Kept Women: Two Fertile Submissive Stories Read online

  Kept Women: Two Fertile Submissive Stories

  By Nicole Snow and Kelsey Charisma

  Content copyright 2013 Nicole Snow and Kelsey Charisma. All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition.

  Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.

  All individuals depicted in this work are adults over the age of eighteen years old.

  License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Description

  SUBMISSIVE, FERTILE, AND RIPE FOR DOMINATION!

  Some women seek adventure and careers. Others just want to be kept.

  This erotic romance set spotlights two strict, wealthy Doms, and the submissives who become their dark obsessions. Curiosity brings them into their boss' embraces. Lust, hard pleasure, and pure baby making heat keeps them there forever...

  Under His Control – Nicole Snow: April took a Baltic cruise to escape a life gone off track. Wealthy, powerful, and irresistible, Nicholas Voroshlov's job offer is just the re-boot she needs.

  Except this Russian Dom isn't looking for a hired hand to make life easier. He's out for a submissive to keep, soft flesh to ravage and spank, a fertile womb to forge a bigger family. To April, it's perfect! Too bad sweet baby making submission draws serious danger...

  Whatever He Wants – Kelsey Charisma: No nonsense Mr. Callaway is strict, intense, and wickedly skilled in manipulation and punishment. When he confesses to wanting her, Jane isn't convinced it's true love.

  Before consenting to have his baby, she needs to know the depth of his feelings, and how far he'll go to make her his kept woman...

  An all new book with two complete stories by Kelsey Charisma and Nicole Snow!

  Word count: 35,000+ words.

  Under His Control

  By Nicole Snow

  I: A Foreign Offer

  Forget it all, April. Take a cruise around the Baltic. Get your head straight. You're a grown woman now.

  I remembered my father's words, wondering why the hell I'd been dumb enough to take a Baltic cruise in early Spring. Stepping on the lonely deck instantly reminded me how cold it was outside.

  The seas lashed beneath the luxury yacht, waves like unsettled counterparts to the heavy iron sky above. The clouds never seemed to break no matter where we made port.

  Kaliningrad, Gdansk, Stockholm, Helsinki, and finally Russia's misty winter coast. It was always the same, huge gray sheets rolling across the sky, occasionally ripping open to shower us with snow.

  By week two, I was ready to return to Virginia. Hell, even London would do.

  Baltic cold could do funny things to a girl's head. Damn it, Dad, why hadn't you told me about that?

  Maybe you'll meet a handsome man, he teased, the only sincere fatherly wisdom he had to offer after dragging me to some stupid conference on landmines in the UK.

  I couldn't remember why I'd fled home with a swish and a smile to go to Europe. Were my prospects really that bad?

  Yes, yes, yes. And yes.

  Even a powerful US diplomat's daughter had every door slammed in her face after flunking out of veterinary school. Veterinary tech school, to be brutally honest.

  I sighed, pushing the grim memories aside, listening to the click of my heels echo down the ship's spacious corridor. I'd just finished pecking at a caviar, cheese, and wine lunch in the dining hall, the day's main highlight until dinner time.

  Huge glass panes showed the snowy shores and frigid seas, my constant companions since I'd stepped onto the ship in Oslo.

  I muttered to myself, cursing the chilly Baltic, my girlish apathy, my family's upper middle class largesse, my own boredom.

  Everything.

  I didn't even see the boy coming toward me until it was too late.

  He was like a brick with outstretched arms slamming into my knees. I yelped, jumped, and caught myself on the gold banister near the windows.

  “What the fuck?” I shouted, thankful I hadn't twisted an ankle. High heels had their risks even here.

  I spun, ready to lay into whatever clumsy, bloated drunk had staggered into me. When I saw the boy's repentant look and giant puppy dog eyes, I softened.

  “You! Where are your parents?” I shook my head, stepping toward him. “You almost bowled me right over, young man.”

  I got a better look at him. He was a kid with bright eyes and sandy medium hair, no more than six or seven.

  “Nyet. Nyet!” The boy cried.

  I stopped. I hadn't even laid a hand on him when I heard his strange protest. I could've smacked myself.

  Of course! He wasn't an American.

  Probably a spoiled son of the many fat, gray Russian men who flopped around the ships half-drunk, the only men I'd seen on the cruise. A few older Brits on a lazy sightseeing cruise notwithstanding.

  “Listen to me!” I lowered myself to his level. “I know you probably can't understand me, but I want to help you. Let's find your parents.”

  He stopped shaking and blustering in sharp Russian. I took the edge out of my voice, gesturing him to my side.

  The boy started to cry. I melted a little, and suddenly welcomed the distraction.

  This was a problem I could solve. And unlike everything else back home, it wouldn't involve me flipping out or bursting into tears to do it.

  “You're gonna be fine, little guy. Just follow me. We'll find the idiot who left you unattended and running around the ship. I promise.”

  Too bad I didn't know where to start. Most of the old dudes were in their quarters after lunch, sleeping off their handovers and preparing for the evening.

  I didn't have a clue how I'd find out who he belonged to. Did these Russians know any English at all?

  Shrugging to myself, I kept moving. Language barrier or not, it didn't stop me from rolling forward, making sure the little boy matched my steps as we rounded the corridor.

  First, we walked by the front desk aide who managed what was effectively room service. I didn't care to wake the sleepy Brit at the counter. He barely cracked his eyes to give me a polite nod as we walked past.

  On we walked, past the huge dining hall. Crews in neat white uniforms hovered near the tables, still picking up plates and mopping floors after lunchtime.

  I was starting to get nervous. What was going on here? Did someone leave this kid in their room alone and he'd gotten out? Was I missing an obvious parent nearby, desperately searching for their son?

  I came to the end of the hall and winced. There was nothing past the huge black door but another observation deck. It had started snowing lightly again outside – just my luck.

  The flakes caught my attention, landing big and puffy and wet on the ship's hard floors. In the pallor behind the glass, I saw him.

  He was a tall man, a black shape in a long trench coat that nearly reached to the ground. He stood straight, unflinching at the cold, staring over the ship's deck at icy seas and shores.

  I edged toward the glass, reaching for the boy's hand. He didn't fight me this time, but I held on tight, making sure he was well in my grip as I pushed open the door and stepped out into the freezing cold.

  “Hey! You! Is this your son?” The wind blew, burying my words.

 
I flushed angrily and clacked across the cold deck, hoping it hadn't iced over. Sure, the yacht had heated floors, but I wasn't taking any chances.

  The man I approached gripped the ship's cold railing with his bare hands, staring dully into the sea. He hadn't heard a thing.

  At last, the wind gave us a break. He must've heard my heels clicking toward him because he turned to face us a second later.

  “Grigor!” He spun all the way, crouching to the ground.

  The little boy broke my grip and ran to meet him. The man opened his arms and caught him, then locked onto his small shoulders, holding him as he uttered a mixed relief and warnings in quick fire Russian.

  I stood awkwardly, studying the weird scene in the cold, folding my arms for warmth.

  The stranger stood, giving me a good look at him for the first time. He was tall and muscular, his hard angles obvious even beneath the layers protecting his body.

  His face looked strong and unblemished. Most of all, the same bright eyes I'd seen on the boy stood out, anchoring his gaze. Blue fire danced in his eyes, vivid and mature, pointed right at me.

  “Thank you,” he said in perfect English. My eyebrows flipped up in surprise. “You're the first stranger who's handled my son so well. And what do you say, Grigor Nikolayevich?”

  “Thank you, Missus,” the boy said in a shaky, soft voice.

  I almost whacked my forehead with my palm. Damn, he'd understood everything I said to him the entire time!

  I almost felt a little betrayed, but I was just glad the kid was safe in his father's arms. I waved, encouraging them to step inside and get away from the glacial sea.

  Who wanted to freeze out here a second longer than absolutely necessary?

  The man nodded. Holding his son's hand, he walked right past me, holding the door out as soon as he was inside.

  “You really ought to keep a closer eye on him,” I snapped, annoyed by the cold.

  The handsome face frowned. “No harm has ever come to my son. Nor will it. You'd understand, if you knew who I am. I'm too strong to be a fool.”

  I bristled at his immense, foreign confidence. No man back home would ever say anything like that – certainly not to me. And not about himself.

  “Nicholas Vladimirovich Voroshlov. Pleased to meet you, though I see you may not feel the same way about me.” He extended a hand.

  I looked at it for a moment, and finally decided to lower the stone-cold-bitch defenses. Dear old dad had taught me to be diplomatic overseas, after all.

  We pressed two cold hands together. I was surprised to find his grip warmer than I'd expected, thick and calloused like a laborer's, and very strong.

  The shake lowered to a stable hold, a grip in no hurry to let go. I relaxed my fingers and locked eyes with him.

  “My name's April Gallaway. Yeah, I might be a little harsh, but it's nice to meet you anyway.”

  Nicer than expected.

  I turned my eyes away and blushed as the world's longest handshake ended. I knew Nicholas was still watching me, those ice blue eyes as piercing and unsettled as the Baltic sea.

  “Will you be down for dinner later?” He asked.

  My feet swept one step back and I looked at him, unable to hide my surprise. He certainly was a bold one, even for a fearless Russian with some serious money behind him.

  “Yes. Why?” My voice came out like a whisper.

  “So we can talk more then, of course. To get better acquainted. I'd like a break from staring at cold waters and fat men hitting on the young waitresses, Miss Gallaway. You will be my change of scenery. A very pleasant one at that.”

  My response caught in my throat. I wasn't sure if he was making a request, a demand, or just flat out hitting on me. Even so, I couldn't deny that he'd read my mind. It was nice to find someone else as sick of business as usual.

  “April,” I muttered. “I don't like to dine with guys who can't call me by my first name.”

  He laughed. A loud, baritone chuckle swirled around me like a small whirlwind, tightening its hold for an instant before fading.

  “April, then. We'll get to know each other later. Look forward to it.”

  He turned smartly, still smiling, and began walking down the hall. I lingered, alone with my thoughts.

  Look forward to it? I couldn't stop wondering if his last sentence was a command or a compliment.

  “Where's – what was his name? – Little Grigor?” Come on, memory, don't fail me now!

  Nicholas looked up from his vodka and smiled when he saw me. Okay, I'd dressed up a little, but I hoped I hadn't overdone it.

  “Over there.” He extended his arm, pointing one finger across the room.

  I followed. Several tables over, an older woman stared at the boy, apparently watching to make sure he cleaned his entire plate.

  For a second, I stupidly wondered if he would tell me it was his wife. But then she looked up, shaky and slow. I realized just how old she really was.

  “Sit down,” he offered, kicking aside the nearest chair. “That's my nurse over there, Dorrit Volkova. And she's part of the reason I asked you to dine with me this evening...”

  I sank on the chair, straightening my sleek red dress. I wasn't gonna lie to myself – my heart sank a little when he said the words.

  So, he hadn't just wanted my company. But then, what could this old crone possibly have to do with me?

  A waiter came by and took my drink order. I thanked my lucky stars that I'd just hit twenty-one two months ago, right after flunking out of college. At least I could drink all I wanted, and I'd need a tall, stiff drink after I heard this strange Russian's offer.

  “I don't like guessing games,” I said, turning back to Nicholas. “What are you getting at?”

  “My son, Grigor. You were good with him this evening, April. Very good. The boy usually pitches a fit with anyone except me and my dear, trusty nurse. Just one problem: Dorrit's long overdue for retirement.”

  It hit me. I started to sweat a little, and reached for the tall flask of water next to me.

  I couldn't believe what he was...asking? Offering?

  Yeah, I'd wanted a job offer when I came to Europe and hopped on this miserable cruise. I just didn't expect a glorified nanny position in a strange land!

  “I can't do that,” I blurted out. “I don't have any experience babysitting kids. I was never really the type when I was a teen...”

  “That doesn't matter to me, young lady. You have the instinct a woman needs to look after them. Our cultures are very different, you know. When I see that spark in you, beautiful and bright, I know you're right for the job. It's instinct that makes an impression on me, April. Not experience.”

  I coughed lightly. My Appletini arrived and I gulped it quickly, coating my belly in a deeper warmth.

  Nicholas grinned, no doubt amused as he discovered my freakish ability to hold my liquor. Just as long as it was sweet, green, and hit like gunpowder.

  “Surely, this isn't too much for you? Let's not joke around, April Gallaway. A girl – no, a young woman – your age doesn't come on a cruise like this all alone unless she wants to get away from something. Here's your chance.”

  He planted his hands neatly on the table and extended his fingers. Those sharp eyes were all over me as I settled my glass.

  He was making me burn through my red dress. I flushed, unsure if I hated Nicholas or my own traitorous body more. The fires he kindled, wild and irrational, made my blood simmer.

  Ah, why? Why am I enjoying this? And how can he make such distant parts of me burn much fiercer than the liquor?

  “What are you trying to run away from? You can tell me. You can tell me anything.” He leaned in, flexing those huge hands, more like lion's paws than proper man-hands.

  “You really want to know?” I said in a low breath, stopping to sip more water. “I'm a failure. I'm the kind of girl you'd be a total idiot to hire. The ignorant, spoiled American times ten. I failed out of school and couldn't find a job. My dad's
a rich diplomat. I had nothing better to do than sail the Baltic with ice on the shores. That's why I'm really here.”

  “You need to be disciplined.”

  My eyes went wide. I did a double take, wondering if I'd heard him right.

  “You need discipline,” he repeated. “A fresh start, where you can work and play hard, just like I know you want to. I can get you all those things and so much more, April. Should we talk terms and numbers?”

  “I...” My lips dropped open.

  Just then, the Appletini kicked in, pouring kerosene on the mad, mad fire roiling my skin. If I were twice as drunk, I might've thrown myself at him right there, snapping off the straps to my dress and silencing his evil lips with a kiss he'd never forget.

  It didn't help that I was still a virgin. Much more frustrated and filthy minded than a virgin had any business being, but it wasn't from lack of trying.

  My last boyfriend, Michael, dumped me the semester before I got ousted. He hadn't gone past second base, easily knocked off course by way I toyed with him.

  No great loss – he wasn't long-term material. He had nothing on the way this powerful Russian put me in my place, this strange man who made me want to dig in and unravel all his harsh mysteries.

  “Don't say anything yet,” Nicholas said, reaching into his pocket. “Here, I'll give you something more to think about. I'll do this the old way, just like a good American businessman.”

  Again, that damnably addicting chuckle rumbled from his strong throat. He produced a fountain pen and grabbed a napkin from the table's center, holding his hand over the papery sheaf as his pen went to work.

  When he finished writing, he raised his other hand and slid it toward me. I audibly gasped when I saw the numbers.