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And just like that, the models break away so that my angel Elsa can appear in the center of the runway, looking magnificent.
As she works the runway like the pro that she is, the audience goes wild. Who can blame them? It’s not every fashion show that ends with a drop-dead sexy maternity lingerie look.
Correction: a bridal maternity lingerie look.
With every step Elsa takes in her stiletto heels, she is proving that pregnant and sexy are not mutually exclusive. The white lace lingerie set, complete with a garter belt and seamed stockings, was designed to show off her shapely form, not hide it. Because Elsa Blakely Sharpe is no shrinking violet.
As Elsa makes her way back to the models lined up for the finale, they bend over to display matching Property of Dirty Little Angel stamps on their cheeks. Suddenly, everyone is standing up to cheer our good fortune.
Jackson and I stand as well, and as I acknowledge the applause with waves to everyone, I lean over to my father.
“You were right. I did learn a lot from you,” I say. “Not how to ride a bike or drive a car, though.”
“Oh?”
“More of your business practices, you could say. We crashed the stock for Dirty Little Angel, then we bought it all back for pennies on the dollar. You see, Elsa and I, we’re a team. And we’re going to run our joint company together—as a team.”
With that, I leave Jackson, my past, standing there and join my present and future waiting for me on the runway.
As the crowd cheers, I take my wife and the mother of my child into my arms, showing her and everyone in that room, including my father, just how much we mean to each other.
“Elsa Blakely,” I say against her lips. “Has anyone ever told you you’re the most incredible woman in the world?”
“It’s Elsa Sharpe now,” she purrs back to me. “But...ah, yes. I do believe someone has mentioned it a time or two.”
One of the models brings some rice, and they shower us with the grains as we kiss, as if we’re the only two people on the runway...or in the world for that matter.
Protein Shake
An MFM Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2018 by Naughty Angel Publishing
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Eric
The label on the protein shake reads Hot Fuck Sunday. With a name like that, you’d think this bitch would be dying to gulp it down her slutty little throat—but apparently, she’s refusing.
She has a name-tag that reads BECKA stuck to her t-shirt over her left tit. When she lays her eyes on me, her nipple gets so hard beneath her shirt that she nearly removes the C from her own fucking name.
I walk into the taste test room like I own the place—because I fucking do. Protein Plus Labs is just the latest addition to my health and fitness empire, and I’m not in the mood for any hold-ups in getting our first product—Protein Plus shakes—to market.
“Drink the damn thing,” I tell her, calm and casual as can be. “Or we’ll find some other slut who will.”
Her eyes go wide when she hears that. I can practically smell her get wet from halfway across the room. The scent only intensifies as my business partner, Chase Flint, follows me in.
“I’ll drink whatever you want me to,” Becka sasses back, looking smug. “As long as it doesn’t taste like shit—which, I know this is going to.”
She gestures to the protein shake in front of her, then crosses her arms beneath her tits—as if I don’t know exactly what she’s doing.
