Chapter 11
11
Ashley
I can’t believe this is my life. Or rather, I can because when it comes to Patrick O’Lachlan, anything is possible. The alpha male has unlimited resources, including money, planes, cars, and even a magnificent castle in Ireland.
That’s where I am now. After our rendezvous in the Presidential Suite, I figured that the billionaire was done with me. He won our bet, fair and square, and I delivered for a night of incredible, mind-blowing sensuality. Even now, the memory makes me shiver with heat, thinking back to how the alpha male stroked and touched my most intimate spots, making me come again and again.
But the events of the morning-after were a surprise. I fished for my clothes in the darkness of the master bedroom, trying to keep silent. I couldn’t find my panties, and remembered the red column dress was lying discarded in the sitting area. Trying not to make any sound, I tiptoed to the door, intent on escaping.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. I tripped over something in the darkness and landed flat on my face on the carpet, my boobs smashed against the soft pile and my ass high in the air.
“Oomph!” was my muffled groan. “Ow!”
Patrick was awake and up in an instant.
“Holy shit, sweetheart. Are you okay?” he asked while flipping on the light. I was utterly mortified because everything about me was ravaged from his intimate touch. My hair was a rat’s nest from Patrick’s thick fingers; my breasts were covered with love bites; and my pussy and ass were swollen and red from his repeated penetration. Yes, after the alpha male popped my pussy cherry, he proceeded to claim my ass cherry as well, and I’ve never felt so utterly taken before.
But real life returned with a thunk, and here I was, caught red-handed trying to steal away.
“Um,” I muttered sitting up while pushing my blonde locks out of my face. “I’m okay, thanks! Sorry about waking you! I just wanted to grab some of my stuff and get out of here before—”
“Before I woke up?” Patrick growled, one black brow quirked. I colored because he’s utterly gorgeous, even at this godawful hour of the morning. His thick thighs rippled, and that chest was broad and bronzed, showing off defined six pack abs. His dick, despite putting me through the wringer last night, began to stiffen and grow as I watched. In fact, a pearl of pre-come beaded at the tip, making my mouth water. Reading my mind, Patrick grinned while fisting his hard shaft.
“I have what you need, sweet girl,” he growled. “Now get back in bed before I tie you to the frame and make you scream.”
With that, it was on. I spent most of the next three days in the man’s suite, moaning and creaming as he possessed my curves in every possible position. It’s the only way to describe it. The man claimed my body as his, and worked it over like his favorite fucktoy.
“Goddamn,” he gasped, rolling off me before gently patting my tender pussy. “Good kitty. You’ve made me very happy.”
“Good kitty ?” I squeaked. “What about here?” I asked, pointing to the love bites on my breasts. “What about here too?” I asked, flipping over onto my hands and knees before bouncing my ass in his face.
Patrick chuckled with amusement.
“Good doggy,” he laughed, gently swatting my asshole with the flat of his hand. It was moist and wet still, ravaged from masculine penetration, but Patrick merely swatted it again before reaching for his phone.
“Yeah hi,” he grunted into his cell, already talking to someone. “Tonight at seven, right? Harry Reid. Do you have a passport, honey?” he asked, looking at me with raised eyebrows while covering the receiver with one big hand.
I stared back.
“I mean, yes, I do, but what for?”
It was too late because Patrick was already barking orders into the phone. Then, he hung up before jumping out of bed and rising to his full height.
“Get dressed honey,” he smirked with a smile. “We’re going to pick up some of your stuff at your apartment. Passport included.”
“ What ?” I gasped. “But wait, what do you mean?”
“Come on, it’ll be an adventure,” he called while sauntering to the bathroom, his bronzed rear end sculpted and muscled. Damn, this man is fine and I momentarily lost my train of thought.
“But where are we going?” I squeaked, trailing him to the bathroom as he jerked on the hot water. Steam immediately began pouring into the massive glass stall, and my man stepped in as I leaned against the doorframe watching that sculpted, gladiator-like form. But his smirk was loud and clear even as he began to lather shampoo into his black strands.
“Join me?” he asked, running blue eyes suggestively up and down my nude curves. Hot tingles coursed through my kitty even as I clutched my thighs together.
“Not before you tell me where we’re going.”
“You’ll find out,” is all he would reveal, and then with one swift motion, I was pulled into the stall with him. What the hell? How in the world did that happen, when Patrick was standing inside the shower while I was still leaning against the doorframe? But the alpha male is fast and athletic, and soon, the bathroom was filled with our gasps and pants as he deposited a creamy load into my sweetest spot once more.
Now, I’m living in Patrick’s Irish castle full time. Yes, he was true to his word and transported me all the way across the ocean before landing in the Emerald Isle.
“What do you mean, this castle belongs to you?” I whispered while trailing a butler into the massive, black stone building. “People don’t own castles anymore! They’re just historical relics that have been converted into museums.”
Patrick pulled me deeper into the interior, and my jaw dropped at the sheer luxury on display. The main hall was at least triple-height, and rustic yet luxurious at once. Massive wooden wheel chandeliers hung from the ceilings, with heavy oak furniture scattered about. Muted tapestries covered the walls, depicting knights in battle, as well as saints in brown frocks, ladies in pointed cone hats with no eyelashes, and mythical creatures peeping from behind every stone.
“Castle Droghaire has been in my family for centuries,” Patrick remarked casually as a footman offered him a glass of wine. One was offered to me as well, and I took it automatically, astonished that liveried footmen even exist. “My ancestors are vicious, don’t get me wrong,” my lover continued. “They’re cunning and conniving. But they happened to help the right king in the right battle at the right time, and were elevated to the Irish peerage during the fifteenth century. As a result, you’re looking at the Right Honorable Patrick Henrica Leavenworth O’Lachlan, 7 th Viscount Ferrard.”
“ I’m sorry ?” I snorted. “What kind of name is that? You have titles?”
“It is a mouthful,” the huge man acknowledged with a grin. “But it’s my name, and don’t try to take it for yourself,” he winked. “Anyways, make yourself at home, sweetheart. The castle is at your disposal, as is all of the staff. You’re my guest, Ashley, and a very precious one at that.”
My heart thumped with those words because what did he mean by the word “precious”? What was I doing here, anyways? We only met because I lost a sordid game of cards to this man, and he was intent on claiming his prize. But now, we’re literally a world away as he introduces me to his life and lifestyle, not to mention showing off his ancestral home. Don’t people only do that when they’re in a serious relationship? Goodness, I never would have guessed that any of this would happen.
But Patrick had already stalked off to attend to various business matters, leaving me to my own devices. Taking advantage of my freedom, I decided to explore, and the Castle Droghaire took months for me to map out. Yes, bad habits stay with a person forever, and just as I cased the Vegas casinos, I began to “case” Castle Droghaire as well. With each day, each corridor, each hallway, and each bedroom that I entered, my mind began to build a mental map of the space. I noted dimensions, wall hangings, light fixtures, angles, shadows, and anything that might be helpful. I don’t know why I’m like this. Some people have a way with words or numbers, but others have a knack for spatial reasoning, and my strength is the latter.
In the meantime, I enjoy myself to the utmost. Patrick is away at work during the days, so I have quite a few hours of leisure time to myself. I wander the castle, swim in the pool, or amuse myself with the massive library of books available to me. Sometimes, I take a dip in a nearby loch or even hike the fens by myself, reveling in the unique aspects of the Irish landscape. The Emerald Isle is gorgeous, with a rocky coast, wind-whipped terrain, and also a beauty that’s haunting yet delicately magical.
Then once Patrick returns, we eat a delicious dinner prepared by his chef. He says he wants me to maintain my ballet form, but I know what he’s really saying. The alpha male adores my curves and wants me well-fed and energetic for our romps in the sack. After all, I’m basically his favorite sex toy now, and the man uses my curves like a rampaging warrior. Most nights, after dinner, we repair to the master suite for riotous lovemaking, and he keeps me up all night, moaning and gasping as I take that hard cock over and over again. I can hardly move some mornings, but Patrick always chuckles and pets my pussy when that happens, referring to it as “his favorite kitty.”
All in all, it’s been a couple months of lavish living coupled with mind-blowing sensuality. I enjoy pleasing the billionaire, and it’s been easy to settle in. In fact, I’m still not sure how the change happened so fast, but it certainly hasn’t been difficult to adjust.
Then again, I didn’t have much in Vegas when I left. I was living as a journeyman, trying to put food on the table by partaking in high stakes poker. Sure, I’d had some success, but my understanding is that casinos talk to each other, and will notice if a player wins too much. I’m sure I’d already been profiled, and they were on the look-out for my presence at future tournaments.
So when Patrick offered me a chance to get away, I took it. I packed a suitcase of my stuff, told my roomie I was going on temporary hiatus, and left her with an envelope of cash to cover my rent. All of the money was from Patrick, of course, because he’s paid for everything since we’ve been together. My man is generous that way, and I boarded the billionaire’s private plane with a light step and a sweet smile.
But what does the Irishman want from me? A companion? A lady friend? A normal friend? A horny sex fiend who takes his dick on command? It seems like all of the above, to be honest. We have steamy, sensual sex, but we also talk as if we’ve known each other for years on end. He tells me about his family history, and even mentioned that he has a sister.
“So Ainsley’s in Vegas right now,” I said one night, as we lay in bed together. “She came with you to the City of Sin.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “She’s spending my money like water too.”
“But why did you leave her there?” I ask curiously. “She’s only eighteen, right?”
The alpha male merely shrugged before shooting me a grin.
“Ainsley is a big girl, Ash. Trust me, my sister knows how to take care of herself, and besides, she’s there for her career. She wants to be a plus-size model, and apparently, Vegas is where it all happens.”
I nod slowly.
“Yeah, my ballet career was supposed to be the same,” I hum. “I was supposed to be a plus-size dancer, remember?”
Patrick reaches for me, his blue eyes going black with desire.
“You’ll always be a ballerina, Ashley. You’re lithe, emotive, and with an incredible way of commanding your body down to the tiniest muscle. You’re a prima ballerina, honey, and there’s no doubt about it.”
His words made me flush with pleasure because Patrick treats me so well. He comforts me when I’m afraid, and lifts me up when I have doubts. Yes, my artistic career is currently stalled, and to be honest, I don’t know if it will ever take off again. But Patrick makes me feel like I’m succeeding, even if I only dance for him in bed.
Unfortunately, my grace and flexibility will be leaving me soon, and I’m not sure what to do about it. After all, Patrick and I have a tacit understanding. The man is obviously virile, and when we discussed protection, he said no to condoms.
“Absolutely not,” he rasped, blue eyes flashing. “That shit feels like shit, not to mention being carcinogenic.”
I shot him a look.
“Latex isn’t carcinogenic! They use latex in lots of things, from plastic gloves to chewing gum to tennis shoes. Trust me, the latex in condoms is perfectly safe.”
The billionaire merely shrugged.
“Well, I need to be fully sheathed in your hot cunt, skin-to-skin. How about this? I’ll only come in your ass. See, I know how to compromise,” he winked.
This man is so infuriating, and I put my hands on my hips while fixing him with a look of mock fury.
“Patrick, you know that even a drop inside me can get me pregnant. I’m young and fertile, and maybe even half a drop will do the trick. I’m not getting on chemical birth control either because I’m a dancer and any change in weight will throw off my art. So condoms it is.”
But Patrick didn’t answer, merely pulling me into his strong arms before seizing my mouth with his own. Literally, he prevented me from speaking, and the topic dropped by the wayside.
But he was true to his word. The alpha male often ejaculates in my ass, and if he’s close to coming in my pussy, he pulls out at the last minute and will spray over my creamy curves. To be honest, I like it when he does that because I love watching my man come. Patrick is gorgeous, bronzed, and muscular, and there’s nothing sexier than seeing him come apart as he loses control.
But now, the proverbial drop in the bucket has changed my reality. I’m pregnant and it’s obvious how it happened. Patrick uses my curves every night, and he’s a virile alpha male, while I’m a fertile young woman. Pregnancy was pretty much a given if our only method of contraception was the rhythm method, and an imperfect rhythm, if I’m being honest.
So now, I’m having a baby, and while nothing shows yet, my hand steals to the curve of my stomach as a smile shadows my features. This baby is going to be loved even if he or she is unexpected, and I have it all worked out already. After all, I’ve become friends with the staff here, and they’re kind and wonderful. Stacks is the perfect butler, while Mrs. Sullivan cooks delicious lunches and dinners every day. There are also dozens of footmen, maids, and housekeepers who keep the massive castle spic and span, and they’ve come to see me as one of their own.
Even more, their cooperation is important because I’m planning the unspeakable. Castle Droghaire is enormous. It’s literally a hulking, black fortress sitting on a large parcel of land, and it was designed for olden times when entire garrisons of warriors were stationed inside. As a result, I’ve discovered all sorts of nooks and crannies, including a secret set of rooms hidden away in the east wing. The space was a tiny bit decrepit, consisting of a sitting room in front, as well as a connected bedroom and small bathroom. But it’s enough. The suite is well-lit and heated, and because of my extraordinary spatial awareness, I was able to detect a special passageway leading from the rooms to the outside of the castle. I plan on raising my baby here, in secret, as Patrick continues with his jet-setting lifestyle, none the wiser.
Of course it hurts because I’ll have to tell him that I’m going back to the States. I’ll make up some bullshit about a new ballet company offering me a job, and I’ll say that the new troupe is located somewhere remote and undesirable, like the middle of the New Mexican desert, or deep in Appalachia without the comforts of modern living. Then, I’ll bid goodbye to the billionaire, but I’ll never actually get on a plane. Instead, I’m going to hole up in my secret rooms and have the baby on my own, with the staff’s help of course. My child will have a safe place to stay for a few years, and from there, we’ll see. I’m not sure exactly what happens next, but I have to do this because I want to keep my child. There’s no way Patrick would consent to being a father, so I’m not even going to put the question to him.
Quietly, I steal down the hall to my secret suite. The door swings open silently, and I look around. There’s a crib by the wall that I was able to smuggle in with the help of one of the footmen, and Mrs. Sullivan gifted me a baby bassinet that stands by the window. A few of the maids have been sewing up a storm, and already, the white changing table has a few hand-made stuffed animals on it. Tears fill my eyes because these people were strangers only a few months ago, but now, I rely on them like family.
Slowly, I sink down into a rocking chair by the window. Sadness overwhelms my form as sunlight bathes my features because this is what I want, but not really. My ideal scenario would be to live life out in the open, with a burbling baby in my arms and a doting partner who adores being a father. Instead, I’m confined to the shadows while raising my child in secret. No one will know, not even my parents or my sister. Certainly, Patrick will never find out because I can’t imagine the destruction if he does. He would go berserk and tear this castle to pieces if he found out.
A tear trails down my cheek.
What kind of woman does this? the voice in my head whispers. Are you crazy, Ashley? How can you live right under your babydaddy’s nose, taking shelter in his house and eating his food, all the while raising his child? He’s going to find out.
Perhaps so. There is a Flowers in the Attic vibe to my plan, but at the same time, I don’t have a choice. I don’t have a job in the States, and there are zero troupes that I’m aware of looking for curvy ballerinas. I’m a high school dropout, and it’s unclear whether I could even file for unemployment assistance, seeing that I’ve never technically been “employed.” I suppose I could move back in with my parents, but they’re nearing retirement, and looking forward to their golden years. Helping a struggling teen mom while tending to a newborn baby is definitely not in their future plans.
So here I am, getting ready to take the plunge into the scariest, most devastating chapter of my life. It will be filled with rewards, to be sure, because I already adore my unborn baby so much. A mother’s love is fierce, so much that I’m willing to go down this lonely, unspeakable route.
But more than anything, I wish Patrick were here to walk with me. I wish I could live out in the open, and that we’d peer down into our baby’s bassinet, two adoring parents already in love with our child. I wish that he’d rub my back when it aches with pregnancy, and accompany me to local Lamaze classes. I wish that he could see our child, and how the baby is sure to resemble him with his dark hair, blue eyes, and Irish features. I wish... I wish... I wish...
But wishing is for innocent young girls, whereas real life is for mothers. I’m in the latter category now ... and I’ve already made my choice.