Happily Ever After Collection

by Melanie Moreland

  Me.

  I was about to speak when he lifted his head and gazed at me, his eyes suddenly dark and heavy-lidded, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve never really thought pink was my color, Julia.”

  “I—”

  He pulled the lacy pink camisole out of the box, holding it up against his chest. “You don’t think this cut might make me look a little hippy? The lace is gonna fall right there. And this bow at the front? Not sure how it will go with my chest hair. It hurts like a bitch if they get pulled.”

  I started to giggle as he dropped the camisole and held up the very tiny scrap of lace that constituted underwear. “And this…this is not gonna hold the package I’ve got for you in return, my girl.” He grinned and winked at me. “Not even remotely.”

  “It’s…it’s for me to wear for you, Byron.”

  “Ah. That makes so much more sense.” He paused. “Are you sure?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me and handed me the box. “I’d like to see my gift, then.” He drew in a deep breath, his voice dropping. “Now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Bending forward, he pulled me between his widely spread knees, his hands running up the backs of my legs. Up and down they went, higher every pass—touching, caressing, teasing. I stared down at him, my breathing becoming faster as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of my yoga pants and cupped my ass, kneading it lightly. “I. Want. My. Gift. Now.” He pulled me closer, tight against his thighs. I could feel his hunger now, straining against the material of his trousers, pushing against my leg. “You have ten minutes.”

  My voice was trembling in anticipation. “Okay.”

  Clutching the box, I backed out of the room and fled upstairs.

  I waited with bated breath for the shower to shut off, then a few minutes later, Byron appeared, a towel draped around his hips. He smirked at me as he rubbed his damp hair. “That doesn’t look like my gift,” he drawled, indicating his robe I was wearing. “Mine was far prettier.” His eyes glinted as he tossed aside the towel he’d used on his hair. “And far less concealing.”

  He stepped closer until he was a foot away.

  “You enjoyed unwrapping it so much, I thought you’d like to do it again,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire.

  “Is that so?”

  I nodded, my eyes widening as he pulled on the towel at his waist and it fell to the floor.

  His erection sprang free, long and heavy. He stroked himself twice, his eyes on me the whole time. “I’d like you to unwrap it.”

  I drew in a long breath. Byron smiled. “You know they say you eat with your eyes before your mouth, Julia? Feed me. Slowly.”

  I stood taller, my body shaking with the want I had for this man. I opened the belt and pulled on the sleeves, so they rested on the edge of my shoulders. With a deep breath and a flex of my arms, the robe fell, joining Byron’s towel on the floor. From his sharp intake of breath and the way his cock twitched, I knew he liked what he saw. Feeling braver, I tossed back my hair. “You like?”

  Without a word, he twirled his finger midair, and with a grin, I spun on my feet, internally praying I could do so without falling. When we were once again face-to-face, he narrowed his eyes. He reached out his long forefinger, slowly trailing down the thin strap on my shoulder, across my collarbone, and traced the small bow that held the camisole together.

  “Where did you get this again?”

  “Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Were there more of them?”

  I frowned. “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Good.” He raised his eyes, meeting mine. They were so filled with passion that my throat went dry. “Because this one isn’t going to last the night.”

  And then he crushed me against him.

  His mouth was hard. Possessive. Talented. His tongue slid and caressed, claiming me, making me his. Byron’s hands trailed along my arms, cupped my head, stroked my back, and pulled me up against him, his cock pressed between us.

  My fingers pushed into the taut flesh of his back, holding him close. His firm chest cemented to mine, the coarse hairs rubbing into my skin. Every part of me was on fire. I couldn’t get close enough to him. I wanted to feel every inch of his body. I wanted to touch—and to taste him.

  All of him.

  I eased away, pushing on his chest. He groaned as our lips pulled apart, his low “no” bringing a smile to my mouth. Without a word, I dropped to my knees, wrapping my hand around his thick cock. “God, Julia,” he rasped. “You don’t have—”

  The rest of his words were lost; he threw his head back with a curse as I took him in my mouth. I teased and licked, his weight hot and heavy on my tongue. He buried his fingers in my hair, the tips caressing my scalp. Our eyes locked as I moved over him, my mouth, hands, and tongue working in tandem. He groaned and hissed, my name falling from his mouth as he rocked, sliding in and out, deeper and faster, his hand tightening in my hair. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths becoming pants. He was beautiful above me, losing himself in the passion I had stirred within him.

  “Julia,” he pleaded. “You need—baby, fuck, you need—”

  I took him in deeper with one long suck, and he fell. I swallowed around him as he shuddered and cursed, roaring my name before he stilled, his head dropping to his chest, hands falling away from my hair. For a minute, there was no sound in the room as he stood trembling in front of me. Gently, I rubbed his legs, feeling the small shudders that ran through him. He remained quiet, his eyes closed. But then…

  He opened his eyes, the blue of them brilliant and alive. Pulling me to my feet, he lifted me up, crashing his mouth to mine as he carried me to the bed.

  “My turn.”

  I’d had sex before I met Byron. But I’d never experienced sex the way I did with Byron. It wasn’t just sex. It was so much more—so profound. He was sin incarnate, and he let go completely; cool, controlled Chef Lord was nowhere to be found. He was frantic and wild in his passion. His mouth possessed me—every part of my body was touched by his full lips. His warm tongue tormented and licked; his sharp teeth nibbled and bit. His long, talented fingers teased, stroked, and touched me. Everywhere. He brought me to orgasm with his fingers first, his mouth next, and finally, his thick cock. He took me powerfully, his thrusts demanding and hard, his body pinning me to the mattress, our bodies slick with sweat. The sheets pulled from the bed and wrapped around us, the bed frame creaked and bent with his aggression, and the top of the nightstand was cleared when Byron’s arm swept out as he looked for a place to brace himself as he pounded into me. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the look in his eyes, the dark timbre of his voice as he chanted my name, and the way we felt joined together in the most intimate of dances. His body demanded my complete surrender to his, and I gave it to him until I collapsed, exhausted and spent, sinking into the mattress with a long, shuddering exhale of air.

  Byron hovered above me, the passion in his eyes turning to tenderness as our gazes locked. He rolled, pulling me with him. His lips grazed mine gently, his breath warm as it ghosted over my skin. “My beautiful girl,” he whispered, his hands trailing up and down my back in featherlight touches. “Mine.”

  I nuzzled into his chest, too tired to talk.

  “Bath?”

  I managed to shake my head.

  “Food?”

  “No,” I mumbled incoherently.

  His laugh was low and reverberated in my ear. “Sleep?”

  I grunted in contentment and burrowed farther into his warmth. I felt so safe with him.

  He tightened his arms, his lips against my hair. “Sleep, my love. I have you.”

  Chapter 6

  Julia

  I woke up early the next morning, alone. Frowning, I sat up, wondering where Byron was. Usually if I spent the night, he was beside me in the morning, his warm body curled around mine. After our lovemaking last night, I expected to find him with me—especially
given the fact that he had woken me in the night, making me his again. That time, it had been slow, sweet, and erotic, the dark of the room making it seem so intimate as our hands and mouths pleasured each other.

  Slipping on his robe, I padded downstairs. He was standing at the back window, staring outside, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. I took a minute to ogle the way his T-shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders, narrowing into a tight waist and slim hips. I knew the powerful muscles that piece of material hid from my eyes. His sleep pants were resting low on his hips, and a small sliver of bare skin was revealed every time he lifted his cup to his mouth. My chest warmed, remembering how my hands had clutched the skin of his back as he thrust into me last night, groaning my name. Walking over, I slid my arms around his waist, pressing my lips to his back. His hand covered mine and he squeezed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You were gone.”

  “I woke up and thought I’d best make those pancakes before you got any bright ideas about breakfast in bed—Bisquick-style.” He shuddered. “I rather like my griddle.”

  I giggled and pressed another kiss to his back, slightly surprised he hadn’t turned around and pulled me into his arms yet. He was always very affectionate in the mornings if I was here. It was far more enjoyable than waking up alone in the small room I rented.

  “I made coffee.”

  “It smells amazing.”

  He moved away. “I’ll get you a cup. Sit down, and I’ll get the pancakes too. You get the cream.”

  I tried not to pout that he still hadn’t kissed me, but I failed miserably. With a small smile, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine—far too briefly and lightly for my liking. I watched him go to the cupboard and grab a mug for me. I got the cream and put it on the table, eyeing the coffee with appreciation as he handed it to me. The plate he slid out of the oven was stacked high with pancakes, and the syrup he poured into a jug was warm. As usual, everything looked and smelled incredible. But Byron’s movements were stiff, and he was far too quiet. He sat down, but instead of pulling his chair closer to mine like normal, he stayed on the other side of the table from me. Something was off. A small flutter of nerves rippled down my spine. Did he regret last night? Was he trying to find a way to tell me?

  “Are you okay?” I asked cautiously.

  He smiled, but it was tight and didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  I glanced around, feeling strange. Something was wrong. “Are we still going to the market?”

  “If you have time.”

  I frowned. “Time?”

  “Do you have something you need to tell me, Julia?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He lifted one eyebrow in disbelief. “I used your laptop to look up the hours of the market.”

  I was bewildered. “Okay, that’s fine.”

  “You had a lot of windows open.”

  I nodded. I’d been using my laptop all afternoon looking for a place to live. In my panic at his early arrival, I hadn’t shut anything down.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  “And your phone has been beeping constantly. I plugged it in so your battery wouldn’t die, and the screen lit up. Your crabby landlady has been trying to get hold of you. She is as equally rude and insulting to you as she is to me, I see.”

  I laid down my fork. He sounded so angry.

  “I can explain.”

  “A month? She is giving you a month to find a new place? In the middle of term?”

  “A month less three days. She told me I hadn’t been around enough to tell me.” I indicated the laptop. “I was searching for places yesterday.”

  “Do you have a lease?”

  I shook my head. “It’s always been month-to-month. But I’ve been there for two years and never had any trouble, aside from how grumpy she was all the time. But suddenly—” I shrugged “—I’m a huge issue.”

  “The places you’re looking at are unacceptable.”

  “They’re what I can afford, Byron,” I explained quietly. “I don’t have any extra funds for anything more. It’s only until I can find more time to look for something better.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me with this problem?” He narrowed his eyes. “Were you even going to tell me? Or did you not think I should be informed of this important detail?”

  “Of course I was.” I gasped. “I didn’t want to spoil your birthday weekend! I was going to arrange to look at a few places next week. I got so caught up in trying to find something halfway decent, I lost track of time yesterday and then…destroyed dinner. I didn’t want the fact that I need a place to live to taint the rest of the weekend as well. I only wanted it to be about you. About us.”

  He stared at me, the muscles in his jaw tight. He was really angry.

  I threw my napkin down on the table and stood. “But apparently, I ruined the weekend anyway.”

  I hurried from the kitchen, trying not to cry. All I’d wanted was to give Byron a nice weekend. And I had screwed up almost every part of it. I’d wrecked dinner, almost burned down his kitchen, and broken his favorite platter. Giving myself to him last night was now tarnished by the fact that he thought I was hiding something from him—as if I didn’t trust him enough. I shared my body with him, but not my problems. I should have known better—he was so protective of me; he would want to know and help me any way he could. I had planned on telling him when the weekend was over, but now it was too late.

  I hesitated as I looked around his room, unsure what to do. It was his house. Should I leave? Give him some time, then go downstairs and apologize again? I picked up my travel bag from beside the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed. I had no idea what to do. I didn’t even know what would happen when I showed back up at the rooming house. My lip began to tremble, and I bit down, trying to stop the tears, but they rolled down my cheeks, splashing onto my hand that gripped my little overnight bag.

  “Stop, my love.” Byron appeared in front of me, gently pulling the handle from my fingers and tossing the bag to the side. He sat beside me on the bed, drawing me into his arms. “Hush. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I was just so angry.” He pulled back, brushing away my tears and dropping gentle kisses onto my damp skin. “But not at you, Julia. I’m not angry with you.”

  “Who are you angry at?” I hiccupped.

  “That stupid cow landlady of yours. She’s been a thorn in my side from the day I first met her. She won’t let me into the house. She won’t let you keep snacks in your room. You can’t use the kitchen, but she refuses to allow you a small fridge in your room. You can’t use her laundry machines. She’s rude on the rare occasion I speak to her and is consistently nasty to you.” He dropped another kiss on my cheek. “You don’t deserve that—you’re far too wonderful. Now, she is kicking you out? Without reason? I swear she’s doing it to piss me off.”

  “She doesn’t like you.”

  He grimaced. “No kidding. That was obvious the first day I met her. After she saw me in my chef’s attire, it got worse. She looked at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash under her foot.”

  “I told you once, her ex-husband ran off with a chef. It would seem she hates anyone who wields a spatula.”

  Despite the seriousness of the moment, he snorted. “First off, working at Burger King does not make you a chef. I’m not even sure it qualifies as a cook.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that why she’s doing this? Because of me?”

  I sniffed. “I have no idea why she’s doing it. But I was going to tell you, Byron. I swear I was. I wanted your birthday weekend to be perfect.” My eyes filled with fresh tears. “And it’s been anything but. I fucked it all up!”

  He widened his eyes at my curse. I rarely ever swore, unless it was at the height of passion, and even then, I was pretty tame. Byron cursed like a trucker at times. He could swear in nine languages, he’d once told me proudly. It was important to be able to swear at the various chefs he hired in their own language, he had informed me
in a serious tone.

  “It always gets their attention.”

  For a minute, I was taken aback, but then he winked.

  “You fucked up nothing. I hate to think of you worrying about this all by yourself.” He ran his hands through my hair, gently moving the long length over my shoulder. “I want to be the one to help you with anything that is upsetting you. Always—birthday or not. You should have told me right away.”

  “I didn’t want you to think—”

  “Think what?”

  “We’ve only been together a little while. I didn’t want you to feel pressured or think—”

  I shook my head, unable to explain.

  His voice was tense. “Is this about money? You’re afraid, if you ask, I’ll think you want my money?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  His irritation seemed to dissolve away, his shoulders loosening and his face becoming smooth. His gaze was warm and tender as he looked at me. He cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin tenderly.

  “Julia, my love, I could buy you a condo, pay off your student loans and any other future tuition you incur and not even make a dent in my savings account. I would give it freely and without another thought. The fact that I know you would refuse any and all offers to do so is one of the many reasons I love you.”

  “You love me?”

  He huffed a sigh. “Not the way I planned on telling you, but yes. I love you. So very much.”

  I looked at him but said nothing.

  “I do,” he said, his voice lower now. “I love how stubborn, feisty, and funny you are. I love your independent streak. How loving you are to your friends. I adore the fact that you let me teach you about food. Even after you almost burned down my kitchen, I love the fact that you can’t cook to save your life, but you still tried to. And I adore, absolutely adore, that if I make you something to eat, even if you’re not the least bit hungry, you eat it, because you know how much I want to take care of you.” He picked up my hand and kissed the palm softly, then pressed it to his cheek. “But the thing I love the most about you is how you make me feel.”