll always be able to read you. And right now my woman needs security. You need to know that I love you.”

  I gasp, lost in the whirling madness of this moment.

  But instead of wanting to run and hideaway, I want to run toward the chaos. Maybe this is how Jackie feels when she’s painting something profound. Maybe mine and Kris’s love will be the art of my life.

  “I … I love you too,” I croak, tears rising in my eyes and streaming down my cheeks.

  “Oh, Kimberly,” my silver-haired wolf says. “I love you more than you could ever believe. I love you more than I thought I could love. I thought I was broken. I thought Dad dying, and Mom—you know what happened to my mother. I thought it broke something in me. Maybe it did. But you, Kimberly, you put me back together.”

  Tears choke me now, streaming freely down my cheeks.

  The rest of the world doesn’t exist, just my man with his wide shoulders and his fluid movements as he reaches into his inside jacket pocket. Behind him, the carriage awaits, the horse shifting slightly.

  Kris kneels down and presents the ring box, staring up at me with glistening intense eyes.

  “Kimberly Grayson,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.

  He opens the ring box and for a second I’m blinded.

  Sunlight glit
ters against the diamond.

  My eyes focus a moment later. It’s a subtle, elegant stone, large but somehow still retaining the grace of a smaller piece. It’s set within a white gold band, looking almost bone-colored. It just adds to the fairytale feeling.

  I’m floating.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes!,” I scream, not caring if a thousand passersby want to look our way.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I sing.

  He slides the ring onto my finger, rising fluidly to his feet and pulling me toward him. I wrap my arms around his huge, firm shoulders and our lips collide, tingling.

  He spins me around, both of us laughing as we kiss, and then he cradles me as he carries me toward the carriage.

  I feel like I’m floating even more now, higher and higher, and I’m almost convinced the carriage is going to take off when the horses start trotting.

  I rest my head against his shoulder, the city seeming far down from up here.

  “You’re so damn beautiful,” he says passionately, wrapping his arm around me. “Inside and out. I love you.”

  I turn toward the sun shafting through the clouds, making the road we’re driving down glitter on all sides with the windows of the skyscrapers. The sky above seems very far away, but the horizon seems strangely close. It’s our future.

  Tears burn hot paths down my cheeks, making me whimper and turn my face into his shoulder.

  “I love you,” I croak through my tears.

  “They’re happy tears,” he says.

  “Yes,” I moan.

  “No,” he chuckles. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you they’re happy tears.”

  “Oh, is that so?” I giggle, sitting up and staring at him.

  He grins at me. “No, my sweet fiancé. I just wanted to make you laugh.”

  EPILOGUE

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  Kristian

  Sleeping with Kimberly has been a revelation.

  I don’t mean the sex, even if that has been life-altering. I hunger for her, even more, every day. Just last night, she was bent over the kitchen counter, wearing an apron as I tugged on the straps and watched her big juicy ass bounce against my abs.

  Sex with her will always turn me fierce, feral.

  But sleep is a different world, too.

  I’m not plagued by nightmares and wild dreams. I find myself drifting off, envisioning our future together instead. I sleep in as late as seven AM some days, and that’s damn late for a man like me.

  This morning, I yawn awake and reach out for Kimberly. She’s stayed at my place more nights than she’s stayed at hers. Half her belongings are here already.

  Last night, I asked her to move in.

  She wept beautifully, melting into my arms, and I cradled her and laughed.

  “Of course we’re going to live together,” I told her. “What did you think?”

  She giggled as I kissed away her tears.

  “I know,” she’d said. “The thing is, I’ve already spoken to Jackie. She said she’s on board. She can turn my room into a studio. She said I should follow my heart.”

  “Then follow it,” I snarled, cradling her close.

  We erupted against each other than, a mess of hands and lips and passion.

  My hand meets with empty sheets now. I open my eyes and sit up, peering around the room. Everything is dusky with light.

  The green digital-clock readout tells me that it’s four-thirty in the morning.

  “Kimberly?” I groan.

  Usually, she sleeps pressed right up against me. I wake with my hands buried in the sweet curviness of her flesh. Sometimes I tease her needy wet hole, circle it until she shivers awake and starts pumping against me.

  “In here,” she calls from the end of the room.

  The door to the ensuite is open, showing a small rectangle of light on the floor. I walk across the room – noting that maybe Kimberly is right, we could do with some more rugs in here – to the ensuite doorway.

  Kimberly stands at the obsidian-marble sink, an object clutched in her hand as though it’s sacred.

  Her hair spills down her back, her pajama top clinging to the curvaceous beauty of her breasts. My cock pulses, but I have to tame that part of me for now.

  I look closer.

  My heart pumps up into my mouth, somehow stopping my voice.

  “Is it?” I gasp after a choked pause.

  She turns to me, her smile radiant, her eyes shining with love.

  “Yes, Kris,” she gasps. “I was so scared it wouldn’t be, but it is. It is. We’re going to have a baby.”

  “I’m the luckiest man alive,” I roar, scooping her into my arms and spinning us around and around.

  She giggles in delight and throws her arms around my shoulders.

  “I love you,” she whispers, smiling radiantly, glowing. My manhood swells. “I love you so freaking much, Kris.”

  “I love you,” I growl, placing her on the counter. I grab her hips, pulling her toward me, where she can feel all of me. “And I’m going to fuck you like I love you.”

  “You better, Kris,” she moans. “You freaking better.”

  EXTENDED EPILOGUE

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Kimberly

  “Yes, that will be absolutely brilliant,” I say, rocking baby Jaqueline – or Lil’ Jacks, as most call her – in my arms.

  I hold my cellphone to my ear, pulling faces at little Jackie as I finalize big Jackie’s latest art deal.

  “I’ll give her the good news very soon. Thank you so much for all your help.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Angelica Keenan says, one of the top art dealers in the city. “We absolutely adore your sister’s work. That stunt with the subway was very clever.”

  I smile when Lil’ Jacks blows a spit bubble, her lips twitching upward into a mirroring smile. I feel my soul flare for my daughter. There is something inside of me now, a new piece.

  Or more accurately my daughter is a piece of me, a gift.

  I almost break down in tears just thinking that.

  “I just wanted people to see her art,” I say. “And that was the most expedient way to get it done.”

  I knew it was a good idea to use Kris’ union connections to get Jackie’s art – and her Twitter handle – plastered all over the city’s subway system. Jackie is free to work on her art now. She can leave the managing and publicity to the woman she trusts most. Her baby sister.

  She laughs and hangs up.

  I sit back, grinning as Kris walks into the room. I’m sitting in the walk-in closet, still in my office gear. Sometimes I’ll just sit here with little Jackie, feeding her, or just watching her.

  Kris unbuttons his tie, shrugging his massive shoulders. His steel hair glistens in the lowlight. My husband has let his facial hair grow out a little, a spiky layer of iron across his strong jaw.

  “You did it,” Kris grins, striding over to me.

  I smile as he leans down, first kissing my forehead and then layer a tender kiss on Lil’ Jacks’.

  “I never doubted you,” he says. “You’ve done it, Kimberly. You’ve done right by your sister. You’re so damn talented. When you put your mind to something, nobody can stop you.”

  “I love you,” I whimper, as he embraces me, shielding little Jackie between our bodies.

  “I love you,” he whispers fiercely. “I was thinking of our wedding on the way home.”

  “Oh, really?” I smile.

  “I miss it. I miss the way mother wept when she saw you in that dress. I miss the whole world seeing the message, loud and clear, that this fine ass belongs to me.”

  I giggle. “Fine ass—hardly. More like pregnancy ass.”

  “Enough,” he says sternly. “Your body has only gotten …”

  He grins, chuckling, leaning back.

  “I can’t say it in front of our girl, but you know what I mean,” he laughs.

  “Spell it,” I smile, a teasing note in my voice.

 
He smirks at me. “Oh, Kimberly,” he says. “You know I’m all brawn and no brains.”

  “Please.” I pout. “For me?”

  He rolls his eyes, smirking. “S-E-X-Y. Happy now?”

  “Really?” I say.

  He nods, reaching over to tenderly cradle my cheek.

  Underneath his gentle touch, I can feel the tingling possibility of how he wants to claim me.

  “You’re perfect,” he growls. “I’ve never loved you more.”

  EXTENDED EPILOGUE

  TEN YEARS LATER

  Kristian

  “Daddy, look, I’m just like you,” little Bruno says, stomping up and down the bed with my suit pants just about clutched in his hands.

  I sit up, the sun glistening through the window. I can smell bacon coming from downstairs, the sizzle of it just reaching me through the large space of our mansion. I sniff, beast-like, scenting the food.

  “Am I the last one up, bud?” I say.

  Bruno grins. “Sunday Daddy means lazy Daddy, right?”

  I chuckle and dart my hand out, scooping my four year old into a hug and lifting him up. He laughs and squirms.

  “More like hungry Daddy,” I laugh. “And I think I want Bruno for breakfast.”

  “No, not for breakfast, Daddy,” Bruno giggles, slapping me on my back.

  “No?” I say. I sit him on my knee, bobbing him up and down. “What shall I have, then?”

  “Bacon,” he says. “Mommy said get Daddy because it’s time for bacon. And we love bacon, don’t we, Daddy?”

  “You’re right about that, Bruno,” I say. “What’s say we go on down and have a feast?”

  “Too late,” my wife says, appearing at the door with two plates in her hands. She’s wearing one of her flowing summer dresses, her apron pressing close to her curves.

  The births of four children have only made her body more curving, more appealing, alighting fresh fires of desire in me every time I look at her.

  Her blonde hair tumbles down her shoulders, radiant in the morning sun.

  “And what’s our punishment for lateness, wife?” I laugh. “Breakfast in bed?"

  “I know, I know,” she laughs. “But it’s only because baby Bruno is so cute. It has nothing to do with Daddy, right, Bruno?”