Love in Florida (American Boyfriend Book 3)

by Chance Carter

  American Boyfriend

  Love in Florida

  Chance Carter

  Contents

  Florida

  Personal Invitation

  Also by Chance Carter

  Florida

  Let’s get one thing straight, right from the get go.

  I’m a girl who loves having fun.

  There’s nothing better than blasting my favorite hairband songs and dancing around the kitchen while mopping the floor. Well I can think of one thing that’s better ... but until that happens, this will have to do. Trouble is, I need more excitement than this. It’s fun, sure. I have a good life. I’d consider myself happy the majority of the time. I have a wonderful son who’s grown up and moved out, and I have wonderful friends, but overall, there isn’t much excitement to be found in my hometown.

  Every once in a while I need to get out, get away, and relax. Right now, I need to go somewhere, somewhere with beautiful white sand beaches covered in palm trees and surrounded by warm, crystal clear waters. Thankfully, I have a friend who lives in Florida.

  I’ve never done this before, traveling alone. I’ve become used to my life at home, doing things on my own. I do the shopping on my own, do chores around the house on my own, even go out for lunch on my own when the mood strikes me. I never imagined I’d be so solitary. I love company. But I learned to do everything alone when my son’s dad up and left me.

  His dad up and left the two of us in the dust just like that. My son was only thirteen. What a time for a dad to leave his son. The kid was just becoming a teenager, wondering about girls, and sex, and had absolutely no idea what the urges and feelings were that were going on in his body.

  A boy needs a man around to help him out with those things. If his dad leaves, he feels it.

  After that, my son had to grow up way too fast. I needed his help too much. He was the only man in the house so if something broke, he was the one who fixed it. When I needed support, he was the one who gave it. As he grew older, instead of going on dates with girls on the weekend, he was working double shifts to help me pay the bills.

  I always felt guilty about our situation. I tried my best to be a friend and a support, a mom and a dad. But sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just get to feeling that your best isn’t good enough.

  The worst of it is that my son doesn’t even really remember the circumstances around his dad leaving. All he remembers is that he left.

  He asks me often about what exactly happened, like he’s trying to figure out what triggered his dad to leave, like he could solve whatever the problem was and bring him back home. It’s at those times I see him racking his brain, wondering if it was his fault. That breaks my heart. He was completely innocent.

  The way it went down, my man left and there’s no bringing him back. He simply disappeared. Anyone who had any intent of ever coming back wouldn’t have vanished like that in the middle of the night.

  But life has a way of moving forward. You can’t live in the past, you can’t focus on regret, and you can’t let the hard knocks get the better of you.

  So I’m in Florida, doing something I never dreamed of before, writing a whole new chapter in the book of my life.

  I recline back in the blue, vinyl beach chair and drop one foot off the side, twirling my toes in the soft sand. I feel calm, relaxed. I put my head back, flipping the brim of my sunhat up just enough to see the sun setting over the ocean. It’s a beautiful sight, the orange light sparkling off the clear water, dancing like so many diamonds. I’m grateful for this moment. If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s to appreciate the good things as they come. God made the world the way it is, and I have to believe it’s a fair and good place. He might not have let me keep my man, but He gave me this sunset, and that’s something.

  There were downsides to being alone, sure, but being on that beach alone meant I could sit and enjoy that sunset for as long as I wanted. I wanted to sit there forever.

  Traveling to Fort Myers Beach was the kind of trip I’d always wanted to make. Palm trees were key. There’s always been something about palm trees that made me happy.

  Now that I was alone at home all the time, this was the time for me to get out and see the world. Everyone said the world was my oyster, there for the taking, and I tried to believe them. I was here to live, to explore, to find out who I really was.

  I wasn’t going to go crazy, mind you. I’m not one of those midlife crisis women with too much time and money on their hands, bored and looking for some new entertainment. I wasn’t trying to reinvent myself. I was trying to get to know myself. I wasn’t going to pretend I was nineteen and on spring break. I wasn’t there to make a fool of myself. I was branching out of my comfort zone, but I was going to keep my bikini top on while I did it!

  All I wanted was to watch that sunset, listen to the waves washing up on the shore, and find out who I truly was. I was a mother, sure, but that wasn’t the only thing about me. Especially now that my son had flown the nest. He was doing great, and I was happy for him, but when a mother loses her role like that, it calls for some soul searching. I’d spent so many years looking after him, defining myself by how well I met his needs, and now he didn’t need me. At least, not in the way he used to.

  I closed my eyes, the orange glow of the sunset sinking in through my eyelids, and felt the last rays of warmth fall over my face. I completely cleared my head and thought only about my breathing, about being right there in that moment.

  I felt someone walk past me and opened my eyes. A large, dark figure with broad shoulders and a lot of finely toned muscle, silhouetted by the last remnants of the sunset was standing in front of me. He was blocking the sun and it was too dark to see him completely.

  He was hot and young, I could tell that much, but he was blocking my sunset. How was I supposed to relax and be at peace with the world with some hunky jock blocking my sunset?

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I said to this shadowy figure, but no movement. He just stood there like an extra off the set of Baywatch, blocking my tranquility with his rock hard body. “Pardon me! Excuse me, Sir! Buddy!”

  “Oh Sorry, Miss. I didn’t see you there. I just came in from a swim. I could have sworn I was the last one out here on the beach tonight.”

  I looked at his wet shorts clinging tightly to his firm body. I could clearly make out the bulge of his package and felt a quiver of desire. Naturally, he was far too young for me. I’d long conceded that bodies like his, smooth and sexy like something out of a magazine photoshoot, were made with the sole purpose of torturing single women like me. He was just another young college kid, here for spring break on the prowl for drunk coeds with more boobs than sense.

  “Well, you’re not the only one of this beach tonight. I’m here and trying to enjoy the sunset. Do you mind?” I gestured for him to push aside.

  “Oh, of course, so sorry.”

  He took a half step over, his face now illuminated by the last glow of the sun, though ever so slightly. I looked up, his gaze catching mine.

  “Wha-ahh Holy sh--! You’re… You’re… Paul Brecken!! Paul freakin’ Brecken!! Ahhh.”

  I was so startled, and so caught off guard, I fell right out of my chair. If there was one man on this Earth I would ever want to meet it was Paul Brecken, and now here he was and the first thing I did was tell him to get out of my way, and the second thing I did was fall off my chair.

  I’m such an idiot! Now you see why I’m still single!

  “You know me?”

  “You’re Paul Brecken, or you at least look a lot like him!”

  “No, you’re right. That’s me. I’m Paul Brecke
n.”

  “Your on–”

  “Yes I am.”

  I felt my face turn red as a cherry. “Oh my goodness. I am so embarrassed.”

  “Why on Earth would you be embarrassed, sweetie?” Paul leaned forward, offering me a hand to get back up.

  “Because, I just told Paul Brecken to get out of my way and then I fell off my chair. Oh, and I seem to have gotten some sort of muscle spasm in the process. You come to Florida looking for a fun, relaxing time and you spend it falling off your chair and getting injured in front of the hottest guy on television.”

  Paul kneeled down beside my legs. I couldn’t believe where he was. There I was in as skimpy a bikini as I dared to wear, and he was right at my knees.

  “A muscle spasm? Do you mind?” he gestured towards my thighs.

  “And now Paul Brecken wants to touch my legs. Maybe I’ve gotten a little too much sun. I’m delusional. Clearly.”

  “Which leg is it, sweetie? You can trust me. I’m also a trained masseur.”

  “Ahhh. Figures,” I said, not believing what was happening. “The left. The left!”

  Paul leaned over my body, taking my left thigh in his hands, and started massaging my muscle. As the pain disappeared, all I could think about was how close he was getting to my bathing suit line! As he kept massaging my leg, his hands tenderly moved higher and higher up my thigh and gently brushed aside my sarong. He was trying to relax my muscles, but I was growing more tense and more nervous the higher and higher he got up my leg.

  “Does that feel better yet, sweetie?”

  “Feels great! Thanks!” I tried to squirm away, but he kept his hands on my legs, keeping me in place.

  I looked up at him.

  How could this be happening? How on earth could this be freaking happening? Was it a trick? Was I imagining things. Lord knew I’d imagined this scenario enough times before.

  Paul was the guy I pictured every time I was at home, alone. When the day was done and I had snuggled into bed, I thought of Paul and his dark brown hair, swooped so effortlessly to the side, and my hand would slip down below my sheets. I’d picture his brown eyes, and imagine being able to stare into them, to see how deep they went, and that thought alone would make me quiver.

  Then moving my stare down to his lips, his beautiful pink lips. The way he kissed the girls on TV wasn’t just good acting, he was a natural born kisser, that was plain and obvious. My fingers would reach down and touch my own lips then. Paul’s neck, the way his defined jaw bone met his neck, that perfect point, oh how I longed to kiss him tenderly right in that sweet spot.

  I’d slide my finger down my clit as I thought about his shoulders, and continue moving my finger down lower, to my opening. Then, for every muscle of his torso that I’d imagine, I’d move my finger in and out of my pussy, getting faster and faster until I reached that point of no return. I’d picture his chest, his perfect pecs, his abs, and then, that sexy deep V that pointed in the direction of my prize.

  But that’s where the fantasy always ended. TV didn’t show any more than that, and I never could get a clear image in my mind of what he looked like naked below the waist. My imagination just refused to go that far.

  As he continued to massage my thigh, I worried that he could see my cheeks blushing. Could he tell that I thought of him every night? Could he tell I was getting wet?

  “Do you need me to keep going?”

  “Yes, lower, wait, no, I …”

  “I do a lot of my own stunt work in my roles so I understand about getting a hurt leg!”

  “Yes, oh no, you can stop. You must have to get back to whoever you’re here on vacation with!”

  “Oh, I came to Fort Myers alone. It’s hard you know, being on set all the time, surrounded by so many other people. The actors, the makeup department, costuming, the director, the voice coach, and, as I’m sure you’ve seen in the tabloids, I’m pretty newly single. What about you, what are you doing out here at night all on your lonesome?”

  “I’m here alone too. Is that pathetic? I’m just here for vacation. I’m from New Hampshire.”

  “No way! I’m from New Jersey.”

  “I know. It’s at the top of your Wikipedia Page.”

  “Haha, right. Well, that’s not fair, you know all about me and I know nothing about you except that you love sunsets, you get muscle spasms in your leg, and you’re from New Hampshire. Tell me something more about you.”

  “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about me.”

  Paul moved closer to me, pulling himself through the sand right beside me. We were so close, like old friends, or new lovers. I couldn’t believe my face was inches away from his. I had watched him on TV every Tuesday night at ten pm for the last four seasons and here he was sitting four inches from my face.

  “Maybe I’ll just tell you more about what I see,” he whispered to me softly. “I see a beautiful woman.”

  He ran his fingers through my hair and traced them down my face. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Was he hitting on me?

  “I see you’re full of fun, of life, and that you have a delicious mouth.”

  “How can you tell?” I said. “You don’t even know me.”

  He caressed my shoulder with his hand, sliding it down my arm, taking hold of my hand.

  “I can tell a lot about a girl who’s out watching the sunset by herself.”

  “Oh, you can?”

  “You have no ring either, so I can only assume some asshole has broken your heart.”

  He brought his hand and and mine toward the top of my chest. “Which is a shame because I can tell you have the biggest, most caring heart. Should I keep going?”

  I looked at him and grinned.

  “If you like.”

  He brought his hands down to my breasts, and held them firmly.

  “Your so …” he paused, searching for the words. “My mouth can’t form the words to describe you, but it can do this…”

  He pushed the straps of my swimsuit back, pulled the top down, and took my erect nipple into his mouth. He began by kissing it gently, then as he took more of me into his mouth, he twirled his tongue around my nipple, softly pinching it with his teeth.

  At the same time, he held my other breast in his hand, rolling its nipple between his fingers. Each pinch, bite, and lick sent electricity through my body and right down to my clit. He brought his mouth up toward my ear, just where it met my neck. His warm breath threw me into a trance and I couldn’t help but throw my head back, completely opening my neck to him like I was the next victim on his TV show.

  He slid his hand down over my stomach, letting the curves of my body lead his hand toward my pussy. I was nervous and anxious. Why did this hot, young man want to touch my mom-body?

  He made a sharp turn, going smoothly over my hip and down my thigh, pressing his fingers deeper into my flesh and continued to whisper to me, taking away all my inhibitions.

  “Your body is so hot,” he whispered. “I want to taste every inch of it.”

  He dragged his nails softly up my leg, moving toward my inner thigh.

  My legs started to move apart on their own, completely out of my control, to make room for what he was going to do next. He traced his finger further down my inner thigh until it brought him close to my ass. He cupped his hand over my whole pussy.

  I bit my lip, trying to keep my cool, completely exhilarated by his every touch.

  He pressed his palm firmly on my mound, outlining my folds with his finger tips.

  “I feel your soft, beautiful, oh so kissable lips,” he whispered into my ear.

  As he brought his finger down, this time he slid it into the side of my bathing suit, enough to feel my warmth within, but not going to far, just teasing me. I squirmed with desire.

  He kept his finger there, just peeking it into my swimsuit, and brought his face back up to mine.

  “How rude of me,” he whispered. “I never even asked if your leg feels any better.”

&nb
sp; All I could manage was a long, “Mmm.”

  “Or would it feel a bit better if I did this?” he said.

  He pushed aside my bathing suit and let his finger slide over my wet folds. I was dripping with desire for him, so wet it was like I’d just come in from the water. He wanted to take a little swim himself, and slipped his strong finger right into my pussy. I gasped and tried to grab onto the sand for leverage but it was useless.

  He caught my in his other arm and pulled my close toward him, sliding his finger deeper inside me. He had total control over me. At this point, I couldn’t have escaped if I wanted. Luckily, escape was the last thing on my mind.

  He thrust his finger inside me, twisting it up, putting pressure against the front while rubbing his palm against my clit. The man was talented in more than just acting.

  “How do you feel now, sweetie.”

  “Good. So good.

  “Can I make you feel even better?”

  “If you think you can, sexy.”

  He slipped another finger inside my dripping wet pussy, and then another. Filling me. Stretching me. He continued to thrust his fingers, in and out, with each breath I took.

  I squirmed from the pleasure, trying to get away, but he maintained his grip.

  “Paul, Paul, I’m going to cum.”

  “Good. I want to feel you cumming on my hand. I want you to feel amazing. I want you to feel the way you deserve to feel. You are a beautiful, sensual woman and you deserve to feel beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?”

  “I think so.”

  “What would make you feel more beautiful?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, which was the truth.

  Men always say they want make women feel beautiful but the truth is, it’s not an easy task. We’re complicated creatures.

  “I know,” he said, and there was such confidence in his voice I knew he was right.

  “I’m going to make you mine.”

  I looked into his eyes and saw such tenderness, such passion.

  “Yes,” I whispered, “Paul. Please. Make me yours.”