Amy Brent is an Amazon Bestselling Author for the following books:

The Doctor’s Fake Marriage (#19 US Amazon Bestseller)

My Best Friend’s Dad (#26 US Amazon Best Seller)

Claiming Cinderella (#28 US Amazon Bestseller)

Filthy SEAL (#45 US Amazon Bestseller)

Mr. Perfect O (#54 Amazon Bestseller)

Filthy Doctor (#63 US Amazon Bestseller)

Fighting for Her (#69 US Amazon Bestseller)

Filthy Cowboy (#75 Amazon Bestseller)

Next Door Daddy (#95 Amazon Bestseller)

Amy writes hot, spicy romances that feature gorgeous alpha men who love to protect their women. Amy's heroes are rough, hot, bad boys and billionaires who possess that soft heart a woman definitely yearns for. 

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My Best Friend’s Dad (Sneak Peek)

Chapter 1

Gemma

Graduation day had gone off without a hitch, but the night after would be what changed the course of my life. I had always noticed my best friend’s father was a handsome man, but not until then did I see just how sexy he truly was.

Lila and I had been best friends with since our freshman year when I’d moved in with my grandmother just after losing my mother to a horrible addiction. We went out after our ceremony to celebrate our freedom and hopefully find a good time. My goal had been to sleep with Champ Cummings, the high school football star, but he’d been so busy throwing back beers and sucking funnels to worry about getting laid. Lila had spent the night throwing back shots and dancing on tables, and by midnight I could tell she needed an intervention.

“Come on; let’s get you home.” I reached up and offered her a hand after she’d stumbled on the wobbly patio table. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“Sh. Don’t jinx me!” She threw her head back and laughed, and for a moment I thought she would fight me. I wasn’t in any kind of mood for an argument, especially with drunk Lila. Drunk Lila was impossible to deal with and didn’t know why anyone would want to dull her shine.

“Come on; I’m bored with this. Let’s go.” It had been the same old scene for months, and I didn’t know why I’d expected anything to change just because the school’s super-intendant had handed me a piece of paper and shaken my hand.

“Fine,” she said in a reasonable tone, which had me suspicious.

I helped her down before she had too much time to change her mind and as soon as she righted with both feet on the pavers, she leaned over and puked in a plant.

I let loose a sigh and crinkled my nose as I waited for her to finish. She’d worn her hair up, so my job was easier than usual. It sucked being the only sober person at the party, but since I didn’t care much for drinking, I’d promised to take care of Lila yet again. We’d spent the better part of our senior year doing the same thing every weekend, and I had our routine down perfectly.

I helped her to the car, and by the time I drove us to her gate, she was passed out. I had punched in the passcode hoping that her father hadn’t changed it again. He’d done that before and caught us when the alarm finally sounded from failed attempts. I made sure to enter the numbers correctly and help my breath, not releasing until the gate opened up.

Their mansion was so big, that even though I’d been there many times before, I’d never seen the entire house. Lila and I had kept to our usual path to the third floor, and her father’s wing was in the second. I took the back stairs and roused her enough to get her up to bed and luckily, I didn’t have to carry her.

“Did you have any fun at all?” she asked as I pulled back her covers and she stripped off her clothes.

“No, Champ is an idiot, and I’ll be a virgin forever. What was I thinking? He’s a total loser, and once he blows out a knee, he won’t have a brain to fall back on. He’s already had two concussions.” I rambled on as she dressed and crawled into bed, burying down in the fluffy white comforter.

“You’ll find someone, Gemma, and when it happens, it will be amazing, not some backseat romp with a sweaty jerk.” She’s never approved of Champ, but since he was the most popular guy in school, I had set my sights on him. She’d lost her virginity at the first of the school year, and though she’d had a nice relationship with the boy for several months after, they’d only done it a few more times. Maybe I was just trying to catch up. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had other guys interested, but I had wanted that moment to be perfect.

“Yeah, I think I should stop trying. Maybe if I give up, it will hap—

The soft purr of her snoring made me feel lonely, and I sat in her room for a while after changing into my night clothes feeling restless. My tummy growled, and my throat was dry because it had been hours since I’d had anything to eat or drink. The party didn’t have food, and the only drinks had been alcoholic, so I decided to go down to the kitchen and grab a snack knowing Lila had told me many times to make myself at home.

Voices downstairs made me take a pause on the second-floor landing, and I ducked down behind the banister when I saw Mr. Porter with a woman I recognized as his newly hired cook. She sat between his legs with her back to him, and his strong hands massaged her shoulders. They were whispering so low, that I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but now and then he’d give a soft chuckle, and she’d giggle.

He leaned down and kissed the woman’s neck and from what I could tell, from my near overhead view, he reached around to her front with one hand and slipped it beneath her shirt.

Earlier that day, Lila had told me how much she disliked the woman and that she felt she’d only wanted the job to hit on her father. She was very picky about the women her father saw, and I wondered how she’d feel to know that he was with the woman who had served us our waffles that morning. My stomach growled, and I put a hand to my stomach as I sat on my bottom wishing I could make it to the kitchen. I tried to think if there was another route, but the only way was passed Mr. Porter who was now cupping the woman’s breasts and kissing her.

I couldn’t peel my eyes away, and warm tingle bloomed between my legs as she turned around and from what I could see, she rubbed his crotch. He eased back, and she undid his belt, and before long, I could see his impressive cock. It was huge compared to Champ’s who’d been the recipient of three different blow jobs, and my mouth watered as the cook took him into her mouth.

They were an attractive couple, and I couldn’t help but be turned on as she worked her mouth on him, her head bobbing up and down in his lap. She was a petite blonde, and Mr. Porter, who I’d always thought was the hottest dad living, was tall, dark, and handsome, with chiseled features and a winning smile. He was also a very successful businessman, and from what I’d been told, his fortune was worth billions.

We got along okay, and because I was around so much, I’d become like another member of the family. He’d often praised my sketches when he’d see me doodling, and had just that morning told me what a talented girl I was. The truth was, his encouragement and praise are the reason I had made plans to go to art school for design and one day I hoped to work for him.

I was fortunate to know them. Even though my grandmother’s money was nothing to sneeze at, the only reason I’d met Lila and became friends was that she’d insisted on going to public school. She’d already gotten in trouble at the last private school she’d attended. Being a single dad, her father usually gave her whatever she wanted and so I came and went as she pleased.

Things below were heating up, downstairs and in my panties. I couldn’t help but rub my knees together, and soon I decided that I had to touch it. I cupped my mound and moved my hips, hoping to ease the ache, but then all of a sudden, the two stood up, and he took her hand and led her to the stairs. They were coming up!

As they paused to kiss, I darted down the unfamiliar hall and into the first room I came to assume it was her father’s office, but then I turned around and realized that I’d gone to the wrong door. This was his bedroom.

I heard them approaching, their voices getting louder and so I ducked into the closet leaving the door open just enough to see what was going on and praying I wouldn’t be caught.

The two walked in, and he shut the door as she took off her clothes. She had the hottest body ever, and I wished my own was as filled out. She also had on the sexiest bra and panties set, and I made up my mind then and there that I would never wear cotton panties again. Mine was soaked and getting wetter by the minute as Mr. Porter slipped off his shirt and then undid his pants and let them drop. Holy mother. He was gorgeous. I knew he spent a lot of time in the gym, but damn; he was in better shape than most of the boys at school, and his body was more developed and mature.

As he took her to the bed and she lay back, spreading her legs wide for him, I covered my mouth. My panting had grown loud, and it was then I decided I had to rub my pussy. I slipped my hand down inside my panties and stroked the tender bud as he put his hand her to hers and she moaned.

Then he centered his cock at her entrance and pushed his hip, burying deep inside her. It was then that I realized he was what I needed. Not some boy, but a man like Mr. Porter.

It was all I could do not to make a sound, especially when the woman came and my release followed. I pulled my lips in tight and covered my mouth as my slender fingers worked my slick pussy.

Mr. Porter picked her up against him, and she threw her head back as his large cock penetrated working like a piston, driving hard. The noise was growing louder, and as he talked dirty to her, it occurred to me why he had his own suite. He was relentless, and she loved it. I wanted to love it too.

“You like my fucking cock, don’t you? It’s what you’ve wanted all along isn’t it?” His voice was so harsh, but it was so sexy, and she nodded and whimpered as she admitted he was right. “Yeah, I’ve wanted it too. Why do you think you got the job?”

I looked at the woman wondering how I could be like her, desirable in his eyes. The kind of woman he wanted to hire. Her breasts were no larger than mine, but she held herself with more confidence, and while her hair was a slightly different blond, my strawberry blond was prettier. I suddenly wanted to be a woman and not a girl, to give up the childish clothes, sandals, and ponytails, and to make myself sexy enough to attract a man like Mr. Porter. Or better yet, Mr. Porter himself, and he’d give me the job I wanted too.

I was even more convinced that he was the one for me when he worked the woman thoroughly through a series of orgasms, which seemed so much more intense than the ones I’d been giving myself. Then he jerked his cock out from her glistening pussy and shot his come all over her boobs. His load was incredible, and I had no idea men could come so much. Champ had never given me anything like that before, and I suddenly felt cheated.

The cook, who lay there with her legs scissoring together, raked her finger across her breasts and brought the digit to her mouth. She gave a little mm sound, and I realized she’d tasted it. As my tummy growled again, I wished I was her.

He brought her a towel from the bathroom, and they cleaned up and dressed. I sat back hoping they’d hurry so I could run back up to Lila’s room.

I had given up on a snack, knowing there was only one thing I craved. And I knew with certainty that I wanted Mr. Porter to be the man I gave myself to.

As he walked her out of his room, I found my opportunity to make a getaway and opened the closet door, but I’d only taken two steps out of it when he walked back into the room.

Chapter 2

Whitt

I would let the little slut walk herself out and hit the showers, or at least that was my plan. I walked back into my room to see my daughter’s friend, Gemma, standing near my closet door wide-eyed with fear and embarrassment.

“Gemma? What the hell are you doing?” The girl had been like family to my daughter for years, and though I hadn’t been around her as much, I had always seen her a good kid.

She stuttered and stammered, “I’m uh, I—

“You were in the closet?” I stepped forward and grabbed her arm and looked down at her small frame. She was in a cotton camisole top, and boy shorts like my daughter wore, and I couldn’t help but notice the little wet spot in the front between her legs.

My cock twitched as I realized what she’d been doing and suddenly she found her voice. “I’m sorry, I was on my way down to the kitchen, and I saw you on the couch. Then you came up, and I was trying to—

“You were trying to see more, weren’t you?” She must have been curious about the sex she’d seen downstairs, and I wondered how much of the blowjob she’d witnessed.

“No, I really wasn’t; I swear, Mr. Porter.” She looked up at me with her big blue eyes and pouty lips, and I glanced down to see her tight nipples pressed against her little camisole. She was aroused.

“I think you’re lying, Gemma. What were you doing in that closet?”

“It’s like I said, sir. I promise I wasn’t trying to do anything. I just didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know it was your room.”

“You could have made yourself known. Did Lila put you up to this?” I hoped my daughter had nothing to do with it and the last thing I wanted her to know was that I was fucking someone on the staff again. She had been so upset the last time she’d caught me with the housekeeper.

“No, sir. She’s asleep.” Her eyes trailed down to my cock, and even though I had on a robe, I had a feeling she could tell it was hard. Her eyes were puffy red, and I was afraid she’d start to cry.

I tried to soften my voice. “Gemma, you can’t just hide in my closet while I have sex. You should have made yourself known from the beginning and suffered the embarrassment; you’re not a little girl anymore.” I glanced back down to her slender frame and thought of all the ways I could take her, knowing full well if I wanted to fuck her I could have her down on the bed and beneath me in a heartbeat.

She must have played with her pussy in the closet while watching and I wondered if she had a crush. What I really needed to know was, would she run and tell Lila. I had to bribe her to keep her quiet, so I decided to question her. “Did you and Lila drink at the party?” She shook her head, but I gave her a knowing glance.

“Lila had a few, but she’s sleeping them off.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts which pushed them together. “Please, don’t punish her.”

I had a right mind to punish them both, starting with Gemma. I could make her suck my cock or let me fuck her and dare her to tell Lila anything, but I couldn’t do that. I didn’t have to in order to keep her quiet. “I don’t want Lila to know about Felicity, the cook.”

“I promise I won’t tell, but could I ask you for something, Mr. Porter?” She stepped closer and placed her hands on my arms as she let my eyes with a seductive look.

“Maybe. But I think I need to know what you saw, Gemma.” Her face reddened even more, and I pinched her chin and lifted her eyes to mine.

“I saw everything.” She tilted her head, and I knew she meant my cock and my grand finale.

“And how did that make you feel, Gemma. I have a feeling you were doing more than watching. And that little wet spot in your panties is how I know.” I hoped to shock and embarrass her so she’d go.

She gasped and glanced down at herself and then lifted her chin. “So, it’s only natural for me to be turned on and I think you’re very sexy.”

I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride through my cock but cursed it beneath my breath. “You’re a beautiful girl, Gemma. But you have so much growing up to do. An adult wouldn’t have hidden in the closet. And just because you have sex, doesn’t mean you are grown up.”

“I’m a virgin, and if you don’t want me to tell Lila, I won’t. But would you kiss me?” She pushed her shoulders back and pressed her chest out. She was a bold one, and I was surprised that she’d not lost her cherry with all that fire. The thought of being the one to take it from her had me even more conflicted than before.

My better sense won out. “I can’t kiss you, Gemma. You’re too young. That would be inappropriate.”

“I’m not a little girl. I’m eighteen and perfectly legal.” She batted her lashes at me and leaned in closer. “And I’m very willing.”

“You’re Lila’s age.”

“What if I wasn’t her friend; what if I was older? Would you lay me back like you did your cook and put your big, thick cock inside my tight little hole?” She was a breath away from that kiss when she stopped and gave me a challenging look. Her dirty mouth needed a big fat cock in it for sure, but it wasn’t going to be mine.

“If you were older, you’d still be Lila’s best friend.”

“I can keep a secret, Mr. Porter. What’s one more?” She had me there, but I couldn’t do it. Every ounce of decency in me was warning me it was a bad idea.

“It’s not going to happen.” I shook my head, but she stood up on her tiptoes and pulled me down to her mouth. I let my mouth open, and my tongue slipped inside for a short moment, but then I pulled away, prying her arms off of me. “Gemma!” I gave her a hard glare, and she stepped back and crossed her arm as if she were about to pout.

“Am I so horrible?” She lifted her shoulders, and her eyes ringed red with tears. I felt horrible for rejecting her in such a harsh way and brought her into my arms.

“Gemma, you’re a gorgeous girl, and yes, if you were a bit older, I’d violate you in every way possible, but baby, you’re so young.”

“I’m not though, everyone I know has had sex and I—

“My Lila?” I stiffened, and she looked up at me but didn’t make a move to confirm or deny. I knew she’d slipped. “Dammit. Don’t tell me; I don’t want to know.”

“I want it to be you, Mr. Porter. I saw you tonight, you know what to do with a woman, and I need someone who will make it special.” She had seen it all. The thought of her watching me, that I’d have a little voyeur in the closet spying was a total fucking turn on. Especially since she’d been so hot, she had to take care of business.

“It will be special with someone you care about, not some old man who could be your father.”

“You know I don’t have a father.”

“That’s what I should be, Gemma. Like a father.”

“Kiss me, and I promise, I’ll be a good girl.” She stepped back up to me and put her hands on my chest and gave me a pouty look.

“One tiny kiss, Gemma. And nothing will ever come of it.” I took a deep breath telling myself over and over that it could only be one small kiss. I’d give it to her to keep her quiet, and that would be the end of it. “I do this, and you go up to bed, and we never speak of it again or anything else that happened tonight. Deal?”

“Deal. But, I want a real kiss.” She smiled, and I nodded in agreement. It would be a real kiss all right. She lifted her chin, and I brought my mouth down to her full lips, tasting the bubble gum chapstick she wore. She ran her fingers through my hair and pressed her body against me, and I knew my erection was pressing into her flat little tummy.

She didn’t kiss like a little girl, and I knew I had to be the one to break away, but she had such a grip on my hair that entertained it a bit longer. I rested my hand just under her breast, and she gave a little moan as she slipped her tongue into my mouth. While I was distracted with that, she snaked her free hand down to cup my balls through the robe, and I knew it was time to end things before I hiked her up onto my cock and took her against the wall.

I pushed her hand away as she was trying to find her way into my robe. “Gemma. It’s not going to happen.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying. It was a hot kiss, Mr. Porter.” Hearing her say Mr. Porter put things back into perspective and while I would have agreed, I didn’t. I turned and walked to the bathroom door and left her to go. I shut the door behind me, and after I had heard her leave and checked to make sure, I turned on the shower and stepped inside. I lathered my hand and leaned back against the wall as I worked my cock, and I felt two inches tall as I thought of Gemma the whole time. Even though I knew it was wrong, I had wanted her, and been damned close.

I nutted and went to bed, hoping that she knew how to keep her mouth shut.

The next morning at breakfast when Felicity brought out our meals, Gemma watched us like a hawk from over the top of her drawing tablet as Lila made small talk. I didn’t let on that I knew she’d been drinking, or that she’d given herself to some unworthy boy. Gemma wasn’t the only one who had secrets.

As Lila excused herself to take a phone call, Gemma looked up and smiled. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell her.”

“I know, Gemma. It wouldn’t do either of us any good.”

“You’re right, but I want you to know something, Mr. Porter. I’m not giving up, and one day, I’ll be exactly what you want.”

I’d never spoken another word about it to her, and as the years passed, I hoped that we could put it out of our minds like it had never happened, but for some reason I couldn’t forget her determination or the way she’d kissed me, and now and then I’d regret not taking the opportunity.

Chapter 3

Whitt

Four Years later

“Don’t tell me Gorgio is late again.” My daughter’s voice brought my head up from my phone as she walked out onto the patio where we’d had our morning breakfasts since she was a girl.

“Good morning to you too, Lila.” My daughter’s fresh face was a welcome sight, but I wished she’d work on her attitude. She pushed her long, brown hair back as she approached.

She pulled out her chair and lowered herself into it, careful not to wrinkle her skirt which she smoothed out before scooting forward. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I’m the only one in this house who should be late for anything. It throws things off-balance. I don’t know what to do when I’m early and how’s a hot breakfast going to settle?”

“The way you make fun of yourself while complaining is an art.” My phone rang as Gorgio came out from the kitchen with a tray. I had never hired a cook that wouldn’t serve, but Gorgio was new to the game.

I answered the phone as he made his apologies. “Hello?”

“Mr. Porter?” The sound on the other end of the phone was making it hard to hear, so I stepped away from the table and the lecture Lila was giving the cook.

“Yes, Megan?” I recognized my secretary of eight year’s voice.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry this is such short notice, but I’m afraid I won’t be back to work.”

“What? Quitting?” I’d just given her a big bonus for her hard work, and now she was going to bail?

“Yes, well, my boyfriend, Craig, he proposed to me, and well, we’re moving. We were actually married this weekend.” There were sirens and bells going off in the background, and for a moment it sounded like she was in the middle of an air raid. She wasn’t fazed by the situation.

“Couldn’t you drop by the office and let’s discuss this. I hate to lose—

“We’re in Vegas, Whitt. I’m sorry. It’s all happened so fast.”

“I understand. Call me later, would you? Take care.” I ended the call and returned to the table in a sour mood. You could have all the money in the world, but bad days were free.

“Who was that, Daddy?” Lila was halfway through her eggs, and Gorgio was gone.

I sat at the table and let out a long sigh. My day was fucked, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock. “That was Megan who apparently took the huge bonus I gave her and went to Vegas where she’s married that loser boyfriend of hers.”

Lila scrunched her nose. “You mean Craig? He wasn’t so bad, Daddy. He owns his own company, and I’m sure he didn’t want her working. Some men are old-fashioned that way.” She was talking about that asshat of a boyfriend she was dating.

“Well, what the hell! What am I supposed to do for a secretary? I need someone to screen my calls, or I’ll go nuts. I’ve got a lot on my plate with the new expansions and remodels and the last thing I need to worry about some trainee.”

She placed her hand on my arm and gave me a sympathetic pat. “You won’t have to hire them, get yourself a temp and they’ll train whoever comes in to take their place.”

“I liked Megan. I had all her lined out.” She was one of the only girls I’d hired who hadn’t wanted to mess around, which told me she had a good head on her shoulders. I needed someone I could depend on. “Why don’t you come and do the job.” Having my daughter at the office would give us more time together, not to mention I could keep her busy enough that maybe her boyfriend would lose interest.

She let out a short laugh. “You’ve got to be crazy. I have a lot to do and working for you isn’t on the list.”

I took a bite of bacon and then wiped my mouth. “You need to settle down into a job and stop chasing that boyfriend of yours.” I had tried to convince her to ditch that pompous jerk for months, but she was determined it was true love.

“Daniel is putting in for a transfer, and if he gets it, he’ll be moving closer. Then I won’t have to travel so much.”

“It’s not the traveling; it’s the spending the night with him. You’re going to end up pregnant and ruin your future.”

“Daddy, relax. I’m on the pill, and he knows what he’s doing. He’s a grown man. Not some silly boy.” I had much preferred she’d been with a silly boy at times.

“I don’t want to hear about that; I just want my daughter to—

“To live here forever and be unhappy and chastened for the rest of her life; yeah, I get it. I wish you’d accept that me and Daniel are in love, Daddy and he’s a good guy. Besides, if you don’t like me remarking on the women you date.” She stabbed her last bite of eggs and crammed them into her mouth.

“Which you do, anyway.” I hated spending the morning arguing, but neither of us had raised our voices once. We were like two old barking dogs, and it was only because we cared about one another.

“Oh, Daddy!” She practically jumped in her seat and then wiped her mouth before continuing. “I’ve just thought of the perfect person to hire!”

“Who? Don’t tell me it’s some guy you met at a party; I’ve already hired Gorgio against my better judgment.” She’d met him at a party where he was the caterer, and they’d hit it off.

“Please, Daddy. You can’t deny those are the best eggs you’ve had and I’m talking about Gemma.” My cock twitched at the name. Gemma had been a constant fantasy since she was eighteen and had thrown herself at me.

“Where has she been lately? You used to have her over every day.” She’d continued to come around after our incident, and her favorite thing to do was taunt me. I’d managed to avoid her, but she hadn’t made it easy. I figured she’d finally given up on me.

“Daddy, that’s been a while. She went to art school, and she’s finished up her degree. She invited you to her graduation a few weeks ago, remember?” I nodded, remembering that I’d had to go out of town for business.

“Oh yeah. I’m sure she’d want to put her degree to use than and not be a phone jockey. She’s always been far too talented to sit in an office.” And too seductive. I thought of her young virgin body, those tight nipples pressing against her little top and that wet spot in her panties and cleared my throat. Fuck, she still made me hot. She’d grown up a lot since then, and though I’d tried to avoid her, I’d noticed that since that night, she’d changed. She started wearing her hair down and styled, and her clothes had taken on a more mature style. She’d been even harder to resist, but I knew we couldn’t be together.

“So, hire her as a designer. You know she’s got skills, you’ve seen her sketches since she was a kid.” She was good, but there was no way I could deal with another designer, not since I was already sleeping with the one I’d hired.

“Then what do I do with Ashely?”

“That’s a good question, Daddy. What do you do with Ashley?” She gave me a narrowed glare. She’d been upset with me ever since she caught Ashley leaving the house.

“It’s not what you think.” I gave her a scolding look. “She had only come by to show me some sketches.” And her breasts. And how well she gives head. And how well she can work a cock.

“Whatever. Then hire Gemma as your secretary. She needs to work.”

“I don’t think the office is the place for Gemma.” I could see that going south fast. Especially when she tried to seduce me. I had a feeling that Lila was only hoping Gemma could play spy, anyway. She’d been suspicious of Ashley and me, and she knew I had to be seeing someone since my last serious relationship had ended six months earlier. Not that it was nothing too serious, but I’d let her meet Lila, which was a risk.

It turned out the two liked each other for a while, but then once Lila overheard her at the club talking about how she was going to marry me for my money, she’d put her on the road. The last I heard, she’d found a new victim. Good riddance.

But Lila had been even more protective about who I saw and her opinions of them. Put that together with the fact that I hated her new relationship and we were quite the pair.

“Daddy, please. It would help her out.”

“I’d rather give her a check than a job if she’s that hard up. But the answer is no. You need to worry about yourself and to get your own career kicked off. I don’t want you having to worry about some guy supporting you. You’re strong, and you can take care of yourself.”

“I know that, Daddy. But, so what if I want my man to take care of me? I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, and that’s your fault. So, maybe I have a new daddy now.” She gave me a wink, and I wanted to punch a wall. I hadn’t liked Daniel from the moment I’d learned he was fourteen years older than my little girl.

I couldn’t say too much though, my last relationship had been the same distance in age and though Lila hadn’t minded at the time, she had encouraged me to see women my own age since.

“I’m the only daddy,” I said with a growl as I pulled my mug to my lips. I sipped the warm coffee and wondered what I was going to do. I’d have to call the temp agency as soon as possible.

“You’re jealous, Daddy and it’s adorable. But you took care of mom. You didn’t expect her to go out and get a job.” She shook her head and gave me a look as if she’d just won the argument.

“Your mother worked until you were born, and if she was still around, I know she’d be working again. She made that sacrifice for you.” She’d made many sacrifices, and one of them had been our marriage. I couldn’t tell Lila that though, she didn’t need to know some things like the fact that her mother’s fatal wreck when she was only five, had happened on the way back from seeing her lover. I’d only found out about the infidelity after she was gone.

I’d never let Lila know, not wanting to tarnish the memory of her mother and I knew that her protective nature about seeing other women was because of losing her mother and the way I’d handled the grief. All of my grief had turned to hate, and I’d used sex to deal with it. It took a lot to trust and I never really thought I’d be that close to anyone again.

“Well, I’m going to look, but not until Daniel and I decided that it’s best. We want to make sure things line out for us.”

“Are you talking marriage?” I dropped my fork on my plate and pushed my chair back.

“Not anytime soon, but in the future, maybe. Daniel thinks we shouldn’t rush and I agree.” Of course, she did. She’d agree if he wanted to feed her poison too. I let out a frustrated sigh and decided that breakfast was over.

“I better get going and call the temp agency.” I couldn’t sit and listen to any more about her and Daniel.

“I love you, Daddy. Have a good day.” She reached up as I approached and put her arms around me as I leaned down.

“Thanks, baby. Promise me you won’t tell Gemma about that job. I really don’t want to cause a conflict.” I planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Yes, Daddy. I promise.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she pulled out her phone. I left feeling certain she’d keep her word.

Chapter 4

Gemma

I had slept in for the better part of the day, and I scolded myself for being so lazy. I’d worked hard for it though, so I decided to give myself a break. I had cleaned the house and gathered up my laundry to throw it in the wash and had even managed to run to the market before four o’clock. The day was shot, but as I put up my groceries promise for a better evening knocked on the door.

I answered only to find Samuel Stafford, who was better known as Staff in college and one of the hottest guys on campus. We’d met in the library while studying for a test and had messed around a few times. “Hey, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and bring you this.” He extended my copy of a movie we’d watched at his place the last time we’d gotten together.

“Come in; I was just about to make dinner. Are you hungry?”

He walked in and shrugged his shoulders. “That depends on what’s cooking?”

“Well, we can do spaghetti or tacos.” He made a face and stepped closer.

“How about spaghetti tacos?” He planted a soft kiss on my cheek and gave me a warm smile.

“I don’t know how to make those.” I shook my head and gave him an apologetic look.

“Then regular old tacos are fine. I’ll help you make them.” He went with me to the kitchen, and the two of us got busy cooking the ground beef and chopping lettuce. I warmed the shells as he got the cheese all the while making small talk and flirting.

We sat on the couch and faced one another as we munched on our food and it was nice to sit and casually chat. I hadn’t had many friends over since graduation, and I had a feeling that Samuel was looking for more.

He took my hand and held it in his lap, and I knew it was only so I could feel his big hard on through his jeans as he gave me smoldering looks. He was very hot, with dark hair and the deepest brown eyes. His chiseled features made me think of Whitt Porter, and I wondered if this is close to what he’d looked like as a younger man. I wondered about Sam’s size and if it were comparable to Whitt’s. I’d never forgotten that night we kissed. The way he’d been hard for me despite insisting on how wrong it was.

“Do you want to mess around?” Samuel asked. He placed my hand directly on his cock and pressed his hips forward. “Because I’d like to.”

I met his eyes and smiled. “A little.” I still hadn’t gone all the way with anyone, though I’d certainly had more than my fair share of invitations and done oral more times than I could count. I just couldn’t ever go through with it. There was only one man who would take my virginity, and it was Whitt Porter.

“A little?”

“I’ll make you come if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Sounds good to me.” He stretched his arms back across the couch and gestured to his crotch and the way he sat reminded me of that night I’d seen Whitt. I sat in front of him and took his cock out just like she’d done Whitt’s. Samuel was actually pretty impressive. His cock was thick and veiny, muscular with a thick ridge down his shaft. I held his cock up and licked it, and he threw his head back and hissed a breath through his clenched teeth.

“That’s good, Gemma. Fuck.” I closed my eyes and imagined myself with Whitt as I rolled my tongue around his head and then took him into my mouth. His cock was salty, and it made me crave my reward even more. I reached for his sac and rubbed his heavy balls, thinking of how I’d cupped Whitt’s which had hung light two weights between his legs, beneath that huge erect cock of his.

I relaxed my throat and took him deeper, and with all of my oral practice, I’d learned how to take it deep. I was confident in my technique, and the young men I’d been with hadn’t complained.

At least not when it came to oral.

“Take off your clothes, Gemma. I want to taste that sweet pussy.” I stood and slipped down my panties, which were already soaked at the memory of Whitt. “Let me see those tits.” I slipped off the rest of my clothes, and he came forward, taking my nipple into his teeth before sucking it hard. Then his hand came up to my mound, and he met my eyes. “That’s the softest pelt I’ve ever felt. I want to skin it.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth against my soft tuft of hair which was neatly trimmed and shaped into a small V at the top of my cleft.

“Is that my arrow showing me the way?” I knew he was going to want more, but I had never had any problems steering men to oral sex.

“I want to suck your cock. How about we do sixty-nine.” I stroked his cock and licked my lips.

“You got it, Gemma. Then I’m going to fuck that little pussy of yours.”

“I don’t do that, but if you want me to make you come, I promise not to disappoint.” His face fell, and he shrugged.

“Okay, baby. We can do whatever you want, but I won’t promise I’m not going to come all down your throat.” I offered a smile.

“I’d prefer it on my tits.” I had always preferred it on my tits, and only because it reminded me of Whitt.

“Whatever.” He took my hand, and I led him to the bedroom where he stretched out atop my covers. I lay down opposite of him, and he pulled me over the top of his body, my knees settling down around his head. Then he pulled me down and lapped at my tender slit. The ache in my core was so great that I knew I was going to come soon.

As he gripped my ass cheeks and rolled my hips hard against his face, licking me as deep as possible, I took his cock into my hand and stroked it, milking a tiny pearl of pre-come and gathering it with my tongue where it exploded with a taste of sweet and salt and all too soon it diluted. I’d have to get more. I sucked and worked my head on him taking him deep into my throat, and he lapped and slipped his fingers between my folds.

“No penetration, please.” I heard him huff, and then he stuck his tongue in deep and flicked it against my little barrier.

He paused. “Are you a virgin or something?”

“Yes, or something.” I put my mouth back to work, and in a few minutes, he pulled away from my sopping wet slit, and we rolled over and sat up.

“Are you like, saving yourself for someone?”

“Yes,” I said with a shrug.

“Suck it.” He sat back and held his cock up. It had always been the same. When they found out they couldn’t have the cherry; they’d get in a shitty mood. Lucky for this fool I had a little bit of fantasy left in me.

“Come on these, got it?” Now that our agreement had been made, I took his cock back into my mouth, and he held my head and fucked my face really good, holding me down when he wanted, and I had even gagged a little. In the end, I felt his cock twitch, and I knew that his orgasm was on the way and he has no intention of stopping. I jerked back, and with a huff, he shot his load all over my tits, but not before I caught a taste, which lingered on my breath even though I’d swallowed it down.

“Nice try.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I should get something out of it since you’re not willing to put out.”

I grabbed his tender balls and gave them a squeeze. “Seems lighter to me, so I’d say you’d got something.” I got to my feet and went to the bathroom to clean up while I watched him dress in in the mirror behind me. He wasn’t even concerned if I had gotten off or not, which I’d gotten plenty. I hadn’t wasted a thought on Samuel, and everything I had done had been to catch a glimpse of Whitt in my mind.

“See you around, Gemma.” He left with a look of disappointment on his face. It was hard to feel sorry for him when it would take me another thirty minutes and two double A batteries to finish his job, but after locking the front door, I lay on the bed and closed my eyes thinking again of Whitt as I worked my clit. It had been tempting to work my vibrator inside me, but I had made a promise to myself a long time ago to protect my virginity and leave myself intact for him.

After I had come, I decided that I should call and check on Lila. With any luck, she’d tell me how her day went and talked about her father. Besides, I knew she had a lot on her mind with the new boyfriend drama. I was glad she was dating an older man too and wondered if it would bother her if I was with her father. It’s not like I could ask.

I took out my phone, rolled over in bed, and dialed her number. “Gemma!” Her voice came through the phone. “I’m so glad you called, I’m driving, and I’m getting so sleepy.”

“It’s not even eight.” I was thankful that Sam hadn’t taken up more of my night.

“I know, but I’ve been sleepy all day. I’m so tired all the time and this driving back and forth to see Daniel is killing me.”

“It’s worth it though, right?”

“It is when I get there.” She let out an evil giggle, and I giggled too knowing she’d told me all about their sex and how amazing it was. I imagined it would be half as good as me and her father’s, but it wasn’t like that had happened. Yet. I was still determined. “What’s going on with you, college grad?” She still had a year to go and only because she’d quit for a year before going back.

“Nothing, I’ve been so lazy. Samuel just left, you remember him, right? From that party at Monica’s?”

“The big stud on campus, yes. Did you give him a bite of your cherry?” She’d called my oral escapades that for years.

“Yes, but he wanted the pie. I gave him a blow job, and he left.”

“Ugh, let me guess. You didn’t finish?” She had heard all about my woes through the years and knew everything about me except for my wild fixation on her father.

“You guessed it. But I don’t want to talk about it. Subject change; how’s your father?”

“Ew, we’re going from oral sex to my father,” she said making a gagging noise. I couldn’t tell her that it wasn’t that far-fetched. “He’s fine; still on my case and today, he was in an extra-special good mood. His secretary f*cked up and quit on him. Took a huge bonus he gave her and eloped to Vegas.” She let out a long breath. “I liked her too.” I knew that was her way of saying the woman hadn’t slept with her father. She hated anyone who did, and I knew that one day, she might even hate me. It broke my heart to think that but hoped that our friendship was strong enough and she’d understand how much I loved him.

I couldn’t help but think about that opening and knew it was time to put my plan into action. If there was a secretary job in Whitt Porter’s office, I was going to get it. He’d told me no once, but never again.

***End of Sneak Peek***

Wanna know how this continues?

My best friend’s dad is the man of my wet dreams.

But the last thing I expected was to get knocked up by him.

I’ve been a good girl long enough.

Ripped muscles, sexy mouth and big… hands

He’s got it all – dominance, power and money.

It’s time I faced reality.

I’m in love with the man I saved my cherry for.

I’m in love with my best friend’s dad!

But we can’t let her know.

This is going to be ‘our dirty little secret’.

Until… that morning sickness kicks in.

And the baby bump refuses to be concealed.

* * *

Filthy SEAL (Sneak Peek) - Includes a HOT Deleted Scene too!

Amazon top 100, 4.6 stars 136 customer reviews

Chapter One: Captain Benjamin Ryder (Retired) Mosul, Iraq

I dug my fingers into Bonita’s narrow hips and lifted my ass off the bed so my cock would go even deeper into her tight cunt. She gasped, then sucked in several quick breaths, but didn’t slow down. She exhaled slowly as a dreamy smile washed over her face, her dark skin glistening with sweat. She had her eyes closed, riding me like Deborah Winger rode that mechanical bull in that old movie Urban Cowboy. Her fingertips were tangled in my thick chest hair as if she were holding onto the reins as her hips slid back and forth over the length of my cock in a slow and steady rhythm.

Her breathing was heavy and slow, like the warm breeze coming off the ocean on a hot summer day. She sucked in air each time she slid forward and the head of my cock hit her cervix, then moaned out the breath as she slid her hips back, letting her swollen clit slide over the nine inches of my veiny shaft.

“Fuck… Cap… I’m sure gonna miss you when you’re gone…” she sighed without opening her eyes or altering the movement of her hips rolling back and forth, back and forth. Nostrils flaring, her wide mouth curled into a smile. Her teeth were perfect, pearly white. The tip of her tongue pushed through her lips and stayed there for a moment.

I often wondered what a girl like her was doing in a fucking shithole like Mosul, on her third tour with the SEALs. She could have been a thousand other places doing a thousand other things that didn’t threaten her young life on a daily basis. Regardless of the reason, I was glad she was here, right now, with me, in this shitty little hotel room in the armpit of the world. At that moment, I considered myself to be the luckiest man alive.

“That feel good, baby?” I asked as the hot lava in my balls started to flow throughout my body. I was covered in sweat. I blinked it from my eyes and licked it from my top lip. It was fucking hot as hell in the room, but the sweat was being pushed from my pores by the heat of the woman atop me. I could feel Bonita’s presence in every pore, follicle, and cell of my body. My cock was just the receptacle through which her energy flowed.

“Mmmm… You are the only motherfucker in Mosul that knows how to fuck me like I like it, Cap,” she said, her lips still smiling, her hips still sliding, her pussy still sucking me into its delicious vacuum. “I like it nice and slow… nice and slow…”

“Slow and steady is my specialty,” I said with a smile as I peered down between us to watch my cock slowly sliding inside her, then slowly sliding out, her purple pussy lips suctioned to the shaft like an old-timey milking machine. I swallowed hard and held my breath as I watched her, grateful that out of all the assholes in Mosul, Bonita had chosen me to be her fuck buddy while I was in-country.

“The rest of these motherfuckers… are like teenagers on… prom night,” she said, the words coming in bursts of air across her lips. “They’re done before my pussy even gets wet... I like you old school motherfuckers… That know how to please a woman...”

“I’m gonna take that… as a compliment,” I said with a smile, watching the lean muscles beneath her dark skin ripple as she braced her palms on my chest and rocked her ass back and forth. “There are other old school motherfuckers… out there that would love to take my place after I’m gone... You just might have to… lower your standards some, that’s all.”

“Shit, Cap… you were about as low… as I ever planned to go.”

“Glad to know that I set the bar,” I said.

She smiled, still with her eyes closed as if she were locked in her own little world. Her nipples plumped up like little purple thimbles. I leaned up so I could slather them with my tongue. She picked up the pace, sliding her pussy over my cock faster and clenching her glorious ass when I slid all in to tighten her core muscles. I could literally feel the walls of her pussy squeezing my cock as she clenched. Her mouth hung open and she started panting like a dog. I’d been fucking her just about every day for two months now. I knew every move of her body and every sound she made when she was getting ready to cum. Thank God, because I was about to explode.

“You like that, baby?” I asked, sucking in air as every muscle in my body tensed. “You like Cap’s big cock in your tight pussy?”

“Fuck… yeah… Cap… that’s it… fuck yeah… that’s what Bonita likes… fuck me… I’m getting close, baby… I’m getting close…”

I dug my fingers a little deeper into her hips and help her set the pace. I could feel the fire in my belly and the cum rising from my balls, but I could hold on until she was ready to pop. That’s one of the reasons Bonita liked to fuck me. I was older than most of the SEALs on her team, but I could hold my cum until the cows came home if that’s what it took to get her rocks off. It was just something I’d always been able to do. And God forbid I cum without making her pop like a balloon first. I’d never fucking hear the end of it and neither would her team, at least until I left Mosul. There were two things Bonita was good at other than taking the heads off assholes with a sniper rifle at a hundred yards: busting my balls and fucking them dry. Sometimes I thought she got just as much pleasure from one as the other.

Sergeant Bonita Jean Anderson—codename “Sniper Girl”—was one of the best snipers in the military bar none; Army, Navy and the Marines. She had a keen eye and a steady hand and didn’t hesitate when it came to punching the clock of some Taliban or ISIS motherfucker who had the misfortune of ending up in her sights. She was one of only two female snipers in the corps, and I’d have put her up against most male snipers I knew any day of the week.

Bonita was African American, tall, nearly six feet, with skin the color of dark chocolate and brown eyes that could either suck you in or shoot you down. There was no fat on her frame, only muscle. When we fucked, I loved having her on top so I could watch the sweat coat her dark skin and the muscles ripple as she moved.

She was the only black woman I had ever fucked and I was telling her the truth when I said that I was going to miss her when I went home in a few weeks. In fact, knowing she would be stationed in Mosul another four months made me think about coming back. Maybe. I’d have to see how things worked out at home. At the moment, I was not expecting a happy homecoming. To the contrary, I doubted anyone would be at the airport to greet me when I hit the ground in Arlington.

One of the things I loved most about Bonita, aside from the fact that she could milk every last drop of cum from my body and beg for more, was that she was so different from Bethany, my wife. Check that—Bethany, my soon to be ex-wife. I was an asshole, but I wasn’t a cheater. If Bethany hadn’t told me that she was going to divorce me while I was in Mosul, my cock would have never left my pants. But she did tell me that, so…

She gave me the old “it’s not you, it’s me” routine, then proceeded to say that she just couldn’t live with me anymore and was taking our son and everything we owned and I could just get fucked if I didn’t like it. She gave me the name of some lawyer she had already talked to and that was that. It’s been nice, Ben. Get fucked. And so that’s what I did. I got fucked. I started sniffing for pussy the second my feet hit the tarmac at Mosul International. I had been a SEAL for ten years and my last four tours were served right here, so I knew most of the people I’d be working with, as well as a few local girls I wouldn’t mind dipping my stick into if I could talk them into it.

I was free to do whatever the fuck I wanted because my wife was divorcing me and after nearly a decade of service, I wasn’t a SEAL anymore, and ironically that was because Bethany wanted me to retire and stay home with her and our son.

Can you say, “Please make up your mind, bitch?”

My retirement was short-lived because all we did was fight when I was home fulltime and money was tight. So, when my friend, Quinn Blackstone, made me an offer to come work for him, I fucking jumped at the chance. Quinn had been my best friend since the Naval Academy and a former SEAL. Now he was the president and CEO of Blackstone Security Systems, or BSS, a multimillion dollar security firm with big contracts with the U.S. and Iraqi governments, just to name a few.

So, I returned to Iraq as a private security contractor working for BSS on a three-month assignment. You can call me a mercenary or a technical advisor or whatever the fuck you want. I make four times the money and don’t have to worry about getting my ass shot off in a night raid on some raghead cocksucker’s compound or blown to shit in a Humvee on the side of the road or cremated by some asshole on the street wearing a suicide vest. Plus, I don’t have to worry about getting shit from officers about fucking the enlisted personnel like Bonita, who I had gotten shit-faced drunk with the last time I was in-country and almost ended up fucking, but stopped at the last minute because I was a married man. I saw her in the hotel bar the night I checked in two months ago. We got drunk, things got friendly under the table, and I took her back to my room and that’s all she wrote. We’ve been fucking like horny rabbits ever since.

Fuck you, Bethany, you fucking cunt.

Look who I’m fucking now.

She’s ten times the fucking woman you ever were, you bitch…

Shit, I didn’t mean that…

I opened my eyes to see Bonita smiling down at me with a wild look in her eyes. Her nostrils flared like a bull about to charge. Her pink tongue darted across her lips. Her hips were going like a jackhammer now, slamming her pussy up and down on my stiff cock like a derrick pumping for oil. She dug her fingernails into my chest and raised her head like a wolf about to howl.

“You ready to cum with Bonita, baby?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Cum with me… Cap… shoot me full of your hot seed… I’m cumming… god Ryder… I’m cumming…”

“Cum for me, baby,” I growled, sliding my hands around to her round ass and squeezing hard enough to make her moan. “Gush that hot pussy juice all over my cock and balls… cum on… cum…”

I pointed my toes and felt every muscle in my body swell as I blew my load deep inside her. She squealed and came with me, gushing hot juices from her cunt over my cock and balls like lava from the mouth of a volcano. It felt like she was pouring hot oil all over my groin. I could feel the burn. I could smell the pungent sent. I could almost taste her juices on the tip of my tongue. It just made me cum even harder.

“Yes… fuck… baby… that’s it… fill Bonita’s pussy up with your milky jizz…” Bonita moaned and sat up straight with her eyes toward the ceiling. She had small tits and big purple nipples. She ran her hands over her tits and squeezed her nipples between her fingers as the orgasm shuddered through her body.

“You’re fucking beautiful when you cum,” I said, arching my back, pushing my cock into her as far as it would go. Her hips slowed but her pussy was still milking my cock as if it were acting on its own. Bonita was only twenty-three and had the tightest pussy I’d ever had the pleasure to cum in. Bethany was a virgin when we met and her pussy was tight, but nothing like Bonita’s. I accused her of exercising the thing because her pussy could literally latch on to my cock and milk it like a machine, her inner walls rippling and down the shaft like a thousand magic fingers. It was the most amazing feeling. I envied the next guy who found his way into Bonita’s bed. Like I said, I’d sure miss her when I was gone.

“You okay, baby?” she asked, leaning down to press her lips to mine. She had a wide mouth and wonderfully full lips and a long tongue that was nothing short of magical. She rubbed the tip of her nose to mine and stared deeply into my eyes.

She asked, “What’s worrying you, Cap?”

“Nothing is worrying me,” I said, holding out my arms so she could lay down beside me and rest her head on my chest. Like most things in Mosul, the air conditioning in my room barely worked, so we were both covered in a film of oily sweat, which mixed with the scent of our juices, filling the little hotel room with a strong, pungent aroma that hung in the hot air like dense fog.

“You’re pretty good with that big thing,” she said as her long fingers traced circles around my hard nipples. “You have a nice cock for a white boy.”

“On behalf of white boys everywhere, I give thanks,” I said, sighing as my balls continued to tingle. “And you’ve got the tightest pussy in the Navy, Sergeant Anderson. I’m gonna put you in for a commendation. The Purple Pussy Heart. Well done, SEAL.”

She giggled and rolled on top of me and pressed her squishy pussy to my sticky, deflated cock. She brushed her lips to mine and smiled. “How about a shower and something to eat?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said as I playfully licked the sweat from her chin. I smacked my lips and nodded at the bathroom door. “You go first. I need to check in.”

“Fuck checking in,” she said, pushing herself off me to sit on the edge of the bed. She stretched out her long limbs and gave me a frown. “This is your day off, Ryder. I swear, you didn’t work this much when you were on active duty.”

“I wasn’t working with Major Dickhead back then,” I said, referring to Major Dan Dickerson, an Army liaison to the Iraqi government that I was assigned to protect. The Army used private contractors like me as bodyguards because if we got killed, or more likely, killed some Iraqi cocksucker, the shit wouldn’t hit the fan the way it would if an Army regular or Marine pulled the trigger. Dickerson was in meetings on the base all day with some ambassador, so I’d been given time off with the orders to check in every few hours in case Major Dickhead needed his ass kissed.

A knock on the door ended the debate. Bonita scooped up her uniform and boots and tiptoed into the tiny bathroom and closed the door. I heard her peeing and for some reason, the sound made me smile. Bonita pissed like a Russian racehorse after sex. Sometimes it lasted for several minutes. It was just another thing I’d miss about her. Silly, I know, the things you don’t think you’ll ever forget.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and found my underwear and my khakis and pulled them on. I took the Glock 39 from the holster on the nightstand and let it dangle at my right side as I went to the door. I didn’t think I’d have to shoot anybody, but in Mosul you never knew who might be standing on the other side of a closed door.

“What is it?” I called, standing to the side of the door without putting my eye to the peephole. You never knew when there might be some asshole on the other side of the door with a long ice pick ready to take your eye out or a gun ready to send bullets through the door. Welcome to Mosul, motherfuckers.

“Captain Ryder, sir? I mean, Mr. Ryder?”

I smiled. Even though I’d mustered out of the SEALs months ago the regulars still called me Captain Ryder. I opened the door to find a young corporal named Yates standing there with a timid look on his face and his cap in his hand. He was Dickerson’s driver and gopher.

“What’s up, Corporal?” I asked, holding the pistol behind my back so I didn’t totally freak him out. Some of these young guys were so fucking jumpy I wondered what the hell they were doing in Iraq. Some of them would piss their pants if a gun was pointed at them. I wouldn’t trust them to have my back in a fucking food fight.

Yates said, “Sir, Major Dickerson needs you in his office right away.”

“Why didn’t you just call me?” I asked. “You didn’t have to drive over.”

“I tried, but your phone went straight to voicemail, sir,” he said. “So, the Major ordered me to come get you. You need to come with me, sir, right away.”

I frowned at him. “What’s up, Yates?”

“Not sure, sir,” he said, shaking his head. “Major Dickerson just said that you should come with me. Now.”

“Okay, hang on.” The fancy satellite phone the company had issued me was on the nightstand. I walked over and picked it up. It was turned off. What the hell? I never turned that fucking phone off. Then I heard the shower start and knew what happened. Bonita didn’t like to be disturbed when she was getting her rocks off. The world come be ending around her, but she would not stop fucking until she was through. She had switched off my sat-phone when I wasn’t looking. It was a good thing she did. She got really pissed when something interfered with her play time. She would have taken poor Yates’ head off and booted it out the window if he had shown up ten minutes earlier.

I tossed the sat-phone on the bed and picked up the black polo shirt that had the Blackstone Security logo on the left front chest. I sat on the bed to put on my socks and dessert boots while Yates stood in the doorway, stiff as a board, like he had a stick shoved up his ass.

I picked up the Kevlar vest from the chair beside the bed and stuck it over my head, then pulled the straps around my sides and velcroed them tight. I clipped the holster for the Glock to the right side of my belt and slid the Glock in.

“So, the major didn’t say what he needed?” I asked as I clipped a holder with two spare magazines to the left side of my belt.

“No sir, just that it was an emergency and you should come right away. The Jeep’s right out front.”

“Okay, hang on.” I went to the bathroom door and turned the knob. There was no lock, so I opened the door and stuck my head in. Bonita was in the shower with the water on high. I could see her dark form through the plastic shower curtain.

“I have to go,” I called out. “I’ll find you later.”

“You do that,” she said, pulling back the shower curtain to show me her beautiful body covered in lather. She slid her hands over her tits and down her flat stomach. She rolled a finger over her clit and gave me an evil smile.

“You’re gonna miss this pussy when you go home, Captain Ryder.”

“Hell, Sergeant Anderson,” I said with a sigh. “I fucking miss it already.”

Chapter Two: Lolita “Lolita” Carter Arlington, Virginia

I had always been attracted to older men. Probably because they had always been attracted to me. Even when I was just an awkward teenager in junior high, the male teachers, coaches, guidance counselors, the bus driver— even Mr. Holt, the seventy-year old principal who probably couldn’t get it up in a Viagra factory— gawked at me with their mouths hanging open, like they were imagining what it would be like to shove their nasty old cocks inside my tight young body. The boys looked at me then, too, of course, with lust in their hearts and peach fuzz erections in their pants, but I didn’t give them the time of day. Even now that I’m nineteen, boys my age are juvenile idiots who still haven’t grown up. No sir, I’ll take a handsome forty-year old any day over some twenty-year old hunk.

My mama always said that when you looked like she and I do it’s only natural that men would stop and stare, and think about all the filthy things they’d like to do us if they could get us alone. She said it was not our fault that God blessed us with natural beauty, flowing blonde hair, flawless olive skin, big titties and tight asses. And in her words, “Tight little pussies that could drive men wild.”

Mama knew what she was talking about when it came to men and her ability to attract more than her fair share of them. She was only thirty-five and still beautiful in what she called a “blonde country girl” sort of way.

She had lived off the good graces of her face and body since she was a teenage girl younger than me, and took full advantage of the things she could do with her body to get men to give her what she wanted or needed. Growing up, men were always coming and going through our little house on Primrose Street, some coming just once, some a few times, others for a few months or so. None of them ever stuck around for long after they got what they came for and mama wanted out of them.

Don’t misunderstand me. My mama wasn’t a whore or anything. She just knew that men would pay dearly to get in her pants and she used her sex appeal to get what she wanted. It was fair trade, in her mind.

Some men just bought her dinner and drinks, some bought her new clothes and jewelry, some helped with the rent and light bills, and some just gave her cash. She called them gifts, given out of the goodness of their hearts rather than in exchange for time spent in her mouth or pussy. Like I said, she was no whore, but she never turned down anything a man would offer her in exchange for a good time. And the bigger the gift, the better the good time.

I think it’s sad, really. I bet if you asked her today she wouldn’t be able to tell you the name of a single man—including my father, whoever he was—that she had sex with just for the sake of having sex. Sex was simply an act of commerce with mama. It was never about love or feelings. She always had an ulterior motive. Like I said. Sad, really.

One of her suitors (that’s what she called them), an older man named Homer Vance, even gave her a used Corvette to drive when I was in elementary school. I’ll never forget that car because it was so loud in every way. It was a candy-apple red Stingray convertible with shiny chrome wheels and a stereo that would jar your teeth and mufflers that would rattle the windows. I can still remember her dropping me off out front of the elementary school in that car. She’d barely give me time to slam the heavy door before revving the engine and speeding away. Then one day, she picked me up from school in her old gray Toyota Corolla. Seemed that Homer Vance had found a new sugar baby to drive his Corvette.

“His loss,” mama said with a carefree shrug as she ground the gearshift into first and tried to ignore the screeching sound of the worn belt beneath the hood. “His fucking loss.”

Most of the time things worked out the way she wanted, probably because she had very low expectations of the men she surrounded herself with.

She said that if we lived in Miami Beach or Beverly Hills or someplace like that she could catch us (not her) a rich man to take care of us for the rest of our lives. Pickings were slim in Arlington, she said.

Sometimes I thought she was just afraid of settling down with one man. She could have found a good man to take care of us (her) if she had really wanted one. There were a lot of good men in Arlington and DC just across the river, but none that interested her. Truth be told, I think mama enjoyed the hunt more than she enjoyed the catch. To her, it was all about control.

“The power of the pussy,” she liked to call it. “When you got the pussy, you got the power.”

And she had lots of pussy power, she said, because the good Lord had seen fit to endow her with a nice, tight one. It was pretty and pink, with a plump clit and perfect lips and wispy blonde curls. And it was one of the tightest, hottest, wettest holes in all of Arlington County. I guessed that claim had been made by a number of the men she’d been with who were qualified to make such a comparison. I could just picture mama handing a guy a comment card to fill out as he fucked her from behind in some dive bar restroom.

The power of the pussy… Why shouldn’t she use it to get what she wanted out of life? “If you’re smart,” she said, serious as a heart attack, “You’ll use it, too.”

I had not gotten into the habit of bringing strange men home for sex like mama still did on occasion, though less frequently than when I was younger. I think it might have something to do with me being all grown up now and looking the way I do. I look like a nineteen-year-old version of her, only with bigger tits and perfect teeth. I think she sees me as completion for some reason, probably because of the way her men friends ogle me when they see me running around the house in a string bikini or getting out of bed in the morning wearing just my panties and a t-shirt. Hey, it’s my house, too, and this is how I dress. If you didn’t like it, or even if you do, keep your hands and eyes to yourself.

Despite her “pussy power” advice, which she offered freely in front of half a dozen of my girlfriends and surrounding diners at Casa Mexicana on the night of my sixteenth birthday, I had yet to fully utilize the power of my pussy to fight evil or satisfy men.

I wasn’t sure that I would ever be as free with my pussy as she was because I really did believe in the power of love (wasn’t that a song?) and the concepts of monogamy and commitment. Oh sure, sometimes I’d see a handsome older man in a suit at work and think about asking his name. Or flirt with the DJ at the bar I went to sometimes with my girlfriends. Then there was my boss at Starbuck’s, Lennie, who looked like a thirty-five-year-old surfer dude. He’d fuck me at the drop of a cappuccino spoon if I’d let him. All I’d have to do was just bend over and wiggle my ass at him. He’d probably cream all over his green apron before he could even get his cock out.

Like mama, I do have a strong sex drive that seems to be getting stronger every day. I started getting little tingles in my cunt even before my blonde peach fuzz pubes started to sprout. I always rode the neighbor boy’s bike because I liked to rub my young cunt on the crossbar that my girl’s bike didn’t have. I could remember pressing my hairless cunt to the washing machine when I was eight years old, letting the spin cycle vibrations shudder through me, making me feel all tingly inside, even though at the time I had no idea what an orgasm was or what it felt like to have one. But I soon learned how things worked, thanks to older girls at school, the internet, and my mama’s willingness to talk frankly to me about sex and men.

Her version of the birds and the bees went something like this: the guy’s cock gets hard and he shoves it in your pussy and moves it around until you both cum. Any questions?”

Uh, yeah, lots…

She told me that it would hurt when I lost my virginity, but that pleasure would quickly replace the pain. She told me that if I gave up the pussy too quickly boys wouldn’t respect me, but sometimes respect was overrated.

“Use your pussy to get what you want, Lolita,” she told me when I was probably twelve or thirteen. “Men can’t resist a tight young pussy. They’ll do anything to fuck you. Just you wait and see. Trust me, I know. And if one of them tells you he loves you just to get in your pants, you tell him to fuck off!”

My friends were always shocked that mama talked to me this way. I wasn’t shocked. I was grateful. She was doing what she thought was best for me. Telling me what I needed to hear without beating around the bush. She did it because of the mistakes she’d made when she was my age. She was a horny girl just like me, only she didn’t have someone like her to guide her along. Her mother, my grandmother, was a religious prude who said that sex was dirty and should only be used to procreate, not for pleasure.

“Sex is the devil’s tool,” grandma would say. “Let a man put his member inside you and no good can come of it.” I guess I was proof of that.

So, mama—Sandy Carter’s her name— was a horny kid who was left to her own devices when it came to learning about sex. She claimed that was why she lost her virginity at sixteen to an older man she met at her job at the Sonic Drive-In. It happened right there in the Sonic parking lot late one Saturday night. She remembered him as being an older man with salt and pepper hair to his shoulders and a scraggly beard, chunky fat, dressed in a white t-shirt with blue paint stains and a white painter’s cap pushed back on his head. He ordered two double cheeseburgers and tots, and when she came back to pick up his tray he gave her a five-dollar tip and invited her into the back of his windowless van for another five-dollars. Without hesitation, she climbed inside and wiggled out of her shorts and panties and he took her virginity, which she willingly offered, on a pile of old rags that smelled like gasoline and paint thinner. Five minutes later she stood in the parking lot with the tray between her hands and the ten dollars in her pocket, watching him drive away. She said she never saw him again. She didn’t even get his name. She just remembered that he wreaked of sweat and grunted like a fat hog when he came.

She said that lit her fuse and she couldn’t help herself. She started sleeping around and got pregnant at sixteen, and became a single mom at seventeen. To this day, she claims that she has no idea who my father is. I’ll probably never know and I guess I’m okay with that. She said it was a good thing I didn’t know who he was. Now, I was free to imagine that my daddy was a great man who did great things and not some asshole she had fucked in the backseat of a car after a high school football game.

She missed her entire senior year and only by the grace of God and a GED was she able to build a life for the two of us. My grandmother, the hypocritical religious cunt, kicked her out of the house when she learned that she was knocked up, so mama lived with friends until I was born. Now she worked as a legal secretary for this sleazy asshole in Arlington named Earl Butts. I swear to God, that’s his name. His shitty TV commercials scream, “In a wreck and need a check? Better call Butts!”

She could have aborted me, but she swore the thought never crossed her mind. I owed mama a lot and she reminded me of that fact often, usually when we were fighting and screaming at one another. Mama had sharp claws and they came out without warning sometimes, usually when she was drunk or pissed off about something that reminded her that her life had been mostly spent providing for me.

“I wonder where I’d be today if I hadn’t gotten pregnant with you,” she said one time as we were watching an old movie about a woman who had gotten pregnant and gave the baby up for adoption. She didn’t say it in a hateful way, more like she was in a daydream talking to herself. “I wonder how different my life would have been if I’d finished high school and gone to college. I always wanted to be an interior designer. Did you know that? Who knows, I might have had my own company by now. Instead I’m typing up legal briefs and getting coffee for Earl fucking Butts...”

I just looked at her from my end of the couch, unsure of what to say. I mean, how do you respond to something like that? I wonder what my life would have been like if you hadn’t come along and fucked it all up, Lolita? After a moment, she shook her head and blinked at me, like she had just realized that I was even in the room listening. Then she forced a smile and wiped her eyes on the front of her t-shirt and held out her hand.

“Then again, I wouldn’t have my girl.” She turned on the couch and opened her arms and waved me in for a hug. I slid into her arms and she hugged me until I couldn’t breathe. We both knew her life would have turned out much differently if she hadn’t had me, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Then again, maybe her life would have been much worse, given her lack of judgment when it came to men.

She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life.

I was bound and determined not to repeat them.

That said, I’m a lot like her in a lot of ways and most of the time I’m okay with that. The one big difference between us is I am far pickier than she is when it comes to who I let in my pants. Okay, I’m not saying that she was a slut, but come on. We should have installed a revolving door on the front of our little house, so many men have come and gone through it over the years.

Most of the time I didn’t even bother to learn their names because I knew they wouldn’t be around for long. Most of them were scuzzy assholes who bought her drinks all night and expected something for their money. A return on their investment, if you will.

Sometimes she brought home a decent guy that hung around past the weekend. Guys like Jerry Falk, who was her “boyfriend” for six months or so when I was sixteen.

Jerry was forty-two, a tanned and muscular general contractor who drove a shiny black pickup truck and treated my mom better than most guys had. For a while, I thought he might even be “the one” that would marry her and make an honest woman out of her.

Then Jerry started coming in to kiss me goodnight after I had gone to bed. Sometimes he’d “accidentally” come into the bathroom while I was naked in the shower. Sometimes he’d hug me a little too tightly for a little too long. I knew what he was doing and I should have told mom, but I was a stupid girl whose young cunt was always on fire and I found the attention exciting. I loved the way his goodnight kisses and bear hugs made me feel all warm and toasty inside, how his lips on my forehead and his arms around my shoulders made my pussy gush and my nipples hard. The truth was, I wanted Jerry to fuck me, probably as much or more as he wanted to.

I was a virgin and my cherry was ready to pop.

To my shame, I decided that Jerry would be my first, even though I knew it would hurt my mom if she ever found out.

Sometimes stupid girls do stupid things for stupid reasons.

That was me at sixteen.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Stupid and horny.

And determined to have Jerry’s cock inside me no matter who got hurt.

Chapter Three: Ryder

In my humble, well-travelled opinion, Mosul, Iraq is the motherfucking armpit of the Middle East, kind of like Bogota is the armpit of South America and Detroit is the armpit of the North. Actually, Detroit and New York City run neck and neck on the shithole scale, but they were both heaven on earth compared to fucking Mosul. I mean, Jesus Christ, I could not think of a place I hated more, and I’d been to places you wouldn’t even send your worst enemy to. Most of Iraq sucked ass, but Mosul was a shithole of the highest magnitude, even worse than Kandahar and Lebanon and Kabul and Bagdad; and that was saying something because all those places were premier shitholes, too.

Everything about Mosul sucked. The heat. The food. The water. The people. Everything. It was a hundred and five in the fucking shade and the entire place stunk like shit. Everywhere you turned there was some raghead motherfucker staring you down, like he was trying to kill you with his eyes. I usually just stared right back, knowing that one on one, there weren’t too many men that could beat me in a fist or knife fight, or kill me before I could kill them if the guns came out. We both knew that if no one was watching, we wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in each other’s brains. But somebody was always watching, just waiting for some asshole American like me to fuck up and do something the world considered unjust so the video of my transgressions could be plastered all over the fucking internet. So, I usually kept my head down and my mouth shut when I wasn’t working, though sometimes it was excruciatingly hard to do.

Thankfully, it was a quick ride from my hotel to the base where Major Dickerson was waiting. Corporal Yates sat behind the wheel with his hands at ten and two and his eyes locked straight ahead and didn’t say a word as we made our way through the crowded streets. He was sweating like a pig at a Texas barbecue. He looked like he would shit his pants if anyone asked him for the time of day.

I powered up the satellite phone and scrolled through the calls I’d missed. There were three calls from Dickerson’s office all within the last hour (that would have been Yates trying to reach me because Dickerson never called himself), and two from Quinn Blackstone back in DC where BSS was headquartered.

Quinn was building his company off the sweat of dozens of his old pals like me. In just three years, BSS had made him a wealthy man, with multimillion dollar contracts with governments and corporations all over the world. When Quinn started the company, he offered to cut me in as a partner, but I didn’t want to leave the SEALs. If I had, I’d be sipping coffee at that moment in my air-conditioned office in DC rather than sweating my ass off in motherfucking Mosul. And maybe my wife wouldn’t be divorcing me now. Or maybe she would. Who the fuck knows.

“Why didn’t you leave a message?” I asked, holding out the phone and giving Yates a sideways look.

Yates shrugged without taking his eyes off the road. “Major Dickerson said not to leave a message, sir. He said to just go and find you.”

“When the master calls, the dogs come running,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Nothing.” I pressed the button to bring up the list of voicemails, expecting to find a couple from Quinn. There were no messages, which I didn’t find too odd since Quinn hated voicemail. If you didn’t answer the phone right away, he’d just hang up and go on about his day, then you had to track him down.

I glanced at my watch. It was 2:05 in the afternoon Mosul time, which translated to 7:05 A.M. in DC. I checked the time stamp on the calls from Quinn. He’d last tried to call an hour ago, around 6:15 A.M. his time. That was early even for him. I pressed the call return button to give Quinn a call back. I huffed as the call went straight to voicemail. I swiped a hand over my sweaty face and waited for the beep.

“Hey, Quinn, it’s me. Just saw that you called. Give me a shout back when you get a minute. I’m on my way to meet your buddy, Dickerson.”

Yates stopped at the guard gate long enough for them to glance at our IDs and wave us through. Security was getting pretty laid back because there hadn’t been a major act of terrorism in a while. A few years ago, we would have been held at gunpoint while the Jeep was checked by bomb-sniffing dogs and the undercarriage checked by mirrors on long poles. Now, if you had on a uniform and they vaguely recognized your face, it was just a wave and go. It would be this way until the next asshole got horny for his heavenly virgins and drove a car bomb into the gate or strolled up wearing a vest laden with explosives.

It used to worry me, but now I was like, fuck it, I had another month and then I was out of there and had no intention of every coming back. Quinn had picked up a big corporate client in Dubai. That’s where I would be heading next, since I had no reason to stay in Arlington anymore.

I’d sign the divorce papers, spend a few days with my son, and climb back on a plane. Dubai was still a Middle East shithole with one of the largest slums on the planet, but the hotel where I’d be staying had air conditioning and there was American fast food on every corner. And no raghead motherfuckers giving me the evil eye.

Dickerson’s office was in the command center located at the middle of the base, a three-story gray concrete building with no sign or windows in the front and a couple of guards standing at the front door smoking like they were on break. Yates stopped at the curb and nodded at the building without shutting off the engine.

“Major Dickerson is in his office, sir,” he said. “You know the way.”

“I do,” I said, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. I gave him a hard look that made his Adam’s apple bob. “You sure you can’t give me a head’s up as to why Dickerson needs me on my day off? If the shit’s about to hit the fan, I’d like to know it.”

“No idea, sir,” he said with a defeated shrug. “They don’t tell me shit. I just drive.”

“And you do a fine job, Corporal Yates,” I said with a serious nod. He gave me a blank look for a moment, then forced a smile that quickly faded.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and he licked sweat off his top lip. Poor bastard. He didn’t have a clue what he’d gotten himself into. Or more likely, what he’d let some slick recruiter talk him into. So many of these young guys came into the service thinking it was gonna be like some fucking video game where they could just hit RESET after a bullet tore off the top of their head. Yates reminded me of a frightened mouse who’d been dropped smack dab into the middle of a pack of wolves. I hoped he could get his ass back home to Iowa or wherever the fuck he was from without getting it shot off by a sniper or blown to shit by an IED. He was what I called a “One Tour Charlie”, meaning that one tour in a shithole like Iraq would be enough for him. He’d forget his delusions of being a soldier and go home to attend community college and get a nice safe job working on diesel engines or something.

I slid sideways out of the Jeep and adjusted the Kevlar vest and made sure my ID was visible, hanging by a lanyard from around my neck. I turned the ID so my photo and name showed through the lamination. I nodded as I passed the smoking guards and went up the steps and through the front door.

There was a small lobby and front desk with two more guards sitting behind it. One of them was reading an old copy of Sports Illustrated with Tom Brady on the cover and didn’t bother looking up when I came through the door. The other one, an older sergeant named Bean, was eating a sandwich of some kind. He had mustard on his chin. Without getting up, he grunted for me to sign the visitor’s log, then waved me on like I was a fly interrupting his dinner.

Gratefully, there were gusts of cold air blowing from the overhead vents that ran the length of the hallway that led to Dickerson’s office. At least the military seemed to understand the importance of keeping the officers cool even as the rest of us baked like pot pies in a desert oven. I wiped the sweat from my forehead on the back of my hand as I went up the stairs to the second floor, then wiped the sweat on my pants.

I found Dickerson standing behind his desk, staring out the narrow window that looked out over the back of the compound, gazing at a day that was so hot and dusty the world looked like it was engulfed in yellow powder.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?” I asked, tapping the open doorframe with my knuckles.

Dickerson turned with a deep frown on his face. He nodded and blinked at me, as if I’d just woken him from a long sleep. After a moment, he shook his head and gestured to the metal chair sitting in front of his desk. He walked around me to close the door, then moved to sit behind his desk.

Dickerson was a hard-nosed old soldier who rarely smiled, or perhaps it was that he never had a reason to. This morning was no exception. In his late fifties, he sported the same crewcut he’d probably gotten the day he started boot camp forty years before. His skin was the color of tanned leather and looked to be about as tough. Even in the heat of the Iraqi summer, his desert camo was creased and perfect, the bars on his shoulders and collar polished to a high sheen and the sampling of ribbons he wore on his chest were perfectly aligned. He grunted as he lowered himself in the chair and rested his thick forearms on the desk. He laced his fingers together and cleared his throat.

Staring at his hands, he took a deep breath and said, “Captain Ryder—I mean, Ben— I got a call from Quinn Blackstone a little while I ago. Apparently, he’s tried calling you on your sat-phone, but couldn’t get through.”

I had the sat-phone clipped to my belt. I didn’t dare tell him it had been turned off by one of his soldiers so we would not be interrupted while we were fucking each other’s brains out.

“Yes, sir, I missed his call,” I said with a frown. “I tried calling him back, but got voicemail.”

“Yes, well, he asked me to find you and give you the news…”

I frowned at him. I’d never seen Dickerson uncomfortable before, not even when he was chewing the ass of some Iraqi general or listening to bullets whiz by our Humvee. Little alarm bells started going off in my head. Something was up back home because Dickerson had never called me Ben and normally barked at me when he spoke. I had served under him when I was a SEAL in Afghanistan. He considered me a hot head, a pain in the ass cowboy, I think he called me. I thought he was an egotistical asshole who put his career before the safety of his men. We were probably both a little right and a little wrong. Still, I knew he hated my guts as much as I hated his, but he was looking at me with soft eyes, the way you’d look at someone before delivering bad news.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Dickerson said, his head slowly bobbing on his thick neck as he spoke. “It’s about your wife.”

I felt heat rising from my collar, as if my shirt had caught fire and was spreading to my hair. It engulfed my neck and my cheeks. Sweat oozed from my pores. My mouth was suddenly dry. I licked my lips.

“What about her?”

“She was in an automobile accident last night,” Dickerson said quickly, like he thought he had to get the words out before he ran out of air. “I’m afraid she didn’t make it, son. She’s dead.”

I blinked at him several times, my eyelids flicking like a slot machine. I shook my head to make sure I was hearing him right. “I’m sorry, sir, what did you just say?”

Dickerson took a deep breath and blew it out in one long gust that fluttered the papers that were stacked neatly on his desk. I could feel the hot air all the way on my side of the desk. It smelled like stale coffee and cigars.

“You wife was killed in a car accident last night, Ben,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of details other than it was late and it was raining and she lost control of her car and hit a tree.”

“A tree, sir…”

“Yes.”

“And she’s dead…”

“Yes, I’m afraid so…”

“What was she doing out late at night?” My voice suddenly sounded hollow and far away, like I was listening to myself through a pipe. “In the rain?”

“I don’t know, son. Quinn didn’t seem to have a lot of details. He said he’d call you when he had more. In the meantime, he’s reserved a first-class ticket for you at Mosul International. You can pick it up at the Turkish United desk.” He glanced at his watch. “The flight leaves in an hour. Yates can take you back to your hotel so you can pack, then ferry you to the airport. I’ll call the airline and make sure they hold the plane for you. It’s a long fucking flight, but you need to get home as quickly as possible.”

“My son,” I muttered, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. My young son’s smiling face flashed through my mind. I felt a sense of panic wrap its tentacles around my heart. I felt it start to squeeze. “My son, Cody… Where is he? Is he okay?”

“It’s my understanding that your son is safe with your wife’s sister, Emily,” he said, holding out his hands, patting the air with his palms. “He was not in the car at the time of the crash. He was spending the night at your sister-in-law’s house. He is safe and sound.”

“Cody loves Emily’s twins,” I said absently.

“Well, yes, that’s good to know,” Dickerson said with a serious nod. “He’ll be fine till you get home.”

I put my hands on my knees and pushed myself out of the chair. A thousand thoughts and questions were running through my mind. At the forefront of it all was my son. Cody was just four-years old. A real mama’s boy. He had no choice to be anything but because I’d been gone most of his life. He knew who I was, but just barely. He wouldn’t understand that his mommy was dead and gone. He needed his daddy. And I needed him. My only priority at that moment was getting home to my son.

“I’m sure Quinn has someone in route to take my place,” I said, knowing that even in the worst of circumstances there was no detail that got past Quinn, especially when money was involved. “If they have questions they can call me in the states when I’m home.”

Dickerson grunted as he got out of the chair and came around the desk with his beefy hand out. “That’s fine. No worries there.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “You have my condolences, Captain Ryder. I know you’ve always considered me to be a pain in the ass, but you’ve always taken good care of me. I appreciate your service. You’re a damned good SEAL.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to know that I’ve taken care of someone.” I let go of his hand and walked out the door.

* * *

Once the plane was at cruising altitude and the pilot had turned off the seat belt button, I made my way to the first-class lavatory and locked the door. I stood at the tiny sink and splashed cold water on my face. When I looked at the man in the mirror, he gave me a disgusted look and said, “Your wife is dead, you fucking piece of shit. You happy now?”

The words echoed in my ears. The fact that I’d spent the night and most of the morning fucking another woman while my wife lay in a drawer at the morgue or in the basement of some funeral home in Arlington was not lost on me. Our relationship had long soured and was probably over for good, and I’d take my part of the blame for that, but I should have honored my vows until the divorce was final. I was sure Bethany did. That was just her way. Goddammit. I was a fucking SEAL. I lived and died by a strict code of conduct that revolved around discipline, ethics, and honor. Sadly, those things were left in the hallway outside my hotel room door while I was fucking Bonita Anderson inside.

A heavy blanket of shame and grief draped itself around my shoulders and squeezed until my lungs could no longer take in air.

I lowered myself onto the tiny toilet and put my head in my hands.

With the water running to help disguise the noise, I broke down and sobbed like a fucking baby.

The sad thing was, I really wasn’t sure who or what I was crying for.

Chapter Four: Lolita

I lost my virginity three years ago, when I was sixteen, on September 12^th. I knew the date because I had written all about it in the locked diary I kept hidden in my nightstand. I had written the words while his cum was still moist in my cunt. I could still smell the sweat from his body, taste the salt from his lips, hear his low groans in my ears as he shot his load inside me. Sometimes, I take out the diary and read the words as I make myself cum as my fingers plunge deep inside me, imagining that its Jerry’s thick cock bringing me to orgasm. It’s like my own personal erotic novel, only every word is true. I get hot just thinking about it.

It was a Friday night and my mother was out with some of her work friends and I was home alone. Jerry showed up around seven, saying that he just thought he’d stop by to make sure I was all right. He knew I was home alone. Fuck, I was always home alone. I knew the moment I opened the door and saw him standing there with an innocent smile on his face that we were going to fuck. That’s why I let him in. My cherry swelled at the sight of him. I literally felt like I was going to pop.

“How late do you think your mom will be out?” he asked as he followed me into the kitchen so I could get him a beer from the fridge.

“She’s usually out pretty late when she’s partying with her girlfriends,” I said as I set the beer on the bar that separated the open dining room and kitchen. He slid onto a stool, picked up the beer, and took a long drink. His eyes took me in as he drank. I leaned back against the sink to give him the full view.

He was making small talk, but I wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. There was a heat in my cunt that was burning its way through my body. My tits were large by the time I was sixteen. I felt my nipples plumping in my bra. My panties were moist. I could smell my scent wafting in the air. I wondered if he could smell me like I wanted him to. I wanted him to sniff the air and pounce on me like a lion on the prowl. I crossed my ankles and squeezed my thighs together, but it did not diminish the fire that was smoldering there. I wanted him inside me. I wanted to feel his cock in my hand and in my mouth and in my pussy. I was a horny teenager who had never had sex with anything other than my own hand and my mom’s vibrator that she kept in her bedside table. My cherry was ripe and ready. I wanted Jerry to pop it before it burst on its own.

I was just a stupid teenager, but I was old enough to know better than to fuck my mom’s boyfriend. But I could tell that Jerry wanted me, and I think he realized that I wanted him, too. I saw his eyes go over me as he sipped from the bottle. I was wearing a pair of pink gym shorts that showed off my long legs and a green crop top that showed off my flat stomach. I was barefoot. My toenails were painted bright red. My long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. My skin was a golden brown from lying in the sun. I smelled like coconut oil and soap. I wondered if Jerry thought I looked sexy. The way his eyes lingered on my tits and pussy, I figured I did.

“Are you and mom getting serious?” I asked innocently, as if it would make a difference in what was about to happen.

Jerry took a long drink and wiped the beer from his lips with the back of his hand. He gave a long sigh and shrugged. “Honesty, I think we’re about done. Your mom’s hard to read. Sometimes, I think things are going good and sometimes, I think she’d just as soon see me gone. Between you and me, I think she’s already moving on. She broke a date with me to go out with her friends tonight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said with mixed emotions. “Mom can be pretty flaky sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life.” He held the beer bottle in one hand and scraped at the label with a thumbnail. He glanced up at me, then glanced back down. “Has she said anything to you about me? How she feels or what she’s thinking?”

Now, mom talked about Jerry all the time. Sometimes she said he was the best man in the world and other times she wished he’d just go away. She said he was sweet and generous, but was getting possessive, always wanting to know where she was and who she was with. He texted and called her all the time to check on her and she was getting sick of it. That was the one thing mom wouldn’t tolerate; a man who tried to keep tabs on her and thought he could tell her what to do. I knew she wouldn’t put up with it for long. Maybe that’s what drove me to say what I did. Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself when I start feeling guilty for fucking Jerry behind her back.

“I think mom’s seeing someone else,” I said quietly. It wasn’t a complete lie. Mom had been fucking her boss, Ralph, for years, and on those nights when she didn’t have plans with Jerry she hung out with an old boyfriend named Stevie Vaughn. Poor Jerry got a look on his face that could have been hurt or relief. Either way, it made me want to take him into my arms and make him feel better.

“Fuck, I knew it,” he said, his handsome forehead furrowing with lines. “I guess that’s it then.”

“Do you love her, Jerry?” I asked, hoping that the answer would be no, but determined to fuck him either way. I couldn’t help myself. My brain was no longer in control. They say guys think with their dicks. I’m here to tell you that girls think with their pussies. At least girls like me. My panties were soaking through to my gym shorts now. My nipples were pushing through the bra. The scent of my juices hung in the air like perfume.

Jerry stared at my feet and pondered the question for a moment, sitting with his shoulders hunched, his elbows on the bar and the bottle between his hands. The label was peeled off completely now. Little scraps of paper littered the bar. I saw his eyes slowly drift up my legs and settle on my pussy. I saw his nostrils flare. He could smell me. He shifted his weight on the stool. I wondered if his cock was hard just from looking at me and smelling my scent.

“I thought maybe I loved her,” he said quietly. His eyes drifted up to my tits. My nipples were like hard little stones. They pushed out from my bra and crop top like they were begging for him to touch them. He blinked a few times, then took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

“You don’t think you love her anymore?” I asked, as if his answer would change what I’d set my mind to do.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you think she loves me, Lolita?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“No, I don’t think she loves you, Jerry,” I said, letting my bare shoulders go up and down. “I don’t think she’s really capable of loving anybody.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said, setting the empty bottle on the bar. He licked his lips and offered a sad smile. “Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.”

“That’s what she said,” I said, putting my hands on the counter behind me to push myself up. I could feel something warm running down the inside of my thighs. I gave him a look that I hoped was seductive. “She said you were all kinds of fun, Jerry. All kinds of fun...”

“Well, glad she enjoyed the ride,” he said. He braced his palms on the bar and started to push himself up, then lowered himself back onto the stool when I pulled the crop top over my head and dropped it to the floor. I was wearing a black bra that barely contained my big tits. Jerry’s mouth dropped open as he watched me unhook the bra in the back and let it slide down my arms. My big boobs bounced free.

“Lolita, what are you doing?” he asked quietly. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His eyes were glued to my tits. I cupped my tits and massaged them where the bra had cut in. I brought my fingers to my nipples and gave them a hard squeeze. I thought I was going to cum right then and there. My cunt gushed hot juices, lubricating my pussy in anticipation of my first cock pushing its way inside me. Mom said Jerry had a cock like a summer sausage. I couldn’t wait to see and touch it for myself.

“Do you want me, Jerry?” I asked, squeezing my tits, pinching my nipples until they turned purple. My breath was started to come in gusts, the words drifting out in sighs. “Do you want to fuck my tight little pussy with your big meaty cock?”

Jerry licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder toward the front door. He lowered his voice as if he was afraid someone might hear. “Lolita, how old are you?”

“Does it matter?” I asked. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and panties and pushed them down my legs. My pubes were blonde and curly and freshly trimmed. The little hairs lining the sides of my cunt were soaked with my juices. I spread my legs and used my fingers to pull back my pubes so Jerry could see my pink virgin pussy.

“Lolita… I… I mean…”

“Don’t you want to taste my pussy, Jerry?” I asked, smiling as I massaged my swollen clit. “I want you to taste me. I want to feel your tongue and your cock deep inside me.”

Jerry glanced at the front door again. I could tell what he was thinking. This is not a good idea, but fuck…

I came around the bar and held out my arms as Jerry slid off the stool. I looked down at the front of his pants. He had a huge boner pushing against his khakis. I smiled as the breath shuddered out of me. I was about to lose my virginity with a man more than twice my age with a huge cock. I could barely contain myself.

I slid into Jerry’s arms with my head back and mouth open. When he kissed me, I felt the heat of his tongue all the way down to my toes. I’d been kissed before, mostly by a boy named Kevin Feeney that I fooled around with sometimes, but Kevin did not kiss like Jerry. Kevin kissed like a shark biting into a surf board. Jerry’s kiss was soft and warm, his tongue swirled around my lips and slid into my mouth. I sucked on his tongue and moaned.

Jerry’s strong hands slid around my waist, then down my back to my ass. He gave my ass a hard squeeze, then picked me up like a ragdoll. I put my legs around his waist and whispered in his ear. “Take me in the bedroom and fuck me, Jerry. I want you to fuck me till I scream for you to stop.”

Without saying a word, he carried me into my bedroom and tossed me on the bed, then practically ripped open his pants to free his swollen cock. He pushed his pants and underwear down to his knees. He didn’t even bother to take off his shirt or work boots.

His cock was long and thick and dark brown, hence my mom’s summer sausage remark. It stuck out from a thick patch of black curls like a veiny tree branch. The head was crimson and swollen, like a balloon twisted to the point of popping. I wanted to touch it, to hold it in my hand, to milk it with my fingers, to put it in my mouth. But Jerry had other ideas that didn’t involve hours of exploration and foreplay and romance that I had always dreamed would preclude my first lover shoving his cock inside me.

He just pushed me back on the bed and put his rough hands on my knees and pushed them apart. He hooked his hands under my knees and practically dragged me to him. Before I could tell him to be gentle with me, he pushed the head of his cock against my hole and jerked me onto him, impaling my pussy without giving me time to even prepare. When his cock split my hymen, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Jerry didn’t even seem to notice. He seemed to be in a daze. He dug his fingers into my hips and started pummeling into me, pulling nearly all the way out, then thrusting back in until the tip of his cock hit my cervix. Mama was right. The pain was excruciating. Then it wasn’t. Pleasure slowly overtook the pain, even as I was being hammered so hard the entire bed beneath me shook.

Sadly, I started to realize that my first time was not going to be the fairy tale romance that I had always dreamt that it would be. But it was a good fucking, nonetheless. A rough, hard, frantic, thorough fucking. It took less than a minute for Jerry to cum. I remembered staring up at his face, all red and sweaty, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth hanging open.

“Fuck…” he muttered. “Goddamn… Fuck…”

I could feel him tensing up. His fingers were like vices, holding me tight as his big cock slammed into me over and over. Then I felt my own orgasm building deep within my cunt. I put my hands to my tits and squeezed them hard as the fire began to burn its way through my body. Christ, it was not romantic in the least, but it felt fucking amazing. I pushed my pussy toward him and moaned each time his cock rammed inside me. I could feel him in my chest, in my throat, in my temples. When he started to growl like an animal, I pointed my toes and tensed my muscles and gushed juices over him like a geyser. He scrunched up his face and groaned. His body tensed for a moment, then jerked as the orgasm rolled to completion. He exhaled loudly, still holding me against him.

“Jerry?” I asked tentatively. I was a little worried by the look on his face. I’d never seen a man cum in person before. Jerry’s face was purple and sweaty. He looked like he was having a heart attack. “Are you okay?”

My words seemed to jar him awake. His eyes fluttered like a slot machine and he let go of my legs. His cock slid out of me and he stumbled back with his pants around his knees. He tried to say something, but it came out as gibberish.

“Uh… I… um…” He quickly pulled up his pants and tucked his sticky, flaccid cock inside as he stumbled from the room. I leaned up on my elbows and watched him go. It was the first time in my life I realized how fucking weird men are. You give them what they want and rather than take their time and treat you like a lady, they fuck you quick and get the hell out. Son of a bitch…

I lay there on the bed as Jerry’s seed oozed out of me. My diary was in the nightstand drawer. I hurriedly pulled it out and wrote down what had happened in vivid detail. Looking back now, I was lucky he didn’t knock me up. That would have been ironic, repeating my mother’s mistake of getting pregnant at sixteen by a guy I’d never see again. That would have really been a Dr. Phil moment.

I remember a sense of panic setting in after the glow faded. I put away the diary and hurried into the shower and took the handheld shower head and washed Jerry’s sticky seed out of my cunt as best as I could. My mom kept a supply of douches under the bathroom sink. I used one to rinse myself out, then lathered up and hit it with the spray head again. I told my mom when she finally came home the next day that I wanted to go on birth control.

She didn’t even bat an eye.

I was on the pill by the next week.

And to my knowledge, neither of us ever heard from Jerry again.

* * *

When I wasn’t waiting tables at Applebee’s on the weekends or taking accounting courses at the local community college during the week, I spent most of my time in the summer floating on an inflatable raft in the pool in our backyard, letting the sun streak my blonde hair and bake my skin to a golden brown. We were one of the few houses in the neighborhood that had a pool, and we would not have had one if it hadn’t been for mom’s Pussy Power.

One of her boyfriends, Bob or Rob or Roy, I think it was, was a pool contractor and they dated long enough for him to install the pool in the off-season when his crew wasn’t busy. Mom said he just wanted to see both of us in bikinis and the cost of doing so was installing the pool, even though it took up most of the yard. She broke up with him a week after the pool was finished so he never got to see us in our bikinis, which I’m sure was mom’s plan all along.

School was on summer break, so I had been lounging in the pool most of the day. My body was hot and oily to the touch, my skin glowed reddish brown. I was standing at the kitchen sink in my string bikini on the very spot where I had stripped off my clothes to seduce Jerry three years before. I thought about him sometimes when I was alone in the kitchen. It was almost like I could feel his eyes on my body and hear his breath in my ear. Just thinking about him got me all hot and bothered sometimes. I wondered what he was doing and if he was happy. Silly, really, how you sometimes thought of your first lover even if the lovemaking wasn’t what you expected it to be.

As I was filling a plastic bottle with ice water I heard mom’s car pull into the carport on the side of the house. I finished filling the bottle and screwed on the top just as she came through the side door.

At just thirty-eight years old, mom was still a knockout. She was wearing a black miniskirt that showed off her tanned, killer legs, a red blouse with short sleeves, and four inch heels. Her blonde hair was blown out and her makeup was perfect. She looked like she was getting ready to go clubbing rather than a legal secretary on her lunch break.

“Hey, what are you doing home?” I asked as she breezed into the kitchen and dropped her purse and keys on the counter. She tugged the bottle of ice water from my hand and unscrewed the top.

“I’m running errands for Ralph,” she said with the bottle at her lips. She took a long drink and sighed. “It’s so fucking hot. My bra is soaked. I came home to change.”

“Why doesn’t Ralph buy you a car with an air conditioner that works?” I asked, holding out my hand so she could give me the water bottle back.

“Ralph is my boss, honey, not my sugar daddy,” she said as she unbuttoned the blouse and slid it off her shoulders and down her arms. She was wearing my bra, the black one with the extra padding, as if she needed it. Her tits were bigger than mine and just as firm. Sweat dotted her chest and cleavage. She picked up a roll of paper towels from the bar and swirled a few sheets around her hand and mopped her chest and neck with it.

“You’re fucking him, so he needs to buy you a car,” I said, rolling my eyes at her. “It’s the least he can do.”

“Sweetie, you have no idea how things work in the real world,” she said with a heavy sigh as she swiped her armpits with the paper towels. She tossed the paper towels in the trash can by the door and picked up her blouse. She started toward the hallway door, then turned around and held out her hand.

“Oh, have you heard what happened to the woman next door?”

I frowned at her. “No. What woman next door?”

“Bethany Ryder, the woman right next door,” she said, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “The one with the cute little boy you used to babysit and the hunky husband that’s in the Navy or something?”

“Yeah? Cody is the little boy,” I said, trying to remember the last time I’d seen him. It had been a while, even though he lived right next door. He was probably four or five now, a cute little blond with big blue eyes. I babysat him when he was just a toddler, whenever his mom needed a break because his dad was never around. Mom was right, the dad was hunky and hot as hell, though I probably hadn’t seen him in couple of years. They were a quiet couple and pretty much kept to themselves.

I said, “I think Ben is her husband’s name. He’s a Navy SEAL, I think. What about her?”

Mom put a hand over her heart and gave me a sad look. She always had a flair for the dramatic. “She was in a terrible car wreck last night.”

“Wow, that’s awful,” I said as a feeling of dread worked its way up my spine. “Is she okay?”

“No, honey, she was killed,” mom said sadly, looking like she was about to cry, even though she probably hadn’t said three words to the woman in the entire three or four years they’d lived next door. “Mrs. Crown across the street said she hit a tree or something last night in that rain storm.” She glanced at her watch. Her sad expression immediately went away. “Shit, I gotta go. Ralph’s waiting on me at the courthouse.”

Before I could ask anything more, she headed down the hallway toward her bedroom, tugging off the bra and mopping sweat from beneath her bouncing boobs as she went.

Wanna know how this continues?

A SEAL’s life is tough.

I’m a single dad now and have to leave the tragedy in the past.

The hot nineteen-year-old next door is just what I need.

I know. It’s wrong. It’s filthy.

But I need filthy.

What a homecoming!

My wife died carrying another man’s baby. Now I have no f*ckin’ idea how I am going to raise my little boy all on my own.

And then, I meet Lolita, the hot nineteen-year-old s*x kitten next door.

She’s alone in her backyard pool, floating naked on a raft with her fingers busy between her legs.

She knows I’m watching her, my hand in rhythm with hers.

Her beautiful tanned skin, her gorgeous face, the blonde curls between her legs…

F*ck, I think I’m gonna die if I don’t get her in my bed soon.

She’s proving to be a pleasant distraction at a time when I need it the most.

But I know I have to fight another battle – I am falling for this nineteen years old, and I am falling HARD!

She calls me her Filthy SEAL.

But now I want to ask her something.

Lolita, will you be my… dirty girl?

HOT DELETED KINKY SCENE: FILTHY SEAL

Lolita was lying on the bed waiting for me with a dreamy look in her eyes when I came into her bedroom. The small room was decorated in hues of pink and green, from the curtains to the bedding, with a variety of stuffed animals tossed about and posters of Bruno Mars and Katy Perry on the wall, all a reflection of the young teenager she was not so long ago. Now, lying before me, was a woman, not a girl; a woman who was ready to make my filthy dreams come true.

Lolita had thrown back the comforter and tossed the decorative pillows to the floor, as if she thought they might get in the way of whatever it was we were about to do.

There were three small candles burning on the dresser, filling the room with the scents of cinnamon and lilac. The shade was pulled down to block out the midday sun. There was soft music coming from an iPhone dock on the nightstand. I recognized the silky voice of George Michael in his youth. The Faith album. I wondered if Lolita had chosen this music because of my age. I certainly wouldn’t recognize any of the music she listened to these days, that was for sure.

I stood at the foot of the bed, smiling down at her as I stripped off my clothes. She lay on her back with her knees up and spread, showing me her perfect, pink pussy, rubbing her big tits, watching me, smiling as my cock sprang from my jeans. I was already rock hard. Just knowing that she was waiting for me caused the blood to rush to my cock. I could feel my heart beating along veiny shaft.

“Come to me, my filthy SEAL,” she said, stretching out her arms, wiggling her fingers. “Bring your sweet lips and big cock to Lolita.”

“Soon,” I said with a devious smile. “First, I want to taste your sweet, young pussy on my lips.” Rather than crawling onto the bed with her, I slid my hands under her knees and pulled her ass toward the foot of the bed to me.

She giggled and started to sit up, but I put my hands on her shoulders to gently push her back down. I got to my knees at the foot of the bed between her legs. I put a hand on each knee and spread her legs wide, exposing her beautiful, pink, wet pussy. Her pussy opened up to me like a morning flower, spreading its glistening petals to greet the warm morning sun. I licked my lips and thanked the filthy gods above and below for what I was about to receive. Sweet, young, nineteen-year-old pussy… all for me. My mouth watered at the sight her glistening pink passion. It was the most wondrous thing I’d ever seen.

Lolita closed her eyes and held her breath in anticipation of my tongue on her clit and inside her hole. I lowered my lips to plant little kisses on the insides of her thighs, just a hair’s breath away from her pussy lips, which moved slightly when she breathed like two beautiful gills. I nipped at her blonde cunt hair and slowly teased her pussy hole with my tongue. She tasted hot, salty, tangy. Her juices flowed over my tongue. I eagerly lapped them up and prodded for more. My hands slid up her lean, supple body. I squeezed her big tits and rolled her hard nipples under my thumbs. Lolita lifted her ass off the bed and moaned.

“Eat my pussy, Ryder,” she sighed. “Please… my pussy is on fire...”

I smiled at her dirty talk, so filthy and hot coming from such innocent lips. I fucking loved it. It made my cock even harder as it longed to slide into her sweet mouth and cunt. And later, her ass. No hole would go unexplored, not with Lolita.

I gently pressed my lips to her clit, which was long and thick and glistening with juices and spit. When I began to nibble at the skin covering her clit, every muscle in Lolita’s body tensed and she gasped for air.

“Fuck… Ryder… yes… suck my clit... god… I’m so… fucking… hot…”

“You’re on fire,” I said, blowing a playful breath across her pussy, as if I were cooling a steaming mug of the world’s best coffee or a piping hot bowl of delicious soup. It was a fitting analogy because I planned to devour her completely before this day was done.

I used two fingers to pull back her clit hood, exposing the little man in the boat hiding there. It glistened round and hard and pink and wet from her juices and my saliva. I slowly touched it with the tip of his tongue. Lolita’s body shuddered as a wave of ecstasy shot through her.

I teased her clit and pussy hole with my tongue for a moment, then lowered my lips to her clit and gently began to suck on the skin like a little cock. She took in a quick breath and rolled her head from side to side and moaned.

“Christ…” she moaned. “Nobody’s ever done that to me… ever… fuck… what have I been missing…”

I smiled with my lips on her clit. My eyes drifted up to her big titties, firm, large, with their dark areolas and nipples the size of gum drops. I kept sucking on her clit as I reached up to take Lolita’s hands and set them on her breasts.

“Play with your tits while I eat your pussy,” I said. Lolita grinned and began to roughly massage her breasts, pinching and pulling her nipples until they turned deep red. She moaned at the wonderful pain and pushed her cunt to my lips.

I spread her pussy lips with my fingers and began licking the pungent juices that were flowing out of her hole like a warm stream. She tasted deliciously sweet and tangy on my tongue. I sucked down every drop like a man dying of thirst.

I stiffened my tongue and slowly slid it in and out of her pussy, tongue-fucking her hole until she moaned for me to shove in my cock instead. I wasn’t quite ready to do that, not just yet.

I replaced my tongue with two stiff fingers, sliding them in and out slowly, then gently rotating them back and forth until I felt her body tense. She was going to cum. I was going to make her cum. I kept the fingers going in and out and round and round and rolled her clit with my tongue. Seconds later, Lolita’s pussy literally gushed a wave of hot juices over my hand and face. I lapped it up like a kitten attacking a bowl of warm milk.

Lolita pulled at her nipples and lifted her ass off the bed, shoving her pussy toward my fingers and lips, moaning, begging me for more. I slid the two fingers out of her pussy and replaced them with my mouth. My tongue probed deep insider her again, sucking her juices into my mouth, swallowing them and going back for more. As my mouth devoured her pussy I slid the tip of one of the sticky fingers slowly into her asshole.

Lolita let out a quick gasp as the finger slid into her ass up to the first knuckle, then in to the last. I fucked her pussy with my tongue and her ass with my finger until she exploded again, gushing salty cum into my mouth and over my chin. I was like drinking from a firehose.

My entire face was soaked now, but that didn’t stop me. That only made it that much hotter. I licked and sucked and fingered until Lolita begged me to stop. She was having orgasms in great waves. She would barely catch her breath from one orgasm before another hit, then another and another. I knew this girl had never cum so many times. She was nineteen and experienced, but she had never fucked a filthy SEAL before. I could take her to sexual heights she could only have imagined before.

I felt her fingers in my hair. I glanced up without pulling my mouth from her pussy.

“I want your cock inside me…” she said breathlessly, reaching for me, crooking her fingers. “Please… I can’t take it anymore… I want you to shove your long, hard cock in my pussy and pound me till I scream… please… Ryder… fuck me… fuck me hard now...”

I smiled, realizing that my cock was so hard it was about to burst. I had gotten so wrapped up in giving Lolita pleasure that I completely forgot about myself. My ten-inch cock was so hard it throbbed to the beat of my heart. I to go my feet and took it in my hand and stroked it for a moment as she watched. It seemed to grow even bigger in my hand. The head looked like a ripe plum, blood red and ready to pop.

“I want your cock in me now,” she ordered, licking her lips. She smiled at me and spread her legs wide. “Come on, you filthy SEAL, put your monster cock in my cunt.” She gave me a devilish grin. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

I grinned at her and she shot me a playful look back. If it was a good hard fucking she wanted, it was a good hard fucking she’d get. I climbed onto the bed, bracing myself on my stiff arms, and lowered myself on to her. She held my throbbing cock in her hand and guided the head toward her pussy hole. I pressed the head of my cock to her opening and felt her hold her breath as her pussy lips opened up to let me in.

“Slowly now,” she sighed. “Slowly… then… faster…”

I was more than happy to let her set the pace. With her hand on the shaft, she pulled me inside her an inch at a time. She was so wet that, despite the size of my cock, I slid easily into her tight pussy.

When I felt the tip of my cock hit the back wall of her vagina, she exhaled and wrapped her legs around me. “Now,” she sighed, taking her hand from my cock and moving both hands to her breasts. She squeezed her nipples and moaned. “Now… fuck me…”

Her pussy was the tightest I’d ever shoved my big cock into, and my cock has been in a lot of pussies. She was just nineteen and tight as a mother fucking drum. I could feel her pussy walls suctioning to me, rippling against my shaft, milking me like a machine. It was the most amazing feeling. It was a ride that I would quickly want to get back on once it was over.

I braced myself on my arms and closed my eyes. I started moving my hips back and forth, sliding the shaft slowly in and out of her gushing cunt. I could hear my balls slapping against her ass.

I withdrew my cock almost to the head, then slid back in slowly until I hit her inner wall, then I’d do it over again. Lolita moaned beneath me and tossed her head from side to side.

“Faster… Ryder… faster… now,” she said, teeth gritted, eyes closed. “Fuck me faster… fucking… fuck... me… hard…”

I lifted her legs and clutched them against my chest as I steadily increased the pace of my thrusts until I was jackhammering in and out of her as hard as I could without hurting her or throwing out my back.

She pointed her toes toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. She was being hit again by wave after wave of orgasms. I’d never seen a girl cum so much in such a short amount of time. Ah, to be nineteen again…

Lolita pulled her legs down and wrapped them around my waist again, then slipped her fingers around my neck and pulled me down toward her. She put her lips to mine and with what little breath she had to offer, said, “Cum with me, Ryder... Cum with me now…”

Every muscle in my body tensed at her words. I could feel the cum rising from my balls like lava rising deep from within a volcano. I shoved my cock in as far as it would go and filled her with my hot cum until it overflowed from her pussy. Lolita came at the exact same moment, gushing hot juices over my cock and balls, soaking the bed beneath her.

Our mutual orgasm seemed to go on forever and when it finally subsided, we were both covered in a thick film of sweat and gooey cum, and totally exhausted.

I flopped down on the bed beside her and lifted my arm. She rolled into me and put her head on my chest. I pulled her close against me and kissed the top of her head.

“How was that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Utterly amazing,” she said with a happy sigh. She gave my nipple a playful nip. “Not too bad—for an old man.”

“Thanks,” I snorted. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll show you what else this old man can do.”

“Oh lord,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think this young girl can keep up with this filthy SEAL.”

THE END

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I was an MMA champion until a sucker punch from a sadistic opponent ended my career for good. Turned out the joke was on him. Today I’m the millionaire owner of a company that puts on MMA fights all over the world and he’s a lousy bodyguard, working for the one guy on earth besides him that I truly can’t stand, that piece of crap SOB, Kyle Cassidy.

I have everything a man could wish for. I’m young, rich, good looking, with the body of an MMA champ and the sexual appetites of a Greek god. Women are drawn to me like moths to a flame, like magnets to steel. I could have a different woman in my bed every night if I wanted. Hell, some nights I have two or three.

Then I meet her, Fiona, the tall blond who hypnotizes me with her eyes and mesmerizes me with her body. She makes me feel things no other woman has ever made me feel. In bed, she rocks me like a punch to head and leaves me flat of my back begging for more.

But she has a secret, something she isn’t telling me, and when I discover what that secret is, people are going to get hurt. Some who deserve it, some who do not. Either way, I’m willing to fight for the woman I love, even if it turns my brain and heart to mush.

CHAPTER ONE: Fiona Cassidy

As crazy as it sounds, I think Kyle wanted me to catch him screwing Wendy Lowenstein in our bed that night. I mean, there was no way he couldn’t know that I would walk through the door just after ten o’clock. It was as if the whole thing was planned just to see the look of shock and disgust on my face.

Wendy was the head of Public Relations at Kyle’s company, Cassidy Event Management. She was a short red head with oversized boobs and undersized expectations who would have jumped off a bridge if Kyle had told her to do so. She was pretty in a harsh, overly-made up kind of way, with trusting blue eyes and plump lips that she always seemed to be wetting with her tongue, especially when Kyle was in the room.

It was sad, really, how pathetically taken she was with my husband. Granted, Kyle was a good-looking man; tall, fit, sandy blond hair, deep tan, bright green eyes, a quick smile that in the old days made me melt into my panties. He looked more like a surfer dude modeling an Armani suit than the CEO of a multimillion dollar event management company. And more often than not, he acted that way.

He was also flirty, overly so when it came to women he wanted to sleep with. Kyle was a self-proclaimed toucher and hugger. If you were a woman he’d find a reason to touch your arm or put his hand on the small of your back to walk you out. He hugged you when you came into the room and hugged you when you left. Sometimes, the hug lingered a little too long to be anything other than suggestive. He used to hug me like that. I used to enjoy it. Now, not so much. I find his hugs repulsive.

The most shocking thing about catching him fucking Wendy was that she was not his type. Wendy was short, full-figured, and a little too eager to please. Every woman he had cheated on me with, at least those that I knew about, had been tall and thin, with blonde hair and blue eyes, like me. Perhaps my bruised ego was assuming too much, thinking that I set the stereotype for women Kyle cheated with. Perhaps the fact that he cheated with women who looked like his wife was just a coincidence. Or maybe he never had a type at all. Maybe he had worked his way through tall blondes and was now moving on to chubby redheads.

I was not surprised in the least that Wendy would fuck my husband. She would have fucked him in the town square at high noon if he wanted her to. She literally drooled when he looked at her. Her self-esteem wouldn’t even have registered on the scale if there was a way of measuring such things. She practically had the words “USE ME” tattooed to her forehead, at least as far as Kyle was concerned. I always felt a little sorry for her, until I found her fucking my husband in my home on my bed.

It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if he had just bent Wendy over her desk and hammered it to her ample backside, but he brought her into my home, stripped off her clothes and fucked her on my bed. I had stopped caring long ago that Kyle fucked around, it was just a fact of life, but there had to be boundaries if he expected me to stay married to him. And my home was out of bounds.

Kyle knew that the charity dinner I was attending with his parents, the dinner his company was sponsoring, would end around ten and that I’d come straight home, putting me there by ten-thirty at the latest.

I should have known something was up when I saw that baboon Danny O’Shea standing outside the front of our apartment building smoking a fat cigar with the doorman. Kyle couldn’t have a bowel movement unless he knew Danny was guarding the door. It wasn’t like Kyle’s life was in any danger. He wasn’t a mobster, for petesake, though sometimes I think he pictured himself as one. His favorite show was The Sopranos. He loved Tony Soprano; the murderous, cheating, heartless, beefy mobster who did whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted without regard to the consequences. The thought of doing anything he wanted without accountability fascinated Kyle.

“Imagine living life without repercussions,” he once said as we watched the show in bed after a half-hearted round of sex. “How fucking cool would that be?”

That was his way of letting me know that I was a repercussion. I was the only one he answered to and he didn’t answer to me for much anymore. He didn’t care what I thought, so long as I kept up appearances and didn’t spend too much of the family fortune.

The biggest difference between Tony Soprano and Kyle Cassidy was that Tony Soprano was a heartless mobster and Kyle was just a heartless prick.

Danny O, as Kyle called his pet gorilla, didn’t say anything to me when I got out of the limo and waited for the doorman to open the door so I could go inside. Danny was a former MMA fighter whose face carried the marks and scars of a dozen years of having other large men slam their fists into his head. His forehead hung over his eyes like a caveman’s brow. His nose had been broken numerous times. The bridge had a large bump and the fatty tip skewed oddly to the right. His right ear had been beaten to cauliflower and his shaved head was lined with scars that he wore like badges of honor.

He was big, with broad shoulders and thick arms that looked like they might rip out the seams of the expensive suits he wore; suits purchased by my husband. The most threatening thing about Danny O’Shea, at least to me, were his eyes. Our eyes met just briefly when I got out of the limo and walked toward the door. It was like staring into the dead eyes of a shark right before it sank its teeth into your soft flesh. I couldn’t stand to be around Danny O’Shea and I knew he wasn’t too fond of me. He looked at me like he would just as soon kill and eat me as give me the time of day, but Kyle loved him like his pet pit bull. Danny would do whatever Kyle told him to do; things Kyle would never have the nerve to do himself.

Once inside the elevator, I put my keycard in the slot and punched in the keypad numbers so the elevator would take me up to our thirtieth-floor penthouse apartment. I leaned back against the back wall and gave a heavy sigh. I stared at the woman staring back at me in the mirrored doors. I looked tired despite the professionally done makeup and perfectly styled hair. The little black party dress and heels made my toned, tanned legs look amazing, but the shoes were killing my feet and the thong I was wearing had wedged its way uncomfortably up my ass. I couldn’t wait to strip off everything and soak in the tub.

I assumed Kyle was being alerted by Danny that I was on my way up. Kyle was probably drunk already, parked in front of the big screen watching some fight on TV. I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t show up at the charity event, even though he had sworn to me that he would. Kyle’s promises carried very little weight with me these days. I wasn’t sure why he even bothered lying to me since we both knew how full of shit he was. I guess it was just habit. We were just going through the motions. Sometimes I wondered how long we’d try to keep it up.

Kyle hated anything that didn’t involve sweaty men beating the shit out of each other or women dancing naked around poles. The charity benefits were his mother Ramona’s pet projects and since Kyle’s father Edward, who owned the company and controlled the purse strings, had to attend, he wanted his only son there to share in the misery. Kyle typically came up with a last-minute excuse why he couldn’t go and I would go alone. That was fine. I actually liked his dad and could tolerate his mother. Plus, it was nice to get away from him, even if it was just for an evening.

“I’ll meet you there, Fee” he had told me over the phone around eight. He called me Fee because Fiona took too much effort to say, I guess. When I tried to call him back around eight-thirty, his phone went directly to voicemail. His mother was disappointed. His father was furious. He’d give Kyle hell on Monday, not that it would do much good.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to our foyer. The penthouse was huge, nearly six thousand square feet, an homage to gaudy decorating and indulgent spending. Kyle’s mother had insisted on decorating the penthouse as an anniversary gift to us and Kyle refused to let me redecorate because it would hurt his mother’s feelings. I fucking hated the place with its ornate fixtures, antique furniture, and heavy wallpaper and blinds. It looked like something out of an old movie. The day Kyle’s mother died would be the day redecorating began.

The penthouse was also much more room than two people needed. Even two people who usually avoided each other by retreating to separate ends of the place. My bedroom was my sanctuary while Kyle spent most of his time in the media room watching the TV that covered one entire wall.

When Kyle bought the place without even consulting me, he said it was because it would be the perfect place to start a family. Lots of room for lots of kids. That was five years ago and it was still just him and me. We tried to get pregnant for a while, then it seemed to become a burden for him, having sex with the intention of procreating rather than just for fun. Then the sex steadily decreased and talk of starting a family fell by the wayside. I was glad we’d never had kids. I wouldn’t wish our relationship on a child. I also couldn’t remember the last time we’d had sex. I would be willing to bet that it hadn’t been very good.

When I stepped off the elevator the penthouse was quiet. I set my purse and keys on the little table in the foyer and slipped off the high heels that were killing my feet. I picked up the shoes and let them dangle from two fingers as I made my way toward our bedroom.

The master bedroom was at the end of a long hallway. I was halfway down the hall when I heard the moans coming through the bedroom door, which had been left open a crack. I immediately knew what was going on inside my bedroom. I vaguely recognized Kyle’s wheezes and grunts. They were sounds that I hadn’t heard in a while. I couldn’t believe I’d ever found such sounds sexy.

I crept to the door and peered in through the crack. Wendy was lying on my bed with her ass hanging off the edge. Her legs were spread wide and her feet were in the air. Her toes were curled into tight balls. Kyle was standing between her thighs, holding her legs up by the ankles as he rammed in and out of her in a jerky motion that made him look like he was riding a mechanical bull.

I focused on Wendy for some reason. Probably because I’d seen Kyle fuck and it was never that impressive. Her big tits flounced like water balloons on her chest. She clutched at them, digging her fingers into the flesh to hold them steady. She took her pudgy nipples between her thumbs and fingers and stretched them away from her breasts (ouch). She had her eyes closed and was biting her lower lip. She was making little squealing noises each time Kyle thrust into her, like her balloons were losing air through her stretched nipples.

Kyle was going at it hard and fast, pulling almost all the way out of her skanky pussy, then slamming back in so hard that his balls slapped against her meaty ass and caused her whole body to jump. Kyle’s cock wasn’t long, but it was oddly thick, more like a fat pickle than a penis. I had to give him credit. Back in the day, he made great use of what he had. Apparently, he had not lost his touch because Wendy was wailing like a banshee being set free from Pandora’s box.

“Fuck… me… fuck… baby…” Wendy moaned, tugging so hard on her nipples it made me wince. Christ, how long would those things stretch?? She barked out the words. “I’m gonna… cum… baby… make… your baby… cum…”

“Yeah, baby,” Kyle said, panting, wheezing, his narrow hips jerking back and forth. “Cum baby… cum for daddy… gush that sweet pussy juice all over my cock… baby… cum with me…”

Cum for daddy?

Gush that sweet pussy juice all over my cock?

Seriously?

Dirty talk was a new weapon in Kyle’s arsenal.

My God, how fucking pathetic.

Wendy squealed like a stuck pig and arched her back so Kyle’s cock could go deeper into her cunt, which probably had the tightness of a stretched rubber band (wow, too catty?). Kyle leaned his head back and roared, pushing his hips into her as he came. The whole scene would have been comical if it had not been my husband fucking another woman on my bed.

When it was over, Wendy dropped her legs and collapsed in a trembling heap. She lay there panting like a dog, massaging her poor abused tits.

When I looked back toward Kyle, he was still standing next to the bed, staring back at me with a greasy smile on his face. His pickle cock had deflated and hung sadly between his legs like a used rubber.

Without a word, I walked back through the penthouse with my shoes still dangling at my side. I slipped the shoes back on, picked up my purse, got into the elevator, and rode it down to the lobby.

Danny O was standing at the elevator when the doors parted, like he knew I was on my way down and had orders to stop me. I jumped when I saw him, then shot him a hateful glare, daring him to say anything to me. He narrowed his eyes at me for a second, then silently stepped aside and held out his hand to let me pass. I could feel his cold eyes on me as I walked across the lobby and pushed past the doorman who was holding the door. When I looked back, Danny had gotten into the elevator, undoubtedly heading up to the penthouse to wash off his master’s disgusting cock.

I emerged onto the sidewalk and stopped for a moment to catch my breath, thankful for the fresh air. The doorman asked if I was okay, but I ignored him and walked away. I walked for a couple of blocks until my feet started screaming bloody murder, then decided to hail a cab.

“Where to?” the driver asked without turning around. He leered at me in the rearview mirror. He was a fat man who smelled like sausage and peppers. His license on the back of the seat said his name was VITO. I wondered if he liked The Sopranos.

“The Haven Club,” I said.

He set the meter and pulled away from the curb. I settled into the back seat and pushed out a long breath. I leaned my head back against the rest and closed my eyes. The movie of Kyle standing by my bed grinning at me while Wendy wallowed on our bed played on the back of my eyelids. I rubbed my eyes until the movie went away.

Kyle had finally done it.

He had pushed me over the edge.

There was no going back now.

Now I needed a stiff drink.

And maybe a stiff something else.

CHAPTER TWO: Nick Patron

I could give you a hundred reasons why I hated Kyle Cassidy, but that would take up too much of your time and mine, so I’ll just give you the main reason.

Kyle Cassidy is an arrogant prick who goes out of his way to be a thorn in my side; personally, and professionally. Our companies often do business together, albeit reluctantly on my part. My company, Patron Sports Entertainment (PSE), stages mixed martial arts tournaments all over the country. MMA, it’s called. It’s the hottest thing going. Millions of people around the globe tune in to watch MMA bouts on ESPN, and millions more fill huge arenas to see rock hard men (and women) beat the living shit out of each other for prize money, a title, and a gaudy gold belt.

I got into MMA ten years ago as a heavyweight fighter. It was a natural progression, given that I had spent most of my life fighting on the streets for free and in back alleys for bets. Remember that old Clint Eastwood movie where he was paid to fight guys in junkyards and in empty warehouses? Well, that was me. I’d take on all comers for a couple hundred bucks, then I’d immediately blow that on booze, coke, and pussy. Very quickly I’d be right back where I’d started; broke, angry, and alone. It was after one such fight that I met Jesse Rose, the man who would change my life.

I had never given fighting professionally a moment’s thought until I walked into that seedy bar one night and struck up a conversation with Jesse, an older black gentleman who looked like he’d spent considerable time in the ring, given the crook of his nose and thickness of his brow. He had just watched me knock out a guy with one punch in the alley behind the bar and asked if I’d ever thought about fighting professionally. I said no and he told me that he trained boxers and MMA fighters. He said he would pay me a couple hundred dollars a week to spar with his fighters. And if I was interested, he would train me to fight. I said I already knew how to fight. He said I knew how to brawl maybe, but not fight. That got me interested right way. I can punch guys and make money? Shit, man, sign me up.

The next day, I met Jesse at the gym where he trained his fighters. He wrapped my hands and laced on boxing gloves and told me to get in the ring with a skinny black kid who looked like he wouldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. I was big and muscular, covered in tattoos and scars. I was strong as an ox and hit like one. I figured I’d make short work of the skinny black kid and prove to Jesse that I did indeed know how to fight.

When Jesse rang the bell, I moved in quickly on the skinny kid and found out that I wasn’t the powerhouse in the ring that I was in the street. The kid bobbed to one side, hit me once in the jaw and once in the nose. That was it. I went down like a ton of bricks with blood gushing out of my nose.

I learned three things that afternoon: one, even though I could street brawl with the best of them, I didn’t have a clue how to fight in the ring. Two, getting your nose broken hurts like a motherfucker and produces an inordinate amount of blood. And three, getting your nose broken by a skinny kid half your size can be pretty fucking humiliating.

I remembered Jesse standing at the side of the ring with his thick arms looped over the ropes, laughing his ass off as I struggled to sit up like a toddler waking from his nap. Turned out, the skinny black kid was Jesse’s son Jimmy, a golden gloves champion at the ripe old age of nineteen. Jimmy hooked his gloves under my arms and helped get me to my feet, then went off to find some other cocky asshole to teach a lesson to.

“You okay?” Jesse asked, not bothering to hide the grin on his battered face. He handed me a dirty towel and told me to wipe the blood off my face. “Boy hits like a fucking bull, don’t he?”

“Boy hits like a fucking Mac truck,” I said, wiping my nose on the towel.

Jesse’s head bobbed. “You rushed in and he put you on your ass.”

I gave him the bloody towel, then cupped my chin and worked my jaw back and forth. I tried to act tough. “It was a lucky shot.”

He chuckled. “It was two lucky shots.”

I smiled. It hurt. “Yeah.”

Jesse put his hands on my cheeks and peered down his nose to look me in the eyes. “You’re okay. Just got your bell run a little. Hold still.” He put his thumbs on each side of my nose and gave it a quick twist. I heard a pop and felt searing pain and saw flashbulbs popping before my eyes. I thought I was gonna vomit. Jesse put his hands on my shoulders to keep me from falling over, then picked up a trash can and shoved it at me.

“Hock and spit,” he said. I wiped the tears from my eyes and sniffed back the blood that was filling my nose, then spat blood and snot in the trashcan.

I wiped my mouth on the back of my arm. “Thanks. I’m okay now.”

Jesse leaned back against the ring and crossed his arms over his chest. He narrowed his eyes at me. “You really wanna learn how to fight MMA or are you just fucking around?”

“I really wanna learn,” I said.

His expression told me he wasn’t convinced. “You willing to put in the hard work? Workouts every day? Sparring, weights, road work. Do everything I say?”

“Yes.”

“No more staying out all night? Give up the booze and dope? No pussy except on weekends? Stop fighting in back alleys for chump change?”

My head bobbed to his words. I said, “Yes, goddammit. yes. You just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Jesse eyed me for a moment, then put a hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face the ring. “Okay, then, get your ass back in there and this time don’t do anything unless I tell you to.”

Jesse was a hell of a trainer and I was a quick, eager learner. It helped that I was 6’4 and two-hundred-thirty pounds of hard muscle. My first year I won ten amateur fights, all within three rounds. The second year I won ten professional bouts against ranked fighters. I worked my way up the rankings and midway through my third year, I knocked out the reigning world champ and took the belt. I was the MMA champion of the world.

Within six months I had successfully defended my belt twice, then I climbed into the octagon with an Irish fighter named Danny O’Shea. Danny O, they called him. He called himself Danny O’Shit.

“People see me coming and they say ‘O’Shit!’, he told ESPN in his backstreet Irish brogue.

Needless to say, we were not friends.

Danny O was 6’4 and three hundred pounds, a goddamn Irish bull that loved to trample his opponents into the mat and knock them out with sleeper holds that refs had to force him to break. He was a sadistic motherfucker and a cheap shot artist. In the third round, he hooked a right fist around the ref when he was trying to break us up and hit me squarely in the temple. I went down like a sack of potatoes and didn’t get back up. It was the blow that ended my fight career and almost cost me my life. Jesse and Jimmy had to carry me out of there. I woke up three days later in a head trauma unit with all kinds of wires and shit hooked up to me. It hurt like a motherfucker just to open my eyes.

“We were worried you might not wake up, Mr. Patron,” the doctor said, flipping through my medical chart. He was standing at the foot of my hospital bed with Jesse by his side. Jesse had his knit cap between his hands, nervously kneading it. He looked tired. His brown eyes were bloodshot. I’d never seen him look so defeated before. Never.

“We thought you might be braindead,” Jesse said with a little quiver in his voice.

“That would require me to have a brain,” I said. My voice was barely above a hoarse whisper. I tried to laugh, but it made my head throb and my throat burn.

The doctor closed my medical chart and tucked it under his arm. “We’ll monitor you for a few days to make sure there’s no bleeding in the brain that we’ve missed,” he said. He glanced at Jesse and nodded at me. “He needs rest. Don’t stay long.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse said, giving him a respectful nod.

“Water,” I whispered.

Jesse filled a plastic cup from a pitcher of water on the tray and put a hand behind my neck to lift me up.

“Drink it slow,” he said, carefully tilting the cup to my lips. “Then, get some rest. The doc says rest is the best thing for you.”

“The best thing for me is to get the fuck out of here,” I said, swallowing, wincing at the pain of the water sliding down my throat. It felt like I was swallowing fucking razor blades. “Did they give that cocksucker my belt?”

He gave me a confused frown. “What cocksucker you talking about?”

“Fucking O’Shea,” I said. “Did they give him my belt?”

“Naw, they disqualified him.”

I managed a smile. “Good. So, I’m still champ.” I tried to shake my head, but it hurt too much, so I lay back and closed my eyes. “Fucking O’Shit. I’ll take care of that son of a bitch as soon as I get out of here.”

Jesse didn’t say anything because he didn’t know what to say. He knew I’d never fight again. He just didn’t have the nerve to tell me because he didn’t wanna break my heart. He sat down in the chair by the window and watched TV as I drifted off to sleep.

The next day the doctor returned with x-rays and a death sentence. He told me that if I ever got hit in the head again it would probably kill me, or at the very least, render me braindead. I said bullshit. He said call it whatever I wanted, I was one good lick in the head away from the grave.

I told him to get the fuck out. I told Jesse to leave. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. For the next few days I went through the stages of grief over my dead career; shock, denial, pain, anger, bargaining, depression… but mostly anger since that was the emotion I was most comfortable with.

Slowly, grudgingly, I accepted the fact that I would never set foot in the octagon to fight again.

I wanted to fight, but I also wanted to live.

So, I quit fighting and started putting on bouts featuring up and coming fighters that Jesse and a few others trained. I put on boxing matches and MMA tournaments all over the city, then all over the state, then all over the country. Slowly, the fighters got better and the purses got larger and the crowds got bigger. That led to the founding of Patron Sports Entertainment, which today is a twenty-million-dollar company with offices in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, London, and Tokyo. We put on MMA events all over the world.

I am no longer a fighter, but I am one rich motherfucker.

So is Jesse. He just doesn’t show off about it like I do.

And I owe it all to Danny O’Shit, that Irish cocksucker who ended my career with a cheap shot to the head. Danny was eventually drummed out of every MMA organization for his dirty tactics. Today he is Kyle Cassidy’s personal bodyguard.

But I digress…

I was telling you why I hated Kyle Cassidy. The fact that he employs Danny O’Shit was just an interesting side note.

So, like I was saying, my company, Patron Sports Entertainment puts on boxing matches and MMA tournaments all over the country and they usually go without a hitch. Kyle’s company, or more accurately, his daddy’s company, Cassidy Event Management, was the booking agent for every big venue in the city, which meant to put on an event at the city arena or city stadium, I had to deal with Kyle and his band of merry idiots.

Dealing with Kyle was kind of like the old story of the frog and the scorpion. Here’s the short version: the scorpion wanted to cross the river but knew it would drown, so it talked the frog into taking it across.

“But you are a scorpion,” the frog said. “How do I know you won’t sting me and kill me as we cross the river?”

“Because if I sting and kill you, I will drown, too,” the scorpion said.

So, the scorpion climbs onto the frog’s back and the frog begins to swim across the river. Midway across the river, the scorpion stings the frog and the frog starts to die.

“But why would you do that?” the frog asked. “Now you will die, too.”

“I know,” said the scorpion. “But that’s what I do. I am a scorpion. It’s just my nature.”

In this scenario, Kyle Cassidy was the scorpion and the rest of the world was populated by frogs he would not hesitate to shove his stinger into. I didn’t like being a frog. I wanted to be a large boot that squashed the shit out of the scorpion.

He stung me good earlier today. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it. We were in his office reviewing the contract for a big event I wanted to stage in the city in the fall.

“This is bullshit,” I said after reading the latest addendum to the standard contract I would sign to rent the city arena for an MMA event in a few months. Under Kyle’s terms, a hundred thousand dollars of my money, a so-called “gratuity fee”, would find its way into Kyle’s pockets even before the event was staged. I booked two or three events in the city every year and each time the gratuity fee grew.

“It’s the cost of doing business in my city, Nicky,” Kyle said with a shrug, making it sound like he owned the fucking city and everyone in it. O’Shit was there, standing off to the side with his thick arms folded over his chest, glowering at me with eyes that sometimes acted independently of one another.

“This isn’t your city, Kyle,” I said, giving him a hard look that made him roll his eyes. “And this is highway robbery.”

“It is what it is,” Kyle said, waving a hand at me as if I were a bad smell that had wafted into his office. “Sign it or don’t. But those are the best terms we can offer you. The price is based on market demand. If you don’t want to book the arena that weekend I’m sure I can find another place for you. Maybe the old National Guard Armory across the river. I hear it’s pretty nice this time of year if you can ignore the mold and rats.”

“You’re a cunt, Kyle,” I said.

“I am a cunt who holds the keys to the city, Nicky,” he said, smiling as the insult rolled off his back like water off a duck. He leaned back in his chair and began to rock. He was wearing a heavy gold Rolex and a black onyx pinky ring on his left hand. He played with the ring, spinning it on his finger as he waited patiently for me to sign the contract. Who the fuck wears pinky rings? Who did this asshole think he was? Tony fucking Soprano?

We both knew Kyle had me over a barrel. I had no choice but to sign the agreement and pay his price. Cocksucker. I picked up the pen and leaned over his desk to scratch my name on the contract. I tossed the pen on the desk and slid the contract toward him.

“Awesome,” he said with a smile. He leaned forward and picked up the contract, then flipped to the signature page to make sure I’d signed my name. The first time we’d done this dance I’d written FUCK YOU in big letters across the signature line. Kyle casually pulled out a fresh copy of the contract and told me to try again. Motherfucking cocksucker.

“All we need is your check for fifty percent of the rental fee up front and I can have our lawyers send you a copy of the fully endorsed contract. And as always, the gratuity fee needs to be paid by separate check, also up front.”

“I know the process,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “You’ve fucked me before.”

“And I’m sure I’ll fuck you again,” he said, grinning at O’Shit. “You’re just so much fun to fuck, Nicky. Isn’t Nicky fun to fuck, Danny?”

“I enjoyed fuckin’ him,” O’Shit growled. “I’d love to fuck him again.”

My hands balled into tight fists in my lap. I wanted to slam my fist into O’Shit’s fucking face so hard it came out the back side holding his pathetic brain. Then I’d shove O’Shit’s brain down Kyle’s fucking throat until he choked on it. It was not a new fantasy. I had it every time I had to deal with these two motherfuckers.

Kyle got to his feet and stuck out his right hand. “Thanks for doing business with Cassidy Event Management, Mr. Patron. We hope you have a very successful event and a lovely day.”

“Fuck you,” I said, pushing out of the chair and walking to the door. O’Shit grunted at me as I walked past him. He reeked of cigar smoke and cheap cologne.

“Oh, Nicky, I almost forgot,” Kyle said. “I have an invitation for you.” He handed a white envelope to O’Shit who handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I asked, holding up the envelope, which had my name embossed on the front in gold leaf.

“A VIP invitation to the charity benefit my parents are holding tonight at the Ritz,” he said, lowering himself back into the chair. “Wounded vets or sick kids or something like that. My mom asked me specifically to give it to you.” He gave me a condescending smile. “For some reason, she likes you. Or more to the point, she likes your money.”

I wanted to tear the invitation into a hundred pieces and shove them down his throat, but I tucked it inside my jacket instead and opened the door.

“Should I tell her you’ll be attending?” he asked, lacing his fingers together on the desk and leaning over them. “I know you’d hate to disappoint the old girl.”

“Will you be there, Kyle?” I asked. “With your pet gorilla?”

He chuckled and cut his eyes at O’Shit. “Fuck no. We’ve got better things to do.”

“Fine. Tell her I’ll come.”

CHAPTER THREE: Fiona

I paid the cabbie and stood on the sidewalk in front of The Haven Club for a moment to get my bearings. It was nearly midnight and it had been a very long day, but the adrenaline pumping through my body wasn’t going to let me sleep anytime soon. I was too keyed up to even think about sleep.

I was also still a little rattled and more than a little pissed off. The one thing I wasn’t was hurt. It was too late for hurt. I was hurt the first time I found out that Kyle was cheating on me. I was hurt the second time, the third, the fourth. Now, I wasn’t hurt. I was just pissed off. Not at him for cheating, but for fucking her in my home on my bed when he knew I would be there to catch him. He wanted me to walk in to find him fucking Wendy. He wanted me to see him committing adultery. I think he simply wanted to see the look on my face. I trusted the look of shock and disgust did not disappoint.

I also felt a huge sense of relief, mainly because our marriage was finally over. And it was over, make no mistake. No amount of begging and bribing and cajoling could convince me to stay. There would be no more pretending. No more putting on a brave face for his parents and our friends. No more keeping up appearances for the sake of the business and the Cassidy family reputation. No more smiling on the outside when I was dying on the inside. No more pretending to be happy when I was, even on the best of days, absolutely fucking miserable.

I had stayed married to Kyle for ten years not because I loved him, but because we had a mutually beneficially relationship. He liked having me on his arm and I liked spending his money. I liked living in a penthouse in the city. I liked have chauffeured limos drive me anywhere I needed to go. I liked having a house in the Hamptons and trips around the world. I liked having a humongous closet full of designer clothes, purses, and shoes. I liked having money to burn and the status that went with it. All it cost me was ten years of my life and most of my dignity.

I was basically a whore. A very expensive whore.

And now I wasn’t. And it felt amazing.

It was a warm fall night. The sky was clear and the air was crisp without being cold. I closed my eyes and lifted my nose to the sky and took a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly. The fresh air helped drive some of the tension out of my body. I was sure alcohol would drive out the rest.

I heard a deep voice behind me. I turned to find a very large man in a black suit standing at the club’s front door. He was standing at parade rest with an earpiece in his right ear like a member of the Secret Service. You’d almost expect the president of the United States to be inside.

The Haven Club was a private establishment, like a country club in the heart of the city. Its members included many of the so-called social elite in the city; millionaires, billionaires, politicians, entrepreneurs, socialites, professional athletes, movie stars, maybe even a few Mafioso (according to Kyle).

The Cassidy family had held a membership for decades. Within the very private walls of the club was a small restaurant and bar with a dancefloor, a cigar bar for the men, a spa area for the women, several large party rooms, a business center, and supposedly several private rooms members could use for other things, should they be so inclined.

“Going in, Ms. Cassidy?” the doorman asked with one hand on the large oak door that had the words THE HAVEN CLUB engraved in small letters on a silver plaque. It was the only signage for the club. If you hadn’t known it was there, you might have never have noticed it.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, offering him a smile as he held open the door for me. There was a concierge stationed just inside the door, standing at a desk in a room smaller than my walk-in closet. The concierge was there to scan your membership card before allowing you entrance into the club through the locked door to his right. If you weren’t a member, you did not get in. Tonight, the concierge was an older man wearing a tuxedo and a curt smile. He looked a little ridiculous, standing behind the desk like a butler waiting to serve. He gave me a nod as I walked in the door.

“I’m afraid I don’t have my membership card with me,” I said, giving him a pitiful face. I found my driver’s license in my purse and showed it to him. “My name is Fiona Cassidy. I’m a member.”

“Of course, Mrs. Cassidy, just let me manually check you in,” he said, turning to the computer on the desk. His thin fingers flew over the keys. A page with my membership details and photo came up on the screen. He made a grand gesture of hitting the Enter key. The door buzzed and I heard the sound of a lock disengaging.

“Can you tell me if Mr. Patron is inside?” I asked before going through the door.

He tapped a few keys, then stood arrow straight and put his hands behind his back. “Yes, ma’am, Mr. Patron is in the bar. I believe he is waiting for you.”

* * *

I had heard Nick Patron’s name for years but had somehow never met him until earlier today. Mainly I’d heard what an arrogant asshole he was from Kyle and what a pussy hound he was from a few of my girlfriends who had supposedly been with him, or knew someone who supposedly had. Kyle calling someone else an arrogant asshole was beyond hypocritical, so I took everything he said with a grain of salt. The pussy hound accusations, however, came from some pretty reliable sources.

“Nicky Patron’s a fucking god in bed,” Patricia Weston said after supposedly spending a weekend with him in Atlantic City after some boxing match or something a few years ago. Patricia was a fifty-year-old society slut who only fucked hot younger guys and rich older men. Nick Patron was young and rich. She called him a “two-fer” as in two for the price of one. She gushed about Nick over Sunday brunch with me and a few other girls.

She said, “The guy has a body like chiseled marble and a cock that you can feel from your cunt to your throat. I’m telling you girls, if you ever get the chance to fuck Nicky Patron, DO IT!”

I had no idea who Nick Patron really was until that day. I Googled him later and found that he was not only rich, good looking, and the CEO of a company my husband often did business with, but was also connected to dozens of women; models, actresses, athletes, and a reality star named Sasha Smith who had taped herself having anal sex with Patron in a Vegas hotel room and posted the video on the internet for everyone to see.

I couldn’t resist watching. The video was jerky and grainy, shot with an iPhone in a dimly lit hotel room. Sasha was holding the camera while getting ass fucked, aiming it so that you could see her plump ass in the air over her shoulder and Nick Patron standing behind her. He had his fingers clenched into her ass and was ramming his cock in and out of her. The girl gasped each time his cock went deep into her ass. I couldn’t tell if it was a gasp of pleasure or pain.

I paused the video to get a look at Nick’s body. I couldn’t see his cock of course (it wasn’t an x-ray, duh), but I could make out the shadow of his hard abs, the thick chest, and the round shoulders covered in tribal tattoos. His eyes were closed, his face serious, as if he was concentrating on holding back his orgasm until the girl was ready for him to cum. Considerate was the word that came to mind. I know, it was an odd thing to think while watching a guy buttfuck a girl. But he seemed… considerate.

It would be another year before I met Nick Patron. Odd that it would be on the same day that I decided to divorce my cheating piece of shit husband. Maybe it was just timing. Or coincidence. Or fate. Whatever the reason, the moment I saw him standing alone at the bar at the charity event, I had a feeling that we were destined to meet. And perhaps do other things.

I was working the ballroom, going from table to table drumming up donations for Kyle’s mom’s charity of the moment when I saw him standing at the bar. He was really tall, with broad shoulders that tested the seams of his black Armani suit. He was wearing a white shirt with a stiff collar and sky blue tie. His dark hair was cut short. His tanned face was clean shaven. Patricia was right: he looked like a god. He also looked like he’d rather be anywhere other than where he was at that moment.

He was leaning on the bar with one elbow and a drink in his hand. He looked like a magazine ad out of an old Esquire Magazine. I approached him from his blind side and ordered a glass of champagne. He either didn’t hear me or didn’t see the need to turn around. I was pretty sure he wasn’t there looking to get laid. Most likely he was just fulfilling a professional obligation to Kyle’s parents. I knew he wouldn’t be there on Kyle’s behalf unless it was to pound him in the ground. I could only assume that Nick Patron detested Kyle as much as Kyle detested him.

“You look a little bored,” I said. He didn’t respond at first, then slowly turned to face me. When our eyes met, his lips parted for a moment, then he smiled.

“Do I?” he asked. “I’m trying hard not to.”

“Well, maybe just a little,” I said coyly, batting my eyelashes at him. I held out my hand. “Fiona.”

“Nick,” he said, wrapping his long fingers around mine and giving my hand a little shake. He brought his drink to his lips and glanced around the room. “So, Fiona, what do you do?”

What do I do? What a great question. I couldn’t tell him that for the past ten years I’d been a doormat for Kyle Cassidy, so I came up with a convenient lie.

I held up my glass to the large banner hanging on the far wall that featured the name of the organization we were raising money for. I said, “I work for the Northeast Animal Rescue Fund. I do PR.”

“Awesome,” he said, tipping his glass to mine. “And are you here to solicit a large donation from me?”

I couldn’t tell if the question was filled with innuendo or was it just wishful thinking. I let my eyes drift across his face. For a moment, I pictured him fucking the girl on the video; his chest heaving, his torso covered in sweat. The thought made my juices flow a little.

“We would love to have your money, Mr. Patron,” I said. “The larger your donation the better.”

“You know who I am?” he asked, a frown knitting his manicured eyebrows. “Why do I feel like I’ve been targeted?”

The champagne glass froze at my lips. “I’m sorry?”

“You called me Mr. Patron,” he said, giving me a suspicious look.

“Didn’t you tell me your name?” I asked, working up a frown.

“No, I said my name was Nick.” His frown melted into a smile. “Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be doing your job if you didn’t know the name of every guest with deep pockets. I didn’t catch your last name.”

“Cassidy,” I said without thinking. The smile was immediately replaced by a deep frown. A little vein popped out of his right temple and he worked the muscles in his jaw.

“Cassidy? As in Kyle Cassidy?” he asked. His nostrils flared at the mention of my husband’s name. I quickly back peddled.

“Hardly,” I said, huffing, rolling eyes. “Same pronunciation, different spelling. I’m Kassidy with a K.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “You don’t sound like a fan of Mr. Cassidy.”

“Kyle Cassidy is a piece of shit cocksucker,” he said, practically growling the words.” He narrowed his eyes to stare at me for a moment, then he took a deep breath and his features softened. He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry. The guy just sticks in my craw. We do business together. Rather, I do business. He just sees how hard he can fuck me.”

“Do you like to be fucked hard, Mr. Patron?”

I know, I couldn’t believe I said it either. It sort of just popped out. The champagne was going to my head and Nick Patron was going to my crotch. I hid behind the champagne glass and held my breath. I was coming across like some horny party girl.

“I do not like being fucked by Kyle Cassidy,” he said, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. “You, on the other hand…”

“Fiona, dear, we’re ready to start the silent auction!”

My mother-in-law was calling to me from across the room. She spotted Nick and gave him a little wave. I looked back into his eyes and sighed. “Well, duty calls. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Patron.”

I held out my hand and he took it between his hands. This time he didn’t shake my hand. He just held it there for a moment. “I’ll be at The Haven Club later,” he said. “If you’d like to have a nightcap.”

“Oh, um, well, I don’t know,” I said, stumbling over the words. “I might be here late.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips. He pressed his lips to my hand and gave me a smile. “I’m sure you would make it worth my while.”

* * *

The concierge came around the desk to open the door that led from the small lobby to the restaurant/bar. He wished me a good evening and gave me a little nod when I passed. He had a look in his eye like he knew something I didn’t.

The room was dimly-lit this time of night. Most of the restaurant patrons had gone and the staff was vacuuming the carpet and changing table clothes. The bar was to the right of the restaurant. There was still a number of drinkers sitting at tables and lining the long bar, men in expensive suits mostly, and young women in party dresses who were not their wives. I wondered how many nights Kyle had spent here, trolling for his next sexual conquest.

There was a row of booths along one wall. I saw Nick Patron sitting at the last booth in the corner, the most private. When he saw me, he gave me a smile that cut through the darkness and slid out to greet me.

“I was hoping you’d come,” Nick said as I approached. He held out his arms like we were old friends and pulled me in for a kiss on each cheek. He held out his hand to direct me to slide into the booth across from him.

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” I said, mussing my hair, brushing it out of my eyes. “I must look a mess.”

“You look amazing,” Nick said, smiling with his eyes. A waitress appeared and I ordered a whiskey sour. Nick ordered another bourbon on the rocks. We made small talk until the drinks arrived, then Nick gazed into my eyes and asked for my life story.

“It’s really not that interesting,” I said, taking a sip of the drink and licking the drops from my lips. “I was born and raised in Ohio, college at Vassar, grad school at Brown, Masters in Business…” I caught myself before I mentioned that I’d been married for ten years to one of his most-hated associates.

“How long have you worked for the non-profit,” he asked. He took a sip of his drink and let his eyes drift around my face. There was a small candle on the table between us. The candlelight flickered in his eyes. God, he was sexy, without even trying.

“Um, I’ve been working with non-profits for a long time,” I said.

“Ever married?”

“Once,” I said. “Ten years ago. It didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was an asshole.”

“Most men are,” he said with a grin. “He must have also been a fool to let you go.” He reached across the table and put his hand on my arm. His fingers gently stroked my skin. Beneath the table, he slid his foot in between mine and began to rub against my leg.

“Mr. Patron…”

“Nick,” he said, fingers playing with the little hairs on my arm. “Call me Nick.”

“Nick, I’m really flattered by the attention, but I’m not sure I can do this.”

He softened his gorgeous eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Do what? Have a drink? Tell me your life story?”

“This,” I said, putting my hand on top of his. I gave his hand a little squeeze. “This isn’t something I do often. I mean, it’s been a really long time since I’ve… well… you know.”

“Ah, I see,” he said. “Do you want me to take my hand away?”

I blinked at him for a moment. “No.”

“Do you want to stop doing this?” he asked, sliding his leg up my calf.

“No,” I said quietly. I slipped my right foot out of the stiletto and slid down in the seat a bit. I slid my bare foot up the inside of his leg until my toes found his crotch. His cock was already plumped. My toes kneaded his cock, making it grow thick and hard.

I asked, “Do you want me to stop doing this?”

“No,” he said, breathing a little harder. “Do you want me to stop doing… this?”

He slid off his shoe and slid his foot up my leg. I spread my legs and bit my lip as his foot slid in between my legs, his toes exploring my damp folds beneath the thong. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one could see, then slid my hand under my skirt and tugged the thong to the side so he could press his toes into my wet hole.

“I’ve never been toe fucked before,” I said, moaning a little as his toes continued their probe between my folds. I gave him a dreamy-eyed grin. “At least not in public.”

“There is a women’s restroom down that hall,” he said quietly, nodding to a doorway next to the booth where we sat. “Care to join me?”

I didn’t take the time to think. I knew I would talk myself out of it if I did. I just swallowed hard and withdrew my foot from his cock. He let his foot drop from my pussy. I slid my foot back into the stiletto and picked up my purse. I licked my lips as I gazed into his eyes. “I’ll go first.”

He nodded and picked up his drink, then watched me go through the door. I slipped into the women’s restroom and leaned back against the door. I let out a long sigh, as if I’d been holding my breath for minutes. My thong was wet from my juices. My nipples pressed hard against the strapless bra. I put my purse on the sink and slid the thong down my legs and stuck it in my purse and snapped it shut.

Then he tapped lightly on the door.

*** End of Sneak Peek***

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