Butter Queen

by Knox, Abby

  "Fine. What are you gonna do next?"

  "I'm gonna go out on that stage and I'm gonna nail that flaming baton."

  He wheezes. "Babe."

  I wag my head. "I mean—you know what I mean."

  "That's right because you're made of stone. You know how to win, you just have to go up there and do it. You're a winner. What did your mama say?"

  "That I was meant to fly to the stars."

  "I don't see anybody else who knows this contest like you do."

  I cock my head in the mirror. "Well, of course not, because you're not here."

  "Right, I'm not there. But I'll be there—I mean with you—as soon as I can and I want you wearing nothing but that crown and that sash."

  "Well, it's not a crown, it's a tiara."

  "Babe."

  "What?"

  "I love you."

  My heart pounds. Even though I miss him so damn much I can't help it, I feel so lucky to have a guy like Jet building me up. I don't ask for him to do it, but he reads me like a book and knows exactly what I need to hear to get me through.

  "I love you too. Now get out of here before I have to do my mascara a third time."

  "I can't wait to mess up your lipstick for real."

  As I stand on the stage, I go over every part of the competition in my head. The swimsuit portion was on point. Again I went with a Navy theme, this time in dress whites with rhinestones. The flaming baton routine was twice as hard as the year before, and I added a handstand with the help of a coach. And I nail the random question at the end, which is "If you could give any piece of advice to your younger self, what would it be?"

  I smile and give it my best shot. "I would tell her to be kinder to herself, and not to worry about what other people think. And maybe to spend more time being a kid. But ultimately, I would tell her to stay on the same path, because all of her choices led me to where I am today, and I love myself."

  When the governor announces the next Butter Queen, I don't hear the words, because suddenly out of the corner of my eye, something disrupts everything.

  Dressed in his officer whites, standing against the fence, watching me, is Jet.

  The sounds that come out of me are neither human nor animal. It is a supersonic sound that only can be heard in space. I am running in heels.

  For the first time in weeks I've got my baby in my arms and I'm never letting him go.

  "Sweetheart, you're ruining your hair, mascara, and your lipstick."

  "I don't care," I blurt out, tears pouring down my cheeks. And there goes my foundation as well.

  "You will care because they're calling your name."

  I suddenly remember where I am, but I don't want to take my eyes off of my Jet.

  Aleesha affixes the crown on top of my head and fits me with the sash, all while I'm still wrapped around my boyfriend like a monkey. I'm feeling pretty grateful for the long slit up the leg, otherwise I'd never be able to climb my man in this dress.

  Jet whispers in my ear, "Babe, I'm gonna have to set you down."

  "Oh no, I must be ruining your back," I say.

  He quirks up one side of his mouth. "Not at all, but you gotta take your bow, and there are about 25 other women up here in formalwear who are staring at me, and I think they want to hug you."

  My heart still hammering in my chest and throat, I let Jet set me back down on my feet. An avalanche of arms and legs surrounds me, and now I'm crying because the reality has set in that I finally won.

  "Congratulations, sweetie," says Aleesha, who hugs me tight. And then the sobbing begins anew. She pulls away for a quick second to dab at my face with a tissue and makeup sponge.

  "You are miraculous. Where are you hiding all of that stuff?" I ask, incredulous.

  "Pockets, honey. My dress has pockets."

  "Genius."

  "No, you're a genius. How in the hell did you do a full backflip and not miss a beat with a flaming hoop? You are insane. Insane. You know that, right?"

  Jet drags my attention away from Aleesha, and I can just barely hear him over the clapping and whistling from the crowd.

  "Excuse me, ladies. I don't mean to break up the party, but…"

  I turn to look, and Jet is on one knee—the knee of his dress whites probably picking up all kinds of sweat and tears from the stage—in front of me, holding up a tiny velvet box.

  "What is happening?!"

  I start to hyperventilate as he starts. "Rocket, you had me the moment I set eyes on you. I would be honored if you'd let me fly to the stars with y—"

  My lips lock on his while he's still talking, but that's okay. He already knows the answer.

  "Yes, times a billion," I reply, smiling wider than ever at his elated face. "As if that were ever in question."

  "But you haven't seen the ring yet."

  He opens up the box with trembling hands to show me the ring: a luminous opal with purple gems on each side set in a silver band.

  "I've been carrying around my nana's ring for you," he says when I compose myself enough to let him slip it on my finger.

  The event sponsor in the green and yellow overalls stammers, "Uh, ma'am?" The envelope with a gift certificate. I nearly forgot.

  I open it up and my jaw drops. I wave it at Jet. "Babe, it's too bad we don't have a big lawn, because with this we can afford a whole ride-on lawnmower," I say.

  The sponsor nods his head, "And I'm throwing in a lifetime annual maintenance to say thank you for your service, sir, if you should purchase from us."

  "Well, actually," Jet stammers, pulling a slip of folded paper out of his pocket. "We can go ahead and get that mower if you want."

  I unfold the paper and see what he's done. Jet went and bought two acres of land and didn't even warn me.

  "Jet!"

  "I'm sorry I didn't tell you; I wanted it to be a surprise. It's not much, the land was real cheap. We might have to live in your trailer while I build our house. But we can make the plans together if you want."

  My body cannot handle any more surprises today. My knees feel like they might give out, and he notices; Jet has scooped up in his arms before I can injure myself.

  We kiss, and it's a long, messy, achingly heart-melting kiss. If the first time Jet ever kissed me, my world cracked open, this time all the pieces came back together.

  "Look at you. You won," Jet says. The look in his eyes tells me that he's thinking the same thing I am. And he's right.

  I brush my fingers over his cheeks and kiss him on the nose. "Damn right I did."

  Winning is more than a tiara and a title, more than just winning a fiancé. I found my inner animal again. I busted my ass, and I did it. I got the crown. I'm the Butter Queen.

  Again he kisses me and I kiss back just as hard. Jet is my fierce warrior, and he's got the warrior queen he deserves. And I'm going to be the best damn Butter Queen anybody has ever seen.

  Epilogue

  Five years later

  Jet

  My father-in-law saunters over to me and gets right up close to me, uncomfortably close. "I don't know if you know this, but your wife is outside making wusses out of my grandsons."

  Rocket's mom and stepdad have insisted on being a part of our lives now that we have kids. Funny how that works. They didn't come to the wedding, didn't care to visit us or get to know me. Part of me thinks they didn't believe our marriage would last.

  But now that we have kids, they've moved back to town and today, they're visiting for our oldest son's birthday.

  "What are you talking about, Chaz?"

  I'm imagining he's perhaps seeing my wife apply nail polish on Jordan's toes, or Pippin's fingernails, or combing some expensive hair products through Rodman's hair. All of which she does on the regular, and I don't give a fuck. My commercial pilot schedule is down to 70 percent now, which is by choice. I can spend more days outside with our boys, tossing footballs, kicking soccer balls, doing all the stuff I like to do. So there's no reason to keep my wife from doing stuff she
likes to do with our kids.

  I follow Chaz outside through the sliding glass door, and he gestures at the driveway. "Look at this mess."

  I see what's happening, and it makes me laugh. My wife is doing her thing. My best friend Henry and all three little boys are trying out baton throwing and twirling, while Rocket's best friend Jane eggs them all on and snaps photos. Jane's six-year-old daughter Sarah is shouting instructions, to no avail.

  "Baby, your stepdad thinks you're sissifying our boys," I say, taking a long pull from my beer.

  Chaz splutters. "That's not what I said."

  I nudge him good-naturedly. "Yeah, you did."

  "Listen," Rocket says, turning toward me and shooting me that look. That look that only my wife can give and make it work on me. "I'm teaching our sons how to throw a baton, so when they get to high school, they're gonna be the best damn color guard that school has ever seen. If they want."

  I laugh and have to hand Chaz my beer, sidling up to my wife, grabbing her around the waist, and planting a deep, back-bending kiss on her mouth.

  "They're gonna be the best damn whatever-they-want-to-be, because their momma is the best," I say.

  The little menaces have devolved their baton practice into hacking at each other with the batons like swords. "Mom, can we be done now?" Jordan asks.

  Then he and the other two boys begin their gross-out noises because I'm not done tongue-kissing their mother.

  When I'm finished with the kiss, I'm ready to amp up the energy with her in a bad way. I thank my lucky stars that the boys ask to go somewhere with their grandpa and grandma. "Well," Rocket says, "we already opened presents and cut the cake. What do you want to do with the rest of the day, birthday boy?"

  "I want to go take my new drone and go to the park," he says.

  "That's more like it, let's go," Chaz says.

  I'll say this for him. He might be old-fashioned about forcing boys to act like boys, but he knows how to get them out of our hair so we can have some alone time.

  Within minutes, Chaz has them buckled and harnessed into his truck and on the way to the creek. Jane, Sarah, and Henry leave soon afterward.

  By the time they're all heading down the driveway, I've got my wife bent over the patio table, my hands tugging away at her tight shorts.

  When I coat my fingers with her wetness, she mewls like a kitten. "It's a good thing we put up that privacy fence when we built this house," she says.

  "That's right, baby," I answer, sinking two fingers into her depth, eliciting a loud gasp from her as I swipe against her G-spot.

  She yelps, and I'm pretty proud of myself that I can still make her produce all kinds of fun noises. "Jet, careful," she whispers. "The neighbors might be outside."

  An evil grin crawls across my face, my fingers sliding out of her heat and finding her clit. I trace circles around it, amping her up, doubling her slick juices for me. "If you want me to keep it sweet and quiet, I will."

  I stop stroking as I tug her shorts and panties down to her ankles, massaging that sweet, bodacious ass. The first attribute of hers that sucked me in.

  The way she pushes her ass against me, I know she's not really in the mood for sweet. I smooth my palm over her luscious wide ass and say, "Rocket, I need to hear the words."

  "I want you to fuck me hard, Jet."

  "That's my girl," I reply, making quick work of unfastening and dropping my jeans and briefs. My cock springs free, and I grip it in my hand, covering it with my wife's essence.

  "Can I taste that wet-ass pussy first?"

  "It's your pussy to do with as you please, Captain. Take what's yours."

  My mouth knows where it wants to be, and it wants to be tasting my wife from behind. Her juice bathes my lips and tongue when I spread her open and take what's mine. She's so prolific it drips down my chin. The fact that she still gets so damn wet for me after all these years is such a goddang turn-on I feel like I just grew three more inches.

  "Baby, you're so wet. Like, hotel-sex wet. You don't want to be a quiet little mouse, do you?" I ask.

  "No," she says, her voice cracking with need. "Please keep going. I can't stand waiting. I've been soaking wet since you stood up to that asshole for me."

  I gotta take what's mine, but I also gotta take care of my woman. "That's right, because that's what real men do, they protect their family from well-meaning idiots." I slide my dick slowly but completely inside her, all the way to the hilt. She's still so hot, wet, and tight for me, and she knows how to work those inner muscles to make me ready to bust a nut in five seconds if I'm not careful.

  "Keep going," she whimpers. "You know what else?"

  "I do know," I say, palming her ass cheek while sliding my thumb into her crevice. When my digit hits her in just the right way, her whole body jerks, and she lets out a squeal of pleasure.

  She's so fucking needy her left hand lets go of the patio table and reaches down to touch her clit while my thumb rubs her ass and my cock begins its in and out rhythm.

  "I thought we'd already established that's my pussy," I grumble. "Hands on the table. You're gonna need it."

  She obeys. I swear to God, the bedroom—or, in this case, bent over on the patio table—is the only context in which my wife knows how to follow orders.

  My other hand reaches around to her front and slips between her pussy lips, where my fingers match the rhythm of my dick. I bend over top of her and press my face against the back of her frilly little belly shirt. This is where I typically hold on to her fantastic tits, but I'm enjoying this little change-up. Besides, that frilly top is so fucking cute I'm losing my shit.

  My dick pulls out and slams back in, and she lets out a tiny shriek. "You okay?"

  She grips with her pussy and rasps, "Yes. I love it. More."

  Our joined rhythm continues, my cock thrusting, her pussy taking in every inch of me, my thumb stroking her sweet ass and my other hand pleasuring her clit. I feel surrounded and filled with love for this woman. The slap of skin against skin heightens my pleasure, and I'm filled with the craving of a mad beast.

  I increase my speed, intensity, and thrust at her command. Soon the heat has built up so much that she's howling like a stray cat in heat and I'm banging against her like a dirty dog, complete with grunts and growls coming from some deep primal place. If the neighbors are outside right now, they're hearing this. And I don't give a fuck.

  Neither does my wife. When her release slams into her, her body goes so tight and rigid that she pushes me over the edge. I spurt into my wife with the force of a thousand fighter jet engines, but I don't stop thrusting. She likes it when I keep going for as long as I can.

  "Well, fuck me," she rasps, her walls tightening and releasing, taking all of my essence inside of her.

  "I sure did," I say proudly, my body gradually relaxing. I keep my shaft inside her, my hands letting go to caress her back, her tits, her arms, and her ass. "I sure did fuck my wife but good."

  Finally, I slide out and turn her around, gripping her against my ribs and planting kisses against her mouth and neck, burying my hands in her hair.

  I love this part. I love the part where I've had my way with her, wrung her out, her body limp, her face a haze of satisfaction.

  "Boy, you can make a girl forget her name," she says.

  Leaving our shorts, jeans, and underwear on the patio, I scoop her up in my arms and take her inside. I'm going to do what I always do next, what a real man does: take care of my woman, get her some water to drink, and put her in the shower so we can clean each other up.

  "You'd better not forget your name," I say.

  I love the way she giggles after sex, like she's high. "Mrs. Percy, wife to Captain Cunnilingus Jet Percy."

  That's when I tell her, as we're making our way up the stairs, that she's my hero. "That's Mister Butter Queen to you."

  About the Author

  Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys
and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.

  Keep up with the latest news with Abby’s newsletter!

  Say hello at

  authorabbyknox@gmail.com

  Also by Abby Knox

  Nephilim’s Captive: A Divine Giants Romance. (Book One of seven in the paranormal series Sons of Earth and Heaven.)

  Need more stand-alone short reads and novellas?

  Check out Abby’s other titles!

  Midsummer Fling

  Marrying Up

  Shacking Up

  Maid for the Billionaire

  Made for Marriage

  Doctor Dave

  Officer Max

  Fighting For Dylan (book four in a six-author MMA series!)

  Hot Off The Press

  The Halloween Bet

  The Christmas Pickup

  Saved for Me

  Matched for Me

  Off-Season Stud

  * * *

  In the mood for a beachy rock-n-roll combo?

  Beach Avenue Babes

  His Vinyl Vixen (a stand alone for the rock ’n’ roll nerd in all of us)

  Her Hi-Fi Hunk (Dusty and Jed from His Vinyl Vixen)

  * * *

  The Greenbridge Academy series

  Swim Coach (book one)

  Grumpy Dad (book two)

  Benefactor (book three)

  Headmistress (book four)

  Queen Bee (book five)

  Bake Sale Queen (book six)

  The Very Good Boy Duet

  Fencing Her In (A bad neighbors to lovers story. With a lot of dogs. You need this in your life.)

  Doing Him Good (An insta-love, sowing-his-wild-oats whirlwind romance.)