by JA Lafrance
Next thing I know, I’m left with a sense of loss as Rett pulls away, hovers over me long enough to turn the alarm clock off, then looks down at me with a sleepy smile.
“Sleep. I’ll make us some breakfast.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Then I manage, “No food.”
He kisses my forehead, then jumps out of bed with all the energy someone who slept twelve straight hours would have, puts on last night’s shorts, and says, “Trailer,” while zipping himself in, leaving me alone in his bed.
Surprisingly, despite my earlier sexy awakening, I fall asleep almost immediately after Rett leave his bedroom.
My eyes open to the sweet smell of caffeine and bacon. Rolling over, I find it’s now eight thirty-five. Rett let me sleep in.
Smiling, I hurry to the bathroom adjacent to my room to brush my teeth and nearly shriek in horror. My hair is an auburn rat’s nest on steroids! Taking care of that additional business and relieving my bladder, I don’t even bother to put my clothes on, deciding I’m going to spend the day vegging.
Walking into the kitchen, I’m greeted by a still bare-chested Rett, rubbing at his stomach while the bacon spatters away in the pan. I can’t help but laugh and shake my head as I head for the coffeepot and the mug awaiting me to fill it.
“Haven’t you learned?” I say, as I doctor up my morning fuel.
“Call me a masochist,” he retorts with a slight grin, which fades a little too quickly, his eyes scanning me for longer than his usual. Gaze returning to his current chore, he clips, “Sleep well?”
I nod, turning toward Rett and leaning against the counter beside him. I softly blow at my coffee before taking a small sip, then add, “I appreciate the few extra hours, thank you.”
Rett moves the cooked bacon onto some paper towel to absorb the extra grease and shoves the pan he was using in the empty sink, which wasn’t in that state when we called it a night yesterday.
“You did the dishes?”
“M-hmm,” he says, as he moves to open the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs I know wasn’t in there before I left town.
“Well, thanks.”
He nods his head once. “Looks like rain.”
I turn to the window above the sink, feeling a little confused at the sudden change and abruptness of our conversation. “Yup.”
Running a hand through his hair, he’s focusing a little too intensely on cracking each egg into the pan. “Food’s almost done.”
Weird. I do not like it one bit. “Uh, huh.”
“Wanna set the table?”
“Sure.”
Rett
I fucked up. I know I did, and I’m making things worse by being short with Johanna. After all, it’s not the first time we’ve slept in the same bed together. Hell, we grew up like two peas in a pod, always in each other’s business. It was your average Dawson’s Creek episode, focusing on Dawson and Joey. Harmless. Respectful. Fun.
Not this morning though.
Waking up with my hands all over Johanna has only solidified my attraction for her. I’ve always loved her—as a friend—but for the past few years, things have shifted. I want more, and I haven’t the faintest idea as to go about doing that, or how to curb these urges and feelings of mine. Not being able to be as upfront and open with her as I’ve always been is slowly weighing on me.
One thing I know for sure is I need to apologize for behaving like a Neanderthal, even if it was only in sleep.
“You want to tell me what crawled up your ass?”
I jump with a start in my spot on the couch. For the last hour, we’ve been watching some kind of documentary on the History Network. I’m unashamed to admit that even though it was my suggestion, I’m not one bit focused on it.
“What do you mean?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
I run my hand through my disheveled hair, but avoid looking at Johanna. “I’m sorry?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t want an apology, Rett; I want to know what it is I did.”
“Absolutely nothing,” I mumble, looking down at my fidgeting hands. “It’s me.”
“Huh?”
“I said it’s—”
Her leg extends and kicks at my knee, and then she settles her foot on my lap. “I heard you, but what do you mean by that?”
I focus on her pretty pink toes and shrug, deciding to go with the truth for fear she’d call me out on my bullshit if I led with anything else. “Things are changing.”
Johanna
I’m feeling quite irritated right now, with Rett’s vague responses and the way he’s withdrawn.
“Look at me.”
He does just that, and he seems almost sad.
“Jo-Babe,” he starts with a soft smile that doesn’t fill his eyes. “I don’t know what to say here.”
“Things are changing? How? Why? What am I missing?”
He nods, then shuffles closer to me—far too close—and drapes both my legs so my knees are over his lap. “I haven’t been honest with you, Jo.”
“Okay,” I draw out nervously.
“I…” He takes a deep breath, and next thing I know, he’s grabbing my face in both his hands and pulling me to him, so his lips meet mine.
For a brief moment, everything is perfect in the world. Then feelings of confusion and fear intrude and become so overwhelming that I’m the first to pull back from what has to be the most amazing kiss I’ve ever received in my entire life.
“Rett,” I whisper with my forehead pressed to his, afraid to open my eyes.
“Fucking perfect,” he whispers back. “I knew it would be.”
My lips tug at each side. I’m thrilled he thinks the same thing I am about our kiss.
“Awesome,” I add, opening my eyes to find his gaze trapping mine.
“Aces,” he rebuts.
I giggle. “Hot.”
He smiles and nods, his nose nuzzling mine. “We can make it sizzle if we try harder.”
I nod but hesitate. “Should we?”
“We could.” He swallows hard, and his eyes display the reluctance I also feel.
“We could try.” I lick my lips and witness Rett’s pupils dilate.
“Fuck me,” he groans, then crashes his lips to mine again.
Within seconds, I’m crawling across his lap, wrapping my arms around Rett’s shoulders, and succumbing to the pent-up emotions and attraction I’ve held back since that summer before we moved in together.
Rett
There she is, making our lunches in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, and I can barely contain myself as I watch her humming to some song in an off-tune manner.
Kissing Johanna is like breathing—a necessity—or so I’ve discovered.
Aside from some heavy petting, we didn’t cross the line. I sort of like the fact that despite how long we both felt something for one another, we were able to savor our attention, keeping the more intimate stuff for later.
Not much later.
I have a plan, and tonight I hope she’ll be on board.
Padding across the floor, I sneak in behind Johanna and hug her close to me, reveling in the body shiver that gives way as I nuzzle then kiss the space between her neck and shoulder.
“Don’t make any plans for dinner, babe,” I say. “I’m treating my girl.”
“Do we have to leave the house?” she asks, then cuts the last of the BLT sandwiches, drops the knife, and turns to surround my neck with her arms, pecking me on the mouth.
“Takeout.” I smile.
She smiles with an excited twinkle in her eyes. “Okay.”
I grin, then kiss her nose. “Okay.”
I knocked on the front door even though it’s my home, but it’s all about illusion. Call me crazy, but I felt as though I wanted to have a little fun with Johanna. For some reason, a fact I had long forgotten about her having a crush on the delivery kid in our hometown when we were in high school made its way to the forefront of my memory while I was picking up
dinner.
So I’m going with it.
When the door opens, I make like the shy Adonis she thought she was fascinated with, shuffling my feet and barely able to look her in the eye. “Hey, Johanna. Got your food here.” A giggle. “If you ever want to—”
Before I know it, Johanna wraps her hand in my T-shirt, and I can hear some of the material lament its strain with the force as she pulls me inside the house, slams the door, then pushes me against it.
She leans up, so her face is closer to mine, tilting the baseball cap I’m wearing back. “You’re such a dork. A hot dork who surpasses poor Dylan, by the way.” Grabbing the takeout bags, she heads for the kitchen. “Remind me to tell you what made me get over that crush some time.”
“What?” I ask, as I shake the sexual daze out of the way and follow her to the kitchen. “Who?”
“You,” she says, as she begins taking each container out and laying them on the island counter, then moving to the cabinet to pull out a couple of plates. “Our last summer before moving,” she starts. “Your dad got hurt, and you took care of the hay bailing. There you were on the tractor.” She pauses to lick some of the sauce from the beef with broccoli, then fans herself before continuing, “Shirtless, sweaty, that ratty old baseball cap was hanging low over your eyes, and that handsome smile of yours.” She looks my way and smiles. “You had me in the palm of your hand always, but more so right then.”
“Fuck, babe.” I shake my head and grab her hand as she lifts it to her mouth once more, but this time with General Tso Chicken sauce all over it. I stick her finger in my mouth, running my tongue along her digit and watch her eyes dilate. Pulling it out but not releasing her hand, I add, “I wish I could have seen it then, or better yet, said something when things changed for me a while back. We’ve wasted all this time.”
She seems to think about it for a few seconds. “Don’t do that, Rett.” She turns our joined hands and kisses mine. “There’s never a better time than the present.” Nodding toward the extra plate, she smirks. “Let’s eat. You’ll need your energy for what I’ve got in mind later.”
I groan, “Babe, don’t play games with me.”
Grabbing her plate and heading for the dinner table, she turns to look at me over her shoulder and winks. “Oh, I plan on playing, Rett. And you’ll love the game I have in mind.”
Jesus!
Johanna
My body is thrumming with Rett’s ministrations, and he has yet to remove a single stitch of clothing on either of us.
I know we’re ready for this, and because we’ve been frank with one another, we’d probably both admit this next step is long overdue.
“Not here,” Rett raps against my collarbone, then his hands slide from my lower back to my ass as he palms each cheek, then proceeds to stand up with a bit more effort than he would generally exert, thanks to his ribs.
“I can walk,” I say, but I’m so damn horny I don’t feel as guilty as I most definitely should.
“I like you like this,” he whispers, then nips my chin as he leads us to the master bedroom—his bedroom. “You can’t get far. My hands enjoy being filled by that luscious ass of yours, and I can’t wait to get my mouth on those secret places too.”
My forehead crashes to his shoulder. “Rett, this was supposed to be my game,” comes out when the desperation in my voice really means, “I can’t wait. Walk faster.”
“No games, babe, not for our first time,” he says, leaning us down toward his mattress. His grip slips, and with a hiss he dumps me, then drops himself overtop, causing us to laugh. Growing serious, he adds, “It’s just you and me this time.”
I smirk, then let my hands skim over his shirt, grabbing it at his waist. “Then you and me means no clothes, so off with it, mister, so I can ogle you good and proper.”
I swear I can’t take anymore or I’ll pass out.
Hungry.
That’s the best description I can give you about Rett tonight.
I’ve always known that my best friend was a go-getter, but seeing it translated into sex has changed my outlook on the future of my sex life.
I’m sweaty, sated; my body’s buzzing with the aftermath of three orgasms, and I haven’t had the pleasure of receiving his cock yet.
His cock. God! That thing is magnificent. Long, thick, hard, yet velvety smooth—and I would know because I snuck my hand to see what I would have to look forward to—right before he handed me the condom and told me to suit him up. Apparently, Rett has a voyeuristic side to him; duly noted for our future ventures together.
Finally, the moment has arrived. Rett is about to fill me, and where I should feel apprehensive because he’s larger than I’ve ever had, butterflies of excitement are fluttering about in my stomach.
“Eyes up here, babe,” Rett whispers. My gaze does as he commands.
“Rett.”
“Hold on to me.”
I do just that but clench at the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair, and pulling his face down so I can taste myself on his lips once more.
Next thing I know, I’m coming because he has me so worked up for a fourth orgasm, which he incites it with his cock’s invasion.
“Oh, fuck, babe,” he growls. “Keep those legs wrapped around me. You’re squeezing the life out of my dick.”
My mouth runs away from me. “Please move, Rett. I need you to move. So deep. Fuck! I love it, Rett.”
Rett does just as I beg and seals the bond between us.
“Mine, Johanna. Forever mine.”
And that’s more than okay with me.
About Carey Decevito
Born and raised in small town Northern Ontario, Canada, Carey Decevito has always had a penchant for reading and writing.
A writer of erotic romance, paranormal romance, romantic suspense, and member of the Ottawa Romance Writers, this lover of food will throw in a bit of heat, a dash of sass, a pinch of comedy and a dollop of real-life experience in order to provide her readers with a story that will mess with their emotions from start to finish.
Family and friends are her lifeblood, but Carey also enjoys conquering the outdoors, sports, traveling and playing tourist in Canada’s National Capital region. When life gets crazy, she seeks respite through her writing and submersing herself in the latest addition to her library. If all else fails, she knows there’s never a dull moment with her two daughters, her goofy husband and their cat and dog who she swears are out to get her.
www.careydecevito.com
Out of the Blue
DD Prince
As a paramedic, saving the life of the sexy, rich guy was just another day on the job. But now, he's kind of obsessed with me. — Out of the Blue
Out of the Blue
Christina
“You’re in very good hands, Hunter,” I say, ready for him to be moved down the corridor, but with reflexes he shouldn’t have in his current state, he reaches out and catches my hand. He holds it only for a second, but it feels longer. Our eyes lock and I note that his chocolate brown ones are filled with emotion. This is something I see often. C’est la vie when you’re a paramedic. I see life, death, hope, and fear in their eyes. Daily.
It’s usually fear.
I do all I can do to get them here alive. If they’re conscious, I try to comfort and calm them until I hand them over to hospital staff. I strive to ease discomfort and worry while we boogie through traffic with lights and sirens. My mission is to get them into the competent hands of the medical professionals who will save them, stitch them back together, and hopefully get them back to their lives.
Today, I wasn’t confident he would make it to the hospital alive. Fed by adrenalin, I refused to give up when he flatlined in the ambulance. Persistence paid off. I hope he gets his life back, or maybe a life where he doesn’t drive so fast, putting himself and others at risk.
The jaws of life were used to extricate him from his mostly crunched-up sportscar that’d slammed into a guard rail on Highway 400. T
hat road takes a lot of cottagers to their summer getaways, is bumper to bumper on most summer Fridays, but it’s now approaching morning, which would mean the opportunity to go fast because those roads are pretty empty.
By the damage, I’d wager he was flexing the muscles of his sportscar. Hard. And it nearly did the job of killing him. Thankfully, it was a single car collision. Mercifully, he’s still alive here in the ER.
I often get looks of gratitude blended with fear as they’re wheeled through this corridor. The look he gives me says neither. I’m not sure how to translate it. He squeezes and releases my hand and then he’s saying something, but I don’t hear what. He’s gone, wheeled through the automatic doors by competent staff who all look not only weary, but ready to hand the reins over to the dayshift. It’s been a long night.
I meet up with Donald, my partner, at the water fountain where he’s taking a long drink. I give him a tight smile as I peel my gloves off and chuck them in the bin.
I no longer ask questions after the fact, like I did in my first month. I’d come back the next day or sometimes just a few hours later and ask a doctor or nurse how someone was doing.
Sometimes I’d check the obituaries to learn more about the people that couldn’t be saved, too. Big mistake.
I’ve learned the hard way not to ask. Now, I just walk away with hope.
Donald straightens up at the fountain and swipes water off his chin with the back of his hand. “If we wait fifteen minutes, we’ll probably get to clock out. If we don’t, we’ll probably get dispatched again.”
I know by his face what he wants me to say, what he always wants me to say. This isn’t an infrequent exchange between us.
“No rest for the wicked,” I say instead. “Just a quick bio-break first.”
I see his shoulders slump as I step into the staff washroom, hearing him mumble, “Yeah. Take your time.”