The Best of Forevers

by Hargrove, A. M.

  “Special, that happened a long time ago by cruel kids. It was wrong, terribly wrong. Don’t let that define you for the rest of your life. You are an amazing woman with so much love in your heart. Please don’t let what a bunch of assholes did to you ruin your happiness. If you do that, you let them win. I know that’s not what you want.”

  I lift my head, our mouths mere inches from each other. Maybe it isn’t the right thing to do, but I want his lips on mine. I want them to erase the memory of what I just shared.

  “If we kiss, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop,” he says.

  “Then don’t.”

  “You’re sure? Because the last thing I want is for you to regret this.”

  “I won’t regret a thing.”

  His hand slides into my hair and grips my head. “Promise me something.”

  His mouth is less than an inch from mine and his warm breath fans across my cheek. “What’s that?” I ask.

  “We won’t let whatever happens between us make things weird or awkward. And that we’ll always be friends.”

  “Promise.” Before I get the word completely out of my mouth, he takes possession of my lips. This isn’t a sweet kiss. This is one that indicates ownership, one that claims me as his. For a moment it scares me, but then I’m lost, so utterly lost in everything about him.

  Passion rages within me as my hands dig deeply into his hair. I love his hair—the way it’s cut short on the side and long on the top. Tonight, he has the top braided, and my fingers undo it until I can wind the thick strands around my hand.

  Using one hand against my chest, he gently pushes me back until I’m lying on the couch. He hovers over me and kisses my forehead, eyes, temples, cheeks, the corners of my mouth, and then my neck. His lips make me squirm, so I wrap my other hand around the thick muscles of his arm, remembering how he looked without a shirt.

  One of his legs wedges between mine, rubbing the apex of my thighs. I didn’t know it could feel like this. My hands move to the buttons of his shirt. I itch to feel his skin and the planes of his muscles beneath my fingers.

  Before I can do anything, he pulls me into a sitting position and unbuttons his shirt. The man is perfect in every sense of the word. I automatically reach out to touch his ink, to trace the outline of his tattoo. But he stops me as he grabs the hem of my sweater and draws it quickly over my head.

  “Stand up.”

  His hoarse command gives me pause, but he takes my hand and helps me to my feet. His lips caress my arms as they trail kisses over my art, murmuring, “So beautiful, so incredible.”

  Then he turns me around and I hear him growl. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He drops to his knees, and for the first time in my life, I sense what it’s like to be worshipped. He reminds me of a blind man reading braille, the way he walks his fingers over every square inch of my inked skin. “This is the most stunning landscape I’ve ever seen and artfully drawn on the most breathtaking canvas.” I don’t even flinch when he unhooks my bra and turns me back to face him.

  Still on his knees, he unzips my boots and jeans and then helps me out of them all. I’m left standing in front of him with only a thong on, and for once I’m not afraid to show off my ink.

  “Your mother knew exactly what she was doing when she named you. Nothing else would ever have done you justice.” For the first time in my life, I’m truly proud of my name, instead of embarrassed or ashamed. When he stands, I want to smile at the difference in our height. Only I don’t think about that for long, because he reaches beneath by thighs, picks me up, and carries me to his room. When we cross the threshold of his bedroom, he asks, “You’re sure?”

  “You mean you got me naked and now you ask?” I slide my finger over his lower lip.

  “You’re not naked. You’re still wearing your thong.” He half-smiles.

  “You’re funny. And I believe you’re the one who’s not naked.”

  “I’m going to remedy that right now.”

  He sets me on the bed and drops his jeans. Oh, was this man ever worth waiting for. He has a flat stomach emphasized by a carved six-pack—or maybe even an eight-pack—and a deep V that draws my attention right where it’s needed. He’s swollen and ready, and fuck me, I am too. It’s been so damn long, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been re-virginated.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “The man with the perfect body wants to know why I’m smiling.”

  He slides his teeth over his lower lip and grins. “You think I have a perfect body?”

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  “I don’t pay attention to my body. But I have checked out my ass.”

  “God. Your ass. Let me see.”

  He shows me and I’m so engrossed in admiring it, I don’t notice his wound.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” I ask.

  “My bullet hole.”

  “Your butt hole?”

  “I did not say butt hole. I said bullet hole. Get your mind out of the butt gutter,” he says.

  Shit. “Oh, it looks mighty fine. I mean, it looks like it’s doing fine,” I purr.

  “You have a dirty little mind.”

  “Not me.” He pounces before I can argue my point.

  “I disagree. And I aim to find out exactly how dirty it can get.”

  “Should I be scared?”

  “I don’t know. I think maybe I’m the one who should be scared.”

  “Why you?” I ask, curious.

  The little smile playing on his lips disappears and his brow furrows. “Because, you are exactly the type of woman I’ve been waiting for, and I have a strong feeling when I finally break down that wall you’ve been hiding behind, you are going to own me.”

  His mouth takes mine in a mind-bending kiss, leaving my lungs begging for air. But even then, I don’t want him to stop.

  “Special,” he groans and he grinds his length against me.

  It feels like a lead pipe is nestled between my thighs and I tilt my pelvis against it, trying to attain maximum friction.

  “I hope you have condoms,” I whisper. “I’m not on anything.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be protected. But we’re not going there quite yet.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  My stomach muscles tighten as his mouth travels over my chest to my nipples. One at a time, he sucks and flicks them, as the ache within me grows. It’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone, but I know I’ve never felt like this before. I dissolve into his hands as they knead my breasts and move lower between my thighs. When he gently touches my clit and circles it slowly, I hear myself moan. My skin tingles as though tiny sparks are dancing over it. Then his mouth closes in on me, my back arches against him, and I briefly wonder if it’s possible to instantaneously climax. He’s slow, very slow, as his tongue runs the length of my slit. Fingers gradually push inside while the tip of his tongue teases my clit.

  My thighs clench against his head as an orgasm hits and I cry out in pleasure. I’ve never experienced anything like this. When I finally inhale, I open my eyes to see my legs pressed against his cheeks as he watches me.

  “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jacked off thinking about this very thing?”

  I swallow the knot in my throat because the idea of him doing that creates a turbulent fury of emotions within me. Lust, desire, and need are a few, but others I can’t put a name to seem to poke me from somewhere behind the ribs. My heart pounds and I touch his cheek.

  “I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

  “You could never do that.”

  He crawls over me and kisses my lips. As he’s doing that, he opens a drawer and grabs a condom. Then he sits back and tears it open with his teeth. It’s a sexy thing to watch him do, but seeing him roll it on is even better.

  Reaching out, I slide my hand over his thickness. He covers mine with his own.

  “If you do that, I won’t last as long as I want
, and I’ve been waiting for you way too long for that to happen.”

  An urgency to feel him on top of me hits and I clutch his shoulders. Only he stops me with a kiss. Then he sits back again and takes his cock in his hand. Placing the tip at my opening, he circles it around and around, sliding it up and down, rubbing it around my clit. I’m still sensitive from my orgasm, and the sensations are amazing. He circles me once more before inching into me, tugging my hips closer to him.

  “Okay?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure? I don’t want this to be uncomfortable.”

  “I’ll tell you if it is.”

  He continues until he’s fully seated and I’m stretched as wide as can be. It’s not painful, but it will take a little getting used to. Being careful not to hurry, he moves slowly, in and out, until finally I’m grinding myself against him.

  “I need more.” I want as much as he can give. My hands grasp his ass, hard.

  “Can you go easy on that? It’s still just a bit tender.”

  “Sorry, I forgot.” I immediately take my hand off the wounded butt cheek, and he resumes his pace. Soon he’s pumping in and out with a primal need, and I’m taking everything he has to give.

  “I want you to give it to me hard, Weston. Very hard.”

  “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

  “I mean it. I want it deep.”

  And he thrusts.

  “Yes, there.”

  He pulls one arm over my head and links his fingers with mine. He fucks me like I’ve never been fucked. His warm, wet mouth takes over mine, and his tongue keeps a rhythm with his cock, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. My free hand roams the expanse of his back, nails raking across his skin as I come. My body throbs around his cock in a surge of ripples, and just when I think we are through, he withdraws from me and says, “Bend over the edge of the bed.”

  I’m not sure I can stand. My pulse pounds and my knees are weak, but I do as he asks. He widens my stance with his leg, and his fingers press into the soft flesh of my hips as he slides into me. Then an arm comes around me, and he bends down to whisper, “Do you still want it hard?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  And I do. My ribs nearly reverberate from the pounding of my heart as the first plunge strikes. Weston grabs a chunk of my hair, pulling my head back as he continues to push inside me. Oh, is this good. The other hand holds me steady now as he continues to fuck me. He fucks me so hard our bodies slap against each other, and moments later that overwhelming sensation hits, and I erupt in another orgasm as he groans out his own. We both collapse in a heap bent over the bed, his arm tight around me. He pulls me up until we’re lying fully on the sheets.

  We’re both silent. I’m not sure what’s going on in his head, but in mine … damn. I start to laugh.

  “What’s funny now?”

  “Not funny, just happy. That was spec-fucking-tacular. I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me.”

  He lifts up on one elbow and grins. “What the hell do you mean? I’ve been trying to move this thing forward for how long now? It took you forever to agree to go on a date with me. Thank God your grandmother liked me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t.” That sets me off giggling. “You were the most stubborn …” he huffs. He’s doing his best to act exasperated, but he’s not pulling it off.

  “How could I possibly want to date someone who went to charm school? I mean, come on.” I giggle-snort, putting a pillow over my face.

  “Hey, it was etiquette school and that school taught me how to dance. If I recall, you loved it.”

  Peeking around the pillow, I say, “There is that. You are a mighty fine dancer, Mr. Wyndham, not to mention a mighty fine fucker.” After I say it, I crack up. “That didn’t come out exactly right.”

  He hovers over me, his mouth almost touching mine, and says, “Oh, I’m pretty sure it came out just fine.” Then he showers my face in kisses. “You’re a mess, Special O’Malley, a gorgeous mess.”

  Chapter 29

  Weston

  Christmas will be here in ten days, and A Special Place is nearly finished. Special is going to love it. I hope. I’ve never wanted to please someone so badly. All the years I tried with my parents, it went unnoticed and unappreciated. Even though Special doesn’t know I’m the one behind all of this, knowing how happy she will be makes it all worth it.

  The transformation is perfect. The floors are now slate instead of crappy vinyl. The long bar is covered in stone that coordinates with the floors. The walls are painted gray, and the furniture she selected looks excellent. The TVs are hung, the cable’s installed, and the sound system is ready to go. The kitchen was fine so it stayed the same. We’re waiting on the final inspection, which is happening this afternoon.

  Special should be here in about an hour so I need to leave. Jeb is meeting her and the property manager for the walk-through.

  When I return to the office, my father is waiting.

  “Where have you been? I have been trying to reach you,” he growls.

  Checking my cell phone, I don’t have any missed calls. “When did you call? There’s nothing here.”

  “All morning. You’ve been off the job sites constantly lately.”

  “You’re wrong. I ran a few errands, but I was downtown earlier. I checked on the Peachtree building and then the project in Virginia Highlands. Everything’s on schedule.”

  “I need two sets of plans approved. They’ve been on your desk since nine.”

  “I’ll see to them right away.”

  I head to my office with him on my ass like a bloodhound. Fuck.

  “Have you been working on that Habitat stuff during company hours?”

  “No, sir, I have not. I’ve been working on the job in Virginia Highlands. Besides, I work more than my required number of hours here. You get your blood out of me, and you know it.”

  His scowl deepens. “See to it I have those in my hands ASAP.” He stomps out and slams the door.

  Note to self: get on that real estate venture. The agent who assisted me with Special’s place mentioned Brookhaven as another area to look into. I need to follow up on that. My father’s snarly ass is more than I can take. Since I enjoy renovations, maybe I can open my own firm. Wouldn’t he shit if I did that? And because I’m family, I never signed a contract when I came on, so he couldn’t throw a non-complete clause in my face.

  I quickly review the plans and carry them down to my father. When I get there, he points to a chair. “Take a seat.”

  This is unexpected, but I sit as he instructs.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s up. Everything about you.”

  “What have I done now that you don’t approve of?”

  He holds up the plans I just hand-delivered to him. “Other than this, nothing. There is nothing you do that I approve of, Quinn. In other words, you are a major screw up. Look at you. You’ve got a goddamn braid in your hair after I told you to cut that shit off.”

  “I don’t see why my hair—”

  “That’s just it. You don’t see anything except what you want to see. Nothing matters to you. You are supposed to be a representative of this corporation, of the Wyndham family. And look at you. Christ. You have that shit on your skin, that hair with half of it is shaved.”

  Here we go again about my hair. It’s always the hair and my tats. “It’s not shaved. It’s cut—”

  He aims his finger at me and stabs the air. “Shut your goddamn mouth until I’m finished speaking.” Spittle flies in the air.

  He’s red-faced and that vein throbs on his temple. He is pissed, which is nothing out of the ordinary. He lives in a state of pissed. I don’t know how he can stand it.

  “The people you associate with are below you. That sleazy whore—”

  Every muscle in my body jumps and I curl my hands into balls of anger when he refers to Special that way. I want to ram my fist straight through that smug fac
e of his. “Dad—”

  “I said keep that mouth of yours shut until I’m done. Where the hell are you spending your time these days? People talk, Quinn. Clients talk. Potential clients talk. Employees talk.”

  It’s fucking brutal to sit in front of him, like a scolded toddler, quiet as a mouse, but I do it because he told me to keep my mouth shut.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say something? Don’t just sit here like an idiot.”

  My teeth are clenched when I say, “Special is not a sleazy whore. You know nothing about her. Nothing at all. And what exactly do the clients and employees say, Father?”

  “Goddammit, stop asking foolish questions.”

  “That wasn’t a foolish question. I’m genuinely interested in what our clients and employees have to say.”

  No response, only a cold hard stare.

  “How about this then? Is my work up to your standards?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do any of the engineers complain about what I do?”

  “No.”

  “Any of the employees?”

  “No.”

  “Have you had any complaints from HR?”

  “No.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “The real problem is, I don’t look or act like you. That’s it, isn’t it? Because if I were to bet, our clients are pleased with my work.”

  I can hear his molars grinding.

  “I’m sorry, Dad, but we simply don’t see eye to eye on things. You don’t like my hair. I get that. Well, I don’t like yours either. Never have. So, how about we agree to get along while not liking each other’s hair? Because when it’s all said and done, this whole hair thing is idiotic, but you insulting Special isn’t. I don’t ever want to hear another disparaging word about her come out of your mouth again.”

  His lip curls in disgust and he snarls. “Get out of my office before I throw you out.”

  My head slices up and down once as I get up to leave. He doesn’t have to ask me twice to get out of his nasty presence. The fact is, he can’t stand me, and the older I get the clearer it becomes. Somehow on my way out I get up the nerve to ask him this. “I have a question for you. Why the hell did you and Mom ever have kids?” I walk out the door before he can answer.