by Piper Rayne
“Not until you take it back.”
“What? Your name?” I cry, trying to twist away from him. But it’s no use. He’s too strong. Too quick. And too damn sexy that I can’t think straight. “Too bad, so sad. Can’t help you with that one.”
“Then maybe you can help me with this.” He stops tickling me and presses his hard cock against my bare core.
Oh.
My sex clenches with anticipation before I peek up at him and give him a smile that’s so wide, so free, it almost hurts.
“That, I can do,” I quip before pushing him onto his back. My fingers make short work of his slacks, and I push them down to his knees as he lifts his hips to help me tug them back. And that’s when I see it. His very hard, very large erection. It glistens in the moonlight, precum dripping from the mushroom head as I run my thumb up and down the slit.
Why, hello there.
“You’re killing me, Sam,” he groans.
“Says the guy who just wrecked me.” I rub my hand up and down his shaft, slowly. Almost lazily. Like I have all the time in the world when I’m just as anxious as he is to take this to the next level. To feel him inside of me. To connect with him physically, the same way we’ve managed to connect emotionally in such a short period of time.
“Sam,” he warns, his gaze glued to my hand stroking him rhythmically.
I bite my lip and line us up before his hands dig into my waist to keep me from sinking down onto him.
“You clean?” he rasps, the last of his restraint seconds from snapping.
I blink away the lust-induced fog in my brain and try to register his question.
Shit.
I never forget to have men wrap up.
What is wrong with me?
“Oh.” I shake my head and try to focus. “Yeah. Um, I swear I never forget to use a––”
“It’s fine. I almost spaced it, too.” Reaching for his slacks, he pulls out a condom from his wallet, handing it to me. ”Here.”
“Thanks.” After ripping it open, I roll the condom onto his very hard, very ready cock, as I bite my lip. The sudden dose of reality hits me square in the chest. This guy is affecting me. He’s affecting me on a level that I didn’t even think was possible, especially since we’ve only known each other for a solid three hours. It’s just a one-night stand. It’s exactly what I was hoping for when I saw him sitting at the bar. It’s a solid orgasm and a few good laughs. That’s what he was signing up for. That’s what I was signing up for.
But if that’s the case, why does the idea of having a condom separating us feel so…jarring? And why did I forget to use one in the first place?
“Hey.” His warm hand encompasses my wrist as I stare blankly at the grass beneath us. “We don’t have to––”
“I know,” I murmur, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Then, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head, barely understanding my feelings myself, let alone being expected to explain them to someone else.
He sits up and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Seriously, Sam. No pressure. We can call it a night, go grab some ice cream––”
“I’m fine. Really,” I argue. “I’ve just never forgotten something that important before, and that’s…not good.”
“Neither have I.” Cupping my cheek, he presses a slow, needy kiss against me. It’s sweet. And patient. And filled with a tenderness that damn near breaks me.
When I pull away, I keep my eyes closed and soak up the sweet sentiment in a simple kiss before admitting, “But this feels good.”
“Yeah, Sammie,” he sighs, pressing his forehead to mine. “This feels really good.”
His still-ready erection bobs between us, teasing my inner thighs as I sit in his lap. Without any pressure to finish what we’ve started. Without any malice if I don’t. Just acceptance. And trust. And an overall connection that’s deeper than getting off. It’s more, somehow. And it reminds me that we only have tonight, and if I don’t take advantage of every single moment, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
Pressing my mouth to his again, I grab his shaft in my hand, lifting up a few inches onto my knees before using the head to toy with my entrance. That same slow build of tension starts to resurface as Hawthorne cups my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers as his other arm snakes around my lower back. Holding me. Guiding me. Before I slowly sink down onto him.
A low moan slips out of me, my mouth open wide as he stretches me fully.
Ouch.
Pushing my hair away from my face, he murmurs, “You okay?”
“Uh…” I wiggle my hips carefully, letting myself get accustomed to his size before forcing out all the oxygen from my lungs. “Uh-huh.”
So…Boris is a big guy. Noted.
Once I’m fully seated, I open my eyes and look down at him. “And you? You okay down there, Boris?”
He chuckles dryly. “Just dandy, Princess.”
“Brilliant.”
I roll my hips slightly before pressing my hand to his shoulder to steady me. Then I lift myself up again and push down a little harder.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
The friction slowly builds as another orgasm rises to the surface, and I ride him in nothing but the moonlight and the cool summer air. It feels good. Great, actually. Better than I could’ve ever imagined. And freeing. Like it’s more than a connection of bodies. It’s a connection of souls too. It’s a moment when I don’t have to worry about SeaBird, or my family’s health, or even Broken Vows and whether or not they’ll ever get their chance in the limelight. It’s about me. And Hawthorne. And living in the moment.
With another low growl, Hawthorne grabs the back of my neck and pulls me closer. Our chests press together, and our breaths mingle in the cool night air as we each race toward the elusive euphoria.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Thrust for thrust.
Kiss for kiss.
Faster and faster until he crashes over the edge beneath me, and the feel of him pulsing inside of me is the final push I need to explode into oblivion.
It’s perfect.
I almost feel sorry for any guy who has to follow Hawthorne’s performance because it’s officially been tattooed into my memory for the rest of my life. Not just the sex. But the entire night. And the realization that it’s almost over is…
I shake my head.
Enough souring a perfect moment with what-ifs and why-nots. I’m going to enjoy my time with him. However little of it I have left.
As we catch our breath, a dry laugh bubbles out of me.
“Something funny?” he asks.
“I changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“About you calling me Princess. If you can do that, you can call me whatever you want.”
He chuckles, pushing the hair away from my sweaty forehead before running his thumb against my flushed cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Mm-hmm. I bet you will.”
His smile softens. “I had fun tonight, Sammie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too.” I dive in for another peck across his lips, committing his taste to memory for the lonely nights in my foreseeable future. Without him to spend them with, they kind of seem…dim.
As if he can read my mind, he tilts my head to the side and deepens the kiss, dragging his tongue along the seam of my lips before letting out another low groan. When he pulls away, he mutters, “I’m not sure that I’m ready for our night to end.”
“Me, either,” I admit. “Would you maybe want to come sleep at my place tonight? We could eat our chips and salsa. Maybe watch a show or something? How long are you planning on staying?”
“I’m allowed to make my own schedule,” he returns. Cryptically. Evasively. Like he knows a secret that only he’s privy to.
“Hmm,” I hum. “And
what does your schedule look like for the foreseeable future?”
“I dunno. What does your schedule look like for the foreseeable future?” he challenges.
“Well, I did offer to let you come stay with me. Unless that seems too forward,” I rush out, my cheeks heating.
He leans closer, kissing my collar bone. “I’d love to stay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Chapter Three
We spend the night talking. And laughing. And snuggling. And having sex. And eating. And talking some more. And having more sex. And…you get the point.
But no matter how much time we spent soaking up each other’s presence, we couldn’t stop the morning from coming.
And now, it’s here.
Snuggled in my one-bedroom apartment, the light casting a warm glow from the window, a foreboding sense of loss taints the picture-perfect moment of us together. In bed. Tangled in the sheets after another mind-blowing orgasm.
Dragging his fingers up and down my bare arm as I stay lost in my thoughts, Hawthorne murmurs, “What are you thinking about?”
I bite my lip to keep from freaking him out. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” he teases. “Tell me.”
How do I tell him that I’m thinking about him leaving and that it sucks? How do I tell him that I want him to stay, even though I know it could never work? The guy’s too big for a small town. He’d never want to be tied down, especially to a girl like me.
“Tell me,” he prods.
Peeking up at him, I admit, “I guess I was just thinking about last night.”
“And?”
“And I had fun. Thanks for…completely turning my world upside down.”
He chuckles softly. “Don’t mention it. I had fun too.”
“You did?”
“Of course.” He looks down at me, his eyebrows wrinkled together. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I’m not some big-city girl, Boris. I don’t even want to know about the girls from your past, let alone the ones I had to compete with to keep you entertained, even if it was just for one night.”
“Big-city girls?” He sits up a few inches. “Do I sense some insecurities, Princess?”
“You know what I mean,” I hedge. “I’m a bartender slash business student who wears jean shorts and tank tops and spends her money on drive-thru fish tacos and student loans. Tell me that’s not exactly your usual type.”
Toying with the strands of my hair, he doesn’t bother to argue. Because he can’t. Because I’m right. And it kind of sucks.
“Can I ask something, Princess?” he murmurs after a few seconds of silence.
“What?”
His chest expands beneath my cheek as he takes a deep breath. “What if I––”
The shrill ring of his cell cuts him off, and he groans before rolling over and fishing the phone from his grass-stained slacks.
“Hello?” he answers.
Silence.
His gaze darts over to mine. “Is that right?”
Silence.
“I understand that, Donny, but you have to see it from my point of view––”
His cool blue eyes hold mine before he scratches his jaw and tilts his head to the side, listening to whatever the person on the other end of the call is saying.
After a few seconds, he murmurs, “I’m feeling optimistic right now, so I’ll make you a deal, Donny. If Gibson comes on tour, babysits Fen, and sings a song or two on stage, then I’ll make it happen.”
Silence.
“Yeah, you owe me one,” he mutters.
Crawling over to him, I press a kiss between his shoulder blades, then dig my fingers into his tight muscles. His head rolls forward as he fights off a groan of appreciation and says, “One more thing, Donny. I want you to extend the invitation to Gibson’s friend.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “What was her name again?”
“Dove Walker,” I answer, kneading his muscles with all my strength.
“That’s right. Dove Walker.” He melts into me and closes his eyes, trying to focus on the conversation, though I have a feeling I’m making it difficult for him. “I want you to make sure she’s invited to tour with them. I think she’d do well.”
Silence.
“Yeah, I know she might be a nobody, but she’s got talent, Donny. Trust me. I saw it firsthand.”
Silence.
“Alright. Let me know how it goes,” Hawthorne replies. “We’ll talk soon.”
He hangs up the phone, turns around, and gives me his full attention. “Sorry about that––”
“You gave them another shot,” I interrupt.
Squeezing the back of his neck, a sheepish Boris shrugs one shoulder. “I guess I did.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I like you.”
My heart stalls in my chest before making up the lost beat in double time. Pushing the feelings aside, I challenge, “And you decided that was enough to put your reputation on the line?”
“Maybe.”
I press a soft kiss to his lips and peek up at him, committing the moment to memory. It might not seem like a big deal for this strong man to bend like this and give Broken Vows another chance, but I think it is. And he did it for me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He cups the side of my face, dragging his calloused thumb along my cheekbone as his icy blue gaze scans my face. “I want to stay, Princess.”
With a subtle flinch, I blink slowly. “W-what?”
“I said…I want to stay. With you. Here.”
“But…” I shake my head.
He’s toying with me.
That has to be what he’s doing.
“What about work?” I ask. “What about your job? Your life? Why would you want to give all that up? Because I’ve what? Intrigued you?”
His soft smile melts a bit of my reservations as his warm hand squeezes my bare thigh. In my bedroom. After we just spent the perfect night together.
“Sam, you’ve done more than intrigue me. You’ve made me feel alive for the first time in years. As for my job, I travel for work. Who’s to say I can’t keep doing that as long as I come home to you?”
Home. To me.
This can’t be happening. It’s too good to be true. He’s too good to be true.
“You want that?” I whisper. “To come home here? In this little town?”
“If it’s where you are, then yes. I like you, Sammie Norris. I like you a lot.”
There are those damn words again.
My chest tightens, and I rub at the site, desperate to let myself fall while terrified of what will happen if I do.
“Tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he challenges, misinterpreting my hesitancy for indecision when I’ve never felt more sure of anything in my entire life.
And that’s what’s alarming.
“Tell me you aren’t curious about what this could turn into if we gave it a real shot, and I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again, and Broken Vows will still get their spot on tour. We’ll chalk last night up to a fun, romantic hook-up, and that’ll be it. But I felt something with you. Something I want to explore more. Like I said, Sammie, I like you. I like you a lot,” he repeats.
“I like you too,” I admit, terrified of how real the truth feels as it claws its way up my throat. “But…” My voice trails off as the same stupid what-if’s cloud my thoughts.
“But what, Sam?”
Chewing on my thumbnail, I peek up at him again. “What if I don’t keep you interested? What if you get bored––”
“With you?” He laughs. “Not possible. I told you, Sammie. My entire career is based on finding the diamond in the rough. And you’re a diamond. A princess. My princess, if you’ll have me.”
“Boris…”
“Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me you don’t feel the same way I do.”
“It’s been one night––”
“Yeah? Well, it’s
been a decade of me searching for this feeling, and I’m not going to let you go without telling you how I feel. And before you get all freaked out by this conversation, I’m not saying I love you. I’m just saying that if we got to know each other better, I could. And I’m not going to let that go easily. What do you say, Sammie?”
The hope in his eyes––the vulnerability––almost knocks me on my ass before I press my forehead to his and breathe in deep, savoring his already familiar scent like it’s a fine wine.
How can I already miss someone when they’re right in front of me?
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, my voice nothing but a whisper.
“Neither am I.”
Then he kisses me, sealing our fate with a kiss that’s so sweet, so addictive, that I can almost see our future together. My days spent at SeaBird. My nights filled with Hawthorne. Traveling with him throughout the year. Listening to music. Loving life. And him. Loving him. With every fiber of my being. My Boris Hawthorne. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even convince him to take my last name.
A light laugh escapes me.
“Something funny?” he asks.
I shake my head, my heart close to bursting. “Nope. Nothing at all, Boris. Nothing at all.”
Interested in reading more about Dove, Gibson, and Fender?
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About Kelsie Rae
Kelsie is a sucker for a love story with all the feels. When she's not chasing words for her next book, you will probably find her reading or, more likely, hanging out with her husband and playing with her three kiddos who love to drive her crazy.
She adores photography, baking, her two pups, and her cat who thinks she’s a dog. Now that she's actively pursuing her writing dreams, she's set her sights on someday finding the self-discipline to not binge-watch an entire series on Netflix in one sitting.
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