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Sex, Love & Lingerie (Secrets and Lies Book 3) by Nelle L'Amour (1)

CHAPTER 1

Gloria

“They’re so fucking beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful,” Jaime breathed, staring at my monstrous breasts with a mixture of awe and passion dancing in his denim blue eyes. We were facing each other, butt naked and kneeling on our bed, my large belly putting a distance between the two of us. That and his massive cock. The early morning sunlight streamed in from the floor to ceiling wraparound windows of our spacious bedroom, highlighting the magnificent contours of his bronzed body—perpetually tanned now that he resided in California full-time. We were temporarily living in my swanky Wilshire Corridor penthouse while our dream house in Malibu, on Jaime’s magnificent beachfront property was under construction. The contractors had promised us it would be ready by September in time for our first anniversary. While we were unsure whether we would sell my condo, we couldn’t wait to move to the beach and make our new house—a glass castle—our permanent abode.

“Come here, you” he purred in my ear, drawing me closer to him with a tug of my waist-long braid. My heavy breasts skimmed his rock-hard chest as he continued to play with them. I felt my über-sensitive nipples harden beneath his touch, and a soft moan escaped my lips. Heat and wetness gathered between my thighs. It was as if there was a power cord attached to my pussy, charging it with need and desire. I moaned again, this time louder as he began to sensuously knead my tender mounds.

“You like this, angel?” he asked, his voice as sexy and seductive as his movements.

“Baby, you know I love it.”

Lust glinting in his eyes and on his lips, he responded by rotating his palms across my puckered, deep pink nipples, squeezing my globes together as he did and arousing me further. A pulsing sensation spread from my head to my toes. From time to time, he brushed his thumb across the shiny raised, round scar that sat just above my left breast and my heart. It was a reminder of the bullet hole Boris Borofksy had bore into me when I was eighteen. Over fifteen years ago. But now Boris was gone. Buried six feet under. And I was the one who put him there with a bullet hole to his heart. I’d shot him partly in self-defense, but more as a desperate measure to save the two men I loved with all my heart—my best friend and colleague, Kevin Riley, and my then beautiful lover and hero, Jaime Zander.

Though I had no recollection of shooting Boris, Jaime’s love had healed me from my traumatic past. He proposed to me in an ambulance of all places with Kevin looking on right after I shot the mad Russian. Now blissfully married for almost six months, he’d awoken parts of my being that no one ever had. And he’d taught me that scars can be beautiful because they tell us we have survived. They are the grace point between the darkness of tragedy and the lightness of being. Thanks to Jaime, I now wore my shiny scar on my chest like a sparkling jewel.

“Are you going to fuck my boobs again?” I panted out, the titillating sensation escalating. I was already craving him between my legs.

“Been there, done that,” he replied, gazing up at me with a cocky grin and his lustful bedroom eyes.

Yes. Just last night. In a fit of passion, he’d done just that. Plunged his enormous cock into the deep valley between my mountainous breasts, a favorite playground for his playful cock. Before he’d massaged the swollen mounds around his monumental shaft, circling and squeezing, I’d licked the crown, arousing myself as much as I aroused him. With a squeeze of my clit, he’d sent me over the edge while he let go with a raw cry of my name, spilling his release all over my flesh.

“Mmm,” I sighed at the delicious memory as he once again latched his lush mouth onto a nipple, sucking and licking. “You know, you’re going to have to share my boobs soon, mon amour.”

Cupping them in his large palms, he planted a kiss on each one. The morning stubble dotting his strong jawline grazed my tender flesh.

“I can’t wait,” he mumbled, flicking and licking.

So aroused, I raked my fingers through his sexy bedhead hair. Chestnut in color, it was longer now and flecked with sun-driven highlights—the result of spending so much time at the beach. Since moving to LA, he’d taken up surfing, and like everything he tackled, he was a pro.

“Oh, baby,” he moaned as he gave equal treatment to my other breast—its unmarred twin. A sexy rumble gathered in the base of his throat. I loved his manly sounds, the more feral the better.

In just a month, I was going to give birth to our twins—Paulette and Payton. Paulette named after my beloved French mentor; Payton a tribute to Jaime’s late father. I’d gotten pregnant three months before our wedding and had broken the news to Jaime a few weeks before we got married. I thought he’d be mad at me because I’d kept it a secret, but he was over-the-top elated. It had been a surprisingly easy pregnancy except for a short bout of morning sickness at the very beginning. And though I felt as fat as a cow, I’d only put on thirty pounds. “You’re all baby weight,” complimented my OB/GYN, the renowned obstetrician to the stars, Dr. Marcy Bernstein, who happened to be the sister of Jaime’s new best friend and client, Blake Burns. “And you look like a model.”

While I was one hundred percent sure I wasn’t cover girl material, I truthfully had to thank my husband for making my pregnancy beautiful, every step of the way, every minute of the day. I couldn’t ask for a better, more supportive, or more loving husband than Jaime Zander. He accompanied me to every checkup, monitored every bite of food I ate and activity I partook in, read What to Expect When You’re Expecting from cover to cover, doted on me from hand to foot, and even sang lullabies against my ever growing belly in his sexy raspy voice. He’d read somewhere that instilling music into children at an early age made them smarter…and it wasn’t too early to start at the prenatal stage.

“Our children are going to be smart and beautiful,” he breathed into my breasts.

I ruffled my hand through his silky mussed-up hair and planted a chaste kiss on his head, cradling it between my hands. Yes, they were—well, at least the latter. Everyone said with our combination of genes—my golden Amazonian looks and Jaime’s sexy as sin Greek god looks—our children would be stunners for sure. Personally, all I cared about was that they would be born healthy and live happy, productive lives.

At that moment, I felt a sharp kick inside me; I flinched. “One of the babies is kicking,” I whispered to my husband and lover, who instantly placed his large hand on my tummy. The warmth of his palm against my taut skin was so comforting, and though he’d touched and rubbed my extended tummy umpteen times, I could never get enough.

He kept his hand there, gently caressing the area where I could feel the sharp little kicks. “It’s Payton,” my beloved asserted with confidence.

“How do you know that?”

“I can tell. My little man is already a kick-ass martial artist. I bet he’ll kick Paulette right out of you, and then he’ll just tumble out, smiling in total victory.”

I belted out a laugh. “We’ll see. And besides, Mr. Know-It-All, newborns don’t come out smiling. They usually cry.”

“Not our kids, angel,” he countered and then shut me up with a hot, passionate almost savage kiss, preventing me from arguing.

As he deepened the kiss with his tongue, entwining it with mine in a sensuous dance, my mind wandered. It was hard to believe that Jaime and I had been together for exactly a year. It was last February the thirteenth when I’d first met him in New York while hunting for an advertising agency to represent my lingerie empire, Gloria’s Secret, of which I was the founder and CEO. On Valentine’s Day, the following day, he had seduced me in his hotel suite after purchasing Rihanna’s diamond-studded leather underwear at our annual fashion show after-party auction. And so much had happened from that day on…from a fateful trip to Paris to that life-and-death showdown with my lifelong nemesis, Boris Borofsky, at an awards dinner here in Los Angeles. Taking advantage of the fact I couldn’t remember shooting the Russian gangster, my beloved spun a story that he had saved my life by crashing into the Russian gangster as he was about to pull the gun out of my hand. True or not, it didn’t matter. Because Jaime Zander had rescued me from a life of loneliness and fear. He’d awoken every fiber of my being. Mr. Creativity had taught me how to let go, and I’d discovered a sexual power inside me that brought me to the heights of passion and ecstasy. I loved him more than life itself.

Jaime’s hand glided down my abdomen toward the sensitive, soaking wet folds between my thighs. Along the way, he withdrew his tongue from my mouth and trailed kisses from my neck to my oversized belly, pressing his warm lips against it everywhere he could. There was something just so damn sexy about a man kissing your stomach.

“I can’t fucking get enough of you, Mrs. Zander.”

“The same,” I replied, fisting his hair as he continued to shower my big belly with delicious kisses. God, this felt good. So, so good. And the sensuous sound of his luscious lips against my skin was like an erotic love song. I was so turned on I was humming along.

“Now for my favorite part,” he mumbled against me.

I knew what was coming. On my next heated breath, he dipped the tip of his tongue into the pit of my navel; it had expanded to the size of a quarter. It was the thing I despised most about pregnancy; my belly button used to be such a cute little innie (and I prayed it would go back to that state), but Jaime adored the way it was now. Wide and inviting. For him, it was the base of the two love lines that connected to the ever-growing lifeforms inside me. Our twins. Moaning, he languidly swirled his tongue inside it. The erotic sensation and sound sent me flying. Satisfied, he laved his warm vessel back up to my mouth, lapping the super-sensitive crook of my neck while his deft hand caressed my tender pussy.

“Oh, God,” I cried out as carnal pleasure rushed to my core.

“Angel, you’re always so fucking hot and wet for me,” he breathed into my ear as my right hand flew to his shoulder for support.

“Only for you, my love,” I moaned back as his deft fingers made their way to my clit, circling it hard and fast the way I liked it. His magnificent cock was swelling, getting bigger against me. In my highly aroused state, I managed to reach for it with my other hand. I clamped my long fingers around the hot velvety thick shaft, stroking it up and down, applying more pressure and speed with each stroke. My rapid pants accompanied my hand movements, speeding up as they did.

He squeezed his eyes and groaned with mutual pleasure. Tortuous pleasure equal to mine. “Oh, baby, you’re doing it just right. You’re making me so fucking hard.”

Electricity coursed through me as I felt his heated cock elongate and thicken in my palm. His greedy mouth made contact with every ounce of my flesh it could latch on to. My breathing shallow and my temperature soaring, I was losing myself in him, my overheated body readying itself for a mind-blowing orgasm. The intense pressure was building, every cell buzzing with anticipation, want, and need. Sex with Jaime had not diminished while being pregnant. In fact, it had gotten better, as if better was possible. Lately though, so close to giving birth, we’d slowed down a bit, discovering that slow and steady could be mind-blowing too. My overprotective, controlling husband was afraid of hurting the fetuses. Our babies. While Dr. Bernstein said not to worry and we could do it as hard and as long as we wished, Jaime wanted to play it on the cautious side. Even though he wasn’t fucking me, this wasn’t what I would call slow and steady. We’d gotten carried away.

A heartbeat away from exploding, my cell phone rang. My distinct ringtone, an excerpt from the eighties hit song, “Gloria,” sounded repeatedly. Calling Gloria.

“Fuck!” muttered a relentless Jaime. “Don’t answer it.”

“I have to,” I moaned with regret. “It could be an emergency.”

Later today, we were taping the annual Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show. It was going to air in the evening on a major television network and simulcast live on SIN-TV, the adult entertainment cable network which Jaime’s best friend, Blake Burns, founded and headed. I adored Blake. Like Jaime, he was cocky, smart—and controlling—and as big of a player as Jaime had once been. Rumor had it he’d fucked all of our Gloria’s Secret supermodels at one time or another. He’d always coveted my business. However, he wasn’t going to get my advertising dollars until he came up with a block of programming that appealed to my female 18-49 demographic. I kept telling him women watched erotica, not porn, and that he should hire someone, preferably a shrewd female exec who understood the popularity of steamy romance novels. With my successful line of BDSM-inspired lingerie and sex toys, an erotic block could be a great fit. Blake, however, didn’t believe me and kept complaining to Jaime, who handled his network’s media campaigns, that his daytime ratings were in the toilet. To me, the answer was simple. Stay-at-home women didn’t watch SIN-TV. They were looking for something beyond twelve-inch dicks in your face. They craved romantic fantasies. I knew that for a fact.

The phone kept ringing. I fumbled for it on my night table with my free hand and eyed the caller ID on the screen: Kevin Riley, my beloved and trusted head of PR. I put the phone to my ear.

“Hi, Kev. Is everything okay?” I panted into the phone. Jaime was not giving up. “Stop!” I mouthed at him. He smirked and circled my clit harder. Forget it! And moreover, Mr. Persistent wasn’t going to let me stop stroking his cock. He placed his hand over mine so I couldn’t. Confession: I didn’t want him to stop nor did I want to stop. We were both so close to coming. Squirming with a roll of my eyes, I tried to focus on Kevin’s call.

“Glorious, there’s a fucking flood in the space where we’re taping the show.” And there’s a fucking flood in the space between my legs where Jaime was about to take all of me. And a fire too! “The dress rehearsal has been postponed until they clean up the mess. We may even have to relocate.”

One word: “Shit.” This was not good news, but Kevin had handled a lot bigger problems and they always got fixed. I loved my Kev as much as I loved Jaime, but differently. A lifelong friend, we had been through thick and thin together, and we had even saved each other’s lives from the pink-eyed monster, Boris Borofsky.

Yet, I was still concerned since this was a new venue, and I didn’t know what to expect. We had always held the much-anticipated Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show in New York at the venerable Lexington Avenue Armory on the day before Valentine’s Day. But due to my late stage pregnant state, Dr. Bernstein had insisted I not fly. I’d protested. Only one word from Jaime had convinced me to follow her orders—turbulence. Something that terrified me. Hence, we were holding it for the first time in Los Angeles at state-of-the-art Smashbox Studios in Culver City, not far from our headquarters. It turned out to be a good thing too. The snowy weather conditions in New York were so bad the show would have likely been canceled.

“I’ll be there soon,” I told Kevin, asking him to phone or text me right away if anything else came up before ending the call.

“Is everything okay?” asked a concerned Jaime, releasing my hand from his cock and his finger from my clit.

I shook my head. “I’ve got a big problem. The studio is flooded. It’s a total mess.”

“That sucks.” Jaime dusted my chin with the tip of my long braid. This was one of his many little affectionate gestures that always affected me.

“I’ve got to get over to Smashbox right away.”

“Let’s finish what we started in the shower.”

“I can’t. I don’t have time,” I countered unconvincingly as he tickled my chin again with my braid.

“C’mon. You know things always turn out okay.” Jaime scrambled off the bed, and before I could say another word, he gathered me in his loving arms.

“What are you doing?” I screamed.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m carrying my princess off into the horizon for our next activity.”

“I weigh too much!” I protested, trying hard not to laugh.

“Nah.” He took a step and then without warning, he let out a deep groan and his legs began to buckle. His face scrunched up as if he was in terrible pain.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” He continued to groan and sway. “Baby, talk to me!” Oh God, we were both going to go down! The babies too!

“Gotcha!” He burst into a clap of laughter.

I pounded his chest. “You cocky beautiful bastard!”

“Shut up!” And with that, my amazing husband smothered me with a fierce kiss that sent another sweeping wave of pleasure through me.

We made beautiful love in the shower. With one arm wrapped around my big belly, the hand of the other back to fingering my still throbbing clit, Jaime pummeled me slowly but purposively from behind. The multiple jets of steaming water pounded upon us, coming at us from different directions as we built toward climax.

“Are you okay, angel?” Jaime breathed against my neck, always so worried about my well-being and that of our babies.

“Yes,” I moaned back, so close to coming. I knew he was too, by his harsh breaths and his pulsing cock that filled me with love.

“Angel,” he cried out as I watched us orgasm together in the wall-to-wall bathroom mirror through the steamed-up glass shower door. I arched my back and cried out his name in sweet relief as I came around his explosive length. Jaime’s name meant “I love” in French. I loved this man and he loved me. My husband, my lover, and the soon-to-be father of my children. Our children. My pulse still in overdrive, I glanced down at the magnificent two-stone diamond ring he’d given me. Two glistening hearts entwined like lovers. An eternal toi et moi. As he nuzzled my neck and whispered sweet words of love in my ear, I knew one thing. Even with a pending fashion show disaster, Jaime Zander was my forever.

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