Love Me Always

by Peyton Banks

  “I was,” he replies. His voice is soft, earnest, as if he’s trying to lessen the blow. “I couldn’t look back Z. If I wanted to be a success, I could only look to the future. And looking back at you would have made that impossible.”

  I get that. Now, more than ever. Maybe the concept was beyond my grasp five years ago, but no matter what happens tonight, I’m going to leave this hotel room in the morning and go back to my life. One without him in it. At long last, I realize that leaving me truly was the only choice he had.

  I lick my lips slowly, trying to change tracks back to the original plan of getting Tremelle naked.

  “And what are you looking at tonight?”

  I mirror his posture, spreading my legs and relaxing my limbs.

  “You,” he states bluntly, eyes blazing behind his gorgeous long lashes, “as usual, barely wearing any clothes.”

  I smirk at the old bickering conversation, throwing back my drink and rising from my seat. I close the distance between us, bending low and gripping his tie in my hand.

  “And you’re always wearing too much.”

  I bring my lips to his, intending to kiss him quickly and let him go.

  When Tremelle brings his hands to rest on my hips, fingers digging into the flesh, I snap, all restraint gone out the window.

  He nips at my mouth, all teeth and tongue. Years of pent up desire and frustration make our movements sharp and rough. I pull at his tie, yanking it from his vest and tugging at the knot, before giving up and starting on his buttons.

  Tremelle palms my ass, his hands grabbing and squeezing, before he shoves them into the hem of my pants, pushing them down and off my hips. I step out of them, pulling Tremelle from the chair with my hands on his clothes, frustrated at how slowly they seem to be coming off of him.

  “For fucks sake, Trem,” I growl, giving up the cause as lost and yanking hard at the fabric. I feel a sick sense of victory at the sound of the fabric ripping as I help him push it from his shoulders.

  “This would have been easier,” I bitch, backing up towards the bed, “if you’d started stripping when I was in the shower.”

  My legs hit the edge of the mattress, and Tremelle gives me a hard shove, pushing me onto the bed.

  “Next time add a warning that I need to be prepared to fuck, when you slip your card into my pocket,” he huffs, pulling his shirt from his pants with jerky motions.

  He straddles me on the bed, still fully clothed.

  “Noted.”

  I groan as the heat of his mouth burns over my skin. His teeth bite into my shoulder, then he licks the sting away, moving down my torso.

  I pull at his shirt, shoving the material up, only to be waylaid by the feel of a tank underneath.

  “Fuck me, Trem. Just fuck,” I growl in exasperation, working at the buttons on his shirt.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do,” he pants playfully.

  He drops to the floor in front of me, grabbing me by the knees and giving me a sharp tug. When I’m where he wants me, my ass at the edge and my knees parted on either side of him, I rise to my elbows, trying to commit the sight of Tremelle on his knees before me to memory. It’s not a vision I ever thought I’d see again, and probably won’t see after this night.

  Tremelle wraps a hand around my length, stroking me hard and fast. My back bows off the bed, arching into his touch. My hips buck into his fist, urging him faster without saying a word. When the pleasure gets too much, I fall back onto the bed, moaning wantonly into the air.

  Without any warning, Tremelle wraps his mouth around my cock and sucks me down. There’s no hesitation, no tenderness. He has one goal in mind, to bring me to orgasm as hard and fast as possible.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I moan, and feel him smile as he takes as much of me in his mouth as he can, before pulling back and repeating the process.

  With one hand on my cock, he plays with my balls with the other. Pulling and caressing, sending me into overdrive. The tension builds in my spine. The muscles in my legs tremble and my fingers grab at the blanket, desperate for something to hold onto.

  When Tremelle pulls his mouth away from me, I push up on my elbows, an embarrassed whine slipping from my lips, and watch as he sticks two fingers in his mouth, coating them in his saliva, before lowering his mouth back to my dick.

  His hand trails down my abs, over my balls, and slowly to my entrance. His fingers are gentle, a powerful counterpoint to the roughness of his mouth. I lift my leg, resting my foot on his shoulder, and he moans around my cock, his tongue swirling around the tip.

  “Lube,” I pant out, “is in my suitcase.”

  He pulls his mouth away with an audible pop, but is back within seconds, coating his fingers with a generous amount of the slick substance.

  His finger enters me at the same time his mouth resumes its work, and I try to arch into his mouth and grind against his hand simultaneously.

  “More,” I beg, and he adds a second finger to the first, working me open with a surgeon’s precision.

  He takes me deep in his mouth, my cock hitting the back of his throat, and before I can do more than give a strangled cry of warning, I come apart under his hands, body bucking against him.

  When Tremelle rises to his feet, he looks like a wet dream. His tie is still around his neck, hanging on by the barest of measures. His shirt is only half undone, and is missing buttons in the effort to remove it from him.

  Without saying a word, he pulls a three-pack box of condoms from his pants pocket, tossing it on the bed.

  The knowledge that he came prepared for this sends all the blood roaring back to my dick.

  He unclasps his belt and removes his socks and shoes, before shoving his pants and boxer briefs down his thighs and off his legs in one swift move.

  I fumble open the box, pulling a condom out and ripping the foil with my teeth, sitting up to roll the condom down Tremelle’s length. Before this night is over, I will taste him again. Feel the way his cock sits heavy against my tongue. But if I don’t feel him inside me soon, pressing me into the mattress, I may very well burst into flame.

  I scoot back on the bed, centering myself in the middle, and watch as Tremelle coats his hand in lube, then coats his condom covered dick. Jerking himself with sure hard strokes.

  “Fuck me,” I moan in awe, watching with anticipation as he climbs onto the bed on his knees.

  “How many times do we have to go over this? I plan to, several times tonight.”

  He grabs my dick again, giving it a few sharp tugs while his fingers work my entrance. Normally more foreplay is better, but I don’t have the patience for that tonight.

  I moan in relief when he seems to sense my urgency and settles himself between my legs. As he guides himself to my entrance, I pull his face down to kiss me. I’m not a big kisser. Not usually. But with Tremelle, I could get lost in the feel of his tongue against mine.

  He pushes into me with care, the burn both too much and exquisite at the same time. A ragged moan slips from his lips as he fills and stretches me until he bottoms out against me.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper in reverence, as Tremelle stills inside me, allowing us to adjust to the sensation of being joined again.

  It doesn’t take long before my impatience returns with a vengeance.

  “Move,” I pant, and he does, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in. His arms are shaking on either side of my head, and I wrap my legs around his hips, opening myself wider to him.

  I can tell he’s trying to be slow. To be gentle after all these years apart. But gentle is not what I need right now, and I dig my fingers into his hips and demand “more,” as I grind up against him. His hips pick up the pace, snapping their intensity as he loses himself in his task.

  I lift one hand over my head, bracing against the headboard. The other I dig into the tight curls of Tremelle’s hair, using them as leverage to pull his face to mine.

  With every grunt he makes, every moan of sati
sfaction, every swear word that passes his lips, the tension in my body builds until I’m on the verge once again.

  Tremelle lowers his weight onto his elbow, mouth devouring mine, and reaches between us, grasping my cock with pulls in time with his thrusts.

  That’s all it takes to send me over the edge again. I dig my nails into Tremelle’s hips, ensuring there’ll be halfmoon imprints on his flesh when we’re done. My own release coats his hand and my stomach, creating a sticky mess between us. Tremelle arches and pounds into me, crying out my name where his face is buried in my throat.

  His shirt, which, inexplicably, he’s still wearing, is positively ruined.

  When he rolls to his side, collapsing onto the bed next to me, I hiss at the sensation.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.

  My eyes drift close as I try to catch my breath.

  It was too much, yet still not enough. All we have is tonight to get our fill.

  4

  Tremelle

  It’s my alarm that wakes me. The routine is similar enough, but when I reach for my phone, I miss the table entirely. I open my eyes, panic melting into familiarity when I remember where I am and why I’m here.

  The where is Zion’s hotel room. I roll over, my arm swinging wide, searching out the man who slept beside me last night. His spot is empty, the sheets cool. From the glow from the window, it’s barely after daylight.

  The buzzing of the alarm finally drives me to distraction, and I sit up in bed, pushing the covers off and searching out my phone.

  It’s on the table, next to the glasses and half-empty bottle of Hennessey, on top of a yellow lined piece of paper.

  Trem,

  My first presentation is at 7. I didn’t want to wake you up.

  Let’s not wait another 5 years to do this again.

  Love,

  Z

  I look at the note, at his small precise script, and feel the same peace in him that rests in me. A moment in time is what I called Zion last night.

  That may be true.

  But a thousand moments will make up forever.

  Afterword

  Dear Reader,

  * * *

  Did you enjoy what you read? Interested in Liam, Sami and the rest of the gang? Dying to find out what happened to Logan the last time he hooked up at a conference? Go and pick up book one in the Doctor Drama Series from Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

  Amazon

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  Website

  Love,

  Amanda

  About the Author

  Amanda Faye currently resides in Atlanta with her high school sweetheart and husband of 15 years and their 4 amazing children.

  She's had a passion for reading and writing since she was a child. She stole her first romance novel from her mother at age 12 and hasn't looked back since.

  Reclaiming Her Heart

  BARB SHULER

  Blurb

  When Phillip Thomas left Widow’s Bridge, North Carolina and the strained relationships there, it was for good.

  * * *

  His heart was left in the hands of the girl who stole it years earlier but yet, there was no going back. He’d never see again and he had to be okay with that. Becoming a part of the Delta Force team helped him move on with his life. Spending time in the darkness of his job finally got the best of him.

  * * *

  Then, the call he thought he’d never get had him crashing to his knees. His beloved Gran was gone.

  * * *

  Keisha Moore had her heart stolen and crushed by the boy she’d loved for years.

  * * *

  She had to move forward. She too left her hometown to find bigger and better things. Working at the top Ad Company in Charlotte was all she wanted…until, it wasn’t. Making a choice she never thought she’d make, she packed up her life and moved back home.

  * * *

  Then…she saw him. The man that had stolen her heart…and still held it. It was time to get it back.

  * * *

  Together they have to start to move forward…whether they like it or not.

  Sometimes all you need is a second chance, because time wasn’t ready for the first one. ~ Tumpa Biswas

  1

  Phillip

  Three weeks ago I came back to the place I once called home. I said I’d never come back, but you know how they say never say never. It’s true. I came home to say goodbye to one of the few people in my life I could always count on.

  This town, Widow’s Bridge, North Carolina, used to be a joke. We all longed to grow up and move away. To escape the crappy jobs and little pay. Bigots and backwoods redneck jerks that seemed to swarm this town back then. I watched as my grandparents struggled for so many years to not only put food on the table, but to survive. I never wanted to be in that position. Call me a coward. That’s fine. It’s not like you’d be the first.

  I did what I needed to do for my own mental stability. I needed the discipline that I soon found with Uncle Sam backing me. I joined the Army, became a man my grandparents could and would be proud of. I visited them a few times when I could. I was stationed in Texas at Fort Hood with the rest of my Special Forces unit. I’d talk to my grandparents as much as possible though. Emailed when I wasn’t able to talk. I knew they loved me and they knew I loved them.

  I had left for good...yet here I was, eighteen years later. My meager belongings in tow. It looked the same yet, as with the other times I’d been back, it was different. There were a few new buildings up, new signs, new window dressings in the little boutique and antique stores.

  Coming home was hard. It was painful. It was a must. I should have been here more to help my family, namely my grandparents, when they needed me the most.

  For fifty-seven years the Thomas family has run a roadside barbecue pit: The Pork Pit. It’s located right off the main highway so it stayed busy with townspeople, truckers, and travelers. Who doesn’t love barbecue? And especially my Grandma Thomas’ family’s barbecue at that. It was her sauce though. That sweet, tangy sauce that covered everything and was the best thing on the menu. Though, I’d never say that out loud.

  Cracking my neck, I took a handful of paper and shoved it under the small pieces of cardboard and logs in the pit we used to make our coals. The fire took quickly, raising up around the paper and logs. I stepped back, rubbing my face on my shirt sleeve. Once the coals were hot and ready, I’d move them to the ground under a smoker and it was game on. I’d started with putting the hot coals under two smokers this morning, but now that it’s hit the peak busy hour of the day, it’s time to redouble our efforts and get more meat on the racks. The more the merrier.

  The Pork Pit has cooked the same way since it opened all those years ago. My grandfather built this cook house from the ground up with his own two hands. Every square inch of this building had his blood, sweat, and tears mixed in with the cement, wood, and tin. Hours upon hours of hard work went into making this building the best it could be. Work he did proudly in order to keep his family fed.

  When my grandpa passed away about eight years ago, my dad stepped in to help my gran and aunts with everything. Now that she’s gone, it’s time for us all to pitch in. That’s why I came home. I'd do anything for that woman, even if she was gone now. This business was more than a business to them. It was a way of life; a way to provide for their community.

  See, my gran raised me from the time I was two. She was, for all intents and purposes, like my mother. My granddad was always more of a father to me then my dad was. My dad was always too busy working, which really meant, back then, he was either in jail or in a rehab. I didn’t find that out until the day I turned thirteen. Cops came to my grandparents’ home, warrant in hand, and took him into custody for a drug charge. He, of course, was guilty. He was tried, charged, and sentenced to five years in prison. When he was released and begged to be let back in, they let him. He said he’d changed. I didn’t believe him.r />
  That’s only one of the many reasons I left this place. How could I stay under the same roof as the man who ruined so much in my life? Someone who made my gran cry herself to sleep. She thought I didn’t hear her, but I did. He tore apart something deep inside of her. She wasn’t the same after that. Not to mention what he’d done to the rest of the family. He was a disappointment all around. I knew my mom was looking down from above, keeping me safe. She should have been here, but he was the one that survived that wreck. He should have been doing the things my gran did for me. He should have stepped up after my mom died to be the man of the house. He didn’t—couldn’t. The drugs owned him back then.

  Leroy Thomas, my father, supposedly wasn’t that man any longer. He straightened up after I left town. My gran said my leaving is what made him wake up. He got to really see what he had been doing. It helped him hit rock bottom. Now that he has been clean and sober going on eighteen years, he was a different man. He started trying to be a father years ago, but that bridge is far past being repaired. I’ve learned to just go with the flow and to expect nothing from him. It’s all I’d ever gotten after all.

  I shoved another log onto the burning fire before moving to the other side of the smoke house to the smokers. The embers were still good, but I’d need to add some soon to keep the heat and smoke where we needed it to be. Lifting the metal lid to the smoker, I grabbed a pair of rings and carefully flipped over a few racks of ribs. I grabbed the bottle of sauce and started lathering it on with a brush. The messier, the better. Ten more minutes and these bad boys would be ready. Just in time for the second lunchtime rush.