Needing Him

by Jeanne St. James

  He’s ruined me for anyone else but him.

  I keep my pace slow, steady. All the way up, all the way down until I’m panting, grimacing, trying to keep from letting go.

  Trying to wait like he wants.

  Because he hasn’t said to come yet.

  Though he’s struggling himself. And I take pleasure in seeing his gritted teeth, his tense jaw, his muscles tight.

  “Kiss me… Grace.” My name is nothing but a breath crossing his lips.

  I lean in enough to press my lips to one corner then the other of his mouth, before taking him completely, letting him in to take over.

  He breaks off quickly. His body tenses beneath me and I know he’s about to release deep inside me. And I’m so ready for it.

  “Get ready, Grace,” he murmurs against my lips. “Get ready. Are you ready?”

  Hell yes, I’m ready. I release a noise that sort of sounds like a yes and feel the wave rushing up to sweep me away.

  “Come with me,” he demands as his hips rise. And I do, pressing my cheek to his, whimpering in his ear.

  He pulsates deep inside me, making me squirm on his lap. I rest my forehead on his shoulder as he slips the vibrator from my body and turns it off, letting it fall to the floor so he can wrap me in his arms and hold me close as I attempt to catch my breath, gather my thoughts.

  “Fuck, Grace, you were made for me. I knew you were the one.”

  “The one...” I repeat softly, wanting him to continue.

  “The one to bring me back.”

  “Back from where?” I want to ask. Instead I stay quiet and nuzzle my nose along his short beard.

  Gripping my hips, he stands, bringing me with him, keeping us connected. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, burying my face in his neck. He takes us over to the bed and he places me in the center, finally letting me go. He disposes of the condom and returns to the bed, climbing in beside me, pulling the blanket over us.

  We’re both on our sides facing each other when he breaks the silence. “Fate is a funny thing.”

  I agree.

  Nothing has ever felt so right as being in this cabin, in this bed, with this man. Within one day, this man has wiped away all the loneliness I’ve ever felt living in such a remote part of Maine with no one but my dog for company.

  And I don’t want him to leave.

  Or I need to leave with him. But I know that’s impractical. Impossible. And he might not even want that.

  When I don’t respond to his last words, he prods, “You can speak freely, Grace. Please... tell me what you’re thinking.”

  No, I won’t admit my most recent thoughts, but I’m dying to finally know the answer to my lurking question…

  “Nick, I need to ask you something…” I drift off, wondering if he’ll answer me openly and willingly.

  With his fingertips, he brushes my messy hair away from my face. “What?”

  “How did you wind up here and why? What’s the whole story?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Nick

  I should have known that’s what she’d ask. It was only to be expected. But my tranquil, contented mood had caused me to let my guard drop. Not something I allow to happen very often.

  However, being with Grace made me forget for a little while. When I originally planned this, I’d hoped she’d be willing to take me to her bed.

  She was.

  I’d hoped she’d be willing to play my games. To give me what I needed.

  She was.

  I’d hoped she’d be as sensual and sexual enough to be open minded.

  She was.

  She is.

  She’s exceeded my expectations. And, now, leaving on Friday may prove difficult.

  That’s something I hadn’t expected. Not at all.

  We’ve only spent hours together, but it feels like an eternity. Though, not in a bad way.

  I feel that ache I couldn’t shake for so long finally leaving me, that emptiness filling in little by little as our time passes together.

  I didn’t expect to leave here after this week and leave anything behind. But what I may leave behind might be an actual part of me. That new part. The part that’s currently growing and blooming into something I never expected.

  But it’s not like I can stay at this point. I can’t. Life still waits for me back at home. Too many loose ends that would need to be tied first. Tied or conceivably cut.

  Though, I’m crazy for even considering returning to this area ever again.

  No matter what, I can’t imagine not seeing Grace again. I know that now. So, I need to answer her question honestly and as thoroughly as I can manage.

  “I need you to listen and not ask any questions. At least until I’m done. Can you promise me that?”

  Her eyes widen slightly, but she whispers, “Yes.”

  I take a long, shaky breath and begin. “I was working late one night…”

  I was supposed to pick them up to go to my daughter’s dance recital. I made sure I cleared my calendar of any meetings so I wouldn’t be late. But, fuck, if at the last minute I didn’t get snagged at the office. I was determined to not miss the recital, but I told my wife to go on without me. My plan was to head directly to the school and meet them there.

  I arrived with ten minutes to spare, but I couldn’t find them. No one had seen them. They never arrived. I even asked around because I began to panic. The dance instructor even questioned me about where they were. My daughter only had five minutes until she needed to be on stage.

  My wife wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts.

  And with dread, I knew something was very wrong.

  I decided to backtrack. Head toward home, taking the route my wife would have taken. Only six blocks from the house, I…

  I close my eyes because I’ll never forget what I came upon. That horrific scene at the intersection. The lights were blinding, the sirens deafening. And the tractor trailer driver, whose brake system failed and had T-boned them, sat on the curb with his head in his hands as he answered questions by the responding officers.

  Fuck. I just knew… I just knew…

  I almost threw up as I dragged myself out of my car. I forced myself to run, even though my legs felt full of lead. I could barely recognize the car, but I knew…

  I lost everything.

  I had nothing left.

  If I’d only picked them up, a difference of seconds could have changed the outcome.

  I’d still have my family. My wife. My baby girl.

  “And so, every year on the anniversary I come up here to forget, to get away from it all. My fucking job that made me late. My family. Her family. Every year it gets a little easier. But it’ll be with me forever. That scene etched in my mind. The anger is lessening, and so is the pain. It’s more bearable now.”

  I stop talking for a moment, refocus on the cabin, on Grace. On the here and now.

  “I found this place in the most unorthodox way. I closed my eyes and pointed to a spot on the map. And I found you, Grace. Fate found what I needed to heal.”

  When I look at her to see her reaction to my words, my confession of sorts, she’s not focused on me at all. Her eyes are closed and I wonder if she’s even listening at all, is she hearing what I’m saying? Understanding the meaning of my words?

  “I almost didn’t come back this year. But something pulled at me. Grace,” I whisper, needing her to look at me. I cup her jaw and she opens her eyes, which are shiny with unshed tears. “You pulled me back here, Grace. I don’t know how, I don’t know why. I’m not going to question it because I won’t understand it.”

  “I only hoped you’d return so I could get laid,” she says softly, amusement now in her eyes, chasing away the tears.

  I laugh. She has made me laugh more in this day than I have in years. “I know. I gave you what you needed, didn’t I?”

  She gives me a wide smile and wipes at her eyes. “Yes. You certainly did and then some. I gave you what you
needed also?”

  “You absolutely did. And I’ll be forever grateful. I feel whole once again. It’s been a long time.” I press a light kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her lips. When she parts them, I deepen the kiss, gently exploring her mouth, teasing her tongue.

  I’m feeling the same pull that made me drive up here this year, but now it’s making me hold her closer and our bodies tangle like our tongues, fitting together perfectly.

  As her nipples tighten, harden, press into my chest, I harden as well, ready to take her once again, to make her mine.

  Though, I don’t want to think about the end of this week, I need to know something before we get distracted “When I leave Friday, I want you to wait for me. Can you do that?”

  Her brows raise in surprise. “For a year?”

  I shake my head. “No.” No, because I can’t wait a year, either. “A month. I’ll be back in a month. And then we’ll see where this goes, where we need to go. Can you accept that?”

  “Yes.”

  “No one else, Grace. Promise me. I need to hear it.” For my own sanity, I do need to hear it. Now that I have her, I’m not letting her go.

  “I promise.”

  The relief I feel is overwhelming, and it warms my insides. I slide my fingers into her hair and make a fist, before leaning close and whispering against her lips, “I promise, too.”

  Her lips curve against mine.

  I think I’ll let her choose how we play this time…

  If you haven’t read the fifth book in the Obsessed Novella Series, turn the page to read the first chapter.

  It’s not just a love story, it’s an obsession...

  * * *

  Skylar:

  * * *

  Every time my neighbor jogs past my house, I do my best to tempt him. Washing my car, watering my lawn, doing yoga in the grass with my all my assets in the air. I’m not sure if he notices me, but I sure can’t miss him.

  * * *

  Then one day he falls... into my arms and into my bed. Surprisingly, we’re better matched than I would’ve expected. But when he reveals who he is, my world comes crashing down around me because if he finds out my secret we’re finished before we’ve even begun.

  * * *

  Cade:

  * * *

  Three days a week, I put myself through hell by jogging through my neighborhood. I suffer through it simply to catch a glimpse of a woman I don’t know. Every time I pass her house she’s outside tempting me. Until one day I fall... over my feet, over my heart, over this woman and into her arms.

  * * *

  I know nothing about her, but I want to discover everything. Even her deepest, darkest secrets. However, little does she know, I have one, too. One that may sever the tie that binds us.

  * * *

  Note: All books in the Obsessed series are standalone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.

  Tempting Him - Chapter One

  Skylar

  I watch as sweat drips one bead at a time onto my over-priced yoga mat. The sun is so freaking hot and here I am, like an idiot out in my yard, bent over in the downward facing dog pose for the past million years. Okay, not years... maybe more like a million seconds. But my body has decided it hates me (nothing new) and is cramping while my head spins. Even better, my over-priced yoga pants have clawed their way up my crack (as well as one other place). And still...

  No neighbor.

  What the hell?

  Despite my eyeballs’ attempt at bulging out of their sockets, I peek at my sports watch. He should’ve been by here two-point-five minutes ago.

  Shit.

  The man is usually like clockwork, jogging by my house on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons every week. For the most part, anyway. Though, thunderstorms seem to discourage him from his cardio. (Not sure why.)

  On those days, I would be willing to recommend another type of cardio to get his heart pumping. And maybe get his hips pumping, too.

  Anyway... look at me! Doing yoga on my front lawn, on the uneven grass, waiting like a desperate woman. (I’m not, really, I promise! It just looks that way.)

  But, damn, the man is fine and when he jogs past shirtless, he’s shiny with sweat, which makes me want to drag him inside and give him a sponge bath with my tongue.

  My thighs start shaking as I peek between my spread legs, because, of course, my ass has to be facing the street. I want him to get a good look at what I’m offering.

  I may even wiggle it a little when he jogs by.

  That is if I don’t pass out into a heap first.

  I sigh.

  Then sigh again a little louder just for good measure.

  Maybe it would be easier if I just took up jogging. Wear one of those sexy sports bras, put my hair up in a cute little pony tail, plaster a smile on my face and follow him around the block at a perky pace.

  I’ll die first.

  Cade:

  Why I ever started this shit, I’ll never know. No, I lie. I know. I thought, “Cade, dude, wouldn’t it be great to up your cardio game and start running?”

  I answered myself with, “Yeah, man, that would be great and fun, too!” And then maybe I won’t get so winded when I play basketball with the guys. I’ll have more endurance, I’ll look and feel younger, and...

  Fuck that.

  Running sucks. And I don’t even think what I do can be considered as running. No, it’s more of a jog. Or a lope. Or trotting like a donkey with a lame hoof.

  Inhell. Exhell.

  My chest burns, my leg muscles spasm, my balls feel like they’re floating in a puddle of sweat, and the crack of my ass...

  I’m not even going there. (Trust me, you don’t want to, either.)

  So, why don’t I just stop the torture? (Good question!)

  I’ve asked myself that for the past month.

  And the answer has always been...

  Her.

  I sacrifice three days a week just to see a woman I don’t know.

  Not sure why, but she always seems to be outside at the same time of the day. For that reason, I make sure that’s when I go running (jogging, trotting, limping) by.

  Am I crazy to torture myself because I find someone attractive and I’d like to get her attention?

  Eh. Maybe.

  Why don’t I just knock on her door and ask her out? (Another good question.)

  Maybe I want to impress her with my physique and athletic prowess.

  But honestly, something has to give and it has to be soon. Because this running shit sucks balls and I’d rather stick razor blades under my fingernails.

  At least my slow trot is the right speed to observe her without being creepy. Walking would be too slow and obvious. Driving too quick and useless, not to mention dangerous when she’s clearly a distraction.

  And, of course, my pace always allows me enough time to enjoy the show she gives me.

  On Wednesday, she was out washing her car, her top soaked, her nipples pushing through the thin fabric of her shirt, and when she bent over to scrub the hood of said car, my boner just about popped out of my shorts. You know, those little nylon running shorts. The ones with the mesh liner, clearly not made for sexual arousal.

  But I digress.

  The week before, she was out watering her lawn. And, once again, her top was wetter than her grass.

  Here’s the thing, the entire neighborhood has built-in sprinklers.

  Maybe hers are broken.

  It’s possible.

  I grunt as I turn the corner and try to push myself a little faster since I’m off my game today. I’m later than normal, and I want my running to look as effortless as possible. It needs to look as though I’ve got my shit together and I’m not secretly suffering.

  My eyes swing to the left as I jog. She’s the fourth house up. The brick ranch home with the two-car garage.

  Two houses to go yet.

  O
ne house.

  My eyes widen as I see her ass in tight black yoga pants in the air. My step stutters but I can’t stop my momentum.

  My mouth becomes an O, partly because I’m falling over my own two feet, the other because she’s dropped to her knees and is now arching backwards grabbing onto her heels, her generous tits straining against her top.

  Last thing I see is her blinking upside down at me as her head hangs down her back.

  Suddenly, I’m staring at nothing but pavement (and my loss of manhood). The little bit of oxygen I had sucked into my lungs is now gone.

  Then, what seems like seconds later, bare, cute, red painted toes come into view.

  I want to just die.

  So much for impressing her. That’s been completely shot to hell. I just want to crawl away on my hands and skinned knees to go hide in a bush.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, her hand on my shoulder, sounding concerned. Which touches me. But that’s not the touch I need from her.

  I raise my eyes from the toes I want to suck, up those snug yoga pants, and I hesitate when I get to the V of her legs.

  I have a feeling she’s not wearing panties.

  “Can you stand?”

  Jesus. I should respond. I can’t just pretend none of this happened. Or could I?

  “Yeah,” I say, but it sounds more breathless (and unmanly) than I’d like. Like I’m out of shape or something.

  Can’t be. I run three days a week.

  Right.

  Suddenly, I realize I’m still staring at her crotch. Not cool. I reluctantly lift my eyes over the snug sports top she’s wearing and hesitate for a brief, pervy second on the hard beads of her nipples. I finally continue on, no wait... one more peek. Okay, I lift my gaze to her face and notice she’s biting her bottom lip and her eyes are crinkled at the corners like she’s trying hard not to laugh.