The Lucky in Love Collection

by Lauren Blakely

  35

  Gabe

  The woman has spoken. I grab her wrists, lift her off me, and lead her around the piece of furniture. “If memory serves, you wanted to know what it would be like to be taken over the back of the couch.”

  Her eyes shimmer with anticipation. “You remembered.”

  I run my fingers down her soft skin, through the valley of her breasts, on a path to her belly button. “I listen to everything you say.”

  “I think that’s why I’m so turned on,” she whispers as she reaches for the buttons on my shirt and makes quick work of them, spreading open the fabric. She places her hands over my pecs, and I shudder.

  “Fuck, that feels good.”

  “You feel good,” she corrects.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted your hands on me.” Apparently, I’m unable to keep these feelings bottled up. I really ought to be more circumspect, but with Arden’s fingers traveling over my skin, pushing off the sleeves of my shirt, running down my arms, it’s hard to think straight.

  All I can do is feel.

  And it feels fucking wonderful to be touched by her at last. With eager hands, curious fingers, and that hungry look in her big brown eyes, she seems as lost in tonight as I am. But time is ticking since my shift starts soon. I snap open the top button on my jeans, and her hands dart out to undo my fly.

  She practically rips down the zipper, and because I’m a helpful sort of fellow, I remove my boxer briefs in a split second. My cock is all too happy to say hello with a proper salute.

  She draws a breath as she stares at me, and I couldn’t be happier that she must like what she sees. “Can I touch?”

  Laughing, I answer her. “You better.”

  When she wraps her hand around my dick, my thoughts go haywire, and my blood heats up. I want to record all these sensations as she strokes me, since I’ve wanted it for so damn long, but I’m too turned on.

  I’m nothing but nerve endings, invigorated.

  I’m only lust, charging through me.

  And more too. I’m consumed with the wish to pleasure her. The need to make her feel so damn good. To show her I adore her. And I’ll have to do that with my body, since that’s how we’re communicating tonight.

  But most of all, I want her to know I’ve been listening all along.

  Arden doesn’t want me to make slow, sweet love to her in a bed. She doesn’t want missionary. She wants to be taken.

  I wrap my hand over hers, stopping her. “You need to be naked. Right the fuck now.”

  She shivers, nodding, an inviting sigh falling from her lips. I slide down her panties, and all the air rushes from my lungs. I drink in her beauty. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

  She smiles shyly, and that does it for me. That’s the nice girl still inside this naughty one. There’s the sweetness in her I fell for from the start.

  Grabbing a condom from my wallet, I set it on the furniture then kick off my shoes and push down my jeans. I cup her jaw. “Now, listen. As much as I want to look at your beautiful face, I know what you want, and it’s a good and proper fucking. So turn around, hands on the couch, ass up, so I can fuck you into blissful oblivion.”

  She follows my orders. Her lush body is bent at the sofa, ready, wet, waiting.

  Waiting for my hand. I bring my palm against her cheek, eliciting a mind-bending groan of pleasure from her.

  Then I slap the other cheek, and she lifts her ass higher. The view is to die for, but as much as I’d love to spend more time introducing her to an intermediate course on the joys of spanking, I need to be inside her.

  Badly.

  I roll on the condom and slide the head of my dick through her wetness. “Honey, you’re so fucking soaked.”

  She moans. “I know.”

  “This is the sexiest thing I’ve felt,” I say, rubbing my dick against all that fantastic slickness.

  “It’s because I want you,” she says, and her voice is dripping with desire.

  I sink deep inside her in one luxurious thrust, and once I’m fully seated, I let the pleasure wash over me in waves. Ecstasy grips every cell in my body as my hands travel down her back, stopping at her hips.

  I start to move, and we find a rhythm quickly as I anchor myself at her waist, wrapping an arm around her. The angle is damn near perfection, and like this I can slide my hand between her legs, stroking the delicious rise of her clit.

  She shudders as I fuck her. As I move my hips at a steady pace. As I sink deeper.

  She makes the most enticing sounds the whole time, noises that spur me on. Relentless pleasure pounds in my body as I fuck her harder.

  “Does this feel good?” I know she loves to talk. I need to give her every chance.

  “Yes. It’s so good, so good.”

  I grunt. “You like the way I fuck you?”

  “I love the way you fuck me.” Her voice is cracking, and I love it. I fucking love it.

  She tightens around me, as she cries out, “I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming.”

  Glorious music to my ears.

  I drive into her, fucking her through her orgasm, and once she comes down, I pull out, gripping the condom. “Couch. Now. Ride me.”

  A few seconds later, I’m sitting on the couch and she’s straddling me again, lowering herself on my cock, and hell, this is even better.

  I’m back inside her, and now I can look at her, run a hand through her hair, touch her face. “I want to see you. Want to watch you when I make you come again.”

  “Do you think I can come again?”

  “I have no doubt.”

  I move her hips up and down, helping her find her pace, seek her pleasure. I yank a handful of her hair, and she groans.

  “Get your mouth on mine. Let me kiss you.”

  She dips her face to me, and our tongues collide, my pulse slamming higher.

  We’re kissing as we’re fucking, but soon it’s too hard to keep kissing. Our mouths fall away, and she rides me, meeting my gaze.

  For that second, it seems like she might look away because it’s too intense, too much. But she doesn’t. She stares into my eyes and whispers my name.

  “Gabe, it’s so good with you.”

  I swear fireworks go off inside me. In my heart. In my body. “It’s so fucking good with us, Arden. With us.”

  I want to tell her more. Tell her why. Tell her it’s because I’m so in love with her. But the pleasure rides roughshod over my skin, stealing brain cells, stealing breath.

  Soon, she’s cresting the hill again, and I’m right there behind her, coming hard inside the woman I want to love like this every night.

  After we clean up, the time on my phone laughs at me. It says I need to get the hell out of here. Good thing I slept during the day, so I can be ready to tackle whatever comes our way tonight at the firehouse.

  But I don’t want to simply walk out. I want to build on this foundation that’s most decidedly not friendship anymore.

  After I pull on my clothes and she grabs a skimpy little robe that makes me wish I could stay and rip it off her, I decide to take a chance. I’ve wanted to ask her out for so long. I’ve been planning to since last week. Her request derailed my strategy, but only temporarily. It’s time to drive this train out of the station.

  I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and dive into the deep end. “I had a good time tonight. Did you?”

  She laughs then rolls her eyes. “Uh, yeah.”

  Okay, so we’re going with humor, with keeping it light. “What if we tried this again?”

  Her eyes widen in surprise, as if I’ve spoken Portuguese. “This?” She gestures to the living room, the scene of the orgasmic crimes.

  “Yes. This, and other things. We could go on a date, I thought. Go out.” Isn’t it obvious what I’m saying?

  Her expression shifts to worry. “I’m not sure . . .”

  That’s not entirely the answer I was hoping for, or expecting, to be honest. “You’re not sure of what? If
you want to date? Or something else?”

  She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I’m not sure because what if it doesn’t . . .”

  She doesn’t finish the sentence—work out.

  As much as I’m dying for a yes tonight, I don’t want to pressure her. I brush a soft kiss to her lips, tasting her breath. “Don’t answer tonight. Think about it.”

  “It’s all I’ll think about.”

  “Me too.”

  I leave, because soon enough I’ll be at work and inevitably there will be a call coming in and I won’t be able to think about her. But maybe that’s for the best.

  36

  Arden

  Perri is on traffic duty.

  Vanessa is shopping for balls.

  New bowling balls, that is.

  My friend Finley is holed up inside her little yellow cottage trying to meet a deadline for her TV script.

  As for me, I’ve sold three wine country cookbooks, two copies of The Wife Between Us, a handful of Stephen Kings, Frederick Backman’s newest, a bunch of journals, and countless Diary of a Wimpy Kid hardcovers. That Wimpy Kid never goes out of style. I guess as long as humans keep multiplying, their offspring eventually enter the Wimpy Kid fan club.

  But even with the steady stream of customers, I wish my girls were around. I’m tempted to call an emergency lunch to discuss Gabe’s do-this-again proposal, but I know they’re both busy today, and really, I should sort through it on my own for now.

  To have sex and date or not to have sex and date. That is the question.

  “Think this is useful?” A bright-eyed, lip-glossed blonde slides a pink hardcover on the counter, on top of another book, a guide to the best drinks for any situation.

  I smile. “I think no one should ever order a wine cooler or a Jack and Coke on the first date.”

  She arches a brow in curiosity. “Is that one of the guidelines?”

  “No, but it should be. It’s one of my personal mantras.”

  She lifts a curious brow. “What would you order at a bowling alley?”

  “Beer.”

  “At the new bistro down the street?”

  “A Cab, some kind of great, full-bodied red.”

  “And what if you were stalking your ex?”

  Laughing, I answer, “A Moscato. It’s delicious at first, then leaves a bad taste in your mouth, so it’ll remind you why he’s the ex.”

  She laughs harder and flicks her hair off her shoulders. “You do know you just made it so I don’t need to buy this book?”

  I shrug. “You should report me to the Committee of Bookstore Owners, then. Let them know I misbehaved.”

  She laughs harder. “Actually, you just made me want to read this even more. I hope it’s as good as the warm-up act.”

  I nod approvingly, tapping the book. “I’ve thumbed through this. It’s hilarious. You’ll enjoy it, and if you don’t, come back and exchange it.”

  “Thanks.” After I ring her up, she says, “You know, I’m not going to report you to the Committee of Bookstore Owners. I’d rather tell them that you helped convince me to buy this book. In fact, I’m going to snag another as a gift for my best friend.”

  “She’ll love it too,” I say confidently.

  The woman laughs, shaking her head. “He’s a guy. But he’ll like it just the same.”

  A flush crosses my cheeks. I swallow down my awkward reply as I ring up two books. Of all people, I should have known better. I’ve bought books for a guy friend. I’d like to keep buying books for him.

  When she leaves, Henry saunters by, swishing his tail. “What would you do?” I ask him, since I’m alone.

  He lifts his furry chin, parks his rear on the floor, and proceeds to take a bath.

  “You’re no help.”

  My first instinct is to tell Gabe about that customer. To share the moment with him. If I’m dating him, can I still do that?

  The unmistakable sound of a delivery truck pulling up in front of the store lands on my ears, and a few seconds later, the UPS man pushes open the door, a big box in his arms. “Shipment for you, Ms. East.”

  “Thanks, Barney.”

  “Where do you want this? It’s a heavy one.” He reads the name of the publisher, and my eyes light up.

  I nearly jump for joy. “That must be the new Robert Galbraith.”

  His brow knits. “Sounds fancy.”

  “It’s J. K. Rowling. That’s her pen name for mysteries.”

  “The lady who wrote about the wand choosing the wizard?”

  “The one and only.”

  “I saw the movies.”

  I die a little inside. “You can set them right here.”

  After he leaves, I grab my X-Acto blade and slice open the box, squealing with delight to find the new book. It releases early next week. I run a hand reverently over the jacket, reveling in the smooth finish, then gently open the book and draw a deep breath and inhale the scent of paper.

  This is better than perfume.

  This is my favorite scent.

  I sneak a glance at the first page, and chills sweep over me, chased by giddiness. I can’t wait to share this with Gabe’s mom, to sneak a copy over to her and delight in the look in her eyes when she sees the booty I’ve plundered for her.

  But as quickly as that thought arrives, another one slides in. Can I do that?

  Sure, if we’re dating, I can easily give his mom a gift. But what if it doesn’t work out between us? What if the dates peter away? That’s his MO. He dates and moves on, and more power to him. But he hasn’t exactly indicated he wants more than sex and a date.

  And if our dates fade away, would I still set aside books for him to give her? Would we still be friends in the same way?

  Or at all?

  That’s why I said, What if it doesn't work out? I don’t want to risk our friendship for a casual string of sex dates. I don’t want to risk it unless we’re both taking a chance at the biggest of prizes.

  My stomach pitches, churning with that abhorrent thought. I try to shake it off. We’d be fine, right? We’d stay friends. It’d be the same—we’d make sure of it. We’d have sex again, and date, and then . . .

  I don’t know what would happen next, so I focus on the now.

  I lug the box to the storeroom in the back, safely stowing the treasures away until I can sell them.

  I head to the new fiction shelves and begin arranging the books, when a shelf wobbles the slightest bit—the one Gabe texted me about the other day, asking if it was okay.

  It was okay then.

  Or so I thought.

  I glance around for a cat, in case one of them knocked it looser somehow.

  But Henry’s moved his hygiene to the window and is giving his boy parts a very thorough licking for the whole town square to see.

  “Get a room,” I say to him, then scan for Clare, finding her sprawled out on the floor, napping luxuriously in a ray of sunlight. I fiddle with the shelf again, trying to figure out where it’s loose, but I’m not handy. I can cook, I can clean, but I’m not known for my skills with a hammer and a nail.

  I turn away from the shelf, heading to the counter to text Gabe.

  He’s my go-to guy, after all.

  But I stop when I open his contact.

  How will he be my go-to guy if we take the chance of dating? Or, more so, how will he be my go-to guy after?

  Because, I gulp, remembering his words.

  I had a good time tonight. What if we tried this again? This, and other things. We could go on a date.

  He asked me to date. But he asked me to screw again too.

  For all I know, that’s how he asked out Darla, and look where she is. She’s not hanging in the friend zone. She’s in the cold zone.

  Fact is, I like the friend zone. The friend zone is safe. I don’t want to be unfriended, and that’s a distinct possibility if our dating goes haywire.

  He only said he wants to do it again. He didn’t say he wanted to be mine. I didn’t
speak my truth either, yet now as I look at last night in the clear light of day, I don’t think there was a reason to put myself on the line like that. To let him know I want much more than sex and dates.

  There wasn’t, because he didn’t say he wanted to go all in.

  He only wants to go all in with sex.

  And I want it all.

  That’s when I realize I’m in this way too deep.

  The only way to save myself, to save the friendship, is to stay friends.

  I find the hammer in my office and fix the shelf myself, but it’s still a little loose, and that leaves me with a tight, cold knot in my throat.

  37

  Gabe

  Let the record reflect that I’m not happy that anyone suffered an asthma attack, was struck by a vehicle, or experienced a mild seizure.

  I am thrilled none of the incidents resulted in serious injuries.

  Selfishly, I’m also glad that all of them, as well as the brush fire on a hillside by the highway that we extinguished in twenty-five minutes, kept my mind off Arden.

  There’s no room for thinking about women when you have to put out flames.

  But now my shift is ticking near to closing time. As Shaw and I check the equipment on the truck, he gestures toward Charlie, who’s hanging out with us at the end of his shift. One of his last shifts. “Did you hear Charlie’s boss says he found a new guy already?”

  “That so?”

  Charlie affects a frown. “They don’t let the bodies get cold in our field.”

  “He’s not starting for another week or so, but yeah, the boss man found someone from . . .” Shaw stops and scratches his head. “Hell, he told me when I saw him at the ER, and I already forgot.”

  I’m tempted to make a wisecrack about his mind going to hell, like I usually do, but I’m not in the mood to joke.

  Which is odd, since I usually am.

  But I’m antsy, waiting to hear from Arden. As we wrap up the checklist, my phone dings with a text from her.