Break Me Down (The Breaking Trilogy, #2)

by M. Mabie

  I pulled my shirt over my head and stepped her way. “If you’re done in there, I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

  I loved how her deep blue eyes flared when she looked at me. I smacked a few kisses on her neck as I passed and shut the door behind me.

  I hadn’t been taking care of myself in the shop anymore. Hadn’t felt the need to, but as I quickly washed up, I thought about what she’d looked like with me in her mouth the night before. I ended up washing a very stiff erection.

  My girl drove me crazy, but instead of wasting a good time down the drain alone, I saved it for her. There was nothing like the fascination on her face as she worked me over the edge. Something she was talented at doing.

  I dried and wrapped a towel around my waste. Now that we were more comfortable around each other, changing in the bathroom had become a thing of the past for me.

  When I stepped out, the cabin was dark except for two candles lit on the other side of the bookcase. It smelled like lilacs and as I entered the bedroom, the scent surrounded me.

  Then I saw her.

  Naked in the flickering candlelight. On top of a pulled down bed. Her hair fanned out behind her on the pillow.

  The sight arrested me.

  Myra was a gift from God. Heavenly and divine.

  Slowly, I walked across the wooden floor to the end of the bed. She didn’t shy away from my stare, didn’t hide.

  “Abe,” she began. Her voice was rich and warm in the darkness. “I choose you. I need you. I want to be yours.”

  My chest hammered, and my ears rang, processing her words. Scared I’d heard her wrong, I asked, “Are you sure?”

  She blinked and tipped her head just once. “I love you.”

  Nothing before those three words even counted.

  She was mine.

  I’d been determined not to have her body completely, if I didn’t have her whole heart first.

  But there it was. Flesh and bones and love. For so long I’d fought the possessive tendencies inside, pushed them to the side. Guilty of them. Not anymore.

  I lifted her foot off the cool sheet and pressed my lips to it as I climbed on the bed with her. The need to claim her—be claimed by her—overtook me.

  She watched closely as I worked my way up her leg, past her knee where she jumped from the contact. The tickled laugh lines on her face faded quickly when I didn’t stop there. I caressed her delicate skin with my lips and tongue. She’d been uncomfortable with letting me really taste her, and I respected that. Still, as I headed north, I pressed one kiss to her smoothly shaved center.

  How was I ever going to last?

  Make it good for her?

  I was halfway to the finish line, and the race hadn’t even started. It had been years since I was with a woman and none of those times came close to comparing to what was about to happen.

  I’d go slow for both of us, knowing it might not help much. The chances of me lasting very long were slim, and I could only hope she didn’t feel discomfort for long, if at all.

  I tossed the towel to the floor and nudged her legs to open wider for me to settle between them.

  It was her first time, and I couldn’t go inside her until she’d had at least one orgasm. I prayed she would, that she was a live wire like me. Holding my weight over her on one arm, I pulled her breast into my mouth and cupped her sex. She was damp, but nowhere near where she needed to be.

  There was no doubt how tight she was, I’d had my fingers inside of her dozens of times. She hugged one tightly, and two were nearly all she could take. I’d attempted three once, but she’d tensed up and I didn’t press her.

  But men and woman have been having sex since the beginning of time. We were made for each other, like any two lovers. It would just take patience, and I had plenty.

  Before even parting her, I massaged between her legs. Rubbing my palm over her until she bucked into my grip, gasping. From that alone, she grew wetter and I traced her seam to the top and rolled circles around her.

  She never made many noises, but when I did that part just right, she’d often softly moan over and over. The sexiest sound of approval.

  Myra shifted and slipped her hand between us, looking for me. I didn’t want to deny her, but I pulled away so she couldn’t reach me. It didn’t take much of her touch to bring me to my knees and I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.

  As a distraction, my middle digit gently hooked into her and she responded exactly the way I wanted. Her back arched slightly and she went limp under me, accepting the sensations.

  Every time my eye caught hers, I heard her tell me she loved me.

  Every time her tongue swiped across her dry lip, I met it with a kiss.

  Every time her hips rolled or her shoulder rose up toward her cheek, I counted my blessings for being the one she shared herself with.

  Me. Only me.

  She became needy and feverish, lifting closer to me. Holding tightly to my ribs.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  Her head pushed into the soft pillow under her, and I kissed her exposed neck as she climaxed on my hand. Usually, she came down slowly, shivered, and then catch her breath, but instead, she cupped my face and panted, “I need more. I need you.”

  Her legs had fallen apart around my sides, and I shifted closer to her until I felt where we’d connect. I rose up and gripped myself, harder than I’d ever been. Indulgently, I rubbed through her lips, making myself slick. With my thumb guiding me, I pressed my tip against her opening.

  Her hands were warm on my chest, and our foreheads met.

  It was so quiet, and still.

  After a beat, I found it was a challenge to hold back. My muscles burned with the need to flex into her. My pressure was met with resistance, and then all I once I felt her open for me.

  It was just the initial breach of her opening, and I wasn’t far inside. Still, telltale twinges and pulses warned me it wasn’t going to be long before I couldn’t calm myself down. But I paced myself and made sure she was all right.

  “Myra, you okay?”

  “Yes,” she answered dreamily. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  That was good to know, but I had so much more to give her. “I’ll go slow, but I still have to go deeper.”

  She pressed her mouth to mine and said against my lips, “I want it all.”

  “Ah,” I moaned.

  I sank further into her and then gave her time to adjust before I pressed on.

  A stream of air whizzed past my ear, and she tensed in my arms. Her thighs hugged my hips as she became familiar with the feeling.

  I held myself there until she shifted and began to move against me.

  For as long as I could bear, I made love to her like that. Giving her the portion she quickly grew comfortable with. But as she got wetter and her soft moans became more wanton, I sank deeper and deeper until I couldn’t restrain any longer.

  In one thrust, I was fully seated.

  “I love you,” spilled out her mouth, over and over.

  I questioned whether I was losing my sanity. Sweet agony and pleasure and torture and bliss pulsed.

  “Ah. Ah. Ah.” My hips rolled, my entire body began to tense. I didn’t have any time left. “Let me come inside you.”

  “Oh,” she panted. “Yes. Oh.”

  It crashed into me, the blinding pleasure. Every throb stronger than the last. “Myra.”

  I kissed her, loving on her the only way I could in that moment. She was everything.

  When things slowed, I pulled myself from her and went to the bathroom for a warm cloth. She let me tend and care for her.

  I’d spend the rest of my life devoted to her, I had no doubt. She was perfect in ways I didn’t even know possible. In all the world, I’d never find anyone like Myra.

  As I held her close to me, I praised God. If I’d known that every hardship and struggle had led me to that moment, I’d go through it a thousand more times just to keep her.

  30

&nb
sp; Myra

  It was barely light out when a sound coaxed me from sleep.

  A song.

  A ringtone.

  Abraham’s phone.

  “Your phone is ringing,” I said and gently rocked back against his naked body.

  “What?” His voice was raspy, but he didn’t get up. On the contrary, he pulled me closer and pressed himself to my back.

  “You should answer it.” That early was a strange time to get a call, and I hoped nothing was wrong. My mind went to the Griers, Chris, Ashley and the baby. Our family.

  I wiggled again about the time it quit ringing, but when the chime sounded again, he rose and went to get it.

  “Hello,” he answered quietly after clearing his throat. From a room away, I tried to listen, but he wasn’t saying anything back to whoever was on the line until he thanked them. A moment later he came back and sat on the edge of my side of the bed.

  He moved my hair out of my face and took a deep breath. He looked into my eyes, kind and loving.

  “We have to go to Lancaster, Myra. Your father died.”

  Read the Breaking Trilogy Finale in Break the Faith. Coming December 2018. Preorder now.

  A Preview of ROOTS AND WINGS

  Suddenly, I was a bachelor in an unfamiliar town with a money pit of a house, a truck that wouldn’t run, and a new job. Yet, all could think about was Mutt, or at least that’s what they called her.

  To me, she was gorgeous and witty ... and perfect. She knew more duty than desire, more perseverance than passion, and more acquaintance than affection, but here was no way I’d ever want to change her. In fact, I was dying to show her the life she'd been missing, but first she'd have to trust me enough to tell me her real name.

  I wanted to plant roots, but I refused to clip her wings. Not when she was everything I’d been looking for and all the home I’d ever need.

  Roots and Wings is a standalone contemporary romance. If you're looking for a good time, then you're come to the right place. Welcome to Wynne.

  Chapter One

  MUTT

  Few things were certain around O’Fallon’s Service and Tire. Kenny didn’t really work there, but he was there enough. Be careful what you eat in the break room. The week before I’d found some leftover cake, and, sure enough, it was harder than a wedding night dick. And last, when we did the fifteen-minute oil changes for fifteen bucks, that garage would be asshole to elbow all day.

  Dad had done that promotion once a year for twenty years, which happened to be every year he’d owned the place.

  It was our family business. That was, if two people could make up a whole family. I guessed families were all different shapes and sizes, and since Grandpa passed away, it had only been Dad and me.

  Oh, and Dean.

  He wasn’t really family, but he’d worked there since we were in high school. And, honestly, who the hell wasn’t family somewhere down the line around Wynne?

  Dad and Dean worked the shop, and I ran the desk—unless they needed the help, but most of the time it was pretty slow and easy to manage.

  Not that day.

  There was a line out the door and cars parked along the road, waiting. All there to get their oil changed for fifteen bucks.

  I wadded my thick, long brown hair up into a knot on the top of my head as I heard my dad exclaim from the garage.

  “Twenty, Mutt! We’re on a roll today, kid. Make sure they all keep pulling in.”

  Oh, yeah. My name’s Mutt. Not my given name, but, ask anyone who Darrell O’Fallon’s daughter is—ten to one—they’ll say Mutt. My grandpa—God rest his bastard soul—called me that from the day I was born.

  Sometimes it drove me nuts growing up. I’m used to it now; I don’t think my mom liked that very much, but she didn’t stick around long enough to do anything about it either. She left when I was two months old.

  No Dear John letter.

  No phone calls.

  Just gone.

  My grandpa called me Mutt because apparently my mom was the town bike. Every town had one, and she was theirs.

  Among everyone else who had a go at her, my dad ended up getting the longest ride.

  He loved her. To tell you the truth, I thought he still did.

  This one time I asked my grandpa about my name and he told me flat-out: “Your mom was a whore, Mutt. You could be anybody’s kid. You could be made up with anybody.” I never forgot that, and thought about it a lot more whenever I’d consider dating someone.

  First, what if we were related? Ew. No.

  Second, who would want to bring a Mutt home to Sunday dinner? Not many.

  So most of the time, I decided, better not.

  That was the only time I saw my dad raise a fist. He knocked out three of Grandpa’s teeth that morning. Then he made me scrambled eggs and told me to not pay him any attention.

  Don’t worry. They were false anyway, so I guess there was no real harm done.

  It wasn’t like Grandpa had a lot of room to talk. His last wife had run off with some guy she met at a casino. That’s why he was stuck there living with us.

  Most people would say I was kind of a tomboy, growing up with only a dad and an asshole grandpa to show me the ropes. I didn’t really give a shit. In my experience, people said whatever the hell they wanted to anyway. My name was the perfect example of that.

  Anyway, I’m not done yet, despite how hungry I was on fifteen-minute oil change day, I was having a pretty damn good Saturday.

  Wynne was a small town on the river and we had a great lake nearby, too. Sure there was no mall or movie theaters, but if you wanted to catch wall-mount worthy trout or a largemouth bass, you were in the right spot.

  Dad’s oil change promo was going great, but what was shocking me was how many spinners and lures I’d sold.

  I’d made them all myself and was about to sell my last one.

  “Mutt, honey, those sumbitches bit on every cast. I’m taking the rest you’ve got here,” said Mr. Walton to me from the other side of the counter, slapping a twenty down on the linoleum top.

  I should have been charging more.

  A few days back, I’d set up the little display with the fifty or so I had on hand, and at five bucks each, I sold out too easily.

  I wasn’t complaining. I loved making them.

  But Mr. Walton was right.

  Those sumbitches did work.

  The past Thursday evening, I’d caught a two-pound bass off my dock in only about ten minutes. That’s called working right there.

  “I’m glad you liked them. Which one did you use?”

  “The blue and yellow one. You got any more of those?”

  “No, but I can make a few up for you.”

  “I’ll take ‘em, by God. Make me ten of ‘em.”

  “All right, I’ll call you when I have them ready. Is that all you need?” I asked. He’d just been in a few days before getting new brakes and tires put on.

  “Oh I’m fine, I just thought I’d come settle up from last week. Your dad’s probably just been busy, but we never got our ticket in the mail like we usually do.”

  That was odd. My dad was always meticulous about his billing. Although primitive, his system was foolproof.

  In Wynne, everyone knew everyone. They’d drop their vehicles off, and then come pick them up whenever. Keys in the visor.

  Dad always sent out invoice tickets on Mondays, and Mr. Walton had been in the past Friday.

  “Sorry about that. Let me look real quick.” I left him at the counter and ran into the small office. In the old wooden chair, I sat down and spun around to the cabinet where he kept all the past week’s tickets and found it full. I pulled the folder out and opened it, seeing Mr. Walton’s ticket about a third of the way down.

  Had none of these been sent out?

  I knew he was waiting for me, so I didn’t want to spend too much time going through it all, but shit, there was a lot. I quickly looked at the ticket on the bottom and it was from almost a month
ago.

  “Hey, Mutt,” Dean said from the doorway, the office was only big enough for one person. “Can you call and check on the parts order? Your dad says we should have more filters, but I can’t find them. I hope he’s got more coming in.”

  Shit.

  “Yeah, I’ll call, but I doubt they’re open now. Do you have enough for today?”

  “I don’t know. We still have about ten cars out there.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Call down to Dub’s and see if they have any to get us by.”

  Dub’s was the other automotive repair place in town. There wasn’t really any competition though, since there was enough work to go around. Always had been.

  Dad and Dub even worked here together for a while, but they didn’t have enough space. Dub opened his own shop about three years after Dad bought his. They’d been best friends all my life. He even came by earlier to get a free hot dog and Pepsi.

  “Thanks, he probably forgot. I tell ya, the old man’s mind is not what it used to be.”

  It was true. My dad would never hit the Guinness book for highest IQ, but that had been just another thing he’d slacked on.

  “Mr. Walton, here’s your invoice. He didn’t get it out yet. Sorry for the trouble. Do you want to pay it now? It’s $745.00.”

  “Sure, honey, let me go get my rubber checks out of the truck,” he said, winking at me. I think I’d heard that recycled joke told once a week for the past ten years.

  I peeked into the garage and caught Dean hanging up the shop phone. He gave me a thumbs up, then motioned for the next car to pull in.

  What would we do without Dean?

  He was like the brother I never had, and Dad was like the father Dean never had. You could say Dean’s story and mine were similar. Me with no mom. Him with no dad. Since his mom had passed a few years back, he had no mom either. We were pretty much his only family.

  I walked over to my old man, his head grease streaked and his hands moving as fast as they ever did.

  “Twenty-two, Mutt. I think we’re going to beat last year’s twenty-eight.” Pride was shining in his aging brown eyes. He loved what he did.