Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  When he received no response from her, he pulled the covers off her, resulting in a squeal, “Albert Stuart, you are the most infuriating man!” she cried.

  “It was the only way I could get you up,” he explained, watching her climb out of bed, her gown riding up on a shapely thigh. Pulling her back onto the bed with him, he kissed her, and then nuzzled her neck telling her as his fingers toyed with the top of her gown, “Maybe we do have a little time.”

  She gently pushed on his chest, nuzzling his ear, telling him, “No, you’re right. I must get up and get dressed. Perhaps if you had woken me a little nicer we would have had time for other things.”

  “Anne, I don’t believe it. We’ve only been married for three days, and you're already refusing me.”

  “No, darlin’,” she said caressing his face with the back of her hand, “I will never refuse you. I’m just doing as you requested, I’m getting up and getting dressed. Your other ideas will have to wait until later.”

  The couple spent a romantic week in San Francisco at the Palace Hotel. Albert had reserved a suite for them, requesting the staff keep it well stocked with champagne, fruit, pastries, and Anne’s favorite chocolates.

  He enjoyed showing her everything he loved about the city. They spent their days sightseeing, visiting museums, art galleries, and dining at the finest restaurants. In the evenings, he took her to several stage shows and the opera.

  On one of their last nights in the city, they lay in bed after making love as she told him, “Albert, I’ve had a wonderful time. You’ve made it so very special.”

  “I wanted you to have a good time,” he told her. “Something both of us will remember for the rest of our lives.”

  Anne had gotten bolder and more comfortable in her role as Albert’s wife, wanting to please him at every turn. She had soon discovered that Albert was not only gentle and considerate in his love-making, but a powerful and demanding lover at the same time, satisfying her every time.

  One afternoon, after returning from sightseeing, he asked, “Did you want to bathe before dinner?”

  “I would love to. I won’t be long. I’ll start filling the tub right now,” she told him. As the tub filled, she began undressing. Albert’s eyes watched her every move, admiring the image she presented. She pinned her hair up, then removed her under garments, before gingerly stepping into the huge brass tub. She sighed as she laid back, her head resting on the back of the tub, as the hot water welcomed her. She had almost drifted off to sleep when she heard a noise. Opening her eyes, she watched as Albert stepped into the tub.

  “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” he asked, smiling.

  “Albert, why no, I just never. . .” she said, fumbling over her words.

  Pulling her to him, he told her, “Anne, after the past week we’ve spent together, you can’t possibly be shy about anything we do together.”

  “No, it’s just this is, well, not anything I expected.”

  Nuzzling her neck, his hands busy awakening the passion in her, he whispered, “Let me do everything, and I promise you’ll never want to bathe without me again.” He was right, after that night, she never looked at bathing in quite the same way.

  By the time they left San Francisco, the two lovers had discovered even more about each other. He had always known how passionate she was about those she loved and now that passion was his alone. They both regretted having to leave San Francisco, but knew they would remember this time together, forever.

  The evening they returned home from San Francisco, a feeling of contentment washed over both of them as they pulled up in front of their home. After unlocking the door and seeing Anne inside, Albert went to put the horses and carriage away. She went throughout the house, lighting the lamps, as Albert returned shortly and started a fire in the fireplace. When he stood up, she molded herself to him, kissing him.

  “Welcome home, sweetheart,” she told him.

  “Anne, I love your greeting,” he smiled. “I hope that you always welcome me that way when I return home.”

  Taking his hand, she told him, “I always will.” Then she added, “You have to see this.”

  Leading him into the living room, she indicated the piles of wedding gifts neatly stacked on the far side of the room. “Your father thought of everything,” she told him.

  “He also brought Diablo and Mariah over, they’re in the barn,” he said. Kissing her, he added, “We’ll see to the gifts another time. I have other plans for tonight.”

  “I thought as much,” she said, smiling at him.

  As Albert carried their bags upstairs, she declined his help in putting their clothing and personal effects away. “Just sit and talk to me,” she told him.

  Sitting on the settee, he watched as she took care folding his shirts and placing them into his dresser. When finished, she told him, “As much as I loved San Francisco and our time together there, I missed our home.”

  “I did too. It’s good to be home. Now, Mrs. Stuart,” he said taking her hand. “I think we need to reacquaint ourselves with our bed.”

  Smiling at her husband, Anne grasped his hand as they enjoyed the rest of the evening in a way that left them both exhausted and fulfilled. With the wedding and honeymoon over, Albert and Anne settled into their life together as man and wife in a perpetual love for each other.

  About The Author

  I've always been a creative individual. Writing is just a facet of that creativity...

  My careers in public relations in and around the entertainment industry, photography, editing, artist management, modeling and special event planning all elevated my passion for writing, not to mention gave me a treasure trove for story lines.

  I write women's fiction; contemporary and historical romance which is ever evolving. I am fortunate enough that writing (and marketing of said product(s)) is my full-time job, although I always have one or two other projects going at the same time.

  I now live in a suburb of Atlanta. Some of my other interests include photography, equestrianism, reading, and of course, travel.

  I sincerely hope my writing will entertain, enlighten, and inspire others to pick up the pen and pursue their own dreams. I love to be contacted by readers, writers, and history buffs.

  Contact me at:

  Email: TudorRose829@gmail.com

  Website: www.jamiesalisbury.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jamiesalisburyauthor

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/JamieRSalisbury

  Letting Go, Anchored Hearts, Vol. 1

  by

  J.M. Witt

  Chapter One

  Blackbird

  ~ CASSIDY ~

  May 2013

  It was a cool, Spring Saturday night. I had just been promoted to Junior Event Planner at Bea and Cecily, more commonly known as B & C, and I was out to celebrate. My ‘boyfriend’ was performing at the Blue Horse for the first time. My best friend, Holly, was dating the band’s front man, Sam, and she was the happiest I remember seeing her in all the years we’d been friends. I wasn’t sure it would last, but time would tell.

  We got to the bar, which was an unfamiliar one to us, and took our seats. Holly was crooning about Sam and I was trying to listen. After our drinks arrived, she mentioned that the bar was just purchased by a friend of Dan’s. I simply shrugged my shoulders and smiled, vaguely remembering her saying that Dan and the new owner went to high school together. If she mentioned a name, I didn’t catch it.

  Holly was also celebrating. She had recently gotten a job at an art gallery. She was a free spirit, which tended to get her in trouble from time to time. It was probably what drew me to her like a moth to the flame. She was out-going, artistic, and had mountains of confidence—knew how to love and live fast and hard. The fact that she was also an orphan had made her super independent; she’d been supporting herself since she was seventeen.

  My upbringing was the opposite of Holly’s. I grew up in a middle-class family, with an older brother, a mom
and a dad. We had our share of drama just like every other family. I went to school with the same kids from elementary school all the way through high school. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  I was with Dan, the bassist for a few weeks by the time that night rolled around. Meeting Dan had been a setup, which I normally hated, but there we were. I remembered Holly asking me, “What’s the worst that could happen?” a few weeks prior to meeting Dan.

  What a loaded question. I over analyzed anything and everything. Holly was one of those people who could just let go; I truly envied that quality. She was always telling me, “Just let go, Cass! Have some fun.”

  Currently I was preoccupied, staring at the tall drink of water that had just walked out of the back room. God, he was hot! He was on his cell, clearly in a heated conversation. He had me completely captivated and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Close to six and a half feet tall, his face was clearly chiseled by the hand of God. Great nose, cheekbones and a jaw line covered in a dusting of hair. It was obvious that he worked out; he was built like a linebacker with broad shoulders and that perfect V shape that many athletes are able to maintain.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you! What are you looking at?” Holly pulled me from my trance just as the object of my desire turned his back. The view was almost as nice as his front—if that damn shirt wasn’t hiding his ass from my hungry eyes.

  Holly followed the nod of my head. “Damn! He’s got to be close to seven feet tall. I wonder who that is.” She seemed just as intrigued as I was.

  I rolled my eyes at her exaggeration of his height. “Just because you’re a dwarf doesn’t make him a giant. He’s perfect!” I could hear Foo Fighters playing overhead, though I don’t recall what song. Holly continued to admire him until Sam walked over with Dan following close behind. The night proceeded like any other. The band performed three sets while I drank too much and danced too little. I couldn’t stop my eyes from searching for him all night.

  *****

  A week later we were at the Blue Horse again. Dan walked over to Holly and me, in between sets, with Sam and the object of my lust behind him. Oh shit!

  “Guys, this is James, he’s the owner. We go way back.” Dan smacked James on the shoulder, which was a feat considering the height difference. James didn’t look amused and only took his eyes off mine long enough to introduce himself to Holly. He then held his hand out to me.

  “And you are?” Is there such a thing as eye-fucking? ‘Cause if there was he was doing it. I felt myself blush when I took his hand. Electricity ran up my arm and down to my core.

  “This is my girl, Cassidy.” I wanted to shout at Dan ‘I’m not your girl just because we’re sleeping together.’

  James held onto my hand a little longer than necessary, running his thumb back and forth across the back of it. He looked down at our joined hands and I followed his gaze. He was trailing a finger over the blackbird tattoo on my wrist, studying it intently.

  “Blackbird, it suits you.”

  I was speechless, mesmerized by the green of his eyes and envious of his long dark lashes. His touch sent goose bumps up my arm and no one seemed to notice except the two of us.

  Similar encounters happened several more times over the following weeks. James and I had various run-ins at the bar, in the back lot, and at the front door. Each time he would shake my hand and call me ‘Blackbird’ and I would remind him of my name to which he would simply smile. I welcomed the contact each and every time, sometimes seeking him out purposely, and he always left me wanting more.

  *****

  June

  My whole ‘relationship’ with Dan was a blur of late nights and early mornings—mostly spent with him, Holly and Sam. The three of them were a great and horrible influence on me all at once. Every morning that damn alarm clock went off I regretted my late night shenanigans, but at least I was in my own bed. One thing I insisted on with Dan was that I stayed at home on work nights. Soft Rockets (yes that was the name of the band) had gigs every Friday and Saturday. I looked forward to Saturday every week; the day I could finally sleep in.

  On that muggy Friday night I walked up the steps after a long day at work. When I walked inside the apartment that Holly and I shared, I could hear my iPod blaring White Houses by Vanessa Carlton, again. Holly played it constantly and I was getting sick of listening to it. I could hear Vanessa shrieking all the way down the hall.

  Our apartment was a dump and not in the best part of town, but it was ours. I met Holly at The Diner almost five years ago. I was looking for a job while taking classes when I met her. We hit it off immediately and we had been inseparable ever since.

  Dropping my purse on the table, I headed to Holly’s room after turning down the music. I threw myself on her bed. She poked her head out of her closet, “How long do you need? They go on at 9!”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh. “You sure Sara can’t go? I’m wiped out.”

  Sara introduced Holly and Sam. She was a friend of Holly’s from the art gallery. I slept poorly the night before—another case of insomnia—as images of James raced through my head. I wasn’t up to seeing Dan. Our arrangement was completely casual and I’d already seen him three times that week. I wasn’t even sure how much longer I wanted it to last. However, I didn’t mind the thought of seeing James. We eye-fucked each other every chance we got. I was always in a better mood after laying eyes on him. I’m a horrible person.

  “Cassidy Charles! You are not backing out on me now! Get your ass in your room and put on something nice and sexy!”

  Nice I could do. Sexy? Has she met me? I obeyed on a chuckle. I really shouldn’t have been so opposed to the whole thing. One of my favorite things to do was go to a bar and listen to local bands. I dragged myself off her bed and headed to my room.

  I strolled to my closet and proceeded to try on half a dozen different shirts. I went ‘bold’ and settled on my khaki dress shorts, a nude cami and a low cut sheer lavender tank with a sequin hem. I pulled my hair up in a loose bun, with a few strays circling my face, and put on my dangly silver earrings. I touched up my makeup, darkening it around my eyes. Now what shoes to wear? That was always the worst part. I was a clumsy fool and decided to play it safe with some silver ballet flats.

  “You are not wearing those shoes!” Holly snuck into my room and caught me off guard. The girl was a pro in heels. She could walk down the beach in stilettos and not wobble at all. Me? I wobbled in my tennis shoes.

  “Holly, you can’t be serious. I hate heels and heels hate me. You know this!” And I certainly didn’t feel the need to add any inches to my height that night. Dan wasn’t much taller than me and I was uncomfortable towering over him. What I wouldn’t give for a tall guy, like James.

  I heard Holly, ‘eh-hem’ so I looked up and my jaw dropped, no longer oblivious to what she was wearing, as she did a spin for me. It must be love. I had never seen her go to so much trouble for a guy. She had pulled out all the stops. She was wearing a short green backless dress and six inch heels, her blonde hair, with highlights the color of the rainbow, sat just below her shoulders with a section pulled up on top. She looked great.

  “Is that new? How serious are you about Sam? Or are you just serious about his doggy style?!”

  “Ha-ha, you’re killing me! Yes, it’s new. Don’t you have a dress you can wear? And maybe it is serious, and not just about his doggy style,” she winked.

  I blushed and responded, “You know I hate wearing dresses, especially to the bar! And I don’t want to hear any more about Sam’s doggy style!” I wasn’t naïve, but not that experienced either. Dan had proven to be just another ‘okay’ lover on a short list. I was beginning to think ‘great’ lovers didn’t exist.

  “Hasn’t Dan shown you his doggy style yet? At least put on some heels.”

  “Holly Martin, I’m not some cheap and easy girl like you! Easy, yes; cheap, NO! You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

  We both laughed, knowing my statement was fals
e. I rifled through my shoes and found my most comfortable heels; closed-toe nude wedges. They would have to do. I double checked myself in the mirror and smiled at myself in approval. I threw the ballet slippers into my purse, just in case.

  That night the city was buzzing and the breeze coming in off the lake was a welcome one. Summer seemed to arrive early with record highs. We took a cab to get to the Blue Horse early. On the ride there I couldn’t help but wonder if James would be there. I remembered the first night I saw him and all the subsequent nights after.

  “Cassidy, come on. We’re here.” I had spent the entire cab ride daydreaming. We headed into the bar and snagged our usual high-top table beside the stage. Holly set off looking for Sam while I ordered our usual—Corona for Holly and a fuzzy navel for me.

  I rubbed my tired eyes and put my glasses back on. They were sexy, sleek and easier to deal with than contacts in a smoky bar. I couldn’t handle these smoky bars for long without wanting to rip my eyes out. Who was I kidding? I was a complete hypocrite. I always ended up stealing cigs from Holly when out at the bar. My dad would kill me if he knew.

  Gazing around, I listened to the drone of the sound system playing Shelf in the Room by Days of the New. That had to be close to a dozen times, if not more, in the past six weeks the band had played there. The place could certainly use a face lift. Peanut shells scattered the tattered floor and several of the tables and chairs needed replacing or at least refinishing. The restrooms were on the other side of the bar directly across from us at the front of a long hallway. Further down the hall there was a side door leading to an office and then a door leading to the back lot.

  I heard some cursing and loud bangs and looked to the back door. The guys were lugging in the final pieces of music equipment. Holly came strolling in on Sam’s heels. He was carrying a guitar case and Holly was carrying his bag. Sam was about my height, a little too thin, with dark hair that could use a wash and a cut.