Aloha, page 60
How could I explain that to my husband? If he gave in and agreed to have a baby, would he resent me for it?
The depressing thoughts were lead in my veins, making me feel like I weighed ten tons as I stepped from the car back home. I made a quiet retreat for the bedroom but only got halfway through the living room when Conner grabbed my hand and stopped me. His large body radiated heat at my back, and his right hand circled around to cup my throat, holding me against him.
“Time to pay up.” His dark command would ordinarily have thrilled me, but I could only muster a spark of desire that quickly fizzled out in my current state of turmoil.
I wouldn’t refuse him, however. He’d held up his end of the bargain and had seemed lighter for it, just as I’d hoped. Now, it was my turn.
I nodded.
Conner didn’t move.
When he finally did, he turned me to face him, his piercing blue eyes spearing me in place. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” I didn’t know why I tried to avoid the subject. The determination set in his features made it clear that wouldn’t happen.
Conner’s biceps strained the fabric of his dress shirt as he crossed his arms. “Try again.”
I sighed and turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Neither of us knew what we were getting into when we got married. That’s nobody’s fault. I mean, it’s not like you can have intimate conversations about your hopes and dreams with someone you’ve just met, and our situation was infinitely more complicated than a simple arranged marriage.”
“Emi, what the fuck are you talking about?” Conner barked, his confusion and frustration sharpening his words.
I turned and met his stare, my vision blurring with tears. “I’m starting to understand that you aren’t crazy about kids. I get it—not everyone wants children—but I’m not sure I can be okay without them.” Emotion choked back my voice to a hoarse whisper.
Conner’s brows furrowed as he uncrossed his arms. “Kids? Is that what this is about?”
I nodded. “You’ve grumbled about them ever since we got the invitation to the baptism. I thought you were going to run screaming when I suggested you hold Gabby.”
“Fuck, baby. You had me worried.” He ran a hand through his hair, then closed the distance between us. “I’m not crazy about kids—other people’s kids. I don’t need someone else’s baby snot on me. But that has nothing to do with us.” Conner cupped my face, keeping my gaze locked on his. “I can’t imagine anything more perfect than my child growing inside you. In fact, I’d plant that seed right now if you wanted.”
He pulled my body against his as he kissed me, his rapidly hardening length proof of just how ready he was. My relief was voracious. I wove my fingers through his thick, dark hair and devoured his kiss. Our tongues teased and caressed, teeth nipping and claiming until we had to pull apart for air.
“You really do want a family?” Hope inflated my chest to bursting.
“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. Get off the pill, and we’ll make it happen.”
My grin was so wide it made my cheeks ache. “Not yet. I’m enjoying our time together, just us.”
Conner’s lids grew hooded, and the air around us thickened. I watched his deft fingers as he undid his cuff links, then placed them in his palm for me to see. I hadn’t noticed them before. They were unusual—a sort of clip—each with a brilliant blue sapphire surrounded in white gold.
“Ready?” he asked pointedly.
Then it hit me.
These were the clamps. He’d been wearing them the whole time.
I took them from him and examined the beautiful craftsmanship. “When did you get these?” And where? They weren’t something you’d have found at a standard sex shop.
“I went out the day we made our deal and had them commissioned with a jeweler. I liked the idea of knowing that after I see them on you, I can wear them to work and think of how incredible they looked on your perfect tits.”
Air. I needed air.
“Oh,” I said on a strangled breath.
“Now, my scheming little wife, you made a deal, and it’s time for you to strip.”
Chapter 5
Conner
Seeing Noemi slowly undress in the middle of our living room took me back to a pivotal turning point in our relationship. It was the first time she entrusted me with her body and soul. Every bit of the overpowering emotions from that day came flooding back to me. She was already my wife at the time, but that day, she truly became mine.
“On your knees.” I used the same words I had that day, and I could tell by the fiery passion in her eyes that she recalled our exchange as clearly as I did.
With every inch of her perfect skin bared, Noemi lowered to her knees. She was far enough from the window that I didn’t worry about anyone seeing, but just to be safe, I pressed the remote to close the automated drapes. The room darkened.
She still had the clamps clutched in her hand. I liked knowing she could feel their weight in her palm, the anticipation building.
Slowly, I rolled up my sleeves and slid the belt from my waist with purposeful intent.
“Arms up.” I buckled the black leather around her wrists above her head. The rise and fall of her breaths at shallow, uneven intervals was intoxicating to watch.
Once her wrists were secure, I allowed her to lower them. “Spread your knees wider.”
She obeyed my instructions flawlessly. Hair falling down over her shoulders, wrists bound and her legs spread for me, she was a fucking goddess. The wanton look in her green eyes frayed my control to the barest thread.
I held out my palm before her in a silent command. The metal clamps were warm from the heat of her palm. I dropped them into my pocket, then pulled the knot of my tie free, sliding the blue silk from around my neck before retying it on Noemi as a blindfold.
I allowed my fingers to trail from her jaw down her neck and onward until I gently kneaded her breasts in my hands. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. If it didn’t mean someone else seeing you like this, I’d have your portrait painted.” I pinched one pebbled nipple, making her gasp. “I suppose I could always kill the artist once the painting was done,” I mused.
My wife smirked, slowly turning her head side to side in admonishment.
I lowered myself to my knees. “You’re right. There’ll never be anything as good as the real thing. And besides, I have better things to do with my time.”
I took out the clamps and placed one on her right nipple. Noemi inhaled sharply, then relaxed into the sensation.
“That’s my girl,” I almost purred with satisfaction.
Jesus, she was almost too good to be true.
“How’s the pressure?” I asked.
She nodded. “It feels good.” Breathless with anticipation. Exactly what I wanted to hear.
“Mmm…” I positioned the second clamp, then admired my handiwork. The sight was even better than I’d imagined. I caressed my knuckles from the outer curve of her breasts down to the underside and back, then gave the clamps the slightest flick. They bobbed on her nipples. Noemi’s head dropped back as she released a wanton moan.
If my dick got any harder, I was afraid it might fall off.
I circled behind her, then lowered myself to the ground. Lying on my back below her, I scooted my head between her thighs.
“Oh!” My wife’s surprised gasp drew a smile to my lips.
I clasped her thighs and pulled her down. The second she made contact with my lips, I felt her legs flex to keep herself hovered above me.
“Em,” I said in warning.
“I’m scared I’m going to smother you.”
“I’m a foot taller and weigh a hundred pounds more than you. If you smother me to death, I deserved to die.” I arched my neck and licked from her slick opening to her swollen clit. “Now sit on my face. I’m ready for my cake.”
I licked and sucked and devoured, occasionally bringing my arms around to flick the clamps and tease a new wave of sensation from them. Only a few minutes in, and Noemi curved forward, her hands bracing herself on the floor.
“Oh God, Conner. It’s too much. Being upright … it’s too much. The orgasm’s too big—I can’t…”
I released the clamps at the same time, causing her to arch back upright, then I fucked her relentlessly with my fingers and tongue. Noemi shattered on my face, her primal cry bellowing through the apartment. With her head thrown back and thighs squeezing my head, she could have been the Greek goddess of carnal pleasure—a deity too perfect to walk among humankind.
I gave her a handful of frantic heartbeats to recover before rolling her to her back and tearing off my clothes like they were on fucking fire.
With no barriers left between us, I dove back down and licked at her puckered red nipples. Emi moaned wantonly. It was enough to rob a man of his sanity.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
I jerked the blindfold off and surged inside her, wanting to see the emerald spark in her eyes as I filled her.
“Jesus, fuck, you feel divine.”
“Yes, Conner. Give me more. I need more.” She hooked her bound hands over my head and clung to me as I began to pound inside her. Who was I to deny my wife when she needed to be fucked?
I buried myself inside her time and again, rutting like an animal on the living room rug. It was goddam perfection. When her inner muscles seized and spasmed around me, I couldn’t hold back had I wanted to. Bolts of electric release shot from deep in my balls to my spine, then a flash flood of pleasure surged through my veins outward to every extremity.
Palms tingling and ears ringing, I glided in and out of her in measured, reverent movements.
“See, clamps aren’t so bad.”
“Mmm … I suppose I could work on being more open-minded,” she said in a raspy, sex-drunk murmur.
My hand drifted down her side and around to her ass. “There’s all kinds of fun we can have with this if you’re brave enough to try.” I teased my fingers at the rim of the puckered ring of muscle.
Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch or squirm.
“You’ll have to come up with a hell of a lot more compelling incentive than a baptism for that.”
I hadn’t been sure how she’d respond, but the hint of amusement in her voice sparked hope.
“There’s always Maui,” I offered, a smile in my voice.
“Bigger. Maui’s already a done deal.”
Keeping her arms and legs wrapped around me, I lifted us up from the floor and set off for the bathroom to clean up.
“That’s it?” she questioned. “You’re not even going to argue?”
I snarled playfully, then grazed my teeth along her neck. “No need. This”—I snuck my finger back to her rear entrance—“will be mine, and you’ll love every second of it. I have no doubt.”
“Is that a promise?” she asked huskily.
“When it comes to you, there’s a promise in every word I say. Always and forever.”
Thank you so much for reading this extended bonus epilogue of Silent Vows! I’d been wanting to do a bonus scene for these two, and the Maui anthology felt like the perfect opportunity. I was in Lahaina in 2021 and have been heartbroken to see the devastation. I’m so thrilled that our book community has come together to help!
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Coffee
Julia Kent
Chapter 1
“How’s my little boy?” Declan asks as his hand comes around from behind me, smooth palm splayed so as much of his skin presses against mine. The murmur against my ear makes me smile, his lips warm as they kiss the soft skin at the nape of my neck.
“He’s fine. His incubator is, too.”
Declan’s hand moves lower, to my aching thigh. “I was just about to make sure Madame Incubator’s every need is met.”
“Every need, hmmm? That’s a tall order.” I feel his smile against my shoulder as the heat of him against my back feels oh, so good. Morning beard growth is so sexy as he nuzzles me.
“I am a tall man. A big man.” His hips nudge against my ass, the gesture making it clear what he means by “big.”
“You are the best man.”
“That sounds like I’m in a wedding.”
“Maybe soon!”
“What?” He sounds nonplussed, hand halting. The strong scent of lavender from our sheets makes me sigh, burrowing back into him. Our bedroom is an oasis, a quiet place down the hall from where our four-year-old, Ellie, mercifully sleeps. Still living in our Boston condo, we’re waiting for renovations to be completed on our Weston home.
“Home” is an understatement.
My husband is constitutionally incapable of doing anything within the range of average, so when he bought us our first home together, he purchased an entire conference center. Seventeen buildings, 118 acres, a working farm, six cottages, twelve suites. Two swimming pools. One large pond. A “modest” four-bedroom cottage larger than the house I grew up in can be our living space while a custom-designed home and office is built on the premises.
All abutting his childhood home, which is currently owned by his brother.
In other words: he out-competed him. Declan’s home will be bigger, better, and more lavish than his childhood home built by his father, the one Andrew bought.
And lives in now.
Billionaires are so weird.
Dec pulls back, then peers over my side as I turn my head to look at him. Confused green eyes meet mine, and he has the worst case of bedhead.
Which means he’s adorably rumpled.
I laugh. “My sister, Amy? Your cousin, Hamish? Remember them?”
“What about them?”
“You know he’s going to propose soon. That means a wedding is coming.” Alarm floods me. Oh, no. My mother planning another wedding. Poor Amy. As sisters go, she’s wonderful.
As a bride? She’s screwed.
“How did we get from meeting your every need to their wedding? Stay focused, honey.”
His fingers do something that makes it impossible to focus.
Between moans and sighs, I manage to utter, “Ellie might come in here.”
“I locked the door.”
“She figured out how to pick it last week!”
“Only because Hamish taught her,” he whispers between kisses. “You don’t have to worry about Ellie. I bribed her.”
“Bribed her! With what?”
The sound of Ellie’s favorite video game music floats through the air.
I groan. Or maybe it’s a moan. Hard to tell at this point as I roll over and kiss him deeply, my lungs working a little extra hard to take in air. I fully blame the occupant currently pushing up against them.
Our little boy.
Cupping my breast under my loose nightgown, Declan moves over me. He sleeps naked, so that makes morning sex easy. No matter how often we make love, the thrill of his chest against mine, our belly-to-belly skin contact, the feel of his coarse leg hair scratching against my legs – it’s all so heavenly.
And his kisses are divine.
“I love your luscious body when you’re pregnant,” he says, looking down at me as he climbs off and helps me to stop being ridiculously overdressed. “Why do you wear anything to bed? I’ve asked you so many times to sleep naked, like me.”
“I don’t know.” That’s not a language placeholder. I really don’t know. “It’s just how I’ve always slept.”
“Change is good for people, Shannon.”
“Why don’t you start wearing pajamas, then?”
Thick, dark eyebrows shoot up. “Why would I want to do that?” he demands, as if I’ve asked him to start a new crypto-currency or refuse a tax deduction.
“See? You have your comfort zone, and I have mine.”
“But mine,” he says in a low, predatory voice as he pulls my nipple into his mouth, “is so much more comfortable.”
For the next five minutes, he proves himself right.
Yes, only five minutes. This is not our norm, but:
Minute 1: three text messages pinged on his phone, then four on mine.
Minute 2: his phone rang and he had to move his face from between my legs to throw the damn thing into a hamper filled with laundry.
Minute 3: the next-door neighbor appears to be doing a reno project involving a jackhammer and a guy from Southie with a voice like a mobster screaming, “Not ovah theya, Jacko!”
Minute 4: Declan was finally inside me, and things were looking up, up, up.
Minute 5: good enough.
We’re spooning again because the watermelon pretending to be a baby makes any other position rough, and while Declan strokes my breasts and kisses my neck again, I just bask in the afterglow.
“We have to get away,” he says, just as the construction dude next door screams, “DO YOU HAVE ONE BRAIN CELL RATTLING AROUND IN THAT MELON OF YAHZ, TOMMY?? IT’S DRYWALL, NOT FINE CHINA! PUT IT OVAH THEYA AND GETYA ASS TO THE YAHD!”
Ellie bangs on the door, shouting, “I can’t find my tablet charger!”
I laugh hard enough that he falls out and turn to face him, stroking his cheekbone. Time has been good to my husband, laugh lines around his eyes an addition I’m proud of.
Immensely.
When I met him more than a decade ago, Declan McCormick was all business, and I mean all business. His face had the expressive range of a granite slab. The man never revealed his feelings, or thoughts. “Poker face” doesn’t quite cut it, but it’s close enough. He viewed the world through an intricate set of dynamic judgements about how to optimize for positive financial outcomes for his father’s company, Anterdec, as if his life depended on it.
As if his sense of self were constructed one deal, one merger, one acquisition, one negotiation at a time, and the only way to have a soul was to win.
