Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

  “Lily-Marie...” I breathed her name, watching her eyes melt with each deliciously slow sway back and forth.

  I brought her hand to my chest, laying it there so I could push a lock of hair behind her shoulder. One touch wasn’t nearly enough, so I traced the beating vein in her neck to the jawline that fit in the palm of my hand perfectly. She leaned her head into my hand, eyes nearly closing like a cat rubbing against heaven. She was warm, supple, soft. Smelling of lemons and something I couldn’t describe, she was the exact combination to make me want to crawl inside her and stay forever. A safe port to weather any storm.

  Desire, the likes of which I’d never experienced, rocked through my body like a lightning strike. Every cell in my body was charged, alive like never before. Lily-Marie opened her eyes, her gaze traveling up through her lashes, the look so innocent and feminine I felt a thousand feet taller. A million times more the man than I’d been before I stepped through her door.

  Be courageous, not a sissy.

  Give swoon-worthy movie kisses.

  All signs pointed to this being our moment. My hands traced along her body, delighting in every curve she possessed, singing silent praises to her mother and father for creating such a divine creature. Then I swayed right and used the momentum to tip her over my arm, her long hair nearly dipping down low enough to sweep the floor. Her eyes widened right before a delighted cry left her mouth. I wanted to touch, to run a finger down the length of her, to see if that creamy white skin was as soft as it looked. I’d never dipped a woman over my arm, never indulged in something as romantic as this dance we found ourselves in. I paused for a moment, just taking her in, the joy and surprise and wonderment lighting up inside of me.

  Before she could panic, I tilted her back upright, my hand slipping underneath the heavy fall of her hair, caressing the nape of her neck to finally grab ahold of a fistful of strands. Gently, yet firmly, I pulled her head back and claimed her lips with mine.

  Rational thought fled, so instead I chased the feelings shooting through my body from our intimate point of contact. She joined the chase, an active participant to a kiss far more epic than I could have ever imagined. The minute I flicked my tongue past her lips to taste her, a dark forest flashed through my head, confusing me with its clarity. For a split second I thought we were amongst the trees instead of in her living room.

  The response of her tongue, reaching out to taste me too, pushed out all thoughts of seductive forests. The heady feeling of knowing she was as into this kiss as I was spurred me on, made me pull her tighter. Her curves pressed against me, squeezed and caressed by my traveling hands. My body was strung tight, just one huge ball of pent-up desire, needing to taste and devour.

  The kiss, the desperate groping, went on for what could have been hours or minutes, neither of us aware of time or space or anything so mundane besides the two of us. I had suspected she’d be like this: all feminine passion, a modern siren pulling me in and never letting me go. I could happily stay right there indefinitely, taking my sustenance from her and her alone.

  Her hands suddenly squeezed my ass, hard, the shock of her bold move pulling my lips from hers momentarily. I’d never had a woman grab my ass before. There was nothing hesitant about it. Just a full-on grope that ratcheted up my desire for this incredible woman. It was playful, it was wild, it was perfect.

  Then her hands were moving again and I brought her lips back to mine. A sharp tug split us apart a moment later as the top button of my shirt flew to the side. She’d ripped my shirt. I looked at her in shock, loving her aggression, yes, but also a little nervous. She giggled, her lips red and swollen. From me.

  “I can fix that, I swear,” she gasped, then went back to tugging on my shirt, two more buttons pinging off to hit the floor.

  Her intent was clear. She wanted to destroy my shirt.

  She wanted me naked.

  13

  Lily-Marie

  Oh, he was good.

  The song? The dancing? The kiss?

  It was like Jameson was inside my mind, experiencing the same dream that still played through my head even days later. How else could he have come over playing the same damn song from the same movie I’d been stuck in? Only the supercharged sexy version. Like he was enchanted too and couldn’t wait another minute to make it real.

  I’d been horrified and embarrassed to wake up and realize I’d had a sex dream about my neighbor. A really good one too. One doesn’t just wake up from a dream in the middle of a real-life orgasm unless it had been one hell of a dream.

  Jameson was my Prince Charming?

  No way. He barely got his nose out of his textbooks long enough to observe the outside world. There was no way he knew how to sweep a woman off her feet. Well, that’s what I thought until he’d shown up at my door with a proverbial boombox and played my favorite song, looking better than any scientist should with his dark frown and dress shirt open to show off just the barest hint of strong chest, a sprinkling of hair I wanted to see again. This time without my children to witness the striptease.

  The beat of the song, the way he just pulled me in and took control lit a fire in my belly I’d observed in the movies but had never personally experienced. I’d been intrigued when he acted jealous at the restaurant the other night. Quite playful actually, seeing how I could push his buttons and get him to intervene. But this? This display was something else entirely.

  He fisted my hair and tilted my head back, my lips served on a platter for him to take as he wished. And take he did. There was no tentative nibbling or testing, just a thorough devouring that heated my blood and warmed not just my cheeks. Little shocks of electricity shot through my body, making my muscles spasm. He held me so close I didn’t fear falling, even after that dip that nearly took me to the ground.

  This was like no kiss I’d ever been a part of. The crazy part was that it was better than the kiss in my dream. He was here, right below my fingertips, the press of his body begging me to join in.

  My hands slid down his back, enjoying the girth of his shoulders and the line of muscles that ran down his spine to his trim waist. Then I found even greener pastures: the tight butt I’d seen in those tight bicycle shorts. Before I could think it through, I grabbed as much as I could and squeezed. He was shocked, slipping his mouth from mine with a quick intake of breath, and quite frankly, so was I. I don’t recall ever groping a man’s ass before, but hey, I’d never laid my eyes, or hands, on Jameson’s. I wasn’t sorry. In fact, I was planning to do it again.

  But that break from his lips gave my eyes a chance to take in that triangle of skin above his shirt. My hands were redirected.

  Before I could think better of it, the first button popped off his shirt, flying who the hell knew where. I learned exactly what force was necessary to rip a man’s shirt from his body. I tucked that information into the back of my brain, secretly thrilled with myself. Jameson also seemed thrilled if the hard line digging into my stomach was any indication. His eyes looked a little skittish, but with each button that tore off, the line grew and hardened, quite like Pinocchio’s nose. Part of me wanted to keep going just to see when this little growth spurt would stop. But alas, Jameson was out of buttons.

  The Promised Land was before me and I didn’t hesitate to jump right in. Fisting the material in my hands, I pulled his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, frustrated by the cuffs that kept his shirt from revealing his entire upper body to me. The song ended, but we didn’t care, too into each other to bother with a soundtrack.

  He let me go, unbuttoning the cuffs and tossing the shirt aside, but still he towered over me, his stare pinning me in place. He didn’t need to stare me down. I wasn’t going anywhere. I had muscles to feel and veins to trace. There could be a five-alarm fire in my kitchen with those hot firemen coming to save me and I still wouldn’t have stepped away from Jameson’s hot body.

  “You have a lot of sewing to do,” Jameson muttered under his breath.

  My hands slid
their way up his flat stomach, doing another quick count of each ab muscle, then across his chest and up to his shoulders.

  “Don’t care. Kiss me.”

  His hands came back around to my backside and he lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing. His lips crashed back onto mine and I was transported to another place, where Prince Charming took his princess and made her his. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on tight.

  When my back hit a hard surface, I fluttered my eyes open, confused, wondering if I was back in my dream and flat against a tree. My living room came into view, my body pressed between Jameson’s and the wall, the one I’d painted just last year a lovely light gray.

  “Drywall is so much better than bark,” I whispered against his lips.

  He kissed his way down my neck. Between kisses and nips he asked, “What are you talking about?”

  My entire head was about to lift off my neck from the pleasure coursing through my body. With nowhere to retreat, his cock was straining against his pants and putting pressure between my open legs, right where I desperately wanted him. A gasp escaped my mouth at the realization this was my exact dream, coming to life in suburbia.

  His hips shifted and I struggled to breathe. His mouth was back, nibbling on my lip. His hands cupped my breasts, the tips of which brushed against his chest, adding to the fire that built inside of me. He was everywhere, yet I craved more.

  “More, more...” I chanted in my head. I knew where this went. My dream outlined what came next.

  Right on cue, he pulled the strap of my dress off my shoulder and tugged the material down, exposing the left side of my bra. I cursed my inability to plan ahead and wear my sexy bra. The one that was all lace and itchy skin irritation, yet perfectly ready for dates that never actually saw it. The standard tan satin one that had seen better days would have to do. Didn’t seem to slow Jameson down. He didn’t give it more than a passing glance before that too was tugged down. His head dipped and he latched onto my nipple, the tugging continuing, all the way to where he ground against my panties.

  Pinned between him and the wall, all I could do was hold on to his shoulders and enjoy the ride. His hips kept rocking into my core, his cock finding the perfect spot. His tongue kept flicking my nipple, and if he just kept going for a minute or two longer, I’d orgasm with a man for the first time in years.

  I closed my eyes and went to the forest, where my prince was about to drop his pants and impale me. Goddamn, that was hot. Quick breaths puffed out my mouth. I was so close.

  “Mmm...Phillip.”

  Everything stopped.

  “No, no. Keep going. Please.” This wasn’t how the dream went. I should be hearing a belt buckle hit the floor any second now.

  Instead, I opened my eyes to Jameson staring at me wide-eyed. His hair was in a sexy disarray, probably from my fingers, though I didn’t recall grabbing him. A muscle ticked in his jaw and I stared at it, stunned and confused. Where was I? More importantly, where was my orgasm?

  “It’s Jameson.” He spoke loudly, his voice harder than what had stopped rocking against me just a few seconds too early.

  My lungs constricted like I’d run a 5k, or even just a mile, who was I kidding? I shook my head. “I know you’re Jameson. Why’d you stop?”

  He pulled back and I locked my legs tighter around his waist. He gave me a look, one I’d seen him give Stein a thousand times. But I wasn’t a naughty eight-year-old. I was a thirty-two-year-old single mom who wanted her orgasm, goddammit. He pulled back again, a little harder this time. I gritted my teeth and held on, determination my middle name. My back slid down the wall the more he stepped back.

  And then I was sliding too fast, the back of my head the only thing still in contact with the wall. Jameson’s worried face was above me, trying to keep me from falling, but he could barely move, what with my legs around his waist. My neck screamed at me and I finally stopped my descent only to be bent backward with Jameson above me, one hand under my back and one hand against the wall to hold us both up.

  “Fuck, Lily-Marie. Let go.” He barked the order that time and shit if I knew what was wrong with me, but I couldn’t help the shiver that traced up my spine. Where did Jameson go and who was the commanding Don Juan in his place?

  “Okay, but I go in protest.” Yes, that’s right. I was a girl who liked to have the last word. But I obeyed, unlocking my ankles and sliding my legs down to the ground.

  He pulled us both up and I circled my head, trying to relieve my aching neck.

  His gaze was fierce, perfectly complementing the ripped torso that was pumping air in and out of its lungs in greedy gulps. His dress pants stretched tight over the bulge in his pants that remained. So that wasn’t the problem. He clearly wanted me.

  “Why?” I whispered out loud.

  He swiped a hand through his hair and looked away for a moment. His gaze lowered to my chest and I was suddenly aware that my breast was still out, valiantly trying to point at him, but mostly pointing at the ground, which seemed wildly inappropriate at the moment. I remembered quickly I was a mom of two children and things didn’t look the way they had when I was twenty. Hadn’t seemed to matter in the heat of things, but now in the cold light of day, I didn’t really feel all that confident. Reaching up, I tucked her back in and straightened my dress with all the bravado I could muster.

  When I was done, he looked me in the eye and answered me. “I wasn’t going to give you an orgasm while you called me by another man’s name. Was that your ex? Phillip?”

  I was stunned. Phillip? When had I said that name? I sure as shit hadn’t been thinking of my ex, that was for damn sure. My cheeks flamed when I realized I’d been caught between reality and my dream. For a moment there I must have said Phillip’s name. Prince Phillip. From Sleeping Beauty.

  I dropped my head to hide my smile, confident Jameson would not appreciate my mirth right now. When I had my facial muscles under control, I looked back up.

  “No. That’s not my ex’s name, nor any man I’ve ever been with. I promise.” I swallowed, hoping he’d believe me. Without me having to explain my sex dream.

  He held my gaze for a moment and then scooped his shirt off the ground. He didn’t look at me again while he put it on. “Okay.”

  A weight landed on my chest and I couldn’t let him leave like this. I was orgasmless, but I wasn’t heartless. I stepped toward him and put my hand on his arm.

  “Wait, Jameson. It’s not what you think. Can I be honest with you?” My heart beat wildly, realization dawning that I was getting ready to spill a long-held secret. No one else knew the extent of my obsession with movie princesses except Gabby, and even she didn’t know about my sexy dream. My obsession seemed juvenile and ridiculous, but I couldn’t let him walk away upset with me. Or think that make-out session wasn’t as monumental to me as it really was.

  He huffed out a breath. “I always want you to be honest with me.” His gaze lifted from my hand on his arm to my eyes. A small win, but I’d take it, letting it bolster my confidence enough to spill my guts.

  “Well, you may regret saying that when you hear this.” I chuckled nervously. He didn’t lose the frown, but he did nod slightly, so I took that as another good sign. “So, I have this obsession. I love Disney princess movies.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I froze. Was he actually inside my dream? I’d only been joking—sort of—when I’d questioned if he’d been part of my dream. Was that even possible? Who was I kidding? That was not at all in the realm of believability. Right?

  “Wait. How do you know?”

  “Clark told me.” His classic frown was back and I resisted the urge to reach out and smooth his eyebrows. Relief flooded me and I chastised myself for being ridiculous and thinking he’d actually been a part of my dream. That was impossible, Lil, get a grip.

  “Okay, so you know. Um, well, the other night I was watching Sleeping Beauty before bed and I must have had the movie stuck in my head because I dre
amed I was in the movie that night. But it wasn’t the Disney version. It was a really dirty, erotic version. And I may have, you know, said Phillip, the prince’s name instead of yours because what you were doing was exactly like my dream and I just kind of lost my head there for a second.” I twisted my hands nervously and found my gaze on one of the missing buttons on the floor from the front of his shirt by the time I got done spitting all that out. I couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t look at him, until my shame melted away enough for eye contact. So, like in maybe twenty years or so.

  “Lily-Marie?” Jameson’s voice held all manner of expression in its tone. Intimacy, mixed with humor, coated with relief and what I hoped was still desire. “Look at me.”

  I must have still been in the dream, where I would do anything my prince asked of me, because I instantly followed his instruction, finding a blazing smile on his face I’d never been blessed to see before. I was so used to his perpetual frown, the smile took me by surprise. His eyes wrinkled at the corners and the upturn of his lips softened his look, making me want to jump back on him and taste those lips again.

  “Thank you for telling me.” He stepped closer, his shirt flaps still open since he had no buttons left. I could feel the heat of him from several inches away.

  The list of fifty ways to find a husband was never supposed to be used on Jameson, but I couldn’t help but think of one of the ways I’d written out applied here far more than anything else I’d tried. “You know that’s totally our song now, right?”

  “Our song?” He cocked his head to the side.

  “Yeah. ‘Once Upon a Dream.’ Don’t worry, I’ll play it on repeat ad nauseum until you know the words by heart.” Then I realized the implication of declaring that our song. Like we were an actual couple. One interrupted make-out session did not a relationship make. “Not that we’re a couple or anything. Just that the song will remind me of that wall over there and how sturdy it is.”