by Rebecca Ryan
Stone pushed me to go back to school. I wrote a compelling case for the Dean at Tufts, where my parents taught. She did them a big favor, and within five weeks I had caught up. My parents, at first shocked, and then angry, listened to the reasons why I did what I did and I'm not sure they’ve forgiven me yet. I do know they are slow to warm up to Stone. A cage fighting boyfriend is not what they had in mind for their college-daughter.
To be fair, however, my parents offered a hundred-thousand-dollar reward for any evidence leading to a conviction, and they followed through. Though Stone didn’t want to take it, I made him. That's when he and Coach decided to go in on the gym together. Stone offered Coach the choice of splitting the money with him or become a business partner.
Coach chose the latter. They both wanted out of New York.
"You don’t need to thank me for anything," Stone says, straightening and then with a grin, pushing me flat on my back. Without warning, he slides his hands under my skirt and tugs my skimpy little lace undies down. My hips quiver. One by one he unbuttons the buttons on my crisp white cotton shirt and lays it open, unclasping the front hook of my bra. My chest is fully exposed, my nipples rock hard. I am breathing fast because I know what's coming next.
He breathes hard too. I looked right into his face and gasp when he touches me, brushing his fingertips across my nipples. I reach up for him as if he's going to save me from something and I feel tears start. Lately, this is what I do: cry. He unfurls a condom. I wrap my arms around his neck and he gently lowers himself on to me I can feel the hair on his chest and his tight nipples against mine. His cock enters me and stretches me so wide, I spread my legs to take him all in and then wrap them around his back. He rubs himself up and down my body, his chest hair tickling my breasts, making me arch my back, the heat from his body leaves me shivering under him.
He moves with such rhythmic purpose inside me. All of that, all of him, his weight, his pelvis, his muscles, everything, his warm stomach tightening on mine makes me moan. As the sound escapes my lips he stops and gasps, saying, "I'm going to come and I don't want to right now. You have to hold very, very still."
"Okay," I say, "okay."
"You're so wet," he whispers. Then he reaches down with his index finger, placing it between the two of us, right above where he's entered me and begins quick firm strokes with his thumb. He's doing something to me, I don't know what, I can’t think, can't understand what's happening to me but my body convulses, my clit starts to throb, and the wetness around us flows freely between my legs.
Suddenly he stops just as my orgasm surges. Grabbing both my arms, he gasps again, and I want him to thrust so hard against me I could cry. I shut my eyes. All that matters is Stone on top of me, his weight, his pelvis sliding against mine, his smell.
"You're so beautiful, Lily. You're just gorgeous. I love being in you. I love being in you." He says. "I see you, I want you, I feel you." With each phrase he drives himself deeper into me and then suddenly, wave after wave after wave of orgasm consumes me. I arch up, he grabs my buttocks and he helps support me as I arc backwards, holding my hips, keeping us together.
Then, just as my legs become boneless, he thrusts at a slightly lower angle and grabs me hard, first throwing his head back, then coming forward, grabbing me, holding me up against him, his head pressed against my chest. My heart pounds. He shudders, four five, six times, and then we sit there for a few moments, breathing hard trying to regain our breath. Before he catches his breath, he devours me with a kiss and then I unfold my legs and he sinks on top of me. I give him a good-bye squeeze with my vagina and then I roll out from under him, stand and try to compose myself.
He's collapsed in a pile of sheets and looks delicious in the morning light.
His voice is thick and really low, "Where're you going?"
I pat my hair, spray on a little sheen from a bottle next to the bed, tuck a few wayward strands back into my braid and head toward the bathroom. "To clean up and go to work. Someone's got to. You just play around in some gym."
I squeal when he comes after me. "Nonononono!"
Stone
I lay in bed after I hear the front door close and she's on her way down the steps to the T.
My old life is so behind me, half the time I sit around and pinch myself to make certain I am not dreaming. I can hardly even see where I had the hook and worm tattoo Q-switch lasered off. Right after we moved to outside Boston, I went for a tat along the top of my pec, where she always likes to touch me. It's Ancient Greek and stands for honor and beauty and reminds me that what is good is often difficult to attain. But worth it.
After a smoothie and a making a mental note to tell her to eat breakfast before she heads out tomorrow, I follow down the steps, and let myself into Stone & Hobie's Training and Fitness center. The early morning crew is already there, McKenzie and Valerie, Michael and Ramon. Ramon is a master trainer, but the others are coming along well. I stand by the front desk and see Coach cross the far end of the free weight area, tidying up after someone who couldn't be bothered to rack the weights.
Giving me a nod, he motions me over and I'm almost overcome with such a feeling of gratitude for this guy. Now that I'm out of it, out of the city, I really see what he did for me, and the risks he took. Coach is one of a kind and I am so glad he wanted to open this with me, even though he grumbled about having his back against the wall. Like he had no choice.
It is so the better choice. Lily's parents, Ruth and Ben Watson, were so generous. I tried to give the money back, but they were emphatic. What put Shreve away for twenty years was the gun, and I had brought it in with Lily. For them, it was open and shut. I've learned since, how Lily is their daughter. When they've made up their mind, there's no arguing.
I do get the sense, though, that they still haven’t made up their mind about me. No matter. I've made up my mind about their daughter and that's all that matters.
"Stone," calls Coach. "I saw Lily leaving all gussied up. Where’s she off too?"
It's weird. Ever since we relocated for Lily to be near Tufts, Coach has been slowly reverting to his Georgia accent.
"The internship at the legal defense firm."
His face registers the information and he waves a dismissive hand, more to himself than for others. "Shit yeah. Ooops."
He hasn’t quite cleaned up his language though.
I grin. "Did you actually say 'Ooops.'?"
"Listen you jackass, she's going to be around men all day in suits and ties and you wear silky shorts and trainers." He pauses assessing me. "Except for today. You cleaned up."
"You noticed. I'm touched." I had selected a pair of tight fitting stretch khakis and a light-blue, button down shirt, rolled up to the mid forearm.
Coach shakes his head. "Not enough."
"I know. I owe her. She got me into college," I say.
"Taking one Brit Lit course doesn't really make it."
I hoist a forty pounder on a rack. "What's your point, old man?"
Squinting, he leans forward conspiratorially. "You better get a ring on that finger of hers. All you have are your looks, and they don’t last. Look at me, I'm a mess."
I laugh and throw an arm across his shoulders. "I'm surprising her at work. I'm taking her out. Lunch."
"She needs more than you polished up like a stone."
"Way ahead of you."
Patting my front pants pocket, I feel the slender black velvet ring case. Coach just grins at me in a silly sloppy sort of way and with a little yelp of joy, throws his arms around me. In my heart, the steady, tender beat of hope grows stronger.
And I know as long as I have Lily, that beat will never go away.
COMING NEXT. . .
Love Bound is the first in a multiple book series. Discover Echo Bay, the Russo clan, and the men and women who love them. Love Bound is Finn and Claire's journey—a story of love, loss, and redemption all set on the coast of Maine. The second in the series is Letting Go. By the end of Love Bound yo
u should be able to figure out whose story will be next!
Finn
"Open it."
She glances at me, her forehead still knitted and sets it in her lap.
I can't smile, but I try to reassure her. "Don't worry. It's not a gift."
The sound of paper being pulled mixes with a soft gasp. "Oh, Finn. Finn." Her gaze shifts from the flat piece of granite covering her lap, to me, and back to the slab of stone.
I glance quickly at the stone, to the names engraved there: "Two Hearts in Mine: Allison and Kenny."
"The garden?" she asks.
All I can do is swallow and nod.
She rubs the surface of the smooth granite with her hand. "It's beautiful."
"Most of her family won't speak to me," I explain, not to be melodramatic, but just to be truthful. "But her grandfather used to be a stone carver and he made this for me when I signed the paperwork on The Inn. He's the only one who still wants a connection." Turning left, I ease the truck over the bumpy, weather-gouged dirt road and the truck lobs to the left and right, pulling my stitches. Despite myself, a small hiss escapes.
She lays a hand on my thigh and immediately, a hot current runs straight to my groin. "Slow it down," she says. "Almost there."
I pass The Inn and pull into the clinic driveway. It's Sunday and the little parking area is empty, so I can get right up to the front door.
"I don't want to put this back under the seat. It seems wrong," she says.
I seem way too noncommittal than I feel when I shrug and say, "I don't know where to put it yet."
Still holding it in her lap, her suggestion seems at once perfect and almost clairvoyant. "There's an herb garden that comes up every year in the back between the two buildings, by that big slab I sit on. Why don’t you put it in the middle of the garden there?"
My eyes start to sting. How can she be so gentle, so right, and be sitting here, all at the same time?
I clear my throat. "Where is it?"
"Here, zip up," she says and tugs at my zipper, pulling the two halves tighter. It's an intimate move, and her touch through the fleece jacket makes me gasp a little. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"
I shake my head.
"Let me carry it," she says. “It probably weighs thirty pounds." She lets the rest of the brown paper bag fall to the cabin floor and scoots out of the truck.
I follow her slowly, watching the wind catch on her long hair, while she hunches over, carrying my burden.
No one has ever carried my burdens—ever. I am always the protector, always the man in charge. Always the one second-guessing, looking ahead, seeing how soft the perimeter is. Which direction the threat may come from.
"It's right here," she calls out, simultaneously kicking ice and snow away from the ground.
There, twisted and pale, are the dormant remnants of sage, rosemary, caraway, tarragon, mint, thyme, oregano, and others I can't identify. Planted in a six-foot-wide circle, next to the slab of rock with the thick ribbon of rose quartz, it looks out across the grass toward the bay.
She bends over, placing the memorial on the ground. "Which way do you want it to face?"
I can hardly speak. The hot lump in my throat can't be worked out no matter how often I swallow.
“Toward the ocean, toward The Inn?" She stands there, bent over, hair streaming the words whipping from her mouth in a cold rush of wind.
I point toward the gray sea.
Out there.
Out there toward the unknown. Nic once told me that the present is all we really know, all we can only really understand: "The now is what shapes us, teaches us, and saves us."
I have never lived in the now. I have always lived in the future, anticipating danger, determining levels of threat, not really paying attention to the present. I've always been done with the present, even before it gets a chance to become the past. But here, in this moment, the present persists. It’s right there. She's right here.
Turning the stone, she shifts it until it's flat, secure, and wedged in the top of the softening mud. "Look what's here!" she cries and holds up a little piece of tumbled green sea glass. She hands it to me and says, "Look, it's shaped like a heart."
The piece of glass is less than an inch long and must have come from the curved bottom of a green beer bottle. Now it's all foamy green, and it's not a stretch to claim the shape; it’s clearly there: two narrow halves coming together in a slim heart.
"It's like a teeny gift," she says, wiping her hands on her thighs and blowing on them.
I slip the glass in my pocket. Closing the gap between us, I take her hands in mine, bringing them to my chest as I close my eyes. Cold, wet, and a little gritty, they warm instantly in mine and I try not to let her notice how my heart pounds. Rubbing her hands in mine for a moment longer, I lean down swiftly and kiss her on the cheek.
A chaste move. But I am so grateful. Claire has no way of knowing Allison was a master gardener. Herbs were her specialty.
What surprises me is the sudden flush in Claire's cheeks, how startled she looks at me as I draw back. How her lips part, slightly swollen with cold. How I so want to press her to me, hold her, feel her move against me. I start to get hard again, swiftly, my cock rubbing against my pants.
"Thank you," I say, letting go of her.
She quickly stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets as if guilty of something, glances at me, and then turns to go back to the clinic.
Love Bound: https://geni.us/lovebound
***
Other books by Rebecca Ryan
Love Bound Book 1 (An Echo Bay Romance)
https://geni.us/lovebound
Seeing Just You (stand alone)
https://geni.us/seeingjustyou
Waiting Just for You (stand alone)
https://geni.us/wjfy
Just for You (Duet)
https://geni.us/justforyou
***
THANK YOU!
Thank you so much for reading Stone's Cage. If you have a few seconds, please leave a review on Amazon. People actually do read them! And drop me a line at http://www.rebeccaryanbooks.com or on Facebook @rebeccaryanbooks. I am very grateful. You reading my books means I get to write more and that is a happy place for both of us. And if you really want to be in the know, join my Reader's page for teasers, insights, group fun and more at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/rebeccaryanbooks/
***
Acknowledgments
I want to thank so many people who made this book possible and my life less hectic while I wrote. It's always scary to start a new project and they have been, and, so supportive. They include Deb Wilburn, Lori Gravley, Jude Walsh, Laura Carlson, Holly Hudson, and Kate Geiselman, who all help keep the writing lights on in my brain. My children, Hannah, Lee, Kira and Joe listen to me whine. A final, deep, thanks to April Wilson for all her support and friendship over the years and to Julie Collier who has turned into so much more than my PA. I am so lucky to call them both friends.