Merry Ever After

by Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, Lucy Score, Marie Force, Tijan, Kennedy Ryan

  “She took advantage of you.”

  “We took advantage of each other,” he countered. “It could have been a hell of a lot worse.” He kneaded my foot with slow, gentle strokes.

  “In what way?”

  “I could have been the bad guy. Too wasted to know or care about the signals. Too full of myself to worry that a girl might say no. I could have made a woman feel the way Shayla made me feel. Used. Ashamed. Violated.”

  He peeled off my sock, and the contact of his fingers on my bare skin made me feel dizzy. “That was the last time I had a drink. The last time I fucked a stranger.”

  “Does your daughter know?”

  Vonn didn’t break eye contact as he shook his head slowly. “No one but me and Shayla. Now you.”

  He gestured for my other foot. When I gave it to him, he pulled that sock off too and pulled both feet into his lap. My feet were in Vonn Barlowe’s lap. I was suddenly sure that I had suffered a concussion and that any minute now I was going to wake up in a hospital bed.

  “Vonn?”

  “Yeah, babe.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

  He gave my feet a squeeze. “Least I learned from it. Now, how about you tell me why you’re sitting around here like you’re the curator of some family museum instead of out there living your life.”

  “Um. Ouch,” I said, trying to pull my feet back, but he merely tightened his grip.

  I saw a wink of dimple. “Come on. What are you doing alone on Christmas Eve in a four-bedroom farmhouse full of memorabilia taking care of a horse that’s not yours?”

  I laughed then. “It may not look it, but I’m mid-transformation. I call it my Becoming.”

  This time when he returned my foot to his lap, he settled it higher. Against the rigid outline of his cock. My insides went molten. The rush of arousal between my legs was warm, wet, instantaneous.

  “I’m listening.” His voice was like gravel against my awareness.

  Too bad for the rock god on my couch I’d suddenly lost the power of speech.

  My heel wedged against the softness of his balls. My arch was pressed against the root of what felt like a champion erection. A hall-of-fame arousal. I wanted to replace my foot with my hand, my mouth, my everything.

  I could feel the pulse of blood in his flesh beneath my sole. Still he rubbed and soothed my other foot with his hands.

  My senses were on fire, and he’d touched nothing but my feet. If this was what his penis could do to me just by touching my foot, I was worried about what it could do elsewhere.

  “Brooke.”

  My name caressed with his rough voice brought me back.

  “You said you’re mid-transformation,” he prompted.

  “Right. Yes. That,” I said. “After the divorce was final, I realized I’d organized my entire life around my family to the point that when they all left, I had nothing of my own. I didn’t even have a hobby. Nothing around me fit this new marriage-less, kid-less existence,” I confessed.

  Vonn remained silent as his thumbs kneaded my foot.

  “So I decided I was going start living for me. It started small. With a hair cut. My clothes. Got rid of the minivan. Started boxing lessons. Got a tattoo.”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Where is this tattoo?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I said archly.

  “Very much.”

  “We’ll see,” I said. “Things like the house, the horse, the job, those are bigger changes. They’ll take longer. Addy’s twenty-one. She’s in college, and it’s not like she could take Whinnie with her. When I mentioned that I was thinking about selling the house, downsizing, she and my son freaked.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know if they think they need this place to come home to or maybe they can’t imagine me as anyone but the mom who’s lived her their entire lives. You’d think I told them I wanted to burn down an orphanage when I mentioned selling. ‘What about Whinnie?’ ‘Where will I store my six hundred boxes of Legos and action figures?’”

  “So you stayed.”

  “For now. I shifted my focus to the job portion of the Becoming. I started taking freelance jobs about two years ago. With the concert venues here it was easy to specialize in music. The editor at the magazine told me if I could get an exclusive with you on your thoughts and feelings about the farewell tour he’d make room on the staff for me.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “A full-time job with benefits that lets me interview musical artists from all genres? Yes, please.” I took a breath. “But enough about me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think what?”

  “I haven’t had enough of you.”

  “Are you flirting with me, Vonn?”

  “Yes. Is it working?”

  I grinned at him, then changed the subject. “Do you want some tea? I have honey.” It had been with much amusement when I discovered that the tattooed badasses of hard rocking Sonic Arcade drank green smoothies in the morning and hot tea after shows. They did yoga, and some, specifically Vonn, even meditated before shows.

  “Tea would be good,” he said.

  I needed a few minutes of space. Because if I didn’t get it now, I was going to crawl into his lap and beg him to fuck me. And I was pretty sure that was a journalistic no-no.

  Vonn rose when I did.

  “Stay. I’ll get it,” I insisted, waving at the couch.

  “You’re injured. I don’t want you waiting on me like I’m some guest.”

  “You are a guest,” I said flippantly as I headed for the kitchen.

  “Brooke.” A warm hand on my wrist stopped me. His grip was firm.

  “What?”

  “How do you feel?”

  Hot and bothered. Hornier than a thirteen-year-old boy at the community pool. Wetter than Costa Rica’s rainy season. “I’m fine. Between the shower and the dinner, I feel pretty damn good.”

  “Good.” He pointed up. There in the open doorway between the living room and dining space dangled a plastic piece of mistletoe.

  “It’s not real,” I said, referring to the mistletoe, as if the plastic nature of the leaves had any bearing whatsoever on Vonn’s intentions.

  “I’m superstitious,” he countered. He was, as was the rest of the band. Drummer Kaio had to walk on stage with a drumstick in his back pocket and one in his hand. Keyboardist Steve wore the same patterned socks for every performance. When the pattern was retired, he’d used his star power to convince the manufacturer to make a few hundred more just for him.

  “I want to kiss you,” Vonn said, his voice low and dangerous. “But if I do, it’s not going to stop there. If that’s not something you want, I need to hear it now, babe.”

  He used my wrist to tug the rest of me into his body. This time it was my stomach cuddled up to his hard-on. My thighs quaked.

  Lazily, as if he had all the time in the world, he put his arms around me, sliding his hands under my cardigan and splaying his palms over my back. We were pinned at the hip. My hands went to his chest and fisted in the cotton of his T-shirt. Suddenly, launching my career with this story seemed much less important than being with a man I’d fantasized about for a few decades.

  “You said you didn’t fuck strangers,” I whispered stupidly.

  “Think we’re still strangers, babe?” he asked, amused.

  He had a point…and an erection. Neither of which I felt like arguing with.

  “Good point,” I whispered, mentally prepared as his mouth lowered slowly toward mine.

  The kiss was warm, hard, consuming. Awesome. He wasn’t polite or tentative. He confidently plundered my mouth and set my soul on fire. I was melting, combusting in his arms.

  His hands were on the move. One sliding lower to squeeze my rear end, the other traveling around to cup the outer curve of my breast. My nipple was painfully aware that the attention it sought was mere inches away.r />
  I let out a low moan as his tongue swept into my mouth. He wasn’t just sampling, Vonn was devouring.

  God, it had been too long since my last satisfying sexual encounter. A one-night stand a few weeks after my divorce was final. Since then, I’d found it hard to put into words what I wanted from a new lover. And Mark’s sexual dysfunction hadn’t exactly done anything for my self-confidence.

  But I knew from the sweep of his tongue, from the rock of his arousal against me that Vonn would be different.

  “Fuckin’ knew it,” he murmured against my lips.

  The lights seemed to flicker before my eyes, and then I was plunged into darkness as he expertly kissed the life out of me. It took me several long, embarrassing seconds before I realized the lights really had gone out.

  “Power outage,” I gasped into his mouth.

  “I’m aware,” he said smiling as he stroked his thumb over my sensitive nipple. Once. Twice.

  My knees went weak.

  “I can still make tea,” I squeaked. “On the stove.”

  “Baby, fuck the tea.” His breath was warm on my cheek.

  To emphasize his point, he ground his erection against me.

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “Stay here,” he said, giving my butt a gentle squeeze. And then he was gone.

  “Vonn?”

  I heard the strike of a match in the kitchen and the hiss of a candlewick. The kitchen grew progressively brighter as he lit several candles.

  The man had cooked me dinner, force fed me Tylenol, rubbed my feet, and gathered candles in case of a power outage. I’d never felt more cared for in my entire life.

  When he stepped back from the counter, my eyes were drawn to his crotch. His bulging erection on full display through the thin material—thank you, Jesus and the inventor of sweatpants.

  Just one kiss with me had done that to him. I blew out a shaky breath.

  Vonn took two fat pillar candles and jerked his head toward the living room. “I want you by the fire.”

  He could have said, I want you spread eagle in the snow, and I would have happily trotted outside without pants.

  I followed him back to the living room and stood awkwardly as he placed the candles on the coffee table, then added another log to the fire. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or if I should sit down or jump him as soon as he finished stoking the fire.

  He took me by the hand and led me back to the couch. But he didn’t settle back on its deep overstuffed cushions. He sank to the floor in front of it and pulled me down to straddle his lap. He bent his knees behind me, and I slid down his hard thighs until his iron-hard shaft notched between my legs.

  He let out a guttural moan that had my toes curling in wicked delight.

  Our mouths were so close we were breathing the same air.

  “Tell me you want this, Brooke.”

  “Yes. Please,” I begged.

  “Thank fucking God.”

  He took my mouth again and gripped my hips, dragging me over his erection.

  Up and down. Back and forth until I was panting for more.

  A realization hit me. “Shit. Wait!”

  He lifted his head, concern written on his gorgeous face. “You okay?”

  I reached past him, the change in angle inciting more torture between my legs. Grabbing my phone, I stabbed at the Record button and turned it off.

  “Now, I’m okay.”

  His grin was downright lethal as he hooked his fingers in the neckline of my tank top and pulled down. I had just enough time to shrug out of my sweater before his mouth fastened onto my nipple. His arms, tattooed monuments to a wild life, wrapped around me as his beard abraded my breast.

  Even as he sucked and licked, as he bucked his hips, I noticed that he was careful with me. Avoiding the bruising, holding me still.

  “You don’t have to be gentle,” I murmured against the top of his head as my empty core spasmed with need.

  “Babe, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “If this is our one night together, I don’t want to waste it being careful.” To emphasize my point, I dragged down the waistband of his sweatpants.

  Of course the man went commando.

  A moan escaped my throat as his erection sprang free. It was proud and thick enough, long enough to guarantee I’d be sore tomorrow. I couldn’t wait.

  I gripped him at the base, wrapping my fingers around the shaft.

  He nudged my chin up, and I met his gaze.

  “Been dying to watch you like this,” he confessed. “Two weeks I’ve been watching, wanting. Now I get to see you up close.”

  I blew out a breath, my grip tightening on his impressive cock.

  Vonn wanted to see me.

  The man I’d dreamed about since my twenties was seeing me. Not Addison and Shane’s mom. Not Ryan’s ex-wife. Not the woman handing over change at the sports boosters concession stand.

  Me.

  “It’s been a little longer for me,” I confessed. “A few decades. Sure hope you live up to the hype.”

  He responded with a chuckle and a stinging slap to my behind. “Funny, sweetheart. Very funny.”

  Then neither of us was laughing. His hand covered mine on his erection, and he gave a few quick, savage pumps. My fingers slicked against the smooth flesh as a thick drop of moisture pearled at the tip.

  My heart rate was rocketing. We weren’t even officially naked yet and I could barely catch my breath.

  “We’ve got all night, sweetheart. But this first time’s gonna be fast and hard,” he warned. “We’ll circle back to foreplay after.”

  We took turns stripping each other of our clothing before resuming our position. Vonn produced a condom and rolled it down his swollen length, gritting his teeth at the sensation. Then he gripped me by the hips and lowered me until the broad head of his penis was just parting my opening.

  I was slick with need. Aching to be taken. I shifted and hissed out a breath as the first two inches breached me.

  “Damn it, baby,” he whispered. “Fuck.” His fingers tightened their grip on my hips, and he yanked me the rest of the way down as he gave one vicious upthrust.

  The intensity of his invasion made me dizzy. Stretched. Full. Overwhelmed. The pleasure laced with just a sliver of pain from his size. I was reclining against his thighs, my knees pressing into his shoulders.

  It was beautiful.

  We were beautiful.

  Moving together. Working together. Partners worshiping each other. Vonn’s cool blue eyes burned with a fire and never left me.

  “So fucking beautiful, Brooke,” he whispered.

  Bringing my hands to his shoulders, I shifted forward, wincing at the change in angle that granted him an even deeper access.

  “So are you,” I whispered. My teeth grazed his neck as my hips rolled against him.

  He wrapped his arms around me and held on tight. Thrusting into me fast and hard. The sounds of our flesh sliding and slapping a sinful new soundtrack to the winter night.

  I felt it building, felt the first flutters of my inner walls.

  “Christ. That’s right, baby. I can feel you getting ready to let go,” he groaned against me and then his teeth sank into my shoulder. “Show me how hard my dick makes you come.”

  The bite coupled with the demand left me no choice but to do as he ordered.

  One second, I was Brooke Zimmerman, middle-aged empty nester. The next, I was a sex goddess hurtling into an orgasm so violent I worried I might die.

  My vision grayed as the waves of pleasure pounded me mercilessly. I felt my inner walls clamp down hard on his straining erection as my thighs quivered and my head spun.

  “Vonn!”

  He was turning me inside out. Tearing me apart and reassembling me into something new.

  His triumphant shout rang in my ears as he thrust once more into my still convulsing core. I felt the devastating pulse of his orgasm as he emptied himself inside me.

  “Best Christmas
ever,” I whispered.

  “Damn right,” Vonn agreed.

  It was officially Christmas morning. The dark hours of it anyway. The power had come back on at some point, and we were tangled up together in my bed. Fingers trailing over new skin, lips exploring uncharted territory. We’d put a more than respectable dent into the box of condoms Addison had hilariously given me along with a lecture on safe sex when I’d started dating again.

  Vonn’s body was warm and hard, full of unexpected pleasures.

  His fingers brushed my tattoo, a musical note on the inside of my right hip.

  I felt…wonderful. Lit up from the inside. Loose and warm and ridiculously happy.

  He threaded his fingers through my hair, separating the strands and letting them fall. “Why didn’t you ask about him?” His voice was a rumble in his chest against my ear.

  “Who?”

  “Tommy.”

  I shifted to look at him. Tommy Kwik had been the original front man for Sonic Arcade. A punk icon whose tragic death had rocked fans. Vonn and Tommy hadn’t just founded Sonic Arcade, they’d been best friends.

  Vonn had driven Tommy to his last stint in rehab. He’d been best man in all three of the lead singer’s weddings. They’d written all of the band’s songs together.

  And by all accounts, it had been Vonn to find his best friend’s body in a hotel room in Miami after Tommy had overdosed two years ago.

  He’d never once discussed it publicly. Never once talked about what had happened that night. Which had led a rabid public to devour and manufacture a steady diet of rumors and half-truths. The desire to know exactly what had happened to the beloved singer still gripped the music industry.

  I remembered the footage of a grieving Vonn leaving Tommy’s funeral. The flashes from cameras, the shouted questions. A disrespectful trespass into territory where none of them had belonged.

  I hadn’t asked him. Not because I didn’t want to know. I, like the rest of the public, was driven mad by the unanswered questions. But I didn’t want him to tell me. I didn’t want to make the call whether to keep the secret or to share it with the world.