Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance

by Force,Marie

  I reach back to caress his face. “I knew you were drunk. I wish you remembered, but we were both at fault.”

  “I never drink like that. Or I haven’t in years anyway. Won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “Is it okay for me to ask… What brought it on this time?”

  “It’s okay for you to ask, and if you must know, you brought it on.”

  “Me? What did I have to do with you getting roaring drunk?”

  “Everything,” he says with a sigh. “I’ve thought about you constantly since that weekend we had together, and I wanted more but didn’t know how to go about asking for it. I told you it would just be those two nights, and I wanted to be fair to you, so I stayed away, and that about killed me. I hit the bottle last night because I needed some relief from the longing.”

  His confession makes me sad for him and happy for both of us at the same time. “I missed you every day that you stayed away.”

  “You did? Really?”

  “Really. I thought about you and us and the amazing sex we’d had nonstop.”

  “The sex was pretty damned amazing, but that was only part of it.”

  With my head resting on his shoulder, I look up at him. “What was the other part?”

  “You, Honey. You were the most important part. I felt so… I don’t know… calm when you were around. Peaceful. I mean, not all the time.” He waggles his brows to convey his meaning. “But most of the time, I was calm. I’m not explaining this well at all.”

  “You’re doing a great job of explaining exactly how I felt, too. Since Gran died, I’ve felt sort of lost and alone, and for a short time when we were together, I didn’t feel quite so alone.”

  “Yes,” he says with a sigh that sounds like relief. “That’s it exactly.” He tightens his arms around me and brushes his lips over my hair. “Earlier, when I thought I’d ruined any chance I ever had with you, it hurt like hell.”

  “I’m sorry you were hurting and that I didn’t answer when you came to the door. I just needed some time to process everything.”

  “You needed some time to process that something big happened between us and I don’t remember it.”

  “Something like that.”

  “What else happened besides what you’ve already told me?”

  I can’t say it. I can’t tell him that we were throwing the L word around out of fear that he’ll run away and never come back.

  He nuzzles my neck and gently cups my breasts, running his thumbs over my nipples. “Tell me, Honeybee. I want to know. Fill in the blanks for me. Tell me everything.”

  I’m not sure if I can or should do that, but I resolve to try. “Jimmy called me because he remembered us leaving together that first night. He said you needed a ride home, so I drove out there.”

  Blake blows out a deep breath. “I hate the idea of you coming in there alone when I was too out of it to look out for you.”

  “No one bothered me.”

  “You were lucky—we both were. I shudder to think about any of the guys who hang out there touching you.”

  There’s that possessive streak again—the one I shouldn’t love as much as I do. “Anyway, I talked you into letting me drive you home, and you made me promise I would stay.”

  “And did you? Did you promise?”

  “It seemed important to you, so I did.” I cover his hands on my breasts with my hands, needing to touch him. “You fell asleep on the way home, and I had to plug your nose to wake you up.”

  He snorts out a laugh. “That’s a dirty trick.”

  “It was the only way I could get you to wake up. I wrestled you inside, and you insisted we needed a shower. Then you dragged me in with you and somehow managed to recover enough to have shower sex that became bedroom sex when you carried me into your room.”

  “I wish I could remember that.”

  “I wish you could, too, especially the next part when you said you wanted me there, and begged me to let you. I couldn’t say no to you because…”

  “Why?” he asks, his tone urgent and desperate.

  “You said you’ve loved me for as long as you’ve known me.”

  “Ahhh, Honey, God… I’m such an asshole.”

  “Why? Because it’s not true?”

  “No, because it is true, but that was no way to tell you so.” He hugs me even tighter, so tight I have trouble breathing. “Let’s get out of here.” He releases me and gets out so he can help me. Wrapping a towel around me, he dries every inch of me and makes quick work of drying himself. Then he takes my hand and leads me to bed.

  Blake turns the AC down to a cooler setting, and we snuggle in under the covers, meeting in the middle where he pulls me in tight against him. “I made you bleed, Honey,” he whispers. “That’s all I can think about.”

  “You didn’t hurt me, not like you think you did. It did hurt, but I’m fine, and it was pretty great once it stopped hurting.”

  “Really? You liked it?”

  “I liked it. It’s not something I want to do all the time, but maybe on special occasions, I could be convinced.”

  I feel his lips curve against my forehead. “What would constitute a special occasion?”

  “Our anniversary, your birthday, when you bring me flowers…”

  “That’s all I’d have to do to have this?” He squeezes my ass cheek. “Bring flowers?”

  “They’d have to be really, really good flowers. Lo can hook you up.”

  “Good to know.” He continues to caress my ass, sending tingles of awareness darting through my body. “I want to do it again when I’m stone-cold sober, so I can remember every detail.”

  “Get back to me about that in a couple of weeks.”

  “Did I like it?”

  “You loved it. You said my ass was the tightest, hottest ass, and that every guy in Marfa wanted to be you right then.”

  He lets out a sound that’s half growl, half groan. “It’s so, so true, and I hate that it’s all a blank to me. I’m going to need to fill in that blank or go crazy wondering what I missed.”

  When I feel the press of his cock against my belly, I realize the conversation has turned him on. “You want me to tell you all about it?”

  “Mmm, yes, please do.”

  “After you begged me to let you, and I agreed—against my better judgment, I might add—you reached for the lube and knocked the lamp off the table. And by the way, if you never take women home with you, why is there lube and a box of extra-large condoms in your bedside table?”

  “That’s just where I keep them, but I swear to you, I’ve never had sex in that bed with anyone but you.”

  “I believe you. Anyway, you used your fingers and lubed me up, and then yourself, and then… I felt the most intense pressure.”

  He takes my hand and wraps it around his cock, moving it up and down in a slow, lazy rhythm. The moisture gathering at the tip provides lubrication, and he gets even harder. “Then what?”

  “The head popped in, and I screamed. It hurt like hell.”

  “Ahh, darlin’, I’m so sorry.”

  “You made it better by caressing my clit.”

  “Like this?” His fingers slide through the dampness between my legs to press against the knot of nerves.

  “Yeah,” I whisper breathlessly, “just like that. You made me come so hard when you were entering me there while doing that. And afterward, when I came back down from the incredible high, you were fucking me hard. You made me come again and you came, too, that time.”

  He groans, and his release floods my hand. “God, that was so hot, Honey. I want to record that whole story and listen to it over and over and over again.”

  “No sense recording it when we can just live it.”

  “Is that what you really want?”

  “Is it what you want?”

  “I asked first.” As we banter, he continues to alternate small circles around my clit with deep strokes of his fingers inside me. He’s got me continuously on the verge of
release.

  “I feel like we’re back on that playground and you’re pinching again.”

  His soft chuckle makes me smile. I love to hear him laugh, to know I’m making him happy and easing the terrible burden he’s carried with him for so long now. Turning me onto my back, he kisses down the front of me, and I hold my breath, knowing where he’s going and how amazing it’ll feel.

  He props my legs on his broad shoulders and replaces his fingers with his tongue. He’s got me so primed that it doesn’t take much to take me the rest of the way to a slow, lazy release that rolls through me like waves rather than explosions. It’s no less satisfying than the explosions.

  Blake stays with me through the last wave and then gathers the moisture on his fingers to gently rub my anus.

  I gasp from the pleasure as much as the residual ache.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says. “It’ll never happen again.”

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  “Not okay.”

  “Come up here.” I reach for him and draw him into my arms to kiss and hug and soothe him. “Nothing happened that I didn’t want. Do you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “I hear you, but I still wish it hadn’t happened the way it did.”

  “Let’s move on. Gran always said it’s better to look forward than backward. We can’t change the past. We can only live for right now.”

  “Your Gran was a wise lady.”

  “She was the best person I ever knew. I wish I was more like her.”

  “Why would you say that? You’re perfect the way you are.”

  “The girl she thought she raised never would’ve walked into a bar and asked a man to fuck her.”

  “That was the coolest, ballsiest, most awesome thing that’s ever happened in my entire life, so please don’t turn it into something you feel you need to be ashamed of. I’d hate that.”

  “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “If we ever have grandchildren together, will you promise me you’ll never tell them the story of how we got together?”

  He stares at me for a long moment, during which I have no idea what he’s thinking—or if I’ve gone too far down the road too quickly. “You see us having grandchildren together?”

  I rest my hand on his handsome face and stare into the blue eyes that have utterly captivated me. “I see us having everything together.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I’d forgotten how it feels to be really, truly happy. I’d forgotten what it’s like to have somewhere better to be at the end of every day than a bar where no one gives a shit about me—except Jimmy, apparently. Every night I get to come home to Honey, and every morning I wake up to her sweet face on the pillow next to me.

  And in between getting home from work and waking up in the morning?

  Whoa. Amazing. Just flat-out incredible. I’m not just talking about the sex, which is all those things. It’s her. It’s how I feel when I’m with her, like I’ve come home or something equally cheesy.

  I’m incredibly happy, and the people around me are noticing, beginning with the guys I work with who’ve been busting my balls for whistling at work. I know, it’s funny, and if it were one of them who suddenly started getting laid—and whistling—I’d be all over it the way they are.

  Doesn’t bother me. Not much bothers me these days.

  My parents and siblings have also noticed that something has changed. They don’t know what or who—yet—but they will, soon enough. We have a family reunion next weekend, and I’m planning to bring Honey to meet the aunts, uncles and cousins. She already knows my parents and siblings, but she hasn’t met my nieces and nephews yet, and I’m looking forward to that.

  I bet she’ll be great with them, and they’ll love her as much as I do.

  You heard me right—I love her. Like I told her—once when I was drunk and again the next day—I’ve always loved her. It pains me to admit that I had a thing for Honey even when I was with Jordan. Not that it kept me from committing fully to Jordan. It didn’t. I was all-in with her, but always, in the back of my mind, was Honey, unattainable, remote, out of reach until that night in the bar that I’ll never forget.

  I want you to fuck me.

  Before that night, I never would’ve believed that six words could change a life, but they changed mine so profoundly, I almost can’t remember what it was like before she said them. Truthfully, I don’t want to remember what it was like to be lonely and bored and relentless in my efforts to work so hard that I didn’t have time or energy to do anything else but eat and sleep and occasionally indulge in a meaningless screw.

  I’m not proud of my drive-by relationships, especially the one I had years ago with Lauren when I was still reeling from the loss of Jordan. She was there for me, and I took the comfort anywhere I could find it. I’ve always been thankful that she doesn’t hold it against me, and we’re still friends. I’m especially thankful now that I’m in love with her best friend, who is snug against me on the sofa as we watch a chick flick that she was dying to see.

  An hour in, I have no idea who’s in the movie or what it’s about. Why would I bother to care about that when I have her in my arms? I breathe in the fragrant scent of her hair and think about how I’m going to fuck her. She loves my creativity in bed, and I like to keep her guessing about what’s on the menu on any given night. We go on amazing dates, like the night when we drove out of town so Honey could take pictures of the Marfa Magical Lights and then ate at the Food Shark Museum of Electronic Wonders & Late Night Grilled Cheese Parlour, a local institution.

  Life is good. I can’t believe that I, Blake Dempsey, the emotionless machine of a man, is actually saying that, but it’s true.

  Knowing how easily I’m able to distract her, I let my fingers dip under the hem of one of her sexy-as-fuck tank tops that I swear she changes into after work so I’ll be hard as a rock every damned night. If that’s her strategy, it works, as does my strategy of distracting her with the drag of my fingertips over her taut belly.

  I’m completely addicted to the softness of her skin. I love that she’s lost her tan lines after a few more trips to the swimming hole for skinny-dipping, sunbathing and lovemaking.

  When I bought the place, I figured I’d bring it back to life and then sell it at a profit. But now, I’ve begun to picture a life with Honey in the farmhouse that once belonged to Jordan’s grandparents. I see a bunch of little blond kids running around, chickens and goats in the yard and maybe a horse or two in the barn. The more time Honey and I spend out there, the more clearly I see it. I have no idea what she sees in the future, but we have plenty of time to figure that out.

  I continue to stroke her skin, working my way up to cup her breast. I love the way she pushes her ass against my cock, rubbing me shamelessly while she continues to watch the movie—or at least I think she’s watching the movie. Pinching her nipple between my fingers, I give it a gentle tug.

  “What’re you up to back there?” she asks, sounding breathless and aroused, the way I love her best.

  “Just watching the movie.”

  “You are not!”

  I laugh at her indignant tone. “I am.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Some chick who wants a dude and isn’t smart enough to walk into a bar and ask him to fuck her to move things along.”

  She shakes with silent laughter. “Are you ever going to forget that?”

  “Never, ever, ever, ever.” I continue to tug on her nipple until it’s hard and pointy and she’s actively squirming. “You still watching the movie?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what else is on the agenda for this evening.”

  “Darlin’, you know what’s on the agenda, but you really wanted to see this movie.” I release her nipple and start to pull my hand away. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  Her hand on top of mine stops my retreat. Thank goodness. The last fuck
ing thing I want to do is stop touching her. She turns so she’s on her back, looking up at me. “What would you rather do?”

  “Absolutely anything that gets me inside of you.” I love the way her cheeks flush and her eyes go wide when I say something like that. What I love even more is when she shocks the shit out of me by grabbing the hem of her tank and peeling it up and over her head and then shimmying out of her shorts and panties.

  Wow, look at all that gorgeous honey-colored skin.

  “Well?” she says with a saucy grin. Then she raises her arms over her head, offering herself to me. The trust I see in her eyes and in her expression humbles me.

  “You’re so beautiful, Honey. Every inch of you is beautiful.”

  “You make me feel beautiful.”

  I flatten my hand on her belly and watch the muscles flutter under my hand. She’s so responsive, and her heart is wide open to me. I’m well aware that I have the power to hurt her. The thought of that kills me. I never want to hurt her. All I want is to make her as happy as she’s made me.

  She tugs on the button to my jeans and unzips me. “You’re overdressed.” Rather than go straight for my cock the way I expected her to, she drags her fingers over the hair that leads to my groin. I had no idea why that was called a happy trail until she touched me there, and now it makes perfect sense. Everything she does to me, every touch, caress, gesture and sexy, loving look she sends my way makes me happy.

  “Take them off,” she says of my jeans.

  I wiggle my way out of them with her help.

  “Sit up.”

  She seems to be enjoying telling me what to do, so I follow her orders. That pays off when she straddles my lap and brings the heat of her core down on my cock, tilting her hips back and forth and generally driving me nuts.

  I reach around her to fill my hands with her supple ass cheeks, squeezing and shaping them as she drags her breasts over my chest. This is the sweetest sort of torture, and I love the leisurely pace, knowing we have all the time in the world to explore and bring each other pleasure. I’m her slave, and she knows it, the little vixen.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asks, looking down at me from her perch on my lap.