by Fleur Smith
He grunted at the feeling of her warm hands touching his cock.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
A grin lifted his lips. “Safety never felt so damned good.”
She chuckled as she moved over him. She placed her lips near his ear. “That’s nothing,” she whispered as she sank over him.
The sensation stole his breath away. It was so much better than anything he’d imagined. He clutched at her hips and looked up at her body as she started to move over him.
Holding onto her hips to keep her in place, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her lips back down to his.
He brushed her hair back off of her face so that he could have an unimpeded view of her gaze as he moved inside her. When he was buried deepest, her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted with a silent sigh.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and tipped her head back. The position left her chest exposed and Evan couldn’t help himself. He nipped, and licked, and sucked until Becca came apart around him.
As waves of pleasure rushed from her to surround him completely with bliss, she leaned against him, pressing her whole weight against his chest. Proud that he’d made it through their first time without blowing it by going too early, Evan adjusted Becca in his arms and let her relax into the mattress with a goofy smile.
“That was . . . great!” She sighed.
“What do you mean, was?” he growled as he hovered over her. “We’re still going.”
Her back arched off the mattress as he moved inside her again, timing the action perfectly with a tremoring aftershock of pleasure that continued to course through her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Evan held Becca tightly as she drifted into slumber. Personally, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He could rest—not sleep, because cupids didn’t really ever dream and it wasn’t recuperative at all. But so many emotions crashed through his system that he wasn’t even sure he could relax. He’d never expected for a simple act of physical intimacy to feel so, well, so intimate. Twisting his head, he pulled Becca closer to his side and buried his nose in her hair.
Eventually, he felt his eyes drifting closed as a weariness unlike any other he’d ever experienced dragged him into something that very closely resembled sleep.
When he woke, it was to nothing—the same nothingness that he’d awoken to prior to being offered the choice to become a cupid.
He panicked.
Has my time come?
He couldn’t leave Becca, not now. Not ever. He didn’t want to.
“Take me back,” he demanded. Just like the last time, he had no voice but he knew those entities which he could feel around him could hear him anyway. “I need to go back.”
You have made your final match.
The words echoed around him, through him, the nothingness suddenly bursting with a voice that didn’t form words as much as implant the thought straight into his mind.
“You can’t take me away from her. I love her, and she loves me too. We’re meant for each other.” His panic rose with each word he tried to voice. He wouldn’t leave Becca if he had any chance to stay. He would fight for her—for them both—until the bitter end if he had to.
You will not go anywhere.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
You are free.
“I don’t understand!”
You are free.
The words raced around him on repeat, coursing through his body like the echoed rightness he’d always assumed was the permission of these entities. Or entity. It was hard to know plurals from singular when it applied to nothing and to everything all at once.
You are free.
“I don’t want to be free though. I want to go back!”
Becca stretched languidly as she woke slowly from a great sleep—the best sleep she’d had in a very long time.
She couldn’t remember her dreams, but she could recall the feelings they’d left her with. The memory of a voice calling to her lingered for a moment, but she couldn’t remember the words. Her bed was empty, which wasn’t unusual because it was always empty in the morning, but it still struck her as odd for some reason.
She frowned and fisted her hands into her hair as she tried desperately to bring her dreams back to the front of her mind. It was like trying to shift sand with an open hand, all the individual grains rushed away even as she tried desperately to drag them all closer to her. The voice had uttered something about love, or loss, or something. It faded completely as she roused herself fully awake.
When she did, she took in the rumpled sheets, her naked state, and the trail of clothing that led to the bed and she realized why an empty bed was wrong.
Evan.
She’d fallen asleep in his arms, something she hadn’t done with anyone ever before.
But he was gone.
Why’s he gone?
For a moment, she held her breath and listened for any sound nearby that would indicate that he was still there. A footfall, a clatter of cooking utensils, a shower, anything. There was nothing. Only silence reached her waiting ears.
Where could he be?
She was struck by the inescapable fear that he’d left. That the voice in her head during her dream had been him telling her goodbye. Her heart ached at the thought of him going.
Not now, she thought. Not after that perfect evening that she wanted to relive again and again.
Not ever.
She climbed from the bed, hoping that she would find Evan sitting quietly at the kitchen table like she had so many nights where they were alone together. She grabbed her robe and wrapped it around herself before tying the sash around her waist to hold it in place.
“Evan?” she called as she made her way through the small house. There were only so many places he could be, but no noise came from any of them.
“Evan?” her voice was louder as her fear that he’d left grew.
Had they crossed some line with their actions the night before? Was he being punished for it now?
The sound of her garage door lifting grabbed her attention and she raced toward the noise. Just as Becca threw the side door open, Millie’s engine rumbled to a stop.
Evan glanced at Becca through the driver’s window, clearly confused by the look on her face. Once he’d taken it in, he climbed from the car as quickly as he could. Worry coated his features and she was certain he could feel her panic.
The instant he was out of the car, she was in his arms.
“Oh my god, I was so worried that you’d left!” She peppered kisses over his face.
“Why?”
“You were gone and I . . . I got worried that maybe they’d made you leave.”
He brushed his hand across her cheek. “Never. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
He said it with such conviction that she knew something had to have happened.
“Something changed last night. I don’t even know how to begin explaining it, but what I can say is that I’m in this for life. Our life, if you want?”
“You’re not going anywhere?” She almost didn’t dare to ask the question, being that it was so loaded with hope and the potential for disappointment.
He shook his head. “Not unless you want me to.”
She fought a smile. “How do you know?”
“I had a dream last night, and well, let’s just say my contract has definitely expired.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s different now. I’m different.”
“What are you saying?”
“That I’m not a cupid anymore. In fact, I think I’m—” As he spoke, she wrapped her arms around his neck. The action caused her robe to rise up at the back so that when he hugged her, his fingertips brushed across the skin at the back of her thigh. He gently tugged at the collar of her robe, exposing a sliver of her breast. “Are you naked under that?”
“Aren’t we all naked under our clothes?”
“What I mean to say i
s are you telling me that all that’s between me and that beautiful body of yours right now is this flimsy bit of satin?” He swallowed heavily.
“It could be even less than that, if you want,” she purred in his ear.
He pressed his nose against the curve of her neck. “As tempting as that is, and you have no idea just how tempting it is”—she had an idea because she could feel him straining against his pants—“there’s something much more important I need to do right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, it comes back to what I was saying before you distracted me with your nudity.”
“Near-nudity,” she corrected.
He nodded. “Near-nudity. Well, what I was saying is that I think, in fact I’m almost positive, that I’m human ag—”
She cut him off again. “You’re human?”
“Completely, ordinarily, human.”
She felt a slight pang of disappointment that he’d given up everything he’d known just to be with her. “Are you okay with that?”
“Okay? Becca this here”—he motioned between them—“a life with you, if you’ll have me, that’s my reward for my service to love. This, you, it’s my paradise.”
She smiled. “A girl could get used to hearing things like that.”
“Well, you should. I’ve been given a second chance at life, and I’m going to spend every minute of every day of it reminding you just how beautiful you are, and how precious you are to me.” His fingers trailed along the collar of her satin gown, and for a second the more important things he’d been talking about earlier seemed to have slipped his mind.
His stomach growled and he gave an embarrassed smile before reaching into the car for a paper bag.
“But right now, I need this.” He held up the bag that obviously contained whatever food he’d gone in search of.
“Are you hungry?” Becca was almost disappointed that she was losing the battle of attention to food, at least until his next words.
“Hungry? I haven’t eaten in over fifty years. Becca, I’m famished.”
The End
Becca and Evan have got their happily ever after, but what about Drew?
Find out in All Amity Allows (Fall for You #2) coming 2018. Sign up to my mailing list or follow me on Amazon to be in the loop when it is released.
If you enjoyed this book, please let others know by sharing your thoughts on the Happily Evan After page on Goodreads, Booklikes, Amazon, and your other favorite review sites.
Thank you
Comments, questions, and suggestions for improvements are always welcome. You can reach me at [email protected] or through my website www.fleursmith.com. Thanks in advance for your correspondence.
You can also connect with me online via
Facebook * Twitter
IF YOU WANT MORE FROM FLEUR SMITH SIGN-UP TO MY MAILING LIST AND GET YOUR FREE COPY OF UNDER THE MAGNOLIA.
IF YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK AND WANT MORE LAUGHS, CHECK OUT:
A whirlwind of color meets a man whose face could launch a thousand ships, and at least that many orgasms.
When art school student Ariana stumbles onto Cecelia’s, a hidden bar on New York’s Fifth Avenue, she finds her muse. After their first meeting, she wants him in her bedroom. And she'll get him there any way she can, even if she has to paint him there herself.
Her attempts to capture his likeness could provide the passion her art needs. If they don’t drive her crazy first.
Hennessy is the last man defending his mother’s legacy from his stepmother’s plans to remodel Cecelia’s. When a mysterious young woman crashes into his life, he’s unable to forget her or the crazy things she does.
Can her storm bring calm to his life or will her manic influence cost him everything?
Find out more in this romantic comedy with heart.
1.
THE TONE OF her cell phone drew Ariana from her sleep.
Through bleary eyes, she checked the text that had arrived.
At first, she couldn’t figure out exactly what she was seeing. A pink and white image that didn’t make sense. She blinked to shake the exhaustion that clung to her eyes and the photo cleared.
A cock.
One she’d seen before and knew almost as well as the back of her hand.
A cock that belonged to her boyfriend of five years, Curtis. She wasn’t particularly surprised by the message. It was a little crass, but hardly the first time he’d sent her a dick pic.
Another text followed. Look who woke me up. He’s waiting for you. Be here in five for some fun.
With a chuckle, she sent a reply. As far as I know, teleporting hasn’t been invented just yet. By the time I get home to Pittsburgh, he’ll probably be asleep.
Almost instantly, her cell chimed again. Sorry, wrong person.
The first time she read the message, she was stoic. Her mind was unable to comprehend what she was seeing.
Wrong person.
Then it struck her. Hard. Those three words indicated something she didn’t want to admit. Something she’d barely worried about when leaving him behind in their hometown while she moved to New York for art school. Her stomach churned as she understood that if she was the wrong person that meant there was a right person. Someone else he’d intended to send his invite out to. Those three words had shattered five years of what she’d thought was a loving relationship.
Well, that’s one fucktastic way to start the day.
Her fingers shook as she tried to focus on her cell phone display despite the ringing in her ears and the pounding of her heart. You’re not the man I thought you were, and the wrong person for me. Fuck off.
With a sigh, she threw the blanket off herself and climbed out of bed. How the hell was she supposed to go to college and concentrate on her art?
It was only after she’d jumped under the shower and was rinsing out her rainbow-dyed hair that it struck her that she wasn’t nearly as heartbroken as she probably should have been. When she’d left Pittsburgh a few months ago, she’d suggested they take a break until her return, but Curtis had insisted they stay together. She’d kept up her end of the bargain, staying faithful to him. It had helped that she’d been too busy adjusting to the New York lifestyle.
She might not have been heartbroken, but her blood did boil in her veins as she thought about how he’d treated her. Had he simply wanted to keep her away from other men while never having any intention of being faithful himself?
Darker thoughts festered, twisting through her stomach. Had he ever been faithful? Probably not, knowing him. She should’ve known better. He was one of those guys—the ones full of confidence. Full of themselves. It had been no secret to anyone at their high school that Curtis considered himself God’s gift to women. The problem was that in many ways, that was exactly what he was. He appeared upstanding and the type of guy you could take home to your parents, but knew the best suppliers of all things illicit and never minded sampling the goods before passing them along.
And by God, was he decent in bed. Well practiced, with a cock that was sized to please, and a tongue that could twist in seemingly impossible directions. He could have any woman he wanted and often did before they’d gotten together. He was the older man her parents would have warned her about if they hadn’t been so completely charmed by him.
Ariana had thought she’d won the lottery when he’d started going steady with her. As the daughter of his mother’s best friend, they’d known each other for years. They’d never exactly been friends because of that. He was older than her by a few years and king shit of the high school before she was even a freshman. Despite the age difference, she’d had the biggest crush on him ever since she’d had her first stirrings of desire—before she even knew what desire really was. He hadn’t paid her any attention though, and why would he have? She’d been plain. The girl in the front row of class with lank hair, braces, oily skin, and glasses who his lackeys liked to push around to feel good about themselves.
&n
bsp; It was only when her terrible period of puberty ended that he paid any attention. That was when she’d ended up with boobs, a killer white perfectly straight smile, and a personality that said fuck you to the haters who’d tried to keep her down. For her, their first kiss was a combination of all her hormonal teenage dreams. She’d never been able to say no to him and never been able to resist temptation. He could have told her to rob a bank, and she would have done it with a smile.
And now that was all done.
A banging on the bathroom door warned that she was taking too long and breaking the roommate code. She glanced at the counter on her phone. “I still have a minute and a half left of my time!” she called back at whoever was trying to get her out of the bathroom before her allotted time was up.
Sometimes living in a shared appartment sucked—especially when there were only two bathrooms between four adults. It was far cheaper than trying to get an apartment in New York City though. She had her own bedroom and kept mostly to herself in there anyway. She didn’t need companionship beyond her paint.
Outside the door, there was a commotion. Doors slammed, raised voices shouted unintelligible words. If World War III was erupting outside the bathroom, it gave her a reason to go over time.
Once she’d finished dressing and pulling her hair back into a tight braid, she had few excuses to hide in the bathroom any longer. When Chad banged on the door, she pulled it open.
“You went over your time,” he snapped. He was the son of the owner of the apartment and more often than not was drunk on the power that gave him. The rules of the apartment were stricter than she would’ve expected, but it was also the only apartment close enough to the New York Art Institute and Studio that was within her parents budget.
“One minute and forty-three seconds over.” Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she held up her cell phone as evidence. “I hardly think that’s worth arguing over.”