Only For Forever: An Enemies to Lovers, Small Town Romance (Men of Rocky Mountain)

by Alexis Winter

  He slides me down his body slowly, his eyes locked on mine.

  “Tonight,” he pushes my hair over my shoulder as he leans down and kisses my neck softly, “you’re mine. All of you,” he says as he continues trailing kisses. I let my head loll back as a shiver runs through my body.

  “I have no interest in teasing you or toying with you, Leigh.” He pulls the straps of my dress off my shoulders before yanking the top portion down my body.

  “There’s a zipper.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he says, grabbing the edges of the dress and tearing the back so it can fit down my body and over my hips. The dress pools at my feet as his tongue delves back into my mouth. I kick the dress to the side as he walks me to the edge of the bed, pushing me until I fall backward.

  “Take off your panties and bra,” he commands as he slides his suit coat down his arms, folding it carefully and placing it on a chair in the corner. “Now,” he says, not even looking at me.

  I want to tell him to fuck right off, but his demeanor has me entranced. Is he always like this in the bedroom?

  I reach around, unhooking my bra and pulling the straps down my arms. I watch as he walks back over to me, pulling his shirt off and repeating the process of folding it before undoing his pants. My mouth is watering, waiting for him to reveal himself to me fully. I watch as his back ripples with his movements, the muscles accentuated by the moonlight. A dark curl falls over one eye as he watches me lift my hips and slide my panties down my legs. A strap gets caught on my heel and I lean forward to remove it and undo the strap on the shoe.

  “Don’t.” He kicks his pants off along with his socks, placing them on the chair as his glorious cock bounces with the movement. I stop, leaning back on the bed and propping myself up on my elbows as he saunters over to me.

  “I’ve had nothing but images of these heels by my ears ever since I saw you in them last week.” He drops down to his knees in front of me, grabbing my ankle and bringing it up to his lips. He places a soft kiss on the inside, repeating the process up my calf before dropping it down and repeating it all with my other leg.

  I want to sit up and stare at him, to take in his Adonis-like physique, but I can’t focus when his featherlight kisses are trailing closer and closer to my wet center. I moan, finally giving in and lying back, allowing myself to get lost in the sensations taking over my body.

  “You smell like fucking heaven.” His words vibrate against my skin as his tongue snakes out, licking up my entire slit. I grip the sheets, my hips bucking upward slightly at the sensation. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me like this. I’m almost embarrassed at how quickly my body is ready to explode. I’m teetering on the edge—a taut band stretched tightly, ready to snap at any second.

  “Yes, right there,” I moan, reaching down between my thighs and gripping Grant’s silky curls in my hands, my nails digging slightly into his scalp. I tug and he hisses, the slight pain spurring him on as he doesn’t relent his oral assault on my lady parts. His hands come up to my inner thighs, forcing them to stay open as my orgasm washes over me.

  He slides two fingers into me, slipping them all the way inside and then pulling them out. He licks them clean then repeats the process a few more times. The heat in his eyes is raw and animalistic—pure unbridled lust that I’ve never seen before.

  He doesn’t miss a beat. He grabs a condom from his bedside table, sliding it down his length before positioning himself at my entrance. He repeats the same slow, deep movements with his cock that he did with his fingers. He’s thick and long and my body struggles to accommodate him. After a few strokes though, I’m so slick with desire that my body welcomes him inside me.

  “Fuck, I can’t get enough,” he mutters as his eyes devour me. They feel like they’re going to burn my flesh. “Your tits,” he grits the words out, the muscles in his chest and abdomen flexing as he thrusts into me, his hands gripping my ankles. His movements grow rapid, wild, and untamed as my breasts bounce with the movement.

  “Ohhhh,” is the only word I can form, the only word that tumbles from my lips as I reach my hand down and circle my clit as he pounds into me. His strokes are so deep and methodical—a man who truly understands the difference between harder and faster.

  “I’m going to come,” I whine as my head falls back and my eyes roll up into my head.

  “Let me watch you,” he says, staring down my body again as I come undone. My toes curl and my back arches as waves of electricity jolt my body. I see an explosion of color behind my eyelids as I squeeze them so tightly I’m afraid they’ll never open again.

  I’ve barely come down from my high before Grant pulls himself from me and reaches down to flip me onto my belly.

  “Get on your hands and knees,” he commands. I look back over my shoulder, placing my hands beneath myself to do as he says, when I feel a sharp sting on my ass cheek. The sound of slapping flesh rings throughout the room.

  “Ow!”

  “Now,” he says, and the tenor of his voice is something I’ve never heard from him before.

  I’m barely on my knees when his hands grip my waist, pulling back to impale me on his cock. I gasp, my elbows buckling, but he holds me up as he drives himself into me over and over again. I can hear the sound of our flesh slapping against each other, his grunts echoing around the room. He lifts a leg, placing it on the lip of the bed frame for leverage as he deepens his strokes.

  “Oh God!” I moan as he drives into me two more times before holding himself deep inside me. He crumples on top of me, his warm, sweaty chest against my back. His breath comes out in small, warm puffs against my cheek.

  “That was . . .” he says, hooking his arm around my waist and rolling over so I’m lying next to him on the bed.

  “Yeah,” I say, neither of us finishing the thought. The room is quiet and I’m suddenly very aware of my nakedness, as is Grant. He reaches his arms around me, cupping my breasts in his hands, his low voice rumbling against my back.

  “These are the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen.” He rubs his thumbs over my hard nipples, a small tingle shooting straight to my core.

  “Oh, please, with the amount you’ve seen, I’m sure there’s far better out there.” I don’t know why I say it, but I do. His hands fall away from me and he pulls himself to sit up on the edge of the bed. I should apologize. I should acknowledge that my self-defense mechanism is rude at best—but I don’t.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, and I spin around to face him.

  “What?”

  “It broke,” he says, standing up and carrying the used condom to the bathroom.

  “I’m on birth control. It’s fine. And I’m clean as a whistle.”

  “You sure? With the amount of men you’ve seen?” I know he’s just using my same line right back at me, but it stings and I can’t hide it.

  I stand up, reaching for my now-ripped dress and undergarments. “I should go,” I say, grabbing the items and heading to the bathroom. “This was a mistake.” I slam the door, leaning against it briefly to calm my shaky breath and prevent myself from crying. Why the fuck do I care what he thinks of me? It was just a hookup.

  When I open the door, Grant is standing there in a T-shirt and jeans, pulling on a pair of slip-on deck shoes.

  “I don’t need a ride; I called an Uber.” I glance around the room, making sure I grabbed everything, but I’m too busy trying to keep my dress on now that the zipper is ripped to really notice if I left anything behind.

  “Great,” he says with a sigh, kicking off his shoes and removing his shirt and jeans.

  My shoulders drop and I sigh. “Look, Grant, I’m sorry, I shou—”

  “Hey, we’ve all been someone’s mistake, Leigh.” He holds his palms out, an angry smirk marring his usually smiling face. “And sometimes we end up being their pity fuck.”

  My mouth snaps shut and tears instantly spring to my eyes. I know I have no right to be hurt or offended by his words, but I am.

&nb
sp; “You’re a fucking prick, you know that?” I say, removing my sky-high heels and marching to the door. I slam it behind me, my bare feet slapping against the marble hallway as I run to the elevator to catch my Uber.

  6

  Grant

  I’m exhausted. I drag my hands over my face, trying to scrub some life back into it as I splash cold water on my cheeks. Heavy bags hang beneath my dull eyes. My diet of caffeine and too little sleep has caught up with me. The life of a doctor is stressful and demanding enough—throw in a commitment to two hospitals hours apart and some unresolved sexual drama with Leigh and I’m ready to slip into a coma for a month.

  “You don’t look well, dear,” my mother points out as I emerge from the bathroom and walk over to the bar in her sitting room.

  “Thanks, Mom. You look refreshed as ever.” I smile, pouring myself a generous amount of whiskey before sitting on the loveseat next to her.

  “Botox and Ambien, dear. You should try it.” She laughs, patting my knee.

  “I’ll be okay, Mom. Just need to get through this week and sort a few things out. How’s your social life these days? Still leading on poor Mr. Wilcox, or you got another old rich guy trying to seduce you?”

  Since my father’s death, my mom hasn’t dated seriously, even though I’ve tried to encourage her. I know when you have a love like she had with my father—and for so many decades too—it’s not like you just wake up one day and get over that person.

  “Mom, it’s time,” I say, grabbing her hand. She looks up at me, a small tear on the edge of her eye, but she just smiles.

  “I know, dear, and actually, Mr. Wilcox is quite the gentleman. He’s respectful and,” she pauses briefly, a small smile spreading across her lips, “he makes me laugh.”

  “Good. You deserve to be happy, Mom.” We sit in silence for a few moments, with me enjoying my whiskey as I watch the flames dance in the fireplace. It could be 90 degrees out, but my mother will always have a small ambient fire going in her sitting room.

  “So, sweetie,” she starts, and I already know what’s coming.

  “No, Mother, I’m not seeing anyone.” I stare into my glass with images of Leigh spread across my bed last week dancing through my brain. A pang of guilt follows. I’m not sure if it’s because of what I said to her or the fact that I never followed up with a phone call to apologize. It was a dick move, even if she started it by saying hooking up with me was a mistake. I roll my tongue around in my mouth like the word left a bitter taste.

  “Are you still in love with August?” Her question catches me off-guard and I look over at her as I shake my head.

  “No. No, I’m not in love with August anymore . . . not even sure if I ever really was.” I stand and walk over to the fireplace, placing my hands on the mantle. It’s funny, I can picture my father doing this exact same move when I was a kid.

  “Don’t say that, sweetheart. Just because things didn’t work out between you two doesn’t mean you should sell yourself short on the experience of what you felt for her.”

  “It’s not that, Mom. I cared for August, deeply. I know that. But when I think about love, the kind you and Dad had—I’ve never experienced that. I think August was a person of opportunity when I was feeling lonely. She was kind and beautiful and offered me something I couldn’t seem to find here in Denver.” I look back at my mom and see that a sadness has settled over her face. I walk back over to her and sit beside her, taking her hands in mine.

  “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m sure I’ll find someone. When I ended things with August, it wasn’t just because she was clearly in love with someone else, it was also because . . .” I hesitate. Do I really want to admit this out loud? “There was someone else for me too.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “Who?”

  “You don’t know her, but there’s a woman in Grand Lake who caught my eye. I knew when I started to be more than just attracted to her while dating August that I was in trouble. And no, nothing happened between us while I was with August. This woman . . . she hates me.” I chuckle when I say it, because it’s pretty much the only way to put it.

  “Oh, she doesn’t hate you, Grant. She couldn’t.” My mom playfully smacks my hand, and while I love how much she wants to believe it isn’t possible for someone to hate her wonderful boy . . . she hasn’t met Leigh Brooks.

  I barely drink the whiskey I poured myself. I spend another few hours with my mom, and she catches me up on the local drama of her garden club and I try not to let my mind wander—like wondering what Leigh’s doing tonight.

  Is she on a date? I push the thought from my mind, focusing on my mom’s story about Doris Clyburn, who, rumor has it, is getting awfully flirty with Mr. Carter even though his wife isn’t dead yet. Good to know this kind of drama is still going on with people in their 70s.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening, Mom, but I really should get home. I have a full schedule of patients tomorrow, so I’ll be up before the sun.” We exchange goodbyes and I promise my mom I won’t give up on finding love, even if it means letting her set me up with the single daughter of one of her friends.

  By the time I drive across the city and park in my building, my thoughts are consumed by Leigh.

  Is she dancing in the arms of some worn-out wannabe cowboy back in Grand Lake? Is he touching her right now? Is she letting another man kiss her the way I did last week? I hate this. My stomach is in knots and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

  I decide a nice, long steam in my shower should help calm me down before bed. I strip out of my clothes, walking into the bathroom. I go to set my phone on the counter when I miss and it clatters to the floor, bouncing beneath the overhang of the vanity cabinets. That’s when I spot it: a delicate gold watch. I grab it and turn it over in my hands, and that’s when see a small set of initials engraved on the back: LHB.

  Well, now I have to text her. I’m sure this is a family heirloom, being that it’s vintage Cartier, so I can’t not tell her I have it. I pick up my phone to text when I double-check the time: it’s late. No, I’ll wait till I’m back in Grand Lake tomorrow, then she’ll have no choice but to see me.

  Me: Hey, I think you left this at my house? I’ll be at my place in Grand Lake all day today if you want to stop by and pick it up.

  I shoot a quick text over to Leigh, along with a picture of the watch I found in my bathroom. I make myself a cup of coffee and step onto the back deck that overlooks the lake, the morning dew still hanging on the grass. I love the early mornings here; it’s why I bought the place. A few days of waking up to this and I feel completely rejuvenated—like a new man who can take on anything. My phone pings and I pull it from my pocket and see a text from Leigh.

  Leigh: Thanks, been wondering where it went. I’ll be by sometime this afternoon.

  I’m relieved at the civility of the text; it just feels normal. Maybe there’s a chance for us to put our last exchange behind us and actually be friends. I know it’s got about as much of a chance as a snowball in hell, but I won’t stop trying.

  I do like Leigh: she’s driven and hilarious and she’s one helluva lay. Point is, I want to be her friend. I’d love it if she became that person I could hang out with, laugh, and have a beer with when I’m in town . . . and if hanging out also involved a hot fuck now and then, I’ll gladly take that too.

  I don’t see Leigh as much as I’d like to. I’m only in Grand Lake a few weekends a month, but when I’m here, I try to make the most of it. I really do love her Pilates class. I know she thinks I only take it to annoy her, but it’s a nice complement to the heavier weights I lift.

  The pang of guilt creeps back in. I know I owe her an apology not only for what I said to her, but for my past actions. There’s no reason for me to pick on her as much as I do. At first it seemed like she enjoyed it—like there was a give and take between us that was building into some serious sexual tension, but then I took it too far.

  I’ve been lost in my thoughts for over an hour when I hear a po
unding on the front door. I walk back inside and open the door.

  “Ryder! Hey, man, thanks for agreeing to help me with this tree,” I say, ushering him inside. It’s not often a man makes me feel small, but Ryder Mitchell is like a human tree. We met about six months ago and hit it off. Seeing as we’re just about the only two single guys left in this town, it was nice to commiserate.

  “Not a problem, buddy,” he says, stepping inside and smacking me on the back. “Got any more of that?” He motions to my now-empty coffee cup.

  After three hours of wrestling the giant ash tree that died in my yard, Ryder and I have it on the ground and cut into several major chunks. I pull off my gloves and reach into the back pocket of my jeans for my phone, seeing if there’s a missed text or call from Leigh. There’s nothing.

  “You’re glued to that thing today,” Ryder laughs before taking a drink of his water. He pulls his shirt off and shakes out the sawdust. “Hot as shit out here.”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “Leigh is gonna be stopping by at some point.”

  “Oh yeah? How’d that go?” he asks, referring to the date I went on with her. I’d mentioned to him that I got her to agree to go out with me, but he didn’t think she’d actually follow through.

  “She’s coming to pick up the watch she left at my place.” I can’t help my coy smile and Ryder knows exactly what that means.

  “Nice. So you guys go out again?”

  I pull my shirt off as well, balling it up and using it to wipe the sweat dripping down my face.

  “Well, that’s where I fucked up,” I laugh, drinking down the rest of my water. “She told me that sleeping with me was a mistake, and my dumb ass couldn’t let her get one over on me, so I said—” I stop and shake my head at the memory. “I told her she was a pity fuck.”