by Anthology
Fuck being the nice guy.
I turn back towards the bar slamming the drink the cute bartender refilled for me, then face Chase. “Fuck it. I’ll do it.” Chase howls and Ben slaps me on the shoulder.
“You’re gonna love this, man. Head out, go to the left and meet her in the supply closet, third door down—”
“Change of plans. Opposite direction. Go right. Three doors down.” Ben steps in.
Chase looks at Ben, confused and Ben shrugs his shoulders. “That’s what Hannah Banana just told me. Other room was locked or some shit.”
“Whatever, okay so go right, three doors down. She’ll already be in there and ready. Enjoy buddy. And make sure to wrap it up!” Chase laughs, pushing me away from the bar.
I stumble away from the bar, but manage to turn and give them both the middle finger. I walk out of the banquet room and into the large foyer. So, little Hannah Matthews is in on this? I wonder if she thinks I’m a pig. If she’s jealous, wishing it was her. I always noticed the way she looked at me. Her constantly flushed cheeks. Her gawking. God, I bet she definitely wishes this was her. Fuck, I probably wouldn’t say no, if I found her little self, waiting for me, in the supply room. But, then I remember she is also Kip’s little sister and he would kill me. She is also still little Hannah Matthews.
I begin to repeat the directions out loud, so my drunken brain understands. “Right,” I say. Then count doors, one… two… three… until I make it to my destination. I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this, but I also need to get all this fucking aggression out of my system. Maybe I was doing it wrong the whole time. No attachments, no feelings. Just physical.
I knock softly on the door, letting this chick know I’m here. I wait under five seconds before I open the door and close it behind me. I’m met with complete darkness, making it difficult to even see in front of me.
“Hello?” I call out. I can hear breathing, so I know I’m not alone. “You gonna come here? Or do I have to come to you?” I ask, starting to unbutton my shirt. Small hands startle me, as they wrap around my hands, now assisting me with my shirt. The delicate scent of flowers and vanilla hit me as her perfume assaults my nostrils. It’s girly and light, and it causes a twitch in my dick.
“God, you have soft hands. And you smell good.” I tell her. Pulling my hands from my shirt, I allow her to take control. I bring my palms to her waist, noticing she’s already partially undressed. I feel her shiver when I wrap my fingers around her, my thumbs brushing against smooth skin.
“Are you nervous, baby?” I whisper, dipping my head down, filling my lungs with her scent. I place my lips to the lobe of her ear. Her fingers stall on my shirt and I know she is. So I push her more. “Or are you just as eager as I am to fuck?”
My words are blunter than my norm. But I’m drunk and I’ll never have to see her again. She doesn’t answer me, but her hands begin working faster on my shirt. When the last of my buttons are undone, she goes for my pants. The way her small hands graze down my chest, and the feel of her fingers working the button of my pants, make my dick jump into action. I’m becoming hard as fuck, needing to explore more of this woman.
I would continue to let her undress me, but she has succeeded in turning me on and I’m in no mood to take our time. Unsure of the space factor, I step forward, picking her up. She squeals softly at my attack, but I silence her with my mouth. I press my lips to hers, which are soft and taste like cherry and champagne. The feel of her mouth on mine is perfect. I work her lips to part and my tongue connects with hers. She is hesitant at first, to kiss me back, but it only takes a few seconds before she is giving in and kissing me just as hard.
“Fuck, you taste sweet. Do you fuck just as sweet, too?” God what is up with my vulgar mouth? I break away and bring my lips to her neck. Her skin is smooth as silk, and I crave to taste every single part of her. Her breathing is heavy, so I can tell she is already turned on. I bring us to a stop and as her back hits a shelf, she wraps her legs fully around my waist. I’m licking and sucking on the skin of her shoulder when a small moan filters throughout the room. My dick fucking jolts. God, that sound. It’s like fucking heaven.
“You enjoying this, sweetheart?” I ask, moving my hand down her taut stomach, wrapping my fingers around her panties and dipping inside. I groan when I find her wet as fuck. I bypass my gentlemanly ways and, instead of gently working her up as I normally would, I enter her quickly with a thick finger. Her moans are fucking with me, so sweet and needy. I can feel her squeeze around my finger. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you,” I start pumping in and out. She doesn’t answer me, which is fine. I take her mouth again, shoving my tongue inside her mouth. She returns my attack with fervor, her legs squeezing tighter around me, her tongue dancing around mine. God, this chick is fucking perfect. When I am in need of air, I pull my lips away and replace them to the center of her tits. Plump and perfect. I take my lips and suck in her nipple through her laced bra. Her hands lift, bringing her fingers deep into my scalp. I would object to the tight hold she has on my hair, but the pressure, along with her hard nipple, is the perfect combination. I can’t help it, but my thrusts inside her wet pussy have amplified and, with each little whimper that causes my dick thicker, I increase my speed.
“Fuck, you’re tight and wet,” I moan, lifting my mouth from her nipple to capture her other one. She’s still silent, minus her heavy breathing and sexy as fuck moans. I know she is close, because she’s squeezing my finger with a death grip. I can’t take much more. The scent of her arousal is filling the small room and I need to have my dick inside her. I pick up the pace, and insert another finger and hook the inside of her. I feel her clench, and I know she’s coming. Her head hits the back of the shelf and I lift my head taking her mouth as she rides out her orgasm.
Fuck, this woman is hot. Sweet. Her moans, her scent. I just want to stick my fingers in my mouth and taste how sweet she really is.
The urge to slam my engorged cock up her tight pussy is insane. I allow her feet to touch the ground and waste no time in sliding her panties down her legs. I don’t miss the opportunity to actually stick my nose into her sex and smell her. Just like I thought. Sweet as fuck. I stand, throwing my own pants down, but not before grabbing the condom Chase slipped into my back pocket. I roll the condom down my cock, wishing I could see her face. If her eyes match the lust blazing in mine.
I know my voice clearly gives me away when I speak. “Last chance to back out, sweetheart. Otherwise, you’re all mine until I’m done with you.” My voice is hoarse with desire. I don’t think I could back away from her, even if she told me no.
Thank god she doesn’t. Her warm hands lift and wrap around my neck. She is a lot shorter than I am, so I can feel just how much her arms stretch. I lift her back up, her legs wrapping around my waist with ease. She brings her soft lips back to mine and kisses me. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol that I indulged in that makes me feel so animalistic, but I want–no need–to consume this chick. I increase the pressure of our kiss, pressing her tight body to mine. I can’t hold off any longer.
I work my hand around my cock and place myself at the entrance of her wet sex. I don’t wait for an okay, I just slam inside her. Our moans mingle together as I push deep inside. I pull out and slam back, needing to get as deep as I can. Her cunt, so needy, wraps around me, and I lose control. I thrust into her over and over, her sexy pants like gasoline to my already fired desire.
Everything about this mystery chick has me so worked up. The excitement of not knowing who she is. The no strings attached to this electrified hot fuck. The more I pump into her, the more I know I will want more. Need more. I can’t just have this girl once and be done. My eager dick won’t allow it.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me tight,” I moan, knowing she is about to explode around me. Her moans are becoming louder, her breathing unsteady. I know I have her exactly where I want her, as I maneuver my finger to her clit and press gently down on her o-trigg
er. It’s then she loses her fight and comes all over me.
“Oh, Levi.” Her soft, but desperate cry, filters through the room and I pound once, twice, and on the third, I come like a god damn rocket inside her.
I’m having trouble catching my own breath. Holy fuck, that was the best sex I’ve had in a long time. I release my grip on her and pull out, then allow her legs to fall. She stands and I pull the condom off, knot it and toss it in a corner.
“I know this was a one-time thing, but you’re amazing. Maybe we just exchange…”
She doesn’t allow me to finish and pushes me to the side, searching for something. The sounds of swishing material tells me she found her dress.
I begin to dress as well and continue, “I’m not asking to go steady, shit. No need to rush off. Just a name, maybe…”
But she doesn’t even stop to oblige or decline. The commotion of her trying to get herself back into her dress is the only sound. Annoyed now, I say, “Fine, but shit, let me find the light and at least help you into your dress—”
“No!” Her voice booms throughout the small room.
I freeze at the familiar voice. So does she. Panic fills the room as she continues to fumble with her dress.
“What did you just say?” I ask, my voice laced with worry. Shock. They wouldn’t do this to me. Set me up.
She doesn’t say another word. She knows she’s caught.
I shuffle to find the light switch, as she tries to scurry past me.
“I don’t think so,” I tell her. Not before I get that light on. My hands are working furiously to find that damn switch. It’s dark as fuck and my senses are off. My mind is racing and fuck, if I turn on that light and see…
Just then she kicks me. “Ouch!” I yelp as I grab for my shin. The door opens, light blasting through and I see a tiny girl, with curls awry. I grunt as I race to the entrance of the door and, just as she turns the corner, I recognize her.
Hannah fucking Matthews.
Full Novel coming summer 2017!
ABOUT J.D. HOLLYFIELD
Creative designer, mother, wife, writer, part time superhero...J.D. Hollyfield is a creative designer by day and superhero by night. When she is not trying to save the world one happy ending at a time, she enjoys the snuggles of her husband, son, and three doxies.
With her love for romance, and head full of book boyfriends, she was inspired to test her creative abilities and bring her own story to life.
J.D. Hollyfield lives in the Midwest, and is currently at work on blowing the minds of readers, with the additions of her new books and series, along with her charm, humor and HEA's.
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ECLIPSE OF THE HEART
Jeannine Colette
1
THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY
“I asked every day for six months, and she finally said yes. Now, who says a little persistence doesn’t pay off?”
Our guests laugh as my fiancé, Kip Freghkerden, toasts our engagement the night before our wedding.
I look up at him with a closed mouth smile. His hair is combed back and to the side, like a plastic doll. His Ivy League attitude is debonair, and the gray suit he’s wearing is tailored perfectly to his narrow shoulders. He’s a good man. A kind soul. And the one I am going to marry.
Father is seated at the table beside me. His eyes are focused on Kip in pure delight. He introduced us years ago at my going-away party. I had just graduated from Wharton and set to leave the next day for Paris. But it wasn’t Kip I wanted. It was another.
And what happened that night changed my life…forever.
“Tomorrow, Jules Bradford will be my wife.” Kip places his hand over his heart and leans down toward me. “And I, in turn, will be the happiest man in the world.”
Collective sighs come from our family and friends who have gathered at our rehearsal dinner at Fresca’s, an upscale restaurant in town. My fingers are lightly touching my neck as he leans further down and chastely kisses me on the lips.
“I have an engagement present for you,” he says, taking a maroon box out of the inside pocket of his jacket. The box has the name of a prestigious jeweler in Manhattan engraved on the top.
“Kip,” I exclaim, “you shouldn’t have!” And I mean it.
He has been showering me with gifts since I agreed to go out with him a year ago—not that I need more extravagance in my life. Being the daughter of Franklin Bradford has come with more luxuries than a girl can handle.
You could say Kip wore me down. I like to think I finally came to my senses with a little help from Father and Mother, of course. Kip is the ideal man—handsome, cordial, and most importantly, reliable.
I smile up at Kip, admiring his dimples showcased on that cleanly shaven face of his. He’s impeccably groomed, down to the precise square of his fingernails.
I open the box and see a stunning gold pendant of the sun. Its rays are spread out in wavy spikes, the center a citrine stone so glorious, light reflects off it in a magnificent display.
“It’s beautiful,” I gush.
“You’re always gazing at the stars, taking more interest in the moon than any girl I’ve ever met. I thought you’d like to wear the center of our universe around your neck.” Kip takes the box from my hand and goes about removing the pendant and chain from the case.
Of course the man I am going to give my days to would shower me with a gift signifying the one thing time is based off of. Everyone boasts about the sun, but it’s just a star—one of millions in the sky.
While our days revolve around the sun’s position, no one pays mind to the fact that the sun disappears from sight at the end of the day.
Out of sight, out of mind.
And, when the sun is gone, we focus on the moon. The bold and glorious moon that changes shape and distance but is always there. Even when the sun rises, the moon is still hovering in the sky, slightly faded in the background yet never faltering.
Like a memory, it haunts our days and eclipses our nights.
Like my memories of him.
“Turn around,” Kip beckons, causing me to come out of my clouded daydream.
“Excuse me?”
He’s holding the chain and pendant in his hands, ready to place it on me. “You’ll wear this tomorrow, for our wedding, won’t you?”
My hand flies to my clavicle, the place where the necklace I’m currently wearing is seated. It’s a necklace of seven interlocking metal gears, made for me by the only man I’ve ever truly loved.
I mean, the first man I ever loved.
“Unless you have something else you want to wear with your dress?” Kip asks. “I know you’re not going to wear that.” He motions to the gears.
I shake my head as I answer, “Of course I’ll wear your necklace.”
The truth is, I didn’t think about what I would wear with my Oscar de la Renta gown. I had been given this necklace three years ago, and I haven’t taken it off since. Not even after an argument that had me throwing a hair dryer, missing his head and leaving a mark on the living room wall. Not when I left for a few hours to cool off and think about what our future held. And not when I came home to an empty apartment on that cold day in Paris.
Mother surprises me from behind, placing an icy hand on my shoulder and moving my hair to the side. Robotically, I assist her, taking my hair in my hand, as she removes the gears from my neck.
The loss of the simple ornament feels like two hundred pounds of heartache have been lifted.
And, with it, the ounce of hope I clung to.
A cool breeze sweeps over my skin, and I feel incredibly naked. Kip snakes the sun around my neck, and I trace the pendant with my fingers. It’s cold to the touch. The spikes are like daggers on the pads of my fingers.
He places a soft kiss on my shoul
der. My father rises to shake Kip’s hand. Mother walks over to her friends who are prattling on about her son-in-law-to-be.
And I’m left standing, frozen in time. The future around my neck while the past is on the table in front of me where Mother left it.
I lift the necklace of gears in my hand and remember what he said the day he gave it to me.
“One gear is lonely. It probably doesn’t know how alone it is until it’s locked with another. It’s like their sole purpose in life is to help the other move forward.”
They might not seem like profound words, but to me, they meant everything. Spoken by a man who was a mechanic by trade. A man who made an honest day’s pay working at The Manor, my family estate. A man I’d loved from afar until that fateful night, my good-bye party, when two souls collided under the moon and stars.
A night we professed our love for one another.
The night we decided to run away to Paris together.
“Excuse me. I need some air,” I say.
But no one seems to be listening. Father and Kip are now talking business with colleagues. My bridesmaids are busy with discussing their own upcoming nuptials to their Fortune 500 beaus. Even my impossibly nosy aunt Ina doesn’t seem to be looking my way.
I step away from the table and grab my shawl from the coat check. It might be early summer, but the breeze coming off the Atlantic lends a chill to the evening air.
When I step outside, my short gold lamé dress gives way for a breeze to run up my thighs. With my back up against the brick of the restaurant wall, I breathe in the salty sea air. The beach is two blocks from where I’m standing, but I can hear the crashing waves.