With a low growl, he pulled out and reached for his wallet, rolling a condom on amid Tamsin’s mewling protests. And then he grabbed the headboard with one hand, using his other to guide himself back inside her. With her heels at the small of his back, he thrust inside, deep and hard, wrapping both hands around the edge of the headboard now to drive in harder and harder and harder.
Soon they’d be in his car together, driving off to their new life. Soon she’d be in his bed every night that she wanted to be there. Soon they would see how far love could carry them as she danced and he worked and they had to fight off every problem that came with being in the real world.
But for now, he was happy to pretend he was still in fairyland, still inside the dream. And when Tamsin came and he came a moment later, filling his condom with heavy jerks and pulses, he murmured promises in her ear until they were both sweaty and still. I love you and you’re with me and I’ll take care of you, princess, always, always, always.
His promises were real, vows weighted with age and experience, and Tamsin seemed to wrap herself up in them like she wrapped herself up in his arms. “And we are going to live happily ever after,” she murmured to him.
He smiled in the dark. “Ruined shoes and all.”
*
Like dark, contemporary fairy tales?
Try American Queen, a sexy, modern-day twist on the Camelot story!
“American Queen is a delicious fantasy, a filthy fairytale…rich in texture, intensely emotional, and highly erotic, with a perfect hint of magic.”
–Meredith Wild, New York Times bestselling author It starts with a stolen kiss under an English sky, and it ends with a walk down the aisle. It starts with the President sending his best friend to woo me on his behalf, and it ends with my heart split in two. It starts with buried secrets and dangerous desires…and ends with the three of us bound together with a hateful love sharper than any barbed wire.
My name is Greer Galloway, and I serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States.
This is the story of an American Queen.
About the Author
Sierra Simone is a USA Today Bestselling former librarian who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk. She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City.
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www.authorsierrasimone.com
BEDTIME STORY
A Sleeping Beauty Story
Skye Warren
ONE
The youngest fairy stepped forward and said, “The princess shall be the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Jessica
I swipe at the tears on my cheeks, grateful for the pitch black outside. My eyes feel puffy, nose runny, but at least no one can see me like this. Yeah, that’s good. One point for optimism, negative two thousand for the vortex of depression tugging at my toes.
Optimism. The secret weapon in a single mother’s arsenal. Ky’s running a temperature? That means extra cuddle time. The water bill’s bigger than usual? We’ll just have to make those last two hot dogs in the fridge last.
Then Ky’s dad showed up outside our apartment.
I clench both hands on the steering wheel, so tight I can feel my heartbeat inside my fingers. That’s okay, though. Optimism. I can make complete and utter terror look good.
A green highway sign flashes briefly in my headlights. Provence.
Working in a diner means I’ve heard a lot of random conversation, especially from people passing through. The name Provence registers as a small town outside Tanglewood. Which means I’m not nearly far enough away to be safe.
The truth is I’ll never be far enough. Never really be safe.
So much for optimism.
Is the town big enough for me to hide? If only for the night?
I can’t see past the twin domes of my headlight, the black tar texture visible despite the dark night. It had been an hour since I left Tanglewood city limits. I hoped to be farther by now.
Maybe I should have stopped to make better plans.
Should have booked a bus or even a plane. I couldn’t risk it, not with Stefano outside my door, demanding to see his son. The moment the little bar in the test turned pink, my life changed. It stopped being about survival and became about something more. About a life for my child, free from danger, from violence. From fear.
Something fluttered in my chest, something like hope.
Stefano found the test in the trash can, and he had lost his shit. Beaten me so badly I was afraid I would miscarry. Then he kicked me out of the house. And even then, even clutching my stomach, my face bruised and bloody, it was a blessing.
A blessing, like the small child sleeping in the backseat.
At least he doesn’t know how afraid I am right now, my heart thudding against my ribs, my sight blurring with adrenaline and exhaustion. He doesn’t know how it feels to be hit, to be used, to be given as a gift by his own father. And if I have my way he never will.
The car jolts into the road, pulling a short scream from me.
Only a pothole.
I’m jumpy and way too tired to be driving. I check the rearview, but Ky’s eyes are still closed. I hope he’s dreaming about the dragons, like the light-up toy he clutches in his small fist. They’re fierce. They don’t need to pack up their belongings in the middle of the night and drive toward nowhere. They don’t need to be afraid.
The bright side. There’s always a bright side, no matter how dim.
Oh, I know. There are very few times in a girl’s life when she could make this statement with complete certainty: things could not possibly get worse.
Red and blue lights flash in the mirrors, spilling light onto the windshield.
My heartbeat speeds up, almost frantic with its warning: danger, danger.
Oh God. Was he from Tanglewood? Had Stefano found me already? He had so many cops in his pocket. Why else would a cop pull me over? I wasn’t speeding. The registration sticker might be a little old, bust he couldn’t see that in the dark.
My stomach clenches—a hard ball of anxiety that rolls back and forth between make a run for it and follow the rules. Following the rules hasn’t gotten me very far in this life. My finger throbs as if to remind me of exactly what rules had done.
Running won’t work, not on this empty stretch of road that I don’t recognize, with the needle closer to E than F. If the cop isn’t dirty, he’s not going to give up if I ignore him.
And if the cop is dirty, then I’ve already lost.
TWO
The second said, “She shall have a temper as sweet as an angel.”
Jessica
My hands shake as I steer the car to the shoulder. The cop pulls up behind me, the lights still spinning, throwing blue and red onto the worn cloth seats. I watch the driver’s side door of the cop car, but it doesn’t open. Seconds tick by, each one pushing the knife deeper. What if he’s calling Stefano right now? I shouldn’t be sitting here, waiting.
A wave of dizziness washes over me, turning my palms slick with sweat.
I don’t think I can go on much longer, but God knows I can’t stop. I’m in between the proverbial rock and hard place. The rock, a dangerous mob enforcer who thinks he owns me. And the hard place, a cop stepping out of his car and approaching my door.