Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  The power to drive him crazy makes me wild, horny, and needy. My nipples could cut granite and my clit is throbbing, begging for attention.

  Right when Cole is on the edge of an orgasmic cliff I pull back and wrap my lips around him, pushing forward until his tip hits the back of my throat.

  “Oh, fuck, sweetheart.”

  Cole’s hips push forward again and again and he sets his own pace. I glance up to meet his gaze, but he’s not looking down at me. No, his gaze is wandering from one mirror to the next, taking in the image of me sucking him off from every available angle.

  I shift a little so I can see us in the mirror, too.

  Watching him push into my mouth and work himself into such a frenzy so that he’s fucking my mouth is more erotic than the porno movie hidden in that secret file on my hard drive. Now, it’s like I’m starring in my own porno. I’m watching the scene of ‘Whitney and Cole getting it on in the mirror maze’ as if I’m an outsider. It’s never been more apparent to me just how crazy and insane I make this man.

  Pride wars with need inside me. I want to watch as he empties himself into me and I swallow him down. I want to watch every minuscule expression on his face as he unglues into a muddled mess. I want to watch his ecstasy-filled eyes look at me like I’m the only girl for him.

  “I’m gonna come,” Cole pants out, giving me fair warning to back away. But I don’t want to stop. The urge to know what he tastes like is a burning need inside me.

  I cup his balls in my hand and squeeze lightly, pushing my lips all the way down to his base. He twitches in my mouth and releases a noise that sounds like a mix between a growl and a groan. Hot, salty liquid pours down the back of my throat while he jerks his hips in an off-rhythm way until he’s completely spent.

  I pull away and wipe my chin with the back of my hand. Cole extends a shaking hand to help me up and wastes no time in kissing me once I’m on my feet.

  With tongue.

  I love that he kisses me with tongue.

  In the past, some of my exes have pulled their heads away in the same situation and it’s always bothered me because after a guy eats you out he expects you to kiss him and to love the taste of yourself. It’s a turn-on for them and I get it, but you have to be willing to return the favor. I can’t stand sexual double standards.

  After our kiss, he lowers his forehead to rest on my own while he tucks himself in and fastens his pants back up.

  “You are something else, Miss Knight.”

  I grin. “Well, thank you, Mr. Webber.”

  “I’ll be getting mirrors installed in my bedroom. On every surface.”

  I laugh.

  “It’s cute that you think I’m joking.” He leans forward and places a chaste kiss on my mouth.

  A thought occurs to me. “Do you think they have cameras in here?” My eyes widen.

  “Honestly, I could care less. That was worth it even if they do.”

  “We probably just scarred that poor girl for life.”

  He chuckles.

  “Should we work on finding our way out of here now? I’m curious to see what else you have planned for us tonight.” I press myself against him, unable or unwilling to extract myself from the need to feel him.

  “I think you’re really going to like what I have planned next for us.” He slips his hands into mine, intertwining our fingers.

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  And I realize I don’t doubt him. For the first time in forever I’m not obsessing about keeping my independence and not allowing myself to get too close to a guy. I’m letting whatever might happen, happen. And to my surprise it feels way better than I thought it would.

  26

  We walk into the Ice Cream Bar and I’m immediately in love with the place. I glance over at Cole.

  “Well, you had me at the name, but this place looks amazing!”

  His grin widens. He’s obviously pleased with himself for picking a good spot. But really, this place is too much.

  It’s a throwback to a 1930’s-style soda fountain and lunch counter. The soda jerks behind the counter all wear crisp white shirts with a black bow tie, white aprons tied at the waist, and little white hats that harken back to another era.

  There’s a pair of seats available at the end of the counter and Cole nods in that direction. “Do you want to sit over there?”

  “Absolutely.” I shimmy onto the stool, remove my coat and purse, and set them on the very edge of the counter, out of the way. Cole passes me his coat and the scent of his cologne wafts by me as I place it on top of the pile.

  I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of that smell. I’m not even sure if it’s entirely his cologne or if it’s his own natural scent, but whatever it is, it makes me wet. Scentsy needs to make that their new scent—Cole Webber’s Orgasm Inducer.

  He pulls a menu out of the metal prongs and passes one to me, then opens the other himself.

  “What’s good here?” I ask, then glance to my side when he doesn’t answer right away.

  His eyes trail down my body for a moment before he returns eye contact with me. “What I feel like eating right now isn’t on the menu.”

  I press my lips together and blush. Then I smack his arm with the menu. “Behave,” I scold.

  He leans in and speaks directly into my ear. “Was that you behaving when you were on your knees with my cock in your mouth?”

  I press my thighs firmly together. He eyes me shifting my ass on the vinyl stool and chuckles before leaning back from me.

  I force myself to study the menu some more, eventually deciding on the PB&J, which probably seems silly, but seriously. Where else can you get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at a restaurant? I have to try it.

  “What can I get you kids?” The guy behind the counter approaches. I stifle a chuckle because I’m pretty sure he’s about our age. Must be part of the whole soda jerk persona.

  “I’m going to have the PB&J.” I smile wide and Cole shakes his head.

  “I’ll have the pulled pork,” Cole says.

  “And to drink?” the waiter, whose nametag I now see says Ned, asks.

  “They all look so good. I don’t know how to decide,” I say, because really, there’s a bunch of variations of milkshakes, floats, and sodas on this menu, any and all of which sound mouthwatering.

  “Why don’t you try the Too Good to be True milkshake?” Cole offers.

  “Why that one?” I ask, scanning the menu to read its ingredients.

  He shrugs. “Seems fitting.”

  I glance up at Ned and I know my cheeks are stained pink. “Okay, let’s go with that.”

  Ned nods. “And for you?”

  “I’m going to go with the O Canada. I haven’t tried that one yet and Canadians are always going on and on about how good their maple syrup is. Let’s see if that’s the case.”

  “Very good. I’ll have the milkshakes over here in a few minutes.”

  We both thank him and then shoot the shit as we watch Ned, fascinated by him concocting our drinks. At least I’m fascinated.

  I’m realizing making a milkshake is an art form. Almost like he’s developing a potion. Cole explains to me that everything is made in-house and handcrafted. Even the sodas. There’s no pouring a bottle of cola into a float. No, they use homemade syrups and tinctures and whatever else they need—shaking cream with an egg over ice to make the ice cream.

  Color me impressed.

  “For the lady.” Ned sets my milkshake down in front of me and my mouth waters at the sight of it.

  “Thank you.” I waste no time, leaning in and placing my mouth around the straw, sucking hard to get the ice cream up the straw. When the cold, sweet liquid hits my tongue I close my eyes and a little moan escapes my throat and then I suck in some more.

  It really is the best milkshake I think I’ve ever had. By the time I come back to myself and steal a glance over at Cole he’s sitting staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes, his milkshake untouched.

&nbs
p; “What?” I ask and sit up straighter in my chair, feeling a little self-conscious.

  He pushes his hand through his hair. “You.”

  I double-blink. “Me what?”

  “You drinking that milkshake with your little noises and your lips wrapped around that straw. The way your cheeks are sucked in. And did I mention your lips? It’s all a little distracting.” He shifts in his chair and I get the impression he’s doing it to try to hide something. Like a hard-on.

  I chuckle. “You seem to be somewhat obsessed with my lips now, Mr. Webber.”

  He leans in further and I catch his scent. “Miss Knight, you have no idea just how obsessed I am.”

  I play off his comment, not knowing if he’s talking about me in general, or my lips as a result of the killer blow job I gave him an hour ago. I don’t want to read too much into his words, but it doesn’t escape me the way my stomach did a somersault as a result of them.

  Cole sucks some of his milkshake up his straw. “Mmm. Maybe Canadians are right. This is good.” He takes another quick sip and slides it across the counter in my direction. “Want to try some?”

  “Sure.” I lean over and Cole’s gaze is once again intent on my lips. A smile curves at the corner of my mouth as I taste his milkshake. “Wow. That is really good.”

  We each enjoy our sweet treats in silence for a few minutes before Cole pushes his away and turns on his stool to face me.

  “I need to save some room for my meal,” he says, patting his stomach.

  “Good idea,” I agree after I’ve taken another quick sip.

  “Did you study journalism when you went to college?” Cole asks, catching me off guard.

  “I was an English Lit major, but I was involved with the campus newspaper.”

  “That’s got to be good for your résumé.”

  “I suppose.” I shrug. Doesn’t seem to have gotten me very far on my job search.

  “Where did you say you went to school again?”

  It’s an innocent enough question, but I tense in my seat. The moment I’ve been worried about is here.

  I can’t pretend that what’s happening between us is temporary or that we’re simply bang buddies. I might not know exactly what this is, but I know what I want it to be. And for us to stand any chance at all I’m going to have to tell him what happened the night he ditched me all those years ago, and how I blamed him for the trajectory my life took.

  “I ended up at Berkeley, but I was supposed to go to University of Nebraska.”

  A crease forms in his forehead. “Nebraska is a really good school. What happened?”

  He must be able to tell that I’m uncomfortable because he reaches over and engulfs my hand in his much larger one, rubbing his thumb back and forth over my knuckles. The act is soothing and nice.

  I draw in a deep breath and decide to rip the duct tape off. “Do you remember the night we were supposed to go on that blind date?” He nods, the crease in his forehead deepening. “After I spoke with you on the phone and I left the restaurant I was so mad. Fuming. It was getting dark and rather than take a cab home I decided to walk off some of the adrenaline running through my system. I was too preoccupied with what was going on in my head and wasn’t watching my surroundings.” Cole squeezes my hand and since I’ve been staring down at the counter while I tell this story, I finally look up and meet his gaze.

  “About halfway home a man approached. He was right up in my space before I realized what was about to happen.” I swallow past a lump in my throat as the memories come back. “Thank God all he wanted was my purse, but instinct had me fighting him for it, which I know was stupid, but in the moment… I don’t know. I didn’t think, I guess. We fought and he ended up pushing me to the ground before running down the street. I landed funny and injured my shoulder. Could barely get up off the ground. I had to wait until someone else came down the street and they called an ambulance.”

  Cole’s gaze drops from mine and he looks down at the black and white tiled floor. “Shit, Whit. I don’t know what to say.” He’s frowning and shaking his head. “What does that have to do with you not going to Nebraska?” He lifts his head and the pained expression on his face takes me back a moment.

  “I had a full scholarship to go to Nebraska and play volleyball. The injury to my shoulder was bad enough that I would never be able to perform at the same calibre I was playing at and so they pulled my scholarship. I ended up going to Berkley by default, racking up student loans, and was never able to play at the collegiate level.”

  My words hang in the air between us.

  I’m sure it’s obvious, but in case it’s not I need to get it all out. There’s no point in doing this halfway.

  “Cole, the reason I hated you so much was because I blamed you for what happened. I blamed you for the fact that I was never able to pursue my dream and for the fact that I left school buried in debt. I told myself that if you hadn’t acted the way you had that night, I wouldn’t have been on the street at that particular time, or if I was I would have been more aware of what was going on around me and I’d have seen that guy coming. I held you responsible for all of it.”

  He lets go of my hand and leans forward, dropping his head into his hands, not saying a word.

  I’m not sure what to say and so I wait. And wait.

  When he finally turns on his stool to face me he cups my face in his hands. His eyes are full of guilt and sorrow.

  “No wonder you hated me. I’m so, so sorry.” He presses his lips together and sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

  I move my hand up to cover one of his. “I didn’t know what to say. And then as I got to know you better I realized something… it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault except the guy who mugged me.”

  “No, Whit, if I hadn’t—”

  “Stop. That’s why I’m telling you now. Because I want you to know that spending time with you has taught me something.”

  “What could I have possibly taught you?” He looks on at me like he’s hanging by a thread waiting for my answer.

  “Sometimes things just happen—good and bad—for no other reason than they just do.”

  The hard lines of his face soften a bit and I’m hopeful that he’ll be able to forgive himself the same as I’ve done.

  “That’s difficult to accept.” I can see that he wants to believe me. Because if he can’t it will be something that stands between us always. I know exactly how much those emotions that you push down can fester and grow until you’ve conjured up a whole story in your mind and it’s hard to even remember why you felt that way in the first place.

  “You have to accept it. You have to if you want this to continue.” I let my hand drop and motion between the two of us.

  He nods, though reluctantly. “I will never be the cause of you hurting like that again. Ever.”

  He leans in and his lips meet mine with a kiss infused with determination and promise. I melt into him and the thought crosses my mind that there’s no longer anything else between us. It feels like I’m all in and rather than fear, all I can focus on is the amount of joy wanting to burst out of my chest.

  27

  I plop myself down in the booth and slide over to make room for Tahlia. Lennon’s sidled up to the bartender she flirted with the last time we were here, probably deciding between the storage room and alley.

  “How are you doing?” I ask as I remove my jacket and place it between the wall and me. Tahlia takes off hers as well and hands it to me to do the same with hers.

  “Was I crazy to think that planning my wedding was going to be more fun than this?”

  We spent the day dress shopping with both Tahlia’s and Chase’s mothers. It was clear from the get-go that Mrs. Santora had some strong ideas about what type of dress would be suitable for Tahlia to wear to ‘the wedding of the decade’, or so her mom had dubbed it. Tahl and her mom clashed more than a few times over the course of the day.


  “Everyone just wants the day to be perfect.” I reach out and rub her back while she leans forward and places her head in her hands to massage her temples. “I’m sure once all the big decisions are out of the way everyone will relax a bit.”

  I say the words I don’t believe. But hey, what are friends for if not to blow smoke up your ass when you need it?

  “I’d say we could each use a little of this after today.” Lennon slides a tray in front of us and crawls into the booth on the other side. The tray holds a drink for each of us and six shots.

  To my surprise Tahl reaches forward for one of the shots and pours it down her throat, coughing and sputtering as she slams the empty shooter glass back down on the tray.

  “That’s awful. What is that?” she asks.

  “Rock Hard Whiskey,” Lennon replies with an evil smirk.

  “Oh, that’s Cole’s little pet project. Did you know that?” Tahl asks her.

  “I think someone must have mentioned it at some point. Sounds familiar.”

  That someone was me, of course. I know what Lennon’s doing. I told her I was going to come clean with Tahlia about boinking her future brother-in-law. I’d planned to tell her after dress shopping, knowing we had plans to have a couple of drinks, but after the way the day went I’m second-guessing whether now is the right time.

  “I don’t think you’re their target market, Tahl,” I say.

  “No, probably not.” She stares at the empty shooter and spins it around and around, deep in thought.

  Lennon removes her jacket and then the light, long-sleeve sweater she had on underneath. “It feels good to take that off. I was sweating like a fat man in a sauna at the dress shop, but I knew your mother would have a conniption if I showed my tats off in that place.”

  My eyes widen and my eyeballs almost burst out of my eye sockets when I see what’s on her t-shirt. At the top of the shirt just above her breasts it says: WANTED and underneath there’s a picture of a cartoon rooster leaning back with a satisfied grin on his face, only this rooster has a unicorn horn on its head, a pink horse tail and pink hair on top of its head. Underneath the cartoon are the words: APPLY WITHIN.