Free Flesh: A Romance Novel

by Daya Daniels

  Austen edges up behind me. “This beach is private.” He presses his nose into my hair. “There’s no one around for miles.” He places his hands on my shoulders and caresses my arms from my wrists to my elbows then to my neck, putting me in some sort of trance from his touch. Then without warning, he picks me up and slings me over his shoulder like a caveman.

  Letting out a few squeals, I kick and swing my arms until I’m laughing so hard that we both collapse in the sand. I’m straddling him and my hair is everywhere. On a loud laugh, he reaches up and holds me by the waist. I still for a moment when I realize I haven’t laughed like this in so long. I’m still giggling. So hard that my side is beginning to hurt. We’re under the cover of darkness, but the light from the moon highlights his striking facial features. His hair is everywhere, but he still looks handsome. His bright smile holds me under arrest.

  We look at each other for a while. Then the sensation of his hard stomach against my thin panties makes me squirm. I shift to move off him and he sits up. His eyes bore into mine as he stares down at me like I’m something to eat then he kisses me, hard. It’s punishing, relentless and steals my breath away. And before I know it, I’m lost in his kiss, clawing at him, grabbing at his clothes, removing his shirt as he unbuttons my dress, sliding it off. Then my bra goes. Then his jeans and boxer briefs. He backs away from me, allowing me to look at him. And he looks incredible in this light—a muscular form, powerful chest, chiseled abs that lead down to that fabulous V-muscle that trails farther down to the huge cock that hangs there, hard and ready, for me.

  I hook my fingers in my panties and look around warily before I slide out of them and toss them on top of my dress. Austen stalks toward me and snatches me up in his arms, breathing heavily, and trudges to the shoreline, taking us right in the water.

  I snake my arms around his neck and wrap my thighs around his waist. I gasp as we ease down into the ocean. The cool temperature at first is a shock to my system, but gradually I adjust and realize how warm it really is.

  Austen breathes against my lips. “It’s wonderful in here.”

  The water sluices over his shoulders and dribbles down his face as we bob up and down.

  “What about sharks?” I ask.

  “The only shark you need to worry about in this water, Callie, is me.”

  I laugh as he settles me more comfortably against him, his fingers digging into my thighs, bringing me close. I lean forward and kiss him, dragging my clit along the length of his dick, quivering from the sensation, desperate to have it inside of me. The kiss ends with a pop and soon the broad head of his cock is at my entrance, teasing my lips.

  A strangled breath leaves his mouth as he looks at me with hunger, desire. I come closer, wrapping my arms around his neck tighter. A whimper leaves me at the teasing, the frustration making me wild.

  Austen’s full lips quiver and his breathing is heavy. “Do you want it, Callie?”

  I nod.

  “Do you want my cock?” he asks, and a desperate whine escapes me when he pushes the thick head in a little and pulls back out, leaving me feeling robbed.

  “Yesss,” I hiss.

  At my response, he plunges deep into my pussy, taking my breath. My fingers dig into the back of his neck and I bury my face in his shoulder, stifling a loud cry at the exquisite fullness that takes over me.

  Austen groans. He moves slow then picks up speed. I cry out with each stroke and at the sensation of his thickness as it drags along my walls, making them quiver. My mouth falls open. The waves wash over us, the salty water splashing into my mouth every now and again.

  “I’ve fucking missed you, Callie.” He slides his large palms up and holds my face, forcing me to look at him. He consumes my mouth in a violent kiss.

  Austen

  WET. TIGHT. FUCKING MINE.

  Her insides tighten around me and a whine leaves her that’s so exquisite. I lower us down in the water until I’m almost in a squatting position. The water reaches our midsections, exposing Callie’s perky breasts and her flat tummy. She shifts against me then begins to move, riding me like a maniac. I squeeze my eyes shut at the sensation of the slide of her pussy along my swollen dick that causes it to twitch every single time.

  A hiss leaves her pretty mouth and her lip quivers. I lean in and take that lip between my teeth, moaning at the same time.

  Her face contorts. She’s breathless and her wet hair slicks her shoulders and the tops of her breasts as she rides me in a frenzy, forcing hisses from my mouth. I clutch the back of her neck, holding on to her as her wet pussy slides along the length of me. I take in the view of her curvy body in my grip. A delicious whine leaves her mouth, followed by another and another. Those baby blues of hers become glassy. Her lips part as a succession of soft wails escape her, filtering out into the night air around us. She’s coming and although she doesn’t say it, I can feel her muscles clenching around the shaft of my dick.

  I let her milk me as I hold on to her tiny body, keeping her smaller weight against me. Her warm breaths skate across my mouth as I stare her down, making her realize I’m responsible for this—I’m who she craves—my stroke gives her pleasure and my cock makes her come.

  The tension becomes stronger until I can’t take it anymore. And with a savage groan, I allow the powerful orgasm to take over me and I come, my dick moving wildly like an unmanned water hose, exploding deep inside of her, filling her with my cum.

  She slumps against me, holding on to me weakly, still breathing heavily. I wrap her in my arms, moving with the feeling of the waves. Callie kisses my cheek then shifts to press her lips to mine, tasting me, consuming me in a kiss that tells me everything she won’t say. Everything she won’t dare speak.

  Whatever this is, it’s complicated. But it’s real. And she knows it.

  I can feel her spirit splintering. I can sense the apprehension and the fear seeping from her like an uncontrolled leak about what we’re doing—what we’ve been doing.

  “Stories like ours don’t end well, Austen,” she says in a shaky voice, with her brow knit tightly together. “It’s why I didn’t want to do this. It’s why I just wanted this to be sex from the very beginning. Do you understand why?”

  I nod.

  She sucks on her bottom lip and releases it. “Someone always ends up hurt.” Her pretty blue eyes water with tears.

  I exhale and drag my lips along her forehead, kissing her there a few times. “I know, Callie, but what you don’t understand is that...I’m willing to hurt for you,” I whisper.

  Callie

  KEEPING MY PALM FLAT against the kitchen door above the handle, it clicks when I shut it. The house is in darkness and the kitchen smells of something freshly baked. I pad over the center island and eyeball the muffins that Helen must’ve baked today beneath a glass cover. I inhale and realize they’re apple—Trav’s favorites.

  I remove the top and take one up. I look at it beneath the moonlight that’s filtering in through the large window just over the sink. I admire it. It’s slightly misshapen and the top of it is huge, dwarfing the bottom half of it. If I rested it down on the counter, it would no doubt tip over from being top heavy. But the taste is perfect. I moan, accepting it’s probably the best apple muffin I’ve ever tasted.

  So maybe it doesn’t matter what it looks like...

  I devour the entire thing in a matter of seconds.

  I’m exhausted and my muscles are beginning to ache all over.

  I flinch when a light in the corner just over the stove clicks on.

  “Mom,” Noah says softly. He’s dressed in a holey T-shirt and pajama pants. His thick hair is all over his head and blue eyes look tired. “What are you doing?” He chuckles when he spots me with half of the muffin stuffed in my mouth and the crumbs falling down my dress.

  “I’m just tasting this.” My words come out garbled, causing Noah to laugh more.

  He walks across the room to stand in front of me, his face scrunched in some weird expression.
For a second I forgot I still have on the clothes I was wearing when I left this morning.

  Noah’s arms widen. “Where have you been?”

  We both look down at my flats and my feet that are covered in beach sand. I’m certain my hair is all over the place after it dried out and my skin is tight all over from the salt in the water.

  I finish chewing as he waits for my response, his brows lifted in curiosity. “I-I-I just went for a swim,” I tell him.

  “A swim?”

  “Yeah. Yes. A swim.”

  He keeps that look on his face. “Okay.” He rests a hand on my shoulder, drawing me close in a hug, then he releases me, still giving me a stare of wonderment. “Dad was good today. He was in a mood, but he kept it to himself.”

  I bob my head a few times.

  “I gave him a bath and he watched TV for a while then he went off to sleep.”

  “Okay, good, good.”

  “He didn’t want Helen here today at all.” He keeps his eyes on my messy dress and sandy ankles. “I don’t think it’s sunk in yet, Mom, that he can’t do things for himself.”

  “I know.”

  Noah’s mouth twists up. “You really went for a swim?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I look away from him.

  “At night. In the ocean. Alone.”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t see you down on the—”

  “I went somewhere else. I just needed to relax. I’ve had a real hard day.”

  Noah inhales. “Okay, Mom, but that isn’t very safe.”

  “It was just a quick dip,” I explain, sounding more and more like I’m trying to convince him I’m telling the truth. And that me taking a dip in the Atlantic Ocean late at night, alone, isn’t odd. Especially when we have a beach just outside our door.

  He gives me a long look and I can tell he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He spins around and strolls toward the doorway.

  “I won’t drown,” I whisper-yell.

  “It’s not drowning I’m worried about, Mom. It’s the sharks,” he says before he leaves the kitchen.

  Sharks.

  The only shark I had to be worried about had already taken a chunk out of me, mind, body, and soul.

  Austen

  THE NEXT EVENING...

  Callie is asleep lying next to me.

  We’d been using Arthur’s place as a hideaway of sorts—somewhere we could enjoy each other’s company for a few hours in peace.

  The bed is a double mattress on the floor that after we’ve finished using—to avoid any suspicions—I lift up and lay against the wall of the empty bedroom, covering it back up in plastic.

  Warm air flows into the open window that looks out to the beach.

  Her long mahogany hair fans out against the white sheet she’s wrapped in.

  Checking my watch, it’s just after eight o’clock, which is a little early for bedtime but not too early if you’ve been fucked seventy ways from Sunday. And while eating chow mein for dinner, Callie had nearly fallen asleep in her Styrofoam container.

  She shifts as we lie in bed, her back to my front. Taking a finger, I trace it over that tiny chocolate mole just over her hip, caressing her delicate skin, admiring her ample curves. She only shifted on her side a few minutes ago, but before that I watched her sleep, taking in her features and how peaceful she looked.

  This is something so simple—sleep. And yet I know I’ll never get to enjoy a full night of it with her, as long as we’re seeing each other like this. Each time after we’ve had sex, she dashes out of this house like her carriage is suddenly going to turn into a pumpkin if she’s a minute late home. But I know it’s to make sure no one wonders where she is. It’s to avoid the questions.

  Everyone in this world knows if your spouse comes home late on a regular, especially if it isn’t for work, something might be up. So, Callie leaves here on time, every time. And I pout every time she does, wishing I could just enjoy one night of having her wrapped in my arms, warm and comfortable against each other, while we both sleep.

  My finger continues to trace over her creamy skin. I palm her ass cheek, feeling the softness, savoring the supple feeling of her skin. Leaning over, I press a kiss to her right cheek, where her mole is.

  She squirms in front of me and moans.

  “Do you know this is here?” I ask, inching closer to her.

  “What?” she asks sleepily.

  “This,” I say, placing my finger on the sexy marking.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she murmurs into the white sheet.

  Pressing my nose into her neck, I inhale the scent of her skin and pull her close. Her body molds to mine. Taking a glance at her angelic face, her eyes are closed, and her lips are parted as she breathes. She’s responding to me, but she’s half asleep.

  “Callie,” I whisper.

  She groans in response.

  “I love having you here, with me.”

  “Me too.”

  She turns over to face me. Then her eyes open, revealing those blues that steal away my soul every single time. She takes my hand in hers and I chuckle at the sight of my large hand swallowing up hers.

  Callie had told me everything about her life. She’d told me about her three sons and why she became a teacher. She’d told me about her parents and her relationship with Ivy. But she won’t speak about Travis—any discussion about their relationship is off-limits.

  I respect that.

  I don’t have much of a choice.

  But I do wonder what happens when she goes home. Does she crawl into bed with him? Do they fight? Do they stay up late at night and talk about nothing? What does a man like that do with a woman like Callie? What would he do about me if he was able-bodied and not confined to a wheelchair?

  I stifle a laugh because I know he’d probably shoot me or attempt to murder me with his bare hands. And a small part of me knows that if Travis Stone wasn’t in that wheelchair, Callie wouldn’t be fucking me. I know that for certain.

  And I know she loves him. I can see it in her eyes when she says his name. I feel her protectiveness over him and the rest of her family. I sense her shame and embarrassment and her spirit burning out the longer we do this. I can feel her broken heart beating for the life she once had with Travis, that she knows has gone away but still desperately hopes will come back. Callie is in mourning for a man who’s still alive...

  “What do you want out of life, Austen?” She runs a hand over my jaw.

  You. A family. A home. A secure job.

  “I can’t answer that, Callie.” Not in the way you want me to...

  She giggles. “I don’t believe that. Everyone wants something out of life.”

  I smile.

  She shifts to look up at the vaulted ceiling above. “I just want to be happy.”

  “Happiness is overrated.”

  “What?” She jerks her head to look at me.

  “Yeah, it’s overrated and rarely attainable at the expense of the unhappiness of another.”

  “That’s true,” she whispers.

  “Especially in a union...that’s why I always preferred to be alone.”

  She appears to be deep in thought. “I suppose you’re right.”

  I groan and trace my fingers along the outside of her thigh, feeling myself growing hungry once more to be deep inside of her. “What about your happiness, Callie?”

  Her long lashes flutter as she looks up at me, innocent and broken, as if she’s never even given a second thought to her own life satisfaction. She’s always been catering to the needs of everyone else around her.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I ease myself on top of her, settling between her thighs, catching her as she checks out my upper body with an appreciative smirk. She runs her fingers over my abs, tickling my skin.

  “Is it important to you?” I give her a hard stare, waiting for her response.

  She smiles weakly and looks away from me
with a huff. “I’m a mother and a wife, Austen. I don’t get to be happy. I give happiness. And that’s just the way it is.”

  Oh, my little martyr....

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Callie

  IT’S SATURDAY MORNING.

  The sun is shining in the blue sky around us and a breeze washes over the back porch where we’re sitting. Noah has just collected up the breakfast plates from the table and headed back inside before he let us know he’ll be gone for the rest of the day.

  Helen is busy cooking up chicken gumbo that Trav asked for.

  He’s mostly been staring at the water this morning and said one or two things to me here and there. I scoot closer to him, admiring how good he looks in a button-up sweater. I trimmed his hair last night and gave him a fresh shave.

  “Do you miss it?” I ask, interrupting his daydream. “The water.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I do.”

  People walk up and down the beach with their dogs. And every now and again little kids trail behind them giggling and skylarking as they walk over to the edge of the water, putting their toes in.

  Seagulls dance above and the moment we hear something flying overhead, Trav moves his wheelchair closer to the edge of the deck to get a better view above. I laugh at his excitement. Ever since I’ve known him, airplanes, the ocean, and anything to do with guns were the only things that ever kept his attention.

  Standing, I walk over to the edge of the deck to stand next to him, placing my hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s a Sikorsky S-76,” he says, squinting his eyes up at the sky, seeming a little disappointed. “It’s just a helicopter.”

  Finally, I spot it. “Oh.”

  He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him playfully. He’s still strong as fuck. I didn’t think five years of being in a wheelchair could ever diminish this man’s physique that he’d spent nearly twenty years perfecting.

  I lean into him, inhaling the fresh scent of his T-shirt that smells of laundry detergent and body wash. “You’re in a good mood,” I mumble into his shoulder.