Meant to be Yours: Love at First Sight: Book One

by Parkes, Poppy

  Amelia cranes her head so she can look at me. Her insides twitch around my fingers with the echoes of her orgasm. Her gaze roams my face, lips parted as if words are about to roll from them. In the end, she reaches for my mouth with hers, and I feel how much warmer she is now that I’ve sent her spiraling into pleasure.

  Our kiss ends, and she turns her whole body to me now. My fingers slip from her and I remove my hand from beneath her dress. I rub my fingers together, relishing her slick juices on my digits.

  “Let’s go.” Her words are a command, her eyes bright but demanding.

  I don’t hesitate. I emerge from the booth, and turn to offer her my hand as she slides to standing at my side. She presses close for a fleeting kiss, and I inhale the musk of her arousal. My blood thrums, singing for more of her, all of her.

  As quickly as she stepped into me, she whirls away, catching my hand and pulling me after her. I again don’t know where she’s leading, but gladly follow. It is becoming increasingly apparent that this might be the woman I’m willing to do anything for, go anywhere with. I’ll walk through fire and ice and everything in between to be with her.

  Amelia pushes through Desperado’s back door. Outside, she ignores the handful of bar-goers enjoying a smoking break and heads around the side of the building. I keep step, curious about where she’s going.

  This side of the building is somehow quiet, the thump of the country band within muted and distant. I follow Amelia as she makes for a small stand of weedy shrubbery emerging from the place where the exterior walls meet the spread of pavement. There, I see a small alcove in the building, big enough for a picnic table. It must be a place for staff to go to take their breaks, I realize.

  Amelia rounds on me, taking each of my hands in hers and backing us into the alcove until her bottom meets the short edge of the table. She hops up on the wooden surface and spreads her legs, dress riding up her thighs.

  Heart beating a cacophony against the inside of my ribs, I step between her opened legs. The table is at just the right height that my dick rubs against Amelia’s mound for the first time. I shiver, even though it’s the barest contact.

  She notices, and smiles, winding her arms around my neck. “I’ve always wanted to bring a guy back here,” she murmurs, laying kisses along my throbbing jugular. She squeezes her thighs around my waist, wriggling her hips.

  “Won’t someone come back here?” I’m not sure that I really care, but my brain and body aren’t quite connected, and the question emerges without my permission.

  “Not at this time of the night.” Her eyes spark through the dark. “Want to take advantage of that fact?” She tips her hips up into me. “Because I want you. Maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.” Her voice turns thoughtful for a moment before hardening with decision. “I don’t want to wait. I want you now, if you want me.”

  “I want you,” I breathe. I didn’t realize that she was holding her breath until she exhales, torso melting into me, breasts pressing against my wide chest. “I want all of you, for tonight or longer.”

  Her lashes flutter as her eyes find mine. “You mean that?”

  “I’d never lie about something so important to someone who’s so quickly captured my heart.” My lips curl upward and I brush her cheek with a thumb. “I want to know all of you.”

  Her hands drop to my belt, unthreading the leather strap, and the mischief returns to her face. “Start with my insides.”

  Amelia

  The quiet, demure woman that I’ve trained myself to be over my years with Randall protests at my brazen invitation to Tatum to fuck me good behind Desperado’s. She wants to be shocked at my behavior, wondering who I think I am and what the hell I think I’m doing.

  But I know exactly what I’m doing — I’m reclaiming myself. I’m reclaiming my desires, and my body. For so long, I played nice to keep Randall happy, compromising what I wanted so he could get all of what he wanted. Which, I’m realizing now, was foolish. I was so afraid of losing him that I was willing to give up a decent amount of my own happiness to avoid it.

  And in the end, it didn’t work. He left me anyway.

  It’s difficult to feel quite so upset about that now, though, with Tatum sucking my neck, hands tugging the straps of my dress down my arms and kneading my exposed breasts. I could’ve been sharing another tepid evening with my groom, and instead I’m getting positively indecent with the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

  I’d say that the day, although challenging and one I’ll be recovering from for some time, has sorted itself out solidly in my favor.

  I throw my head back, surrendering myself to Tatum’s work. His kisses on my neck leave me gasping. My pussy lips are throbbing in appreciation of his attention.

  I’m aroused in a way I thought only happened in romance novels.

  But this is real life, perfect, and just what I need. I’m so grateful.

  And yet it’s not enough.

  I widen my legs, gyrating my sopping vulva against Tatum’s jeans. His erection has blossomed out of the top of his open pants. I rub it through his boxers. The version of me that mourns the loss of Randall feels tentative, unsure. But the part of me that has been liberated by my fiancé’s rejection is gleeful, hungry, and ready for anything.

  I let her take over.

  Nibbling at Tatum’s ear, I slip a hand inside his boxers and take his hardness into my palm. His cock is an organ of contrasts — hard, but with skin like velvet, and hot against my skin, ready to blow, but wholly under his command.

  I pull my panties to the side. I’d purchased the black lace thong specially, hoping to entice Randall, but now the fact that he’ll never get to enjoy them is a victory. With hands that are somehow sure and steady, I guide the tip of Tatum’s dick to my soaked opening. Lost in our love-making, he allows me to pull the first inch of him into me.

  All at once, the muscles of his back tense as he realizes what we’re doing. “Wait,” he rasps, his tone telling me how much he wants to do anything but wait, “I don’t have a condom.”

  “I’m clean.” I reach around behind him and massage his balls. He shivers, and I smile at the power I have over him.

  As quickly as they coiled in doubt, his muscles unfurl once again beneath his skin. “Me too.”

  He finds my clit with a thumb and swirls it until I’m helpless and squirming beneath his touch. “Now,” he growls, making goosebumps race up and down my arms, “are you sure you want me to fuck you right here and now? Because that’s what I’m about to do.”

  In answer, I lift my thighs and, in a deft move I didn’t know I was capable of, rid myself of my lacy undergarment. “I’m all yours.” Body and soul, I add silently, meaning it. But I don’t want to spoil the moment. If this is the only time I get with Tatum, I’m going to make it count. We can talk about forever if he’s still around tomorrow.

  He emits a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a snarl and pushes himself deep within me. I clutch at his low back as if that will give me a few more centimeters of this fullness that sets my nerves on fire and my heart brimming over.

  His presence within me feels like coming home.

  If I didn’t know it before, I know it now — Tatum is my everything. I shove aside the question of whether or not he feels the same and let my body ride the rhythm of his journey into and out of my body.

  Tatum

  My mind warns me that this is just sex. Carnal and uncomplicated and short-lived.

  But my heart and body speak another truth — that Amelia is my yesterday, today, and tomorrow. That our bodies were meant to be one, and that I was meant to be hers.

  Amelia interrupts my distraction with a well-timed bite on my earlobe. My eyes snap to hers. Her twin blue orbs are alight with both challenge and need.

  I accept it and, withdrawing, drive myself within her. She arches around me, blooming like a flower, head thrown back, knees finding her ears.

  She might not be my tomorrow. But she sure as hell is my ri
ght now. And I’m going to do right by her in every way that I’m able.

  I thrust again, and once more her lower back curves into me, giving my shaft better access to her deepest place. Another thrust earns me a guttural moan torn from her throat, and one more sees her clutching onto my shoulders for dear life.

  I lose count then, and abandon myself to our flow. We come apart only to crash back together. My skin and sinew are alive with fevered pleasure.

  Digging my hands beneath her seat, I find her buttocks and massage them with greedy hands. She is muscle and curves in exactly the right proportion, skin silken beneath my touch.

  With strong arms I easily pull her hips even closer to mine so that I can sink into her from a higher angle. My cock finds fresh spots to hit within her, and she voices her approval with ecstatic abandon. We’re exposed to the night, but neither of us fears discovery — we are too wrapped up in the heat of each other.

  I feel Amelia’s climax begins from within her depths. Her insides squeeze, warm and so deliciously wet, around my tip first. The tightness of her velvet walls travels outward, hugging my shaft.

  By the time her vulva clamps around the base of my cock, her head is thrown back, neck exposed and her voice box convulsing as the ululations of her orgasm tear from her throat. I bury myself in her cavern and stay there, both relishing the inner pulsations and trying to stop myself from exploding right there and then. I want to ride this thing — whatever it is — out as long as I can, both literally and figuratively.

  As she descends from her peak, Amelia grabs the collar of the shirt that’s somehow still dangling from my shoulders. She pulls herself close to me, breasts tickling the bared flesh of my pectorals, so that when she speaks her mouth brushes my ear.

  “Faster,” she rasps. “Harder.”

  I am hers to command. Withdrawing from her passage, the cool night air a pleasant shock against my wet, exposed dick, I flip her body around in a single smooth motion. Now I have her standing with her hands on the table, her ass an exquisite offering before my eyes. She peeks over a shoulder at me, and the invitation in her eyes is unmistakable.

  I ram home, eyes practically rolling back in my head at how fucking good it feels. She’s slick and soft against my hardness in all the right ways, and I’m long enough to be able to nudge her G-spot without overstimulating her. And being one with this woman that has somehow managed to capture my heart in so short a time? That’s the best feeling of all.

  Amelia bares her teeth as I pound into her, jaw flexing and eyes boring over her shoulder into mine. I feel a feathery touch against my cock and, shivering, realize she’s working her clit with furious fingers, supporting her torso against the table with one outstretched arm. Already I can feel her closing in ecstasy around the tip of my penis as I fly in and out of her at her command.

  This knowledge combined with the heart-stopping sensation and the fiery connection that’s smoldering in our locked gazes throws me over the edge into oblivion. I clutch the welcoming flesh of her hips and plant myself, shuddering, in her. A moment later Amelia joins me in climax, and as one we crow our joining to the night.

  Amelia

  It’s a special feeling, returning to the dance floor with my panties damp from the cocktail of my juices mixed with Tatum’s. I wouldn’t have thought that dripping underwear would be pleasant to wear, much less dance in. But then, I never expected to have the best sex of my life with a man I just met both inside and outside of a dive bar.

  It’s a night of firsts — hell, a whole day of them, considering I’ve never been left at the altar before either.

  As Tatum spins me away from him only to tug me back in and tuck me against his broad chest, I don’t think I’ll mind the kinds of firsts I’ll get to experience with this man.

  After we’d climaxed in synchrony, each of us pushing the other over the edge — another first — we reassembled our clothing and sat, leaning each other, gazing up at the stars whose glimmers survived the glare of the city lights. Silence that might have felt uncomfortable with Randall felt safe and peaceful and right with Tatum. Just like sex with him had.

  Eventually his hand found its way to the base of my skull, tangling in my curls as he massaged my neck. With his other hand, he rubbed my thigh, as if he couldn’t keep from touching me. This is another new feeling for me, to be so wanted, and I can’t say that I mind. In fact, I feel damn certain in increasing amounts that this is what relationships are supposed to feel like, and that Randall is a piece of shit.

  Tatum leaned over and murmured sweet nothings in my ear. He said he wanted to take me home, to keep me in his life forever. I told him that if he treated me like he did tonight every day of my life, and if he took me back out on Desperado’s floor before the band completed their set, I’d be his for life.

  He immediately hopped down from the picnic table, offered his hand, and said, “I can’t promise that I’ll always be the perfect man. But I can promise that I’ll always try, always communicate, and always do my best to right whatever wrongs come between us. Now that you know about my mortal humanity,” he winked, “will you do me the honor of another dance?”

  I’d taken his hand and eased off the table myself, muscles protesting in all the right ways from our tryst. “The honor is all mine.”

  It feels strange to be so sure that the man who’s turning me around the dance floor is the one — especially since I was all set to marry another when I woke up this morning. But I’m seeing that I have a lot to learn about what makes a man right or not.

  And we also have a lot to learn about each other. Hell, he doesn’t yet know how today started for me.

  But as I smile into his dark eyes, his own lips snaking upward in silent reply, I can’t shake the gut instinct that a future with Tatum in it will be full of laughter, joy, and more toe-curling orgasms than I can count.

  Epilogue

  Tatum

  When I hear Amelia roll out of bed and head to the bathroom, the Saturday morning light streaming through the windows of my house is still weak and thin. It must be early.

  I roll over and tuck the blankets closer around me, enjoying my cozy cocoon while Amelia rustles in the bathroom.

  It’s been a handful of weeks — maybe six, if I force my mind to focus through the blurring combination of infatuation for this woman and my current state of non-caffeination — and it’s been wonderful. I’ve always enjoyed my life and felt grateful for my many blessings. With the exception of wishing I had that one special someone to share it left, life has been good to me.

  But then Amelia stepped into it, and it suddenly felt like nothing in the whole of my life had ever been right until she was in it.

  Discovering her — discovering us — has felt like a series of revelations. Our careers seem to mesh well, both the hours and our shared nose-to-the-grindstone, get-‘er-done, team-based work ethics. When I learned that she’s a teacher, it came as no surprise. She’s equal parts nurturing and no-nonsense, and she’s smart as hell to boot. Combine that with her sense of humor and the fact that she’s joy to look at, and it makes complete sense why I fell for her.

  She told me all about Randall too, that dickwad. I’ve never been the fighting type, so it’s a new and shocking sensation to find myself wanting to go out and deck a man I’ve never met.

  She keeps telling me that if it wasn’t for him leaving her at the altar, we’d never have found each other. And while that’s true and we’re both so damn grateful, I can see the anger and hurt smoldering in her eyes whenever she speaks of her ex.

  I wish I could fix it, heal her, make her forget the drain on her that he was for so long. But life has taught me enough to know that this is something that only time can mend. So instead I hold her close whenever she has the need to share some part of her life with him, and I whisper in her ear that she’s safe and I’m here and that she doesn’t have to face the pain of his betrayal alone.

  When I’m feeling generous, I pity Randall. Amelia is a rare wom
an, and he was dumb enough to walk away from her extraordinary light. What a fool.

  I’ll never let myself take Amelia for granted like that. She’s been gifted to me, and I intend to treat her as such. I’ll cherish her, respect her, work with and for her, and be hers for the rest of our days — not to mention give her all the orgasms I can.

  I hear a little gasp come from the bathroom. Lifting my head, I call, “Are you okay?”

  A moment passes, and then Amelia says, “I’ll be out in a minute.” Her voice is wound tight. I frown, noting that she didn’t answer my question.

  Next comes the sound of the toilet flushing and her washing her hands, and then she emerges. One hand is behind her back, and even though she’s a fresh vision, her eyes are wide and worried.

  I sit up, opening my arms to her. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  She curls up next to me, sliding beneath the covers, but she doesn’t relax. “I have something to tell you.”

  My skin turns hot and then very, very cold. Judging by the burrow between her brows, she’s about to say something serious. All I can think is that she’s about to break up with me.

  My heart is galloping as I steel myself and say, “Okay. I’m listening.”

  She traces my bare chest with trembling fingers as she speaks. “I didn’t notice at first. With everything that’s been going on between trying to get Randall to cover some of the wedding costs and having such a lovely time with you, I wasn’t paying very good attention, you know?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not sure I do.” It doesn’t sound like she’s about to ditch me, but I’m completely lost. I comb my fingers through her sleep-tangled curls. “What didn’t you notice, love?”

  She meets my eyes, her own two blue sauces. “That I’m late.”

  I knit my brows, confused. “Late for what?”