Ashes & Embers Series Collection (Books 1 to 4)

by Carian Cole

  I smile and nod. “Yes, for now, we’re best friends.”

  “Can we get a puppy?”

  A puppy? Where did that come from? “We’ll talk about it, okay?

  “Okay. Good night, Mommy.”

  “Nighty night.” I kiss his cheek and go out into the hall, stopping at the doorway to the other guest room to watch Lukas with Katie. He’s sitting on the edge of her bed, reading her a story, impersonating the voices. She’s surrounded by stuffed toys, and the dark maroon bed set has been replaced with a pink one with cartoon kittens on it. My heart smiles, realizing that he changed the sheets and comforter just for her. After a few minutes, her eyelids slowly close, and he kisses her softly, arranges her stuffed toys around her, and meets me at the doorway.

  “You’re amazing,” I whisper.

  “She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

  “She is, and so are you.”

  He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, closing the door halfway. Kicking off his shoes, he glances back toward the door. “We’ll hafta leave that open in case one of the little ones needs us. I know it’s going to be hard, but you’re gonna have to try to keep your moans of ecstasy down a few decibels.” He pulls his t-shirt off, then the beanie hat, and reaches for me.

  “Moans of ecstasy?” I repeat, knowing I’m blushing.

  Capturing my mouth with this, he walks us closer to the bed, pulling my shirt off as we move.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t fool around with the kids down the hall . . .” I whisper as he unhooks my bra.

  “No, no, no . . .” His voice is low as he pulls my bra off and gently cups my breasts in his hands. “We are not going to be those parents who won’t have sex just because the kids are down the hall. We’re just going to be really quiet.”

  “Do you know how hard that is?”

  “I know exactly how hard it is,” he teases, pressing his body against mine.

  Giggling, I nuzzle into his neck. “You’re so bad.”

  He gently pushes me down on the bed and quickly pulls off my shoes and pants.

  “Get under the covers,” he whispers, pulling the comforter and sheet back. “I want us to be covered in case one of the kids wanders in.”

  “Good idea!” I whisper back, crawling under the sheets while he takes his jeans off and climbs into the bed next to me. We lie on our sides face-to-face, and I push his hair out of his eyes. “Thank you for having us over. I love Katie. She’s so sweet and well-behaved. Tommy loves her, too.”

  He rests his hand on my hip. “She really likes you guys, too. I love that kid. She’s my little princess.”

  I kiss his lips softly, allowing my heart to tumble further over the feeble wall trying to protect it.

  “I’m falling for you pretty hard,” I whisper, playing with his hair. He pulls me on top of him and gathers my hair in his hand, pulling it to the side.

  His eyes seek out mine in the dim room. “Ivy . . . me, too. So fucking hard.”

  My heart surges, and I close my eyes, capturing his words and locking them away. His hand caresses my cheek. “Baby, this can be our life. You know that, right? We can be forever.”

  Forever. I used to believe in forever, until it ended. Maybe there’s no such thing as forever, and what most people really mean is, as long as it’s easy. Forever seems to be measured in good moments, but ends with the bad.

  Staring down into his dark eyes, I know without a doubt that, to Lukas, forever is infinite. I can feel it.

  His hands slide down my body. “If you let me . . . I can give you so much, Ivy. Mentally and physically.” He kisses my lips, biting my bottom lip before pulling away, tugging my soft flesh. I gasp and press myself against his hard cock beneath me. “I want to drag you into my world and never let you go.”

  “I want that, too, Lukas. Please, don’t think I don’t.”

  Bowing my head down, I kiss his lips, softly at first, then deeper, my tongue finally mingling with his. His warm hands slowly creep up my sides, over my shoulders, and down my arms until his hands meet mine. Clasping our fingers together, he raises our hands above our heads against the bed’s headboard, stretching us out.

  “I want you to fuck me just like this . . . without using your hands,” he says, his voice low.

  “Lukas . . .” Warmth spreads through my body, firing up between my thighs. His dirty talk shocks and excites me, always making me wet instantly. Kneeling up slightly, I position myself over his hard cock and rotate my hips, grinding down on him until I’ve got his moist head at my entrance, and slowly move down onto him, taking him into me.

  “That’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire, his fingers tightening around mine. “I love your body. Let it love me back.”

  His words snuff my insecurities of feeling less than attractive on top, a position I’ve never been fond of—until now. Seeing him under me, his hair fanned out around his head, those sultry eyes half-closed, and his inked arms stretched over his head, muscles taut, quickens my pulse. He buries his face between my breasts, running his tongue over the soft curves as I slowly ride him, his tongue ring flicking over my nipples and sending electric shocks through me.

  His hips rotate against mine, inviting my body to move in unison with his in slow languid circles, pressing up into me as I arch down to meet his subtle thrusts.

  “Kiss me.” His voice pulls me from the erotic delirium I had slipped into, but only for a brief moment. I’ve never been commanded or restrained—even for fun—during sex before and could never understand the appeal when I saw it in movies. But having my hands held, not being able to touch him, and being told to kiss him in that sexy raspy voice is a true aphrodisiac. My body liquefies, melting into him, my mouth crashing down on his, opening to let his tongue slip in. My fingers curl tighter around his.

  His thumbs trace small circles against my palms as we make love, and somehow, that ignites an even deeper ache in me. He’s always in the moment with me, never losing himself in his own head and body. This simple touch, his fingers gliding over my palms, is so sensual to me, the way his thumbs move in rhythm with his hips, that I completely lose myself, moaning his name against his lips as I shudder on top of him.

  “Don’t stop . . .” Still clasping my hands in his, he pushes me up until I’m sitting straight up on top of him. “I want to watch you.” My hands are released, and his slides up to cup my breasts.

  My pussy clenches around him as another jolt of ecstasy courses through me, but the little voices edge into my brain. You probably look fat. You have stretch marks. Get off and hide under him!

  Arching up, his strong arms go around me, pulling me tighter against him, rocking himself into me. “You’re gorgeous,” he groans, pulling my head back by my hair, his lips on my neck, sucking and softly biting. Then, gently, he’s pushing me back, bending me backward until my thighs are spread wider over him, my breasts pointing up as he grips my waist, moving me back and forth on his hard shaft. I become so mesmerized watching him, the way his arm and thigh muscles flex, the droplets of sweat dripping down his chest, glistening over the tattoo of the dragon that almost appears alive on his flesh as he moves, that I almost become paralyzed, unable to move. He is beautiful. He is living art. He is everything I never knew I wanted. And want him, I do.

  He grins wolfishly and yanks me up against his chest in one quick, strong movement, cupping his hand against the back of my neck. “Your eyes kill me, Ivy,” he whispers, thrusting upwards inside me so deep that I suck in a breath. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna let you go.”

  Gripping his shoulders as we move faster and harder against each other, I kiss his waiting lips. “I don’t think I want you to,” I tease.

  Grasping my face in his hands, he kisses me deeply, his cock smoldering deep inside me with a final surge.

  CHAPTER 20

  IVY

  A COUPLES DATE.

  A fun dinner at my house with my long-time best friend and her husband shouldn’t be causing me stress. We
’ve done it at least a hundred times.

  But not with me dating a younger guy.

  Setting the dining room table, while Lukas prepares lasagna and chicken parmesan in my kitchen, I glance at Lindsay. She’s nibbling on a breadstick a little too intently, practically drooling over Lukas as he moves around my kitchen.

  “My God, Ivy” she whispers. “You hit the jackpot.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask her.

  “Him. He’s sexy as hell, and he even cooks. He’s like a god. I want one.”

  “Lindsay . . . this isn’t a strip club. Have some class,” Sam warns.

  She takes a long sip of her wine, continuing to eye Lukas like a piece of meat. If she wasn’t my best friend, I’d be annoyed, but she’s harmless so I just playfully smack her arm and take a seat across from them at the table.

  “Last week, we all had dinner at that new place. It’s kinda overrated. The food wasn’t that great,” Sam says, trying to divert his wife’s attention.

  “The new place in town? I went there with some guy at work a while back. It was mobbed,” I reply.

  “It was mobbed the night we went, too. We had to wait forever for a table big enough for all of us,” Lindsay adds.

  “For all of you?” I repeat.

  “Yeah . . . you know . . . all of us,” she says awkwardly.

  ‘All of us’ used to be Paul and me, Lindsay and Sam, and two other couples that we’ve been friends with since our early twenties.

  “Paul and Charlene were there?” I ask, my chest tightening. Why would they want to be with them and not me? They’re my friends.

  “Nice going,” Sam says, nudging Lindsay, who smiles weakly at me.

  “I’m sorry, Ivy. We thought it would be awkward, inviting you and Lukas, too.”

  “I don’t understand why you’d invite Paul over me, though.”

  “I’m still friends with Paul,” Sam says. “We golf together, with the other guys. Lukas doesn’t exactly fit into our group.” He leans closer to me, lowering his voice, like we’re talking about something taboo.

  “So?” I shoot back. “He still eats dinner.”

  They blink at me, and I continue, my annoyance growing. “So now you guys hang out with Paul and Charlene? She fits in? She’s younger than Lukas.”

  Lindsay touches my arm. “Don’t get upset. It doesn’t matter. You hated those group dinners, anyway.”

  That’s true, but I still hate that Charlene is now hanging out with my friends.

  “It just feels kinda like betrayal to me,” I say. “We’ve been friends forever, all of us.”

  Lindsay attempts to soothe me. “Ivy, it’s just because he’s . . . different. He’s not going to want to sit around with these guys and talk about boring business meetings and golf. Don’t worry about it. Have fun and enjoy him. It’s not like you’re gonna marry the guy.”

  “I know, but I would still like to keep my friends,” I mutter.

  “We’re still your friends. We love you,” Lindsay says. “Everyone thinks Paul is a douche for what he did to you. We’re on your side. That’s why we’re here.”

  I shake my head at them. “I didn’t know we had to pick sides. What are we, twelve?”

  “Stop being so dramatic, Ivy. You’re happy. That’s all that matters. He’s exactly what you needed to get out of the slump you were in.”

  Shaking my head at her, I go to the kitchen to help Lukas with the serving dishes. I still feel strange when Lukas comes to the house, and I cannot wait until the divorce details are finalized, so I can sell this house and move away from the lingering memories here.

  Lukas is unusually quiet over dinner, which is delicious as always. I wait until Lindsay and Sam leave and I have Tommy settled in bed before I approach him about his sudden distance.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him when I come back downstairs and find him sitting at the table in the dim kitchen. I wonder if he feels weird being in this house, but since I’m still living here, he has to come here if he wants to see me when I have the kids.

  He spins a quarter around on the table. “I heard what you said,” he says.

  I look at him, confused. “What did I say?”

  “When Lindsay said, ‘it’s not like you’re gonna marry the guy’, you agreed with her.”

  Shit. I did.

  “Lukas, you saw how they are. I don’t want to get into my feelings with them about you. As you can see, my friends seem to be Team Paul.”

  He scowls at me and turns his stare back to his quarter. “They don’t even know me. I’m not the one that fucked someone behind your back and left you and your kids. But he’s the acceptable one?”

  “They’re idiots. And you’re right. They have no idea how amazing you are. It’s their loss.”

  He spins the quarter some more and eyes me. “Did you mean that?”

  “Mean what?”

  “That you wouldn’t marry me.”

  I feel trapped by this loaded question. We’ve never talked marriage. We’ve talked love and soul mates. We’ve talked about commitment. We’ve talked about our amazing sensual connection. But marriage?

  Now that he’s brought it up, my mind and heart are going round and round like a Ferris wheel.

  “I’m not even legally divorced yet. How can I seriously think about marriage again?” I say defensively, which probably isn’t the best answer, but now it’s out there.

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “We’re sleeping together, and you’re still legally married.”

  “We’ve never talked about anything like marriage, though,” I say, nervously. Could he actually want to marry me?

  He shakes his hair and stands up, shoving his quarter in his pocket. “I wouldn’t be dating you if I didn’t want it to eventually lead to that,” he says. “But now, I want to know if you think that way, too.” He stands in front of me and backs me up against the kitchen island.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  He leans down into me and kisses my neck. “Yes, what?”

  My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into his kisses. “Yes, I would marry you.” I run my hands up his muscled arms as the butterflies manifest in my stomach again.

  “Is this a proposal?” I ask him.

  He pulls away a little. “Hell no,” he says, and my hopes quickly dash. Why did he even bring it up then? Disappointment seeps through me, my brief flash of hope distinguished quickly.

  “When I propose to you,” he says, lifting me up and carrying me over to the kitchen table, sitting me down on top of it. “It’s going to be romantic, and not in this house, of all places.”

  “Oh,” I say as he pulls my shirt off. In the middle of the kitchen!

  “Where are the kids?” he whispers.

  “Tommy is asleep, and Macy is staying at a friend’s house.”

  He unhooks my bra and places it on the table next to me. “Good, because I’m going to fuck your still legally-married-ass on your soon-to-be-ex-husband’s table, and hopefully ram some sense into you.”

  He unbuttons my jeans and pulls them and my panties down. I open my mouth to protest, but he puts his finger over my lips.

  “Shh . . . I have another question,” he says. I watch as he pulls his shirt off. Seeing him half-naked in my kitchen makes him look even more sexy, because I know he’s so out of place here. “I want to know if you’re going to say yes first,” he continues, unbuttoning his jeans.

  “To what?” I’m so enthralled with watching him undress that I can’t remember what he asked me.

  “When I propose. I don’t want to go through all that, get my hopes up, and have you say no. So I’m going to cheat and ask for your answer first.”

  Hot damn, he’s adorable. “I already said yes,” I say breathlessly as he kisses my breasts, leaning me back against the table. “I would say yes a thousand times.”

  “Once is enough.” His kisses move back up to my neck, then to my lips. “What’s your ring size?”

  I smile against his lips.
“The same as my shoe,” I tease.

  He grins impishly and picks my shoe up off the floor. “Six?” he says, and I nod, rubbing my foot up his leg.

  “That will make my life easier, for when I want to buy you shoes and rings.”

  He scoops me up into his arms. “I have a better idea for this room, though.” He sits me down on one of the breakfast stools.

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting from you for a while now,” he says, moving my hair away from my face and staring down into my eyes. His cock is huge and hard, level with my face while I’m sitting on the low stool, and I know what he wants.

  “What’s that?” I ask softly, reaching up to stroke him. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes for a few moments as I run my fingers along the length of him.

  “Your mouth . . . on me,” he says. “You can’t use a fork for this one, Ivy. I’m sorry.”

  I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it.

  “Can you do that for me, or is it too hard for you with your weird mouth aversion?”

  “That question is so full of innuendoes,” I tease, continuing to stroke him.

  “I know, and none of them were even intentional.”

  Okay, so I’m strange. I hate things coming at my face and going in my mouth. Plus, I have a bad gag reflex. But this guy . . . how can I say no to him?

  “If I say no, is it a deal breaker for the marriage proposal?”

  He caresses my cheek and opens his eyes to meet mine. “No. I’m going to marry you no matter what.”

  I can’t deny him what he wants. He’s too sweet, too giving. I slowly suck him into my mouth. He’s big; there’s no way I’m even getting half of him in my mouth, but I hope it’s enough. I run my tongue over his head and wrap my fingers around his shaft, as I suck him as far as I can into my mouth, all while he watches me, his eyes filled with lust, his hand on the back of my neck.

  “That feels amazing,” he whispers.

  I move him in and out of my mouth, fisting him with my hands, and his breath quickens, his chiseled ab muscles flexing near my face.

  Suddenly, he pulls out of my mouth, picks me up, and lays me on the kitchen table, on my stomach. Pulling me up into the doggy style position, while he stands at the edge of the table, he grabs my hips and slides into me from behind. Oh my God. On my kitchen table. That Paul’s mother gave us!