Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  Mine, it screamed when her hand grasped my throbbing cock and gave it a tentative stroke, then another, bolder one. I met her third one with a thrust of my hips.

  When she lifted up and slid it against that soft, welcoming place I now knew like the back of my hand, it would have been so easy to slide inside. Her wetness coated me, marking my dick as surely as she’d marked my face.

  Claiming me.

  The way I wanted to claim her. Own her.

  Another tilt of the hips and I could do it, lodge myself inside. It wouldn’t be my fault any more than hers. We’d get carried away, break some rules. Who could blame us, when shit had gotten so hot so fast? Who could blame me when she looked like the pure, wild sex of my fantasies?

  Her hand reached into my pants, ran around the side and tightened on my ass, pushing me closer.

  “Fuck. Don’t do this to me, Christa.”

  Her hips rose and fell, then made a long slow circle, grinding us together hard.

  “Do what?”

  “Make me lose it.”

  Another teasing press and a low sound, from deep in her throat. Like a laugh, only darker. I glanced at her face.

  “You’re gonna make me come.”

  “I want you to come.” She lifted her torso to rub her tits to my chest, the sound of nipples rasping through hair loud in this quiet room.

  “On your pussy.”

  “Okay.” Her eyes widened and she gave a little nod, setting something off inside me.

  I thrust against her half a dozen times before her hand tightened. “Hang on.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you sit? On the edge, here?”

  Breathing ragged, I nodded, maneuvered a little awkwardly, with my waistband around my thighs, and got to a place where I could pull my pants down farther and sit. She slid to her knees on the floor and my mouth dropped open.

  “Fuck me.”

  “Let me suck you first.”

  I didn’t bother correcting her. It didn’t matter if she thought I’d meant it as an order. All that mattered was that she leaned in and kissed the crown of my dick, the way I’d kissed her pussy before. Like it was my mouth. My vision went kaleidoscopic. Jagged pieces scattered around the room—flame from the candles, the glint of her hair, her eyes, and that mouth.

  “Yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah. Suck me hard.”

  As if my words set a match to her fuse, she put her mouth around me, tightened, and did what I asked.

  “Holy mother of God.” First saying grace, now praying. This woman brought religion right back into my life. “Harder.”

  I was dying to sink my hands into her hair, to hold her tight, maybe drag her closer. Instead, needing some kind of control, I set them on my knees, and held on.

  Down and up, once, twice, so deep I felt the back of her throat. My fingers flexed of their own volition.

  Tighter, her mouth worked me, one of her slender hands fisting the root of my cock. Her eyes met mine.

  “I’m close.”

  She looked to the side and focused on my twitching hand as she suckled the tip of my erection. “Do it.”

  I gave her a dark look, pretended not to understand.

  “Put your hand in my hair.” Her voice was raspy, her breath hot on my dick. “I like it when you’re pushy.” Her teeth raked a hot trail down one side, then up the next, followed by her tongue. She stayed there, licking my balls, suckling slowly like we had all night. Which we didn’t.

  “I’ll come if you keep doing that.” She didn’t stop, so I threaded my fingers into her hair, tightened them, and showed her how to make it happen.

  I couldn’t understand what she said next, with my cock down her throat. But when I loosened my hand and gave her a chance to talk, she threw an angry look my way and impaled herself, again. Again. Christ, again.

  Somehow, my other hand joined the first, cradled her head, not tightly, but steadily, and showed her how fast I wanted it, how hard.

  “Suck it. Hard. Yeah, like that.”

  She moaned, the sensation so low and subtle, it felt like it came from me.

  “I want to come in your mouth.” Her eyes met mine, gave me a slow blink. “You want that? Or on your tits.” Anywhere on her. In her.

  She shimmied and backed off, leaving me alone and worried I’d offended her for a few frantic seconds. But then she nudged me, urging me to scoot back to where she’d been not so long ago, and climbed up and over me. It took a while for my lust-fogged brain to realize what she was doing with her hands on her tits and her chin down.

  But when I did… Goddamn. This was it. Dream woman in my house.

  “I’m gonna come fast like this.”

  This couldn’t be real. This perfect person who read my mind, pulled out the best parts, and dropped them at my feet like Bear dropping a stick.

  “Do it.” She put my cock between her breasts, grabbed my hand so I’d squeeze them together, and slid her body up and down. Her mouth, at the top, sucked the tip of my dick—a warm surprise.

  I couldn’t catch my breath before I came, and only just managed to warn her with a guttural yell, before biting down hard and gritting my teeth as lightning blew through me.

  In tight, deafening shock, I watched come shoot from my cock, lashing her in long, white stripes, before she engulfed me in that mouth, sucking the last drops of pleasure and owning me.

  Half-dead, emptied of everything but the barest spark of intelligence, I somehow managed to pull her over me before collapsing onto the sofa.

  21

  Christa

  There was good sex and then there was obliteration, black hole, no-Christa-left-inside-this-empty-shell, just a shuddering, barely conscious body sex.

  Yeah, that was me, plastered on top of this big man, who didn’t seem to mind my weight or the stickiness between us. He sighed and tightened his arms around me.

  I should get up. Instead, I rubbed my face into his chest, sucked in a wood smoke-and man-laced breath, and just…stayed.

  Probably ten minutes passed as our bodies cooled, him caressing my back slowly with one large hand. Finally, I shivered hard enough that he stopped the stroking and urged me up.

  “How about a bath?”

  The dogs’ head rose simultaneously, as if lifted by the same puppet master—Brownie open-mouthed and eager and Bear a little dastardly with that single standing ear.

  “I thought there wasn’t any water.”

  “No. But I’ll get the generator running and we’ll have hot water in no time.”

  “Oh, uh, sure.”

  Still wrapped in the blanket from the bed, I watched him stomp into boots and slam outside, with the dogs shooting out ahead of him, barking as if it were playtime, instead of late at night.

  Guess I wasn’t the only one who had to pee.

  I got up, took a candle to the bathroom and returned to the sofa to wait cocooned in the soft blanket. It seemed pointless to put clothes back on before bathing.

  Let’s take a bath.

  Did he mean together?

  The sudden, overly loud sound of an engine outside had me close to jumping out of my skin.

  Immediately, as usual, my brain supplied the worst case scenario: it must be Jonathan, my boss. Who else was close enough to drive here?

  No, dummy, it’s the generator.

  I let out a relieved breath, listening to the hum of the refrigerator.

  And, even if it were Jonathan, I wasn’t scared of that asshole.

  But—I hugged my legs to my body and dropped my head to my knees—I was still out a job. Shit.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  In search of a distraction, I stood, blanket wrapped tightly around me, and took a quick turn around the room.

  There wasn’t much. A lot of windows for such a small place. Clean, solid furniture, with absolutely no distractions like junk or knickknacks. Sparse.

  Something glinted in the corner by the front door. A shopping bag. I moved closer. It was filled with gifts wrapped in holi
day paper. I squatted and looked at the card on the top gift. To Micah. The one beside it also had his name on it. One of the cards didn’t have an envelope. I shouldn’t read it. I wouldn’t.

  It was open, though, and the letters were big and, clearly written by a kid.

  “Dear Micah. Miss you. Sorry you will not be at Christmas. Love, Vic.”

  I straightened, stepped away from the bag, guiltily, and bumped into the desk behind me. “Shit.”

  I just caught the tottering lamp before it fell.

  Coasting on that little spike of adrenaline, I picked up a black-framed photo I’d knocked face down. Wow. That was a big family. Was he in there? I squinted, but didn’t see him. Huh.

  Beside the photo was a fanned out pile of business cards. I’d probably messed those up with my butt. I straightened them and, after a moment’s hesitation, picked one up.

  It was plain white, with black lettering—Arial font—and listed his name and number: MICAH GRAHAM, Certified Arborist. I turned it over in search of a website or email. Nothing.

  I considered pocketing one, but then remembered I didn’t have a purse or even a pocket to put it in at this point. I returned it to the pile and neatened it up, with a strangely final feeling.

  Not much for relationships, he’d said.

  Fine. A dirty Christmas. That was it. No strings, no cards, no numbers.

  Although I’d definitely look up exactly what it was arborists did. Probably google him, too, if I was honest.

  But, man, how did he even run a business nowadays without a website? I swiveled around. Or even a computer, as far as I could tell.

  Course, he might have an office in town. But then he’d have put that address on his cards, wouldn’t he?

  Did he get enough work to survive? The man was so self-sufficient, I couldn’t image he needed a whole lot.

  That was both attractive and, suddenly, unexpectedly, sad. Despite that pile of gifts in the corner that said he had plenty of people who loved him, he’d planned to spend the holidays alone before I came along. New Year’s probably wasn’t even a blip on his radar.

  It wasn’t sad, I decided, if he didn’t care. Which truly seemed like the case.

  I turned, took in the clean, cozy cabin, lit by the candles’ golden haze and the lazily snapping fire in the wood stove, and unconsciously looked for my phone.

  It took me just a few seconds to remember that there’d be no Instagramming this moment. My phone was gone, along with my purse, my car. My job.

  I sank onto the arm of the sofa and tried to catch my breath.

  Holy shit. My life. My entire freaking life. Stupid things occurred to me—I’d kept my favorite shiny, rainbow see-though umbrella in the Jetta’s trunk. My sneakers had been on the back seat. What else? What other crap did I leave in there?

  No. No way was I wallowing in this…again. I needed something to do. I could clean, but there wasn’t a speck of dust in the place. On a whim, I stood up, headed to the desk, grabbed a pen from the jar and a sheet of paper from the drawer, and started sketching out business card ideas.

  A short while later, the door opened, startling me out of my work-focus. Just as I stood up, the dogs shook themselves, showering me with a fine, cold spray. My surprised yelp turned into a laugh.

  “Come on, girls.” He grabbed Bear and rubbed her down with a towel, but Brownie somehow escaped him, headed straight for me, and goosed me, her nose freezing against my thigh. I yelped and managed to grab ahold of her by the collar. My laughing attempts to drag her to the front door were absurd.

  Together, we finally got them dried off. He followed them in and sat on his bench and I couldn’t help but rub his hair, entirely different from how I’d rubbed their fur.

  “You need a rub down, too, Mica,” I told him, full of affection.

  And stopped when I saw the look in his eye, breath caught in my throat.

  “How about that bath first?”

  22

  Micah

  Growing up with four sisters pretty much ensured that someone was freaking out most days. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, often big, and always emotional. I’d never have said that I missed it, after all this time away, and these years spent alone, but holding Christa, soaking up her explosion of feelings, it occurred to me that maybe I did miss it. Maybe living alone up here wasn’t all that satisfying.

  It was easy, simple, quiet—all the things I’d needed after Afghanistan—but now it felt like I was missing out on stuff. Stuff like this.

  Really? Was I fucking crazy?

  I turned the tap. The water was warm, but not yet hot. I filled the bath anyway, then went into the living room for the cast-iron kettle I left on the wood stove, emptied that into the bath, then set more water to boil there and in the kitchen. We’d get it hot in no time.

  Christa huddled on the sofa, alternately staring at the fire, and giving me shy, embarrassed-looking smiles, and all I could think was, Yeah. Yeah, I’ve missed this.

  Jesus, save me from myself, I thought as I tromped back out into the snow to shut down the generator.

  Christa greeted me at the door. “I’m so sorry I flipped out like that.”

  “Don’t apologize. Why aren’t you in the bath?”

  “Oh. I thought…”

  “Figured you’d want to be alone.”

  She started to shake her head, then compressed her lips into a flat line, as if stopping herself from saying whatever was on her mind. And then, because she wasn’t the sort of person who’d stop herself from being honest, she said, “I want to be with you.”

  Her eyes met mine head-on, looking defiant or stubborn, and something loosened in my chest.

  In two steps, I was in front of her, dropping the blanket from her shoulders, baring her naked curves and pulling her into my cold body.

  She shivered so hard that I should have pushed her away. But I couldn’t. Kissing her wasn’t a desire, it was a need—like taking a piss, except prettier, obviously.

  Had to have those lips, that tongue, her body lined up with mine, her cheeks in my palm.

  I needed her closer, breasts against my chest. I needed these clothes off and—

  As if she’d read my mind, her hands were at my waist, tugging at the button and zipper, then pushing my pants down. Those hands—hot and capable—tightened on my cock, pressed it down between her legs and…

  “Fuuuuuck.” A hot, slick slide against her didn’t feel like enough. “No…condoms.”

  I should slow down. Stop this, since she was emotional and raw. I couldn’t believe how turned on she felt, her body shifted forward and back, like fucking, right here in by the front door.

  “I’ve got an IUD,” she whispered. And then, in case that wasn’t clear enough. “Put it in me. I want you in me.”

  I wanted my shirt off so I could feel her nipples, wanted a bed so I could do this slowly, and patience so I wouldn’t lose it before this even started, but none of that was in the cards for right now.

  Because more than anything, I wanted my cock in her pussy.

  I grasped her under the ass and lifted. She was right there, hot and ready, legs wrapped around my hips, and, before I could prepare for what was about to happen, she grabbed my dick, lined it up, and pushed herself down on me…

  Our noises were the hottest thing I’d ever heard. They’d have told the story clear as day, without the pictures to go along.

  Her grunts, low and animal, confirmed that I wasn’t an easy fit. And, in all fairness, I didn’t think I’d ever been this big and hard. So solid, it felt like I could hold her up against the cool door with my erection alone.

  I bent my legs, flexed my ass, and pressed in, one slow inch at a time.

  It was so good it almost hurt. I screwed my eyes shut and waited for my balls to calm down. Then down and back up, slowly and steadily nailing her to the door.

  When my cock was seated deep inside, I sucked in a breath, opened my eyes…and nearly came.

  “Fuck me, you’re bea
utiful, Christa.” Her tits hung down, heavy and so female it hurt. Below that, her belly had that swell that I’d only ever seen on a woman. And her hips, wide and soft, were perfect. All of her. Perfect.

  “You keep saying that,” she whispered, her voice straight out of some black and white movie.

  I shifted her weight to my left arm and used my right hand to play with her tits, slowly, faking a calm I didn’t think I’d ever manage around this woman. I weighed one, stroked that impossibly soft underside, then ran the back of my knuckles over her thick, round nipple. I did the same on the other side, before pinching them both. A slow stroke out of her body, then up and inside. I wanted to pound, hard and fast and so deep she’d never get me out.

  Another pump, faster this time. It made her tits bounce and had her eyelids sagging shut.

  “Open your eyes. Watch.”

  Slowly, she looked at me as I lifted her breast to my mouth, and sucked on the tip, hard. She clenched her pussy and gasped at the same time.

  “Look.” I pulled away, just enough to catch a glimpse of my shiny cock gliding out, then back inside—pounding myself home. Home. “Down.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Now touch yourself. Make yourself come.”

  “I…I can’t.”

  “Try.”

  I shifted my weight, pressed her tight to the door and gave her space to slip her right hand between our bodies. She touched herself slowly. Too slowly, if I wanted her to come before I blew. Five years without sex. Five years, but a lifetime, if I was honest, because this was like nothing I’d experienced. This woman was like no one I’d ever met.

  I wanted to plant myself inside her and never come out.

  “Come on, faster,” I urged, feeling weirdly perverted. Or insane. Obsessed. “I know you need it faster to come. Do it faster.”

  She sent a grumpy look my way, but set to work, rubbing herself toward orgasm, while I did my best to hold back.

  “Oh, my God, Micah. Oh… Oh, my God.” Her little white teeth bit into that bright red, swollen bottom lip. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”