by Mia Madison
The list of people I need to pummel is getting longer by the minute.
Jade puts the clean dishes away. The cookies go in a tin. “One for the road?” she asks.
I tug her against me, my hands at her waist. “I’m saving room for another kind of dessert.” Her sudden blush makes me wonder just how inexperienced she really is.
“I know this has all happened fast,” I say, testing the waters. “To put it mildly.”
There’s some shyness when she meets my eyes, but more candor. “As soon as I saw you, I got turned on. Before you said we were going to be involved, I was planning to have some very … detailed fantasies about you.”
No games, no bullshit. I like this girl a lot. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
Her smile is still a little shy, but also a little naughty. My cock is immediately supercharged. “I’d much rather have the reality.” She looks toward the door. “I’ll just let my sisters know we’re leaving. Be right back.”
She pulls away slowly, as if reluctant to release me, and at the last moment I catch her hand, bring her gently back to me, and curl my hand around the back of her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as I lower my head.
Much as I want to devour her, I keep the kiss slow, but it’s deep and thorough. The more I taste her, the more I want. When I finally lift my head, her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed, and my cock demands that I drag her to the floor and plunder.
Instead, I let her go. “Right back,” she says, her voice breathy. She’s a little unsteady on her feet as she turns; when she has her balance, she rushes from the room.
Maybe I should find a bathroom and rub one out, take the edge off. Because once I have her naked in my bed, I don’t want any rushing. I’m going to savor every moment, make sure she wrings every ounce of pleasure possible from our time together.
She’s back before I can carry out the thought. We go out to the car, and when I’m handing her in, I lean in close and inhale her scent. “You smell good,” I murmur against her ear.
The little shiver that runs through her makes my cock spring to attention again. “So do you,” she says in a voice gone husky.
I risk a speeding ticket on the way to town.
Once we’re there, I don’t go to Revved Café, or any of the other restaurants owned by my numerous cousins. Knowing my family, everyone has already heard about me and Jade. The news has probably even reached the far-flung, out-of-state relatives. Walking into an Adamo establishment in this town would be tantamount to inviting the entire clan to join us.
I want Jade to meet my family … a realization that shifts something inside me. But they can be a little overwhelming. So I take her to a little bistro tucked between a floral shop and a shoe repair place. By some miracle, it’s not near any Adamo businesses at all.
As I escort her inside, my hand goes to the small of her back. I want to stroke her skin through the fabric of her blouse, circle my fingers at the base of her spine. If I follow those impulses, I’ll probably get us thrown out of here, because once I give in to the craving to possess her I won’t want to stop.
The view out the window is of the furniture store across the street having a clearance sale. I ask for a table in the corner, away from prying eyes. We’re not invisible, but we might get through lunch without being interrupted by hordes of nosy Adamos.
Once we’ve ordered, I straitjacket my brain into date mode. “Tell me about your father.”
Jade lights up, and I’m relieved that I didn’t distress her. “He joined the Army right out of high school. He did really well on their tests, so he got some kind of specialized training. Whatever they had him doing, he never talked about it much when we were growing up.
“He was still in when our mom left. I was five, Bree and Quinn were three. They had to give him an early discharge so he could come home and take care of us. An uncle of his had just passed, and left him the farm, so he went from being a soldier to a farmer overnight.”
“That must have been a real shock,” I say carefully.
“I’m sure it was, although we were too young to have any grasp of how it affected him. Dad was very grounded, you know? Not the type to navel gaze or ponder what it was all about; he just got on with things, and did what needed doing.
“He must have loved her, but he didn’t try to drown his sorrows or pass us off to someone else. We never had the slightest sense, growing up, that he was anything but proud to be our father. Now that he’s gone, I can’t help thinking about what he gave up.”
“What do you mean?”
“He put everything on hold for us. His career, his personal life, all of it. And never once complained.” She swallows and blinks her eyes rapidly a few times.
“I miss him every day.” Her voice is ragged. “But even more than that, I wish that he’d had more time. That he could have gotten back to living his own life, and spent the next several decades doing whatever made him happy.”
I reach out and take her hand. “It sounds like you three made him happy.”
Jade gives me a watery smile. “We did; he was an amazing dad. But he had a lot of other talents, too. What would he have done, given the chance?”
There’s no answer to that. I give her hand a squeeze and let her go just as our meals arrive. I’m having the French dip, and Jade the clam chowder. It’s a pleasure to watch her enjoy her food, not pick at it.
Every time her tongue caresses her spoon, my dick responds. “Mmm,” she says after a few bites. “Delicious. I’m going to have to try to recreate this recipe.”
She closes her eyes, licking a tiny dot of soup off her lips. I have to adjust myself under the table. When she opens them again, she sees the look on my face and her warm, womanly smile comes back. “Maybe we should get the rest of this to go.”
It sounds like a great idea to me, but I know I’m thinking with my cock. “Are you sure?”
She reaches out, and her fingers rub lightly over the back of my hand. “Uh-huh.”
I signal the waiter with more haste than grace. Time for the main event.
7
Nothing In A Million Years
I’ve never been more certain of anything than being with Romero, but I’m still nervous. I want this so much, and I’m afraid he’ll figure out it’s my first time, get all chivalrous, and change his mind. I’ll just have to fake it till I make it and act like I’ve done this a million times before.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting from his home, but I just barely manage not to gawk when he pulls into the driveway of a two-story house in an upscale neighborhood. The streets are wide, the lots large, the cars expensive. I feel like a country bumpkin.
“This is nice,” I say, hoping I sound polite and not intimidated.
He flashes me a grin. “I lived like a pauper in New York, as much as possible anyway. Saved up my pennies and put them all down on this house.”
When he comes around to open my door, my gullible heart gets all warm and mushy again. We go up a winding walk from the driveway to a covered porch, not unlike the one at the farmhouse, only newer and not so weatherbeaten. It’s decorated with cozy furniture perfect for settling in with a glass of lemonade and a book, or some knitting, and watching the sunset.
Down, girl. Just because he took you to lunch, it doesn’t mean this is more than a fling. Don’t start planning your future.
The front door opens into a spacious living room, tastefully furnished. I know good quality from seeing Dad’s work, and everything here is high end. Nothing in-your-face to say Hey, look how rich I am, just fine materials and craftsmanship.
I can imagine him having a cocktail party here, with lots of people in fancy clothes sipping fancy drinks. He probably did a lot of that in New York. It’s the type of event I’d want to hide from.
He leads me through the living room and down a hall to the back of the house. Here there’s a kitchen, nice and big and well equipped, and I immediately start fantasizing about cooking and baking in it. It’s in a large open sp
ace along with a family room that features more casual decor and furniture, and a jumbo-sized flat-screen tv on the wall.
In here, I can imagine him hosting some of his friends for pizza and beer to watch a ball game. And, naturally, I can imagine myself serving up nachos and chips and cookies to all the guys.
My brain just will not behave.
Romero opens the fridge, then pauses. “Do you want some more?” he asks, hefting our takeout containers.
“No, thanks.” I couldn’t eat right now even if I wanted to.
He puts the food away, then crosses to me. “We don’t have to rush this.” The backs of his knuckles brush softly over my cheek. “We can just talk, or watch a movie. Whatever you like.”
I love that he’s being a gentleman, but it’s not what I want from him. “Thank you, but please don’t say that on my account. I’m fine; I promise.”
He studies me for a moment, obviously checking to make sure I really am okay. I close the distance between us and rest my hands on his chest. “You’re a good guy, Romero Adamo.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, really.”
“If you knew what I was thinking right now, you might not say that.”
“I hope you’re thinking of all the things you’d like to do to me once you get me naked.”
His smile might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “You’re a hell of a woman, Jade Callahan.”
I’m not prepared, don’t have my shields up, and it cracks my heart wide open. I smile back, hoping he can’t tell I’ve just fallen for him, and wrap my arms around his neck. “Does that mean I’m right about what’s going through your mind?”
In answer, he dips his head and claims my mouth. The kiss starts out gentle, almost sweet except for the banked heat at its edges, then gradually deepens until my blood thickens and simmers and heat pools between my legs. When my moan breaks free, his hands slide down to cup my ass and squeeze, pulling me closer.
His erection presses against my belly. I take one hand from his neck and snake it between our bodies, going for the gold. Before I get there he grabs my wrist, then breaks the kiss and plants his shoulder against my midsection. The next instant, I’m hanging upside down as he carries me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Romero!” I’m laughing, so my fake indignation is not very convincing. He pats my ass with his free hand, sending a jolt of sensation straight to my clit.
At the top of the stairs he turns left, and we go down a hallway to the last door on the end. A few moments later, he deposits me on his king-sized bed, following me down to cover me with his body.
The kiss this time is hot and wild and demanding, and by the time he stops my panties are soaked. But he’s just getting started. He nips at my earlobe, then soothes the tiny hurt with his tongue, tracing a path down the side of my neck to the sensitive spot where it meets my shoulder.
When he sinks his teeth into me, I gasp and jerk and almost scream, the sensation is so intense. It’s not pain, not exactly, but it sears my senses.
Romero lifts his head and brushes his lips over the place where he’s marked me. “Too much?”
“No.” I don’t recognize my own voice; it’s ragged with need.
The raw hunger in it lights Romero up like a spark to gasoline. One hand tightens in my hair, taking me back to the edge of pain, and the other dives inside my top to scoop my breast out where he can clamp his mouth over it.
He feeds on me like a starving man, every rough tug on my nipple arrowing down to my center, driving me mad. The hand that’s not in my hair shifts down to shove one leg open, his hip rolling against the other to spread me wide for him so he can grind himself against my clit.
My legs wrap around his, my hips driving me up against him, trying to get more pressure, more friction, on my swollen tip. The ache in my core keeps growing, begging for satisfaction. I’m on the edge of release, sensation swirling through me, coiling tighter and tighter until I’m ready to explode.
“Romero,” I groan, frantic. “Please.”
He doesn’t answer with words, but shifts down my body to tear open my slacks and drag them and my panties down and off, taking my sandals with them. On his way back up he snares both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head. One leg hooks inside mine, holding me open.
His other hand frees my neglected breast, and soon he’s sucking just as hard on that nipple, until I’m poised on a knife’s tip. And then -- god help me -- he starts spanking my clit.
I do scream then, as a tidal wave of barbed-wire pleasure gathers in my nub and bursts through my body, over and over again, one brutal orgasm after another ripping me apart. I thrash in his grip, my hips bucking with every fresh climax.
I’ve long since lost count of how many times I’ve come when he releases me and slides down my body to bury his head between my legs. I’m still quivering with the aftershocks as his mouth closes over my clit, sucking gently now, but I’m so oversensitized that the slightest touch sends me spiraling up again.
Romero rolls us over and shifts us up the bed, so I’m straddling him, rocking against him while he sucks steadily, one of his arms clamped around my waist, holding me close. I’m leaning forward, my hands wrapped around the iron bedframe, about to tip over the edge again … and his hand cracks against my ass.
“Oh! God!” My legs are spasming, kicking out with every brisk smack, and it hurts so good that pain and pleasure merge together into one massive surge of sensation, rolling out from the center of my body to my fingertips and back again, and I shatter with the force of it, coming even harder than I did before.
He uses his teeth on me and I hang on for dear life, hips bucking, back arching, helpless under the onslaught of ruthless pleasure that’s riding me. Only when I go limp does he shift me off him, onto my side, and roll to face me, tucking me against him, stroking my hair. Cuddling.
When I catch sight of his face, his pupils are huge. It stuns me that he’s this turned on from bringing me pleasure without any for him. I want to reciprocate, as best I can, but I’m too weak to move yet.
That’s when I hear it: the faint but unmistakable sound of my phone going off in my purse downstairs. I push up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?” Romero says. I must look as worried as I feel.
“That’s Quinn’s ringtone. I don’t think she’d call, knowing I’m with you, unless she really needed to.”
“Stay here. I’ll get it.” He kisses my forehead and rolls off the bed. The room feels suddenly chilly with him gone, and I tug the edge of the comforter up over my nearly-naked form.
By the time he makes it back upstairs, the phone has stopped ringing, but it starts up again as I take my purse from him. “Quinn again,” I mutter, checking the readout, and take the call. “Quinn, what is it?”
“Jade.” I sit bolt upright on the bed. My usually quiet, peaceful sister’s voice is choked with tears.
“Quinn, honey, what’s going on? Tell me.” That’s when I hear shouting in the background. Multiple voices, loud and angry. “Quinn. Who’s there?”
Nothing in a million years could have prepared me for the answer. “She says she’s our mom.”
8
Long Way From Over
I push the car to its limits getting back to the farm. Jade is barely holding it together, not only at her mother’s sudden reappearance (if it really is her mother) but that she’s not there to protect her baby sisters.
Lando’s already at the farmhouse when I pull up. I want a police presence here, but not an official one until we know what we’re dealing with. As soon as I stop the car, Jade unsnaps her seat belt and is out and running.
We catch her at the front door. I snag her around the waist and hold her back while Lando slips in front of her. He’s got his gun with him but hasn’t pulled it.
In answer to his knock, we hear footsteps and then Quinn’s voice. “Who is it?”
“Police.” She may not recognize his voice, but it’s better if every
one in there knows there’s a cop outside.
The door opens, just a crack at first, then wide when Quinn sees who’s there. Her face is pale and she looks like she’s been crying. When she sees her big sister, she almost crumples. I let Jade go and she pulls Quinn into a quick, fierce hug while Lando and I scope out the interior.
Everything’s quiet, but not peaceful. The air fairly crackles with tension. Quinn leads us to the parlor, where I sat with Jade — was it really only this morning? It feels like a long time ago.
Inside, a supremely pissed-off Brianna is standing, arms folded, glaring at the man and woman lounging on the sofa. One look at the woman, and my gut says she’s telling the truth about being the girls’ mother. Her face is bloated and lined, probably from years of indulgence, but I can see her features stamped on all three of the sisters, albeit subtly.
The hardness around her eyes and mouth, however, says she’s trouble. If her daughters need protecting from her, I won’t hesitate.
The man next to her looks to be around fifty. He’s a big guy, not even counting the beer belly. He scowls at us and demands, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Police,” Lando says again, in that authoritative voice that cops somehow master. “Who the fuck are you?”
Brianna smirks. The man lunges to his feet; Lando puts a hand on the butt of his gun, and the guy sinks down again, but with a look on his face that says he’s ready to pick a fight.
The woman says, “I’m Deirdre Callahan, and I’m these girls’ mother. I—”
“His name, please?” I say, nodding my head at the man.
Deirdre isn’t happy at being interrupted. “This is Buford. He’s an old friend of mine. As I was saying, I got news that my husband had died—” she stops to dab at an imaginary tear at the corner of her eye—”and came straight home.”
“This isn’t your home,” Bree snaps.