Read Promises Online

Authors: Ellen March

Promises

Promises
Ellen March
 

Seattle, WA

 

 

Fanny Press

PO Box 70515

Seattle, WA 98127

 

For more information go to: www.fannypress.com

ellenmarch.jimdo.com

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author
’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

Cover design by Sabrina Sun

 

Promises

Copyright © 201
4 by Ellen March

ISBN:
978-1-60381-548-2 (Trade Paper)

ISBN:
978-1-60381-549-9 (eBook)

 

Produced in the United States of America

 

 

 

* * *

 

T
o my lovely husband, Phillip, for his patience and support. Also for tolerating those lonely nights when I’m keying away at my laptop.

To m
y three children, who are so proud of their mum.

To
Sara Palmer, my avidly critical reader, who’s fallen in love with Solomon.

To
Leanne Holt, my rock, who picks me up and motivates me. She keeps me grounded with her business head whilst my romantic one flies in the clouds.

And above all
, to Catherine my publisher and Emily my editor. I know every writer extols their editor/publisher’s virtues. But these talented ladies truly are awesome. They are the best learning curve a writer could wish for. And I honestly can’t thank them enough for the work they have put in. They have taken
Promises
from merely good to truly great. The credit is all theirs.

To anyone that picks my book up, enjoy. Because I know I
enjoyed writing it.

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter One

A
lexandra stared at the drab white taxi patiently waiting alongside the kerb. It was the same one she had flagged down outside the train station moments before she’d made the call. But Ruth wasn’t answering.

She glanced up at the towering
Victorian building. A veil of ivy was clinging to the brick wall, pressing its roots in deep. It was typical of Ruth to turn her back on modernity. Instead she’d opted for the revamped three storey house separated into flats. Although the original sash windows had been replaced with hard wood, the grand old place still retained the character of bygone years. A pillar box-red door stood out from behind the railing of a black iron fence.

She
stabbed the buttons on the intercom to the apartment block repeatedly, the force of her fingers causing the centre piece to twang.

The
call had gone straight to voicemail. Alex rolled her eyes when she listened to Ruth’s sultry voice, full of promise. She wished her friend would change her message because, for an airhostess, she sure had one hell of a crude mouth. Alex knew that one day Ruth would get a call offering her cash for sex.

Alex
shrugged her shoulders and pushed her mobile back into her bag. That would be one more offer than she had managed.

Now
she cursed the rare impulsive decision she had made to descend unexpectedly on her friend. Her plans appeared to be going seriously tits up. She had been forced to make the trip into the city by the untimely death of her vibrator. Many things she could do without, but her rampant friend wasn’t one of them.

Feeling
a surge of irritation, Alexandra fought with an errant strand of wild red hair that refused all attempts at control. Finally she pushed it firmly behind her ear and glanced up at the darkening sky, which was almost as black as her mood.

She
climbed back into the white taxi, the one that had patiently waited for her, and strummed her fingers against her thigh.

“Where to
, love?” asked the driver as he rubbed his eyes. He cast a brief glance over his passenger.

“Nearest hotel
,” she muttered, gazing out of a window smeared with a glaze of grime.

Alex was
intensely disappointed to have missed Ruth. They’d been friends for years, moving up through school together. They didn’t see much of each other due to Ruth’s job. As a transatlantic air hostess, she wasn’t home a lot, but their special friendship had lasted. In fact, Alex counted her as her one and only best friend. Which was why she was so peed off. She’d already bought her new toy and was hoping to share the bottle of wine that always sat in Ruth’s fridge and spend a girly night in at her place.

A
slow, secret smile played at her lips. At least she’d managed to get in some serious shopping, which had been the original reason for the impromptu visit. Some things were important, and this was definitely number one in her books.

“Business or pleasure?”
The driver lazily steered the car through the heavy mass of traffic. One hand lightly held the wheel and the other rested on the open window. His eyes flicked over the clock.

“Pardon?”
She had been thinking about her new toy, nestled deep in her bag, and a red flush stained her cheeks. She was glad the woman assistant had been so helpful, describing the many functions of the ears on her rabbit vibrator, how they twitched. Alex smiled at the memory.

“Shopping or working
?” The taxi driver clarified. Flicking the indicator, he edged the taxi forward into the front bay of a large hotel. The name Avery Towers was emblazoned across it in large gold lettering.

“Oh, sorry
.” Her smile was wicked as she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Pleasure, most definitely.” Or at least it would be, as soon as she had her new treat unwrapped and inserted the batteries.

“That will be six quid
, love.” The taxi halted before a pair of revolving doors. A doorman dressed in a resplendent uniform of deep blues and verdant reds hovered nearby. He reminded Alex of a red admiral butterfly. With a rare subtleness, she hid her grin.

“Here, keep the change
.” Alex smiled down at the driver. The deeply etched lines in his face reflected his exhaustion, so she handed over a creased ten pound note. Swinging her bag over her shoulder, she stepped out into the quickly dwindling light. She glanced upwards at the classic stone front and admired the building’s architecture before strolling up the small flight of steps into the foyer. It smelt of polish and jasmine, reminding Alex of her mother’s house.

Not good memories.

With a neat side step, Alex dodged the futile attempts of the porter attempting to grasp her bag. What she had in there wasn’t leaving her side.

Ever since
Roger the Vibrator’s shocking death, she had been desperate for a replacement. It had been way past long since she’d had a boyfriend. Relationships were as rare for Alex as ice in the Sahara. This was the main reason behind the sudden visit to her friend Ruth. Her needs couldn’t be satisfied in her home town of Brindley Bay. It was a quiet seaside resort, with not a sex shop in sight. Her cheeky smile returned. She tried to imagine the disbelief on the faces of the locals if she had walked into a store asking for that particular make and model of vibrator.

Alex
paused and peered around, squinting in the artificial light. Spying the reception desk, she moved towards it. Her low-heeled shoes clacked across the mosaic tiled floor, and the bags rustled as they swung loose beside her.

“Can I help you?” t
he uniformed receptionist asked. The man stood ramrod straight, his gaze sliding over her with unabashed interest.

“If you’ve got a room
, yes,” she challenged, her red-haired temper rising in a flash flood to a boiling point. She hated the ogling that her large breasts attracted. She wished for once she could meet a man that looked into her eyes, passing the Twin Peaks and moving on. Slamming her bag on the desk, she glared at him and sucked in her cheeks, her green eyes almost glacial.

“Well
, I’m not offering anything else,” he stated with a huff, sneering down at her. The disgust was evident on his face. “Even gays have taste, love.”

“Sorry
.” The apology was borne on a whispered breath. She dropped her gaze, very interested in the pattern on the floor.

Alexandra wished she didn’t kick off so easily
, but any interest or insinuation about her chest made her temper rocket. Her mother wanted to book her into an anger management course, and maybe she was right for once. Fiona was forever telling Alex to do something or other, trying to organise her life. She was most insistent on one request in particular, which Alex wasn’t even willing to contemplate.

“Hmmm,
let’s have a look. Yes, number six-” His glance settled on the new porter passing, his sights set firm on his rounded backside, “-teen,” he finished in a breathless rush of air. “Just fill that in.” He pushed the booking form towards her, his gaze burning into the porter. He gave him a saucy wink before returning his attention to the red-haired woman before him.

Alex took the key without looking at it,
so eager was she to test out her latest toy. She pressed the number on the lift and, with a dreamy smile, headed towards utopia.

She stood outside the door
with a large brass six centred on it. As she was about to insert the key, she was surprised to find it already open. She opened the door with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders, eager to sink into her own space. It was a rare treat to stay at a hotel and she didn’t think anything of the door being open. She assumed that was protocol, but wasn’t about to show her naiveté by returning to Reception and asking.

Glancing
around with approval at the sumptuous elegance, she dropped her bags to the floor and flicked off her shoes.

The carpet
beneath her soles was a thick, bouncy woollen texture awash with a swirl of colours—deep blue, hot red and threads of gold. The theme ran throughout the room. The curtains were snatched into deep swags, held back by gold tassels. Two small leather sofas sat at opposite ends of a lustrous, pale wood coffee table. Sitting in the centre of the table was a bowl of fruit, the crystal glass glinting beneath the soft lighting. She wondered briefly if all the rooms were this luxurious before focusing on her needs.

G
etting her priorities right, she went off in search of the bedroom. With an awed reverence, she placed the box on the bed and stared at it with longing. Her stomach rumbled. Reluctantly she decided to begin by ordering room service and a meal.

B
efore servicing herself.

* * *

Her plate lay empty alongside the packaging, its tattered remains strewn on the table, the picture of a large pink vibrator still largely intact. With a smile, she moved into the bedroom and lay naked on the bed. She switched on Roger’s replacement and listened to the familiar buzz. She loved the way his ears flickered with an open invitation. Her rampant rabbit gave it his all; his wicked ears could trill over her clit whilst the remainder slid deep inside. She really did love the colour pink, she decided with a sinful grin.

She
slid her hand down her body and pressed the button, experimenting. Closing her eyes, she welcomed the vibration that shuddered through her and sank back into the softness of the pillow. Hitting a variety of controls, she couldn’t believe the sensations building up and nudged impatiently against the toy. She continued to flick the switch until it pulsated shrilly against her clitoris. She groaned aloud. If only, for once in her life, she could meet a man who could match it.

In
fact, she wished she could just meet a man who could get her sexual juices flowing. So far her fanny was akin to ergs of the Sahara Desert.

The sweet ache consum
ed her and she arched into the shivers bursting through her body. She wallowed in the heady sensations scrunching deep in her stomach. Nearing release, she swore she would buy the sales girl a box of chocolates as a thank-you present. Then she pressed it up a notch.


Oh fuck!” she screamed, almost in tears of frustration when it stopped.

Pressing buttons in
quick succession, she bit down on her lip, desperate to peak at that pitch again. She was on the verge of a fantastic orgasm, coasting in on a smooth stream. She was determined not to hit the wrong button this time. Alex could feel her stomach muscles crunching, the familiar sensations rocketing through her body. Whimpering at the savage intensity clawing through her, she cried out and came to a shuddering halt. Her breath erupted in giddy gasps. A sheen of perspiration glistened across her face.


Thank Christ for that!” she muttered, collapsing against the pillow. She reverently placed her latest acquisition on the bedside cabinet.

I
n readiness for round two.

* * *

Solomon glanced about the nightclub. The hub of noise and flashing lights did nothing for him. He was well and truly bored as he gazed without a modicum of interest at the scantily clad women gyrating on the dance floor. He ignored their blatant attempts to attract his attention. It really was too easy. He didn’t even have to break a sweat to attract one, and bedding them was a foregone conclusion. He yawned.

“What’s up?” asked his companion
, Callum, who watched his friend with unabashed interest. It was hard to miss the excitement he generated with the females. Callum hovered close to the honey pot Solomon epitomised.

Solomon glanced at his companion
, noting how he continually scrubbed a hand through his muddy blond hair and the way his designer stubble cast a dark shadow across his chiselled jaw. Callum seemed mesmerized by the gyrating bodies.

Solomon
wasn’t big-headed, but he knew that even without his millions he could easily attract the opposite sex with his rugged, dark looks and piercing blue eyes.

“I’m fed up with all this
,” Solomon said, with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room. He cast a jaded glance at the women who all but threw themselves at him. For once in his life he needed a challenge. Or at least someone who wouldn’t fuck him with pound signs in their eyes. Their personalities were as shallow as puddles on a rain-swept summer’s day.

“Serious
ly?” Callum’s jaw dropped and he stared at Solomon, shock burning on his face. Then his eyes moved back to the dance floor, awash with semi-naked bodies.

“Yep
,” Solomon sighed and put down his empty glass. “Think I’ll head for an early night. Good hunting.”

Callum glanced up at him
and raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You sure you’re not coming down with anything?”

“Yea
h, it’s called frustration.” Solomon shook his head. He was fed up with his playboy existence and the ease with which he could pull in women. None of them were genuine. For once in his life he wanted to be accepted for who he was, beyond the handsome exterior or the million dollar signs hanging from his cock. “See you tomorrow, mate. Enjoy.” Without a backwards glance, he strolled out of the club. He took a minute to appreciate the quiet as the music ended its assault on his eardrums.

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