BLACK MAGNOLIA COVER REVEAL

Run Away 2.13.18

HAPPY SPANKSGIVING (ADS EXCERPT)

Chapter Two

Spanksgiving

Present

I gasp out his name and topple onto the mattress, a sweaty, satisfied mess, clinging to the sheets while I come down from my sensational sexual high. Hunt’s my favorite vice, and I want to overindulge on him.

He climbs on top of me, shifting between my thighs, kissing me over my face and neck. With those piercing pools of emerald, he lifts his head to stare down into my heavy eyes, running his fingers through my sex-battered honey hair, and breathes a sigh of relief and contentment.

“I love watching you come undone, Mrs. Hunt. You’ve become so uninhibited. It’s sexy,” he growls in that low, smooth voice, and I nearly melt beneath him.

“I love the way you make me come undone, Mr. Hunt.”

I grip his tousled hair, drawing his face to mine, and nip at his plump bottom lip. He moans, closing his eyes at my delectable masticating grasp, his cock twitching between my thighs. He grinds himself into me and crashes his mouth onto mine. His teeth clamp onto my top lip, putting us in a biting, libido-igniting lip-lock. I wrap my legs about his waist and my arms about his neck, holding him to me.

Cutting through the delicious tension between us, an alarm on Hunt’s cell goes off, a reminder of the real world waiting to invade our happy little bubble.

My limbs slacken, heavily slumping onto the mattress.

“Playtime’s over, angel,” he comments, pushing himself onto his knees and climbing off the bed. “We have to be up at my parents’ place by noon.”

I lie in our empty king-sized bed, downshifting from fourth gear, and rest my eyes. I listen to heavy November rain beat on the glass wall and the muted footsteps of my husband moving about the room. It quickly dies away as I retreat into my mind, thinking about the past four fantastic months since our wedding.

Fortunately, the reception was the last time Dante made contact with us. Once it was confirmed I’d been drugged, Hunt and Banks were on full alert, always on guard to stay one-step ahead of him. Other than that, it’s been the best months of my life. He’s been a beyond wonderful husband, nurturing, attentive, without being overly so, and works so hard to do anything I desire. He’s been a dream.

I ask myself, at least once a day, how I got so lucky to have him.

Sure, we’ve had our share of disagreements…Okay; it’s more like nuclear warfare. He infuriates me to no end at times, but the making up is out of this fucking world.

“Hey, daydreamer,” Hunt’s seductive voice slices through my reveries like a knife. “What do you say you get your perky ass in the shower with me?”

The wolfish grin on his face promises some wet and wild fun. I smirk back at him and jump up on the bed, splendidly naked.

“Fuck,” he mutters, admiring me with prideful wonderment. “If those curves could kill, I’d be a fucking goner.”

I giggle and faintly blush.

He holds his sculpted arms out to me, and I leap into them, clinging to him like a tiny monkey to a massive tree.

“Take me away, Mr. Hunt.”

After a morning replete with steamy sex and loving worship, we finally head to his parents’ home in Napa, a stunning villa with ivy snaking up the earth-hued walls. It blends with the surrounding beauty of the grounds and rolling hillside.

We drive up in the Land Rover, the windshield wipers furiously swishing back and forth, sweeping rain off the glass as fast as it lands. The downpour is so dense, I can scarcely see more than ten feet in front of the car. This would terrify me if Hunt wasn’t driving. He navigates the wet roads and torrential weather with ease, as if it were a clear, sunny day.

I sink back into my chair and admire him, his large frame, his masculine yet dignified face, his squared jawline blanketed in stubble, his devastatingly green eyes. I note his fuckworthiness in his black pea coat, V-neck sweater, and dark tailored jeans.

Gotta love a man who takes pride in his appearance.

My eyes wander down his defined arms to his hands, gripped securely to the steering wheel, and stop on the platinum wedding band with the three small diamonds proudly decorating his most significant finger.

“What’s going through that head of yours?” he asks, taking my focus from his ring.

“I’m thinking I love being your wife,” I white lie, embarrassed to admit I was ogling him like some love-stricken schoolgirl.

“We better get those pants off quick,” I stare at him with a curious confusion, “before they catch fire.”

“Oh, jeez, you’re cheesy,” I giggle out and shake my head. “Do you really want to know what I was thinking?”

“I always want to know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t, angel.”

“Fine.” I reach for the stereo and skip through the various artists. When I locate what I want, I hit play. The loud notes from a guitar screech out of the speakers, and an amused smirk creeps across his lips.

ZZ Top’s, ‘Sharp Dressed Man’.

He laughs and nods his head with a look on his face as if to say, ‘Touché’.

I smile to myself, very pleased with my little tease.

“You want to play, angel?” he inquires, hitting a button and changing the song. I chuckle when I realize it’s ‘Legs’, by the same band. We laugh and tease each other the rest of the way to the Montgomery Estate.

The instant our feet hit the top step of the wide veranda, Vivian opens the door and greets us warmly, “Hello, my darlings. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Her crystal blue eyes sparkle with delight and relief of our safe arrival. Her jet-black hair, pinned into an impeccable bun, makes her faultless fair skin resemble porcelain. She’s dressed to kill in wide-legged tan trousers, a silky cream blouse, and black heels.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Vivi,” I reply, smiling lovingly at her.

“It’s dreadful out here.” She scoots Damian and I into the palatial home and out of the bitter weather, shutting the enormous door behind us. “Let’s get you both something warm to drink.”

“No thank you, Mother. I’m fine,” Damian answers, shrugging off his rain-spotted coat.

“Nonsense.” She holds her perfectly manicured hand up, palm toward us. “I won’t have you getting sick…Now, make yourselves at home and then join everyone in the living room by the fire.”

She kisses the air and then promptly leaves to tend to one of the countless details she puts into parties and family get-togethers.

Hunt assists me with my jacket, taking them to the closet in the huge entryway.

“You look beautiful by the way,” he comments when he comes back out.

“Thanks, slick.”

I look down at my ensemble, an off the shoulder sweater, paired with dark skinny jeans and black calf boots. It hugs my curves rather snugly. However, everything fits me that way recently. Hunt, with his irresistible cooking and always wanting to feed me, successfully managed to pack on more than a few of those lost pounds from our breakup. There may be more of me than before I met him. I think he enjoys the way I jiggle when we fuck.

Trying to shake it off, I take a deep breath and smell the amazing food cooking in the kitchen. “Jeez, I’m starved. I hope we have something to snack on before dinner. I don’t think I can last until then.”

He smirks down at me, scanning my voluptuous body before taking me into his arms. “I can help you curb that appetite, Mrs. Hunt.”

I cock an intrigued brow at him. “Damian, do you like my new figure? You don’t think I’m…”

“So help me, Gabrielle. If you even think of uttering the F word, I will take you into my bedroom and spank that glorious ass until it’s on fire. Is that clear?” he asks with an unyielding look in his eyes. “Elle, you’re fucking stunning,” he states in a firm but tender voice. “Yes, I enjoy your exaggerated curves, but you, my loving wife, are not fat…Quite honestly, I’m shocked you would think that of yourself. Haven’t I shown you how incredible you are?”

“Yes, you have.” I lay my palm on his broad chest, rubbing it gently. “It was a silly question.”

“Excellent. Now, let’s get this show on the road,” he says with a sigh and clasps my hand in his, guiding us into the main room where our family has gathered around the blazing fireplace.

I spot my mother’s blonde hair first, shining in the golden light. Her bright hazel eyes find mine, and she rises, coming over to greet us. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Hello, Mom.” I smile and move in for a hug. “You look well.”

It’s been six months since my father’s passing, and she seems to be getting along. Though she’s had those days where she can’t even get out of bed, she seems to be coping beautifully.

I’ve even begun to make peace with him on some level. I realize he may not have been my father by blood, but he was my father through love and support and guidance. He was my rock, my pops. Even though I’ve made progress with Caleb, my biological father and family chauffeur, there’s a small piece of me missing without my dad.

“Ellie, are you alright?” Elizabeth asks me, rubbing my bicep tenderly.

“Yes,” I fib. “I’m great.”

“How are you doing, Liz?” Hunt asks, taking the attention off me. Sensing my sadness, he places his arm about my shoulder and holds me close as she goes on about her latest charities. His embrace is welcome, and I relax into my nook, tranquilized by his touch.

Once we’ve made our rounds and chatted for a while, we head into the large dining room, settling in to enjoy the button-busting meal. Hunt and I take our place on one side of the table with Keira, Aubrey, and my mother sitting across from us. Pierce and Vivian sit at the ends.

We dig in, conversing and passing platters to each other. Amongst the chaos of moving food and loud, cheerful voices, I notice Hunt’s sisters’ inquiring green eyes glued to me. With omniscient smirks spread across their faces, they watch me with prying fascination.

Then, smashing through the noise of the room, Keira bluntly asks, “Are you pregnant, Ellie?”

The loud clinking of silver on porcelain and chatter comes to a skidding halt and all wide eyes shift to me, including Hunt’s. I can only stare back at everyone, mortified.

I wish Maya or Jules were here to take some of this awkward attention off me. But they’re spending the holiday in the city. Maya is with Chase at his parents’ home, and Jules is introducing Liam to hers. It’s their first Thanksgiving without Nicholas, Jules’ twin brother and my abusive ex.

“Gabrielle,” Hunt murmurs, grabbing my focus, “are you?”

I glimpse over at him.

“Not that I’m aware of.” I notice everyone still looking at me with meddling eyes. “I’m not pregnant,” I insistently state.

I hear a symphony of disappointed groans as they deflate into their chairs.

They can’t possibly want me to be with child this early in our marriage. We’ve barely had time to adjust to married life, to spend time just the two of us. Hell, we haven’t even gone on a damn honeymoon yet.

“I think it’s time to change the subject,” Pierce suggests.

His aquamarine eyes meet mine, and he nods with silent understanding. I nod back and take in a relieved breath as he guides the conversation in another direction.

I admire him for a moment, noting how much he reminds me of my own father, Marshall, the dark brown hair, gentle eyes, and calm paternal manner.

“You should eat, Gabrielle,” Hunt says, pointing to my full plate with his fork. “You look a bit pale.”

I smile weakly and begin to eat, glancing back at him. He has a satisfied smirk on his gorgeous face, satisfied by my compliance. He leans into my ear and whispers in a husky, lustful voice, “That’s my girl.”

When the last morsel of food has been devoured and the last drop of wine has been drunk, the family goes into the living room to have coffee and dessert while Hunt and I take a walk on the back veranda, watching the sun set slowly behind the lush hillside. Like only it can after a hard rain, the smell of wet earth floats in the clean, sweet early evening air. We stand in silence until the sun gradually vanishes, taking all the light with it, becoming difficult to see him standing next to me. Only the slightest hint of light comes from the tall, narrow windows of the villa.

I love twilight, I think to myself, inhaling a relaxed breath.

From inside, I hear the familiar tune of Vivian’s favorite song, Make Someone Happy.

“May I have this dance?” Hunt’s voice says from the shadows. I can’t see him, but I feel him.

“Of course,” I answer, extending my hand out.

He gently takes it in his, firmly placing the other on my lower back. We begin to sway gently, nothing extraordinary.

“Gabrielle,” he whispers.

“Yes, Damian?”

“I couldn’t help notice how uncomfortable you were at dinner. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I was just caught off guard by your sisters. Then again, when am I not? I think it runs in the family, surprising the hell out of people.”

I feel his smile in the dark.

“Yes, we do tend to do that.” The tone of his voice becomes somber. “You do want them, don’t you?”

“Who?”

“Children, of course.”

“I thought we discussed this in the beginning.”

“It never hurts to reevaluate a subject as important as this. People change their minds all the time.”

I really don’t like this topic. Not now at least. It feels like I’m being forced to make a decision here and now.

“Damian, now isn’t the time to talk about this. God forbid your sisters eavesdrop on us and blab to everyone else.”

“Fine, but we are discussing this when we get home.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, knowing perfectly well he can’t see me.

“Yes, sir.”

After an awkwardly silent ride home, we finally make it back to The Artemis and head up to our bedroom, ready to finally unwind.

Hunt walks us into the bathroom, clutching my hand firmly, and presses the touchpad screen. The overhead lights turn on, but only to a gentle glow, and soft music plays from hidden speakers. It all lends to a tranquility.

The shower in the center of the room turns on, raining down from the ceiling. The steam builds quickly, clouding up the glass.

Hunt releases my hand and undresses, allowing me the pleasure of watching him reveal that wide, muscular back and dimpled ass. When he finishes, he turns around, slanting a brow at me.

“Why are you still dressed, Mrs. Hunt?” he inquires with a pantie-dropping grin.

I smirk back at him and lift up my arms like a child. He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. The amused look on his face gradually diminishes, replaced with a nefarious gaze. He steps into me and curls his fingers under the hem of my cream sweater, removing it over my head and tossing it aside. Next, he unbuttons my jeans and slides his hands over my hips just under the panties, taking those down with my pants. Lastly, he takes off my bra, ridding me of it with smooth, fast gestures, unhooking and flinging it carelessly.

“I can’t believe you’re all mine, forever, to have and hold,” He grabs me up, melding us together, “to love and cherish, to worship with everything I am.” He tilts his face into my neck, where my pulse rapidly thumps against his lips, and kisses along my jaw to my ear. “I worship you, Elle.”

“What if I don’t want you to worship me?” I reach up into his hair, brushing my fingers through the silky strands. “What if I want to be defiled?”

He moans quietly, eyes shut, taking my mouth with a slow, deep, rough kiss, breaking away just a little too soon.

“Come, angel. Let’s get you warmed up.”

“I’m feeling pretty hot already,” I retort with a breathy tone and a kinked smirk. He lifts me up and walks us into the shower, the hot water pouring down on us. It feels amazing, pilfering the last of the chill out of me.

He sets me down and grabs the shampoo, squirting the tropical scented liquid into his hand.

“Turn around,” he orders, and I do just that without pause.

His fingertips sink into my hair, massaging my scalp with an expert touch until I’m dough in his hands. The soothing water rinses away the suds as he cleans and pampers every inch of me. When he finishes with me, he starts on himself, and I offer him an extra hand. While he applies conditioner to his hair, I wash his back and fine ass.

“I think we should talk about today,” he states, turning back to me.

“Keira can be very blunt,” I reply with a shrug, “but she had her reasons for asking.”

“I wasn’t referring to her uncouth approach to the subject,” he corrects, “but the subject itself.”

He shuts off the water and steps out, handing me a towel off a hook just outside the shower door.

“Ah,” I mutter into the towel, patting the water off my face, “I see.”

“I know you aren’t ready now.” He sweeps some clumpy, wet hair out of my eyes. “However, I feel we should at least be open to talking about it.”

I exit the shower and wrap the towel around my shoulders. Hunt clasps his hands to my arms, rubbing them dry.

“It’s too early for us to bring children into our marriage.” He takes his towel and kneels down in front of me, continuing to wipe the beads of water off my legs. “We need time to settle into everything, have time for just us before we think about adding poopy diapers and all-night cry sessions.”

“I want time with just us as well.” He rises up and begins toweling himself. “As long as we are on the same page about what our future holds, I am happy as we are now.”

“I have to admit. Sloan’s situation with that scumbag Shane does alarm me a bit.” Recently, Sloan has been having issues with Shane. She feels as if she can’t rely on him to act like a father once she gives birth.

He clasps onto my biceps, stopping me before I can finish the depressing thought.

“I hope you know I could never do such a revolting thing to you, Gabrielle. I could never behave so callously toward you or our unborn child.”

He walks out of the bathroom and into the closet, coming back out dressed in pajama bottoms. Handing me a shirt, I put it on and follow him over to the bed.

“Oh, I know you never would. What you went through with Vanessa devastated you.” I cross my arms over my chest, holding myself. “I just don’t know if I’ll be a good mother. What if I can’t do it, and you end up despising me?”

He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out for my hand, clasping it gently.

“Angel, I could never despise you. I would be fucking terrible if I treated you with anything less than the respect and care you deserve. Besides, it’s natural to be unsure of your ability to take care of a growing life. Everyone feels that way at times. But it’s the fact that you care so much that tells me you’ll be the best mother.” He yanks me down onto his lap, enfolding his arms about my waist. “You’re my everything, Elle.”

“I love you, Damian. I love that you accept me, scars and all.”

I lean into him, setting my cheek on his wide shoulder, and take a cleansing breath. He sets his large hand over the side of my face and kisses my forehead with the most delicate touch. I feel better now that my fears are out in the open.

Once I’m calm, he makes earth-erupting love to me until the early hours of morning. Beyond our bedroom window, city lights glitter like infinite flickering candle flames burning across the San Francisco skyline.

copyright © LENA BLACK

PLAYING NICE

Later, after I’ve bathed the day away, I stand out on the balcony overlooking Bourbon, pearls of water across my skin. A gust of velvet wind strokes the inside of my thighs, blowing the silky material of the blue kimono I’m wrapped in until it dances around my bare ass. It’s delicious and makes me feel a shade naughty. It’s late, and I left the balcony dark, so I don’t see the harm.

  Suddenly, Greier steps behind me and places his hands on the railing, boxing me in with his arms.

  “I know I shouldn’t say this,” he whispers against my neck, “but you have a phenomenal backside. I could bite into it like a juicy apple.”

  His clothed erection grazes it. Trying desperately not to melt like a popsicle, I breathe out an involuntary breath. It caught in my throat when his words brushed across the soft, damp skin of my collar.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.” A mix of cashmere lips and jagged breaths caress the sensitive area behind my ear. I clench my thigh muscles and gird my loins.

  “It’s sweet of you to think of me,” I reply with a shaky voice, cracking at the end.

  “There was nothing sweet about what I was thinking.” His warm mass presses mine into the wrought iron lace. I whimper when it grinds into my clitoris.

  “You promised to play nice,” I whisper between pants, my lungs betraying me.

  “I never played well with others.”

  “You shouldn’t…” I can’t even finish the sentence.

  “Stop me, Rae,” the point of his nose navigates the shell of my ear, “push me away. Order me to leave you alone, to stop thinking of you every fucking second of every fucking moment, and I will. Believe me, it would make my life a lot easier. But if there’s even the slightest chance you want me too, don’t say a word.”

  His teeth quickly bite into my earlobe before his healing mouth smooths away the sharp edge of the sting.

  He sets his hands on my waist and spins me around, shoving me against a support with his body. His lips linger over mine.

  “Last call.”

  My front teeth scrape my lower lip, a half-assed attempt at locking my mouth shut. His warm, soft mouth covers mine like a comfy blanket on a cold night. His kiss is so tender where his hands are rough. Slowly, the dance of our lips deepens. His hands disappear into my hair, his fingers grasping at the roots. My head falls back, and my lips part like the red sea to welcome him inside.

BlackMagnolia

A Dominant Series Book Trailer

RUIN ME

“What are you up to, Abs?”

I smile at her coyly. “Whatever do you mean, Meg?”

She shakes her head and kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.” Sliding in the cab, she gives me one last glance before the car drives away.

I walk up Hanover a few blocks, the bright burn of the neon sign outside his tattoo shop coming into view. Not sure what I’m doing, I open the front door without hesitation, entering the warmth inside. For an instant, I stand there second-guessing my decision. Then, Jamison’s deliciously masculine voice says my name, “Abby?”

My eyes float up to his, unique and questioning.

I want to say something clever, witty, charming, but all that comes out is, “Hello,” in a breathy voice.

Oh, that’s genius.

“Hi,” he says, a ghost of a smile cracking the perpetual hard line of his lips. “Why are you here?”

I forgot to think of a reason. I can’t tell him I stopped by because I missed him. That would be strange.

“To thank you for what you did for me.”

“It’s not necessary.” He smiles sympathetically as if he were saying ‘You crazy woman, leave me be.’ “Have a good night, Abby.” He walks into one of the tattoo rooms, disappearing behind a blue velvet curtain.

If I were smart, I would walk right out the door and stop bothering the poor guy. Instead, I follow him back. I guess I’m not smart. When he hears the curtain open, he glances over his shoulder, bewildered. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I,” I want you to take me right here on the table. I want you to ruin me, “was hoping you’d take a peek at my tattoo, make sure it’s healing alright.”

He seems to break a little, nodding. “Sure.”

While he parks his presumably fine ass on a stool, I take off my jacket, position myself in front of him, turning my hip toward him, and lift the hem of my dress, the thorny vine peeking out. He chokes down a gulp when he notices I’m not wearing any panties. I haven’t been able to since I got the thing where the strap normally sits.

“Um,” he stutters, skimming his fingertips over the exposed area. They’re electric. “Have you been cleaning it like I instructed?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, everything looks better than expected,” he assures me. “It appears you’re almost fully healed.”

“Thanks for taking a look,” I utter.

“You’re welcome,” he replies.

I wait for him to remove his hands, but he doesn’t.

“I should leave,” I state, internally praying something miraculous occurs to keep me here with him, a massive snowstorm, a citywide blackout, a divine intervention.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his fingers digging into my hips, “you should.”

Feeling off-kilter, I watch him fixedly, my eyelids like lead from his touch. It’s dizzying—really dizzying.

He stares up at me with a knitted brow, concern in his mismatched eyes. “Abby,” he says, but it sounds warped.

I don’t feel very—

Jamison

AVAILABLE NOW

THE BRIDE & THE BACHELOR

“I apologize for being nothing but a burden to you.”

  “Truthfully,” he says, his warm breath brushing against the top of my head, “you’ve been a nice distraction.”

  Goose bumps freckle my skin.

  Speaking of distracting, the way his body molds to mine is doing a very good job.

  “Do you love your ex-girlfriend?” If that question was made of metal, it would be brass. It’s not my business. But it’s out there, looming over us. No taking it back.

  “I thought I did.” He pauses on a breath. “Do you love him? Your…”

  “I thought I did.”

  He’s got the itch to ask me if that’s why I ran. I sense it in the way his muscles tighten and still. That’s what I’d want to know if I were him. And I scratch.

  “He did something unforgiveable.”

    He eases.

  “You don’t have to explain more. Not tonight.” His hand runs across my back. It’s comforting. “But, don’t you have anyone looking for you?”

  “I doubt it.” It’s not entirely true. I’m sure Shaw is wondering where I went. In his eyes, he owns me. I’m sure my parents are looking for me. The campaign fund counts on it. I’m sure Shaw’s family is looking for me. They want their money’s worth. “I’m unloved, unappreciated, unwanted.”

  He clamps a supportive hand on my shoulder. I glance at it and then him, a sincerity on his face. “Maybe you are unappreciated. I can believe that. But there’s no fucking way you’re unwanted.”

  “You believe that, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  I cringe at those two simple words.

  “How could you?” I face away from him.

  But he brings my gaze back to his with a gentle coaxing of my chin. “Because I want you.”

  For reasons beyond me—alcohol, the need to feel desired, my attraction to him, D, all of the above—I lift my mouth to his, kissing him with every bit of energy I have after today. Surprisingly, it’s a lot. I mount him, continuing my desperate assault on his lips. He grasps his long fingers around my biceps, lifting me away from him. His eyes search for mine through the mess of black hair hanging around my face. His face tenses as he fights himself. But I feel his want between my thighs.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he says, sincere concern in his expression. It makes me want him more.

  “I need this,” I do need this. I need to feel wanted, to feel want for someone else, even for a few minutes, “and you need this. It’s win win.”

  I’ve never slept around. Every man I’ve been with was a long-term boyfriend. But here I am, on my wedding night, ready to let a man inside me who is definitely not my husband. I don’t even know his last name.

  But I want to come in this man’s arms.

  I want it.

  I want him.

  “Use me,” I plead, my hips grinding into his cock, coming out of the slit in his bottoms.

  He sits up, taking me with him, and then stares straight into my eyes. He presses his palm to the back of my head and the other on my ass, holding me against him. Like I’d try to get away.

  “Fuck,” he breathes out, “you’re so beautiful.”

  His mouth moves in, kissing along my jaw and down my neck. He removes his hand and then the sound of a drawer opening fills the silent room. He continues kissing me, touching me, wanting me. His other arm moves from my ass to around my lower back, and he lifts me up. I hear the rip of a wrapper and the stretch of rubber as it expands over something hefty in size.

  “Greier,” I whisper, my hands finding his face, the roughness of his stubble under my fingertips. His fingers push my panties aside.

  “Reagan,” he moans against my collarbone, entering me.

BLACK MAGNOLIA 

(2.13.18)

© Lena Black 2017

BLACK MAGNOLIA PROLOGUE

Prologue

This isn’t a wedding, it’s a merger between two powerful families, coming together to form an unstoppable empire. This isn’t love, it’s business.

When I was informed I would marry Shaw, I didn’t bat an eyelash. We’d been ‘dating’ for over a year. Plus, I’d been raised with the understanding I was bred for ‘a greater purpose’. I was educated at the best private schools and learned about wifely behavior from my mother, all with the goal of being the perfect trophy wife. I’ve always done what my parents asked of me, without hesitation or question, and to the best of my abilities. Their happiness is important to me, even if it means mine isn’t. I’m willing to sacrifice it for the betterment of our family.

I’m a good daughter, a doting daughter, an obedient daughter.

My entire path in life has been planned and laid out before me. I’m sitting in the backseat of my own life, my parents at the wheel, while I watch the world flash past my window.

My father, a politician from Pennsylvania with his eye on the White House, made the arrangement with Shaw's father, a Louisiana businessman from old money, who wants a hand in the political game. My father wants his money. He wants my father’s influence.

Our marriage will be one of convenience and breeding, carrying on the name and bloodline. Rather than about needing to spend our lives together, not being able to live our lives without the other by our side. It’s all very technical, mechanical, methodical.

I’m in front of the vanity, in the bridal suite of an opulent manor in the heart of the Garden District. My hair is done and impeccable, not a strand out of place. Like my life pretends to be. My makeup is camera ready, a mask to hide my pain. My dress is elegant and expensive, designer, of course. Just like my husband-to-be.

Over the past year and a half, I convinced my heart I love Shaw because I had to. In some faint way, I do. Or I’ve fooled myself into believing I do.

It doesn’t matter though. Minutes from now, I’ll be his wife…whether I want it or not.

Black Magnolia 

Lena Black

AVAILABLE FEB. 13, 2018

A DOMINANT SALVATION PAPERBACK AVAILABLE NOW

A Dominant Salvation Paperback now available on Amazon and Createspace, an Amazon company. 

Meet Master D

The overjoyed shock in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. She wanted me, too.

“You…want me?” she asked, sinking onto the couch beside me.

“Yes, wasn’t that obvious? I wouldn’t have felt the need to explain if I didn’t.”

“I guess I’d thought you just saw me as a friend.”

“Why? Because I haven’t attempted to fuck you?” She shrugged and nodded her head. “Women have become so jaded. Why must I bed you, for you to believe I desire you? I respect you and want more than to screw your brains out. Don’t misunderstand, I will. However, I’m not going to rush anything. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

“I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl.”

“I never thought you were.” I smirked at her, taking her small hand resting on her thigh. “I want to see where this goes.”

“Me too,” she murmured, gripping onto my hand, and leaned in to kiss me tenderly on the cheek.

I gave her a quick once-over, taking a moment to really drink her in, and noticed the top of her robe had begun to open just enough for a glimpse inside. I knew it wasn’t very gentlemanly, but I’m only a man.

Peeking out from the slackened opening were her breasts, just enough for a handful, with the rosy buds that turned skyward. They were the kind of nipples that you latch your mouth onto as she rides you hard.

That stunning being exuded sex, fuckable from head to toe. But, the sexiest thing about her, she didn’t realize how fucking desirable she truly was. Whether it was her blue, almond-shaped eyes, or the softness of her alabaster skin, or her lush chestnut hair, everything about her drew me toward her like a tractor beam. And those lips. Those begging-to-be-fucked lips. I wanted them. I wanted to own them, devour them, slip between them.

She licked them from corner to corner, moistening them. That was fucking it.

I yanked her onto my lap. Without hesitation, she shifted, straddling my legs with hers. I clutched a hand at the base of her neck, hers were gripping my shoulders. I stared into her eyes, and she stared right back into mine.

She purred, “Hello, stranger.”

I smiled and tucked a loose chunk of hair behind her ear with my free hand, moving it out of the way of her lust-hooded eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” I stated in a low voice, my lips moving towards hers.

“I’m going to let you,” she whispered before our lips met.

- MASTER'D