Forbidden Daddy Page 7

  I shudder through my climax.

  His begins. He digs his fingers into the back of my neck, jams into my pussy, pressing himself deep. He quits moving and simply throbs inside me, emptying himself.

  A slow tingle spreads over my skin, the satisfaction of having spent this moment with him, and it being real, just us together.

  Nicholas grunts and drags me back into his arms again, peppers the side of my face with kisses. “This is it,” he says.

  “What?” I ask, and lay on the pillows, half-asleep after the orgasm.

  “This is exactly where I want to be.”

  Chapter 19

  Nicholas

  I check my watch – a Breitling – and raise an eyebrow, perching on the edge of my vast walnut desk in the office. “He’s late, as usual.”

  Heather stands beside me, not leaning against the desk, but with her arms folded across her chest. She wears the silk blouse I bought for her, and a pencil skirt clinging to her curves. She’s gorgeous but the nerves have silenced her.

  I hate the fact that my son can bring silence to her, even though it’s been a month since we returned from Mystique Island. A month of pure pleasure with each other, and the absolute joy of watching her flourish, watching her study and enjoy her life with me.

  “I don’t understand why we have to do this,” she says, and clears her throat. “He already knows we’re an item. This just feels like we’re throwing it in his face. He cheated on me but I don’t want him to suffer.”

  “Jake won’t suffer from this,” I say. “And this is a necessary evil. I need to do this in order to do the next thing on my list.”

  “What’s after this?” Heather asks, and her bottom lip trembles.

  I’ve already taken her over the desk, spread those ass cheeks and injected that hot cunt full of cum, right here, but I’ll never be able to get enough of this woman. I force myself to break eye contact. I don’t need the boner, now. “You’ll see,” I say.

  A knock sounds at the door, three sharps raps, not in the least bit timid.

  “Come in,” I say.

  This is the first time my son has deigned to meet me in the month since my return. I’m not nervous for shit.

  Jake opens the office door and storms inside. He looks like his mother when he’s angry. His mother who left me with all the responsibility and a broken heart. He halts and runs his hand over his short, blond hair.

  He glares at Heather. “What the fuck? What’s she doing here?”

  “She’s here because she’s with me,” I say. “We’re a couple now.”

  Heather inhales. It’s something I haven’t brought up with her yet. I simply assumed she understood that by how much time we spend together.

  “This is some kind of sick joke,” Jake says. “Dad, I can’t believe you’d do this to me. I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s not about you, son,” I say, firmly. “That’s a concept you seem loathe to grasp. None of this is about you. The world does not revolve around Jake Bennett. Heather is my partner, now, and you’re going to have to deal with that. Perhaps, if you’d treated her as you should have, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Jake’s mouth flaps open and closed.

  “I know what happened between you two, Jake. I have to say I’m disappointed. I didn’t raise you to behave that way.”

  “That’s rich coming from you,” he spits.

  “Silence.” I drag my hand through the air and he obeys, instantly. “I’ve called you here today, simply to tell you the score. Heather is my partner and there will be no more handouts from me. If you fail another course, I won’t pay for your tuition this year. Is that understood?”

  Jake vibrates in place. He’s beyond pissed but he’s brought this upon himself.

  “I’ve let you get away with too much, it seems. From now on, you’ll work to earn as much of your tuition as possible. I’ll pay the rest, but at the end of your college career, you will pay me back as you would a bank.”

  His eyes widen. “B-but –”

  “That’s all,” I say.

  “You – I – I’m not going to –” The words don’t quite make it across the room. He takes a single step back, shakes his head, glances first at Heather, then fixes his gaze on me. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good. You’ll leave now. I have a prior appointment.”

  Jake hesitates, and for a minute, my resolve melts. I’ve loved this kid since the day I first held him in my arms, but I’ve been too soft on him and his recent dickish behavior is a result of that.

  Finally, he nods and leaves the room. He shuts the office door behind himself, quietly.

  Heather lets out a sigh. “Oh, god, that was horrible.”

  “Don’t feel bad for him. It’s a lesson he has to learn,” I say, and take her into my arms, pressing my fingers to her lips.

  I kiss her, a soft peck, rather than the make-out session that started our little naughty spree on the desk earlier. “Now, to the next thing on my list.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve got news. I bought a villa on Mystique Island. It’s on the strictly non-party section of the place. Same white sand beaches, turquoise ocean, without all the fucking in plain sight.”

  Her face lights up. “That’s great! I’m so happy for you.”

  “So happy for us,” I reply. “I want you to move in with me there. You can study long distance, if necessary. I’ll spare no expense in helping you achieve your goals, Heather.”

  “But –”

  “Don’t say you can’t accept it. I won’t take no for an answer.” I kiss her again, this time deeper, drawing a long moan from her throat. “I told you in the beginning, gorgeous. You’re mine.”

  She hesitates, then a smile parts those luscious, blow job lips. “Yes, Daddy.”

  Thank you for reading.

  Want more of Mystique Island? Forbidden Feast is the second book in the series. See the next page for a sneak peek.

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  Blakely After Dark

  KIRA BLAKELY

  “You are cordially invited to Mystique Island.”

  It’s a Thanksgiving feast fit for a king, and I’m the main course.

  This getaway is for wild, uninhibited sex, but there’s nothing wild about it for me.

  I have a plan, and a goal.

  There’s only one man that I want, and he’s going to lick his plate clean.

  Pretty please with a cherry on top.

  My cherry.

  Rainier is the most powerful man I’ve ever met.

  My boss. My master.

  I know he could never see me the way I need him to see me. He’s perfect, and I’m me.

  But on Mystique Island, we wear masks.

  So I take off my glasses. I let down my hair. And I open my legs…

  Welcome to Blakely After Dark. This is a naughty quick read for mature audiences only. Happily ever after’s are guaranteed!

  Chapter 1

  Rainier

  I don’t even realize I’m staring at her. Miss Petit, my assistant, rifles through the top drawer of a sleek wooden cabinet in my office. She’s silhouetted perfectly in the bright window behind my desk. The roundness of her ass is so wonderfully accentuated in that pencil skirt. It’s a shock and a shame that her breasts are always smothered away in annoyingly professional blouses. She flicks through my files, peering over the rims of her square-framed glasses. Warm cinnamon-colored hair is gathered into a strict topknot on the crown of her head, and she looks so sexy right now. Normally, I don’t go for the librarian type; I prefer bombshells. But if you took off her glasses and pulled down her hair... if you unzipped her tight little skirt...

>   Miss Petit finds the file she needs and whirls, then shrieks and staggers back into the cabinet, closing it with her shoulder blades. Her liquid hazel eyes widen in shock.

  “Mr. Howell, it’s you!” she exclaims, pressing the manila folder against her tits and exhaling in relief. I wish I wasn’t such a dirty man with this girl. I really do. She’s only twenty-two, and she doesn’t deserve to feel like a piece of meat—no matter how hard my mouth is watering. No matter how hard my—

  “I was just getting the last of your files in order for when you get back from your Thanksgiving trip. I’m so sorry I didn’t get your permission to be in here first.”

  “Bad girl,” I murmur, striding closer to her. I wonder what she wears under the skirt. Thigh highs? Or just wet panties? I bet she smells delicious between her legs and I thicken without meaning to or wanting to. “Somebody ought to teach you a lesson.”

  “Wh-what?” Miss Petit stammers, blinking up at me.

  I shake my head, clearing away the fog of lust. It’s been a few months since I blew my load inside an actual flesh-and-blood woman and it’s starting to affect my work performance. The invitation from Mystique Island couldn’t have come at a better time, honestly. Poor Miss Petit is about to be thrown against my desk and have her clothes ripped off.

  “Sorry, Miss Petit.” I pull in a deep breath and my cock relaxes. “Just kidding. That was inappropriate.”

  A deep blush flowers on Miss Petit’s cheeks. “You can call me Ella, sir.”

  Fuck. I get rigid again. You can call me Ella. She’s never said that before, and we’ve worked together for four months now.

  Hm. That’s how long I’ve been fucking celibate, too.

  A problem I seek to rectify this weekend.

  “Ella.” I repeat her name deeply, enjoying the way it rolls off my tongue.

  A little flame leaps in her eyes and I see the way her body shifts, like she’s just begging to be grabbed.

  “So,” she says, swallowing. “Where are you taking your holiday this year? Rex told me you’re always jetting off to mysterious islands.”

  I settle into the leather chair behind my desk, even though Ella is very close and now my eyes are level with her ass. Still, I like this position. I feel powerful, like I could grab her hips and yank her into my lap any second. I smooth a hand over my black and white suit and notice that I’m visibly erect. There’s no way to hide it from Ella, but she pretends like she doesn’t see it. I touch at my flawlessly styled black hair and then leave it. I know sometimes the tiniest touch can make everything unravel...

  “Rex, huh?” I prod, not answering her question. The last thing she needs to know is Mystique Island. “You two old friends?” I wonder, raising a thick eyebrow at her. I’m not jealous. Just amused. Rex is my partner at Howell & McKenzie, our six-billion-dollar property enterprise.

  But Ella is my assistant. Not his. And I’m not jealous. Just amused.

  “Er, no,” Ella corrects me, blushing harder. The hot pink on her fair cheeks only highlights the adorable diamond-shaped structure of her face. Her jaw is delicate, but her cheekbones are so sharp, they could cut a bitch. Paired with those pouty lips and that elegant nose, she doesn’t really belong in clerical services. She belongs on the front page of Cosmo.

  Or Penthouse... with her dewy thighs spread open and her glasses off, nibbling at them like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

  I need to get out of this office and pound into a woman pronto, before all this untapped masculinity ends with Ella suing the company. With just cause.

  “He just asked me to call him Rex,” she explains lightly. She turns and organizes the new file with some other folders on my desk, then pulls out a Post-It and presses it to the folder. She plucks a pen from its holster and jots down a note for me. “He was being nice,” she continues, but I’m staring at that juicy ass in my face right now. My cock pounds for her, and I know I can’t talk him down this time. He’s beating as hard as my heart.

  I come to a stand behind her. Her hips run parallel with mine, and I can tell that, if I leaned into her, the crack of her ass would nestle perfectly against my hard-on.

  “Am I not nice?” I wonder, my voice thick with restraint.

  Ella glances over her shoulder at me. “Not particularly, Mr. Howell,” she breathes.

  “Nor will I be,” I promise her. “My tombstone is going to say Mr. Howell on it.”

  She laughs, a light, musical thing, and stands upright, turning to face me. There’s a rainbow of color-coded envelopes on my desk. She really would be the perfect woman—if she didn’t work for me, of course. And if she wasn’t so meek and clean.

  “I think I’m all done here,” she says, “unless you need me for anything else.”

  Unless you need me for anything else.

  I imagine myself buried inside her mouth, her hair loose and wild in my lap, my load pulsing down her throat in hot rushes of relief. She knows I’m hard right now. Is she trying to suggest something, or is my brain so full of testosterone, I can’t think straight anymore?

  “Nothing,” I croak. “I guess you’ll be with your family this Thanksgiving, like everyone else.”

  “That’s the plan,” Ella answers brightly. “The rest of us will be at home, eating turkey and bickering about politics, while you’re on your Mystery Island.”

  My jaw clenches and I wonder how much Rex seriously told her. The identities of the partygoers at Mystique Island are confidential. It’s the kind of thing that could never ruin a billionaire... but it could certainly create an unnecessary ripple in the Twittersphere.

  “Rex doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I assure her, reaching out and smoothing one flyaway wisp from her bun. Her chin tilts up responsively. A submissive. I knew it. Not recoiling from my touch but bending to it. I remove my hand and her eyelashes flutter like she’s waking from a daydream. “There’s no Mystery Island. Just a timeshare at Sandals. I carry a lot of stress in my shoulders, and it helps. Jamaica this year,” I lie.

  “I wish I could come with you.” Her eyes have never looked bigger.

  You can. You can come with me right now.

  “You don’t mean that,” I assure her. “Everyone needs to be with family.”

  “I’ve been in this office seventy hours a week for four months,” she answers me. “Sometimes it feels like this is home.”

  I bite my tongue from extending an invitation to Mystique Island to her. I want to be inside her, between her legs, to the hilt... but I know I just need to get into someone. It isn’t her. She’s just a beautiful woman, always bending over in front of me. That’s all. But she’s not my type, and bringing her on an extravagant sexcapade would only break her heart in the long run.

  Mystique Island is very selective, anyway. I couldn’t just bring her, even if I wanted to. They run STD screenings and pregnancy tests and everything.

  “Maybe next year,” I tell her, even though I know I’m lying. “I’ll bring you back a souvenir, though. What do you want?”

  She gazes back at me and says nothing.

  “Anything your heart desires,” I add.

  She sighs and answers, “Sand in a bottle. Sand from Jamaica.”

  I wink at her, feeling generous. I will bring her back sand from Mystique Island. It’s the least I can do. Ella is such a good girl for me, and I do work her hard. “You got it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Howell,” she says. “See you next week.”

  I watch her walk out, suddenly famished.

  Chapter 2

  Ella

  It’s in my purse throughout the work day. It’s in my purse as I ride the subway home. Only when I’m safely behind closed doors do I dig it out and dare smooth my hand over the rich golden envelope. Embossed in diamantes is my name: ISABELLA PETIT.

  Everything is perfect, just like I imagined that it would be.

  You are cordially invited to join us for Thanksgiving Dinner on Mystique Island. Masks will be required at all times
during the course of your stay over the weekend. All clothing, food, and accommodations will be provided for you. Welcome to the sexiest event of your life.

  If Rainier—Mr. Howell, I correct myself—knew about this, he would certainly blame Rex McKenzie, his partner... and the one who told me about these parties. In spite of the fact that I’m reserved solely for Mr. Howell’s needs, Mr. McKenzie—”Rex,” he’s constantly reminding me to call him—finds reasons to visit my desk every day. And on a day in late September, that reason was to ask if I had ever heard of Mystique Island.

  “Of course, you haven’t,” he said, and furnished me with this envelope. He pressed a single finger to his lips, implying that this was our secret.

  “What is it?” I asked, inspecting the envelope. I remained seated, and I held the envelope in my lap, now understanding its nature. “I don’t think this is... appropriate.”

  “Don’t think,” Rex whispered back. “Just come. This is Mystique Island.” Rex had told me that the island was a favorite getaway of his… and also of Mr. Howell’s.

  I knew it was a sex party because I had to get all kinds of screenings and start taking birth control to get clearance, which I learned when I called to RSVP. Let me say that I’m not the kind of girl to do this kind of thing... I’m still a virgin. A workaholic. A nerd.

  But I did it. I got all the tests. I started taking the pill. And I RSVP’d.

  But not for Rex.

  Mr. Howell isn’t the only one who won’t settle for anything less than the best.

  He’s the one I want.

  And his shitty lie about going to Sandals Jamaica was what tore it for me. There was no way a man like Mr. Howell would be caught dead at a mediocre second-honeymoon destination.

  Mr. Howell is... perfection personified. From the black hair that is never out-of-place, always combed into an Ivy League side part, down to his cufflinks, down to his manicured fingertips and muscled body, trained rigorously in everything from boxing to yoga. Mr. Howell is perfection. He only drives luxurious foreign cars. He only wears tailored, designer suits. He would never settle for a resort that brings throngs of middle-class workers onto its beach.