Unrequited

by Jen Frederick

  "Come home with me?" I whispered. I’d asked that question before, so many times, and been told no because of her sister.

  This time, though, the answer was different. "Yes, please."

  She climbed off, and I pulled my shorts up.

  "You ripped the buttons off my shirt," she said, lifting a side of her shirt in each hand.

  "I'll buy you a new one." I eyed the torn blouse with smug satisfaction.

  "God, you are such a man." She laughed. "You're happy you ripped my shirt, aren't you?"

  Playfully I flexed for her. "Can't help that I'm big and strong."

  She batted my biceps and then tucked the shirt around her as she buckled up. It was my signal to start the truck. I put the truck in drive and pointed it home.

  "I'm glad you're a big, strong guy." I glanced over because her voice was serious instead of laughing. "Thank you for fighting for me."

  "Always, sweetness." I pulled her hand over to my knee and covered it with my own. "Always."

  Epilogue

  FINN

  “Are you ready yet?” I asked. It might have been the third or fourth time. I couldn’t remember. I only knew it was nearing half time, and I’d called up to her at the start of the second quarter.

  "Yes, yes," she panted, running out of the bedroom in a black dress that shouldn't have been sexy but was. I could barely walk around these days without an erection. It was embarrassing but true.

  "Come here." I motioned for her, and she glanced at the clock above the kitchen stove. Already late, the clock told us, but she came to me anyway because I was a magnet she couldn’t resist. That’s what she’d told me before.

  "Hey there," I whispered against her belly. "It's your daddy."

  She smoothed one hand over my head and rested the other on the top of her rounded thirty-four weeks-and-counting belly.

  While I rested my cheek against the baby—because the cloth and skin did not exist—my hands slid under her skirt and swept up the back to grasp her firm flesh.

  Thirty-four weeks but still doing yoga. I squeezed and then brought my thumbs around the front to meet at the soft, bare V in the front.

  "No," she protested, but wasn’t a very robust no. It sounded like acquiescence—more like yes.

  I kissed her, scattering love pecks all over the amazing roundness that represented our child. I tucked my thumbs under the cotton to stroke her delicate, very sensitive skin. These days, it took only a few passes to bring her off.

  "Yes," I whispered, and then the dress was rucked up, past the thighs, over the head, and onto the floor. Her newly-abundant chest bounced as she panted.

  "We shouldn't. We'll be late." Yes, but…

  I ignored her and pulled down the panties. Her hands rested on my shoulders, and the heavy weight of her body, weighted down by my child, made my chest widen with pride and joy.

  "Open for me," I said quietly, and she did because she hadn’t found a way to resist me, thank God. Her legs parted. It was a good thing I had my hands on the back of her thighs because at the first touch of my tongue, her knees buckled. I caught her and carried her to the couch. I shoved my shoulders between her legs, pushing them wider apart and pulling her lower until she was on top of me. I buried my mouth between her legs, licking and sucking and then undoing my pants and shoving them down to my thighs so I could pull myself free.

  I kissed her, my lips still wet from her arousal, and drilled my stiff erection inside her, pushing and thrusting until I bathed her with my seed.

  "I can't get enough of you," I whispered as I cradled her in my arms.

  "Good thing I'm already pregnant," she answered, running her fingers through my hair, scratching behind my ears just as I liked.

  "Good thing." I leered at her.

  * * *

  We were very late.

  "Baby problems," Winter explained to Ivy, who shook her head.

  In the living room, I pulled Ivy’s boy onto my lap. "Little man, look at how big you are. You look good, Ivy."

  She did. Motherhood had changed her for the better. She gave up all the vices, including smoking, having acknowledged she had a super addictive personality. She was dating again. Winter always liked it when Ivy was dating. It made Winter worry less about her being alone.

  I jostled Timothy and then rubbed his white-blond hair.

  “You know what a dad joke is?" I said to no one in particular.

  Ivy took the bait. “No, what is it?”

  Winter groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”

  "Tell me a thoke.” Timothy grinned

  "You think it's funny to pick your nose? It's snot."

  Ivy and Winter covered their faces, and Timothy didn’t laugh until I tickled him. I felt like that was encouragement enough. I tried out another.

  "I'm thirsty. Hey thirsty, I'm Finn."

  Winter’s shoulders began to shake, and Timothy started to laugh without any prompts. The doorbell rang. It was probably my mother. Ivy got up to answer the door, and I continued,

  "What's the last thing each Tickle-Me-Elmo doll gets before leaving the factory? Two test tickles."

  "Stop. Stop," Winter cried. "These are terrible. Why am I laughing?"

  I spread out my hands with an innocent expression on my face. "This is the power of a dad joke. You are helpless in the face of them, even though they’re bad."

  "You deliver them well," Winter replied after her laughter died down. "You'll be a great dad."

  "And you'll be a great mom,” I said and leaned over to capture her mouth. I meant to give her just a little kiss, but it turned into a long, drawn-out one.

  "Oh, Finn, what are you doing to me?" she asked breathlessly, threading her hands into my hair and tugging me closer. She arched up like an offering.

  "I'm loving you, Winter."

  <<<<>>>>

  Acknowledgments

  This story took a long time to write. It baked in the back of my mind but whenever I put my metaphorical pen to paper, the words took flight. My friend Daphne allowed me to run the plot by her more than once. My developmental editor read probably three versions of this story. So did my best beta reader friend, Michelle Kannan.

  Without the help of my friends, readers, editors, this book would never have been completed.

  To my dear husband and sweet, wonderful daughter, thank you for putting up with the long hours I spend on the computer. For the dinners you’ve had to cook yourself or the dishes you’ve had to wash or the laundry you’ve folded, thank you. For all the love and support that you’ve given me, thank you.

  To Meljean Brook whose writing talent is incredible, whose friendship is immeasurable, and whose artistic abilities make me weep with envy, thank you.

  To Jessica Clare who is a better friend than I deserve, thank you.

  To Elyssa Patrick whose wonderful New Adult books inspire me regularly, thank you.

  To Michelle Kannan, thank you for allowing me to pester you with my nonstop emails. If you ever decide to stop reading them, I may have to stop writing altogether.

  To Nicole McCurdy whose unflagging support online humbles me on a daily basis.

  To the bloggers who take time out of their day to read my books and leave reviews, no matter the star rating or letter grade, thank you for your contribution to our great reading community.

  And last, but not least, a special thanks to the members of The Chronicles of Jen Frederick Facebook page. You folks are a steady stream of encouragement that I rely on during my dark writing times. Without you, I wouldn’t find this journey as interesting or as fun.

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  Also by Jen Frederick

  Undeclared (Woodlands #1)

  Undressed (Woodlands #1.5)

  Unspoken (Woodlands #3)

  Unraveled (Woodlands #4)

  Unrequited (Woodlands #5)

  Losing C
ontrol (Kerr Chronicles #1)

  Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

  Last Hit (Hitman #1)

  Last Breath (Hitman #2)

  Last Hit: Reloaded (Hitman #2.5)

  Last Kiss (Hitman #3)

  Undeclared

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  For four years, Grace Sullivan wrote to a Marine she never met, and fell in love. But when his deployment ended, so did the letters. Ever since that day, Grace has been coasting, academically and emotionally. The one thing she’s decided? No way is Noah Jackson — or any man — ever going to break her heart again.

  Noah has always known exactly what he wants out of life. Success. Stability. Control. That’s why he joined the Marines and that’s why he’s fighting his way—literally—through college. Now that he’s got the rest of his life on track, he has one last conquest: Grace Sullivan. But since he was the one who stopped writing, he knows that winning her back will be his biggest battle yet.

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  Noah and Grace’s happy ever after hits a stumbling block in the form of one shady professor threatening Noah’s scholarship eligibility. Noah is given the choice of throwing his New Year’s MMA fight for a big payoff or accepting that the true meaning of love isn’t measured by the thickness of his wallet but the depth of Grace’s big heart.

  * * *

  This is a 22,700 word sequel to the full length novel, Undeclared, but can be read alone.

  Unspoken

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  Whore. Slut. Typhoid Mary.

  I’ve been called all these at Central College. One drunken night, one act of irresponsible behavior, and my reputation was ruined. Guys labeled me as easy and girls shied away. To cope, I stayed away from Central social life and away from Central men, so why is it that my new biology lab partner is so irresistible to me?

  He’s everything I shouldn’t want. A former Marine involved in illegal fighting with a quick trigger temper and an easy smile for all the women. His fists aren’t the danger to me, though, it’s his charm. He’s sliding his way into my heart and I’m afraid that he’s going to be the one to break me.

  Impulsive. Unthinking. Hot tempered.

  I allow instinct to rule my behavior. If it feels good, do it, has been my motto because if I spend too much time thinking, I’ll begin to remember exactly where I came from. At Central College, I’ve got fighting and I’ve got women and I thought I was satisfied until I met her.

  She’s everything I didn’t realize I wanted and the more time I spend with her, the more I want her. But she’s been hurt too much in the past and I don’t want to be the one to break her. I know I should walk away, but I just can’t.

  Unraveled

  by Jen Frederick

  Available Now

  Twenty-five-year-old Sgt. Gray Phillips is at a crossroads in his life: stay in the Marine Corps or get out and learn to be a civilian? He’s got forty-five days of leave to make up his mind but the people in his life aren’t making the decision any easier. His dad wants him to get out; his grandfather wants him to stay in. And his growing feelings for Sam Anderson are wreaking havoc with his heart…and his mind. He believes relationships get ruined when a Marine goes on deployment. So now he’s got an even harder decision to make: take a chance on Sam or leave love behind and give his all to the Marines.

  Twenty-two year old Samantha Anderson lost her husband to an IED in Afghanistan just two months after their vows. Two years later, Sam is full of regrets—that she didn’t move with her husband to Alaska; that she allowed her friends to drift away; that she hasn’t taken many chances in life. Now, she’s met Gray and taking a risk on this Marine could be her one opportunity to feel alive and in love again. But how can she risk her heart on another military man who could share the same tragic fate as her husband?

  About the Author

  Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line!

  If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review or recommending this to a reader friend.

  @JenSFred

  AuthorJenFrederick

  jenfrederick.com

  jensfrederick@gmail.com

  Copyright © 2015 by Jen Frederick

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Photo © David Wagner

  Cover Design by Meljean Brook

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.