Unconditional: A Coming of Age Romance Novel (Always)

by Cherie M Hudson

  It was incredible. Like him.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I started the ute and pulled away from the curb.

  It took us close to three hours to get back to Kangaroo Creek. The weather had nothing to do with it. Nor did waiting in line at the bottle shop so Raph could buy his father the Chivas. We stopped three times. Once because Raph wouldn’t stop feeling me up while I was driving and I was worried we’d crash when I was overcome with pleasure and giddy delight. Once because I had to tell him I was sorry for hurting him so much. And the last time because I needed to straddle his hips and feel his hard length buried deep inside me and I couldn’t really do that while driving, could I?

  We’d just resumed driving when a thought occurred to me. Flicking Raph a quick glance, I said, “What about the name? Why are you Jones, not Patterson?”

  Adjusting his butt on the seat, he grinned. “Mum and Dad aren’t married. Jones is Mum’s surname. She was angry with Dad when it was time to put the paperwork in for my birth certificate so she decided to punish him by giving me her name rather than his. My sister is a Patterson. Well, now a Sorensen, thanks to marrying the Crown Prince of Delvania. I’m a Jones.”

  The way he said it, like it was nothing, made me gape at him a little. I couldn’t get my head around the casual way he mentioned it. “Why was she angry at him?” I asked, picturing the reserved, contained woman I’d met three days ago.

  Raph snorted. “He went off to the Gunnedah cattle auctions that day and bought a new bull rather than come visit her at the hospital. Mum knows how to do revenge well.”

  Blinking, I turned back to the road. “You’re not kidding.”

  We drove for a while before another thought hit me. “So if she’s not a Patterson, why does she let me call her Mrs. P?”

  Raph’s eyebrows shot up. “She does?”

  I nodded.

  He let out a low whistle. “Man, she must really like you.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m very likeable.”

  He slid his palm up my inner thigh. “And also very fu—”

  The walkie-talkie resting in the center crackled to life, cutting him short. “Maci.” Raph’s mom’s voice sounded from the small speaker. “Are you there? Over.”

  With a grin at me that spoke volumes about what he intended to do later, Raph scooped up the walkie-talkie and depressed the com button. “Hey, Mum.”

  The rest of the trip—thirty minutes worth—was me listening to Raph and his mother talking. I could tell now where he got his deep passion as well as his reserve. It wasn’t hard to tell Mrs. P—or should that be Mrs. J?—was overjoyed to have her son home for the weekend, despite her not saying she’d missed him, was glad he was coming home, couldn’t wait to see him or loved him once during the conversation, the kind of words and phrases most parents would use with their child, even their adult child.

  It was both bizarre and illuminating and, God help me, made me like him so much more. And made me miss my mom that much more as well.

  “Okay, Mum,” Raph said into the walkie-talkie as I turned the bend leading to the Kangaroo Creek homestead. “We’re at the gate. See you for dinner. Nine okay? Over.”

  Frowning, I shot a look at my watch. It was only 4:47. What was he planning to do for the next four hours?

  Returning the walkie-talkie to the center console, he gave me a steady gaze. “Head for the guesthouse.”

  My heart kicked up a notch and my pussy throbbed. I pictured the bed in my temporary home, with its four posts and romantic gauzy curtains.

  As if reading my mind, Raph slid his palm higher up my thigh, his fingertips brushing the junction of my legs where I was the most sensitive. So sensitive I gasped at the touch, even with the denim of my shorts separating his fingers from my sex. “Is the four-poster bed still in the guesthouse?” he murmured, drawing close enough to me to nibble on the curve of my shoulder.

  I nodded. Inside, I’d begun to tremble. The good kind of tremble. The hot-and-horny kind of tremble.

  He hummed an appreciative murmur against my skin. “Excellent. Tell me, how do you feel about being tied up?”

  How did I feel about being tied up? I’d never been tied up before. Throat thick, pulse rapid, I hitched in a shallow breath. If the way my body was responding to his query—all flustered and excited and squirmy in all the right places—I think the answer was, “I feel good about it. Very good indeed.”

  Slowly turning my head to face him, I moved my lips close to his. “You’ll have to catch me first,” I murmured.

  And with a squeal of delight, I flung open my door, scrambled from the ute and ran up the stairs into the guesthouse.

  Raph caught me before I even had a chance to pass the first sofa in the living area. With a growl and a laugh, he wrapped his arms around my waist and yanked me back to his hard body.

  I squealed again, on fire with sheer joy and aroused anticipation, and wriggled in his hold, trying to escape just as much as I was trying to drive him wild by rubbing my ass against his groin.

  It worked. At least, I assume it did, given he let out another growl, buried one hand between my thighs and captured one of my breasts with the other. “Right,” he rasped in my ear, the thick pole of his erection nudging the crevice of my butt cheeks. “That’s it. You’re going to get it now.”

  “Oh,” I mocked, rubbing my ass harder to his stiff cock. “Idle threats don’t scare—whoa, oh my God, yes.” The rather odd ending to my tease came about thanks to Raph hauling me off the ground, flinging me over his shoulder and carrying me to the bed.

  He tossed me onto the mattress, stood at the end, threw back his head and, with an animalistic cry, beat his chest with his fist and tossed his head about.

  I burst out laughing and then squealed once more as he launched himself at me. It occurred to me, while he was pinning me to the bed with his lower body, we’d never had the chance to really let our desire and pleasure run amuck back in Mackellar House. There were always people in the nearby rooms who would be able to hear us. Always paparazzi lurking whenever we stepped outside campus.

  This was the first time there was no chance of anyone hearing us or interrupting us. No fellow housemates, no media, no bodyguard.

  Just Raph and me and a four-poster bed.

  My head swam with the exquisite thought. A second before Raph snared my wrists and pinned them to the mattress above my head.

  He gazed down into my face, his groin nestled to mine, his desire very evident as it pushed against the soft heat of my sex. “I’ve caught you,” he murmured, his nostrils flaring, his voice husky. “Now I get to tie you up.”

  Mouth dry, pussy damp, I nodded. “You do.”

  He drew a sharp breath. “You trust me?”

  My smile curled my lips as I realize he expected me to bail on the whole bondage-lite thing. “I trust you,” I answered. “More than you could ever—”

  He silenced me with a slow, deep, thoroughly thorough kiss.

  I didn’t mind. Not at all.

  The kiss turned hot. Hot enough that I was moaning and arching beneath him, aching in all the right places.

  He rolled his hips, the solid length of his erection rubbing against my pussy. The contact sent shards of wet need through me and, tearing my lips from his, I stared up into his eyes. “Raph…”

  I wanted to tell him again I was sorry for what I’d done back at Mackellar House. I wanted to tell him I needed him inside me so bad it hurt. All I could say was his name. God, I didn’t just want him, I really did love him. Despite all my efforts to keep him from my heart, from my life, I loved him and wanted him there. “Raph, please…”

  “Tell me what you want, American girl,” he whispered, his fingers around my wrists loose but still there. “Tell me what you feel.”

  I knew what he needed to hear. I had never uttered the words. “I want you.”

  He shook his head, an urgent fire in his dark eyes. “That’s not enough, Maci.” His voice was strained. Hoarse
. “Tell me…”

  I swallowed. My heart hammered. Could I say it? And if I did, what did that mean for us? For our future? For his? Could I really do that to him?

  Raw anxiety etched his face. He watched me. Waited. Between my spread thighs, his hard heat radiated into my core.

  Agony seared through me, the agony of knowing and not knowing. The fear of what might happen…

  Pulling a deep breath, I gazed into his eyes. “I love you, Raphael Jones.”

  The sun came out. That’s the only way I can describe the emotion that filled Raph’s face. The sun came out and the world was perfect. He took possession of my lips once more. There was no holding back. He made love to my mouth and I made love to his. When I shifted beneath him, when I hooked my leg around his hip and ground my sex to his, he let out a groan that was both tortured and arrogant.

  With a growl, he dragged his lips up to my ear. “I love you, Maci. And to prove it, I’m going to climb off this bed and watch you strip yourself naked.”

  Joy and delight threaded through the heady lust heating my veins. We both understood the significance of his statement. Raph was letting me undress. He was proving he knew I didn’t need him to undo my buttons. He was telling me that he understood my fears.

  I couldn’t stop my smile. Nor my wobbly laugh. “And if my hands shake? If my fingers fumble?”

  A dark glint filled his eyes. “Then tear your shirt. I know you’re strong enough to do it.”

  If it was possible, I loved him even more at that point.

  He crawled backward, smoothing his palms down the length of my body as he did so, over my breasts, my belly, my hips, my thighs, until he straightened to his feet at the end of the bed.

  I pushed myself up onto my elbows and studied him. My hands were shaking. I could feel the trembles claiming my muscles. But there was no way I was going to let them defeat me. Not now. Not ever. With Raph loving me, I could conquer the fucking world.

  Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I crossed my legs and, giving him the naughtiest smirk I could, I popped open my top button.

  Raph’s nostrils flared. His gaze lingered on the parted neckline of my shirt.

  I popped the next button and, sucking in a deep breath, opened my shirt some more, revealing a hint of bra and boob.

  Raph’s responding groan filled the room. His chest swelled as he pulled in his own slow breath.

  Letting my smirk grow naughtier, I released the next button, the one positioned beneath my breasts.

  “Fuck, Maci,” Raph moaned. He stared at what I’d revealed.

  With a soft giggle, I trailed my fingertips over the inner swell of my right boob, following the lacy edge of my bra. “How am I doing?”

  He sucked in a breath and raised his gaze to mine. “Should I take off my jeans and show you?”

  I laughed. “It might help.”

  He was unzipping his fly and shoving his jeans down his hips before I could finish the sentence.

  His cock tented his boxers, jutting against the black fabric with stiff need. My pulse kicked up a notch at the sight. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it in such a state, but it was the first time since I’d finally, irrevocably, told him I loved him.

  Which made it different somehow. More…important. More profound.

  Lifting my gaze to his face again, I caught my bottom lip with my tongue. He stared back at me, silent.

  Without a word, fingers trembling, I undid the rest of my buttons and slipped my shirt from my shoulders.

  At the end of the bed, Raph hooked his hands into the hemline of his polo and tugged it over his head.

  I let out a little whimper. God, he was gorgeous.

  Once again, our gazes clashed. Held each other prisoner.

  I unzipped my shorts and, with a rather clumsy and altogether unsexy jiggle, repositioned myself to my knees.

  Raph’s stare dropped to the tiny triangle of my lower belly now revealed by my opened fly. His chest rose and fell again.

  Heart pounding, sex throbbing, I slipped my hands between my hips and my shorts and shoved them, my shorts, not my hips, down.

  “Oh, Maci,” he murmured.

  The undeniable desire in his voice filled me with joy. And hungry, impatient need.

  Unable to wait any longer, I dropped to my butt and kicked my shorts away. Yeah, so not a sexy move, I know, but I was beyond seduction now. I just wanted to feel Raph’s body moving over mine. Moving in mine. I just wanted to feel his heat seep into my bones as he held me and we made love.

  Love. Not just sex, but love.

  Because that’s what it was. And it was wonderful.

  Moving my hands to the side strings of my panties, I smiled up at him and then frowned when he shook his head.

  “I want to take those off you,” he said. “I need to take those off you. And your bra. I think if I watch you do it, I’ll fucking blow my load in my boxers.”

  I laughed. “Then take your boxers off and get over—”

  He shoved his boxer shorts down his hips and was on the bed before I could finish. Again.

  With a rumbly growl, he captured my lips in a hungry kiss and pressed me back to mattress. He roamed his hands over my body. He knelt between my thighs, unclipping my bra with dexterous skill even as he kissed me crazy. When he moved his hands to my panties, I let out a hitching breath and arched beneath him.

  Two seconds later, I was naked. Completely.

  A heartbeat later, I was moaning loudly as he swept his tongue over my folds. A heartbeat after that, I was fisting the duvet as he sucked the tiny nub of my clit into his mouth.

  Oh God, could it get any better?

  It did.

  Because after he made me come with his mouth, he tied my wrists to the posts at the head of the bed—utilizing his discarded belt and his socks. Necessity is the mother of all invention, after all—and made me come two more times.

  With slow, powerful, deep thrusts, he buried himself in my wet heat, stretching me, filling me completely. Moving inside me. Moving with me.

  And when he came, when his orgasm took him in the same way mine took me, he called my name and told me he loved me over and over again.

  Suffice to say, we only just made it to the main house for dinner at 9:06.

  Life Is Good

  Raph’s mother took one look at us and raised an eyebrow. “Am I to assume you two know each other?”

  Raph ducked his head. Seeing him this way, like a little boy, was an experience. He was so goddamn endearing. “Maci was in Mackellar House before coming to Gunnedah, Mum.”

  Mrs. P cast me a long look. “Was she now? Why didn’t Raphael mention he knew you last night when we were talking on the phone, Miss Rowling? Are you one of those girls who are constantly trying to get him into bed? Trying to manipulate him with sex?”

  My heart tripped a beat. An unsettled sensation squirmed in my belly. Did she really think I was that kind of girl? Did I look like that kind of girl? God help me, surely not.

  My panic must have shown on my face, because Raph took my hand and pulled me closer to his side. “Bloody hell, Mum, she’s not one of those girls. And seriously, I think I’m going to need therapy for the rest of my life after hearing you ask if I’ve been manipulated by sex.”

  Mrs. P narrowed her eyes, ignoring Raph’s reaction to her question. “Are you going to sell your story to the media, Maci?”

  Heart fast, I opened my mouth.

  “Jesus, Mum,” Raph growled. “Give it a break. I know you don’t read the gossip in the papers, and if you were that worried about me and my poor fragile heart, you would have been on the phone the second the news of Maci and I being in a ménage relationship with Osmond hit.”

  Mrs. P’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “A what? With who?”

  Raph grunted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  “Who’s in a ménage relationship?” Mr. Patterson asked, striding into the dining room. To be honest, his sudden appearance, and the sh
arp interest in his voice, made me jump.

  “Your son.” Mrs. P arched an eyebrow at Raph. “With Maci and someone called Osmond.”

  Mr. Patterson grunted, a sound freakishly identical to Raph’s. “Good for him. But what’s that got to do with why my dinner isn’t on the table waiting for me? I’ve been working bloody hard all day and I’m hungry.”

  If it wasn’t for the small twitching of Helen Patterson’s lips, I think I may have run from the room, cheeks on fire. I know it was really Helen Jones’s lips, but that name just didn’t want to stick in my head.

  At my side, Raph rolled his eyes. “My family,” he muttered.

  Dinner was…interesting. I learned very quickly why his parents didn’t know who I was. They genuinely didn’t seem to bother themselves with what the media was saying about their children. “I’m too busy to worry about drivel like that,” Mr. Patterson declared when, unable to hold my tongue any longer, I asked what they thought of their son being an Australian celebrity. “He’s a big boy. He can look after himself.”

  I shot Raph a curious glance. Did they know about Horn? Did they care?

  Raph pulled a face. “Thanks, Dad. Gotta love the support.”

  Mr. Patterson raised his attention from his dinner—roast beef and a pile of vegetables cooked the same way—and gave his son a long, level gaze. A heavy tension fell over the room.

  Finally, with another grunt—the patented Patterson grunt, I was beginning to think of it as—he returned his attention to his dinner plate. “You know it’s there for you when you really need it, son.”

  And that was the end of the topic. The conversation moved to the weather, the health of the Kangaroo Creek cattle, the Scotts, who Mrs. P. informed us had finally made it through the overflowing river today, and then to Australian politics.

  “We’re out of here,” Raph declared at that point, threading his fingers through mine and tugging me out of my seat. He dropped a quick kiss on Mrs. P’s cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Mum. We’ll see you sometime over the weekend.”