by Knox, Abby
Fuck, she’s so perfect for me. I do as she says, and thrust deeper, harder. Hunter moans, her hips rising off the mattress.
“Fuck me, Anthony. Fuck me like you mean it,” she whines.
I prop her knees up on my shoulders and bury myself all the way to the hilt. She moans for me to keep going. I reach between us and rub my fingers across her clit as I continue to thrust harder at her urging. When I feel like she’s close, I move my mouth over her breasts to lick, bite and tease her lovely pink nipples.
“Yes, oh god, yes, Anthony!”
A growl escapes me, a sound I barely recognize as my own. She screams my name and shatters around me just as I deliver a series of manic thrusts. We’re both pushed over the edge of desire into the waves of perfect, otherworldly ecstasy.
It’s fucking unreal.
As I jet streams of my hot seed into her, I mutter that she’s going to have to go off the pill as soon as possible.
“Marry me first,” she breathes.
When my wracking orgasm subsides and I’m fully ruined by my woman, I slowly pull out and gently reposition her legs from my sweaty shoulders and back down to the mattress. Rolling onto my back, I pull my sweet temptress into the crook of my arm. “I’m supposed to ask that,” I say, stroking her still-sensitive nipple.
“There’s no rule about it,” she says, her over-stimulated body trembling sexily through her aftershocks, and in response to my gentle, grazing touches.
“I can make it a rule,” I tease, nipping her earlobe.
She giggles and shudders. “No more rules from you, buddy. Except when it comes to the kids. I don’t want to unleash a litter of unbearable assholes into the world.”
I laugh. “A litter? I was expecting one or maybe two.”
“Listen, old man. I’m eighteen, and we’re gonna fill this giant-ass house with babies, you got that? I want Christmases, Fourth of Julys, Thanksgivings to be crowded. I want someone to be home all the time, and I want this place full of noise. Nobody will ever feel lonely in my house.”
I trail kisses down her neck, across her chest and finally stop at her lower tummy. I stroke the soft, sensitive skin there, imagining all the love we’re going to grow in there together.
“Your house?” I tease, rising back up to nip at the skin of her neck.
She giggles. “Yeah, my house. You know you like that idea.”
I do. And my spent cock is close to reviving at the sound of her dreamy voice.
“What my baby wants, my baby gets. That’s the only rule.”
Epilogue
Hunter
We save the news for graduation day that Rushmore and I had sneaked off to Capri over spring break and got married.
Based on what I saw happening at prom between Coach Weston and Addie, and based on what I saw them doing backstage at graduation, she’s going to need me to create a diversion at her party.
Which is exactly the moment Rushmore and I decide to go public.
It’s not that awkward. Anything is better than the way my parents took the news. Dad is still threatening to have the marriage annulled, even though legally, he can’t do anything about it. Mom is upset she couldn’t be there for the wedding.
Not all hope is lost with my parents. They both finally admitted that I’ve seemed happier lately since I’ve moved in with Rushmore. Ever since our confrontation over Christmas, they’ve been spending more and more time at home, having come around to the idea of slowing things down for a change.
I have hope they will come around to liking their new son—in-law, even if he is only a few years their junior.
Addie is so surprised, but hugs me and hugs Rushmore. I have to laugh; it’s pretty obvious he’s not much of a hugger because he awkwardly pats her on the back and says “there, there.”
What can I say? We’re all a work in progress.
Thank god for cake.
Later, after everyone leaves, Addie and Weston follow us to Rushmore’s estate, bringing the leftover cake with them. The three of us order Rushmore to change into pajama pants and we all devour cake and watch Housewives for hours on end. I can tell Rushmore is beginning to like my idea of fun. He actually eats grocery store pizza without grimacing and I catch him laughing at parts of the show.
I don’t know if him occasionally joining me on a junk food and TV binge — or, on the flip side of that, me agreeing to play the role of a gracious corporate wife whenever I feel like it — is the answer to all the challenges we may face. But I know one thing: we’ve both got plenty of sugar to go around to make all of it a hell of a lot sweeter.
Epilogue
Ten years later
Rushmore
My baby still gets her way.
Our six year old twins, on the other hand, often do not get their own way. For instance, at the moment, they are both fighting me tooth and nail over their clothes.
But Hunter insisted Evie and Julian wear coordinating outfits she bought them to her premiere on Broadway. And one way or another, these kids are going to the theater in those clothes.
Tonight, I can’t seem do a thing with these wild little things. Fortunately their Auntie Ridley is also here, sharing our block of suites at the Rushmore Hotel in Manhattan to join the family on Hunter’s opening night. And Ridley, it turns out, does not take any spoiled behavior from her niece and nephew. OK, technically, she’s their half sister. But I dare you to challenge a Rushmore woman who insists on being referred to as an auntie.
While Ridley wrangles the kids into their coats, I find myself taking in the whole scene in wonder. My oldest daughter, now 28 and married with a family of her own, is not just my daughter anymore, but my friend.
“You could help me with your children, you know,” Ridley says with a smirk while Julian darts away for the third time, laughing and pulling off his necktie that matches Evie’s dress.
I corral the little fellow and crouch down to his eye level. “You and your sister only have to stay dressed like this until intermission, then the sitter is going to take you home because it will be very late. That’s not too long to keep on a necktie, is it?”
Julian pouts but he can see in my eyes he’s not going to walk all over me tonight. “OK, fine,” he says glumly.
Eventually we all make it downstairs unscathed. When we trundle the whole family into the stretch limo to head out to the theater, I tell Evie and Julian conspiratorially, “Don’t tell mommy we didn’t take public transportation.” The two of them laugh, and I know they’re definitely going to tell their mother everything. Hunter seems bent on getting me used to mixing with the common people. She may be in the right, but no way am I taking the subway or a bus on a special night like tonight.
Arriving at the theater, Evie points out the poster on our way inside.
“That’s mommy’s name,” she says.
I would be proud no matter what career Hunter chose to pursue, but I’m so damn proud right now I could break out into song. Well, maybe not literally. But I sure am proud enough that I’ve actually grown fond of musicals, once I took the time to listen to my amazing wife explain why they are wonderful.
We take our seats in the reserved box, and Evie insists on climbing into my lap. She’s already tired from a long day of playing, and I don’t think she’s going to make it through the first act.
I smile and sniff her little head as she cuddles into my chest, with me not feeling the least bit concerned that she’s rumpling my suit.
Before I met Hunter, I never thought I could feel this content. I have my three children close to me, I’m on good terms with my ex wife and her husband, and Hunter’s parents seem to actually like me. But most of all, that woman on stage as the curtain comes up is mine. All mine. Along with the tiny new peanut now growing inside her. I can’t believe how lucky I am.
None of the things that make me feel this way have anything to do with power or prestige or money.
Although sometimes, Hunter laughs and assures me that the money helps a lot.
She still maintains a healthy sense of outrage over Evie’s dance school bills, even though it’s never going to be something we can’t pay for.
We could have all the money in the world, but this dazzling woman may never realize that she takes care of me on a far deeper level than I could have ever dreamed.
She takes care of my heart and my soul.
About the Author
Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.
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Say hello at
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Also by Abby Knox
The Greenbridge Academy series
Swim Coach (book one)
Grumpy Dad (book two)
Headmistress (Book Four, coming this fall!)
* * *
Also coming this fall … Boone’s story from Fencing Her In! (title and release date yet to be announced!)
* * *
Need more?
From the Small-Town Bachelor Romance Series
(each can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want to read in order … this is the order)
Take Me Home
Game Face
Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition
Walk With Me
Stay the Night
I’ve Got You
Come And Get It
* * *
The Windy City Holiday Duet
Pumpkin and Spice
Comfort and Joy
* * *
Beach Avenue Babes
His Vinyl Vixen (a stand alone for the rock ’n’ roll nerd in all of us)
Her Hi-Fi Hunk (Dusty and Jed from His Vinyl Vixen)
* * *
Stand alone short reads and novellas
Fencing Her In (A bad neighbors to lovers story. With a lot of dogs. You need this in your life.)
One Good Woman (a stand-alone mistaken identity/conspiracy/political drama)
Naughty Irish Heart (a time-hopping Saint Patrick’s Day Romance — two couples and two HEAs in one book! Part of a four-author themed collection!)
Sweet Jane
(An over-the-top amnesia story about being lost, and then found.)
The Christmas Pickup (a holiday short read full of feels, quirky characters and one damn hot tow truck driver!)
Saved for Me
(a special Holidays with Alexa Riley story)
Matched for Me (A Valentine’s Day story with Fletcher from Saved for Me)
Off-Season Stud (a fun and sexy vacation trope with an OTT ending!)
* * *
The Sisters of Enchantment series (a paranormal collection of stories about … yes … witches. I know you want more of these … they’re coming!)
Some Basic Witch
Witch, Please!
An excerpt from the next story in the Greenbridge Academy collection
Headmistress
Miles
I walk the long hallway to the office of my boss, the founding partner, with a piece of paper in my hand and an anxiousness in my belly.
Clearly, I can’t take this case.
At the very least, I’ll have to inform the big boss that the defendant our firm is suing is a former teacher of mine. I hold the disclosure form in my hand.
I push in through the engraved glass door. The receptionist greets me warmly and asks if I have an appointment.
I shake my head. “No, I just have a disclosure to drop off.”
She answers perkily, “Oh! I’ll have her paralegal file it when he gets back from lunch.”
Megan holds out her hand expectantly but I’m still not sure.
“Actually, I’ll wait. On this one, I need to speak directly with the boss.”
Without batting an eye, she returns to her work. It smells good in here. I sit in a oversized white leather chair in the waiting area and look over the document in my hand, considering.
I’ve read through all the paperwork that our nitwit client filled out. It turns out there’s a lot of money and ulterior motives behind this lawsuit. The Chamberlain family has been trying to unseat one leader or another of that school since the 1980s.
I smirk to myself. The current headmistress, Martha Moody, may not even need an attorney. The Chamberlains could lose this one all on their own. Woe be to any witless schlub who went up against Ms. Moody in a debate back in my day, and I’m sure nothing about her intimidating demeanor has changed.
I remember the day I fell for her. It was my first day of senior year at Greenbridge Academy. That was the year I decided to pursue law as a career at the behest of my lawyer father, and so decided to try out for the debate team.
I can still smell the classroom where Ms. Moody held tryouts after school. Chalk dust and Pine Sol. And then she walked in. Hunter green turtleneck sweater with school logo. Charcoal grey wool pencil skit that hugged her hips as she walked in with those chunky, lace-up witchy heels and thick, opaque tights. Hair up in a tight bun and thick glasses. She may have every inch of her skin covered apart from her face and hands, but the way that skirt flaunted her hip sway when she walked was everything. Every stitch of clothing she wore was carefully chosen and created the perfect slim yet soft silhouette. The dip of her waist from her hips was so abrupt, I couldn’t help but picture my hands there, holding her flush against my body. Her full lips curved into a slight, knowing smile, and her eyes were the color of a cloudy day that threatens a storm. She oozed sex without knowing it.
“Let’s begin tryouts. Mister McRrae, you’re first. What have you prepared for us?”
Of course, I’d prepared nothing. I thought I’d wing it, standing up in front of her and the whole seasoned debate team to speak extemporaneously about — what was it again? — Oh yeah...
“The death penalty.”
Ms. Moody’s lips quirked upward in a look of skepticism. “This topic has been around the block many times, so you’d better give me something good, McRrae.”
Some dudes might find this emasculating. I actually felt a twitch in my pants while she was essentially calling me unoriginal.
Ms. Moody started the timer and I spoke my argument. I completely focused on her, not once muttering “um” or glancing out the window. I did not search the ceiling tiles to try to remember my points, nor at the ground when I was uncertain. I just kept staring into those dark grey of hers. And she stared back at me with her head tilted slightly to the side, her elbow resting on her desk, hand in the air quietly clicking her pen. Call me a late bloomer, but that was the first erection I ever got at school. To this day, the sound of someone slowly clicking a pen still gets me hard. And yeah, that fact makes being a lawyer pretty fucking difficult sometimes.
When I’d finished my argument, she leaned back, crossed her arms in front of her and said with a look of someone who’s intrigued but suspicious, “Mister McRrae, you are a decent enough speaker. You need to make your point much faster if you want to excel at debate. And, you also need to not be full of shit. If I catch you winging it, ever again, you’re off the team.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, my eyes still searching hers for something.
I did get something. A glimmer of hope. Damn me to hell if I’m lying, but I know I saw a rosy flush creep up above the line of her turtleneck sweater, and her eyes blink rapidly and cut away from me to pretend to look at her legal pad, on which she’d written zero notes.
That was the moment. What can I say? I love a powerful, no-nonsense woman.
I knew I should stay away. Nothing good could ever come from pursuing a teacher as a student. But I never let go of that tiny moment when she lost her ar
mor.
The way I pursued her was reckless that year. If anybody suspected anything, she surely never would have kept her job, let alone been eventually promoted to headmistress.
I thought I could get over her once I moved on to college and law school. But I knew down deep that my heart I would always love her.
Just then, someone hands me a glass of cucumber water.
I look up and it’s Megan, the boss’s receptionist. “While you wait.”
I’m grateful for the water so I pound it back and hand the glass back to Megan. “Thanks so much but cancel that meeting. I’ve ... I’m going to go revise this.”
She shrugs, caring absolutely nothing about what I’m up to.
I march back down to my office on the floor below and immediately shred the disclosure document.
Nobody needs to know.
I grab a stress ball from my desk — one of many — and pace in front of my office window, thinking about what to do.
If the case gets reassigned, then that other attorney could get these Chamberlain pricks everything they want. They could bully the board of trustees to hire who they want. They could try to get the school under their control and send it backwards three decades.
Welp. They can try.
The first thing I learned after I was hired on as a new associate at this particular firm is that sometimes you have to take clients who are assholes. You have to just hold your nose and look at the dollar signs. Billable hours, and winning are the only things that matter.
In this case, I don’t want to win.
My decision is made. I have to do the right thing. As much as it might hurt my career to lose a case, at least Martha will be protected, and the school as well.