All I Want

by J. Daniels

  He pumps his cock while his eyes burn down my body, leaving scorch marks on my skin. His gaze stops abruptly at my left hip, just above my panty line, and he hauls my body closer with a firm hand on my thigh.

  “Tessa, did you…” His finger runs over the sensitive skin, tracing the letter. The script, matching my initial on him perfectly, but twisted into the shape of an L. He doesn’t look up at me, which I’m expecting. Instead his tongue wets his lips, and he presses them into my tattoo.

  “Luke,” I pant, arching off the bed, forcing a firmer seal of his mouth on my body.

  “Flip,” he orders with a hand on my waist, moving me himself before my body agrees to it.

  Not that it wouldn’t. I know exactly what he wants to do, and my thighs are practically trembling just thinking about it.

  I look over my shoulder at him after I’m positioned on my hands and knees. He reaches back with a hand, grips his T-shirt, and pulls it off, tossing it, as his gaze remains locked between my legs. He guides my panties down to my knees, runs his finger up my length, and I fist the sheet with both hands, dropping my head when he bites the skin of my ass.

  “Ask me,” he says between long, torturously slow licks up and down my pussy.

  I moan against the lip I have tightly secured between my teeth, trying not to scream out, as not one, but fuck, two fingers enter me. He pushes between my thighs and sucks on my clit.

  “Ask me,” he repeats, blowing against my heated flesh.

  My body trembles, the pleasure becoming too intense, too much, too perfect.

  His fingers fuck me in a teasing rhythm, slowing down when I tighten around them to prolong my pleasure.

  I gasp through a moan when he runs his tongue up my spine.

  “Ask me, Tessa. Now.” He’s at my ear, leaning over me, grinding his rigid cock against my flesh.

  “Do you love me today?” I ask as he tilts my head to taste the skin of my neck. My eyes fall closed when he pushes inside me, filling me, owning me.

  My name breaks apart the moan that rumbles in his throat. “Yes,” he answers, pressing the word into my cheek. “I love you. Every day.”

  I shudder, reacting to his response and the way he’s slowly fucking me. His thick cock slides between my legs, wetting my lips, my thighs, gliding over the skin of my ass.

  He enters me again, this time greedy, lust driven, rocking my body with punishing thrusts.

  “Fuck, yeah, babe.” He groans behind me, sliding his hand up my back.

  My elbows give out under his power, bowing my back to him, forcing him deeper, and oh, God, he’s so deep.

  “Luke, I’m gonna come.”

  “I want you how I used to have you,” he says, slowing down the drag of his cock, prolonging his release. “Fuuuck, Tessa, please.”

  I remember his words to me at the hospital, and my decision is made.

  “Come in me.”

  He knows how to get me there with him; all too well, he knows it. A shift of his hips, the way he hungrily digs his skillful fingers into my skin. I stretch my arms out in front of me as his thrusts become frenzied, as my body burns up from the inside out, and I feel it, the second he breaks, when all control is lost, and it happens the very moment I call out his name.

  “Luke!”

  “Tessa, oh fuck, yeah, squeeze my dick, babe.” He pumps into me, whispering dirty words against my ear, rooting himself deep until his cock stops twitching.

  I whimper when he kisses my shoulder, running his lips along the line that leads to my neck. He nuzzles me, breathes me in, and sighs.

  He fucking sighs.

  Nothing could make me happier right now. Nothing.

  “Ask me,” he whispers against my ear.

  I smile.

  Well, almost nothing.

  I have many ugly memories of this place. Ones that outweigh, or make me forget all the good ones.

  When my mom died, this house became cold, and desolate. My father was like a dark cloud hovering over every room, shadowing all the light my mother had left behind. I hated being here with him, especially during this time of year.

  Holidays were always harder. I didn’t need the added bonus of watching him stumble around the house, reacting violently to the loss of her one minute, then collapsing on the floor in a sobbing pile of misery the next. While other families were partaking in traditions I grew up with, I was making sure my father fell asleep on his side, in case he started vomiting in the middle of the night. I spent a lot of Christmases alone, not knowing where my father was, not bothering with putting up a tree, because who the fuck would care if we even had one? We were the only house on the street not decorated with multi-colored lights, but I got to the point where I didn’t give a damn. I let myself forget about all the things my mom used to do around this time of year. The decorating, how she used to spend hours in the kitchen, presents.

  Yeah. No presents. I forgot what those were.

  I was alone. Everything I did, I did alone.

  Not anymore.

  Tessa bangs away in the kitchen as I straighten out that damn star on the top of the tree. That shit has been crooked since she put it up there, but she was so damn cute, adamant she didn’t need my help, while her height clearly made the task difficult. That thing has been dropping to the left so far that it’s beginning to resemble a candy cane.

  After I right it so the branch isn’t stressed anymore, I step through the doorway leading into the kitchen, admiring my view.

  My amazing, un-fucking-believably hot view.

  Tessa, bent over to check the cookies she’s been baking all day in the oven. Her jeans form a damn second skin to that ass I can’t get enough of. The one I’m obsessed with. The one covered in bite marks.

  I lean against the counter, watching as she pulls two baking sheets out of the oven and places them on top of the stove. It smells amazing in here. The whole damn house smells amazing, and it’s decorated for the first time in twelve years.

  Tessa wants everything to be perfect. Every decoration she pulled out of the boxes I had packed away twelve years ago was held up and asked where my mom used to like it. The house looks exactly like it did when I was a kid. And my girl did that.

  We moved in together a few weeks after Chase was born. I had to go get all my stuff from Port Deposit and give enough notice to leave that job without screwing myself out of any future employment. Jacobs took it, a win-win for everyone, and since Ben hadn’t been set up with a partner to replace me while I was gone, I slid back into my old position.

  I press my lips against her shoulder, along her neck, while my hands wrap around her chest, pulling her back against me.

  “Hey.” She turns her head and kisses my jaw. “Did you put up all the lights?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All of them worked?”

  “Nope.”

  She chuckles. “Well, they were crazy old. I told you we should’ve probably bought new ones.”

  “The house looks fine with only half of them lit.”

  She spins in my arms, hitting me with an alarming look. “Half of the lights? Are you kidding? That probably looks so tacky.”

  I lift the bottom of her shirt to run my thumb along her hipbone, tracing the tattoo. I do that a lot, and the smile she always gives me keeps me doing it.

  “Kidding, babe. The whole damn thing is lit up. We look like that house from that movie you made me watch.”

  “Christmas Vacation!” she beams. “The little lights aren’t twinkling, Clark.”

  I laugh, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “They’re twinkling.” My eyes strain over the top of her, looking down at the counter covered in trays of cookies. “Jesus, woman.”

  “What?” She looks over her shoulder. “Oh, well, you’re supposed to bake a lot of cookies at Christmas. And I wanted to make a bunch for your dad to take home when he stops by later.” She steps back and gestures at one of the trays. “You said his favorite is snickerdoodle, right?”

  I nod, re
membering my mom baking them for him every year. “Yeah.”

  She tilts her head with a sweet grin. “Five months is a big deal. You should be really proud of him.”

  “I am,” I affirm, stepping up to the stove and looking down at the cookies.

  Her hand touches my shoulder, gently squeezing. “I left out three raw squares. You don’t have to try the baked ones if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly capable of throwing these back by myself.”

  I pick up one of the warm chocolate chip cookies that have been cooling on a wire rack, lift it to my mouth, and bite into half of it. She moves in front of me, watching my mouth with tentative eyes. Her fingers begin twirling a strand of her hair as her lip becomes trapped between her teeth.

  She relaxes when I smile.

  “Good?” she asks.

  My hand wraps around her waist and pulls her against me. I brush my lips across hers, feeling the vibration of her moan. “I’m going to ask you to marry me,” I say quietly, and she goes perfectly still in my arms.

  Her breath blows against my mouth in sharp bursts. “Umm…” She swallows. “Are you…?”

  “You’re going to say yes, right? When I ask you?”

  She closes her eyes with a nod. “Yes.”

  “Good.” I give her ass a quick smack, reaching behind her for two more cookies before I walk away.

  When I look over my shoulder, her expression is perfect.

  Shocked, but so fucking happy.

  The End

  When I Fall, Reed’s story, is coming soon. <3

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, thank you to my husband for being supportive of my dream. For taking care of things while I’m locked away in my writing den, for smiling at me from across the room when I peek up from my laptop, and for being my Reese, Ben, Luke, and every other hero I think up in my head. I love you more than cupcakes, and I LOVE cupcakes.

  To my badass betas, for telling me I could write this story. For having faith in my ability, when I doubted myself, and for helping me give Luke and Tessa the love story they deserved. Beth, Heather, and Lisa, I couldn’t have done this without you.

  To all the bloggers who have helped me on my journey—thank you for reading my books, promoting my books, and helping me reach more readers than I could have ever imagined. My girls over at Give Me Books for everything you have done for me. Kylie, you are amazing. Just amazing. Erin, thank you for helping me stay on top of things, and for spell-checking my posts. There are too many of you amazing bloggers for me to list, but I love you all. Please know that.

  To R.J. Lewis, for being the first person to ever take a chance on me. I will never forget you.

  To Elle Keating, for the gerbil story. Thank you for letting me use your horrible dating experience for my Tessa.

  And to you, my readers. I never imagined anyone wanting to read my stories. The love you have shown me is staggering, and I can’t thank you enough for your support.

  Thank you all again,

  J

  http:///www.facebook.com/jdanielsauthor

  www.authorjdaniels.com

  Prologue

  Desperation.

  He promised himself he’d never come back. He left this town for a reason, but he took off like he was running from something. Left behind his people. His family. Most importantly… her.

  Now he was cruising down the winding street with a purpose in mind.

  Desperation.

  Remy never thought this day would come. Never thought he could return to a place that reminded him only of pain. Yet he was. He was here. He was cruising down this never ending street from hell, looking at the numbers of every mini-mansion that passed by. Not even the sound of the engine on his Ducati could swallow up the pounding of his heart.

  This was fucked.

  Desperation.

  What a fuck of a thing it was. That piece of shit word made him feel weak. And wasn’t he? The last six months had been nothing but a clusterfuck of a maze on his emotions.

  1101… 1103… 1105…

  The bike came to a calculated halt in front of 1105 Willowbrook Street. The large white house looked like something out of a dream. It stood tall, at least three stories high, with its giant windows and manicured yard. Certainly looked nothing like the hellhole he’d been squatting in for… for… how long had it been? Days? Months? Years?

  Whatever. It didn’t matter.

  He shut the engine off and kicked the stand down. All the while his gaze never left the house. His body was roaring from within. Why the fuck was he here? He was a dead man, and doing this might actually accelerate his expiry date. Yeah, this was beyond fucked. And a stupid idea.

  Get out, you lunatic.

  He was about to start the bike again – to get the fuck out of there before someone saw him – when the sound of a giggle interrupted him.

  “What’re you doing?”

  He turned his head to the sidewalk and froze at the sight of a dark haired girl. She was only tiny, maybe four or five years old, and she was wearing a butterfly costume with weird sparkly shit on the wings. Her face was painted too. Maybe to match the weird sparkly shit? If the painter’s intentions were to make her face look like a butterfly head, they fucking failed spectacularly.

  “What do you mean?” he growled out, wondering where the hell she’d come from.

  “You’re just sitting here with a funny mask on your head,” she said.

  “It’s called a helmet.”

  “It’s a mask.”

  “It’s a helmet.”

  “It’s covering your face. It’s a mask.”

  “It’s covering my face and my head. It’s a helmet.”

  The dark haired girl turned her head sideways and observed him for a moment with those disarming brown eyes. “That’s what my dad says.”

  “Your dad’s right.”

  “He says that too.”

  “That he’s right?”

  “Yes. Says ‘I’m always right, but don’t tell Mom that.’”

  What in the actual fuck? “Good.”

  “Mom tells him to shut up.”

  “Does he?”

  “No.”

  What the hell was this girl doing here on her own? The sudden question had him looking around the street again. This shit was weird.

  “Your Mom ever tell you what to do around strangers?” he then asked her, half-hoping she’d turn around and disappear back where she came from.

  She nodded. “She says it all the time. Says, ‘Birdy, don’t talk to strangers.’ But you don’t look like a stranger because you wear the same kind of mask my dad wears.”

  Birdy.

  Every part of him froze. His heart tightened in his chest as his eyes rested back on her. What the fuck did she just say? He swallowed hard and observed her closely, taking in those big brown eyes, that pale, gaunt frame that he now realized was probably a genetic thing. And that face… Fuuuuck, he could see him in her, but there was more of… of her too.

  “What’s your name?” he found himself asking, though it came out sounding like a whisper. He was almost scared to hear it. Almost hoping this was all a hallucination – maybe even a dream – and he would be happy to snap the fuck out of it any second now.

  The little beauty opened her mouth to respond when a deep voice rang out, “Lucy, get your stubborn little ass over here right this damn second! Get away from that man right now. Thirty seconds with my back turned and you’ve vanished into thin air? What the hell am I going to say to your mother when she finds out?!”

  Lucy rolled her eyes – sassy like her mother – and turned to the voice that belonged to the man Remy had hoped never to see again. Just before she went over to him, Remy mumbled, “On second thought, darlin’, your dad’s wrong. Always wrong. It’s a mask, alright?”

  She smiled up at him and nodded. “I knew it!”

  “Lucy!” her father growled again.

  She turned away from Remy and skipped to him, ignoring the scowl on his
face. He ordered her to get inside, and if that voice was directed at any other person they’d have been shaking in their boots. But Lucy didn’t even flinch as she took her time getting to the door. She waved at Remy before disappearing inside, and Remy let out a soft chuckle. Yeah, he hoped this little angel would give this ass wipe in front of him hell for the next hundred years.

  Now that they were alone, Remy turned his focus on him.

  Jaxon Barlow.

  Five years hadn’t been kind on him… but maybe Remy was being hard. The guy had a lot of power as the president of the Scorpions. Power may have appealed to Remy once upon a time, but now it made him cringe. He didn’t envy the bastard. Especially if he was controlling the streets of Gosnells, a growing city that was increasing in both popularity and crime. That kind of shit was stressful to the max.

  Jaxon wasn’t wearing his cut, but his hair had grown since the last time Remy had seen him. In fact, fashion-wise he looked like the redneck teenager he used to follow around in hopes of destroying his life. Oh, the fucking irony that Remy was here now.

  He hopped off the bike as Jaxon stepped forward, staring hard at him. His beard was thick, his posture stiff and tall as he cautiously followed his every movement. He had every right to be guarded. Remy had showed up in front of his house, after all.

  “The hell do you want?” he asked in a hard voice, completely oblivious to who was standing feet away from him.

  Remy exhaled slowly and rested each hand against the sides of his helmet – well, shit he’d call it a mask now just to be a little fuck – and slowly removed it. He stared back at Jaxon, feeling like a layer of him had been skinned right off. Was this shit seriously happening?

  While he looked different, Jaxon still recognized him in seconds. He froze and his eyes widened as he dragged them from top to bottom, taking in every inch of the man that had once ruined his life in the worst of ways. There was a mixture of emotions that were impossible to miss present on that face: anger, horror… fear.