by Colt, Shyla
“How about I call uncle?” He croaks.
“Hmm.” I rinse him off and circle his head. “Not yet.” I grip his cock, keeping him from finding his release, and he grunts.
“How about we do it together?” He lifts me up, and I squeal as he props me against the shower tile and thrusts home. My lower body shakes as I flex.
“So tight and wet for me.”
I grip the handles we installed for this reason and find leverage to thrust back. He pounds inside of me, and I cry out, surging with him as we quickly find our peak. Back arching, I nearly blackout from the pleasure I’d been denied as he fills me to the brim with his warmth. Easing out, he lowers my feet to the basin and rests his head on my shoulder.
“Now that’s how you start a day,” he pants.
“The best part of waking up, is your soldiers in my—”
“Stop.” he snickers, pulling away. “Now we actually need to get clean and on the road.”
Epilogue
West
One more hurdle. Then I can put the past behind me. I loosen the tie around my neck and clear my throat. I’ve spent the past few months testifying against Thomas Alby. His lawyer has done everything possible to drag the case out. The threatening letters and calls have Adora and me on edge. Today it all ends as they announce the final verdict. Seeing the dirt they unearthed made me sick to my stomach. It took a year to drag the old man into court to answer for the underhanded, unlawful, and illicit tactics he pulled. But watching him get his just deserts will make the wait worthwhile.
“How are you feeling?” My fiancée rests her head against my shoulder.
I draw strength from her presence as I meet her gaze in the full-length mirror we keep in our room. “Ready to be done,” I exhale.
“Think about what happens this weekend.” She kisses my neck, and I hum.
“How can I forget? You finally get the name you should’ve had all along.” I lean back and cup the back of her head as she hugs me from behind.
“I’m not sure if that’s sweet or disturbingly possessive.” She shakes her head.
“Why not both, Mrs. Rogers?” I ask cheekily.
“Always trying to have your cake and eat it, too.” She bites my shoulder, making me jump.
I turn and pull her body flush to mine. “Life’s too short to accept anything less.”
“You taught me that.” She kisses the tip of my nose.
“I should head out, so I won’t be late.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
It’s a tempting offer, but I want her to be as far away from this dumpster fire as possible.
“I’m sure. Bake my favorite meal, though?”
She laughs. “Done.”
I bend down and kiss her, savoring her sweet taste. We part, and I force myself into motion. The sooner I leave, the sooner it will all be over.
“I left your coffee on the counter and a bagel. You need to eat before you go in there, and maybe say a blessing since you’re about to be face-to-face with evil,” she calls out.
“I wish you were kidding,” I say dryly. I take a sip of the hot java and let the caffeine wake me. Chasing it down with a bagel, I leave the house to climb into my car. As I pull away from the two-story, brick house, I keep my mind on the future we’re building together. We settled into this house six months ago after selling my condo and her bungalow. The engagement was swift. I’ve never been a man to hesitate once he’s made up his mind, so I did what Beyoncé advised and put a ring on it a month into dating.
The streets are clear as I make the drive down to the courthouse. After parking underground, I make my way inside. Time speeds as I pass through the metal detector, and I’m guided into the courtroom. Everything moves in slow motion as Albany is led into court, leaning heavily on a cane. I don’t put it past him for it to be for show. He’s always been about smoke and mirrors.
I tense as the judge turns to look at him. He opens his mouth to speak, and I hold my breath. Blood rushes to my head and roars in my ears. His words are distorted by the noise in my own head.
“Guilty.”
Relief floods me. Alby clutches his chest and pitches forward. Screams and shouts fill the small space. I watch, stunned as he’s laid down on the ground by officers.
“Call an ambulance,” the judge barks.
“I can’t find a pulse,” an officer says shakily.
It’s a flurry of activity as he’s lifted onto a stretcher and rushed outside.
I did not see that coming. Stunned, I follow the officers’ directions as they lead us out of the courtroom and back outdoors. It’s a sad ending for a man who spent so much time on top. I wanted to see him pay for his crimes, but I didn’t wish him death. Conflicted, I make the journey home. He was my mentor for a long time. Forgetting the good to focus on the bad would only make life more painful. I want to lay my past to rest, so I can start my future properly.
Adora is sitting on the wrap-around porch in one of the white rocking chairs when I pull into the driveway. She stands.
“You saw?”
She nods. “They pronounced him dead.”
I close my eyes. “I figured as much. He didn’t look right.” My voice cracks.
“It’s okay to mourn.”
“He was a manipulative bastard,” I push the words through my clenched teeth.
She caresses my face. “Yes. But that wasn’t all he was.”
I fist her hair and press my lips to her. “I love you, Adora.”
“I love you, too. Be kind to yourself and grieve if you need to.” She nips my bottom lip. “After the wedding.”
I chuckle. “Your wish is my command, sweet one.”
“We should enjoy tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be whisked away, and we won’t meet face-to-face until we’re at the end of the aisle.”
“Then I’d better get my fill.” I lift her up in a bridal carry.
She squeals kicking her legs. “Weston!”
“Shhh. Daddy has plans for you tonight.”
There will be time to mourn later. I belong in the present time with the woman who’s agreed to manage my heart ’til death do us part.
About the Author
Shyla Colt is the sassy USA Today Bestselling author of the popular series Kings of Chaos and Dueling Devils M.C. This genre-hoppers stories feature three of her favorite things: strong females, pop culture, and alternate routes to happy ever after. Listening to her Romani soul, she pens from the heart, allowing the dynamic characters, eccentric interests, and travels as a former flight attendant to take her down untraveled roads.
Born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, this mid-west girl is proud of her roots. She used her hometown and the surrounding areas as a backdrop for a number of books. So, if you’re a Buckeye, keep an eye out for familiar places.
As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there's never a dull moment in her household.
She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company.
Excerpt
Tough Cookies
Matilda
Who knew a chocolate chip cookie could turn into a coal briquette? I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders as smoke continues to billow out of the open windows and front door. Heat fills my cheeks as the fire truck pulls up, lights flashing, and the siren blaring. I wish I could sink down into the two feet of snow I’m standing in beside my nosy neighbor, Gladys. Gladys called the fire department as I waved the smoke outside, even when I insisted it wasn’t necessary. Of course it was then the cookies ignited, ending my protests.
The hulking heroes scramble down from the shiny, red emergency vehicle, and I point lamely inside. “Oven.”
Doors open, and others drift out onto their porch. I close my eyes and place a hand over my eyes. This was not supposed to be the New Year’s Eve entertainment. Thank God Clem is spending this holiday with her father. It was her big, brow
n eyes that landed me into this mess in the first place. I can still hear her sweet, “Mommy, this year, can we please sign up for the annual bake sale?”
How could I say no when it was our first Christmas on our own?
I made it a game, telling her I would practice while she was gone, so we could choose our favorite recipes together. I’d succeed in making us homeless before that happened. Did the oven malfunction? I’ve never heard of this happening to anyone else. Of course, when it comes to baking, I’m able to defy reality. In our tiny town, the news will be out by Monday on how that poor, divorced girl nearly burned down her house her first year living alone.
“What happened, dear? Did the loneliness get to you?” Gladys asks.
Her boldness loosens my tongue. “Excuse me?”
“It was such a shame, really. That nice husband of yours leaving and showing up too soon after, if you don’t mind me saying, with that little, blonde girl half his age.”
Grinding my teeth, I remember it’ll get back to my mother if I make this woman cry here in front of the rest of the neighborhood and the fire department.
I’ve been dragged through the proverbial mud in the gossip circles. I’m not shocked about what’s said, just that Gladys is telling me to my face. She’s got a set of steel lady balls. High school sweethearts who were Prom King and Queen senior year, Jackson and I were under heavy scrutiny. People had been waiting for us to fail since the ninth grade. When we both made it through college, sans a baby, got married, and started our respective careers in sales and the computer science world, the vultures stopped circling overhead. Especially when Clementine was born six years ago.
If I were the lying sort, I’d say the divorce blindsided me. I’m not. I like facts, codes, and equations. Once you learn the rules, the result is always the same. It’s why I excel in the computer science field. Parting ways brought intense relief. Jackson and I ran out of things to talk about years ago. Our interests no longer aligned, and over sixty percent of the reasons we stayed together had to do with our daughter.
That’s the danger of marrying young. You might grow up and discover the adult version of you doesn’t want the same things. Untangling our lives was a long, painful nightmare. He had a starring role in every poignant memory I made for the past fourteen years. On my own, I got a chance to explore my personal likes, choose a home, decorate, and have no one but myself to answer to. It’s been a profound journey to self-love and independence.
I lost myself over the years playing the perfect wife and mother to Jackson and his image. Taking over his father’s car dealership, he forced us to remain in the limelight with ads, videos, and a social media presence. His scheming and impossible standards allowed no room to breathe or look anything less than perfect at any given moment. I will never go down that road again. Life under the radar in comfortable clothes, indulging my interests stretched out before me like the prize at the end of a long-distance race. There’s a powerful freedom in being able to let it all hang out.
Neon green and yellow reflective tape flash in the flashing red lights, standing out against his black uniform as the firefighter comes toward me with his helmet tucked under his arm. He looks no worse for wear, and they never pulled out the hose, so maybe my kitchen hadn’t burned down. Thank God for home owner’s insurance and the fact that I live less than a minute from the station. His crew exits behind him.
“Ma’am?”
“Lawson. Mrs. Lawson.” I step away from Gladys.
The dark-haired man nods. “Okay. Mrs. Lawson, we’ve put out the small fire. I don’t believe there was any serious damage, but you’ll have to call out a repairman to inspect the oven before using it. You’re lucky it wasn’t a gas stove.”
I nod my head as I picture my house going up with a boom as a blazing fireball engulfs it.
“Is my kitchen salvageable?” I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. The smell of smoke will linger, and you’ll have to scrub everything down and maybe put on a few coats of fresh paint.”
“Can you tell me what happened? Did my oven malfunction?” I’m eager to pass the buck on this situation. I swear you can hear a pin drop as he clears his throat and looks away. Shit. It was a user error.
“It looks like the broiler was on.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?” My shrill voice rings out.
“No, ma’am. That’s the only thing we could find wrong.” His sympathetic expression rubs salt in my bleeding wounds of shame.
Tires crunch over snow, and an engine rumbles behind me. I turn to spot a well-known logo on a white vine as the Channel Nine News Crew pulls up.
If this is a sign of what the next year will be like, I am utterly screwed. The crew parks a few feet away from the firetruck. A perky, enhanced breasts reporter with flawless make-up, who happens to be a shoo-in for the next Mrs. Lawson, steps out of the passenger seat onto towering heels. I don’t wish anyone ill will usually, but I wouldn’t mind seeing her slip on an ice patch. Her plum-colored wool coat contrasts with her stick-straight, glossy, blonde hair. She smiles, and the viciousness in her dark blue eyes makes my stomach churn.
Brittany Powers seems to think I still want Jackson. It’s made every interaction we have unnecessarily complicated and tense. As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome to him. As my mother likes to say, you’ll lose him the same way you got him if you date a man already invested in another relationship. Brittany will spend their entire relationship looking over her shoulders and second-guessing his late nights and trips out of town for work. That’s a worse fate than anything I could do to her. Her thin lips curve up into a predatory grin, and she sashays her way toward me, a harpy on a mission.
“Ms. Lawson. We got the news that a fire started here. We’re so relieved to see you’re okay, and the fine members of our fire department have taken care of everything. Can you tell us what happened, Firefighter Jones?”
The man behind me clears his throat. “It turns out it was a bit of a false alarm.”
I could kiss him.
“Oh?” Brittany arches her perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
Becoming acutely aware of my gray and white polka-dot joggers and old, faded college pullover, I pull my green plaid blanket closer and clear my throat.
“That’s right. Sorry to get you good folks out here at this time of night for no reason,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. Kill them with kindness.
“Well, we do follow the stories available in the town. How about a brief comment to reassure all these worried folks out here?” Brittany gestures toward the families crowding the porches, putting me on the spot.
Evil bitch.
“Of course.” I force a smile. The bright lights beam into my face, blinding me in the darkness as they’re set up. I have flashbacks to my time with Jackson. My palms sweat, and my heart rate accelerates. Chest tightening, I grip the blanket in my hand to remain grounded in the present.
“I’m here on New Year’s Eve with homeowner Matilda Lawson who’s ringing in 2021 in a rather unusual way. Can you tell us what happened?” She thrusts the microphone into my face. I clear my throat.
“Today, I learned that cookies are actually flammable.” I give a self-deprecating smile. They can’t laugh at me if I force them to laugh with me.
“Wow!” She shoots a stunned expression at the cameraman. “How did you manage that?”
“Somewhere in the process of cooking production, the broiler was turned on.” I widen my eyes comically. “You can imagine what would happen to cookies after the recommended fifteen to sixteen minutes in the oven.” I cringe. “If you can’t, I assure you it was nothing good.” The cameraman snickers, and Brittany’s eye twitches. Nice try. I know how to spin things. I learned at least that much from being married to a local celebrity.
The interview takes all of ten minutes, but I swear it equated to an eternity in hell.
“I guess you’ll need us to keep Clem longer, considering .
..” Brittany gestures toward the house.
“No. It’ll be fine once it’s aired out.” My jaw clenches, but I keep my tone steady and calm.
“Pity. We made cookies for the new year, you know?” Her immaturity keeps her from working with Jackson and me to create a calm, cohesive environment. It’s going to end up being a problem.
I smile and nod.
“She told us how you two were going to enter the bake sale.” She looks at the retreating fire truck. “Don’t worry, Matilda. I’ll be sure to help Clem, so she’s not embarrassed or disappointed.”
My daughter is not a prize to be won. I resent Brittany’s continuous attempts to turn her into one. She might be my daughter’s stepmother one day, but she’ll never take my place.
“I got it, actually,” I say.
“Oh, I’ll be there covering it anyway. It won’t be a problem when you change your mind.” She winks and moves to help her crew pack up.
Oh hell no. I’ll do whatever it takes to show up at the bake sale and redeem myself with a smile on my face and cookies that put everyone else to shame. I’ll just need help to do it.
Later, on the couch, as I’m looking at cookie baking tutorials, I land on a local baker’s channel.
“Welcome to baking with Anders Rivera.”
My lady parts tingle as I sit up straighter. The handsome, olive-skinned man with facial hair and soulful brown eyes wasn’t what I expected. I can’t look away as his deep voice gives clear, concise explanations. His cookies are beautiful, and his offer at the end of the video seals the deal in my mind. This is the man I need. As the clock turns to twelve, I make a vow: New year, new me. And this version of myself will bake a damn good cookie.
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