Summer on Main Street

by Crista McHugh

“Lolly,” he croaked. He willed himself to roll toward her. To move farther up into the bed and gather her in his arms. He held her there, unmoving, until more strength returned. Then he brushed her hair back from her face and told her he loved her. At least he hoped he did, because the darkness came upon him fast, pulling him under. Before he knew enough to resist, he was asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Brooks was half-asleep when Lolly climbed back in bed. He hadn’t opened his eyes but continued to dream even though he’d been aware of the shower and had formulated a plan in case Lolly attempted to leave the room. The fact that she’d come back to bed had him grinning blindly as she snuggled up against him. He threaded both arms around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

  That accounted for three-quarters of his joy. The last bit was because he knew without a doubt his pecker was still in fine working order. After whatever the hell he’d gone through last night, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find the thing broken in half.

  Lolly must have noticed it too, because the most perfect woman in the world stroked a tentative hand down his hard-on, flawlessly bringing him awake. God, he loved her. With his eyes still closed, he hummed his appreciation as she continued, his body rejuvenating, energy stirring his limbs and mind. He hauled her on top of him, moving them both to the center of the bed. Her knees straddled his hips, her hands braced on his chest. He opened his eyes to find damp hair falling over him while Lolly positioned herself over his erection. Then, ever so slowly, she dropped her hips back and he found his way home.

  His hands clasped her knees, his thumbs rubbing up and down her thighs. She sat back on him and he rewarded her by lifting his pelvis and rotating his hips. He pulled his knees up and placed his feet flat on the bed. She tossed her hair out of her face and looked down at him through dark sapphires, her lids already starting to get heavy.

  She bit her lip as she circled her hips, grinding herself around his swollen cock. She closed her eyes, and he snuck his hands up her legs where the enticing triangle of dark curls sat against his body. His thumbs uncovered her most sensitive spot. His right thumb stroked low and found its mark. Lolly leaned back, exposing herself to his fingers while still circling her hips around his shaft.

  “Brooooks,” she sighed, eyes closed, head back. “That feels soooo good.”

  “For me too, Laura Leigh. For me too.”

  Goddammit, he wanted to put his mouth on her. Somewhere. Anywhere. But it felt too good having his cock stretched taut, jammed to the hilt inside her and being manipulated by her rotating pelvis. So he bit his lips and focused on the erotica in front of him.

  Their tempo changed little by little––she started moving up and down; he started moving in and out. When she leaned forward to brace her hands on his chest, he captured her wrists, extended her arms over his head, and placed her hands on top of the headboard. Then he raised his head and captured a stiff nipple with his teeth. He latched on and sucked. Lolly moaned and increased her tempo, intentionally rubbing herself against his torso.

  He had a lot of energy and he was dying to show Lolly how much he appreciated this kind of physical activity first thing in the morning. So he slid down the bed, under her body, allowing his cock to fall out of heaven so he could put his mouth directly under her sweet, sweet core. He pulled her hips down, tilted his head back, and indulged.

  Dear God, the taste of her turned him on like nothing else. His hands gripped her hips, forcing her down on his face, making her ride him so his mouth could make love to that sweet bud at the top of her apex while his finger stroked her deep inside.

  And oh, she liked it. He could tell she liked it, even as she shrieked when he inserted his thumb and slid his fingers further along her backside, massaging the sensitive nerve endings. “Dear God that’s good,” she said, moving slower and slower, then stopping while she let his hands and mouth do all the work. He sucked and manipulated until the heavy panting turned into one––long––wail of release as her body tightened and shook, cum easing down over his hand.

  He moved that hand between his own legs and spread Lolly’s essence over the head of his cock and down the shaft, leaving his mouth to extend Lolly’s orgasm as long as she wanted to go. When she collapsed, he rolled her over to her back and crawled up her body.

  “You don’t have to do anything,” he said, spreading her legs with his knees and kissing the tender spots around her collarbone. “Just let me see how far we can take this.”

  Lolly threw her arms over her head, welcoming him to her body. He laid his hips down against hers, rubbing himself on top of her pubic curls, then into her damp heat, sinking deeper along the length of her body. He rubbed himself between her folds again and again, shivering at the sensation. “Oh, Lolly DuVal,” he uttered, low and serious. “Forgive my language, but you are one…great…lay.”

  He pushed himself inside, sliding in deep and long, moaning his appreciation. His arms went straight, supporting most of his weight so he could look down between their bodies and watch. His intention was to keep it slow and steady so he could extend the pleasure and bask in the physical sensations of loving Lolly. But his body was greedy, wanting more intensity and craving the climax.

  Like the night before, monstrous lust shot from his muscles to his nerve endings, shutting down the civilized part of his brain and turning him from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde. Thrusting deeper, harder, and faster, he moved them up the bed. Lolly braced her palms against the headboard, giving him more resistance. When she wrapped her legs around his back he slid deeper, cried out, and pounded his way home, the bed creaking violently beneath them.

  Lolly watched the power of Brooks' muscled form strain every sinew from his forehead down, and from his toes up. She watched the energy converge and surge where their bodies joined. God is an awesome architect, she thought as she reveled in the power of Brooks' climax.

  His arms broke down one at a time as he collapsed onto her body. She wrapped him up in her limbs, her fingers drifting over his shoulders and back. His naked body was magnificent, and it was all hers.

  He rolled off too soon, leaving the bed, telling her to stay where she was. With her arms empty and her body craving his spent weight upon her, she rolled over instead of moaning her distress. Then she heard a soft buzz and wondered if he’d gone to shave. The memory of an electric toothbrush by his sink made her smile. He was brushing his teeth. She heard the water running. Soon enough, everything went quiet, and she felt the bed shift to her right. She rolled over and looked into his freshly-scrubbed face.

  “I wanted to brush my teeth before I did this.” He leaned in and kissed her, all minty fresh and cool. His body stretched out on the bed before wrapping her up in his arms. His tongue played across her lips before she opened up and let him inside.

  They made out for the sheer pleasure of it, eventually turning it into a competition between tongues and lips, laughing out loud when teeth got involved. It was going to be great fun loving Brooks ‘Golden Boy’ Bennett.

  “Best. Day. Ever,” he said between kisses.

  “Mmm,” she agreed. “And it’s just getting started.”

  One Week Later

  Duncan James stood in a hallway just off the main foyer of Raleigh’s largest courthouse. He was dressed for court, though he wasn’t scheduled. Beside him stood a bright-eyed Annabelle Devine in her signature white business attire, perfectly fit for court. Beside her was one very nervous Vance Evans. He was dressed in an unprecedented three-piece suit that put his impeccably dressed father to shame. The man was drawing looks from every female who walked by, and a few of the men as well.

  The fact that Vance wasn’t returning any of those looks spoke plainly to the stress he was feeling. They were all here to meet Piper Beaumont, a woman Vance hadn’t laid eyes on since fourth grade. A woman who was about to be ambushed as far as Duncan was concerned. His colleague, Matt Collins, was standing in the center of the foyer waiting for Ms. Beaumont to come out of the
courtroom where she was defending a young client. Matt had assured Duncan that Ms. Beaumont would be able to handle the spontaneous introductions. He went on to say that Ms. Beaumont could handle anything.

  In short order, Matt’s hand gestured toward them, indicating that he had Ms. Beaumont in his sights. Duncan, Annabelle, and Vance all moved just into the foyer to wait for Matt to announce their presence and bring Piper over for introductions. Duncan could tell there was a lot of momentum coming from the courtroom. He noticed what looked like a couple of parents with their college-aged daughter moving swiftly toward the front doors of the building, followed closely by a herd of dark-suited males.

  And then came a bit of sunshine, Duncan thought. No, not a bit of sunshine, but the whole ball of fire come to earth in the form of one petite, curvy, outlandishly-dressed-for-court Piper Beaumont.

  Duncan knew it was Piper because Matt had stepped directly into her path and was talking to her, apparently explaining that he wanted to make an introduction. Piper, in her bright-yellow garden party dress and three-inch yellow patent heels, handed her large yellow tote to one of the three, briefcase-toting male lawyers surrounding her. She turned her head to say something to all of them. They nodded, and off they went, full stride.

  “Is that her?” Annabelle said, sounding overly delighted. She moved past Duncan as if compelled to take a closer look. Duncan, apparently under the same compulsion, moved in step behind Annabelle. Admittedly, he was just as intrigued. He only hoped his voice didn’t come out sounding quite so delighted.

  Matt Collins turned to indicate the two of them. “Piper Beaumont,” he said. “This is my colleague, Duncan James.”

  Oh, Duncan thought as he took her hand. Not a ball of fire at all, but a Kewpie doll come to life. Yellow-blond curls, large blue eyes, and big pink cheeks. Forget her mouth. He couldn’t chance another look at her mouth, for Christ’s sake. He was standing next to Annabelle.

  “Ms. Beaumont,” he grinned. “It certainly is a pleasure to meet you.” He cleared his throat and then remembered the woman standing to his left. “May I introduce Annabelle Devine? She’s from Henderson. Like you.”

  “Oh, really? Henderson?” Piper asked Annabelle, as if Annabelle had come from the moon rather than just an hour’s drive away. “It’s got to be my favorite place in all the world. I grew up there. Well, I didn’t grow completely up there exactly, but I was there through fourth grade.”

  “I lived there most of my life,” Annabelle gushed. “I’m in Raleigh now, but my parents are still there, and I go back all the time.”

  “Oh, I’ve been meaning to go back. I keep tellin’ everybody that the Research Triangle may as well be the Bermuda Triangle. Once I moved in, I never moved out. Except for college—I did manage to get out of the state for college. But that inexplicable pull, that force of the Triangle, had me back here before I knew it. How is ol’ Henderson?” Piper asked. Her southern drawl became noticeably stronger the more she talked to Annabelle.

  “Just as lovely as ever. You really ought to come back for a visit. The center of town has been transformed by a few boutique shops and two nice restaurants. There are a couple of small businesses, too. Other than that, I bet you’d find it just as you remember.”

  “Ms. Beaumont, the reason we’re here,” Duncan interrupted, “is to reintroduce an old friend of yours from Henderson. Maybe you remember Van—” Duncan looked behind him and saw nothing but empty space. “Wait. Where’d he go?”

  The lobby area had cleared out as they’d stood gabbing. Except for the security detail, Matt Collins, Piper Beaumont, Annabelle, and himself were the only ones around.

  Vance Evans had disappeared into thin air.

  ~*~*~

  Thank you!

  I hope you enjoyed Good Cop the 1st full-length novel in the Heroes of Henderson Series. Be sure to check out Bad Cop, Book 2 in the Heroes of Henderson Series.

  All of my books are complete romances and do not need to be read in any particular order. But it might be a little more fun that way.

  Here are the rest of the books available now:

  Playin’ Cop - Heroes of Henderson Prequel

  (Annabelle and Duncan’s story - a novella.)

  Good Cop - Heroes of Henderson ~ Book 1

  Bad Cop - Heroes of Henderson ~ Book 2

  (Vance’s story continues.)

  Taming Molly - A DuVal Cousins Quickie - Heroes of Henderson ~ Book 2.5

  (Lolly’s cousin, Molly comes back to town in this novella.)

  Top Dog - Heroes of Henderson ~ Book 3

  Tempting Vivi - A DuVal Cousins Novel - Heroes of Henderson ~ Book3.5

  And coming soon

  Under Dog - Heroes of Henderson ~ Book 4

  For buy links, review links, excerpts, and my newsletter visit www.LizKellyBooks.com

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  About the Author

  Growing up every summer in a place where dancing and romancing are literally part of its theme song, Liz Kelly can't help but be a romantic at heart. And since her favorite author, Kathleen E. Woodiwiss wrote some of the world's greatest romances, she's just trying to give the world a little more of that. (Okay, maybe a little sexier that, but we are now in a new millennium after all.)

  A graduate of Wake Forest University, where she met her handsome golf-addicted husband, (who is now sporting dark glasses everywhere he goes) Liz is a mother of two grown sons (also sporting dark glasses) and a miniature Labradoodle named Isabelle. They live in the Fountain of Youth, a.k.a. Naples, FL where dancing and romancing continues on ad infinitum.

  The Love I Want To Be In

  By

  M.J. Frederick

  Chapter One

  Brioney Dawson balanced on the stool, one heel hooked on the bottom rung, and tuned her guitar. She strummed, adjusted, then, satisfied, look out over the restaurant. For a Friday night in October, the place was pretty empty, though it would probably fill up closer to sunset. The restaurant’s location on pylons extending over the bay made it an ideal spot to watch the sunset.

  This time of year the snowbirds hadn’t started drifting down to the Texas coast, ahead of the heavy work that went with winter up north. But by January many would descend, after enjoying a picture postcard Christmas before heading to warmer climates.

  Right now Brioney would venture a guess that the dinner crowd was mostly Texans having a last summer hurrah.

  The open-air restaurant suited that, cooled by the ocean breeze through the rolled-up doors.

  “Good evening, everybody. I’m Brioney Dawson, your entertainment tonight. If you have any requests, I have a book here.” She motioned to a cute little journal with butterflies that her daughter had bought her. It sat at the edge of the stage next to the tip jar. “I’ll do my best to play it. I’m going to start with one of my favorites.”

  Her fingers moved on the frets without conscious thought as she closed her eyes and swung into an old Stevie Nicks song. She was so lucky JoAnna let her sing here. She only sang on Friday, and only for tips, but she loved it. Performing made her feel like there was life beyond being a maid at the one hotel on Avalon Island. As she sang, the noise softened, the clink of glasses and clank of silverware disappeared, and she slipped away from the small town and landed on a stage in Nashville or L.A. or Las Vegas. Instead of dozens of people in her audience, she had thousands. A ridiculous fantasy, she knew, but she enjoyed it anyway.

  When she’d finished the song to what she always thought was surprised applause, she opened her eyes, back to reality, and met the amused blue eyes of Blue Ramsey. He leaned back on the barstool and clapped his big hands heartily before he stopped to take a deep swallow of his beer. This was a usual routine. She sang at The Wharf on Friday nights, he’d drink at The Wharf on Friday nights. JoAnna could count on them for consistency.

  She thought it was kind of strange, though, that she and Blue had become friends, considering he’d dated her sister throu
ghout high school and followed her to Austin, before they’d broken up and he’d moved back to Avalon Island. Still, he’d been coming around for a while, like he was looking out for her and her daughter.

  Brioney sang a couple more songs, including a new Taylor Swift her daughter had urged her to learn, then two of her own compositions before she consulted the notebook. She had three requests, a folk song from the 1960s, a song from the radio, and an obscure title written in Blue’s distinctive hand.

  This was a game they played. He would try to stump her with a song, and she would play it. Since he’d grown up with eccentric parents—thus the name Blue—he had an eclectic taste in music. Sometimes his songs were indie rock and sometimes they were bluegrass. So far, she’d been able to meet his challenges.

  She attributed her broad knowledge to the fact that she spent most of her days cleaning hotel rooms listening to all kinds of songs on her earbuds. This one was from the movie her daughter Joy had been watching over and over, so she knew it cold. She played the other two first, then met Blue’s gaze as she sang his song with a bit more sass than the original.

  “I guess that can count,” he said when she took a break and joined him at the bar.

  “Not even a challenge,” she retorted.

  “Buy you a drink?” he asked, motioning to his own beer.

  “I don’t drink when I’m playing.” Or ever, really. She didn’t want to go home to her daughter with alcohol on her breath. And she needed to set a good example for her younger brother Brandon, who lived with her.

  “Lemonade, then? Sweet tea?”

  She took the seat next to him. “I wouldn’t say no to a soda.” She’d cut back on those, too, but every once in a while liked to indulge.