Forever (Eternity #1)

by Allyson Young

  “No, Dr. Freud,” Amy retorted. “The opposite. He’s fucked up, too, and I wasn’t going into this, whatever it is, without putting it out there. It felt right.”

  Sandra drank her tea, a tremor visible in her hand. She wiped her mouth with a napkin featuring the logo of the Thai House. “Felt right, as in you trusted your instincts?”

  “Okay, I know my instincts with lovers can be shit. But I read people pretty good. You know that. Even guys. Hell, especially guys, at least the ones I don’t fall into bed with. That’s where I screw up.”

  “And this is different how?”

  “He hasn’t used it against me.”

  “Early days, Amy.” Her friend’s big brown eyes were narrowed, full of concern, and Amy winced. Early days indeed. And if he used it against her it was going to hurt like a mother.

  Gathering up her courage and organizing her thoughts, she continued. “I trust him with it. With my stuff. And he shared, too.”

  That had Sandra looking, eyes widening and her mouth opening to close with a snap. “Shared what?”

  “I’m not gonna say all his stuff. But his childhood wasn’t any better than mine and he got out with a little help from strangers—sound familiar? He enlisted, and when he got out he, uh, got into business.”

  “What kind of business?”

  Okay, here it came. Amy didn’t want to say, didn’t know how much she could say, so she repeated what Dean said.

  “Holy mother! You’re dating another criminal? You know what he does and you’re still seeing him?”

  “That’s the least of my worries.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Amy didn’t think she’d heard sarcastic Sandra before, at least not with her. She didn’t know what to share first. “We didn’t use protection once.”

  Her friend stared, and to Amy’s amazement, laughed. But there wasn’t an ounce of mirth in that sound. “What are you? Twelve? For God’s sake.” Sandra got up and began to clear the table.

  This was probably what having a real mom would feel like, but it was bizarre, Amy decided. They were peers. Nuts. She picked up the remaining evidence of their meal and followed Sandra into the kitchen. They worked in silence for a few minutes, tossing the dregs of the food, wrapping up the good leftovers, stacking the dishwasher.

  “There’s more.”

  “I don’t doubt it. When you do something, you do it big, honey. Is he twelve, too? Or just one of those macho men who leave it up to the woman? Hasn’t he heard about sexually transmitted infections?”

  Amy had thought about those and hastened to tell Sandra Dean had reassured her on that count. She was twelve. She knew she was clean and believed Dean was, too. But if he fucked her without a condom … her belly clenched right along with her jaw and jealousy coursed through her veins. Had he lied to her? She didn’t know who she was angriest with at that moment.

  “So, want to tell me the more part?” Sandra sounded resigned and disappointed and Amy’s heart sank. She forgot to be jealous about all the other women.

  “I’m sorry, Sandra. When are you going to get tired of picking up my pieces?” She heard the fear of rejection in her voice, and it clogged her throat.

  “Never. Now tell me.”

  “This is new to him, you know? New to me, too, but I want it. I want to try it. And I’m pretty sure I want it with him. I feel it, and you said it at breakfast. It’s different. I know there’s more and I want it.”

  “With a criminal? A man who ‘forgot’ to use protection.” Sandra’s air quotes looked ridiculous and Amy inexplicably wanted to laugh.

  She crossed into the living area and folded herself into a tub chair upholstered in a paisley fabric of warm earth tones. She really needed to decorate her own living room, but all it did was contain her work.

  Sandra took a seat on the couch, pulling her legs beneath her, regarding Amy with interest. So she quit stalling.

  “I do pick ’em. I know. But he’s up front and real. And he’s competent.”

  At her friend’s hitch of breath, Amy knew she’d coined it, so she continued with thinking out loud. “I’m good with him taking charge. It’s a relief. And if I slow down enough to listen and not react, he makes sense. If I don’t like it, he wants to know, so we can talk. No games.”

  “Okay. So what’s the catch?”

  “I want it all. I want to be optimistic. He keeps thinking in time limits. I called him on it, but I get the sense he’s thinking I’ll fuck up, and he’ll be proven right. It’s a big freaking worry.”

  “As far as I know, honey, relationships evolve. They develop and strengthen and weather the bad times. We all have our breaking points and sometimes relationships suffer. But maybe you’re rushing.” Sandra was clearly dialing it back.

  “Exactly! Different paces. But it’s weird. He wants me to move in—”

  “Whoa. He’s thinking time limited but wants you to move in? I don’t understand.”

  Amy hesitated. Sandra wasn’t going to like hearing this part, and she was surprised her friend hadn’t already picked up on it. Probably the possible pregnancy and definitely the criminal part distracted her. Funny how she’d honed in on the safety piece, maybe because she could be pregnant, but certainly because of her history, her awareness of the increased risk posed to people who hung out with other people who broke the law.

  “I don’t want anyone going through me to get to him.”

  “Fuck.” Sandra’s usually pristine language deteriorated badly. “So living with him keeps you safe. While you build this relationship, at least until you find out if you’re pregnant, or until he finds a reason to shut it down.”

  “Yup. And it’s insane but I’m going for it.”

  “Glad I could clarify it for you. And you are insane. Step back, build some space until you can think with your head, Amy. Give it two weeks away from Dean. Or at least until you get your period. Or not. Be objective. Don’t keep repeating the pattern.”

  Sandra’s plea made total sense. Her friend knew her and understood her. But she’d also said Amy was happy, different. She felt conflicted, desperately wanting to go with her gut yet listen to Sandra too.

  “I’ll call Dean. I’ll take a little time.” She didn’t know how long she’d hold out against the need for him, but she’d try.

  “Okay, Amy. And just so you know? Whatever your choice, I’m always here for you. Although he might not allow it.”

  “That won’t happen, Sandra. He’s arrogant and certain, sure of himself. That’s the appeal, well, part of it.” She couldn’t tell her friend any more about the sex and the incredible pull between them. It felt so personal between her and Dean. “But he won’t control me that way, cut off my friends.”

  Sandra didn’t look convinced, yet nodded and offered more tea. But Amy needed to go home and make the call without Sandra overhearing. And get that website finished. There were others to update, too, if she ever sat down and booted up her computer.

  “I’ll call you.”

  “See that you do!”

  Momma Sandra.

  ****

  “What’s wrong?” Dean’s voice was sharp, and she could hear the rumble of male voices in the background. No glasses clinking, or music, so he likely wasn’t in the bar.

  “Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t plan to call you, really.” And she hadn’t, when he programmed his numbers into her phone, and stored hers in his fancier one. “I just wanted to let you know I’m having an early night, so I’d catch you tomorrow.” In truth, she hoped to get his voicemail, but this was probably better. Grab the bull by the horns and all that.

  “What’s going on, Amy?” Even the sound of his voice, intense and full of appeal, had her pussy dampening.

  “I need a little time, Dean.”

  “You’ve been talking with Sandra.”

  Thinking he was maybe too astute for her own good, she hesitated. If he was going to give her grief over Sandra… “Not about your stuff.”

  A beat of si
lence. “I believe you,” he said quietly. A door closed in the background, but close, and she realized he’d taken the conversation private. “Talk to me.”

  “I need a little time, Dean. We met three days ago and you’re talking about me moving in.”

  “Because you’re worried about safety. As am I.”

  So he was thinking about her, appreciating the shadow he cast might throw over her. Amy wavered. “I should think on this some more. This is my style, jumping in without looking, and drowning.”

  “I won’t let you drown.”

  No, he’d haul her out and leave her on shore, shipwrecked, desolate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I don’t chase and I don’t beg, sweetheart.”

  “Not asking you to,” she retorted. “Pick me up at eight and we’ll get breakfast.”

  Silence. He was going to refuse. Over before it really began. Maybe Sandra was right but she was so scared of losing him, never seeing him again, she thought she’d go to her knees, and clung to the edge of the desk.

  “Eight. And I’ll bring the fixings, make you breakfast. But Amy? This is once. Once.”

  Okay, so he was bending for her. She didn’t want him to change, didn’t want him to break, but neither did she. She was already rethinking her request, the idea of sleeping alone in her bed vaguely repugnant.

  “Amy?”

  “Oh, shit. I’m so bad at this.”

  Rich, rolling laughter, making her press the cell harder against the shell of her ear, wanting to absorb the mesmerizing sound. Something new about Dean. She’d be learning all kinds of things about him, if she didn’t screw it up. Or if he didn’t.

  “Whatever we have going on, sweetheart, this, uh, relationship, isn’t going to follow tradition. I’ll see you at eight.”

  The irritating beep of the phone, signaling the call was ended, had her pulling the damn thing from her ear, punching the off button before setting it carefully on the desk. Well, she had her slice of time, to think on this thing they had, and was now struggling with a wave of arousal and hardly inclined to work, let along think. Was her gut reaction to be trusted? Or maybe the reaction of an organ situated a little higher, in her chest? Romantic love. Who would have thunk it? Her eyes filled and one tear escaped to meander over the curve of her cheek, streaking its salty path across her jaw line to lose its integrity and smudge on her throat. Amy sniffed and blinked back the flood. Scary as shit. Maybe work would help—and pay the bills.

  ****

  Building the website took a lot of concentration, anchored by some decaf coffee—information page, pics, catalogue entries, buy links. Amy eschewed chemical creamer, pretty sure she wasn’t pregnant, but no sense in taking any chances. Everyone knew the risks to the unborn, and that meant no alcohol, no unnecessary chemicals and probably no vast amounts of sugar. Her sweet tooth would have to suffer for the next week or so. She avoided thinking about having a baby, other than in the hypothetical sense, because it terrified her. Amy wasn’t sure if you could study to be a good parent or if it would just come to you when the kid arrived, but she dreaded the work ahead. She wasn’t ready, and Dean, well, he would probably either excel at the parenting stuff or be horrible at it. There were just no shades of gray with that man. He hovered in the back of her mind as the hours crept past and she alternately cursed and blessed Sandra for asking her to take this step back.

  Hitting save for the final time and running through the various components of the site as a test run, she sent the proof to the client who lived in … Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada. Loosely translated, it meant the Queen, swift flowing river, settlement or village. Strange, but true. The woman was selling knitted calf ear covers. Also strange, but true. Anyone who would want to protect tender little newborn calf ears from the apparently frigid temperatures up there in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada, was all right by her.

  “Shit.” Okay, talking to oneself wasn’t uncommon, but thinking about B.O.B., just a few steps away in the bedroom despite the diversion of calf ear covers, was kind of lacking when she had an amazing stud to meet those needs. Except he wouldn’t be there until breakfast. Eight o’clock to be precise, and that was a long time. She tossed the pencil in the general direction of the cool wire holder she’d found at the stationary store and reached up to let her hair down from the clip. Maybe she should think about watching a movie, or take a nice long soak. The idea of water surrounding and easing her appealed the most.

  ****

  The grassy bath salts foamed under the pounding of water pouring from the tap. Amy eased into the steaming bath and set her head on the little blown up pillow hanging over the lip of the tub, her hair caught back up on the top of her head. When the water level crept up to the edge, she pushed the taps closed with her toes. Bliss. She soaked for some time ,thinking about Sandra’s advice, comparing and contrasting several scenarios, but knew her mind was already made up. She was going to move in with Dean, take the dual risk. She might never have another opportunity at her forever, and anything worthwhile having required effort. Dean appeared willing, and if he used that uncompromising attitude in a good way, she figured it might be okay. Besides, she suspected she loved him, as insane as that might sound. Not that she knew what love felt like, but this thing they had going on wasn’t just about the great sex.

  The cell phone sitting beside the tub beckoned. It was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, right? And he worked late, he said so. She punched the key for his number.

  “Amy.”

  “I’m hungry now.”

  Was that a weighted beat of silence? “Half hour.”

  Pouring a healthy dollop of the same scented body soap onto her sponge, she washed up before standing to rinse beneath the shower, the foamy water swirling down the drain at her feet. She ran her razor over the soft stubble on her legs—lasering her pussy and armpits had been all she could afford before being so rudely cut from the herd of tits and ass—shaving her legs was simple enough. Wrapping a towel around her, she moved to the bedroom, pulling the clip from her hair as she went. The throw pillows were easily piled on the chair, and Bogs was set on the dresser. The little bear was in sad condition, and deserved better than being tossed to the floor. The buzzer sounded in the prearranged sequence, filling the silence and like the proverbial Pavlovian dog, Amy’s mouth watered. She raced to open up. No time for pretending, no time to waste.

  Dean strode past her, eyes darkening when she turned from locking up behind him as he took in her state of dress, or undress as the case might be. He had a cardboard tray holding two tall plastic cups, and a large paper bag, grease stains decorating its white exterior. Leather jacket open over a black tee shirt, same worn jeans with the hint of threads showing through the pocket right about where he’d stashed his keys. Which drew her eyes to the bulge beneath his belt buckle. Pausing only to toe off his boots, the tray and bag thumped onto the counter and his index finger hooked into the towel, right between her breasts.

  Amy willingly let herself be drawn tight against him. Leather creaked and his scent enveloped her. She wreathed her arms around his shoulders, fingers linking behind his neck, and relished the feel of his big hands settling on her ass.

  “I brought you some food. For later.” He stared down at her, and she lost all perspective. Food? She went on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his. As if it was a signal, Dean was galvanized into action. Her towel crumpled to the floor before they made the hallway, his leather jacket discarded at the bedroom door. She frantically worked the belt buckle and went to her knees, opening the button, pulling at the zipper, dragging the denim down, taking his boxers along with them. His cock sprang free, up to slap his firm belly, mushroom head purple and wet for her, male musk rousing her senses. This time, her way.

  Nuzzling the soft skin of his shaft, she traced each of the veins with the tip of her tongue, whisper soft, before laving the one pulsing hard, all the way from the base to the cockhead. His thighs tightened and Amy ran her hands up and over the pl
ay of the long, powerful muscles, then dipped her head to lick the crease of each thigh near his scrotum. The crinkle of crisp hair met her tongue and she cupped his sac, rolling each testicle with reverent care.

  “Fuck, sweetheart. Put me in your mouth.”

  Ignoring him, she nibbled and licked, weighing his sac with one hand, stroking upwards with her other to drift her fingers over his shaft. Dean’s hands fisted in her hair and tugged her head back. Eyes churning with lust, the skin tight across his high cheekbones, he growled his displeasure. “Quit teasing.”

  Hiding a smile, she leaned back in and rapidly whiffled up his cock, lips suctioning in tiny increments until she reached the V whereby, without warning, she sucked him inside on a breath. Dean stiffened and a groan reverberated around the room. Carefully shielding her teeth with her lips, she worked hard at taking him deeper with every bob of her head, salty precum lubricating her mouth with every pass. She circled the base of his cock with her hand, pressing just hard enough to delay his release, tormenting him, wanting to pleasure him senseless. He pulled away, breaking her grip and hauled her to her feet to spin and shove her onto the bed. She loved the way he handled her, forcefully but without doing any real harm. The faint bruising from his mouth and strong fingers were badges of honor she would gladly bear.

  Chest heaving, cock straining, shiny wet from her efforts and his own, he folded her legs up and pushed her knees wide apart, positioning them near her shoulders. He stared down at her spread pussy while sheathing his cock, kneeling to guide it into her. Pressing past the initial resistance, their collective breath hitched, and she watched as his eyes closed, cock fighting for territory. Planted to her cervix, he slung her legs over his shoulders and unleashed his power again, his big cock prodding high in her channel, making her pant.

  Working above her, sweat darkening along his hair line, jaw ticking with strain, Dean pumped harder and harder, swiveling his hips, grinding against that spot and pressing the top of her apex. Pinned beneath him, all she could do was arch up and hang onto his muscled forearms. Her orgasm shuddered outwards from deep inside her sheath and she screamed with it, jerking helplessly as he pushed her up again with measured strokes. The second climax made her bear down hard and she felt his erection break within her, wishing for the sensation of his scalding seed. As he pulled out, her legs slipped bonelessly from his shoulders to sprawl wide. He dealt with the condom, yanked his pants up, and stood looking at her. She couldn’t read him, unfamiliar with the look on his face, but thought it boded well. She realized she hadn’t said a word since he’d walked in the door.