by Amy Lynn
Starving
Faithful
Amy Lynn
Starving Faithful
Book #1 of The Insatiable Series
Amy Lynn
Copyright© 2015 Amy Lynn
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.
Cover design by Amy Donnelly
Cover photo by Sfio Cracho
Formatting by Jennifer Hensley
Editing by Amy Donnelly/Ashley Hampton
Chapter1
Ava
I watch the man from my window as he loads boxes into the back of a U-haul. Sweat glistens on his skin, and his damp gray shirt clings to his stomach and lower back. He pushes a hand through his disheveled sandy blonde hair before bending to lift another box, giving me a great view of his backside. His muscles flex under the weight and his shirt grazes the top of his jeans when his arms rise, revealing a tiny patch of tanned skin. His hazel eyes flash to the window and he smiles.
I wave, unsure if he can see me through the glass; his smile grows wide as he returns the wave, the gold on his ring finger an echo of my own. Warmth spreads throughout my body that has nothing to do with the current heat index, and my heartbeat quickens. Looking at the man before me, I can hardly believe he is my husband, and I am his wife.
Pulling my gaze from the window, I focus on the taped boxes that litter the floor of my apartment, realization surrounding me. I’m finally moving in with my husband. Although I married Brad two months ago, we agreed to live separately until my lease expired, giving us both time to finalize our affairs and pack before our big move to Chicago. However, we never spent a night apart. Either Brad was in my bed or I was in his. We just happened to be married with different addresses.
Brad enters the kitchen, his hair tousled and damp with sweat. His shirt is deliciously sticking to his lower abdomen, grazing the waistband of his jeans, which are loose and slung low around his hips. “What’s next?” Brad asked.
I took a bottle of water from the fridge. “Come here,” I said, untwisting the cap and passing it to him. “Take a break.”
Brad hops onto the counter and gulps down the water, nearly emptying it. “Thanks,” he says as he looks around the room. “Only a thousand more boxes to go,” he says, with a grin.
I playfully smack his arm. “It would go faster if you would let me help.”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
I push his legs further apart nestling between them and slide my hands around his back. “A reward then? For all your hard work?”
He drinks the remainder of his water. “Later,” he says and winks.
“What’s wrong with right now?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Your bed is in the U-Haul,” Brad says, placing a quick kiss on my lips.
A vivid image flashes in my mind of him taking me from behind while I grip the edge of the counter where he sits. “Why do we need a bed?” I ask.
“Ava, you know that’s…not my style.”
I pull away, my eyes looking anywhere but at him, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. “I know.” I mumble to myself and back away few steps. When I feel the tears pool I turn away quickly seeking the escape of the bathroom.
Brad jumps from the counter and captures me around the waist turning me back to face him. “Look at me.”
My cheeks are flushed with the heat of my embarrassment, and his shirt is beginning to blur through my unshed tears. Brad slides a finger under my chin and brings my eyes to meet his. “I love you, Ava.”
His hazel eyes search mine, waiting for a reply, “I love you too.” I don’t hesitate to answer, because I do.
Brad’s lips curve into a smile, and he pulls me closer for a kiss. His lips are warm, wet, and fit against mine seamlessly. His hands begin to slide lower. I imagine them cupping my bottom and lifting me so I can wrap my legs around his waist, but they stop, resting on the small of my back right at the waistband of my cutoff jean shorts.
“Tonight,” he whispers against my lips.
I nod. “Okay.”
Brad smiles, smacks me on the ass, and scrambles away to carry more boxes to the U-haul.
Within the last hour, Brad has become more playful. Small touches, kissing my neck when my back is turned, brushing up against me even though there is plenty of room to pass…. All in hopes of remedying my bruised ego, I assume.
Despite our sexual differences, Brad loves me. I know it.
I was excited to start my life and marriage with Brad in an exciting new city, but I was also leaving my parents and the only home I’ve ever known. This change was inevitable, and at times unwelcome, but I’d adjust and everything would be fine eventually. It had to be. There really wasn’t any other choice.
Two weeks later, Brad drove the U-haul to Chicago, his BMW on a trailer behind, while I drove my new Audi. My parents gave it to me a month ago, saying it was a wedding gift, but the reality was they just wanted me to have something reliable to drive. I knew they were doing it because they cared about me, so I didn’t argue. Besides, it wouldn’t’t do any good anyway. They were the most stubborn people I knew.
Our new home is a nice brick two-story, in a well-developed subdivision near the city, with a two car attached garage, beautiful landscaping, and a long driveway lined with solar lights embedded into the concrete. A promising realtor assisted us and was able to negotiate us a great deal.
Caroline, my fairy godmother of sorts, has always taken care of me when it was out of my parents reach, whether financially or socially. Caroline and her husband, Paul, have been long time friends of my parents for as long as I could remember. When they heard we were moving to Chicago, they helped us find a home, provided us with any assistance we needed, and have been quite neighborly even though we were far from being actual neighbors.
Paul and Caroline are a thirty-minute drive away, depending on traffic, and have a quiet estate with a long, private, gated drive near the edge of the city. To say it was something Brad and I would never in our lifetimes be able to achieve or afford was an understatement. Despite their wealth and obvious success, they were good, kind, caring people who were generous almost to a fault, and I couldn’t be more blessed to have them in my life.
Brad continued carrying boxes into the house, placing them in the room that was labeled on the side. He begins work in just two days, so we needed to get the house in order as soon as possible. Anything that was left after that I could take care of.
I began with the bathroom so we could take a shower later and not worry about where the towels, soap, and shampoo were, not to mention it was far less overwhelming. While I unpacked in the master bath, Brad assembled the frame of our bed. It took some convincing, but Brad let me help carry the mattress inside (my dad had helped him load it before). When we finished, I set off in search of the bed linens my parents had purchased. A house-warming gift they called it, but really, it was just an excuse to buy us stuff without us getting mad.
&
nbsp; After the bed was made, I fell backwards; arms stretched wide as if ready to make a snow angel, and sank deliciously into the soft down.
“What’s this?” Brad asks from the doorway. “Taking an unapproved break?”
“Maybe.”
“May I join you?”
“Of course.”
Brad lay down next to me draping his arm across my waist. I put my hand over his, giving it a light squeeze as we lay there silently, just listening to each other breathe.
“Promise me something,” Brad asked me.
“Anything.”
“If you’re not happy here, you’ll tell me.”
“I’m happy wherever you are, Brad.”
He turned and met my eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”
I rolled over, my body half on top of his, my hand over his beating heart. “Stop saying stuff like that.”
“I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.”
“Kiss me,” I answer, trying to soften his mood.
Brad reaches for me, his hands tangling in my hair, his fingers at the nape of my neck pulling me forward, the pad of his thumbs stroking across my cheek as our lips met.
“Tell me you love me,” he whispered between kisses.
“I love you, Bradley Lauren.”
The next morning I groaned the second I woke. I was in desperate need of coffee and remembered I hadn’t gotten around to unpacking a single kitchen appliance. I slipped from the bed, careful not to wake Brad and soon realized his side of the bed was empty, the blankets gently tossed back. I picked up Brad’s shirt from the foot of the bed and slipped it over my naked body as thoughts of our first night together in our new home flashed through my mind. The way his eyes sparkled when he threw me on the freshly made bed. The way his lips tasted of marinara sauce from the takeout pizza we had for dinner. How his damp hair trailed across my skin quieting my giggles as he kissed. The soft sounds he made when my hand crept beneath the waistband of his boxers. The way he says my name in a rush, and it comes out whispery and breathless…. All a string of unforgettable details etched into my memory forever.
I descended the stairs, and upon reaching our open floor plan living room, I saw a few boxes opened with several objects scattered about. Following the delicious scent of coffee, I found Brad in the kitchen shirtless in a pair of pajama pants.
“Want a cup?” Brad smiled knowingly at me while holding up his mug.
“God, yes.”
Brad eyes followed me as I made my way to him, the reality that I was completely nude under his shirt, registering in his gaze. He handed me his mug when I neared, then leaned in and placed a kiss on my cheek. “You said the same thing last night,” he whispered.
I blushed, taking a sip from the mug, the heat of the liquid caressing my throat. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
I smacked him on the arm and laughed. “I meant for the coffee.”
Brad simply winked, prepared himself another mug, and sat at the kitchen island where two granola bars and a banana were laid out for both of us.
I shook my head. “I’m supposed to take care of you remember?”
“No, we take care of each other. Now go put something on and eat breakfast with me.”
“I do have something on.”
“So I’m supposed to sit here and eat breakfast with you wearing,” he eyed me up and down, “That?”
“Yes. But I suppose I could take it off if that would make things more comfortable for you,” I said grasping the hem of his shirt.
“Ava,” Brad warned.
“Yes, Brad?” I smiled innocently, pulling the fabric higher.
“Don’t.”
Brad had lost his playful tone, and I ignored the feelings that erupted inside me. What was so wrong with taking your wife in the kitchen? We’re supposed to be newlyweds for Christ’s sake! Besides, wasn’t it a rule that you christened every square inch of “doable areas” during your first year of marriage and repeat if necessary?
I let the shirt hem slip from my fingertips, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t….want me that way, and I apologize for taking it too far.” I say the last part in a rush, feeling the size of a gnat, my ego feeling even smaller. Why do I always feel like he’s always pushing me away? I smooth my hair down and tuck a lock behind my ear as my face heats.
“Is that what you think? That I don’t want you?”
I shrugged, looking down at the floor.
“Come here,” he ordered.
He tugged me between his legs the instant I reached him, gripping my hips and crushed himself to me so roughly, I gasped.
“You feel that?” he asked, his hardness resting against me. “I want you all the time. Every minute of every day. Just because I choose not to act on it, doesn’t make it any less true.”
I want to ask why. Why he chooses not to act on his feelings. But I don’t. Instead, I nod and answer, “I understand.”
He kisses me, and I gasp when his hands slip under my shirt to squeeze the underside of my butt cheeks, his hips moving against me with further warning, and I nearly lose my sanity on the spot.
“Don’t forget what I said. Understand?”
I nod in agreement, speechless to respond any other way.
“Good,” Brad says. “Now eat some breakfast with me, Wifey. I’m starving.”
I smile at his loving endearment he gave me gave our first night as a married couple. “Me too,” I say. Even though my ‘starving’ was a completely different version than his.
Brad started his job two days later and while I was still unemployed, Brad assured me that our finances wouldn’t be a problem. So I shifted my focus to getting the rest of our house in order. He set aside money for new furniture and decorations, insisting that I put it to good use. And on Monday, I did just that. I bought a dining room table since neither of us had one, a few area rugs, some new lounge chairs covered in a cool patterned fabric to compliment the beige furniture we already had, and some picture frames. I had a little money left over that I tucked into an envelope for something I might find later down the road, and slipped it into my nightstand with the words, Fancy House Money, written across the envelope.
Finding the photos I was looking for, I placed them into the new matching frames I had bought. Securing the backs, I flipped each one over. One was of Brad and I kissing the moment the minister gave Brad the green light the day we got married. The other, my favorite, was a simple one of us. Brad had his arms around me from behind while he whispered something into my ear. It was also a picture from our wedding day. The reason I loved it so much, was I don’t recall what he was whispering. We looked so happy and very much in love. They weren’t great photos, and they didn’t have to be. Just a special moment caught in time. A happiness that I wanted us to be reminded of every day.
Later that night when Brad and I went to bed, he rolled over, slipped his arm around my waist, and pulled me back into his warm chest. “Thanks for the photo, Wifey. I love it.”
Wow. I didn’t even expect him to notice.
I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face, wrapped in my husband’s loving embrace.
Chapter 2
Ava
Brad has been working for two weeks now, but today he came home agitated.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He sighs heavily as he sinks onto the sofa. “This asshole that sits in on his daddy’s meetings. He’s an arrogant, cocky, self-righteous attorney that’s a huge pain in everyone’s ass.”
“Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel,” I answer back with raised eyebrows, laughing.
“I’m sorry.” Brad scoffs at himself and reaches for me, pulling me into his lap. “I shouldn’t even be bothering you with this stuff.”
I kiss him under his chin. “Get it all out before tomorrow. It’ll make you feel better. Besides, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbles with his lips presse
d into my hair.
I lightly pinch his chest, a silent reminder for him to stop saying such silly things. He looks at me and smiles.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you more,” he responds, his lopsided grin growing even bigger.
*******
Each weekend, Brad surprises me with little adventures to explore our new city. We visit Navy Pier indulging in carnival games, rides, and cotton candy before finishing the evening with Shakespeare in the park and gorgeous fireworks over the water. We had the most delicious deep dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s, caught a game and a foul ball at Wrigley Field, laughed at a comedy club, and visited the famous Cloud Gate aka ‘The Bean,’ which happens to be a lot bigger and shinier in person than I imagined and does indeed look like a big silver bean. Like all good things, our frequent outings must end, and lately they have. Brad and I settle into a comfortable routine with him working and me scanning the want ads. I’m going stir crazy home all alone, and boredom has officially set in. I can only clean, organize, and decorate so much before cabin fever completely overtakes me.