by Marie Force
The second beer goes down easier than the first. I signal for a third and ask for a shot of Jameson to go with it.
“Y’all right, Blake?” Jimmy asks when he puts the beer and shot in front of me.
I push a twenty across the bar. “Never better.” I want more of her so badly, I burn from the longing. As if it has a mind all its own, my cock refuses to be deterred and takes up all the space in my jeans. I’d find that funny if I didn’t feel so shitty. I’ve got stuff to do tonight. Invoicing and estimates and paperwork that never ends, but I can’t be bothered with any of it.
The last time I felt this bad… Fuck. I need another beer, and I need it now.
Eight days after the last time I saw Blake, I’m getting into bed after a long and trying day at the studio when the house phone rings. I almost don’t bother to get it, because anyone who knows me well would call my cell. But cell service in Marfa can be spotty, so maybe my cell isn’t working.
I go into the living room to grab the extension next to Gran’s recliner. Yes, even ten years after she died, it’s still her chair. “Hello?”
“Is this Honey Carmichael?” a man asks. In the background, I hear music and people talking.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Jimmy down at the bar. You came in here the other night and left with Blake. Right?”
I swallow hard at the realization that people actually witnessed my blatant proposition and recognized me. I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole. And what does this guy want? Some of what Blake got? The thought of that turns my stomach. “Y-yes,” I say, because I can’t exactly deny it. “Why?”
“He’s here now and drinking a lot more than usual. I tried calling his friend Garrett, but couldn’t reach him. Any chance you might be able to come get him?”
I’m shocked to hear that Blake is drinking like that. He never does that anymore. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t let him leave.”
“He’s not going anywhere, sugar. Not on my watch.”
“Thank you for calling. Thank you so much.” My hands are shaking as I get dressed and shove my feet into flip-flops. I nearly forget keys in my haste to get out the door. Once in the car, I drive way too fast on my way to Blake’s favorite bar, also known now as “the scene of the crime.”
For a whole week after our momentous weekend, every muscle in my body felt the effects of the sexual marathon. Naturally, I had several more difficult shoots, the worst today with yet another set of twins who cried for most of the time I was with them. I could relate. I wanted to cry all day, too.
I left the studio with a splitting headache and plans to again soak in the tub before an early bedtime. You know what they say about plans… Here I am, racing into the dark to rescue Blake from himself. My mind is spinning about why he decided tonight was the night to deviate from his usual routine.
Was it because of me?
Who am I kidding? He probably hasn’t given me a thought since he kissed me on the forehead and left me on my front porch. He did exactly what he and Lauren said he would do, and there was no reason whatsoever that I should feel so disappointed. It’s just that when he came over that second night and spent nearly twenty-four hours with me, he sparked a kernel of hope.
Foolish hope. I’ve been taught many times in my life that hope can be a disappointing bitch. Take when Gran rallied after chemo and radiation treatments. I began to hope that she might beat the cancer, but a month later, she was dead, along with my hope.
After that crushing loss, I learned to be careful about what I allow myself to hope for. Hoping that Blake Dempsey might suddenly decide he wants more from a woman, and that woman is going to be me, is so ridiculous that I find myself laughing hysterically. And then I’m crying just as hysterically. I hate that I’ve allowed myself to become so undone over what was supposed to be a one-night stand.
In truth, I’m nothing like the ballsy gal who blatantly propositioned Blake in a bar that Friday night. I’m actually much more like the soft-centered blubbering mess I am right now. I wish I was more like the ballsy girl, but Lauren pumped me up to the point that I actually believed I could be her.
It’s not fair to blame Lauren. We were equally culpable in formulating the plan that worked exactly the way we hoped it would. It isn’t her fault—or mine—that it worked a little too well.
I pull off the highway and into the dirt parking lot outside the bar. The weekend before last feels like a million years ago as I walk into the dark dankness that instantly takes me back to the high of my success that first night with Blake. Soaring highs lead to crushing lows. That’s the lesson learned here. And judging by the condition I find Blake in, I might not be the only one suffering from the post-one-night-stand-that-turned-into-two-nights blues.
He’s hunched over the bar with a row of empty beer bottles and shot glasses in front of him.
Jimmy, the bartender, nods to me as I approach Blake. I’m not sure if I should touch him or talk to him or what, but as I slide onto the stool next to his, I can’t resist the need to touch him.
When my hand lands on his shoulder, he startles and swiftly looks over at me, his eyes lighting up with pleasure that quickly fades to misery so deep and so pervasive, I feel the ache of it in my bones.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks, his words slurring.
“Jimmy called me. He thought you might need a ride home.”
“Why you?”
“He saw us together the other night.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Honey. It’s not the kind of place for a woman like you.”
I want to ask him what kind of woman I am, but this isn’t the time for questions. “Let me give you a ride home.”
“Don’t wanna go home. Nothing there. At least here I can get another round.” He signals to Jimmy, who ignores him.
“I’ll be there,” I say before I can begin to contemplate what I’m offering or whether it’s a good idea.
“You will?” The hopeful sound behind those two words travels straight to my heart, which is now, officially, overcommitted to him and this situation.
“Yeah, I will.”
“You won’t leave?”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from sobbing at the pain and loneliness I see in his eyes. “I won’t leave.”
“You promise?”
He’s killing me here, one short sentence at a time. “I promise.”
I take hold of his hand and give a gentle tug, urging him to come with me. I glance at Jimmy, who gestures for us to go on ahead. Blake’s a regular, and he’s good for what he owes. I smile gratefully at Jimmy and wrap my arm around Blake’s wide back to escort him out of the bar.
Once again, everyone watches us as we make the slow, staggering journey to the door. I’m thankful for the small favor that Blake can actually walk. A few more boilermakers, and someone would’ve had to carry him out of here.
Texas heat hits us square in the face when we push through the door to the parking lot. Though he swerves a couple of times, he’s generally cooperative in letting me steer him toward my car. The next challenge arises when I try to squeeze his six-foot-three-inch frame into my tiny car. I’m sure to outside observers, our struggle would be considered comical, but by the time I finally get him belted in, I’m sweating profusely.
During the drive to his house in town, he keeps his head back and his eyes closed while I try to remember to breathe while reliving his plea for me to stay with him. He doesn’t want to be alone. My heart does a happy little dance at realizing he needs me. Despite that platonic kiss on the forehead, he’s not done with me.
Hope soars within me like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Did I mention that I tend toward the dramatic when the occasion calls for it?
As I pull into the driveway at Blake’s house, I’m assailed by the memories of what happened here that first night, heating me up for a whole other reason. I reach over to unbuckle his seat belt and go around the car to help him ou
t.
He’s dead asleep.
I shake his shoulder. “Blake. Come on. We’re at your house. Wake up.”
He doesn’t move.
What the hell do I do now? I can’t leave him out here all night to roast in this unrelenting heat. After a second to consider my options, I decide to plug his nose and force him awake. He comes to, sputtering and swearing, his eyes widening with surprise when he sees me standing over him.
“Honeydew… What’re you doing here?”
He doesn’t remember me picking him up at the bar? “Just helping you get home safe.” I take his hand and help him from the car. When he slings his arm around my shoulder, he almost takes us both down, but I lock my knees and keep us from tipping over and then reach behind him to shut the car door.
Our stagger to the front door resembles a badly done three-legged race. “What’s the code?” I ask when I see there’s a keypad where the lock should be.
“Six, six, two, two,” he whispers in the second before his lips descend upon my neck, almost making me forget the code he just gave me. I have to punch it in twice before the door finally swings open and we almost fall once again.
He begins to laugh, and I realize that it’s been years since I’ve heard him laugh like that, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Maybe getting good and drunk was just what he needed.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“Only if you’re coming with me,” he says in a low suggestive tone that has my girl parts standing up to cheer. Yes, yes, yes, they shout while my better judgment urges caution. Fuck my better judgment.
With my hands on his hips, I steer him toward his bedroom, intending to drop him on the bed and move to the sofa to keep my promise—and my distance. He has other ideas, however, and hooks his arm around my waist, all but dragging me with him to the bathroom. “Need a shower.”
Not that he gives me much choice, but we end up in the bathroom with him tugging on the button to his jeans and clumsily ripping them off, which is a great way to find out he didn’t wear underwear to work. I try not to look, but I’m only human and I’m totally besotted with The Cock that stands up tall and proud. Is it my imagination or is it leaning in my direction? Definitely not my imagination.
Blake leans in to turn on the water and tugs on my hand.
I fight back. I don’t need a shower. I need a stiff drink and distance. Distance would be great right about now. “Let go! Take your shower.”
“Need you,” he mumbles.
Ah fuck, why’d he have to say that? While my brain asks why, my girl parts shout yes, yes, YES! We are needed! Get your ass in that shower! As I pull off my clothes, I suspect I’m going to regret this. In fact, I know I’m going to regret it, but I do it anyway. I step naked into the shower with the hottest man I’ve ever known—and his Cock with a capital C. His hands are all over me, touching, stroking, caressing, while his lips devour.
I’m immediately overwhelmed, with all my senses fully engaged and my defenses shattered by his touch as much as his obvious desire for me. The man who could barely stand when leaving the bar recovers his mojo in the shower. His hands cup my ass, and he lifts me up, pressing me back against the tile wall.
I gasp from the chill of the tile and the almost-painful stretch as he presses his way into me. How can this be happening when he’s so drunk, he could hardly function half an hour ago?
He’s all power and no finesse this time around, driving into me relentlessly, making me forget all about my resolve and the distance I intended to keep between us. Hell, he makes me forget my own name. Even when he’s drunk and disorderly, it’s so damned good with him. My fingers dig into his dense shoulder muscles as I hold on for dear life. I’m hanging in there until he starts talking and ruins me.
“Ahhh, Honey, God, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever had, the tightest, hottest Honeypot. Always loved you, since we were little kids, loved you. Honey… God, Honey.” And then he’s coming, and I’m trying not to bawl my head off from the things he’s saying to me, things I’ve never suspected he felt, not once in all the years I’ve known him.
I want to tell him I love him, too. Of course I do. He’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and after being with him this way, he’s wedged so far under my skin—literally and figuratively—I’ll never get him out. I don’t want him out. As I tighten my legs around his hips and move on his still-hard cock, I want him in, in, in.
I fist a handful of his hair and drag him into another heated kiss. I can taste the beer and the whiskey on his breath as his whiskers abrade the skin on my face. I don’t care about any of that. All I want is more of the amazing way he makes me soar, body and soul. I’ve never flown as high as I do with him, and I’m becoming addicted to the way I feel when I’m in his arms.
He fucks me hard against the wall, so hard that my back will be bruised tomorrow. I don’t care. I want more. I want everything. He fucks me until the water runs cold and shocks me when he shuts it off and hugs me tight against him to carry me from the shower to his bed. If you’d asked me half an hour ago to bet if he was capable of that feat, I’d have lost the wager.
We fall wet onto his bed, and he picks right up where we left off in the shower, his big cock surging into me over and over again, so hard and so fast I can’t catch my breath before he’s pressed deep into me again. This is insanity, and I never want it to end. The idea that every day and night could be like this for the rest of our lives is the most exciting thing I can imagine for myself—and him.
“I want you here,” he growls in my ear, the press of his finger against my anus leaving no doubt as to what he wants. Though I can’t imagine taking him there, I can’t find the words to deny him. “Say yes. Tell me I can.”
“Yes, Blake. I want you. I want you every way I can have you.”
He withdraws from me suddenly and knocks the lamp off the bedside table in his haste to open the drawer where he keeps the lube. Somehow the lamp doesn’t break, and the bulb glows from its new spot on the floor. There’s just enough light for me to see the way his hands tremble as he lubricates the monster he plans to stick in my ass.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I begin to inch away from him, but he grabs my ankle and pulls me back. “Don’t leave me, Honey. Please don’t leave me. Need you.”
Hearing this man who is known for being an emotionless machine profess his need for me is humbling, to say the least. My heart, soul and body are his to do with as he pleases.
“I love you, Honey. I’d never hurt you.”
I brush back the hair that’s fallen over his forehead. “I know. I love you, too.”
The sweet smile that stretches across his face has my heart dancing once again. We’re doing this, we’re actually doing it. Blake Dempsey and Honey Carmichael are together. We’re going to make a go of it, and I couldn’t be happier. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier about anything than I am about being with him and knowing that this time I get to keep him.
My celebration is interrupted by the intense pressure of him pushing his way into a place where no one else has ever been, and I quickly discover why—it hurts like a motherfucker. I can’t do it. There’s no way.
I’m about to tell him to stop when he presses his thumb against my clit and effectively splits my attention between back and front, which is now being coaxed toward an orgasm of potentially epic proportions. I don’t know how he does it when he’s had so much to drink, but he enters my ass slowly but surely, and at some point it stops hurting so badly I feel like I’m going to pass out. I wouldn’t say it feels good—not by a long shot—but I no longer want to die from the pain.
A heated sensation is emanating in waves from my core and building on itself until it’s all I can think about.
“Yeah, darlin’,” he says in a low guttural voice that turns me on more than I already am—if that’s even possible. “That’s the way. Let me into that tight, hot ass. Hottest ass in town. Every guy in town wants to b
e me right now.”
He rocks and rolls and pushes and shoves until that giant cock is fully seated in my ass, and then he presses again on my clit, and I ignite, coming so hard that I bite my tongue and taste blood in my mouth. I’m transported right out of this body, this room, this universe to a place I’ve never been before. I’ve never been anywhere even remotely like this place he takes me, and when I come back to myself, I discover he’s fucking my ass, hard and fast, and I’m lifting my hips to encourage every deep stroke.
I did it—or I should say I’m doing it. I’m taking The Cock in my ass, and nothing has ever felt so amazing. In the back of my mind is the niggling thought that I won’t be able to sit for a week, but who cares about that when another enormous orgasm rocks me, and him, too, if his sharp cry is any indication. He’s so deep inside me that I can feel him in my belly. I feel the heat of his release and the ridges of his cock.
“Fuck,” he cries as another wave of pleasure has him trembling on top of me.
This is, without a doubt, the most intense thing I’ve ever experienced, and I feel closer to him in this moment than I ever have to any human being, even Gran. I’m sobbing from the painful pleasure that consumes me. And when it’s over, he collapses on top of me, his cock twitching and pulsing in my ass and his sweat mingling with mine.
He’s breathing hard, but so am I. The weight of his body pins me to the mattress, but I don’t mind. He loves me. He’s wanted me for as long as he’s known me. We’re together now. Everything is working out the way the universe intended, and neither of us will ever be lonely again.
A low grunt precedes his first attempt to withdraw from me. I cry out from the pain of it. Who knew it would hurt as bad coming out as it did going in? Tears roll down my face from the tug of his cock against my sensitive flesh. It hurts like fucking hell. The head finally pops free, and I can breathe again as the tears flow freely.
He lands flat on his chest on the pillow next to me and passes out.
I stare up at the oddly lit ceiling thanks to the lamp on the floor. My body is on fire, and my heart is trying to catch up with what just happened. When my head finally stops spinning, I sit up and immediately regret moving and sitting. Oh my God… What’ve I done? I limp to the shower and pray the hot water heater has refilled in the last twenty minutes. I give thanks and praise to the god of hot water when I step into the shower and turn my back toward the spray. I look down and see the pink tinge to the water and realize I’m bleeding. Not badly, but a little. I suppose that’s to be expected in light of what just happened.