126 Secret Ln: A Cherry Falls Romance

by Ella Goode

  She wrinkles her nose. “I’ll sleep on the bed if you stay on top of the covers.”

  “What if I get cold?” I won’t because my body’s like a furnace most nights, but she could feel sorry for me and let me under if I play my cards right.

  “Wear an extra sweatshirt.” She’s unsympathetic.

  I laugh and toss her a T-shirt and some boxers. “Until we pack up your shit, you can wear this.”

  She picks up the clothes with some hesitation. “I didn’t say that I was moving in.”

  “‘Course not.” It’s clear that I need to tread lightly with Glory. She might be curious, but she’s not ready. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the medicine chest. I’m going to check my emails.” I leave and go down to my office to give her some privacy. I don’t check my emails or even open my laptop. Instead, I stare out the window at the copse of evergreens and wonder how in the hell I’m going to be able to keep my hands to myself while lying in bed next to her. Staying on top of the covers is no solution. I’d just tear those off, and then we’d be two bodies sweaty and chests heaving lying on the mattress with nothing more than my clothes separating us.

  I meant it when I told her that she could stay even if she didn’t want to ride my dick until she was orgasming, so that means I need to tuck my lust into some box and shove it into the deepest recesses of my mind. Should be easy. That’s where my creativity spark is hiding. I scrub a hand across my face and check the clock. Fifteen minutes have passed. She should be ready for me now.

  Before I return to the bedroom, I dip into the kitchen, rummage around in a drawer, and find another toothbrush, still in its plastic packaging. I rip it open, brush my teeth, and wash up. When I get to the bedroom, the lights are off, and there’s a lump in the bed. Make that several lumps.

  “You invite a whole party into bed with you while I was gone?” I toss my hoodie into the corner of the room and stretch out on the unoccupied side of the bed.

  “I found some pillows,” she explains.

  I throw my arm out and pat the mound of cushions. “I didn’t realize I had this many.”

  “I may have stolen some from the living room.”

  “Are you that worried?”

  “No...” Her voice trails off. I wait, my hands folded across my chest so I don’t start pawing at her. I can smell her. She’s sweet and warm. The pillows need to go so I can burrow my nose in the crook of her neck and get a deep drag directly from the source.

  “Maybe it’s me I’m worried about,” she finally says.

  I corral my galloping fantasies and roll over on one side so I can see her even though the illumination isn’t good enough for me to make out any facial expressions. “What are you worried about? I’ll be careful. I won’t hurt you.”

  “Physically you mean? I’m not worried about that. I’m—” She bites her lip. “It’s just that what if I fall for you? You’re some big shot from the city and I’m a small-town newspaper reporter that has to write dating tips to make money.”

  “What if I fall for you?” I counter. I’ve already fallen, I think. I’m certainly on my knees. “I’m just a washed-up novelist who hasn’t written a good word in about eighteen months.”

  “I don’t think it’s the same,” she says, full of doubt.

  “I’m going to give you some advice I wish I could follow, and that is: don’t think so much. Just feel.” I push some of her hair away from her face. “The best medicine here is to let me kiss you. That will stop the thoughts in your head.”

  “Maybe it will make me think more,” she counters.

  “Not if I do it right.” I swoop down and cover her mouth with mine. Her lips part, and her tongue darts out to taste me. It’s a good thing I’m lying down or I would be on the ground. Her small, butterfly touches light me up like a breeze on a piece of dried tinder.

  The fire I’ve kept banked ignites, racing along my blood stream. I groan and roll onto my back, pulling her over the cushions to cover my body. My hard cock presses into her sweet, soft valley. I grab her hips and rub her over my thickening shaft. Her legs fall apart, and she takes over for me, riding me like we’re teenagers whose parents might be home any second. Our tongues tangle as we kiss, breathing for each other since we refuse to break contact. The connection is heady and powerful. I could live in this moment with her mouth fused to mine, her body covering me like a blanket, her hands digging into my hair.

  My hands roam over her juicy ass, down the backs of her lovely legs, her buttery thighs, up her delicate back, tracing the notches of her spine. She shivers and squirms, pressing against me harder. Even through the denim of my jeans, I can feel her heat and wetness.

  “Baby, let me inside you. I want to make you come when I’m inside you,” I beg.

  My words, though, cause her to freeze. She lifts her head and stares down at me, her hazel eyes glittering in the darkness. I wait for her response with bated breath.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Glory

  “Okay,” I agree. He’s right. My mind really does make everything else fade away when his lips are on me. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. My breasts ache as much as my sex does. I’m throbbing for release. I have been for days now. I know he’s the only one that can give it to me and take the ache away. Somehow I know he’ll replace it with pure pleasure.

  “Be sure.” He thrusts against me again. The thin layer of my panties allows me to feel every hard inch of him. I should be scared because mathematically I’m not sure how the two of us are going to fit, but I’ve never been a quitter. I seek adventures and challenges. As long as it keeps me tucked away here at least. Corby O’Neal is turning out to be both of those things.

  His fingers dig more into my ass as he waits for my answer. His control seems to be splintering away. I hadn't put the boxers on he’d given me. His shirt had been long enough to cover what I needed it to. That’s what I told myself anyway. The horrible truth is I enjoy teasing him. I don’t think many people get the opportunity to do it.

  “I’m sure. As long as you make it good.”

  He growls. One second I’m on top of him, and the next I’m below him. Pillows go flying as he pushes my shirt up and latches onto one of my nipples. He’s not going to tell me with words he can get me off. He’s going to show me. And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

  A jolt of unexpected pleasure hits me as he continues to tease me. I had no idea I would enjoy my nipples being sucked so much. He releases one to go to the other. Holy cow. Do people come from this? Because the throb between my legs is unbearable.

  Before I can figure out the answer, his mouth releases my nipple. I whimper as he blows on it, causing me to lift my hips to rub myself against him to get off. He grips me harder, holding me to the mattress. I want to scream in protest. I need more.

  “I’m tasting the this orgasm I give you.” He begins to trail kisses down my stomach. I squirm on the bed with anticipation. Each kiss feels as though it’s torture. I feel him smile against my skin. He knows he’s driving me crazy, teasing me the same way I did him by going bare underneath his shirt.

  “You’re soaked for me.” He runs his finger over my sex. I swear this man is trying to kill me. I open my eyes. It takes a moment for them to adjust to the darkness, but when they do, the sight of him between my legs is too much.

  He brushes his fingers down my thighs before gripping each of them. He spreads me wide to make room for himself. His warm breath tickles my sex. I hear him take a deep breath and realize he’s breathing me in.

  “Corby.” I moan his name. I reach down, digging my fingers into his hair.

  “You keep saying my name like that I might come before I get inside of you.” That only makes me do it again. “Tease,” he growls. Before I can be a smartass back, his tongue is circling my clit as he does some teasing of his own. He takes me to the edge, only to pull back.

  “Please,” I whimper, not sure I can take much more. I need to come, but at the same time I’m enjoyi
ng every second of this. My mind is clear, and all I can think about is Corby and that mouth of his on my body.

  “You don’t have to beg. I’m sorry, sweetness. I was enjoying myself. I’ll give you what you need.” My back bows off the bed when he sucks my clit into his mouth. His hand comes up and pushes me back down as his tongue hits my clit perfectly. The orgasm explodes throughout my body.

  I scream his name. My whole body tingles. I lie in his bed happy there is no light on and he can’t see the dopey smile on my mouth right now.

  He kisses the inside of my thigh before he trails kisses back up my torso. His mouth takes mine, and I taste my orgasm on his lips. My body starts to heat again. That is until my mom’s ring tone fills the room, snapping me right back to reality. My eyes spring open.

  “My mom.” I wiggle under him. He reluctantly lets me go. It’s then I realize I don’t even know if Corby has a mom and dad. Well, of course he has them, but are they in his life? There are so many things I don’t know about him, and here I was about to have sex with him.

  I snatch my phone up, answering it. I didn't tell my mom that I wouldn't be home tonight. It’s not that I have a curfew but more of a safety thing.

  “Hey, mom.” I try to sound super casual.

  “Everyone is talking about how you left the diner with some hunk of meat.”

  “What?! I report the news. Not everyone else,” I huff. I love hearing gossip, but it could also kill a story for me real quick because everyone already knows everything. Then again, it can be rather helpful at times.

  “So you’re okay?” Her tone turns more serious, making me sit up.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure her.

  “That’s good, honey, because someone did a number on your car.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I need you to come home. Graham is here making a report now.”

  “Okay. What exactly did you mean when you said they did a number on my car? Like slash my tires?” This is terrible but also could be a story.

  “That and some other things.”

  “I’m on my way,” I tell her.

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I tell her before I hang up. The room fills with light, blinding me. Corby still has his jeans on. I’m naked as the day I was born.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone vandalized my car!”

  “You sound excited about this.”

  I rush over, getting dressed. “It might be a story.”

  “You got a pissed-off ex?” he asks next.

  “No.” I haven't even begun to think why someone would do something to my car. He grabs a sweater, pulling it on.

  “Let’s go.” He pulls me close to him. “While we’re there we’ll get your stuff.”

  Now all I can think about is my parents meeting Corby and my mom knowing I was just in his bed. Lovely. She is going to scare him off with talk of grandbabies and weddings. I text her quickly to tell her to play it cool, to which she responds she’s always cool.

  Well, crap.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Corby

  “You look like you could bench Glory.” Judy’s eyes appraise me with a frankness that makes me wish I had tossed a coat over my sweater.

  “Mom, please,” Glory says from her crouched position near the front tire.

  We couldn’t get a good look at the car last night, and it was damn late, so we came back this morning. The sheriff asked a few questions before he took off doing fingerprints and said he’d call if he had any more questions. Glory is still looking for clues.

  “It’s a rhetorical question,” her mom shoots back. The older woman smiles and reaches out to squeeze my arm. “You feel solid for a writer.”

  I flex for her, and she giggles.

  Glory shoots upright and stomps over. “You did not just squeal like a girl.”

  “He flexed for me,” her mother says in protest. She pokes my bicep, and I oblige her once again. I mean, this is Glory’s mom. I want her to like me, and if that means allowing her to fondle my arm muscles one or twice, so be it.

  Glory takes her mom’s hand and drags her away. “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?”

  “I was making cookies for you last night, baby. I didn’t realize I’d have to watch the driveway in my own house.”

  “The cookies are damned good, too,” I interject. I shove the remains of my third treat into my mouth. Judy beams at me.

  “Glory’s a good cook as well,” she lies.

  “He already knows the truth, Mom.”

  “Well, why would you admit to being terrible in the kitchen?” Judy lightly slaps her daughter across the arm.

  “Because the first time I cooked anything, it would be obvious.”

  “She doesn’t need to cook,” I intercede. “I’m fine with eating at the diner, and I’ve got a few things I can make.”

  “See, Mom. He doesn’t want me in the kitchen.”

  I do, but not for cooking. The kitchen table is perfect eating height, and I’m not talking about food. Over her mom’s shoulder, Glory reddens. She can read my thoughts perfectly. Even better, I think she’s traveling down that delectable, naughty road with me. I’d lay her out on the pine and let her legs dangle off the edges while I bent forward and feasted on her sweet cunt. After she’d come a time or two on my tongue, I could pull her onto my lap, and she could ride my cock until she was pleading for mercy and I was coming like a train.

  “Fine. So have we talked wedding plans? We could have a beautiful seaside ceremony over in Kissme Bay. Didn’t one of the Becker boys get married there or am I confusing him with someone else?”

  This time it’s Glory’s turn to swat her mom. “What are you saying? You said you would cool it!”

  “I am cooling it!” cries Judy. “It’s not like I asked to see the ring or wondered when you were having babies.”

  “Oh my God.” Glory buries her face in her hands.

  I take pity on her since she looks like she’s about to combust. “Let’s canvass the neighbors,” I recommend. “Maybe someone will have seen something across the street.”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea.” Glory scoots around her mom.

  “I’ll make breakfast,” Judy calls after us as we cross the street.

  “My mom is just joking about the wedding and babies stuff, you know,” Glory says.

  “That’s disappointing,” I murmur.

  Glory stops short in the middle of the road. “What?”

  I shrug. “I like babies and I like weddings and I like you. Seems like putting all those things together would be perfect. Come on.” I grab her arm and pull her to safety. “I don’t want you to get hit before we walk down the aisle. Who lives here?” I point to the small yellow house with a row of flower boxes attached to the front porch. Small red flowers spill over the sides. The lawn is nicely trimmed, and the siding appears freshly painted. This is a person who takes care of their space.

  “Mrs. Edison lives here. She’s a widow. Her husband died five years ago from liver cancer.”

  “Booze?” I raise my hand to knock.

  “Yeah. Way too much. Frankly, I think Mrs. Edison doesn’t miss him too much.” Glory waves a hand around the front yard. “When Mr. Edison was still alive, the lawn was overgrown in some places and dead in others. The flower boxes were empty, and there was trash on the porch at all times.”

  “Marriage isn’t for everyone.” I knock.

  “How do you know it’s for you? Have you lived with someone before?”

  “Not since I was eighteen and living with my parents.”

  The door opens before Glory can ask me more questions. An older woman wearing small glasses and smelling like lavender peeks out from behind the front door.

  “Hello, Glory. What brings you over to my house, and who did you bring with you?”

  “This is Corby O’Neal. He bought the Secret Lane house.”

  Mrs. Edison’s eyes widen. “You
must have a little money, sonny.”

  “Mrs. Edison!” Glory exclaims.

  “Corby O’Neal sounds like that author, but you don’t look like an author.”

  Glory sighs, but I’m intrigued. “What’s an author look like?”

  “For one, you need a pair of these.” She taps her spectacles. She looks at my fingers. “And you don’t have any ink there.”

  “It’s all digital now these days,” I tell her. “Computers and tablets and keyboards.”

  She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Real books were written on typewriters. These new writers aren’t putting out the same sort of stories.”

  “Typewriters do have a certain charm.”

  “Tom Hanks collects them, you know. He’s a real man,” Mrs. Edison informs me.

  “I like him, too. Speaking of Tom, you didn’t see someone looking like him loitering around Glory’s house, did you?”

  “Tom Hanks around Cherry Falls?” Mrs. Edison hoots. “Frank Edison rising from the grave is more likely. I did see that Toscati boy’s Camry though.”

  “Mark Toscati? The accountant?” The same guy I’d followed out to the beach. I thought he was a criminal. The backseat gave him away. No law-abiding person keeps that much trash in his car. I turn to Glory. “I think you have your story.”

  Her face grim, she nods. “I guess I do.”

  “No. I don’t want you going over and confronting that man. Anyone who’s willing to vandalize your car has lost his mind and is dangerous,” Judy says when we return from Mrs. Edison’s house and are eating the breakfast she made us. “Let the police deal with it.”

  "I don't want to repeat what is written on the police blotter. I want to report a real story," Glory argues.

  "You can't report on a story if you're dead,” Judy replies bluntly.

  "Corby's going to be with me."