Jordyn's Army, page 26
I’ve dreamt of this. I know I have. Finley’s pussy.
Bare and glistening. Puffy and pink, each wet fold an invitation meant for me.
I know beauty. Before my deal with Damon King, I appraised priceless works of art. Illuminated manuscripts created by monks who spent years toiling in silence and service, expressing themselves in the only way available to them.
Finley’s cunt goes beyond merely beautiful. It is perfection.
No dream, even mine, can compete.
No dream can capture the heat that warms my lips as I get close enough to lick her. No fantasy can encompass the scent that fills my lungs with each bated breath, musky and sweet. And her taste. Fuck.
With Finley’s weight on my shoulders, my hands wrap around her thighs. Holding her still, I gorge myself. I am all tongue and teeth, devouring Finley’s pussy with an insatiable greed that only increases with each suck of her clit, each lick of her slit. I growl against her slick skin like an animal. A hungry beast.
And Finley is hardly her normal self. Her fingers plunge into my hair, her fingernails raking my scalp as she grinds against my face, using the wall at her back as leverage to buck against me, grinding her hips and rolling her pelvis.
Her breathless cries and desperate moans are muffled, the sound distorted by the press of her legs against my ears. It is the best soundtrack I’ve ever heard.
Her movements grow more frenzied, the warm satin of her pussy quivering against my tongue. My cock is heavy and throbbing, painfully hard inside my pants. The ache is a steady, sonorous drumbeat that echoes within my bones.
And after one minute or one hour—I have no idea because time has been rendered irrelevant—Finley’s orgasm is the crescendo of our symphony. A shriek flies off her tongue as she stiffens against me, her spine a convex curve as she arches away from the wall, her entire body shaking.
I press my tongue against her clit, not licking, not sucking, just applying pressure as she rides out her climax. And when her muscles ease, every last bit of tension bleeding out on a broken sigh, I finally pull away from her, pausing only to wipe my cheeks and chin on her thighs before drawing her into my arms and rising to my feet.
For a brief moment, Finley goes stiff in my arms, as if remembering that I’m her enemy. Maybe I am.
But not today.
“Don’t even think about it,” I whisper against the sweet shell of her ear just barely peeking through the tousled mane that had felt like silk in my palm.
Her response is a moan. Part arousal, part resistance.
Her arms come around my neck. Arousal wins.
I walk with Finley to the living room, depositing her gently over the arm of the couch. “Stay. Your bare ass had better still be in the air when I get back.” A dry chuckle works its way up my throat. “And if you leave, don’t for one second think I won’t chase you down and fuck you in the goddamn lobby.”
I don’t wait for an argument or a snippy comeback, striding into my bedroom for a condom and into the kitchen for something else.
I’m not gone long, and when I return, I am struck anew by the sight in front of me. Finley is naked. Gloriously naked. The delicate curve of her spine arching like a rainbow beneath the smooth, pale expanse of her back, her shoulder blades spread like angel wings.
My palm is so hot, the ice cube in my hand is already more of a thick sliver. Finley gasps as I rub it over her neck, running it in sure strokes down her back and into the crack of her ass. Before it melts entirely, I press it against her clit. Her hips squirm away and I hold her in place with my free hand, pushing what’s left of the ice inside her pussy. “Gotta cool you down or I’m going to combust when I fuck you.”
Finley’s muffled response isn’t clear, but it definitely isn’t a protest.
I drop kisses on her shoulders as my hands slide around her ribcage to cup her breasts. They are perfect handfuls, filling without overflowing, the furled points of her nipples pressing into my palm.
I growl a curse as I release my grip and yank at my belt and clothes, making quick work of everything until they are merely discarded brushstrokes of leather and fabric on the floor of my apartment.
I roll the condom on, my movements rough and impatient. I’ve never wanted to be inside any woman this badly.
There is something about Finley that calls to me. An innate sexiness I find irresistibly appealing. But more than that, Finley is cunning and smart, each one of our interactions reinforcing the impression that she is fulfilling a legacy of her own.
I want to know more about her. More about why she has chosen to work with Damon King.
Oh, I know the basics. That Damon took over the failing criminal enterprise of Finley’s father, making it bigger and more successful than it had ever been before. Changing the outdated business model—because make no mistake, organized crime is a business—and transforming into a thriving enterprise that rivals the best and brightest on Wall Street.
What I don’t understand is why Finley didn’t take over her father’s business herself.
I’ve witnessed no animosity between Finley and Damon to indicate that she resents his involvement. Or that she had tried to run things and failed.
What inspires Finley’s loyalty?
Had she hoped to leave this life behind, as I had?
But for now, all these questions will have to wait.
Because what I really need to know is how my cock will feel sheathed inside Finley’s pussy. I need to hear her scream my name again. I need to see her lose control.
For one moment, however, I stand still behind her. Motionless. Watching the quick rise and fall of her ribcage, the steady blink, blink, blink of her eyelashes in profile, the pink flush that has spread over her skin.
I also need confirmation that she is as sure about this as I am. “Finley, if—”
“Don’t you dare stop, Sebastian. Don’t you dare,” she says in a husky, trembling voice before I can finish my question, lifting onto her toes and exposing the shadowed crease between her legs, her ass like a split, succulent peach.
There are so many things I want to do to Finley's body. So many places to kiss and fuck and spank and touch. But if I don’t feel the clench of her pussy around my cock, I might as well die.
I grab Finley by her hipbones and slam into her. There is no forewarning, but she is so damn wet her body offers no resistance. As I bottom out inside her, her gasped cry of pleasure mingles with my roar of conquest.
And then I wonder if this is what death feels like. Heat and pressure and a buzzing in my brain.
It’s only a fleeting thought. Because my most primal urges have taken over.
Who gives a fuck about death? I’m not stopping until I find paradise.
And so, I pull out, bearing the pain of leaving Finley’s body with a hiss through clenched teeth. I suck in a deep breath, then thrust forward once again.
And again and again and again.
Over and over and over.
At some point, I flip Finley around, throwing her legs over my shoulders as she arches over the arm of the couch, her hair spread like a storm cloud on the cushions, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, her mouth open and crying out my name.
I am a king, a prince, a fucking conqueror.
This moment is my reward for embracing my legacy.
This woman is my destiny.
Finley Byrne is mine.
If you’ve enjoyed this peek at the Wages of Sin world, download Cruel Sanctuary today! Links can be found at https://www.taraleighbooks.com.
He is the monarch of Manhattan. She is a political princess.
This is enemies-to-lovers romance at its most ruthless.
They say New York City is the Devil’s Playground.
They’re wrong.
This city belongs to me.
And so does Aislinn Granville.
She is a pampered politician’s daughter.
A decorative ornament, raised to smile and nod and do what she’s told.
Except… she doesn’t. Not with me. Ever.
In this city full of thugs and thieves, I’ve kept Aislinn safe.
From my enemies.
From me.
Until now.
https://www.taraleighbooks.com
About the Author
Tara Leigh is a multi-published author of steamy contemporary romance. A former banker on Wall Street, she graduated from Washington University and holds an MBA from Columbia Business School, but she much prefers spending her days with fictional boyfriends than analyzing financial spreadsheets. Tara currently lives in Fairfield County, Connecticut with her husband, children, and fur-baby, Pixie.
Website: https://www.taraleighbooks.com
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Whiskey & Roses
Kaylee Ryan
1
Rhett
I’m lying to my wife. Well, not technically, but I am keeping a secret from her—her and our youngest daughter, Lilah. That little bugger can’t keep a secret to save her life. The older kids are on board, and I’ve sworn them to secrecy. It’s crazy, but I feel like I’m cheating on her. I’m packing my phone everywhere I go and am constantly deleting messages and emails. She’s been eyeing me suspiciously for weeks, and it’s stressing me the fuck out. Thankfully, we only have one more day of this before we fill her in on what’s going on.
“Babe, are you even listening to me?” Saylor huffs.
“Sorry, lots going on today and my mind wandered off. What were you saying?”
“Gracie has practice tonight at five. Number Four has karate at five thirty. I’ll pick them all up from day camp at four.”
“What do I need to do?” I ask this because my wife keeps our family moving. Sixteen years and four kids later, and she still handles all of us with so much ease and a big-ass smile on her face. Never once has Saylor complained of too many practices or running around too much with the kids. She’s a mom and a taxi driver all in one, and she loves it.
She smiles. “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you what we were doing. I’ll have Nora and Lilah with me. I’ll probably bring home dinner.”
“I can cook,” I remind her.
“You’ve been working like crazy on that new line at the distillery. I think a relaxing night is what we all need.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.” I’m mentally going through my day for real this time, trying to see what I can cut out. An evening to wrap up any final plans is perfect.
“Kids,” she calls. “We’ve gotta go.”
The sound of four sets of feet pounding down the stairs makes me smile. I grew up visiting this house. As an only child, I always wished for a sibling to hang out with. Sadness washes over me anytime I think about those days. Gramps has been gone for five years now, and it never gets any easier. All of the kids got to know him except for Lilah; she was just one when he passed.
“Gracie, don’t forget your cleats,” Saylor reminds her as she wipes down the kitchen counter.
“Got ’em,” our firstborn replies. She grabs a piece of cinnamon toast from the counter, kisses me on the cheek, and heads to the garage. Gracie is fifteen now and growing up way too damn fast. She’s no longer a little girl; she’s becoming a woman, and I want to freeze time. I can still remember the day she was born. She was so tiny in my arms.
I look across the counter to our only son, Rhett Alexander Baxter the fourth, our second born. I watch as he kisses his mom’s cheek and gives her a hug. At thirteen, he’s already an inch taller than Saylor. He’s my namesake, well, the family’s namesake. We have a ton of pictures thanks to my mom and my wife of the four generations of Baxter men. When Gramps passed, our little man took it hard. He’d formed a tight bond with his great grandfather, as well as his grandfather.
My parents moved their brewery here to Tennessee shortly after Gracie was born. We combined the two businesses, adding on to the distillery. It worked well for us having the entire family close by. Saylor and my mom grew even closer. She never had much family, and I’m grateful mine embraced her.
“Mom, I can’t find my camp shirt,” our third born, Nora, says as she rushes into the kitchen.
“Nora June.” Saylor sighs. “I had it out for you on your dresser.”
“Oh.” She grins and races off up the stairs to her room.
“That girl is going to need to marry a man who’s organized,” Saylor says, smiling to herself and shaking her head.
“Hey. She’s ten. No marrying off my girls before they’re at least thirty.”
“Dad,” Gracie says with a groan.
“What about me?” Number Four, as we like to call him, speaks up.
My wife stops and gives me a look. You know the one that says I can’t be that dad who is overprotective of my girls, but lets my son, the only other man in this house, have more freedom. “I hope one day you find a woman as wonderful as your momma,” I say, deflecting.
“Good save, Whiskey.” Saylor laughs.
“Today’s the final day of day camp, right?” I ask my wife.
“Yeah. It’s been a long week.”
It has, but I’m glad she’s been occupied. It’s made my secret keeping much easier. The three older kids have been at a summer day camp all week. Lilah, our youngest, just turned six, so Saylor made a big deal out of mommy-daughter time this week since she was feeling left out. They went shopping, got their hair done, their nails. One day my mom and Molly went along as well. Jake and Molly’s boys, who are fourteen and eleven, have been at camp all week too.
“Where’s your sister?” Saylor asks our three oldest. She looks down at her wrist, checking the time.
“She was in her room,” Nora tells us.
“I’ll get her.” After taking the steps two at a time, I reach her room and see her face first on her princess bed. “Hey, Princess Lilah.” I take a seat on the edge of her mattress.
“Hi, Daddy” is her mumbled reply. She turns to face me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to go to camp.” She juts out her bottom lip, and she and I are both aware of what that does to me.
“Come here.” She climbs onto my lap. “I wish you could go, baby girl, but you’re not old enough.”
Tears well in her eyes. “I wanna be big.”
“That would break Daddy’s heart,” I say, rubbing my hand up her back. Her sniffles grow softer. “You’re my baby. I’m not ready for you to grow up.” I’m not sure if I’m saying the words for her or for me.
“But Gracie and Nora are big. And Bubby, he’s big.” She sniffs.
“I know. You are all growing up way too fast. It would make Daddy really happy if you could stay small just a little longer.”
“It’s not fair.” She cuddles into me. My heart melts. This little girl—all four of my kids actually—hold my heart in their hands. Just like their momma. Saylor changed my life for the better. With each new addition to our family, the love I had for her only grew stronger.
“I have a secret,” I tell her. I know I’m going to regret this, but I’ll do anything to keep her from being so sad. Besides, I’m not going to tell her the entire truth. I’ve worked too hard for this surprise to come off without a hitch.
“A surprise?” She lifts her head and wipes at her cheeks. “I like surprises.”
I smile. There’s my princess. “I know you do.” I kiss her nose. “Daddy and Mommy have an anniversary coming up. Do you know what that means?”
She shakes her head. “I’m six,” she tells me, like I should have known better. Her sass reminds me so much of Short Stack. It could be because Lilah is her mini-me. She’s tiny, with Saylor’s hair and eyes. A mini replica right down to her smile.
“Right,” I agree. “Well, an anniversary is where you count the years that something has happened. Sixteen years ago, your mommy and I got married.”
She nods. “Mommy said you’re her Prince Charming just like in the movies.”
I can’t contain my smile. “That’s right. And you and your sisters should never settle for anything less than your own Prince Charming,” I tell her. Saylor tells me I’m setting their expectations too high. My answer is always the same. “Good. I want them to be.” Our girls deserve men who will sweep them off their feet. Sure, I kid about them never getting married, but I know that’s not reality. I work hard to show them, and my son, how a man should treat a woman.
“Whiskey!” Saylor calls up the steps. “We gotta go.”
“Be right there!” I call back. “We have to hurry,” I whisper excitedly, and my baby girl feeds off my enthusiasm, just as I hoped she would. Her tears forgotten. “I’m taking Mommy somewhere special for our anniversary,” I tell her. It’s not a lie. I am. But Saylor knows we’re taking a trip. She just doesn’t know where. When Lilah spills the beans, like I know she will, Saylor will go along with it, and not think anything of it. I hope. “It’s our secret, okay?”
She makes a production of zipping her lips and throwing away the key. “I won’t say anyfing,” she mumbles, making me laugh.
“Thank you. Now, we better get downstairs. You have a big day planned with Mommy.”
She nods and jumps off my lap. She makes it halfway to the door before she stops and turns to face me. “Love you, Daddy.” She gives me a toothless grin, and rushes downstairs.
My heart swells with love for her, for all of them. I stand from her pink princess bed, and make my way downstairs. Lilah is sitting at the counter, kicking her feet and spinning in her chair. “Hey, you, you need to settle down and eat so you can get on the road.”
She turns to face me. There’s a half-eaten piece of cinnamon toast in her hand, and the other half is on her face. “I’m eating, Daddy.” She holds up her toast to prove her point.
“I see that.” I run my hands over her baby-soft hair and kiss the top of her head. Making my way around the counter, I do the same to Nora. “Where are your brother and sister?” I ask her.
