“She’ll be fine. She’s just never been in a snowstorm this strong.” The wind shakes the house again and the lights flicker, but my daughter doesn’t make a sound this time. She trusts me when I say she’s safe.
Do I trust him, when he says that I am safe? Can I afford to?
I move up to him and brush my hands down the outsides of his arms. It’s reckless, and it could get me hurt. But he’s stuck here now, and I suddenly can’t avoid the situation.
He moves up close to me again, and this time it feels unavoidable when we press together and he lifts me in his arms. His kiss has an edge of desperation to it that I match; he pushes me up firmly against the wall beside my bedroom door and works a thigh between my legs as his kisses intensify.
Deep down, I struggle with guilt as I remember my decision to take things slow. But when I feel him trembling against me like he’s almost too excited to restrain himself, the burning heat he stokes inside of me crowds out everything else.
The wind rises to a roar again outside, covering our small sounds of pleasure as we feast on each other. Finally the kiss breaks, and he leans back, looking down at me with his chest heaving.
“Are you all right with this?” he rasps with the last of his self-control. His heart is pounding against my breasts and I can feel his erection pressing into my belly.
“You just asked me a question that I can’t answer,” I murmur against his lips. “If I hide from the answer … I’ll be hurting myself anyway.”
What if I’m not making a mistake? What if not taking the risk … is the mistake?
His grip tightens on me and he kisses me again, a small, feral sound escaping his throat. We kiss each other’s lips until they’re sore, and when he sets me on my feet I take his hand and lead him into my darkened bedroom.
I don’t know what decides it for me: James’s promise not to hurt us, the proof of that in his actions, Cindy wanting him to stay too, or the growing desire to spite Andrea. But even as my mixed feelings leave me shivering, I know that whatever reason I want to hang it on, this is where I wanted things to lead.
The room is small and a little drafty; I had to make window quilts from old blankets, and even with them and the plastic I shiver a little as we walk in. The iron bed is a pale shape in the dark. He nudges me toward it, kissing, nibbling, caressing the whole time, gentle and delicate but never letting up.
My bottom strikes the high edge of the mattress and he presses against me, scooting me up onto it with his hands on the small of my back. One of my flats falls off with a thump. I don’t even look; I’m too wrapped up in the feel of his mouth on mine.
His hands slide my cardigan off my shoulders and toss it aside onto the bedside chair. His mouth slides down to my neck, kissing and nibbling, his teeth just brushing my flesh until I moan softly and he starts to suck.
Manny was always just as nervous as I was when going to bed. Part of it was that we were both virgins when we met, and didn’t actually have that much time between deployments to sort out things like sex. But James has two decades on my late husband, and apparently, he’s learned a lot from them.
He doesn’t hesitate. He explores. I tremble under his hands as he slides his fingertips over every part of me, first through my dress and then up under it, caressing my thighs through my stockings. I can feel his cock pressing against me through his pants, rubbing against my bottom as I run my feet over the backs of his thighs.
I know he’s marking my neck with his mouth and I submit to it, sobbing for air, the unfamiliar pleasure making me dizzy. I want to feel this good always, and forget everything.
I hear him grunt with pleasure against my neck and feel him move lower, unfastening my dress buttons as he goes and kissing a trail down to the top of my breast. He nibbles at the soft curve of skin just above my bra, and then covers it with kisses.
He’s teasing me. He pushes a little, moves his hands up and down the outsides of my thighs through my stockings, then up to the bare skin just above their garters. The brush of his big, warm hands against my chilled skin makes me cling to him, and I impatiently start sliding my own dress off my shoulders.
I help him tug the dress down to my waist and push off the bed so he can get it over my hips and away. The demure slip under it is one of the few nice ones I have, and as he starts caressing my breasts and back through the silky fabric, I’m doubly glad I wore it.
The wind keeps shaking the house and the scouring whiteness outside sends a hiss through the room. He peels off his turtleneck and tosses it aside.
I run my hands up his sculpted body, and it occurs to me just how little I know about men. He’s definitely in the driver’s seat tonight, but I feel like being just a little bold. He groans softly as I explore his skin with the same hunger with which he explores mine.
He lifts me to my feet and loosens the slip across my shoulders, then slides the whole silken sheath off of me, leaving me in underwear and stockings, and one shoe that I kick off impatiently. That done, he lays me down and just ... looks at me.
“God, you’re lovely,” he purrs, and I stare at him through my lashes because I don’t have the nerve to look at him in the eyes. As I watch, he kicks off his boots then unbuckles his belt and slides his trousers down his hips.
The enormous tool that springs loose and tents out the front of his boxers startles me a little; I don’t have much experience with cocks either, and this one is the biggest I have seen. Will it hurt? I fight down a surge of panic.
He climbs onto the bed behind me and moves up close; I feel his breath stir my hair before he brushes it aside and starts kissing his way down my spine. I don’t expect it to feel as good as it does as he starts leaving a slow trail of hickeys down my back.
In minutes he has me lying on my side, my back bare, his hands unfastening my bra and pulling it off me while he keeps nipping and licking my back and hips. He moves up and kisses my neck from behind as he cups my small breasts, his big palms engulfing them completely.
I tremble, amazed at just how turned on I am. With Manny, it was all warm haziness and shy caresses, and him groaning in my arms while I held him. This is a whole different experience—still tender, but I’m on fire underneath my skin.
The pleasure leaves me drugged, thirsty for more, a little desperate. If he stops, I might lose my mind. I don’t have the words for what I’m feeling, just whimpers and sighs, sometimes muffled with the back of my hand or the bedding, sometimes with his mouth.
He’s crouched over me now, his eyes burning. The lights outside flicker again and this time, I barely notice. He bends down and fastens his mouth onto my nipple—and I go rigid, my sharp cry lost in the rising wind.
He kneads my bottom through my panties as he suckles me, and then starts tugging them down. All I can do is hang on and try to keep from crying out as the heat and tension inside of me rise toward bursting.
The cold air on my hot, slick sex makes me gasp as he pulls my panties off. I don’t know what I need right now. My cunt aches, and I’m getting desperate. Then his hand slips around from behind me and starts to knead my mound.
I arch my back hard enough that my bottom leaves the bed as he caresses me, hand moving in time with his lips as he continues to lavish attention on my nipples. I hear myself begging breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. Even as he tears off his boxers, even as he bears down on me as my back arches and I feel the hot length of his cock sliding into me, his hand moves steadily between my thighs.
He’s too tall to keep at my breasts while he’s inside me; instead, he braces himself on one hand and rubs the hood of my clit firmly as he thrusts in. He muffles his groan in my hair.
He starts rolling his hips, the springs creaking under us as I tangle my limbs around him and rise to meet him as pleasure teases my hips upward.
I’ve lost control. As he struggles to move steadily and gently, I throw myself against him, against his caressing hand, his thrusting cock, digging my nails into his skin,
working my hips fiercely.
His back arches and he starts to pant and groan uncontrollably as I thrash under him—but he keeps his rhythm as the pleasure collects inside of me. It’s too much—too much bliss, too much need. But I grind against him anyway, as he starts to shout with every breath.
Suddenly the pleasure takes off, rocketing upward through my body and then exploding. His mouth swoops down on me and muffles my screams, then my frantic writhing sets him off and his long groan mixes with mine.
The waves of ecstasy wipe out my mind; I become an animal, all reflex and instinct. I feel his body shudder against me, and then slowly sag over me, leaving us both shaking and gasping for air.
A long, drowsy while later, he catches his breath and rolls off of me, pulling the covers around us. I roll over and look at him; his face is blurry in the dark, but I can see his smile as he pulls me close.
“Any regrets?” he asks me softly as he nuzzles my forehead.
I’m stunned. My whole body is loose and relaxed—satisfied in a way I have never felt before. And here he is, lingering and asking how I’m doing. I was right to take this risk, after all. Even if it doesn’t last, I will have had these precious days, and tonight.
“Not one,” I reply softly, and he smiles “Good.”
10
James
A year later, neither one of us has any regrets yet.
There are a few bumps along the way, of course. Andrea tries and fails to sell a tell-all book about me. My mother ends up with a few trust issues thanks to her, but having Lorena around helps with that a lot. It doesn’t take Lorena very long to win over my mother, and she gives us her blessing—but soon after that, Lorena ends up wrestling with a nasty case of morning sickness.
By the time the holidays roll around again, Lorena’s house is fixed up, and we’re splitting our time between there and New York City. My mom is happy that I’m around more. Cindy’s charming everyone, especially my mother’s cats. Lorena never has to be hungry or afraid again—and I never have to be lonely, or wonder who to trust.
A faint alarm goes off at six on Christmas morning, well before dawn. “Ugh,” I groan, and Lorena lets out a sigh and rolls over, flailing for her new cellphone to turn off the ringer.
“Okay,” she murmurs sleepily. “If we want to catch her asleep, this is our last chance.”
She’s gotten a little clumsy with her growing belly; I help her into her robe and slippers and throw on my own, then we make our way downstairs into the kitchen and to the basement door. Cindy is afraid of the basement, and so it’s the best place to keep secrets from her. Even if we’ve only had this secret here for about six hours after hiding them at my mom’s place for a week.
I go down into the basement and come back with the big, padded carrier. Lorena shuts the door behind me and we both sneak up to Cindy’s room.
She’s been a good kid, especially for a three year old. She’s been cheerful and well behaved through an awful lot. And she’s already more responsible than kids I’ve known that are twice her age. So after a lot of discussion, Lorena and I agreed to trust her with her biggest responsibility yet.
Lorena opens the door and we both slip in, closing it silently behind us. Cindy’s snuggled up with her snow bunny and the pink seahorse she got for her birthday. We move together to the foot of her bed.
We share a quick kiss as we look down at our precious Cindy, and then Lorena reaches over and opens the carrier door. Two white fluffballs, clumsy with youth, bumble out to explore the bed and its occupant. One of them lets out a faint mew, and Cindy stirs and starts to blink her eyes open.
I squeeze Lorena’s hand with my free one and feel my engagement ring on her finger, feeling a deeper contentment than I’ve ever known. Sometimes you have to wait on someone before gaining a real commitment. Sometimes you have to show that you’re trustworthy.
But it’s almost always worth the work … and the wait.
The End.
Lucky’s Naughty Angel (Dreams Fulfilled Book Two)
A Second Chance Romance
* * *
By Scarlett King
Aaron “Lucky” Gates never really had much luck—in love or in life. Dragged into a biker gang by a combination of desperation and pressure from his reckless older brother, Daniel, Aaron took the fall for an assault Daniel committed and spent ten years behind bars. Now, he’s a bouncer at Phoenicia’s only nightspot, struggling to rebuild his life while his brother keeps trying to coax him back into the gang. The one bright spot in his life, besides his friends at the job and his rescue dog Moose, is the sweet, beautiful girl he volunteers alongside at the church.
* * *
Two problems: she’s only twenty-one, and she’s Reverend Alderson’s daughter. He’s headed toward forty and has no business sniffing around a girl who’s so pure she could probably draw a whole herd of unicorns. Or so he thinks.
* * *
Julia sees things a bit differently. She looks at Aaron and sees a great big lonely bear of a man who not only attracts her, but makes her feel safe. She wants her father to understand, but knows it may be years before he does. And though she’s a good person, she’s not as innocent as the men in her life want to believe.
Chapter 1
Aaron
* * *
Every day that I wake up a free man, I take a deep breath and thank God for it. Sometimes it takes me a minute to remember where I am, but it all comes back to me when I open my eyes and see my neat little trailer around me instead of a cage. But before I can even do that, I'm stuck shaking off the shadows of the past.
The guys at the bar would be shocked to learn that their six-foot-six bouncer, who once flipped a patron's MINI Cooper onto its roof when he wouldn't pay his tab, regularly wakes up gasping—shaking like a kid waking up from a nightmare. But that's me, every damn morning.
The worst part is that hazy instant before the nightmare lets go of me. For just that moment, I expect that I'll open my eyes and see the cell around me instead of my home, and I'll know that being free was just a dream, and I'm still in that same damned cage that I lived in for ten years.
My personal Hell is a real place on earth—that tiny prison cell where the lights would always glare down, shared with three other orange jumpsuits. In that Hell, even though I knew I could flatten any of them, two of the three would leave me with scars.
Every morning the remembered nightmare recedes into the darkest parts of my head—where it belongs. This morning I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as the comforter slithers down my bare chest. It takes a few moments for my heart to stop pounding.
It's cold in my trailer. I usually turn the heat off in the early hours and rely on my thick down comforters instead. That way I don't have to dig into my savings by the end of the month just to pay for propane. Fortunately, even without a woman in my life, I've got some help keeping the bed warm.
Moose looks up from the foot of the king-sized mattress barely squeezed into the trailer's sleeping alcove. The big dog yawns and whines, thumping his tail. I reach over and scuff his floppy, chocolate-colored ears. He's a bit like me: a giant, muscular mutt that finally got out of his cage.
First thing I did once I finished parole was rescue Moose from the pound, so I would always have company that understands me. He and I took a road trip Upstate to live in the trailer on land that used to belong to my buddy Jake. It’s tough to start over with a felony on your record, so I went back to the one place where people actually know I’m not a bad guy: the town I grew up in.
Phoenicia's a bitty touristy town in the middle of nowhere in the Catskills, so different from the halfway house in the Bronx and the Hell I left behind that I don’t really fit in here anymore. I’m a giant tattooed biker with a touch of a Bronx accent now; you would never know that I grew up here.
Fortunately, the owner of the local bar is an old friend from school, just like Jake. He even rides himself on weekends, and he was looking for a big, intimidating guy to be his
bouncer. That job, along with the place to stay, saved my life as much as the dog and my friends.
Phoenicia is pretty—clean streets, a selection of restaurants, even a couple of spots that are open after ten, which is rare around here. I make some of the tourists nervous when I wander around, especially with the big dog, so I do my best to soften my image. Sit down, talk quiet, smile. Leave the armor I grew in prison—which I started forming on the road even earlier—aside.
It only works sometimes, so I spend more of my time alone than I would prefer. Especially when it comes to women. The ladies who go to Eddy’s bar know that, drunk or sober, they’re safer with me around than without. Now and again, I get to take one home. But it’s always a casual thing for them. Phoenicia considers itself high-end, so almost nobody wants a working-class boyfriend with a record.
Moose hops down and shakes himself, knocking me out of my reverie, and I scoot out of bed and stand up, stretching carefully. I tend to knock my knuckles on the trailer ceiling if I don’t watch it.
I’ve spent years taking practical steps toward rebuilding my life: fixing up the trailer, then buying it, then buying the land. Only then, did I move on from my original Harley and dog trailer to a big red cruiser with a sidecar, so Moose can ride in style. He even has his own helmet and goggles. The local kids love watching us roll through town.
I spend a good part of my days working now, too—sort of. Volunteering at the church every week is as much for me as anyone else. It’s hard to keep thinking of yourself as a complete piece of shit once you wear yourself out delivering meals, fixing a poor local’s window, or digging their car out.
I sleep whenever I get home, wake up in the late morning, and then spend some time volunteering at the church. I spend part of whatever’s left of my time riding with Moose or my friends and occasionally some of the local hobby bikers. This area has some of the prettiest wilderness east of the Rockies, and it all looks great when you’re zooming through on a bike.
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