by Mazzy King
In the meantime, I suck her clit and her puffy pussy lips like they’re candy. I grip her thighs hard, unable to contain my own barbaric grunts of pleasure. More. I need to taste all of her.
“Clay,” she cries. “I’m going to come!”
Oh, yes, you are, Songbird. Sing for me…
Her wail of pleasure could be a beautiful high note in a song. She floods my mouth with her creamy nectar and I drink down every drop. By now my cock is steel, probably tearing a hole in my sweatpants, desperate to be deep inside her and painting her with my seed.
I pull my mouth away and give her a long, deep kiss. She’s eager to taste herself in my mouth and I let her suck my tongue.
“I need to be inside you,” I growl against her mouth, jerking my sweatpants over my hips.
Her eyes go wide and mouth slack at the sight of me. I’m a thick eight inches and my dick reaches out for her like it knows that’s where it belongs.
I stand and pull her to the edge of the bed, spreading her wide. Her pussy glistens in the dim lamplight on my nightstand, all pink and inviting and ready.
“I want you, Clay,” she whispers, grabbing two fistfuls of my comforter.
“Not nearly as bad as I want you, Songbird,” I reply, stroking the head of my cock against her wet opening. She parts for me little by little and I can’t contain a deep groan at how perfectly tight she is. I nudge her open, taking my time to slide home, and when I do, we both cry out.
I take her with deep, hard, slow thrusts, gazing down at her as her head tips back, eyes closed. Her breasts bounce with every hard cant of my hips. Tight as a glove and covering every inch of my cock with her cream. This has to be what heaven’s like.
Savannah opens her eyes and lifts her head. “Clay… I want it from behind.”
“Anything you want,” I breathe, and slowly pull out of her. “Get on your hands and knees.”
She flips over and arches her back. Her luscious ass points at me, and just below, her even wetter pussy. I step behind her and slide back inside. No, I was wrong. This is heaven.
I get to see her ass jiggle with each slam of my hips. I grip her soft hips in my hands, then slide one to tangle in her hair. She moans louder and spreads her thighs wider. Yep. She likes that.
I can’t resist giving her ass a little tap.
“Harder,” she says through her teeth. “Smack my ass like you mean it.”
Oh fuck. My dick throbs inside her at that. I’m not going to last much longer. I give her ass a healthy slap and she squeals.
“Fuck me hard, Clay,” she moans. “I want to come all over your cock. I’m so close!”
I can die a happy, happy man.
With one hand wrapped around her hair and the other gripping her ass cheek, I bear down and fuck her hard and fast. The tip of my dick keeps stroking that little, spongy button inside her I felt with my tongue earlier, and her pleasure squirts out in little bursts each time I hit it. That’s my target, and I’ve always had deadshot aim.
Savannah screams into the bed as she explodes. Her pussy clenches like a fist on my cock, and it feels so goddamn amazing I’m helpless as my own pleasure shatters, buckling my knees. I growl her name over and over as my thick cum shoots up inside her to coat her walls. I want to mark her as mine and if by some miracle of fate her birth control fails her and we make a child from this, the best moment of my life, I’ll get down on my knees and thank the universe for the day I heard her singing on the mountain path.
Because Savannah is the one. My perfect, beautiful one.
Chapter 7
Savannah
Clay’s still sleeping as I sit on the covered porch, watching the rain and playing my song. It came together in my mind as I lay against his chest, feeling warm and content and more at home in this strange place than I have ever before.
I snuck out here an hour ago and finished the song. I’ve played through it a few more times to get it down. Then, I set up the recording function on my cell phone, on its last bit of battery juice, and I record the song. The rain in the background serves as the perfect percussion.
As the battery display drains from 2% to 1%, I send the song file to Karla.
“That sounded…amazing.”
I turn.
Clay stands in the doorway, his hair rumpled, wearing only his sweatpants. His body is flawless—sculpted, wide shoulders, well-developed arms from hard work, broad chest, and a narrow waist jampacked with muscle. Thinking of the way that magnificent body made love to me earlier sends tingles running through me.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, beaming at him.
He walks onto the porch and leans down. His delectable lips claim mine with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl. He flicks my tongue with his, then leans his forehead against mine. “Hungry?”
I nod. For more than just soup.
He leads me inside by the hand, then turns on the stove. I plug my phone in with his charger, and then we curl up on the couch together with Bramble, our meal, and a movie. It’s almost ten p.m., but time is meaningless here with him.
I can’t help but wonder how much of it we have left together, though.
An hour later, my phone rings. I reach for it. It’s Karla.
“Hello?”
“It’s a hit,” she yells. “It’s a goddamn hit, Savvy. Where the hell did that song come from? Was that rain in the background? Jesus Christ, it’s a hit! Amy loves it!”
I sit up straight. “What do you mean, Amy loves it?”
Clay straightens too, reaching for my hand. I death-grip it.
“I mean, Amy loves it, wants to record it, and the deal is yours!” Karla laughs joyously.
I sit, stunned, my mouth hanging open.
“What?” Clay whispers, a smile tugging at his mouth.
What? My life is about to change in a huge way, that’s what. But I don’t know how to form words. I put the phone on speaker so he can here.
“Savannah, did you hear me?” Karla asks. “I said, the deal is yours.”
My eyes fill with tears, but I burst into laughter instead. “I can’t believe this! Where do I sign?”
Clay thrusts both fists into the air, mouth open in a silent screaming cheer.
“So how soon can you make it to Nashville?” Karla asks.
“Nashville?” I repeat. “Uh…”
“Just tell me the nearest airport to where you are,” she says. “I’ll have a ticket waiting for you. Can you fly out tomorrow?”
“Um…” I glance at Clay. He nods. “Yeah, I can make it to an airport in the morning. I’ll email you the one I’m closest to.” Hope and excitement grow in my chest. Tomorrow, I’ll fly to Nashville, I’ll meet Amy, and I’ll sign a contract that will set me up for life, even if I never write or sell another song.
“Do that as soon as you can. I’ll make it a one-way.”
I tilt my head. “A…one-way?”
“Yeah,” Karla says. “You’ll be living here, so you may as well stay and look for an apartment.”
“Oh…” I trail off, cutting my eyes toward Clay again.
He’s still smiling, but it’s less bright and more forced.
It’s weird how one day, one moment, can change your life. Yesterday morning, this conversation with Karla was all I cared about in the world. And now…that list of things I care about has grown by one.
Bramble gives my hand a lick.
Okay, by two.
In the distance, out of the huge picture window on the far wall, I see the mountains through the lashing rain when lightning brightens the world, it seems, with each flash. The mountains where I found my inspiration again.
Where I maybe found love.
Three things. My list has grown by three more things.
I have four wonderful things in front of me. Three of them pull me in a direction opposite the big one.
My dream.
“Yup, she’ll be there,” Clay says suddenly, loudly. I jolt, realizing I’ve totally tuned out of the c
onversation.
“Who are you?” Karla asks, sounding interested.
“A friend,” Clay replies without meeting my gaze. “I live in Hawk Valley.” Then he gives her the name of the closest airport.
Karla and I finish our conversation, which includes her booking my one-way, first-class ticket right there. “Get some rest,” she tells me, and I can hear the grin on her face. As my agent, she gets fifteen percent of the deal, so this is huge for her too.
“Get some rest,” I say after we hang up. “Yeah right.”
Clay takes my hand. “Congratulations, Savannah.” He kisses my knuckles. “This is amazing. Nashville.”
His tone is light. I don’t know how to tell him leaving him will be hard. “Clay…” I moisten my lips. “Today…tonight. Meeting you in general. It was really special. I told you how I feel about love and dating. I haven’t been able to open my heart to anyone, maybe ever. And I want to open it with you. I don’t…I don’t want to let this go.”
He gives me a smile that threatens to shatter my heart. “You’re special, Savannah. Beautiful. Full of heart. Gifted. I don’t want to let you go. But I won’t stand in the way of your dream. You need to go to Nashville.”
“But…” I take a huge breath, my gaze locked on our fingers. “I don’t want to lose you.” A crazy idea pops into my head, and I snap my eyes up to him. “Come with me. Come with me to Nashville.”
He touches my cheek. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could. But I have responsibilities here. People depending on me. I have my business that needs me too. I’m working on my own big deal, I guess.”
“I know. I understand.” I swallow. It’s not fair for me to expect him to drop everything and leave town for a woman he barely knows.
“Don’t worry about that right now.” Clay pulls me into his arms, gathering me close, kissing the top of my head. It’s such a familiar, loving gesture, it brings tears to my eyes. “Let’s just celebrate your moment.” Bramble jumps onto the couch to curl beside me, resting his massive head on my hip. I scratch the top of his head until his eyes grow sleepy, keeping my other hand on the arm Clay wraps around me.
“I just don’t want to say goodbye,” I whisper.
“I don’t do ‘goodbye’ with people who mean something to me,” he replies. “For you…it’s never goodbye with me.”
Then why does it feel that way?
Chapter 8
Clay
One week later
It’s been a few days since I heard from Savannah, but it might as well be a few months.
We talked frequently ever since she rolled out of Hawk Valley in her recently fixed truck, thanks to Forrest. We talked on the drive to the airport. We talked when she changed planes. We talked when she landed in Nashville. We talked when she spent her first night as a millionaire in a hotel room. We got on FaceTime, and she ordered a glass of champagne from room service and I had a beer, and we toasted each other through the screen. It was a huge moment for her. Her purpose in life finally becoming fruitful.
Then meetings started happening. Big meetings, with her and her agent and the artist and the artist’s agent and representatives from the record label. Daytime meetings turned into dinner meetings. Dinner meetings bred party invitations to meet industry people. Those meetings created more meetings, and gradually, our conversations happened less and less until they stopped altogether.
I don’t blame her for that, and I’m not angry. I understand. I would never want to be held back from my dream, so I would never hold anyone back from theirs. I’m proud of Savannah, and I regret nothing. The short time we spent together showed me I am capable of…
Loving someone.
It’s a Sunday, and even though shops are closed, I’m at my plant overseeing some equipment fixes. I got a big, important call too—my product is cleared to be distributed in stores all across America, from small mom-and-pop pet supply stores to tractor supply stores to big box stores. I’m going to need to start working with some industry folks to open plants and distribution centers in strategic locations, and that’ll mean some travel for me too. But for right now, business is business as usual, and my product still needs to be manufactured according to my original, pre-change-my-life distribution deal.
Bramble likes to come with me to the plant. There are lots of interesting smells here, and he’s the head food tester, the manager of taste quality. If it doesn’t get the okay from Bramble, it doesn’t get sold.
Besides, he can tell I’ve been moody since Savannah left us a week ago. He was moody, pacing in front of the door and whining for several hours after we said goodbye. He’s always been a friendly dog, but he fell in love with Savannah.
Just like I did.
Around dinnertime, I wipe down the machinery I’ve been cleaning and sigh, glancing over at him. He lays with his muzzle on his paws, staring at me with his big dark eyes.
“All right, boy,” I say, and he perks up. “Let’s head to Hawk’s Nest and get you a nice, juicy burger. What do you think about that?”
He pants and wags his tail.
We climb into my truck, and I’ve just started up the engine when my phone rings. I choke at the caller ID.
“Hello?” I say quickly. “Savannah?”
“…back,” she says. “Clay, I…needed…mountains. It’s where…belong. Miss…all the time.”
“Savannah, the signal sucks,” I say. “I can’t hear you. Did you say something about mountains?”
“Coming…you. I need…you and the…”
“Savannah?”
“…mountains!”
My heart jumps into my throat. “Are you saying you’re back here in the mountains? Hawk Valley?”
“Yes! …lost, though…dark. I—oh shit!”
The call drops.
“Fuck,” I hiss. Bramble stares at me intensely. “I think she’s here, Bram. Back in the mountains. But lost…”
The sun dipped behind the mountains about half an hour ago, and the sky is rapidly getting darker. By the time I get up there, it’ll be fully dark.
“Time to go,” I tell Bramble, and, hamburger forgotten, he barks at me in agreement.
I gun it up to the mountains. It takes about twenty minutes to get all the way up there, picking my way along the narrow road and searching for her truck. I don’t find anything.
Eventually I pull my truck over to the side and grab a flashlight. I hop out, Bramble on my heels, and I head off the road toward the hiking path. We’re nearing the spot where we hiked last week.
Bramble sniffs the ground intently, though I can’t be sure if he’s caught a scent or if he’s just smelling something interesting. “Whatcha got, boy?” I ask him quietly.
Then, in the darkness, I hear something.
Music.
A voice.
Singing.
It’s the song Savannah wrote while she was here, the one that changed her life…and mine.
“‘When you…slammed into me, I never saw you comin’. No, I never saw when you…slammed into me…’”
I round a bend and come upon the path that leads to the little cave we hid in from the rain.
Perched on top of it is Savannah.
The light from my flashlight illuminates her, and she smiles down at me, strumming her guitar.
“‘But, baby, you’re just what I needed. You’re just what I needed to learn…how to breathe.’”
“What’re you doing up there?” I ask, unable to keep a huge grin off my face.
“I got lost,” she tells me, tilting her head, “and I figured you’d come look for me. So…I made sure you could hear me.”
“Oh, I hear you,” I tell her, swallowing. “I hear you loud and clear. Get down, Songbird.”
She carefully picks her way down from the slab and walks toward me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Nashville, making your dreams come true?” I breathe as she nears.
She nods. “Yeah, I am. I pissed a few people off this morni
ng when I left.”
“Why did you leave?”
Savannah draws a deep, shaky breath and sets down her guitar. Then she takes my hands. “Part of the reason why I even got that deal was because of this place. These mountains…they agree with my soul. They brought back my ability to create. They brought back the joy in songwriting. And all of it, that was because…you slammed into me, Clay.”
“I want you to chase your dream,” I tell her in a low voice. “You deserve it. And the world deserves to hear your amazing songs.”
“I told Amy if she wants them, I have to be here,” Savannah says. “In these mountains. With…you. Because this is where my heart is, and this is where I belong.”
I smile, cupping her face in my hands. “I told you before, it’s never goodbye with me. I would’ve waited until the end of time for you.”
“Luckily, you don’t have to,” she breathes, and jumps into my arms.
Epilogue
Savannah
Four months later
Autumn is in the air, and in the mountains, the view is unbelievable.
Trees and foliage covering the mountainside make for a stunning panoramic view, and as I work on a few last songs for Amy Mayweather’s debut album, I can’t get the words out fast enough. My bare feet are propped on the cabin’s oak railing, I’m relaxing in the rocking chair, and a bottle of Forrest’s ale sweats on the little table beside me as I thoughtfully strum my guitar.
Life is wonderful.
Bramble lifts his head at one particular chord, giving me a doggy smile as he pants.
“Like that one, buddy?” I ask, marking down the notes.
He gives a gentle awoo.
“I think you should be a singer too,” I inform him, strumming again. “You’ve got a beautiful voice.”
Flattered, he returns his view toward the mountains.
“What about me? Do I have a beautiful voice?”
I turn and grin at Clay, stepping through the doorway onto the porch with his own beer. “You sure do…when you’re saying dirty things to me in your bed every night.”