A Sweet, Sexy Collection 1: 5 Insta-love, New Adult, Steamy Romance Novellas (Sweet, Sexy Shorts)

by Kaylee Spring

  “You really did read through that whole manual didn’t you? It was supposed to be a baseball metaphor, but it doesn’t matter.” His smile is the same easygoing one that made me fall for him in the first place. “What I was trying to say is that there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to pass the test this time.”

  I’m shaking my head, not sure why he keeps going on about driving. Can’t he see that it doesn’t matter? I’m not living in Branchville anymore. “I don’t see why—”

  Hugh kisses me on my forehead, stilling my words. “Just trust me. I’ve got my car in the parking deck. Just take a little drive with me. That’s all I’m asking.”

  I look through the double doors, past the dark lobby to my office, remembering the mountains of preparations I planned to finish tonight. Then I turn back to the man in front of me. “Fine. But you really expect me to drive in the city?”

  “You’ll do fine,” he says, his fingers entwining with mine.

  Three minutes later, I can see that he wasn’t lying about having his car here. It’s the same one I remember him letting me practice with in the Wal-Mart parking lot. “Wait,” I say, realizing something. “Did you drive here?”

  “Took me nearly thirty hours.”

  “You could have flown! Sane people fly!”

  “I needed the time to think.” He doesn’t say anything more about what he had to think about. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. I can sense it. There’s definitely more to this driving test than a test.

  “Are you even licensed to be an instructor in New York?” I ask after fastening the seatbelt.

  He dodges the question. “Pull out there. At the bottom, get ready to make a right turn.”

  Once we’re on the streets, I can’t think beyond focusing on staying in my lane, anticipating the traffic around me, and following Hugh’s directions. Driving here is completely different from the Wal-Mart parking lot back in Branchville. While we never move that fast or for that long before hitting a traffic light, the stress keeps my fingers clenched tight on the steering wheel. Not until about twenty minutes later, when we pull into a derelict business block, do I pause to take in our surroundings. We’re now in Queens, facing the back of what appears to be a rundown factory from decades ago. Row after row of cars face the side of a building where a black and white movie is projected.

  “It looks like there’s some space over there,” Hugh says, pointing out a vacant spot that I quickly pull into.

  “How did you know about this place?”

  Hugh shrugs. “I may not know much about the city, but drive-in theaters are from my neck of the woods. It was as easy as looking it up on my phone. And you’re the one who drove us here.” He nods after I finally kill the engine. “If I had any legal capacity here, I’d sign off on your driving license. Perfect score.”

  Now that I’m not focused on keeping us alive in traffic, I can finally take in what’s happening here.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Hugh points to the larger-than-life Cary Grant. “Treating you to a classic.” When I keep staring him down, he relents. “When you left, I tried going back to my old routines. I never planned on leaving Branchville, but I didn’t plan on you showing up there either.” He reaches across and places his hand on mine. “When you left, everything I thought I knew wasn’t right anymore. I’ve seen lots of people leave my town, and I always thought the same thing: Why? Then you were gone, and I asked myself a different question.”

  The lights from the film reflect off his eyes as we stare at each other. I realize I haven’t breathed since he stopped talking. I have to know. “What question did you ask yourself?”

  His smile is lopsided, like his answer should be obvious. “Why not?”

  Chapter 12

  Hugh

  During the long drive to New York, I practiced what I would say to her at least a hundred times. Starting with the whole ‘Why not?’ thing. From there I was going to tell her how my life was just hollow routines without her. That I could never drive again without thinking of our lessons together. I was going to tell her that I had suitcases packed in the trunk, ready to stay here, hoping she would still let me move in with her. I have everything planned down to the moment I would lean over and kiss her.

  Diane bowls these plans down.

  As soon as the words ‘Why not?’ are out of my mouth, she grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me to meet her lips halfway. Then she’s fumbling over the console, straddling me as she struggles with the buttons on my shirt. When I try to pull away to ask her what she would think of me moving up here, she attacks my mouth before I can get a single word out. As if to get the point across, she reaches a hand down my pants and grips at my rock-hard cock.

  “Slide the seat back,” she says.

  After looking left and right at the cars parked nearest us, I do exactly as I’m told. With the seat all the way back, she has just enough space to slide down to the floorboard in front of me. Diane makes quick work of my belt and jeans. I’m thinking that she’s going to tease me a bit, but no, she takes the full length of my cock in her mouth the second she frees it of my boxers’ constraint.

  A sigh escapes my body like a ghost, and my hands grip at her scalp as she bobs her head up and down. I want to touch her, to reciprocate in some way. When I try to lean forward to pull her up, her left hand goes to the lever beside my chair. With a flick, the back of my chair falls back, and I’m prone and vulnerable, unable to defend myself as she continues to work me towards the promise of a mind-blowing orgasm.

  Within two minutes I’m unable to hold back.

  “I’m about to cum,” I barely manage to get out seconds before I blow my load. Diane doesn’t shy away, instead sucking at my dick as I convulse and unload in her mouth. After I’m completely spent, she climbs up on me, resting her head on my chest.

  “Good?” she asks with a kiss on my cheek.

  All I can do is nod and run my fingers through her hair.

  We lie like this for five minutes. Just enough time for the cloud of drowsiness to pass. Then I kiss the top of her head and say, “Now it’s your turn.”

  Chapter 13

  Diane

  He rolls me over so that he’s the one on top now. He’s kissing all up my thighs, across my stomach, and teasing my nipples. I lift my head just enough to glance out the windows, hoping no one is paying attention to the activities going on inside our car. Then he slips one finger slightly inside me, and I groan and push my hips against him.

  “God,” I get out and dig my fingers into his scalp. I pull him on top of me and grab at his cock, rubbing his tip against the lips of my pussy. I lick my lips and then kiss him, moving up across his cheek to nibble at his earlobe. Then I whisper hoarsely, “Get in me. Now.”

  He presses inside me, filling me, my whole body condensing down to the sensation of stretching as I wrap around him. I scratch at his back, scraping my nails down his sides. My legs curl around him, and I bury my face in his neck.

  Hugh leans against me, bracing his weight with only arm while his other hand traces a route down my stomach to my clit. There isn’t enough space between us for him to do much, but I grind against his fingers, biting my lips and holding onto Hugh tighter. The car is rocking, and it’s easy to visualize what it must look like from the outside. But the rational voice that worries about being caught is drowned out by the onrush of hormones that clear my skull, leaving room only for the pure ecstasy pushing against every nerve in my body, reaching for the breaking point when they can all spring free at once in a torrent of lightness.

  Just before I cum, Hugh leans down, placing his lips right on my ear. “I love you,” he whispers, each syllable tickling at my sensitive skin.

  I bite by lips before getting the same words out. The last word is drawn out as quivers run down my legs and up my body, reverberating out in waves from the motion of Hugh’s cock reaching a crescendo, racing towards a rhythm that he can’t possibly keep up for long, But he doesn’t have
to because soon his whole body contracts as he too cums.

  Relishing in the release and closeness, we catch our breaths together, Hugh pressing his elbows against the car seat on either side of me in an effort to keep from crushing me with his body weight.

  “It gets better every time,” he says.

  I nod and say, “Certainly the best car sex I’ve ever had.” His smile fades only for a second before I add with a teasing jab at his chest. “Of course, that might be because it’s the only car sex I’ve ever had.”

  Hugh repositions himself, snuggling next to me so that we’re side-by-side now, a comfortable jumble of limbs. “When did you get to be such a joker?”

  “About the same time you came to your senses and chased after me.” My lighthearted joke segues too suddenly into more serious territory. A scared part of me tells me to avoid it, but I need to know where we stand. “Did you mean what you said? About loving me?”

  He kisses my ear. “Absolutely.”

  “And you’re really going give the city a shot?”

  “It’s more about whether the city is going to give me a shot. First of all, I’m going to need a place to stay. Can’t really afford a place on my own with the going rate of an apartment either, so I’ll probably have to find a roommate. Preferably a hot one who doesn’t mind saving money by sharing the shower. Got anyone you can recommend?”

  “Hate to break it to you, but my shower’s barely big enough for one person.”

  Hugh shrugs. “I would have said the same thing about this passenger seat, but we manage.”

  He’s right.

  For the rest of the movie, we lie together, breathing in the cool night air and enjoying each other’s warmth. And when the credits roll, we pull back onto the road, pointing the car towards home.

  Chapter 1

  Kat

  Screaming won’t do me any good. Not at one in the morning. Not in this neighborhood. People mind their business here not necessarily because they respect their neighbor’s sense of privacy, but because sticking your neck out is the best way to get it lopped off. Not that I’ve ever had any problems personally. Sure, the paint around here is peeling, the pavement more cracked than not, and I’ve definitely seen what can only be a drug sale twice, but I’ve never felt like I was in any sort of danger.

  That all changed six months ago. Ever since then, I’ve always been looking over my shoulder. Now all that caution has paid off.

  The figure in the hoodie started following me about five minutes after I left the café. I ignored him at first, which was easy since I follow a busy street until about five minutes before I reach my house. The place where I turn off that road is an elementary school. I cut across its parking lot as a shortcut to reach the street I live on. It’s a wide area with nowhere to hide, which means no one’s going to be popping out and scaring me.

  Most nights walking through the schoolyard is the best part of my journey. Colorful paper cutouts decorate the classroom windows, pulling me out of my shitty circumstances and back to memories of happier times when I would cut hearts from construction paper in February and snowflakes in December. Although I would never stop to stare up at the few stars that break through the city’s light pollution, I always appreciated their presence as I scurry back to the safety of my apartment.

  Tonight, though, I curse under my breath as my feet instinctively lead me along this familiar path, for here I have nowhere to run. There are no houses in a one-block radius, which means even if someone happens to hear me scream, I’m not going to be receiving help anytime soon. Not before the man in the hoodie has his way with me, whether that means taking my purse or something far worse.

  So, I do the only thing I can and swing one foot in front of the other but not so fast that my pace could be considered a run. I don’t want to run. That might be all my pursuer is waiting for. Keeping the status quo is the safe choice now. But even with my quickened pace, the distance between us is closing.

  When I pass through the shadow of a massive oak tree, I chance a look back. He’s a good head taller than me, but that’s all I can make out. With his hood up, his face is hidden in deep shadow. His hands are deep in his pockets, which has me wondering what he might be concealing. A knife? A gun?

  I hurry my pace, trying not to look back again, but his footsteps are there, and his gait is far longer than mine. He’s catching up. Unless I do something in about thirty seconds, he’s going to be within grabbing distance. What’s worse is that by that point, we’re going to reach the scariest section of my walk home.

  After passing through the schoolyard, I cut across this thin patch of woods that separates the school from my street. It shaves off about ten minutes of walking around, and though it takes less than a minute to cut through, I’m always panting by the halfway point, which is marked by a rusted-out barrel where teenagers sometimes congregate to smoke and drink and start little fires.

  As I step over the curb and onto the grass, the edge of the thin forest ten paces ahead, I chance another look back. This is the last point where a harmless person would take another path. But he’s right on me. And now that he’s so close, I can hear his voice under his breath. He’s talking to himself, which means he’s probably leaning on the shaky side of crazy.

  For the first time, I call out to him. I don’t have a choice. I either confront him or run, and I’m pretty sure I have no chance outrunning those long legs. My best option is to make a lot of noise and hope he changes direction. I’ve heard it works for bears, so I’m hoping a burly guy won’t be any different.

  “Hey, you! I know you’re following me! I’m calling the cops!”

  The words come out shakier than I expected. They don’t have the desired effect either. He’s still got his head cocked down, and he’s making right for me. Screaming didn’t work, so I’m left with my only other option.

  My feet hesitate at first, but soon I’m breaking through the tree line, buzzing around familiar stumps and nearly tripping over rocks I forgot were there. About halfway through I chance a look back.

  He’s still coming.

  When I turn back around and throw myself forward into a run that my feet barely keep up with, my shin connects with something solid. A hollow thump rings out as I collapse next to the barrel. With the moon absent tonight, the rusted hull blended right into the foliage. And I was so preoccupied that I’ve run right into it, thwacking my leg into its bottom edge.

  The stranger in the hoodie is almost right on top of me when I finally manage to hobble to a stand. He’s so close that I can finally hear what he’s saying, and it’s not sounding good for me.

  “Get it good, get it good, I’m about to get it good,” he’s mumbling in a bit of a rhythm, like it’s some sort of chant. My mind immediately leaps to old episodes of Law & Order, remembering that serial killers often have habits, like taking a sock from the victim or reciting the same poem before driving a knife into their victim’s heart.

  I’ve got no choice.

  Pulling out the keychain pepper spray from my purse, I stumble backwards, barely able to get out the words: “Stay away from me.”

  No response from my attacker, so I fumble with the release on the pepper spray and squeeze the button. I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe a cloud of red smoke to appear from the end of the canister? Instead, it’s more like a kid’s squirt gun. But it’s got enough pressure that I hit the man right in the face.

  His hands fly out of his pockets, swiping at his eyes, pulling his hoodie back to reveal that he’s been wearing a pair of headphones this whole time. Not little ear buds, but massive ones that cover the sides of his head and more than likely prevent him from hearing anything going on around him.

  Including me shouting at him and warning him to back off.

  When his hands pull out of his pockets, his wallet drops to the ground at the same time. With him stumbling backwards, screaming obscenities at his invisible attacker, I take a chance and swipe his wallet from the bed of dried lea
ves it fell on. Flipping it open and holding my cell phone up for light, I realize that I’ve just made a huge mistake.

  His name is Aaron Miles. He’s a student at the local community college. What’s more, there’s a medical card front and center in his wallet. Describing that he suffers from severe allergies to a number of foods. At the bottom of the list, following shellfish and cucumbers, is peppers.

  I look down at the pepper spray in my hand, and the innocent Aaron in front of me, gripping at his throat with desperate fingers.

  Chapter 2

  Aaron

  One minute I’m walking home after a long night at the library. The next thing I know, something wet hits my face. At first I think it must be bird shit, because what else could it be? But then the burning begins, deepening with each breath I struggle to take.

  When I fall backwards, I hit a tree and manage to stay leaned against it as I come down on the ground. I look for my backpack, my fingers struggling with the zipper. I don’t know what just happened, but I know this feeling of suffocation. More importantly, I know if I can get my Epi-pen out, I might just survive.

  But I can’t reach it. My fingers are shaking and my mind is spiraling, and this strange girl is standing over me, her hand over her mouth. My bulging eyes travel down her arm to see the tiny canister of pepper spray clenched in her fist. She drops it and it crunches on recently fallen autumn leaves.

  “Eh...pee—” Is all I’m able to get out, and even then my voice is a squeak that not even my own ears can really make sense of. But the girl finally snaps out of her stupor only to begin crying and screaming. She falls to her knees in front of me. The first time I grab at her hands, she snaps out of my reach. But then I guide her to the zipper on my backpack and she seems to understand that there’s something inside I need. After flipping through my textbooks and shouting, “What is it? What can I do?” over and over, she finally upends my backpack.