Read The Choice Online

Authors: Monica Belle

The Choice



About the Book

Also by Monica Belle

Title Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19


About the Book

Poppy Miller is an exceptionally bright and ambitious student at a top British university. Determined to make her mark in politics, she has her mind set on finding a husband with similar aspirations to her own. Stephen Mitchell, a second-year law student, seems to fit the profile and the young pair begin a tender love affair and plan a future together. But then Dr James McLean, a rakish don, appears on the scene. Poppy knows that a liaison with the darkly seductive McLean will change the course of her life – but perhaps deep down that is what she wants after all? Poppy has to make a choice: should she go with her head or with her heart?

Also by Monica Belle:

Noble Vices

Valentina’s Rules

Wild in the Country

Wild by Nature

Office Perks

Pagan Heat

Bound in Blue

The Boss

To Seek a Master

As I detached myself from his grip I looked down.

‘You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?’ I asked.

He gave an embarrassed shrug, unable to deny the state he was in.

‘Let me see.’

His beautiful eyes grew a little wider in surprise, as if he could hardly believe his luck when I drew down his zip and burrowed my hand inside. He was rock hard, and big, making it difficult to tug him out of his fly, but I soon got him showing, his balls too. I took him in my hand, tugging gently as we kissed once again and tweaking open the buttons of his shirt until it fell open across his chest. He responded in kind, tugging my top up and spilling my breasts free of my bra, his huge hands pawing at my flesh, clumsy and too eager but still exciting.

Only when he began to get really rough did I pull away, moving slowly down his body to brush my lips over his neck and the hard muscles of his chest. He groaned as he realised what I was going to do, and I couldn’t help but tease, flicking my tongue over the smooth lines of his six-pack with his cock still held in my hand. I was hoping he’d take me by the hair and make me do it, but he seemed frozen, as if the slightest movement or attempt to take charge might scare me off. That wasn’t so bad, allowing me to indulge in one of my favourite pursuits – worshipping a cock.


astride him, my eyes shut but alert to every tiny sensation; the feel of Ewan’s hard thighs beneath my own, his big hands where they gripped my hips, my own hair tickling my back and bottom, the taut, urgent feeling of my nipples and, best of all, what was inside me, seeming to fill not just my sex but my entire body as I rode my orgasm.

It looked as if Ewan had finished at the same time, to judge by his big lopsided grin, and as always I found it impossible not to smile back as I let myself slump forwards, nestling my head against his chest. His arms came around me in a hug, tender enough but very far from the cuddle I would have liked. I could tell he wanted me to get off, and I obliged, feeling the first touch of inevitable regret as our bodies came apart for what would probably be the last time. His voice came behind as I hurried for the bathroom.

‘Don’t you ever tell the boys I let you go on top, or else, and I mean that.’

He didn’t, for all his macho image, and I was hardly likely to be describing the intimate details of our sex life to his friends in any case. Still his words gave me a familiar and delicious thrill, the strong man talking tough to his girlfriend, something I’ve always liked. I can afford to.

As I began to wash he hauled up his jeans and briefs. In two years I’d only seen him naked a handful of times, while he liked me stripped as soon I got through the door. That was all part of the fun, a game I enjoyed because of the way it made me
while he seemed to take his natural dominance absolutely for granted, completely confident in his masculinity, just as he was completely confident of his status as number one among the young men of the town.

My clothes were scattered along the hallway, and he followed me out of the bedroom as I went to retrieve them, applying a slap to my bottom as I bent to pick up my knickers.

‘And watch those geeks and ponces at uni. You’re my girl, Poppy, remember that.’

Had there been the slightest trace of uncertainty in his voice my nerve would probably have failed me, but his sheer arrogance prompted me to speak out.

‘Actually, Ewan, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.’

‘About what?’

‘About us, and me going to university.’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, we’re going to be a long way apart, I don’t want to think of you sitting here waiting for me on your own …’

‘Hey, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

I was sure he would. There were half-a-dozen other girls queuing up to take my place and he’d almost certainly been to bed with at least two of them while we’d been together. That wasn’t the issue, but this was no time for the truth – or, at least, not the whole truth.

‘Exactly. I want you to be fine, and if Nikki, or Carrie, or anybody else wants to come around, don’t feel bad about me.’

His brow furrowed. I’d broken an unspoken rule, admitting that I’d guessed what had been going on but not instantly going postal. He couldn’t handle it at all.

‘It’s always been you and me, babe.’

I’d been dressing as we spoke, and hurried into my jeans before replying.

‘Please, Ewan, we’re not teenagers any more … well, you’re not anyway. Let’s be adult about this. We’re going to be two hundred miles apart, you’ve got your job and every girl from here to Exeter wants you. I don’t want you to feel guilty, and I don’t want to either.’

He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, once again sparing me the worst of my ill feeling as I went on. ‘It makes sense, Ewan, you know it does, and I’m not saying I want to find somebody else, not at all. Do you really think anyone at Oxford is going to compare with you?’

He didn’t. We both knew that. Ever since I’d first said I was applying he’d treated the idea with mingled amusement and contempt, as a flight of fancy from which I’d eventually recover to take my place as his wife and the mother of his children – changing nappies while he enjoyed himself with Nikki or Carrie – both together if he got half a chance. It wasn’t going to happen.

‘Yeah, but, Pops …’

‘I’m sorry, Ewan. Look, I have to go. I’ve got a cab booked for eleven.’

There could have been a lot more to say, all of it pointless. I left, not even kissing him goodbye, and there was a sick feeling in my throat as I hurried up the hill. I’d done it, but I didn’t feel good about it, even as I told myself that it was the honest thing to do and, more importantly, what needed to be done. I was not going to be pushing a pram by twenty, not me, not Poppy Miller. Some of my old school friends already were, and most of them thought I was a dreamer, or stuck up, or both. A few backed me and I’d always had my parents’ support, although for Mum whatever I did was never enough. I got my ear chewed off as soon as I walked through the front door.

‘There you are, Poppy. Please tell me you didn’t spend the night with that awful Ewan Cooper?’


She looked at me, still suspicious.

‘No, you didn’t spend the night with him? Or no, you’re not going to tell me you didn’t?’

‘No, I’m not going to tell you.’

‘So you did? Really, Poppy, he’s not at all suitable …’

‘I know. I dumped him.’

She’d been meaning to go on, primed for what might have been the thousandth mother and daughter row, but fell silent for a few seconds before she managed to adjust to the news.

‘Then you’ve done the right thing, but it’s not before time. If you are serious about a career in politics the last thing you need is ghosts from your past coming back to haunt you when you’re trying to get on.’

‘He was my boyfriend, Mum, that’s all. Everybody has boyfriends, and no I didn’t let him take any pictures of me in the nude, or send him any dirty emails, or let him talk me into group sex with three other girls, the vicar and his dachshund, so just relax.’

‘Poppaea Miller, you can be extremely vulgar at times!’

I’d already reached the top of the stairs, and her voice faded as I closed the door of my room behind me. Even when I’d got my exhibition she’d been disappointed because it wasn’t a scholarship, but we both knew that if she hadn’t pushed me so hard I’d never have made it at all. What she didn’t know, and would never have been able to understand, was that if it hadn’t been for Ewan and one or two other boys I’d have cracked up long ago. Maybe it’s a weakness, but sometimes I need to be held, and sometimes I need to be fucked.

As I crammed a last few items into my cases I could hear Mum and Dad talking downstairs, not the words, just a low grumble. I knew what they’d be saying anyway, she fussing over what I’d been up to and he dismissing her worries. He was
one who’d really made me work, not by pushing me, but by his casual assumption that I would succeed in whatever I did without really trying, just as he had when he was young.

Mum had calmed down by the time I went downstairs. I suddenly found myself feeling rushed and close to tears, with a choking feeling in my throat as I said my goodbyes. Dad was as calm as ever, but managed a last piece of advice as he loaded my bags into the boot of the taxi.

‘Remember three things, Pops. Aim for a good second, the Chamber’s more important than college, and don’t let yourself get distracted by boys.’

‘You told me, Dad.’

I kissed him and got into the cab. The driver was one of Ewan’s friends, and kept up a monologue on how lucky my wonderful boyfriend was all the way into Exeter, leaving me feeling heartsick by the time we got to St David’s. Staring out from the train at the passing countryside only made my feelings worse, but I let myself have a good wallow until at last my emotions cleared to leave me impatient to reach my destination.

Oxford, city of dreaming spires, nine centuries of academic excellence and a place which produces a disproportionately high percentage of the country’s most successful people. I aimed to be one of them, but as I rode the bus towards what was to be my college for the next three years I was feeling more daunted than ambitious.

In Oxford, the station is well away from the university and the area around it looks much like any other town or city in the UK – same architecture, same shops, same billboards. Even as you go up the hill it’s not so very different or, at least, not so very different to Exeter, with ancient stone buildings and grand pieces of design mixed in with the modern and
Only when you get past the main shopping centre at Carfax do you really see how different it is, with the High flanked by twin rows of beautiful old buildings made of tawny stone; each college distinct, St Mary’s church towering above it all. Even the shops look as if they haven’t changed since the Regency.

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