A Fall From Grace. Mail Order Bride Western

by Brittany Dreams

  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself - and too late realization sank in at what she'd said, foolish words at best and dangerous words at worst.

  Silence.

  Finn's fury had vanished, leaving only a stunned expression. Embarrassed beyond belief, wanting to just get this over with, she plowed on.

  "So Marcus is my best bet and I'm going out with him and there's nothing you-"

  The hands on her wrists tightened, bringing her arms up over her head and trapping them against the books with his. His stunned expression was changing, as his gray eyes held an emotion that had panic fluttering inside her, along with something almost primitive.

  Oh, no.

  His body molded against hers, as hard and hot as steel. Lips ghosted on the skin of her cheek, trailing down until his breath was almost mingling with hers. Her heart skittered.

  Both of their breathing had turned heavy.

  "Finn - what are you...doing?"

  His eyes filled with sheer lust.

  "I'm giving you your orgasm," was his only response before he kissed her, hard and demanding and everything she'd ever wanted.

  Her thoughts scattered. Her arousal spiked, a rush of molten heat that spread through every part of her body, turning it aching for his touch. Her hands, no longer wanting to be passive, actively sought him out, wrapping around his hands that trapped hers and pushing, until he released them and she was free to explore his skin, his body, his own heat. Oh, but he wasn't passive, either – his wicked mouth was turning her insides upside down and his hands—

  Dimly, she heard a rip, and found her strapless bra on the floor. And then his hands were on her breasts, thumbing her nipples in circled motions until they ached.

  She moaned.

  Then his mouth was there, sucking her stiffened peak and rolling his tongue over and over as she writhed against him and gripped his hair in her hands, vibrating like a plucked string.

  More thoughts scattered in her brain, and one took form.

  "Finn – the door – haven’t locked—”

  He murmured something unintelligible before turning her around, and trapping her with his body. The action pressed her breasts flat on the books, as his hands slid down her butt, sliding her dress up and cupping her intimately. Then he ground against her, and his erection - unzipped and pulled out of his jeans - rubbed at her panty-covered center and sent a shot of mind-numbing pleasure into her.

  She moaned louder, forgetting the doors as her mind blanked.

  He kept thrusting, that hardness hitting her clothed center over and over until the only sounds were her whimpers and his groans and the raw sounds of their pumping.

  A finger slid in, as he stopped kissing her neck for a moment to rasp in her ear.

  "So. Wet. Delilah."

  His finger worked her as a crescendo of emotions built up in her, higher and higher. She wanted to plead with him that she needed more, she was almost there—

  Something wet slid inside her slit, seeking her pleasure point. His wicked tongue licked and sucked, moving in time with his pumping fingers, faster and faster—

  She exploded and saw colors.

  When she came down from her high, he turned her back to face him and pressed her there, his head resting on top of hers. She slumped against him as she tried to catch her breath, burying her face on his shoulder.

  There were a few minutes of silence before she could finally speak.

  "You ripped my blouse."

  "Hmm. We're both idiots."

  Lilah smiled. On that, she could only agree.

  Chapter 7

  Finn discovered a lot of things about Lilah on their first month not-together.

  One: she liked to argue for the sake of fun, and that included arguing over the cons of having a sexual relationship with him. This happened right when he was driving them home after her first orgasm, after he'd convinced her to lock up her bookstore for the day and...well, play hooky with him.

  Two: her words were for naught, because the moment he distracted her with kisses, she was practically melting against him as he navigated their way to his bedroom, careful not to get caught.

  Three: she had standards, and that included not sleeping in the same bed that he'd dealt with his past women. This was easily rectified because she was the only one he’d brought in this bed, anyway. He’d never brought those other women home.

  Three: she was getting very, very good at seduction, but not as good as him as he seduced her right out of her panties – and bra and shoes and dress – and dragged her to bed. She was very receptive too, eagerly giving back as good as she got, right down to licking his cock and driving him mad with desire.

  Four: she was a virgin – or she'd been when they'd first started. He tried to be as gentle as possible, making her wet (oh, he was very good at that) and opening her up first before allowing his raging erection to finally slide inside her. He almost lost control then, as he felt her liquid tightness wrap around him like a vice, then heard her moan in pleasure later, threatening to consume them both.

  Five: she was fantastic in bed, in any position – below him when he thrust repeatedly and she wrapped her legs around him, on top of him as he taught her how to ride him, against the wall when they were too frantic to find a bed, from behind as she had to muffle her scream on a pillow while he took her hard. She tasted and felt fantastic too, with that damned scent of lilies always in the air and the scent of her skin beneath, hot and arousing and all Lilah.

  Six: she was really good at sucking his cock anywhere. She particularly tortured him with her teasing mouth when he least expected it, like when he opened his eyes from sleep or was alone in the kitchen.

  Seven: she often snored in her sleep, and it was irritatingly adorable.

  Eight: her friendship with James was important, and it flourished into brotherly love as she tried to set him up, and cajoled Finn to join in. He absolutely refused, deeming his brother old enough to do this on his own.

  Nine: her green eyes lit up when he brought her new books to read, and chocolates he made. She especially loved the dark kind, and would usually finish a huge box all by herself in one sitting (which solidified his opinion that she ate like an ox).

  Ten: she laughed at horror movies, and cried a lot at those with puppies dying.

  Eleven: she had a very warm smile, the kind that could fill out a room with light. Sometimes, it made him stop and just stare, realizing that she had the kind of beauty that snuck up on you when you least expected it.

  Twelve: she was very, very terrible at cooking.

  There were many more, but it all added up as he discovered one thing about himself in the process.

  He was in too deep.

  ---

  Something smelled delicious in the kitchen, and like a bee lured to honey, she went there and sniffed the air, pausing at the entrance to find the room empty.

  Her vision zoned in on the cupcakes cooling on the rack, and immediately she was on them, taking a bite out of one and closing her eyes as it practically melted in her mouth.

  Hmm.

  She walked around the room, admiring Finn’s handiwork, from the cupcakes to the paella that he’d prepared for the family gathering. Now if she could only find the chef himself—

  A hand grabbed her and dragged her away and inside the closet room.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey, back.”

  Finn’s voice vibrated in her ear, indicating that he was standing very close. He kissed her before she could say more, sucking at her lower lip and playfully cajoling her mouth open. She responded easily, swept away by his wicked mouth as it trailed kisses on her mouth, then her neck, then—

  Lilah’s eyes flew wide open when she felt him start unbuttoning her denim shorts, then sliding it down. His other hand slid under her loose shirt, getting busy.

  “What are – we – doing – Finn?”

  The hand busy on her breast guided her fingers down, until she found herself hold
ing something hot and hard and pulsing. Already beyond aroused, she held his cock firmly and played him with her own fingers, loving the way he softly bit her shoulder and groaned out her name.

  “I need to be inside you.”

  And with that, what started out playful became quick and almost desperate. Her shorts and panties were quickly slid down her legs, his fingers sliding inside her until she was wet – wetter – for him. Then he was hoisting her up, even while she insistently tugged on his shirt in between kisses, bringing it up over his head and putting her hands all over him.

  He entered her without pause, leaving her biting her lip at the sensation of being so full. Then they were readjusting their bodies, him wrapping her legs around his waist as he withdrew, then surged forward powerfully and making her moan.

  He covered her mouth with his to muffle her sounds. Then he pumped, hard and purposeful and wickedly wonderful.

  They changed position in between, as he turned her around and bent her over the cramped drawer. Guiding his cock back in from behind, he paused for a moment as he unhooked her bra and filled his hands with her breasts, kneading and cupping and playing with her nipples. Then those hands slid down to her stomach as he bent down and covered her back with his front.

  This time, he kept the rhythm slow, hands going from time to time to roll over her stiffened nipples. He turned her head to the side, capturing her mouth in a frenzied kiss as she wriggled her butt and demanded more.

  With a groan of assent, he thrust faster. Her body bounced, the desire in her stomach wounding tighter and tighter as she met him thrust for thrust, as she was taken to the peak of his lust, as the ball of desire wound even tighter—

  Her orgasm came hard, a burst of pleasure that had her biting her lip to keep her voice together. A few more thrusts, and then she felt him convulse and explode inside her as his grip tightened on her hips, his heavy groan filling the air. He slumped against her, wonderfully spent.

  Lilah closed her eyes, content.

  After a few seconds, Finn murmured in her ear. "I'm leaving for Paris."

  Lilah stilled. A few seconds passed as she tried to process his words. She opened her mouth to say something, but he kept on.

  "To close shop there. And relocate here."

  Her heart soared, but she didn't dare hope too much. Hesitantly, she spoke. "Finn?"

  Slowly, Finn turned her around, expression carefully hooded.

  "I was hoping you can come with me. A month, tops. Then we can come back here and...start over."

  Lilah knew him, she really did – and the only reason he had on that careful expression was because he was half-expecting her to say no.

  Slowly, she tiptoed, whispering one sentence before pulling him down for a kiss.

  Like she'd refuse the man who'd accidentally stolen her heart.

  "It would be my pleasure, Finn."

  The House of Sadie

  A Paranormal Ghost Historical Romance

  Introduction:

  Esmaralda Novak didn’t know what she would find upon taking the wild job that was to spend one night in the strange abandoned house outside New Orleans. She reads tarot cards for a living. She’s not a medium by any means. She jumps at the chance to make two thousand dollars for spending one night in the abandoned mansion. Never, in her wildest imaginings, did she think she would meet a man like Jack.

  Tall, muscular, blonde, strangely old fashioned, Jack has surprises in store or Esmaralda. He means to teach her what it is to love, to show her a world that once was. Only by her coming can he finally be free.

  Chapter 1

  Esmaralda Novak stared up at the giant, towering, Victorian monstrosity that rose out of the middle of the bald prairie, a spectre on the flat horizon of land. She knew immediately she was in over her head.

  Somehow, all her decisions in her life had led her to this moment. Esmaralda’s real name used to be Stephanie Wilkens. She’d legally changed her name when she was eighteen. Having left home at sixteen, unable to stand the boring suburban life and strict rules her parents set out, she had been living in a small New Orleans apartment for the past ten years.

  Esmeralda had been as unable to deny the gypsy spirit that lived inside of her as her parents had been able to abide it. She had bought her first tarot set at fourteen, had practiced day and night. Her parents had equated her interest with the occult. She had lived under their roof for two more years before she was able to work up the courage to leave. She had always known where she wanted to be. She left her New Jersey home and drove all the way to New Orleans in a five hundred dollar car that barely made it there. She had found work at a supermarket but began to do readings on the side.

  Her first real break came at nineteen, when she was offered a full time reading job in some artsy gift store that attracted a lot of tourist traffic. The money poured in and after saving for three years she was able to open her own store, doing full time readings. She sold different tarot sets, books, stones, and other things that she was sure her parents would have equated with the devil.

  Her shop was an old, two story building. She had been lucky enough to land real estate that had an apartment overtop the commercial area. She had a new fronting put on the building that made it look like the entrance to a colourful gypsy wagon. Inside was just as unique and brightly decorated. She had spared almost no expense, had taken out a loan to decorate and make the atmosphere just right. The bonus of buying such a large building was that she also let out the room next door as a meditation studio. She charged a commission to the girl who ran it and was thrilled that the clientele it attracted usually bought books, stones, or asked for a reading from her as well.

  A month ago Esmeralda had been surprised when a local news station had asked her for an interview. Her business was doing very well and she was what they considered a young entrepreneur and they wanted to feature her for a ten minute segment. She had agreed reluctantly, only because she had seen it being very good exposure for the shop.

  If she had never said yes that to that news show she wouldn’t be here now, in the middle of a field, two hours outside the city, looking at this grey, creepy monstrosity. The owner of the property was as strange as the house. Or maybe not. Esmaralda supposed it took all types and she had to admit the business idea was inventive.

  She had received a phone call last week from the gentleman who owned this house, a Daniel Spurr. He had bought the run down property and wanted to turn it into a hotel and haunted house. It certainly looked the part. He was curious to see if it was actually haunted. He was enlisting a serious of mediums, occultists, fortune tellers… that kind of thing to see if they felt any… presence in the house.

  Esmaralda had wanted to refuse the job. She wasn’t a medium or a seer. She read tarot cards. She had nothing to do with the occult or ghosts or other worlds. She simply read the card as it was, trying to best interpret the meaning of spreads for her guests. She didn’t tell fortunes and she wasn’t a charlatan. She read what the cards suggested, told the listener their meaning. Nothing more than that. She didn’t believe in fooling people, scaring people, or trying to predict the future. She didn’t even have an ounce of gypsy blood in her, though she wished otherwise.

  Esmaralda’s long, curly dark hair was half hair extensions. She tanned regularly. She had pierced her nose and put in a hoop ring, and she wore all the jewelry and bohemian clothing that made her look like she perhaps could be a gypsy. She had a scrolling tattoo complete with ornate mandala and feathers on one arm. Her heart shaped face, large dark eyes, small nose with a little curve at the base, full lips, and high cheek bones could have been considered bohemian. She was a tall woman, a few inches shy of six feet. She was surprisingly shapely for being so tall. Full breasts, gentle curving hips, and a full bottom ensured she was attractive.

  The job was a mysterious one. Daniel Spurr had asked her to go to the country, where the house was located. He wanted her to spend a night in it. One night and he would pay two thousand dollars. She
had asked for an advance, to ensure he actually paid. She had been given an online transfer within five minutes of exchanging her information with the stranger. He had sent an email with directions out to the house. He assured her he would arrive at the house the morning following her stay to pay her and debrief.

  More curious than anything, Esmaralda had agreed. She had argued she wasn’t a medium at first, but Daniel didn’t seem to care. He wanted her to go regardless. She had closed the shop and cancelled her appointments for a week. Six full afternoons of readings a week had her craving a break. A vacation, really. Esmaralda had thought this was going to be a walk in the park until she saw the house.

  Daniel had assured Esmaralda the house was structurally sound, though he had done his best to leave it original for the moment. Plans were still in the making for his business and he hadn’t quite decided whether he wanted to leave the house as it was or restore it into a fully functioning hotel.

  Slamming her car door, arms loaded down with supplies for the night, Esmaralda stepped from the dirt road and approached the weedy area surrounding the house. Waist high grass and weeds tangled about her legs, tripping her up. Her heart hammered in her chest and she was half wild with fear already. She imagined the grass pulling at her feet and long skirt were hands emerging from the ground.

  Closing her eyes, Esmaralda took a deep breath. She was being ridiculous. There was no such thing as ghosts. This was just an unkempt property that had been left abandoned for a long time. Why? Esmaralda gazed up at the house with her golden brown eyes. Daniel had given her a brief history in the email. Built in the mid 1800’s, the house had been abandoned for nearly thirty years. She wanted to know more but he hadn’t seemed to know anything more than that himself.

  It had been beautiful in its day. A veritable mansion. The house must have cost a fortune. It was three stories tall with four turrets jutting from the roof, an obvious loft area, glass windows, bay window sitting areas, a huge walk out porch on the second floor and a huge wrap around porch and veranda on the main level. Huge columns rose up from the porch to the main floor. The house faced two different directions, it was so huge. Most of the paint was missing, the boards having greyed to a silvery hue. The roof was missing shingles and even looked to have dark, gaping holes in places. Some of the windows were smashed. The porch leaned and sagged. How on earth had Daniel Spurr classified this monstrosity as being structurally sound? Surely he would know. Esmaralda vowed that if she fell and hurt herself, or worse, maimed herself in the house, she was going to bring hell down on Daniel’s head.