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POSSESSIVE PUBLISHER
A POSSESSIVE MAN: BOOK 22
LENA LITTLE
© 2023 by Lena Little

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems,
without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
If you see this book anywhere other than Amazon, it is a stolen version of this story. My stories are exclusive to Amazon and can only
be purchased through Amazon or read through Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program.
 CONTENTS

Free Books

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue

Also by Lena Little

 PREVIEW

Alexander Ashwood, the CEO of Ashwood Publishing, is intrigued by Amanda Jacobson’s—aka

Raven Crimson's—brilliant, if frightening, writing. He's been communicating with the horror author
over email for months, discussing her latest manuscript and upcoming book ideas. But when they meet
in person, their attraction is immediate and intense.
Amanda is devastated to learn that her last three book ideas have been stolen, and Alexander vows to
help her find the culprit and protect her work.
As they delve deeper into the investigation, their professional relationship quickly turns into a
passionate affair.
But when the book thief is finally revealed, Alexander is shocked to learn that the thief is closer to
Amanda than she would ever imagine. If he tells her the truth, it will undoubtedly shatter her heart and
possibly their budding romance.
Will Amanda and Alexander's love survive the test of treachery? Or will their relationship crumble
under the weight of secrets and lies?
 FREE BOOKS

Get free books from time to time by signing up for my mailing list…
www.subscribepage.com/lenalittle
1
 ALEXANDER

D eep in the Catskill Mountains, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of city life, lies a small,
quaint cafe. It’s nowhere that I would have ever dreamed of visiting, but my author insisted that
I meet her somewhere closer to her home instead of in the city. While the request annoys me to
no end, this author sells well enough that I don’t want to risk losing her.
Well, I think this author is a her, but I’ve been surprised before. Raven Crimson—writer of
psychological horrors set in the old South—is clearly writing under a pen name, but from the tone of
the emails we’ve exchanged, I’m fairly certain I’ve been speaking to a woman.
Taking the corners of the twisting mountain roads like a champion, my Porsche 911 finally quiets as I
guide it into a parking space marked by fading lines in front of the little coffee house. A sign swings
from the eaves of the covered porch, reading Pinecone Cafe, and the air is crisp and fresh, carrying
the scent of pine trees and the sound of birds chirping. The exterior of the cafe is a charming wooden
cabin, with a small porch adorned with potted plants and twinkling fairy lights.
How fucking magical, I think, lip curling in annoyance. This Raven Crimson better have a bestseller
on her hands with her next book just to make up for dragging me out to this backwater joint.
The cafe is small, with only a handful of tables and chairs arranged around the room. The lighting is
soft and warm, casting a cozy glow on the patrons as they chat over their drinks and snacks. The air is
filled with the sound of cheerful chatter, clinking coffee cups, and the gentle hum of the espresso
machine.
Outside the windows, the stunning views of the Catskill Mountains stretch as far as the eye can see,
with majestic pine trees and rolling hills in the distance. The atmosphere is calm and peaceful, with
the perfect blend of natural beauty and cozy comfort.
As I step inside, the warmth of the cafe envelops me, along with the mouth-watering aroma of freshly
brewed coffee and freshly baked pastries. It’s hard to remain unamused, especially when my stomach
perks up with interest, but I manage to keep the frown locked onto my face.
The interior is quaint and rustic, with wooden beams and exposed brick walls adorned with local
artwork. There are a few patrons inside, hipster teens and their older hippie predecessors mostly, and
they look absolutely shocked to see me entering the establishment. This gives me a flash of amusement
because I can’t really blame them. I bet they’ve never seen a man like me around these parts, and just
the suit I’m wearing probably costs more than all their properties combined.
Standing at 6’6” and weighing almost 250 pounds, all of it muscle, I cut an impressive figure even in
the boardrooms of Manhattan. Here, though, I look like a giant in a dollhouse as I straighten the collar
of my tailored suit jacket and shoot the older woman behind the counter, who I assume owns the
place, a wicked grin.
“Coffee, large, the darkest roast you have,” I rumble. The cafe owner’s mouth hangs open, but she
nods.
I turn to look for Raven, scanning the cafe with a sharp eye. She had told me she would be wearing a
‘pink cardigan’, so it doesn’t take me long to spot her, sitting in the corner with her small hands
wrapped around a chipped white mug, her eyes wide as she watches me just like everyone else does.
Her petite form is almost lost in the shadows, except for the golden halo of light cast by the lamp on
her table.
But as I get closer, I realize that her physical appearance is not what I expected. She's not the
intimidating, rough-around-the-edges type I've come to expect from horror writers. Instead, she's
delicate and feminine, with soft curves and sparkling blue eyes that seem to dance with intelligence
and a healthy bit of nervousness as she gets a good look at me.
Suddenly, my eyes lock onto hers. The smirk on my face freezes. It's like a bolt of lightning strikes me.
She's just so small and beautiful, and I can't believe that this is the same woman that has written so
many truly frightening books for me over the past few years. But it's not just her looks that draw me
in.
There's something about her aura, her presence, that's irresistible. It’s in the way her cardigan is
pulled down over her hands so only the seashell pink of her nails can be seen holding her cup, or how
her head tilts to the side and her lips part just slightly while she looks at me as if she’s experiencing
the same shock of connection that I am.
I can feel my heart beating faster as I approach her. I try to keep my cool, but I can't shake off the
feeling that I’m about to meet someone important. Someone who's going to change my life. Someone
who is destined to be mine. I can't help but feel a powerful attraction to her, something that draws me
in, that makes me want to know everything about her. I can feel a possessiveness creeping into my
thoughts, a fierce desire to make her mine and mine alone.
"You must be Raven Crimson," I say once I reach her, trying to keep my voice calm. “I have to admit,
you aren’t exactly what I expected.”
She nods, her eyes darting nervously around the cafe. "Yes, that's me. You're Alexander?"
I sit down across from her, studying her face. She's younger than I thought, with a delicate bone
structure and full lips. It's hard to believe that someone so adorable could write such twisted stories.
“Yes, Alexander Ashwood.” My eyes flicker down to where she’s gripping her cup so hard it seems
like it might break and decide to forgo shaking hands, even though I desperately want to touch her.
“You want to tell me your real name, Raven?”
She blushes a pretty shade of rose. “Amanda. Amanda Jacobson. It’s nice to meet you, Alexander, but
why did you want to see me?”
The cafe worker brings my coffee over, and I fill my mouth with the hot liquid, swallowing it and
wishing it was something harder before speaking again. “I'm here to talk about the stolen book idea,”
I say, getting straight to the point. “I mentioned it briefly in our emails, but you’ve sent me the outlines
for your next six books, and three of them have already been stolen and published by other authors.”
She bites her lip, looking down at her hands. "I didn't know it was so bad already. I swear that I’ve
only ever shared them with you, Alexander. I promise.”
“I believe you,” I tell her immediately, surprising myself. I really do believe her, even though I came
into this cafe halfway believing she was double-dipping by selling her ideas to me and other
publishers at the same time. But looking at her honest, genuine expression, I know she’s telling me the
truth. “But somehow, your ideas were taken. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m sort of a recluse. Although I do work at this cafe, other coffee shops,
and the library from time to time just for a change of scenery. You don’t think being on public wifi
could be how they got taken, do you?”
I lean forward, my anger flaring up. “Public wifi?! For a writer of your caliber? Amanda, it would be
all too easy for someone to steal from you like that. You should have been more careful. This is your
livelihood we're talking about. It’s like you’re just giving your ideas away!”
She flinches at my words, and I realize that maybe I'm being too harsh. I take a deep breath and try to
calm myself. "Look, we can work something out. But you need to be more careful in the future. And
we need to make some changes to your contract to make sure this doesn't happen again. It’s
impossible for me to sue anyone since all the books were self-published under pen names, so the best
thing to do moving forward is to prevent it from happening again."
She nods, looking relieved. "Okay, I understand. I'm sorry."
I study her for a moment longer, wondering what else is hiding beneath her fragile exterior. “Listen, I
have to ask. Why horror and all the psychological stuff?”
Amanda looks me over slowly, pursing her lips in consideration. “If I tell you, then you can’t make a
big deal about it, okay?” I nod, and she continues after taking a deep breath. “My father is sort of
famous…well, not sort of. Really famous. His name is Henry Jacobson.”
Shock rolls through me. “Henry Jacobson of Darkness Falls fame?” I ask, flabbergasted. The A-list
movie star with a list of rolls a mile long—who also just so happened to be a well-known womanizer
as he begins to age out of his leading man era—is the last person I would have associated with sweet,
young Amanda sitting across from me.
“Yes, the very same,” she admits, sounding exasperated. “When I was a little girl, I found his stash of
old, low-budget horror films that he started out in. Night Terrors in the Dollhouse, Unseen Visitors,
those sorts of flicks, and I was absolutely obsessed. But I saw the way fame changed my Dad and the
way he pretended my mom didn’t exist even while putting in at least some effort into being a decent
father, and any desire I had to make movies faded. So instead, I put that passion into writing, and
well…here we are.” Amanda shrugs self-consciously. “I didn’t want any sort of boost from my Dad’s
name or the expectations that would have come with it, so I used a pen name.”
Her ingenuity and motivation make her even more irresistible to me. I drink down more of my coffee
before it gets cold, and during this quick lull in our conversation, I realize that I’m not ready to be
done talking to Amanda.
Having already made up my mind that she’s going to be mine, one way or the other, I scramble to think
up a way to keep the coffee meetings going so I can make her comfortable enough with me that she
won’t balk at the idea of some one-on-one time.
“Never in a million years would I have expected that explanation,” I tell her honestly. “I bet you have
all sorts of stories about growing up with Henry Jacobson as a father.”
Amanda smiles shyly. “Yes, well…”
I lower my eyelids, rumbling, “Tell me everything, Amanda. I’m your captive audience.”
As we talk, I find myself drawn to her more and more. I’ve read her books before, but never paid
them much mind, only seeing them through the analytical eyes of her publisher, but now I make a
mental note to read them all again to learn more about Amanda.
She tells me about her past with fire in her eyes, and as she gets more comfortable with me, she
begins to speak with her hands more, showing just how brilliantly lively she really is. When she
sweeps an arm through the air, I catch the scent of her perfume and inhale greedily—vanilla and
citrus.
As we finish up our meeting, I can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness over her. A busboy comes
over to clear our cups, and when he stares a little too long at Amanda, specifically at the bare,
exposed skin of her collarbone above the sweetheart neckline of her shirt, I have to control myself
and the urge to throw the scrawny young man out of the cafe window.
I settle for fixing him with a death stare that has him all but running to the back of the establishment.
I don’t know how Amanda has managed her career all on her own so far, but her sales numbers just
keep climbing, and she’s not going to be anonymous much longer, which means she’s going to need me
more than she realizes. She's young and new to the business, and I don't want her to get hurt.
“Amanda,” I start when she takes a second during our chat to look at her phone. “I think we need to
talk more about your contract, but also, I’d simply like to see you again. How about I pick you up at
seven tomorrow evening for dinner?”
At first, she looks surprised, but the look quickly turns to reservation. “I know I mentioned I’m sort of
a recluse…it’s unlikely but I hate going into the city because I’m scared my father’s fans will
recognize me.”
I lean back in my chair, thinking fast. “I’ll make sure we’re not in public, okay? I think I have a good
idea.”
“Is this like…” Amanda nibbles her bottom lip, afraid to ask the question, but I already know what
she wants to say.
“A date? Yes, Amanda, we can consider it a date.” I give her a wicked smile, and her cheeks turn that
irresistible rose color again. I wonder if other parts of her body blush when she’s embarrassed, too.
"I'll be in touch," I say, standing up to leave.
She looks up at me, and for a moment, I see something in her eyes. Gratitude, maybe? Or is it
something else? I can't quite put my finger on it. But I know one thing for sure—I need to keep an eye
on this one. But if I’m being honest with myself, I want to keep a whole lot more than just an eye on
Amanda Jacobson. And I intend to do just that.
2
 AMANDA

I hate leaving my house, absolutely hate it.

The mere thought of stepping out into the world and facing the paparazzi, the glares of the
judgmental strangers, and the ghost of my father's infamy makes me shudder with anxiety. I have to
keep reminding myself that that’s not what is happening today and that I’m in control of my own fate
these days. I have been for years now, and when I leave my home, there will be no paparazzi. Only
the forest and the soft sunlight peeping through the leaves.
My father, Henry Jacobson, a famous actor known for his extravagant parties and popular girlfriends,
left me with the legacy of paparazzi hounding my every move, asking me about his new conquests.
I was just a kid, riding my scooter around the cul-de-sac my mother lived in, when the first tabloid
journalist discovered where we lived and got into my face with a camera and a microphone. It
terrified me, and it never got better after that. Not until I was able to use some of the child support my
mother had set aside from my father to buy my own house out in the Catskills, all alone.
But I have found solace in my writing.
I’ve had an obsession with everything horror ever since I got my little hands on my father’s old scary
movie features from early in his career. As an adult, I can easily see how cheesy and low-budget they
were, but back then, when I was a kid, they were everything to me.
I was terrified and fascinated, and those films shaped what I wanted to be as an adult from the very
second I saw the first one.
My debut novel, which I wrote under a pseudonym, took off, and I never looked back. I stay mostly at
home, writing and reading, enjoying the solitude that I’m getting to experience for the first time in my
life, and letting the trauma from my dad’s fame fade away slowly.
My publisher, Alexander Ashwood, and his publishing company Ashwood Publishing have been a
constant source of support and encouragement for me.
For the first time, I feel like I've made it as a writer because of my talent, not because of my father's
connections. And for that, I owe it to him to meet up.
The thing is…Alexander has no idea who I am. The only thing I’ve ever given him is my pen name
and my email address. He has been vague about why we need to meet up, and I have to admit I’m
curious, but not curious enough to step too far out of my comfort zone. So, instead of coming to his
office in the city, he agrees to make the long drive to meet me at my favorite little coffee shop, the
Pinecone Cafe. I found the place when searching for businesses to frequent to help me start to shake
off the hermit lifestyle I’ve gotten a little too used to.
But as I step out of my house, I can feel the ghosts of my past haunting me. The paparazzi swarm me
like vultures, and I can hear their cameras clicking away. I feel like I'm suffocating, and my anxiety
shoots up to unbearable levels. I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand, determined to
overcome my fears and make it to the cafe where I'm meeting Alexander.
My little Subaru comes to life when I turn the key, my favorite indie radio station coming over the
speakers, and I force myself to take deep breaths, in and out, until my heart rate goes back to normal.
I’m not just Amanda Jacobson. I’m Raven Crimson, and I can do this.

AS I SIT at the small table in the corner of the quaint cafe, I notice a tall figure entering the
establishment. My gaze locks onto him immediately, and I can't seem to look away. It's like time has
stopped, and the only thing that matters is this man walking toward me.
At first, my brain refuses to believe that this could be Alexander Ashwood. This man cannot be a
publisher…he has to be some sort of rich businessman or even a celebrity, but as the seconds tick
past, it becomes more and more obvious that this is the publisher I am here to meet. Who else would
show up at the Pinecone Cafe in a suit?
He's broad-shouldered, with a chiseled jawline and piercing dark eyes that seem to stare right through
me. His cheekbones are high and defined, accentuated by his sharp features and the five o’clock
shadow of stubble, and his eyes, which are a dark brown, almost black. They have a penetrating
intensity that is both intimidating and alluring at the same time. His eyebrows are thick and
expressive, and his lips full, tilted in a grin that leaves me reeling.
Oh, he is so, so handsome. I didn’t expect this at all.
Coal-black hair that is cut perfectly short, a body that is simply rippling with muscles beneath his suit,
and a height of at least 6’4”, Alexander Ashwood is going to be trouble for me. I just know it.
I feel my heart racing as he walks closer, my palms getting clammy. I can't believe how drawn I am to
him, this stranger who I've never met. There's something about the way he carries himself that makes
him seem like he's stepped straight off the pages of a magazine. I can't help but feel a bit intimidated
by his presence.
I shake my head and take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I don't even know anything besides
his name, yet I feel like I've been struck by lightning. It's as if the universe is trying to tell me
something, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is.
As he orders his coffee and walks towards me, I swallow hard. This is crazy, I tell myself. I don't
even know him, but I can't help the way I feel. As he nears, I catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and
rich, and I'm completely smitten.
"You must be Raven Crimson," he says once he finally reaches my table, tucked away in the corner.
His voice is deep and rich like dark chocolate or roasted espresso beans. “I have to admit, you aren’t
exactly what I expected.”

HIS APPEARANCE MAY HAVE THROWN me through a loop, and the revelation that my novel ideas are
being stolen may have broken my heart, but what’s the most shocking is just how easy it is to talk to
Alexander. After the initial jolt of how much he affected me at first sight, things settle into an easy
flow between us. As if we have been friends, or more, for years.
I’m only 20, and when Alexander lets it slip that he is 37, I have a moment of pause, but it’s gone
before my next breath. His presence is casting some sort of spell on me, and his age becomes an
afterthought.
As I sit across from him, sipping my coffee, I feel a sense of relief. Alexander's presence calms me,
and I begin to relax. I owe him everything for believing in me and giving me the chance to prove
myself, and now even more so because he’s going to get to the bottom of whoever is stealing from me.
I’m a bit embarrassed, knowing how careless I’ve been, but he reassures me that everything will
work out in the end.
Then, he asks me out on a date. Flummoxed, I can feel a blush creeping up my neck, and the urge to
look down at my hands is strong, but I resist, making myself meet his gaze. It’s as dark and deep as the
night sky, and I find myself agreeing. To a date. With Alexander Ashwood.
Once he leaves, I smile into my coffee cup, feeling giddy. This is the start of something new and
exciting, I just know it, and for the first time in my life, I consider writing something romantic.
3
 ALEXANDER

I roll down the windows in the Porsche and breathe in the crisp mountain air. The sun is setting as I
follow the dirt road that leads to Amanda's house, winding my way through the dense trees.
As I near the house, I'm struck by how secluded it is. There are no other homes in sight, just a dense
forest that stretches for miles. She had mentioned being an introvert, but this is more than I expected.
Introverted or not, though, her home is an incredible sight, and I can see why she chooses to live all
the way out here.
Amanda's house is a two-story wooden structure, painted a soft cream color. The roof is made of gray
shingles that have been weathered by years of exposure to the elements. Everything is finished off
with a front porch that is wide and inviting, with a few chairs and a small table. I walk up the porch
steps and knock on the door, which is painted a warm sage green.
When Amanda opens the door, she greets me with a smile. Just like at the cafe, I’m struck by how
lovely she is, and a possessiveness rears up in me. My little reclusive author, no one else's.
"Come on in," she says, gesturing towards the interior of the house. As I step inside, I'm immediately
struck by the warmth of the space. The walls are painted a warm golden color, and the floors are
made of hardwood. “Would you like a tour?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her, taking a moment to drink her in.
Amanda is dressed in a gauzy powder-pink sundress, her feet clad in white sandals, and her golden
hair falling around her face in soft ringlets. Again, I’m thrown through a loop thinking about how this
woman is Raven Crimson. It seems impossible, but as I glance around and see the manuscripts and
finished copies of her books scattered about, it’s impossible to deny.
Soft, pink-wearing Amanda is Raven, author of horror novels. It’s still one of the biggest surprises of
my life.
We make our way to the living room, and I'm drawn to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that
overlook the forest outside. The room is cozy, with a large fireplace dominating one wall. There's a
comfortable-looking couch covered with a scattering of plush blankets and a few armchairs.
Unsurprisingly, one wall is nothing but bookshelves, overflowing with books and knick-knacks.
Amanda’s space is lived in and inviting, and I have a sudden vision of the two of us raising children
here among the trees and the beauty of the natural world.
As we walk through the house, Amanda shows me the kitchen and the dining room, which has a large
wooden table and chairs that look like they've been there for generations, the wood worn down and
shiny. Everything she owns has character, and it is all so uniquely her.
We make our way upstairs, and to my surprise, Amanda shows me her bedroom. The room is simple
and elegant, with a large four-poster bed in the center of the room. The walls are painted a soft blue,
and there's a large balcony that overlooks a cliffside, dotted with wrought-iron furniture and a soft
outdoor couch and lounge set. But I’m fixated on the bed, wondering if she sleeps in the nude, thinking
about what she would look like stretched out with her dainty little wrists tied to those bed posts…
God, I have to get my thoughts under control or I’m going to scare her off. All in due time.
Last, she takes me to what she says is her favorite room—her office. The room is bathed in natural
light, with a large window full of hanging plants and suncatchers. The walls are painted in a soft,
calming shade of lavender, and yet another bookshelf lines one entire wall, filled with even more of
her favorite novels and research materials. The setting sun is hitting the suncatchers, throwing tiny
rainbows around the room, giving it an air of magic.
Her wooden desk, the centerpiece of the room, is cluttered with stacks of paper, a laptop, and a
scattering of pens and pencils. A comfortable leather chair sits behind the desk, offering a perfect
view of the woodland scenery outside.
Above the desk, there are framed pictures. One photograph is of her father when he was an award-
winning actor in his prime, but it’s the only one of the man—every other photo is of who I assume
must be Amanda’s mother. She clearly has a favorite parent.
On the opposite wall, a large bulletin board displays her writing schedule and inspirational quotes to
keep her motivated. The room is filled with the soothing sound of a small fountain, adding to the
peaceful and serene atmosphere. A comfortable armchair with a matching footstool sits in one corner,
providing a soft spot to read and relax.
“What do you think? I’d love to get my publisher’s opinion on my home office,” she teases.
“I think it’s undeniably your space,” I respond honestly. “A little too feminine for my tastes, but
clearly, you love it.”
“I do,” she admits. “I could spend all day in here, and sometimes I do.”
“Do you ever get lonely, sweet Amanda?”
She looks at me, surprised at the affectionate term, and shrugs. “Not really. I think I was so
overwhelmed by people when I was younger that I find it hard to be lonely. My own company is
plenty.”
I don’t believe you, but you won’t be lonely much longer. I think. Once I make you mine, I plan to
remind you how precious you are to me every minute of every day.
As we make our way back downstairs, Amanda mentions that she likes living away from the city.
"It's peaceful here," she says. "I can write without any distractions."
Even though I’m perfectly content in my Manhattan penthouse, I can see why she would want to live
here. The forest seems to wrap around the house, providing a sense of calm and tranquility that's hard
to find in the city.
“So, what sort of date are you taking me on?” Amanda tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she
smiles softly. “I know it probably makes you think of me as a weirdo, but I’ve never actually been on
a real one before.”
I don’t say it out loud, but her confession gives me a sense of immense satisfaction. I want to give her
as many firsts as possible…I want to satisfy her in every aspect of life, so she doesn’t have time to
even consider another man.
“We’re going to a local vineyard that I enjoy and having dinner there. In private.”
Her smile grows. “It sounds wonderful.”
Amanda gasps quietly when she sees my car, which makes me preen as I open the door for her before
walking around the vehicle to get behind the wheel.
The vineyard is halfway between the city and Amanda’s home, so we roll down the windows and
enjoy the cool evening air during the drive. I can tell now that we’re on our way, she’s feeling a little
more tense than she was back in her own home, her comfort zone, so I try to ease the way with
conversation.
An easy topic with Amanda, I find, are ideas she has for future novels. It’s hard for women to find
success in male-dominated markets like horror and thrillers, but Amanda seems to do it effortlessly.
Some of her ideas are so dark and macabre that they might send a lesser man running, but not me. I
like a girl that contains multitudes.
When we’re close, I reach over and lay a hand on her knee, and after a little jump, Amanda relaxes
and accepts the caress. I grin to myself, seeing how readily she accepts my advances. I’m definitely
not unaware of the looks that she keeps sending me, full of affection and something deeper, hotter
even. I don’t think for a single minute that this connection between us is one-sided.
We arrive just as it becomes full dark, but just like I requested, the rows and rows of grapevines on
the trellis are illuminated by torchlight, making the pathway to our dinner table through the vineyard
look like something out of a fantasy movie. I hear Amanda suck in a breath, and she lets me take her
hand as we walk through the soft grass, following the trail that is set for us.
As we walk through the vineyard, I feel a sense of contentment wash over me. It's quiet here,
peaceful, and all I can hear are the sound of our footsteps on the path and the occasional rustle of the
leaves in the gentle breeze. Amanda's hand is clasped tightly in mine, and I can feel her excitement as
we explore.
The vineyard is beautifully lit with soft, warm lights that cast a golden glow over everything. We pass
by rows and rows of grapes, and the sweet scent of wine is in the air. It's a magical place, and I can't
think of a more perfect setting for a date with Amanda.
We finally arrive at a small table set up in the middle of the vineyard. It's surrounded by tall, swaying
vines that provide a sense of privacy, and a bottle of red wine sits waiting for us, along with two
glasses. Amanda smiles as she takes in the romantic setting.
"Wow," she says. "This is amazing. I can't believe you brought me here."
I smirk, feeling utter satisfaction at her reaction. "I knew you'd love it," I reply smoothly, pulling out a
chair for her.
My pride in how much she obviously enjoys the vineyard morphs into amusement as I watch her
craning her head around, taking in every inch of the area, and even the sky above us, with a thoughtful
expression. She seems almost lost in her visual exploration, and eventually, I can’t help but want her
attention back on me.
“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, not wanting to scare her out of her reverie.
“Oh, um,” I can see her blush in the candlelight. “Actually, I got to thinking about how unique this
setting is and how perfect it would be for one of my books. Sorry about that.” She laughs self-
consciously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I do that a lot.”
“That’s okay,” I reassure her. “I just couldn’t stand the thought that I might be boring you.”
“I don’t think you could ever bore me,” she sighs dreamily, only stroking my ego more.
“You know, I’ve been rereading through your books,” I tell her as we both begin to eat, uncovering the
plates that have been left for us as well as the charcuterie board in the middle of the table. It’s all
staple picnic food but elevated. I take the opportunity to uncork the wine for us and fill the glasses.
“There is a lot of scary stuff going on in that beautiful head of yours. I assume if you used the vineyard
as a setting, it wouldn’t be for a romantic date like this?”
Her smile is bright, taking my words as a compliment. “You’re absolutely right. I was imagining
someone running from a killer through the trellises, how confusing and terrifying it would be…”
Amanda shivers, delighted. “It will be perfect.”
“Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“As if,” she snorts. “Plus, you’re like, twice my size. I don’t think I could ever be a danger to you.”
“Hmm. You might have a point there. I think you’re a perfect size, though.” I lean across the table,
grinning. “Just think how easy it would be for me to pick you up, throw you over my shoulders, and
take you wherever I want to go.”
Amanda’s blush returns, deeper red this time. “And where would you want to take me?”
“So many places,” my voice lowers with arousal at the way she returns my flirtations. “Maybe we
can explore some options after dinner.”
“Maybe!” she squeaks, picking up her wine glass and taking a sip, probably to cool herself off. Her
eyebrows shoot up at the taste of the libation. “Hey, this is sweet! I didn’t think I would like it very
much.”
“I chose it because you’re young, and I figured you didn’t have much experience with wine yet. Sweet
vintages are always the best to start with. Was I right?”
“Yes, you’re right…again.”
I chuckle. “Get used to it, sweetheart. My instincts are flawless. Why do you think I’m so
successful?”
Amanda rolls her eyes, and we eat in earnest, the playful tone of the night dipping into sensual time
and time again as she lets me feed her bites from my fingers before she does the same to me.
I make sure to graze her fingertips with my tongue, giving her a preview of everything that awaits her
with me, and just those brief tastes of her skin are the most delicious thing I have all night.
It’s obvious to me that she’s inexperienced not just with wine, but with life, and romance most of all. I
can’t lie, I love that about her…love that I’m the one she gets to experience all of this with for the
first time. There won’t ever be another man for her, so I have to make sure everything is flawless and
memorable.
Amanda is brave, though, and flirts back with me quite a bit till nerves get the best of her and she
backs off some, keeping us out of overtly sexual territory. That doesn’t matter to me, though. Soon
enough, she’ll be mine in every way imaginable.
“Should we talk about my stolen book outlines?” Amanda asks when things start to get a little heated
once more, using it as a way to break the spell. “I know you said this is a date, but you also said we
should talk about that.”
“I’ve hired a private investigator with a team that’s familiar with online crimes to look into the thefts.
Don’t worry about having to talk to him, though. I will make sure everything goes through me so it
won’t be necessary for you to be bothered. One of the perks of having the best publisher in New
York.”
“I really am thankful,” Amanda sighs. “It does make me feel discouraged, though. I know it’s probably
impossible, but I keep having this fear that all of this is related to my dad somehow.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, sweetheart. The movie world and the publishing world
don’t really cross paths unless a novel is being optioned for film.”
“Yeah, well, I’m definitely not there yet. But maybe someday.”
I reach across the table and take her small hand in mine, bringing it to my mouth and brushing my lips
along her knuckles. “Definitely someday, Amanda. You’ve got what it takes, and I say that as a
professional.”
Her eyes go wide. “T-thank you, Alexander.”
"You have a way with words," I tell her, my voice low and intimate, kissing her hand once more
before letting it go. "Your stories are captivating, and I feel like I'm transported to a different world
when I read them."
We continue talking and laughing, getting lost in each other's company. Amanda tells me about her life
in the mountains, how she loves living away from the city, and the quietness of the countryside. I
listen intently, fascinated by her perspective on life.
As the night goes on, I can't help but feel a sense of longing growing inside of me. Amanda is
everything I've ever wanted in a partner, and I already can't imagine my life without her, but
vulnerability isn’t an emotion that I’m familiar with.
In my mind, it’s easy, knowing that she already belongs to me, but if I say that out loud to her, I’m not
sure how she’ll react. Getting her to understand that this connection between us is forever is going to
be a careful, tedious game. She’s so damn young.
Amanda Jacobson has a hold on me, and because of it, I see our future as clear as day. Sweet Amanda
beneath me, crying my name or greeting me after a long day of work, swollen with my child and even
more beautiful for it. Amanda in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards me…fuck, I’ve got it
bad.
As we finish the last of the wine, I stand up and hold out my hand to Amanda. "Let's take a walk," I
say, a sly grin on my face. “I paid to have this entire place lit up, after all. We might as well take
advantage of it.”
She takes my hand and follows me through the vineyard, the stars above shining brightly. I feel a sense
of electricity between us, and after a moment, she changes from holding my hand to linking her arm
through mine, leaning her head on my arm as we walk.
The air smells strongly of sweet grapes and the earthy scent of fresh soil, but I can still smell
Amanda’s perfume through it all, and it has my manhood swelling in interest. I wonder how much is
perfume and how much of that delicious citrus vanilla smell is just her, and what areas of her body
might smell even better…
“Dinner was wonderful,” Amanda breathes into the silence. “Did you enjoy it, too?”
“Yes, but something was missing, you know?”
She stops and looks up at me, a small frown on her full lips. “What?”
The movement to wrap my arm around her and pull her close, body flush to body, is quick. Amanda
gasps softly but doesn’t protest, her hands coming up to land on my chest while I lower my head to
hers. “Dessert.”
Amanda makes a small, feminine noise of satisfaction as I kiss her for the first time. She’s nervous,
unsure, but not afraid, and she kisses me back slowly. I let her warm up to me, waiting for her frame
to soften against mine and for her heart, beating like a hummingbird, to slow before I trace my tongue
over her bottom lip.
She sighs against my mouth, letting her jaw fall open so I can sweep my tongue inside, finding hers,
and sliding against it restlessly, teasingly, until she responds in kind.
When she’s in fully, I deepen the kiss, hands wandering down her back to cup her round ass, and
drinking in the moan that slips out of her like the finest wine on the planet. I’m harder than I’ve ever
been, and Amanda shifts against me, her body searching for something that her mind hasn’t quite come
to terms with yet.
Fuck, I have to give this some room to breathe or I’m going to end up fucking her right here on the
vineyard ground, and that’s not at all what I want for Amanda and me.
Our first time together needs to be slow, indulgent, and utterly satisfying, not some quick thing under
the sky. But her body is hot, and her kisses become desperate as she gets drunk off me and the arousal
building between us, and it takes all of my willpower to break our kiss.
“Fuck, Amanda,” I groan, pressing my forehead to hers. “Let me take you home, sweetheart, and we
can go from there.”
She’s still panting as if she’s run a marathon. “Go from there?”
I kiss her again, just a quick one, refusing to get lost in her again before I’m somewhere I can take
things as slow as I want. “I’m not done with you, Amanda, not by a long shot.”
For a terrible second, I think she might deny me, but Amanda gives me a breathy, “Yes, okay,” and it
makes me want to howl at the moon with how absolutely feral I feel hearing her give into me.
I want all of her, every inch of her skin, every wonderful sound of pleasure she can give…I want it
all.
And I intend to have it.
4
 AMANDA

M ultiple times throughout the drive back to my home, I find myself winding the fabric of the
dress between my fingers to the point I’m afraid I will fray it if I don’t leave it be. But my
nerves are at an all-time high, and it’s a small car. I don’t want Alexander to see me fidget or
have any reason to think that I don’t want to…well…continue what we started. Because I do. A lot.
I can’t believe my first kiss was with my hot-as-hell, rich, successful, older publisher!
I should have known from looking at him that he would devastate me in every way, but I don’t think
anything could ever live up to the standards he set with that kiss. When he pressed his lips to mine, it
was like my body woke up for the very first time.
Every nerve lit up like a Christmas light, and heat bloomed between my thighs that I’d never felt
before. I’ve never even considered anything sexual with another person before, but one kiss and I’m
ready to throw myself at Alexander Ashwood.
He keeps one huge hand on my bare knee as he drives, his fingers making slow circles on my skin that
has me breaking out in goosebumps. Even my nipples are hard, just from one hand! Undoubtedly, I’ll
spontaneously combust if things go any further, but I still want to test that hypothesis to be sure. I don’t
let myself think too much about how far I’m willing to go for tonight because if I do, then anxiety is
going to ruin it all for me. I’ll just go with the flow.
Easier said than done, I know.
I hear the ground beneath the tires of Alexander’s car change from pavement to gravel, and then we’re
pulling up in front of my house, the motion-activated lights illuminating my little slice of heaven and
making it so we can see to get inside.
My house is the epitome of seclusion, and the entire forest around us is inky dark, only the moonlight
breaking the darkness at all. Alexander comes to the passenger side of the car and helps me out, not
letting go of my hand until we are inside, where he grasps my other hand and pins both of them against
the wall above my head in one swift movement.
“You…” he says, his voice thick with some unnamed emotion, “are the single most tempting thing I’ve
ever seen in my entire life. I thought that drive would never end.”
Before I can respond, he kisses me, keeping my body stretched out with his hands still holding mine
high so I’m helpless to his touch. Alexander kisses my mouth until that heat starts to pool between my
legs again, and then he leaves my lips to drag his over my jaw and down my neck. I’ve never thought
of my neck as someplace sensitive before, but as soon as he kisses me there, I arch my back and
whimper from how good it feels.
My head is swimming, which is why Alexander has to say my name three times before I hear him.
“Amanda? Are you alright?”
He releases my hands and I fall back on the flat of my feet from my tiptoes, laughing with
embarrassment. “Sorry. You just…this just…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you some water before we continue,” he suggests, and I follow him to
my own kitchen like a lost puppy, my lips kiss-swollen and my hair mussed.
I pull us both bottles of water from the refrigerator, and I sip, rehydrating and looking over Alexander
as I do so. I can still barely wrap my head around how tall and broad he is, especially compared to
my 5’3” frame, but instead of scaring me, it excites me.
Any thoughts of stolen books, or the appropriateness of making out with my publisher, flee when I
look at him and touch him. Alexander has cast some sort of spell over me that makes me feel like a
love-sick teen instead of the professional woman I am.
“Are you working on any new books at the moment?” Alexander asks, breaking the silence. “Besides
the ones I know about, I mean.”
“I’ve been dabbling in science fiction,” I admit. “But the book never seems to get anywhere. I keep
getting stuck in the middle.”
I don’t want to talk about my books, but apparently, Alexander feels differently. “Why don’t you go
get it? I’d love to have a look.”
My heart sinks. Is he trying to cool stuff off between us? Has he decided that he doesn’t want to go
any further tonight? “Um, okay. I’ll be right back.”
It takes a few minutes to dig up my sci-fi manuscript, but just as I come out of my dark office, a
shadow appears in the doorframe, taking up every ounce of available space. Alexander puts his hands
on the doorframe, blocking me in with a cocky smirk on his gorgeous face. I stop in my tracks,
shocked that he followed me. I didn’t think I took that long…
“I changed my mind about the book,” Alexander says. “I still have that craving I haven’t been able to
satiate yet.”
He backs me up until the back of my calves hit my writing desk, and adrenaline floods me as I realize
that I’m trapped. The manuscript falls from my hands and flutters to the floor. Alexander looks at me
like a starving predator and I’m a fat, juicy gazelle.
“W-what exactly is going on here?” I ask, holding my hands up as if I can ward him off.
“I told you I wanted dessert, dear Amanda,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “And you seemed
more than willing to provide it for me.”
“I thought we were just flirting,” I try to reason with Alexander, at least with the words I’m saying,
but as he enters my personal space and grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, my entire
body sways towards his. Damn my treacherous physical desires!
“We were flirting, and now it’s time for the payoff.” He leans his face so close to mine that I can feel
his breath on my lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m just going to take care of you, taste you, and
that’s all. Unless you want more.”
My blood feels like it ignites as he presses his lips to mine, forcefully and without any room for me to
back out. Not that I want to, because this man tastes like every addictive thing in the universe, and
letting him sweep his insistent tongue into my mouth makes me feel like I’m floating.
It takes a little coaxing before my tongue tangles with his, and Alexander tilts my head to the side so
he can kiss me even deeper, a rumbling sound coming from his chest and vibrating through me.
Then he presses his body against mine, and I feel the hard, burning length of him pressing on my belly,
and while it makes the heat inside me flare even higher, a warning bell sounds in the very back of my
mind.
“Do you want more, Amanda?” Alexander pushes against me again, and I moan, tilting my head back
so he can feast on my sensitive neck. “Do you want all of me? My cock deep inside you?”
“I’m a virgin!” I blurt out while I still have an ounce of self-control.
Alexander freezes, and my stomach sinks, but instead of pulling away, he just softens his kisses and
caresses until I relax in his arms.
“Then I’m just tasting you tonight, sweetheart, but mark my words, you won’t be a virgin all that much
longer.” He nips my bottom lip, and that wicked look comes back into his eyes. “But for now…”
Alexander wraps his hands around my waist and hoists me onto the desk, my butt right beside my
laptop, which I quickly shut and whisk to the side. He nudges my legs apart until he’s standing
between them, and I’m spread in a way that would embarrass me in every other situation. With
Alexander, though, I just want him as close as possible.
I can tell that he’s trying to go slow with me, but there is a driving need behind everything he does. He
claims my mouth again, kissing me and sliding his tongue over mine before his mouth starts to
descend the column of my neck.
Sucking at my throat, Alexander slips the straps of my dress over my shoulders. He pinches and tugs
at my nipples through the lace bralette, and I break out in goosebumps all over my body, heat pooling
between my legs. I feel a wetness there that is totally foreign to me, but I know exactly what it means
—my body is more than ready for Alexander, and if the swiftness with which he tugs my bralette
down is any indication, he’s ready for me, too.
The cool air of the room only has a second to make me shiver at my bareness before Alexander is
sinking to his knees, kissing every inch of my chest except my hard peaks, where I want him most, but
he makes up for it by teasing them with his fingers between tugs.
I wiggle on the desk, my pussy throbbing, desperate for attention, but Alexander is otherwise
occupied by sucking one of my nipples between his lips finally. I moan, head falling back, pleasure
coursing through me and making me warm all over. It just feels so incredible.
Sounds of pleasure spill out of my mouth as he nibbles and sucks at my nipples, hands locked around
my waist to hold me in place as he works me over.
“You have the most beautiful tits,” he rumbles against my skin. “I’d spend all night on them if I didn’t
have other places to be.”
I brace myself with my hands behind me on the desk as backs off just enough to run his hands up my
legs, not even bothering to take the strappy sandals off my feet, and hook his fingers under the
waistband of my panties. I feel flush, aware that he certainly feels how wet they are as he drags them
down my legs and drops them to the floor before positioning himself close to me once more.
We make out more as he teases my pussy, running fingers over my slit a few times before parting me,
and it’s like my head is spinning. One date, just one, and I’m letting Alexander touch me in my most
intimate places. What’s more surprising is that I can’t stir up any shame about it. I want him so badly,
and our connection is undeniable.
The rough pad of his thumb gliding over my clit is a sharp pleasure that is completely new to me, and
it steals the breath from my lungs as I gasp. “Alexander…”
“You’re soaking wet for me, sweetheart,” he says against the shell of my ear. “And your little clit is
so swollen, begging for my attention.”
His dirty words affect me almost as much as a physical touch, and when he pairs stroking my clit with
his lips and teeth on my nipples once more, my legs start to quiver helplessly. Something is building
inside of me, something wholly unfamiliar that I crave all the same, a huge pool of pleasure that I
know Alexander is on the way to making overflow.
He bunches my yellow skirt around my hips, coaxing me to lift up enough so he can tuck them under
me, leaving me exposed. My office is dark, just the moonlight coming in from the large windows
lighting our scandalous actions, the sound of the trees scraping against the glass, and the insects
singing our soundtrack.
Alexander is breathing hard, but he still makes it last for me, starting by pressing his lips to the
hollow of my ankle and then all the way up my leg, and right when I think he’s finally going to put his
mouth right where I want it most, he starts again with the other leg. I whimper in frustration, and he
laughs darkly.
“If you tell me what you want, I’ll give it to you. Go ahead Amanda, say it.”
I can’t! My brain screams, but as if my mouth has a mind of its own, the words are falling out of me
almost instantly. “I want you to lick me.”
“Like this?” He drags his warm tongue over my thigh.
“Yes, but…” I bite my lip. “Somewhere else.”
“Where, Amanda?” His voice is so deep that I feel it in my bones.
“Between my legs. My—” I suck in a deep breath. “My pussy.”
“Good girl,” he growls, and then his mouth is on me and any lingering embarrassment flee as I reap
the rewards of my words.
Almost as if on instinct, my hands are in his hair, clutching him close as he licks one long path from
my clit to my entrance and back, repeating the motion until I’m panting and my nails are scraping
against his scalp.
Alexander grips my thighs and holds me in place, his fingers making indents in my flesh, wanting me
still as he works. His clever tongue makes circles around my swollen button over and over, and just
as I think I’m going to explode, he moves, dipping into my channel and licking deep.
My inner walls clench, wanting something more substantial but willing to take whatever they can get,
and then Alexander is right back to my clit again, switching between soft kisses and hard sucks that
have me sobbing.
No clumsy touch that I’ve given myself has ever equaled this, and knowing I’m special enough to
receive this treatment from Alexander Ashwood is heady stuff. He reads the cues of my body like it’s
what he’s born to do, keeping me right there on the edge of ecstasy and never letting me tip over. My
whole body shakes now, no more small quivers, and I think I’m either going to burst into flames or
tears if he doesn’t let me come soon.
I can hear myself pleading with him over the wet sounds of his mouth on me. “Please, Alexander,” but
he never lifts his mouth from my pussy, just keeping with the infuriating, incredible kisses and tongue
swipes that have me sobbing his name.
I don’t have much warning before things change—just him slipping his hands under my ass and
pulling me forward before the teasing changes to intention, and I know that I’m seconds away from the
most intense sensation of my entire life.
Alexander locks his lips around my clit and sucks, his tongue dancing over the bundle of nerves as he
does so, and it feels so good that I lose track of my consciousness. He pours more and more pleasure
into me, and there is just a shiver or warning before I come, so hard that I see stars behind my eyelids
as I tilt my head back and screw my eyes closed.
If I was more present, I might feel bad for how hard I pull at his hair or the way my hips grind against
his face, but my orgasm is rolling over me in waves and waves that make it impossible for me to do
anything else but ride them. Alexander makes a growling noise against my pussy, staying with me
through the entire thing and only backing off once I can slowly unlock my fingers from his silky hair.
Oh. My. God.
That was so intense, so unbelievable, that my entire world view has shifted. Before that orgasm, I
knew what I wanted out of my life, but now everything has moved to the side and made room for
Alexander Ashwood. I want nothing more than I want him, in my life, forever. I can’t live without the
feelings he just created in me, without the way that he plays my body like the finest instrument. I’d
burn every manuscript, snap my laptop in half in this moment just for the promise that he’ll never
leave.
Of course, I don’t voice any of these things, not in the least because he’s kissing me softly, letting me
taste my juices on his lips and tongue as he sweeps me into his arms. Alexander asks for directions to
my bedroom, and I tell him willingly, linking my arms around his neck and going back for more
gentle, afterglow kisses.
He lays me in my bed, motioning for me to lift my arms and pulling the gauzy dress off of me, baring
my naked body for him. I’m floating still, aftershocks of the orgasm zinging across my nerves, but just
when I think we’re about to continue our encounter, he pulls the blanket up and over me.
“Wait,” I protest. “I thought—”
“Not tonight, sweet Amanda.” I open my mouth to say something, but he presses a finger against my
lips. “I said no. Don’t argue. I know what’s best for you, and you’re spent for the evening.”
I pout but settle back onto the pillow, my eyes immediately heavy. So maybe he’s right, I don’t want
the night with Alexander to end, but sleep is heavy on me in literal seconds. I only stop fighting the
inevitable when I hear him stripping out of his own clothes and his heavy weight sinking down onto
the bed next to me.
He cocoons me in the warmth of his arms, and I’m asleep before he even finishes spooning behind
me, drifting on a river of pleasure and exhaustion.
5
 AMANDA

I ’d never have dreamed it in a million years but letting Alexander spend the rest of the week with
me at my house seemed as natural as breathing.
Waking up next to him the morning after he went down on me for the first time should have felt
awkward, but it didn’t. Not at all. In fact, it all just felt so right—snuggling into his broad chest,
seeing his sleeping face in the early morning light, all of it.
He stayed for three blissful days, working on my spare Macbook while I spent my mornings in my
office, or as I like to call it, my writing cave. We’d spend evenings cooking together, exploring the
trails behind my house, and just luxuriating in each other’s company. We repeated the…scandalous
activities of the other night twice more, but Alexander never pushed me any further than that.
He never even lets me take care of him, even though I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get my hands
on his body soon, but he seems determined to prove that he can hold himself back for my sake.
Alexander went home this morning, telling me to meet him at his penthouse that evening. Something in
his tone made me absolutely certain things were going to escalate between us. I shivered as he gently
bit the shell of my ear and told me to bring an overnight bag because I certainly wouldn’t be driving
home.
I’ve been too distracted by the thought of what we’re going to do tonight to concentrate on work at all,
so I’ve just been nervously flitting about my house for hours, and it’s a relief when it’s finally time to
get into my Subaru and drive to his place. Alexander offered to call an Uber for me, but going into the
city will be a good positive step forward when it comes to shirking off the introvert label I’ve worn
for so long.
It isn’t until I’m stuck in New York City traffic that I remember why I hate this place so much, but
when I pull up to the tall, modern high-rise apartment building in Manhattan, I’m pleasantly surprised
to see a valet waiting to take my keys. It’s a little embarrassing to have him take my old wagon and
park it among all the luxury cars, but I don’t dwell on it for too long. Plus, I bet none of those cars
could get out of the Catskill’s during a snowstorm like my car can.
Alexander is waiting for me in the lobby with two dozen blood-red roses in his hands, which he
places into my waiting arms before lowering his head to kiss me softly. “I’ve missed you,” he says.
“It’s only been ten hours,” I reply, giggling. “But I’ve missed you too if I’m being honest.”
The elevator ride up is long, and I have no doubt if my arms weren’t full of roses, we’d be passing
the time engrossed with one another. As I step into Alexander's luxury penthouse, I'm immediately
taken aback by the sheer size and grandeur of it all.
The open-concept living room is flooded with natural light and features a floor-to-ceiling window
with a stunning view of the city. I feel small in comparison to the towering skyscrapers outside and
the enormous man beside me.
Alexander, with his arm around my waist, leads me through the living room and into the kitchen. It's a
chef's dream, with stainless steel appliances and a massive island in the center. The countertops are
black granite, and the cabinets are deep mahogany, giving the space a sophisticated and masculine
vibe.
Next, Alexander shows me his office, which is adorned with dark wood furniture and plush leather
chairs. The walls are a deep navy blue, which contrasts perfectly with the vibrant green plants that
are strategically placed around the room. I can imagine him sitting here, making deals and taking calls
with ease.
We make our way to the master suite, Alexander's hand slides down to clasp mine, and I can't help but
feel a flutter in my chest. The bedroom is just as stunning as the rest of the penthouse. The bedding is
a deep, rich gray, with black and white accents that make the space feel both chic and welcoming.
The en suite bathroom is a true oasis, with a massive soaking tub that looks out onto the city and a
walk-in shower that could fit a small army. The floors are a warm sandstone, and the walls are
painted a rich charcoal color, making the space feel both inviting and intimate.
I open my mouth to compliment him on his beautiful home, feeling a little self-conscious about my
more humble dwelling, but before I can say anything, I hear the buzzer for the door go off. I look at
him questioningly.
Alexander gives me a warm smile and takes my hand.
"I hope you're hungry," he says. "I hired a private chef to prepare a tasting menu for us tonight, as well
as some musical accompaniment.”
I blink a few times, taken aback. “That sounds amazing!”
“Wait here and I’ll come get you in just a moment. The chef was already here this morning to prepare
so we shouldn’t have to wait any time at all.”

"YOU LOOK STUNNING TONIGHT , by the way," Alexander says, flashing what I have come to know as
his signature cocky grin.
"Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself," I reply with a smile. “Everything ready?”
“Indeed it is. This way, sweetheart.”
He leads me to the dining room where the private chef is preparing a tasting menu for us. The aroma
of the food wafts through the air, making my mouth water. I am immediately struck by the romantic
ambiance. Candles are lit everywhere, casting a warm glow throughout the room, and the violist is
playing a soft, soothing melody, swaying as he performs.
We take our seats, and the chef starts serving the first course—a delicate and perfectly seasoned
seafood dish. Alexander pours me a glass of wine and we toast to the evening.
"This is amazing," I say, savoring every bite.
"I wanted tonight to be special for you," he says, his eyes locked on mine. “And this is only the
beginning, Amanda.”
"It already is amazing. You’re amazing," I reply, feeling my cheeks flush.
As the meal continues, we talk about everything from my writing to his latest business venture. We
leave the uncomfortable subject of my stolen novels behind, thankfully. As conversation flows easily
between us, I can't feel a soul-deep sense of connection with Alexander.
The dessert is the perfect finale to the meal, a decadent chocolate dish that melts in my mouth.
Alexander pours us each a glass of cognac and we retire to the balcony, where we sit and enjoy the
night sky.
As if on cue, the violinist, who has followed us outside at Alexander’s request, plays a romantic
ballad, and Alexander asks me to dance. We sway to the music, our bodies close together, and I feel a
warmth spread throughout me.
"This is one of the most incredible nights of my entire life," I say, feeling content.
"I'm glad to hear that," he replies, taking my hand. "I just want to make you happy, Amanda."
I look at him, feeling my heart swell with emotion. "You already do."
He cups my face with one of his hands, looking deep into my eyes, and in their depths, I can see
something dangerous, something so full of need that it takes my breath away. Oh, this night is not even
close to being over.
“Are you ready to be alone, love?” he rumbles, and I shiver at how much emotion the term of
endearment stirs up in me.
“Absolutely,” I whisper.
He seals my declaration with a kiss before waving for me to sit while he dismisses the two people he
hired for the evening. He joins me on the balcony once more while the chef cleans up.
The cognac, mixed with the way Alexander continues to touch me gently, hands gliding up my legs and
over my bare neck and collarbone, has me feeling so warm and amorous that it’s almost unbearable. I
want to climb into his lap and kiss his mouth until we’re both breathless, but he forces me to take
things slow, drawing out the sensations until my entire body is thrumming.
He takes me by the hand and leads me through the balcony doors and back inside. There’s no question
where we’re headed—his bedroom.
Once we’re inside, Alexander moves to take the lead again, gripping my hips and pulling me towards
him, but I place my hands on his broad chest to stop him. “Wait, Alexander…” I nibble my lip, shy but
determined to get the request out. “Can I…can I be the one to touch you for a little while?”
He looks taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“It’s been all about my body and my pleasure, and I really, really want to touch you at my own pace.
Is that okay?”
His eyes flash, a low noise rolling out from his chest as he considers before he finally nods once. “If
that’s what you want, love, then fine. But don’t expect me to hold back for too long.”
Knowing that I can take my time is an addicting thing, and although it would be easy to get
overwhelmed with the possibilities of Alexander’s amazing body, I keep things simple by kissing him
first, starting in a place I’ve become comfortable.
I can tell it’s difficult for Alexander to let me undress him without completely taking the reins, but I
think we both know he’ll be in control soon enough, anyway. It’s hard to stop kissing him so my
fingers can work because his mouth is so intoxicating, but slowly, I get each button on his shirt undone
and the entire thing open.
I rise up on my tiptoes and indulge myself in another long, slow kiss while Alexander runs his hands
up and down my arms. I explore his muscled chest with my fingers, sighing at how amazing he feels.
The man is almost ridiculously gorgeous, and I can’t get enough.
My touch is obviously affecting him because when I press our bodies flush together, I can feel the
hard line of his member against me. He’s been so patient with me, making sure every step of the way
that I feel as much pleasure as possible, and I can’t wait for him to take his own pleasure inside of
me.
Inside of me! The thought is still so wild but so exhilarating. I work his pants open, pushing my hand
inside before I can second guess myself, and finally feel his cock fully in my hand.
Apparently, that’s Alexander’s breaking point, and the promise he made to resist taking control snaps
in an instant as he growls, sweeping me up in his arms and walking swiftly to deposit me onto his
bed.
I land in a tangle of comforters, but when I push it away, I can see that he’s fully undressed himself
and is crawling onto the bed to join me, moving like a tiger that has taken human form. My mouth goes
dry at how incredible he looks—all tan, bronzed skin, rippling muscles, and his cock hard and
standing tall between his legs. He’s big enough that I feel a ripple of fear, but I push it aside.
Alexander and I are made to come together. It will fit. It has to.
“I tried,” he says, savaging my neck and chest with rough, hot kisses. “But I have to touch and taste
you, Amanda. I can’t help myself.”
“That’s okay,” I whisper. “I sort of expected this outcome, anyway,”
He chuckles, sucking at the pulse point on my neck. I thank my past self silently for choosing the
strapless dress because it makes it all that much easier for Alexander to roll it down, followed by the
strapless bralette, and have open access to my tits. He plumps them a few times with his hands,
rolling the peaks with his fingers until I’m whimpering before pinching them and sucking away the
sting, one by one.
Pleasure courses through me, and I feel myself getting wetter and wetter, especially when his bare
cock rubs against my leg. Alexander repeats the motions over and over, nipping or pinching at my
nipples and softly licking and sucking until I feel delirious. My hands grip the sheets, restless, as he
strips me bare.
Once I’m just as bare as he is, Alexander sits up and leans back on his heels, drinking me in with his
eyes. There’s something feral in his gaze, and he confirms it when he tells me, “You’re mine, Amanda,
and you’re so fucking beautiful.”
His praise is heady, but I already miss his touch. “Come here,” I plead, and he obliges, covering me
with his body fully and kissing me until I can barely breathe. I wrap my legs around him, the broad
head of his cock brushing against my pussy, and it feels like I’m going to jump out of my skin.
Alexander reads me well, smiling against my lips. “Anxious?”
“Impatient,” I correct. “I want you.” Just a few days ago it would have been hard for me to admit, but
everything is different now.
He rises up again, sitting on his knees, taking his member in his fist, and pumping it a few times. He
pushes my legs apart, spreading my pussy with his fingers and making a noise deep in his throat when
he sees how wet I am.
“You have such a pretty pink pussy, Amanda,” he rumbles. “Are you ready for me to fill it up?”
All I can do is nod, all the air sucked out of my lungs by his words and the promise of what is to
come.
His pupils go wide, blown open with lust. “I have to get you ready first, okay, love? It will hurt for
just a second, but it won’t last. You trust me, right?”
“I trust you,” I agree. “With everything, Alexander.”
He clenches his teeth as he dips one finger into me, not all the way but far enough that I have a second
to get used to the stretch before he adds a second. The fit is so tight that it’s unreal, and nervous
butterflies take off in my stomach. My legs shake, and I know a fair bit of the reason is fear, but
Alexander doesn't let up with his ministrations. Each thrust of his fingers into my wet, tight channel,
he goes deeper, until something makes him pause.
“Deep breath, sweetheart,” he murmurs. As I inhale, he breaches whatever is blocking him. The pain
is like a whip crack, sharp enough to take my breath away but fleeting.
He immediately crooks his fingers up now that he has full access, finding that bundle of nerves deep
inside me, and stroking it firmly to banish any pain and replace it with pleasure. I’m still sore for a
second, but the deep, penetrating sensation of him pressing against my g-spot over and over overrides
any unpleasantness quickly enough, and I’m back to moaning, my walls clenching my fingers urgently.
“Ready?” he grits out, and at my frantic nod, Alexander takes his fingers out of my pussy. Bracing
himself with one hand by my head, he guides himself to my entrance, coaxing me to wrap my legs
around him once more. He feels impossibly huge, the head of his cock beginning to pierce me in a
slow thrust. There’s a moment of panic, but I clench my fists and breathe deeply.
I can do this, I can do this.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Alexander says above me. “Just look at me and think about how
I’m going to make you feel when I can finally fuck you the way I’ve been dying to.”
I whimper but do as he says, locking eyes with him as he continues to push inside me inch by inch.
The stretching of my pussy walls burns at first, but surprisingly, I can take more and more of him by
the second, and the feeling of fullness is so delicious. It’s what I’ve been craving ever since he first
kissed me and my body woke up for the very first time, desperate to make Alexander its own.
Then, he hits home, the head of his cock kissing my womb as his hips bump against mine. “I’m all the
way in, Amanda,” he forces out, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m a part of you now.”
I tilt my head back and capture his mouth in a kiss, which earns me a noise of approval from
Alexander as he starts to move, pulling out with aching slowness before pushing home again, just as
patiently.
Any of the stretching burn fades, replaced by an almost unbelievable sensation of being completely
filled and owned by Alexander, his cock pushing against my g-spot with every thrust. The moans that
fall from my lips are deep and come right from my soul.
Once I’m comfortable, he picks up the pace, building that well of pleasure inside me with each
stroke. I can tell when I come with him inside me, it’s going to be harder than ever before. As if on
instinct, my body moves with his, and Alexander curses into my neck. He lifts one of my legs over his
shoulder, making it so he hits that bundle of nerves inside me even harder each time he fills me, and I
could cry with how good it feels.
I say his name over and over again, hands grabbing at his hard arms and carding through his hair
restlessly, all of my nerves alight. He starts to snap his hips against mine with more force, and I know
I’m about to come on his cock, just like he wants me to. My inner walls flutter around him, my back
arching as if electrified.
“Come for me, Amanda,” he demands. “And as soon as you do, I’m going to fill you up so fucking
full.”
His words are the last piece of the puzzle, and with barely any warning, my orgasm hits like a
tsunami. It rocks me so intensely that I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, every ripple of
pleasure coming from where his cock fills my pussy and spreading out over my entire being. I can
barely suck in air, can barely think, and can do nothing except feel.
I can hear Alexander praising me and sense when his thrusts become more erratic. It doesn’t take long
before he tilts his head to the ceiling and roars, coming inside of me with such force I feel his seed
bathing the inside of my pussy. He continues fucking me until he’s emptied himself of every drop and
wrung every shudder of orgasm out of my own body.
He finally rolls to the side, taking me with him and holding me tightly against his body.
We don’t speak in the silence afterward, just basking in the afterglow of it all. Alexander runs his
hands down my body, over my back, and smoothing my hair down, all with the softest touch.
He’s such an intricate man, going from fucking like some sort of Greek god to gently petting me as we
both come back to Earth. I can’t get enough of him, and I still want to know more. I want to know
everything about him, but for now, I’ll settle for soaking in the warmth of his skin and his spicy,
masculine scent.
“Let me run us a bath,” he says quietly against my hair, placing a kiss there. “You’re going to be sore
tomorrow, and that will help.”
“I just want to stay here,” I protest, but I should know better by now that what Alexander says, goes.
“No, love. I’m going to run us both a bath. Then, I’m going to hold you while we soak those sore
muscles because I might want more of you later.”
I flush, excited by the idea but at the same time, so tired. “I don’t know if I can go again so soon.”
“Oh you can, and once I have my way with you, you’ll be begging for it,” he chuckles. “But right now,
let me take care of you.”
“Fine,” I sigh, hating the chill that comes when he separates from me. “But make it quick, I’m freezing
without you.”
“There will be plenty of time for me to warm you up sweetheart,” he throws over his shoulder as he
walks, nude and proud, to the en suite bathroom to make good on his promise of a hot bath. I snuggle
under the covers and watch him go, feeling an emotion that I’m afraid to name taking flight in my
stomach.
I might not be brave enough to say how intense my feelings are for him just yet, but it’s undeniable that
I’m head over heels for Alexander Ashwood. I’ve given him my virginity, but it’s the fact that I also
gave him my heart that scares me some. Scares me, but also makes me so excited for the future. Our
future.
6
 ALEXANDER

I haven’t seen Amanda in a few days, and her absence is starting to grate on my nerves. We’ve been
in contact, of course, texting and calling each other in our spare time, but I have to admit that I
don’t care for this modern idea of ‘dating’.
Why should I have to take my time if I already know what I want? It’s infuriating.
I’ve got another date planned for us in just two days, but I can’t wait that long. I need to see her
tonight or else I’m going to lose my mind. It’s not just my brain that is suffering without her, either.
After fucking her and lazily tasting her to my heart’s content the following morning, I haven’t gone
completely soft since it seems. I’m desperate for Amanda, starving for her kisses, for the tight grip of
her pussy, and her amazing body against me, so when she texts me during my lunch break, telling me
that she wants to talk, I jump on the opportunity.
I have good news for her, anyway. Yesterday morning, I received a call from a huge Hollywood film
studio, Red River Studios, who wanted to option Raven Crimson’s Broken Mirror trilogy for a movie
deal. Amanda will be ecstatic, I just know it.
The long drive out to her home isn’t something I knew I needed, but it does help clear my mind. I’m
pissed that I haven’t heard back from the PI yet, even if it’s only been a few days. I hired him because
all my research suggested he was quick and efficient, but quick is apparently relative because I
wanted to have this book thievery behind Amanda and me by now.
I can’t let myself dwell on that too long because the anger I feel at the situation makes me see ruby
red. It was bad when I knew Amanda only as Raven, an author under my protection, but now she’s
also a woman that I care for, so my protectiveness of her is twofold. An attack on her is an attack on
me, and I won’t fucking stand for it.
When I pull up to Amanda’s, I try to bleed my irritation off by pacing in front of the car for a few
minutes, but having her so close is making it impossible for me to relax. I don’t want to go to her like
this, but I’m almost positive her presence will be like a cooling stream to the heat of my anger.
She greets me with a soft smile, but there’s something else lingering behind her eyes that she hasn’t
told me yet. I assume it’s why she’s called me out here, and not just to see me like I had hoped. But
I’ll take whatever I can get when it comes to seeing Amanda. I would have come out here tonight
either way, my ability to wait had run out.
“Alexander,” she breathes, opening the door wide so I can step inside. I waste no time in dragging her
to me, rougher than I intended, and slanting my mouth over hers forcefully, telling her without words
how much I’ve missed her. She yelps at first, caught off guard, but softens for me quickly enough.
Like before, heat builds between us in almost an instant, and I have her pressed up against the closed
door with my teeth nipping at her bottom lip before I even realize what I’m doing. It’s Amanda who
has to pull back, flushed with need but wanting to speak.
“Wait, wait,” she huffs. “I need to talk to you before we do any more of this.” Amanda waves at the
two of us and how closely we’re pressed together. “I’ve got drinks on the balcony. Please,
Alexander?”
“Of course,” I say, backing off. “You could have just said so.”
She levels me with a flat look. “You didn’t exactly give me any time.”
Her balcony is outside of a pair of solid glass French doors in her bedroom, and I try not to let my
gaze linger on her bed for too long, knowing what kind of images my mind will immediately conjure
up. There are glasses of iced lemon water at the wrought iron table, and I take the seat across from
Amanda, loosening my tie as I do so.
“This feels like a business meeting,” I tell her, still confused about what she needs from me that we
can’t solve with our mouths on each other.
“It might be. Sort of,” she laughs nervously. “I, um, have a confession. About something I did that you
aren’t going to like.”
A rush of chill washes over me like ice water has been dumped on my head. “Amanda…what are you
getting at?”
Her voice shakes as she speaks. “So, well…my phone has been blowing up from these blocked
numbers, and I thought they were telemarketers, so I never answered. Well, I was half asleep when
one came in this morning and I answered, and it was…it was the book thief.”
Cold transforms instantly into burning rage. “What?! Why didn’t you call me immediately?”
“They were talking so fast! And…and…” She gulps. “I was overwhelmed, Alexander, and so scared.
I–” There’s a mist of tears in her eyes as she admits the final part of her confession. “I gave them the
outline for the fourth book. I’m so sorry, but they were blackmailing me and–”
“What do you mean you’re being blackmailed?” I can barely get the words out, I’m so pissed. Not so
much at Amanda, but at the fact that she has to be in this position and didn’t feel safe enough to share
it with me. Even after what we did on her writing desk…
“They’re threatening to leak my real name!” she blurts out, clasping her hands together in front of her.
“Somehow they know who I am and who my father is, and say that if I don’t send them the rest of the
outlines for my next series, then they will tell the press who I am!”
I think of the call with the production studio but brush it aside. It couldn’t have been the catalyst for
this, not that soon. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Well, no…” She looks away, which makes my anger spike even more. Why is she acting like she has
any reason to be afraid of me? “I didn’t want things to escalate, and it’s been so nice spending this
time with you…”
“Do you think I’d want to stop seeing you just because someone is trying to take advantage of you?
Amanda, I want to help you! I want to take these problems away from you!” I insist, but she still
doesn’t look at me.
“I don’t want you to think that I’m helpless,” Amanda sighs, “or that I’m using you. Plus, you’re so—”
She looks at me now, waving her hands to indicate my entire body. “Aggressive. And I didn’t want
things to get violent.”
I breathe deeply to calm myself. She’s hit the nail on the head. If I find out who is stealing from her,
from us, and trying to blackmail my sweet Amanda, then violence is certainly going to be involved.
But she doesn’t need to know that, and she definitely doesn’t need to see it. I won’t change my tactics
or what I plan on doing. The private investigator should have the information I need any day, and this
can be behind us.
“I’m your publisher, Amanda, and as such, I’m supposed to handle these things for you. Even if we
weren’t spending time together outside of work. You’re starting to make me think that you don’t trust
me.” I can’t stop the edge of darkness in my voice.
“It’s not that!” She comes forward now, putting her hands on my chest and looking up at me with those
deep, ocean eyes. It would be so easy to crack, to promise her that I would handle things in a calm
manner, but I can’t. The need to protect her is too strong. “I do trust you,” she continues, “so much. I
hate that this is coming between us…”
An idea springs to my mind. So I can’t fuck her right now, not with how high both of our tempers are
running, but there are other things we can do to erase this tension between us. I don’t doubt she trusts
me, but not telling me about the blackmail emails proves she’s still holding back from me in some
ways, and that just won’t do.
“If you trust me, then prove it.” I cup her face in my hands. “Take your pants off and bend over the
railing.”
Her eyes flicker to the balcony railing, facing the forest, and go wide. “For what?”
I lower my hands down her body before grabbing her asscheeks in both hands firmly, making her
jump. “A little punishment for the deception, and then some pleasure as a reward. Make yourself
vulnerable to me, Amanda, and I’ll believe what you say about trust.”
“Out here?” she squeaks, and I nod. Amanda swallows hard, but then she shows me that bravery I
adore in her so much. She lifts her chin, eyes flashing. “Okay. I know you won’t hurt me, so I’ll do it.
Because I trust you.”
I grin. “Good girl. Now, pants off.”
Her jeans come off with shaking hands, and she steps out of them. I indicate for her to remove the
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 43. Clements, F. E. A System of Nomenclature for Phytogeography. Engler
Jahrb., 31:b70:1. 1902.
44. The terms, oceanad, hylad, poad, eremad, etc., are proposed in place of
oceanophyte, hylophyte, etc. They are much shorter and make consistent groups
under the general term, ecad., i. e., habitat form.
45. Clements, F. E. The Development and Structure of Vegetation, 166. 1904.
 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Page Changed from Changed to

84 144 square inches of 144 cubic inches of
water, with an water, with an opening
opening ¼ × 12 ¼ × 12 inches at the
inches at the base base
234 as many readily be as may readily be seen
seen from the fact that from the fact that
migration varies migration varies
inversely as the inversely as the
319 ochthi´um (ὄχφη, ochthi´um (ὄχθη,
bank), a bank bank), a bank
formation; ochthad, a formation; ochthad, a
bank plant bank plant

1. Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RESEARCH
METHODS IN ECOLOGY ***

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