I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love.

by Tiffany Winters

  "If I'd lost you—"

  "No." Nick shook his head, cutting me off. "I was pissed, but you were never going to lose me, Jess. Until I take my final breath, I promise to be by your side. I meant it when I said those words."

  I smiled at the reminder of our wedding vows, caressing his cheek with my thumb. "However unlucky in love I was before you, fate more than made up for it when she gave you to me."

  He shook his head. "No matter what, I could never stop loving you." His lips turned up in a grin, dimples framing his face, "And don't forget, you fought for us." He chuckled. "Maybe would've been better to do that during my prep period, though. The kids are still talking about that."

  The blush crept up my neck into my cheeks. "It was a little theatrical, but at the time I couldn't think of any other way to convince you I was in this for the long haul."

  I caressed his bottom lip with my thumb, memorizing the details of his face in a lazy sort of way, knowing without a doubt, I would be waking up to this face every day until the day I died. I let the joy of it wash over me.

  Nick covered my hand with his own, thrusting his hips to remind me we weren't done yet. I moaned and closed my eyes as the friction of him against my skin sent jolts of desire straight to my clit. I could feel his cum easing the glide of him in and out of me. I felt my lips form a small smile.

  "You are insatiable lately." Nick's hand glided down my jaw to my nipple, where he tugged and rubbed, creating a delicious burn, making me increase the pace of my hips.

  My smile erupted into a grin. I hadn't quite planned to be in this position, but as I gazed down at his naked body, him inside me, love shining in his eyes, I realized I had him exactly where I wanted him.

  "I've heard it happens that way for some women. Can't get enough." I guided his thumb into my mouth and watched as his eyes followed the movement before they darkened with desire.

  His voice was distracted as he responded, "Oh, yeah? Fuck, do that again." He slid his thumb back in my mouth, urging me to work the pad of it with my tongue and teeth.

  "Mm-hmm." I nodded, watching, waiting.

  After a moment he looked at me again. "Wait, what happens with some women?"

  I popped his thumb out of my mouth. "Pregnancy makes them horny. I've read about it on a few blogs."

  Nick's eyes widened with shock as my smile began to strain the muscles in my cheeks.

  His voice was thick with emotion. "Really?"

  I nodded again.

  I watched his eyes glisten as he pulled me down and rolled over me. He seated himself between my legs, pushing inside of me with his hardness, his face full of surprised elation. "God damn, I love you, Jessa Petrillo."

  I pulled him toward me and let him devour my mouth, gasping when he thrust deep. He pulled out slowly, before thrusting in again, inch by delicious inch, keeping up a steady rhythm until he drove us both over the edge.

  Long moments later, we were pressed against each other, sated for the time being. Nick's fingers combed through my hair as I ran my own over the hard plains of his chest. I had a man who accepted me, despite my faults. A man who placed forgiveness above his pride. I had the best man. Emotion overwhelmed me, making it hard to say words that would never fully convey my feelings, but they were the best I could do right then.

  "I love you. Until I take my final breath." I fell asleep lying next to my husband, my best friend, the father of our baby, and I dreamed...

  I was standing in front of a giant, crystal clear pool of water. The aching in my muscles told me I'd traveled a long way. Dirt and sweat had formed dark trails over my skin. Bruises dotted my arms and legs. I was exhausted, but exhilarated at finding the end of my journey. I stripped off my clothes, eager for the relief I knew was waiting for me. I bent my body in an arc, ready to dive, but Nick's voice stopped me.

  "Everybody jumps in that way."

  Nick's voice trembled with humor. I squinted but couldn't seem to find him. Panic sent chills up my spine, I turned, ready to go look for him, but ran straight into his naked torso instead. He wrapped his arms around me. "You aren't just anybody, Jessa." He glanced at the rippling pool beside us. "Do it your own way, baby. Show the world who you really are. Unless you're chicken?"

  His eyes twinkled with mischief.

  I turned my back to the water and grinned up at my husband. "Who're you calling a chicken?"

  Throwing my hands out on either side of me, I felt the air against my skin as I let my body drift backwards toward the water...and then I fell in.

  EPILOGUE

  Fourteen months later...

  A familiar laugh stopped me in my tracks.

  We were at the Farmer's market in Eugene. Booths lined the walkway in a 'C' shape, opening up into a large courtyard where a quartet was playing a lively Irish tune. Throngs of people milled about, some dancing, some people-watching, others taking a moment to sit down and eat something from one of the many food carts.

  I looked around, not sure if I'd heard it or hallucinated it.

  "Babe, have you seen Lilah's binky?"

  Nick's deep voice brought me back to the present. I smiled down at our five-month old daughter reclined in her stroller and sighed at my greatest pride. Cooing, I reached into her diaper bag and grabbed her pacifier before popping it between her perfect pink lips. She was developing Nick's green eyes, but the shock of blonde hair covering her head was all me. I bent toward her cheek to give her a kiss and felt my heart melt, for the millionth time, when she giggled.

  When I stood, Nick grinned down at us both, his gaze heated.

  I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't feign disapproval for long. "You're doing it again."

  Nick pulled me in close, stealing a quick kiss, slipping his tongue along my bottom lip enough to make me want more. He pulled away, but not before he made sure I noticed the bulge beneath his jeans. "I can't help it. Watching you be a mom to the cutest baby in the world is a total turn-on. Is that weird?"

  I pulled him close and grabbed his ass. I didn't care who saw. I had a scorching hot husband, and I wanted everyone to know he was mine. "No, as long as you're OK with the fact that I find the sight of you being an awesome dad equally hot."

  "Hmmm. We should make more. Then we can sit around and turn each other on forever."

  I chuckled. Then, I heard it again. That laugh, deep and rough. I looked around the square as Nick ambled toward a booth selling artisan chocolates. "Lilah, there's one thing you need to know about mommy. If she ever gets really mad at you, just buy her some of this stuff..."

  I was about to follow Nick when a familiar figure caught my eye. Truman. He was across the courtyard, standing in front of a beautiful brunette. She looked at him as though he hung the moon, and he gazed back as though he did, for her.

  He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, making them both laugh again before he brushed her cheek with his thumb. She reached up on tiptoes and kissed him lightly, balancing herself with a hand on his broad shoulder.

  I stood, fascinated as I watched their interaction. After a few moments, the woman turned away, walking in the opposite direction from where I was standing. Tru didn't follow her. Instead, he looked over his shoulder, directly at me.

  I willed him to see how happy I was for him, hoping my smile said everything I couldn't. We stood like that, staring at each other across the crowded courtyard for a few moments as the rest of the market walked between and around us, oblivious. Finally, Tru nodded once, grinned huge and turned, disappearing into the crowd as he walked away.

  A moment later, Nick's arms looped around my belly, the enticing smell of chocolate on his breath.

  "Hey, everything OK?"

  I turned in his arms and threaded my hands through his hair, smiling into his emerald eyes. "Everything's perfect."

  The End.

  Author's Note

  "Truman Miller" was my first love. He was electric, charismatic, hilarious, and sexy. An alcoholic and addict. A musician from a family haunted by multip
le paternal suicides. He was more than I could've portrayed in these pages. Unfortunately, he was also a man depressed beyond what he could manage. The real Truman died of depression on October 17, 2011 at the age of 42.

  As painful as it was to go back through the old photos and notes, the Facebook messages we’d exchanged after we'd renewed our friendship, writing this story was also a comfort. I never got to say goodbye to him, and it has haunted me. Depression took him swiftly and with savage timing.

  I spent years wishing he'd had a different ending, and then one day I realized I could give him that, in a way. Everyone remembers people and events in their own way. I did my best to give you the Truman I knew, and built this story around us with some artistic license thrown in because I am a writer, after all.

  I’ve heard depression described as a disease. Some people are cured, some people live with it as a chronic illness and, for some, it’s deadly. No one is to blame for losing the battle.

  Thank you for going along on this journey with me and for allowing me to share Truman with you. He was one of a kind and is dearly missed.

  Thank You

  This novel was probably the hardest damn thing I've ever written. To revisit the past, as I have, and then change it to suit my own need for closure and a happy ending while riding the line of truthfulness was, at times, straight-up torture.

  There were so many re-writes and changes, I've lost track. Thanks to Rachel—my choir pal from high school that I never hung out with back then, and who is now my real-life friend. To Margo—brutal, sharp and encouraging in your critiques. Angela—my cheerful critique partner who had such a great eye for details...your initial thoughts and feedback helped guide me toward a more cohesive, better story.

  Thanks to my amazing author-friends; Rosalie Redd (check out her sexy, action-packed paranormals), Violet Howe (saucy, hilarious romances), Stephanie Taylor (she's hard a work on a book called Shutter that you will want to pick up)...you were all so gracious to field my rough drafts and give me invaluable feedback. If I didn't have you I would've given up on this project.

  Special thanks again to my pal and long-time critique partner, Rosalie Redd. Your virtual hugs through the good times and bad, checking in with me, trading critiques and your steadfast support have meant the world to me. I'm so glad we met and it stuck!

  Andrew Coonfield, graphic artist extraordinaire, personable nerd, and sexy beast, created my amazing cover. Thank you for inviting me to continue to tweak it until I felt like it was right. I'm sure I drove you crazy, especially when we thought it was done and then I suddenly had to have a tagline. And then YOU were the one who put all the words together in the right order and made it magical. You're awesome, Boo.

  Megan Hofer-Capocy edited this mofo like a mofo. And I probably still missed some of her suggestions. Any typos or errors you find are most certainly mine. She's a consummate professional, kick ass editor and amazing friend.

  Thanks in big part to you, reader, for going along on this journey with me. I will continue to strive to make each book better than the last, different enough to keep it interesting and as sexy as you've come to expect.

  As a special thank you, and an invitation to join me on my next adventure, please enjoy the first chapter of Saving Ben—book one in the Saving series. I am excited to jump back into that world and bring you book two as soon as possible!

  You can find Saving Ben on Amazon. http://bit.ly/2f1Sja4SavingBen

  TW

  He lives in the limelight, her life depends on staying out of it...

  Saving Ben, Book 1 in the Saving Series...

  SAVING BEN Chapter 1

  Sweet Jesus

  "Shit, shit, shit."

  Water sloshed around in my Chuck Taylors with each step in the pouring rain. There was no way I was going to arrive at work looking even remotely presentable. I pulled at the strands of hair sticking to my cheek and attempted to smooth them out with a wet hand. Damn this rainy spring! Why hadn't I gone back to get my jacket before I'd left my apartment? My purse slipped from my shoulder as water trickled its way between my breasts. I'd just rearranged the strap back on my shoulder when I rounded the corner and through the front doors of my job at Fuel café.

  Straight into a cup of coffee.

  "Shit!"

  I yelped and grabbed the fabric of my blouse, jerking it away from my skin. An ugly brown stain covered my chest, while the rest of the drink formed a puddle around my feet. Judging by the temperature, I'd been hit with an Americano. I would know. I'd trained every one of my employees in the art. Coffee making was serious business in Portland, Oregon.

  My focus was trained on the floor, I noted what looked like expensive Italian loafers—now stained with hot coffee—planted on the ground in front of me. As my gaze wandered up, my shoulders sagged. Oh no, he's wearing an equally expensive suit, also splattered with his beverage. It hadn't been my fault, but as manager I'd have to take the blame anyway. Ugh, the dry cleaning bill was going to be a bitch.

  "I'm so sorry, I should've watched where—" My purse slipped from my fingers. An additional splash of liquid hit my jeans as the bag plopped into the puddle at my feet. I inhaled in a rush.

  The man in front of me emanated malice so terrifying, it felt as if every cell in my body might shut down, a preemptive surrender before the fight even began. Eyes wide, my feet moved back before my brain could fully register the terror knifing through me. I needed to scream, to warn everyone of the danger, but my throat was barely useful for dragging in air, much less making a sound. I struggled even to control my bladder.

  Those eyes.

  I'd seen those eyes before, lived with them, and then gotten away from him twelve years ago. Black as the sludge at the bottom of my coffee urns, they belonged to the star of all the nightmares I've ever had. I continued backing up.

  "Daniel." The name was a scream in my head, but I'd wheezed the word out as though it were my last breath.

  The barest hint of a smirk crossed his mouth, flooding my brain with revolting memories. Phantom hands roamed my body, pinching and pulling, scratching and biting. Places that should've been protected but were invaded instead. He'd made me hate my own skin, with all of its nerve endings and receptors. The blood froze in my veins.

  After all of these years, how had he found me?

  Just as I regained my voice, the wall I'd thought I'd backed into suddenly had hands. Strong and warm, they gripped my hips, helping to steady me. I let out a yelp and pivoted around.

  Tiny hairs on my body stood at attention. An electric current tingled up my spine. Life moved in slow motion as I found myself face-to-face with...the homeless guy? My attention diverted back to the current problem when his jaw clenched with tension and he shifted his gaze to stare over my shoulder. Jesus, how could I have forgotten about Daniel?

  I turned around, noting that Homeless Guy's hands loosened up just enough to let me move, but he didn't let go. Staring back at me was someone who looked like Daniel, but was he? This man's smile was warm as his head tilted in confusion, hands out to his sides in a gesture of surrender. I blinked and watched as he tossed his empty to-go cup in a nearby garbage can and arranged an old-fashioned fedora on his head.

  "Sorry about your blouse. It was entirely my fault. Here." He stepped toward me. My whole body tensed as I pressed myself against Homeless Guy again. The man I thought was Daniel gave a cautious look at the one behind me before he bent forward, slowly, and tucked what looked like a folded dollar bill into the pocket of my purse. "That should cover the dry cleaning. Again, my apologies."

  He held my gaze for a beat longer, his black eyes causing another round of chills up my spine. Before I could respond, he ducked out the door.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, silently counting backwards from ten as I dug up the old coping mechanism I'd used as a teen when I panicked. It was him. It had to be him. Yet, when I'd taken a second look, there was none of the malicious intent I'd glimpsed in his expression. I shook my head, as though tha
t would help me think more clearly. Oh geez, Homeless Guy still has his hands on me.

  I pivoted once again, stepping away from him. What would I see this time? I couldn't trust my senses to relay the truth to me this morning. Apparently, I'd mistaken an innocent customer for a man so vile Satan himself might complain about the heat. Yet, as I took in the sight before me, all thoughts of my past evaporated.

  His skin was tanned and smooth. Shaggy hair the color of cola skimmed his shoulders, whereas a full, thick beard covered his jaw. Underneath was the hint of chiseled cheekbones, making him look younger than the beard might suggest. Full, unobstructed lips took on a rosy hue against his dark brown facial hair.

  Alicia, my endlessly flirtatious co-worker, had always waited on him but I vaguely remembered he liked to sit in the corner toward the back and drink his coffee alone. It was obvious now why Alicia had made sure she was at the register whenever the hot, homeless guy came in.

  His eyes—protective and alert, not cunning or cruel—focused on me. Almost inhuman, they were the color of bleached jeans. Thick, dark eyebrows and long black lashes made the contrast even sharper. I closed my lids on a long blink, breathing enough to inhale the intoxicating mixture of spice and fresh air radiating from him. He smelled really good, for a homeless guy.

  Dark jeans conformed to powerful thighs. A beat-up charcoal sweater did nothing to conceal the sculpted wall of muscle underneath. The black outline of a tattoo peeked out from under the collar, snaking from below his collarbone halfway up his neck. He was a study in contradictions; under the scruff, he had model-like good looks, but they were paired with an undercurrent of something dark. Perhaps I should've been scared, but I wasn't. Instead, I felt drawn to him, as though whatever was trapped inside of him was something only I could unlock.