No Complaints: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  CONTENTS

  No Complaints

  NEWSLETTER

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Two Weeks Later

  One Year Later

  Six Months Later

  Ten Years Later

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  NO COMPLAINTS

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 291

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2022 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  NO COMPLAINTS

  I work as an online chat advisor for a cable company.

  It’s boring, technical stuff. But at least I work from home, which lets me practice my singing.

  When Ryland Ross appears in my chatbox one day. My sister, Autumn, recognizes his name. So we look him up.

  And I fall, fall hard.

  He’s tall, silver-haired, handsome, and so hot I could melt.

  But that’s not all.

  I start having these crazy thoughts about a family, a future, and even the L-word.

  Am I going completely freaking insane?

  Then he starts flirting with me through the chat system, at least that’s what Autumn thinks.

  But he’s forty-two years old, an experienced ex-boxer with millions in his bank account. He probably has women throwing themselves at him all the time.

  I’m twenty-one, curvy, and the definition of inexperienced – a virgin who gets nervous even talking about sex.

  When he asks to meet, I’m not sure what to say. Of course, I want to, but won’t he be disappointed when he sees me in person?

  Then, suddenly, the chat disappears. I don’t have his phone number. I don’t know where he lives.

  Will I ever speak to him again?

  * No Complaints is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Ryland

  The video feed cuts out as I’m throwing a left hook.

  I groan, looking at the camera and then the laptop.

  I’m in my home gym, giving an online self-defense instructional for one of my buddy’s overseas charities. The low-income British kids were all sitting in a gym in London, watching me.

  Now the video has stopped, and a buffering symbol has taken its place.

  Groaning, I walk across the room, checking my laptop.

  No connection.

  “Damn it,” I mutter.

  I’ve lived in this apartment for six years, and my internet has only failed twice. So, of course, this had to be one of those times.

  Taking out my phone, I text Charley, the CEO of the charity.

  Internet dropped.

  He texts back a few moments later. Okay, mate. I’ll keep the kids busy. See if you can get it reconnected.

  Will do, man.

  As Charley, my old British boxing pal, occupies the kids overseas. I go through all the regular procedures. I reset my router, unplugging and plugging it back in. The more time passes, the more tension works its way into my body, making my jaw tight and my head pulse.

  The whole point of these online meetings was to give the kids tips on how to defend themselves if attacked in their rough neighborhoods. And sure, they get a kick out of it, too, having a celebrity boxer show them the ropes.

  Even if I’m forty-two years old and retired, my name still holds some weight.

  I study the red flashing light on my router, pacing my open-plan living room. It’s evening here, morning in the UK. Below me, the city is mostly dark, the lights of cars and other apartments seeming dim from my penthouse apartment.

  No luck, I text Charley. I’m sorry. I’m going to have to call my cable company.

  Okay. It’s not your fault. Reschedule?

  You know it, I reply. I’m not leaving you in the lurch.

  Good luck with customer service. I know you hate that stuff.

  I chuckle.

  Charley’s not wrong. It’s not customer service specifically, but I hate waiting around, being inactive, as though constantly moving lets me outrun my thoughts and demons.

  I’ve never been the sort to snap at customer service representatives on the phone the way some people do. It’s rarely their fault, and all the big bullshit companies pull, all the Ts and Cs which, like most people, I can never be bothered to read.

  Dropping onto my couch, I call the cable company. It rings twice, and then a recorded message plays.

  “Good evening. All our advisors are currently busy. We estimate that your call will be answered in….”

  A robotic voice takes over.

  “Two hundred and twenty-two minutes.”

  The regular voice returns.

  “If this time seems reasonable, please hold.”

  I hang up right away, groaning.

  What’s that, almost four hours?

  I’m tempted to leave it for tonight, especially when Rusty comes padding into the room. My German Shepherd yawns and pads over to my feet, curling up and laying his head on his paws. It’d be easier to take him for a walk. Or hit the gym for a proper workout.

  Reaching down, I scratch Rusty behind the ears.

  The problem with waiting is it means the internet may be out tomorrow too. Ideally, I want to reschedule with Charley as quickly as I can. I promised him a series of instructional live streams.

  I don’t like letting people down.

  Turning on my phone’s internet, I navigate to the cable company’s website. There’s a live chat option.

  I click the chat now button, and a message flashes on the screen.

  Your advisor will be with you in 16 minutes.

  Okay, that’s better.

  As I wait, I run my hands over Rusty’s ears. He whines and looks up at me, mouth open in a smile.

  Lately, when he looks at me like that, it’s like he’s silently telling me he wishes we had company. Of course, I’d never share these thoughts with anybody else, but lately, the feeling has been returning to me. It’s like he’s asking why there isn’t a woman here, or kids, or a life worth living.

  I’m glad the not-so-little guy can’t speak.

  Otherwise, I’d have to explain there’s a darkness in me, something that stops me from feeling it, whatever the hell it is when it comes to women. Whenever I’ve dated – which hasn’t been for a few years now – I’ve never felt a connection to any woman.

  I’ve never felt my world shake.

  I’ve never felt the need, the bone-deep desire, that would drive me to pursue a life with a woman.

  Laughing darkly, I shake my head.

  Maybe being alone for this long has made me a little bit insane. As if Rusty really is wondering why I’m alone when it’s been that way for six years, and he’s always seemed happy.

  No, I’m projecting. I’m thinking too much.

  This is what happens when a man like me, a man used to moving forward constantly in sports and business, has to sit still.

  The chat screen finally flashes.

  The advisor’s photo appears, along with her name.

  Rachel.

  My heart thumps, and the room feels like it’s spinning. My manhood gets hard, ridiculously fast, faster than it ever has, as my chest twitches with all the things I’d like to do to this woman.

  No, need to do.

  Not just grab her, not just fuck her. But hold her, just hold her close.

  Run my hands through her hair. Kiss her tenderly as she shivers in my arms.

  What the hell is happening to me?

  The photo is of her standing outside what looks like a theater, a soft smile on her lips. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair is long, brown, and flowing down her shoulders. Her body is curvy in the best way, her breasts and her hips acce
ntuated in her jeans and a casual T-shirt.

  If anybody else’s photo had appeared, I’d think the cable company was trying to seem more human and approachable by letting their advisors upload their own photos.

  But with Rachel, I’m moving the phone closer to my eyes, staring hard, as if I can dispel the hunger rising inside of me.

  I need her. I’m not sure how I know that or where it comes from, but it’s the truth.

  This woman, this stranger, she belongs to me.

  She’s the woman I’ve been waiting for.

  Hello, valued customer! My name is Rachel. How can I help you today?

  I swallow, trying to push away the crazed thoughts rushing around my mind. There’s no way I can want to be with this woman. I want to possess every single inch of her when I’ve only laid eyes on her picture.

  My eyes return to the youthful innocence of her flushed cheeks, the glinting brightness in her eyes, and her curvaceous body… I groan, my heart picks up even more speed, and the tip of my inflamed manhood pushes against my shorts.

  Looking down, I see that I’m fully rock-solid. The fabric of my shorts pitch upward as my cock twitches, the head outlined clearly in the material, like any second I’m going to erupt.

  I’ve never felt anything like this. A few minutes ago, I was reflecting on how no woman has ever made me feel it.

  Is this it?

  I want to tell her how I feel. Text, I need you, and I need every single part of you. I need those shyly smiling lips, wide juicy thighs, and that innocent red blush on your full cheeks.

  But I can’t write that or anything close to that. Hell, she’d call her boss and never speak to me again, not that we’ve had a proper conversation yet.

  My internet has dropped, I type. I’m using my mobile data at the moment.

  I’m very sorry about that, sir, she replies. If you can give me a few details, I’ll see if I can get this sorted out.

  She asks for my account number, full name, and address. I type it all in, my hands trembling, making it difficult to hit the right letters.

  All I can think about is how badly I want to possess this woman, how hungrily I want to draw her into my arms and crush her lips with mine.

  It should be impossible to feel this way so suddenly.

  But it’s happening. I can’t deny it.

  Excellent, thank you. Give me a few moments while I put this into the system.

  My mind gallops ahead, trying to figure out a way I can work the conversation toward non-internet-related topics.

  If I started trying to smooth talk her – which I’ve never been good at anyway, not that I’ve tried much – she’d think I was just some creep.

  Maybe that’s what I’m being. This perfect young thing has no clue who I am.

  But… dammit, I need her. There’s no other way to frame it. She’s mine.

  A thought occurs to me. Maybe she has a boyfriend.

  Unfair jealousy slams into me, causing my fist to clench and the skin across my knuckles to pull taut.

  I’ve got no right to be jealous of a stranger’s boyfriend. I get that.

  But the truth is, I am. It hurts just thinking about it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rachel

  I sit cross-legged on my bed, humming softly to myself as I input the customer’s details. Music plays in the background – no lyrics, just tunes I can vibe to – and a car horn blares in the distance.

  I don’t look around my bedroom at the discolored walls, the faded carpet, or the general misery of it all.

  In a weird way, I sort of wish I had to go into an office just so I could get out of here. But I save money on commuting and other travel expenses, so it’s a win… not that this cable company pays well anyway.

  A cringe twists through me when my gaze flits to my customer advisor photo. Of course, it was part of the job, a way to make us seem ‘more real,’ whatever the heck that means.

  The picture was taken a few weeks ago, on my twenty-first birthday, Autumn insisting I looked great.

  I love my big sister with all my heart, but I really wish she’d told me we were going to watch a musical.

  The surprise was great, and I’ll always be thankful for it. But I can’t deny I look frumpy in the photo.

  Oh, well. It’s not like Ryland Ross cares. He just wants his internet connection fixed. I hope he doesn’t turn nasty like customers sometimes do.

  After inputting his details, I read the message on the status screen.

  A note of anxiety runs through me, making me feel weak and pathetic. It’s not like I’m one of the phone operators functioning as the verbal punching bags for the outraged customers. Instead, I get to hide behind my computer screen.

  But it doesn’t change the fact that this Ryland, whoever he is, will be annoyed that there are unannounced disruptions in his area.

  I’m sorry, sir, I type. It seems your internet will be down for the next two days. Our system has been experiencing disruptions, and our team is working hard to resolve them. Right now, two days is the best estimate, but hopefully, it will be shorter.

  I bite my lip as three dots appear on the chat screen, telling me Ryland is typing.

  Autumn pokes her head around the door to my bedroom, my big sister arches her eyebrow. She’s eight years older than me, built on the thinner side, with dyed black hair and several piercings in each ear. Her arms are covered in tattoos, spiders, dark quotes, and a curling snake, along with some other images.

  She sometimes jokes that we dealt with our parents’ deaths in completely opposite ways.

  She turned dark, spending her late teenage years obsessed with all things macabre, whereas I threw myself into singing love songs and disappearing into dreams of romance.

  “Hungry?” she asks.

  I nod. “My shift ends in twenty minutes. I’ll grab a bite then?”

  She smiles, walking into the room and adjusting her heavy-metal T-shirt. “The thing is, little sis, I’m hungry and bored. So I might just bother you for a little while.”

  I laugh. “Bother away.”

  “Who’s this hunk?” she says, striding over to the bed, gesturing at the laptop screen.

  I laugh again. One of her running jokes is that I’m not really an online advisor for a cable company. Secretly, I’m running a sex hotline.

  It’s one of those jokes that could only be funny coming from my big sister because I know she’d never be mean, never mock me. She’s just having fun.

  “Ryland Ross,” I say. “Add him to your list.”

  “My list?”

  “What?” I grin. “You’re telling me you don’t keep a list of all the eligible bachelors I talk to?”

  Autumn drops onto the bed next to me as my laptop pings.

  I turn to it, reading his message.

  Okay, then.

  “Wow,” Autumn says, looking over my shoulder. “No cussing? No outrage? No complaints? This Ryland guy must be a real saint….”

  “What?” I ask when she trails off, her voice getting lower.

  “I just… Ryland Ross?” she hums.

  “Yep, that’s what it says. Why?”

  She takes out her phone. “Hang on.”

  I type a message of my own as she taps away – I’ve got no idea what she’s doing.

  I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, sir. I know we’ve put you in a difficult position.

  Three dots appear, vanish, then appear again.

  It’s fine. I get it. Stuff like this happens.

  “No fucking way,” Autumn says.

  There it is again, the subtle difference between us, the dark and the light. She drops the full F-bomb while I’ve always favored the less severe and probably way dorkier freaking.