by Anthology
A loud noise erupted that could have broken the windows of a city skyscraper. The most God-awful smell permeated the air. It was rancid. Worse than any odor she’d ever sniffed. Like fermented, rotting baked beans, and cooked cabbage. Rank.
What in the–
Silent, they glowered at each other dumbfounded and shocked at the unpleasantness. Freya gagged as she fought the impulse to puke. Then she noticed how Cyrus strangled a cough before he went limp. The mood collapsed.
Awkward.
“Destiny!” Cyrus bit out between choking and hacking.
Destiny?
Bamboozled by the pungent scent and his words, Freya stood, and then peered at him, shrugging her shoulders to express her confusion. Unable to speak from the horrendous stench burning the back of her throat and nose, Freya forced herself to swallow as she put her hand over her mouth, not wanting to retch. She then forced measured air into her lungs by breathing through the sleeve of her shirt. “Cyrus?”
He ignored her, at first. Then a huge grin, highlighting those dimples Freya wanted to lick, widened across his face. “Holy Hell. Was that you because you just blew me away.” He looked directly at her, and a sparkle shined in his glassy blues as he gave her an interesting sneer.
At once, they burst out laughing. This had to be a well-played joke, right? Were they unsuspectingly on a prank show?
Once their amusement subsided, their breathing regulated, and the awkwardness dissipated. Freya was thankful Cyrus diffused the inelegance of the horse’s flatulence that disturbed their intimate moment. She wasn’t certain whether she ever knew another man who would’ve been so clever or unpretentious during such an uncomfortable first time.
After redressing, they kissed once before mounting their horses. They talked the entire way back to the farm. This. That. Nothing. Everything. No longer official strangers, it was as though their risqué escapade brought them closer in a strange way. Every so often, one of them would erupt into laughter, causing the other to laugh, too.
The country estate with the huge ‘Magnolia Stables’ signage came into view. As they neared the stable yard, they pulled back on the reins to conclude their ride. Upon entering the barn and dismounting, they handed the horses over to the ranch hands and headed back outdoors.
“So, why’d you say Destiny earlier?” Freya asked, stopping a few feet from her car near the fence.
Cyrus loomed over her, pressing her back against the rails, caging her with his arms. “Destiny is the name of the horse you were riding today. She’s also the same horse who interrupted our intimacy, giving us another opportunity to properly finish what we started. So, in every way that matters, Freya, it is destiny.” Moving closer to her face, he regarded her then kissed her with the same intensity as earlier. When he pulled back, she was breathless. Freya stared into his eyes, but didn’t have the chance to say a word.
“Son, don’t heckle the clients.” An articulated female voice called from a nearby pen and broke their private moment. “Hi, Freya.”
Magnolia.
Chalk up awkward incident number two.
Freya sighed, then glimpsed back over at Magnolia. With a whip at her side and a lunge line in her hand, Magnolia glanced over at them at that exact moment and laughed. Visibly entertained. Realizing even a polished woman like Magnolia could appreciate the innocence of two young lovers; Freya calmed, despite her embarrassment.
She elbowed Cyrus. “Son? You’re Magnolia’s son?” She half-laughed, a mix between slight annoyance and disgrace, at this newly learned fact.
“You never asked.” Cyrus guffawed and then kissed her forehead before he offered her the most sympathetic puppy eyes as an informal apology.
“Hmm… Well, you never told me, either,” Freya said, dismissing his attempts, and elbowed him – again.
They chuckled until Cyrus grew more serious. A gleam of mischief remained while he regarded Freya. “Destiny. It’s all about destiny, Freya. So how ‘bout we finish what we started?”
Some destiny.
For a brief moment, Freya studied Magnolia as she trained and contemplated how Magnolia had always exhibited the epitome of grace. She’d admired that about her. Even now, as she worked the horse on the lunge line, Magnolia exhibited such control. A refined and elegant handler. If Magnolia, whom she respected, appeared to be okay with the tryst between she and Cyrus, why should Freya refuse it? The true prospect of destiny had Freya hopeful.
Freya eyed Cyrus. “Okay, St. Clair. Well, you still have a helluva lot of proving to do. And, you promised me the ‘best ride of my life,’ remember?” She resisted the rising cackle, and opted to offer him his last out. “You sure you want to do this?”
He nodded. “All in, Chestnut. Couldn’t beat me away with a crop. Well, you could beat me with a crop-” His words broke off with his short, arrogant laugh.
Freya stifled a snicker and ignored the innuendo. Lord help her if they ever got the crops out. Instead of a direct reply, at first, she played coy and gave him a deliberate wink. Then, she snaked her way out of his arm hold, and displayed a playful smirk. “Friday night, eight o’clock. Don’t be late.” She kissed him – hard – then pulled back. Teasing him more, she ran her tongue across her bottom lip before she walked away.
Freya headed to her car with Cyrus’s glare burning holes in the seat of her pants. Once there, she yelled back, “Oh! And get my number from your mother.” She added extra emphasis on that last word before she blew him a kiss. “See ya Friday, Cyrus.”
Right before Freya shut her car door, she heard the loudest catcall she’d ever heard. As her Jeep roared to life, robust laughter burst forth. Cyrus leaned against the fence, arms crossed, and smugly leered at her. A piece of straw hung from between his lips, and a wicked look shone on his face. Then, she noticed the crop by his side as he tapped it against his leg.
Bad, bad cowboy. Freya giggled.
Oh, this man had charmed her. She had met her match. His naughty repartee and sexiness intrigued her. Despite, or perhaps because of, the earlier blowjob, baked beans, and cabbage incident, Cyrus would be a force to reckon with. She couldn’t wait until Friday.
The End
Note From Mel:
Thanks so much for reading. It was an absolute honor and so much fun to participate with talented friends on this project. The characters in this short story will have their own novel, so stay tuned for more Freya and Cyrus.
* * *
Mel Ballew is an International bestselling author of Shattered Into Beautiful, A Surviving Soul Novel, and Shameless, Less is More series. She resides in rural Pennsylvania with her husband, two spoiled cats, and a rambunctious German shepherd puppy.
A hopeless romantic, Mel writes about love, inspired by her soulmate love with her husband. Whether reading or writing, she believes ‘Romance Is Magick’, and her preferred genre of choice is any realm of paranormal / urban fantasy where magic, mayhem, and lust between supernatural beings abound.
Aside from fur babies, an addiction to coffee, and her love of vampires, witches, angels, and shifters – oh my – copious amounts of sweet wine, an indulgence in anything chocolate and peanut butter, and her profound love of nature are necessities for Mel. For her, these make life Simply D’vine.
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Love Interrupted
R.E. Hunter
“Wake up, beautiful.”
The raspy voice was accompanied by a warm hand slipping beneath Embry’s shirt, fingers splaying wide across her belly. Desire spread through her barely-awakened body as she felt the ghost of his lips brush the corner of her mouth.
She stirred, letting out a soft moan.
“Baby.” His hand traveled up her stomach and cupped her breast, fingers deftly working her hardened nipple and making her body come alive. “Your husband needs you.”
She let her eyes fall open, squinting into the sun-bright room.
Luke moved above her
, and cobalt eyes filled her vision. A day’s worth of stubble coated his angular jaw, and all she could think of was how good it would feel scraping against the inside of her thighs.
“Hi.” She stretched beneath him, luxuriating in the feel of him.
“Hi, yourself.” His lips curved in a seductive smile, giving her all the signal she needed.
Just as he bent his head to kiss her, Embry jumped out of bed and ran straight into the master bath, Luke’s questioning voice trailing behind her.
Flinging open the mirrored cabinet, she shoved her toothbrush into her mouth while swiping on fresh deodorant and spritzing herself with body spray. She closed the cabinet and inspected herself in the mirror. Running a hand through her unruly waves, she squeezed a small amount of toothpaste onto her finger and ran back into the bedroom.
Luke stared at her, his face flooded with disbelief.
She climbed back into bed, throwing a megawatt grin at her husband. “I’m ready.”
“You’re—”
Embry shoved her toothpaste-covered finger straight into Luke’s mouth. “Here,” she said, interrupting him.
He gripped her wrist, pulling her finger away. “What the fuck?”
“Toothpaste,” she said.
“I can taste that, Bree. But what the hell are you doing?”
“Freshening up. Now, come on. We don’t have much time.”
Luke’s eyebrows rose toward the ceiling. “We don’t have—”
Embry pressed her minty-fresh finger against his lips, silencing him. Grabbing his face, she pulled it toward her, frantically kissing his lips as she reached for the hem of her shirt. She struggled against the tee, her arms tangling in the sleeves as she continued the assault on his mouth.
“Screw it.” She gave up her fight and left the shirt hanging around her neck, one arm in, one arm out. Instead she focused her attention on Luke’s boxer briefs. She reached down, pushing against the elastic waist, lifting up her legs and using her feet to help slide the material off his hips. “We’re wasting precious time,” she mumbled.
“Baby?” Luke leaned down just as Embry’s head snapped up, slamming into his chin. “Aw, fuck, Bree!”
She grinned awkwardly at him. “Sorry. You okay?”
He propped himself above her and rubbed at his bottom lip, wiping away a small spot of blood that dotted the surface. “I’m fine. But maybe we can slow this down a little, sweetheart?”
Embry wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back down to her. “I can’t,” she said against his lips.
He traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue and she opened for him, a shiver of need shooting up her spine as he deepened the kiss. She shimmied out of her own underwear and locked her legs around him. “We have to hurry.”
Luke paused, staring down at her in bewilderment.
“We’ve only got about five minutes, babe, but I might be able to finish in three if I’m on top.” She swung her weight into him, rolling them over so she was straddling him.
“Bree,” Luke let out a strangled grunt, “there’s a—” His words were quickly drowned out by a high-pitched whirring coming from beneath them.
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire. Ladder Company Four, we’re rollin’!”
Luke tossed Embry onto the bed before reaching beneath him and pulling out a big red fire truck, lights and sirens blaring.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, staring at their son’s toy with betrayal in his eyes.
Embry brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle threatening to escape. His gaze flicked to hers and he held up the truck. “You think this is funny?”
She nodded shyly.
Luke tossed the toy to the floor and was on her before she could protest. He gripped her wrists, holding her arms above her head and pinned her body beneath him. “No more unwanted encounters with toys. No more rushing. We’re going to take our time. Okay, baby?”
“We are?” Embry stared up into pools of blue desire.
“We are.” He dipped his head, lips teasing the column of her neck. “There’s no four-alarm fire, no three-year-old about to barge into our room, leaving a trail of animal crackers and destruction in his wake. We’re good.”
Luke continued his journey south, dropping open-mouthed kisses across her chest.
“Wh-where’s Dylan?” she asked breathlessly as Luke’s tongue swirled around her pebbled nipple.
“At the beach with Cam and Mackayla.”
“He is?”
Luke nodded.
Embry let out a sigh, her body going boneless beneath him as he kissed his way down her stomach, mouth grazing over her ribs and causing her core to fill with warmth. “You seemed like you needed sleep,” he said against her too-warm skin, “so I took care of him this morning and got him up and out.”
“Oh.” She pushed up onto her elbows, inwardly cringing at the fact that she’d pretty much just sexually assaulted her own husband. “So we really do have time?”
Luke gripped her legs and pulled her down the bed, pinning her beneath him. “Yes, sweetheart, we have all the time in the world. Now,” he rasped, lips teasing the corner of her mouth, “if we’re finished with twenty questions, I’m trying to fuck my wife.”
He captured her mouth in a searing kiss; his tongue pushing past her lips and sweeping in to take ownership as his hard cock nudged her entrance. She was high on his drugging kisses and out of her mind with need.
“Thank you,” she sighed against his mouth as she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in close.
He pushed inside of her, burying himself to the hilt. “I can think of a few things you can do to thank me.”
Embry wrapped her legs around him, matching him thrust for thrust as he took her higher. Her thoughts drifted, any worries she had slipping away as she lost herself in sensation.
“Fuck, baby,” Luke said, thrusting hard and deep before dragging himself slowly out. “You feel amaz—”
The door banged open, slamming against the wall. “Dad-eeeeeeeeee!”
Luke went stock-still and Embry stared up at him in wide-eyed horror.
“Daddy?” uncertainty filled their son’s voice.
Luke sprung into action, pulling the sheet from the bed and expertly wrapping it around his waist while Embry ducked under the covers like a child.
“Hey bud,” he knelt before Dylan. “What are you doing here?”
“Daddy, you got a flower on your butt?”
Embry would’ve laughed at her son’s description of Luke’s shamrock had she not been in full-blown panic mode.
Luke shrugged off the question. “Nope, no flower here, little man. Where’s Uncle Camden?”
“Oh. Well, Unka Cam…” Dylan hesitated, staring at Luke with brows furrowed. “Where’s mommy?”
Embry peeked out from the covers, smiling at their son. “I’m right here, Dyl.”
“Mommy, what you doin’? You okay under there?”
“Mommy’s fine,” Luke answered, his gaze shifting knowingly to Embry’s. “We were having a tickle fight.”
Dylan nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, it looked like you were winning, Dad.”
Luke’s lips curved into a sly smile as he shot Embry a wink. “I was.”
Dylan made a beeline for the bed, but Luke intercepted him, scooping him into his arms and blowing raspberries on their son’s exposed stomach. Dylan giggled and shouted, swatting at Luke.
Embry relaxed slightly, watching her two boys laugh together. She thanked God Dylan was young enough not to realize he’d just witnessed his father pile driving into his mother. But she wondered how much therapy Dylan would need in his adolescent years to recover from the unconscious mental scars they’d surely inflicted.
“Dylan?” Luke asked warily, pulling away from his son’s stomach with a scowl.
“Yes, Daddy? More, Daddy!”
Luke set him on the floor, looking down at his hands and then at Dylan’s stomach. “Why’s your belly wet, b
ud?”
“I tried to tell you, Daddy.” Dylan rubbed at a swollen, red splotch on his stomach.
“Tell me what?” Luke asked, his eyebrows pulling together in concern.
“Sorry I peed on your kid.” Luke’s brother appeared in the doorway, casually leaning on the doorjamb and assessing both Luke and Embry with a knowing smirk.
Embry’s jaw fell open as she saw realization dawn on her husband’s face.
Dylan giggled. “Unka Cam made a wee on me!”
Luke grimaced, swiping at his mouth, then faced his brother, a vein protruding from his forehead that Embry had never seen. “You did what to my son?”
“It was so cool!” Their niece Mackayla interjected, peering around her father. “There was this jellyfish and it swam right up on Dylan and ZAP! It stung him! And then dad—”
Mackayla’s words faded into the background as Embry flew into action. A million thoughts ran through her head, but not one of them had to do with the fact that she had dropped the comforter as she frantically raced toward her little boy.
She landed back on the bed with a thunk, Luke’s weight nearly knocking the air out of her. “Luke!” She struggled against him, flailing her legs and slapping at his chest. “What are you doing? Let me go!”
“Naked, baby,” he barked in her ear. “You. Are. Naked.”
Understanding dawned on Embry, her eyes widening to saucers at the same time as another weight plopped on top of them.
“Tickle fight!” Dylan yelled, bouncing on top of Luke.
“This isn’t happening,” Embry said, staring up at her husband who was shielding her naked body with his own as their son bounced on top of them. She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head, repeating the mantra over again. “This isn’t happening. This is not happening.”
“It’s happening, sweetheart,” Luke gritted out.
The bouncing stopped and Embry released the breath she’d been holding. “Mommy! Daddy!”
“Yeah, buddy?” They answered in unison from beneath him.