All ONES: The Complete Collection

by Aleatha Romig

  "What?"

  He moves his lips close to my ear, his warm cinnamon breath kissing my skin and sending chills that twist my insides. "Besides the fact that you're with me, tonight I know what you have under that blue dress, and tonight I'm going to get to enjoy it."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Duncan

  I wake to the now-familiar sunshine casting rose-colored hues through the pink curtains. Though the clock beside the bed says it's still early, I hear noises from the direction of the barn, knowing that Oscar is up and doing something outside.

  The faint sound of breathing turns my attention to the beautiful woman beside me. Her lips are slightly parted, and her auburn hair is twisted and disheveled in the sexiest bedhead slash post-sex style I've ever seen. The sheet is wrapped around her breasts and covering her body.

  I know from experience that under the cover she's entirely nude. Just the thought of her perfect tits combined with memories of last night makes my morning wood turn to steel.

  After the wedding when we were alone in her room, I was magically drawn to her. The magnetic-like pull couldn't have been stronger. Enjoying her warmth, I close my eyes, and recall every moment.

  I close the door to her room a step behind Kimbra.

  Just as I'm about to reach for her, she exhales, "Whew," and turns a small circle. "Thank you," she says with a tired smile. "After all that avoidance, I actually had a good time."

  I reach for her hands and pull her toward the bed. We both collapse staring up at the underside of the canopy. "My favorite," I say with a grin, "was Helen handing Scarlett the vibrator."

  Kimbra starts laughing. "And Kurt asking what it was!"

  "He thought it was a laser pointer," we both say in unison.

  My chest rumbles. "Did you see Scarlett's face? She's good at that blushing thing, too." I sit up and brush my knuckle over Kimbra's cheek. "It must be a family trait."

  "Oh, she knew what it was. That and the fact Kurt didn't was priceless."

  "Helen's response telling him that Scarlett would explain..." We both lie back for a minute, laughing and reliving the scene. "Do you think that's happening right now?"

  Kimbra covers her face with her hands. "Eww, stop. So many images I don't want in my head."

  I close my eyes and see the image I've been seeing all night, the one of Kimbra in a wedding dress. Each time I see it, the visualization is more complete. Now it's not just her, but the same little church, Oscar walking beside her. I can't understand why it won't go away. I shouldn't be the one seeing it, because no way in hell am I the man at the end of the aisle.

  I push it away...even as it tries to persist.

  Kimbra begins to stand, bringing me back to present. I lean forward and reach for her hand. "Where do you think you're going, Miss Jones?"

  "To get out of this dress, Mr. Willis."

  I sit up, leaning back on my elbows. "I like the sound of that. Do you have music?"

  "Music?" She looks puzzled, but only for a second. "I'm not doing a striptease for you."

  I lift my brows. "Oh, but I would like that very much."

  "Duncan?"

  "Okay, no music. We don't want Helen to come join in." Before Kimbra can respond, I go on, "But a little sway of those sexy hips and a tug of that zipper on the side...?"

  Kimbra closes her eyes. For a second I think she's going to totally refuse and then it happens.

  Slowly she begins to sway.

  The blue skirt of her dress pitches one way and then the other as her hands roam over her sexy curves. The tips of her fingers trace from the magical scooped neckline and seductively brush up to her collarbone and her sensual neck until they're swaying above her head. One by one, hairpins drop as her long, luscious hair falls in spirals and waves. Soon it too is swaying.

  And then, as if the beat changed, she turns, spinning slowly as her arms lower. She wraps them around herself, finding the zipper and tugging, all the while keeping her hips swaying and heels moving to the unheard tune.

  My dick hardens as she continues to move.

  As I watch her rhythm—each sway, each jiggle—I begin to hear the fucking imaginary music. The beat is made by the breeze through the window, and the chorus is the night sounds of the country air. It's hotter than any music at any gentlemen's club, and I could listen to it for hours.

  As Kimbra's dress slips from her shoulders, the vision of her strapless bra and matching triangle of lace makes my balls tighten. Her barely-there undergarments are the color of her creamy skin, barely holding her huge tits as she continues to dance. Her eyelids flutter, appearing heavy with wanton lust.

  It's more than I can take. I start to stand, but stop when Kimbra shakes her head, telling me no.

  Fuck, it's hot.

  Spinning, she reaches for the clasp of her bra and my favorite tits in the entire world are on display. Not just visible, but moving with her, heavy with desire and swaying as she leans forward. Their weight helps them swing to the silent beat.

  "Fuck," I growl.

  Again, she comes closer, putting her hands on my knees and leaning forward. Two large perfect mounds materialize before me. It's the best fucking view I've ever seen. When she stands, her thumbs latch onto each string holding the lace over her pussy, and she pulls them down, stepping out of the lace, now wearing only the damn nude-colored, shiny heels.

  With a crook of her finger she encourages me to stand. Once I do, she reaches for my belt. Unbuckling it, she lowers my zipper and pulls back my boxers as I stand still. My erection springs free. A few more shimmies and spins and she moves farther away, dancing toward her dresser. It's when she opens the drawer and pulls out a silver packet that I know I'm lost to Kimbra Jones.

  When she turns back, the condom packet is between her teeth as Kimbra sashays my direction. I bite my cheek as she falls to her knees and kisses the tip of my cock.

  Early ejaculation has never been one of my problems, but with simply the brush of her lips, I'm transported to the lawn chair behind the barn and the best damn blow job of my life. I fear I may blow. In an instant she rolls the covering over my length and then stands. Without a word she pushes me back to the bed. Only a half-second behind, she follows closely, climbing onto my lap until her hands are on my shoulders, her tits in my face, and her knees straddling my legs.

  "Ride me, baby," I barely gasp the words, needing some control, though I know I have none.

  Her lips stop more demands as she settles over me, kissing me and sheathing my cock in more than the condom—in her tight, wet pussy.

  It's fucking heaven as she moves up and down. My hands support us, but my mouth is free to suck and bite as I enjoy the huge, round globes. As her breathing labors and she begins to pant, I reach for her waist and flip her over.

  "Having you ride me," I growl, "is fucking amazing."

  Her eyes open wide as I slide in and out, slowing her rhythm and creating my own.

  "But now it's time to remind you who's the boss."

  Her smile grows. "Show me, sir."

  I almost lose it as I take over and we fall in sync. As she shudders around me, her red lips forming the perfect O, I remember her word.

  Pretend.

  This is pretend, but not the way she's been defining it. What is pretend is my show of control. Kimbra Jones has it all. I'd fall to my knees and beg her if I could make this weekend continue.

  The morning sun moves higher in the sky, lighting the bedroom.

  "Hmm," Kimbra hums as she rolls toward me, reminding me that last night is only a memory. "Well, good morning."

  Undoubtedly, she rolled right into my morning erection.

  I kiss her forehead. "Good morning. Kimbra?" I ask, hoping she is willing.

  Nodding, she lies back. With my face between her small hands, she pulls me toward her. As we move together, our connection never breaks and our tongues dance.

  My hands roam, wanting to touch every inch of her beautiful body, taking in her soft skin. It's as I tease betw
een her legs that she reaches for my length. Our separation is too much. I have to be closer. Her legs move farther apart, whether from my attention or she too has been remembering the night before. Whatever the reason, her pussy is warm and wet. It isn't until I'm fully buried that I realize what I've done.

  My body stills.

  Kimbra's eyes open wide as the realization hits her too. Instead of anger, her expression softens. "I'm on the pill. Please don't stop. This feels too good."

  Fuck yes, it feels like heaven. A silken glove that's two sizes too tight.

  Though my heart is racing, my body moves slowly, enjoying every thrust as we start our morning closer than we've ever been.

  I rain kisses over her cheek, ear, and neck. My morning stubble leaves her skin pink, and I can't help but think how much I love leaving my mark on her. It's about then when a roar rumbles from my throat, my body stiffens, and I leave my mark inside her.

  Once she’s in my arms, curled against my side with her head against my shoulder, I give her what she deserves. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I promise, I'm clean. I never do that. Never."

  "I don't think you can say that anymore."

  I lift my head to look in her beautiful, clear blue eyes. "What are you doing to me?"

  She quirks her cute smile. "Mr. Willis, I plead innocence. I simply woke."

  "And I woke to memories of last night."

  "You must have really enjoyed the wedding."

  Fuck the wedding. It was my private dance party that I enjoyed. Instead of saying that, I kiss her again. "What is on our agenda, Miss Jones?"

  She snuggles closer. "How about staying here all day?"

  "In your bed? I like the sound of that."

  All at once she throws back the covers. "Well, I wish. Today is Scarlett and Kurt's send-off party."

  "What the hell is that? Aren't they off enjoying their honeymoon and Helen's gift?"

  Kimbra giggles as she wraps herself in a white fuzzy robe that barely covers her sexy ass. "Oh, I wish you wouldn't have said that. Now I'm going to think about that when we see them."

  "See them," I ask as I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and silently tell my dick to soften—its fun for the morning is done. But the way Kimbra looks in that robe with her hair a mess and my come on her thighs is as erotic as her little dance last night. "Seriously, what is a send-off party?"

  "Remember my saying they met at a Memorial Day barbeque?"

  "Yes."

  "Uncle Albert and Aunt Laura are having a pig roast. It's mostly for the family." She claps her hands, feigning enthusiasm as she bounces on her toes. "And we get to watch them open their gifts."

  I step toward her, reaching for her ass and pulling her against me. "Your excitement is seriously lacking. You might want to work on that."

  "Honestly, do you want to spend more time with my family?"

  Kissing her soft lips, I say, "If that includes you, then hell yes. Bring on more of the Joneses, Kimberly Ann."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kimbra

  Like the elusive breeze blowing through my bedroom window, I'm unable to catch the passage of time. The reality as I pry open my eyes on Monday morning feels like a boulder pressing upon my chest, its weight reminding me that my fairytale is about to end.

  Turning toward Duncan, the crushing sensation intensifies. As I reach out, my fingertips brush the soft sheets and I'm faced with the stark, cool reality of an empty bed. This deal was set for a long weekend. The clock never stopped ticking. My shoe is loose and the carriage is on its way to becoming a pumpkin.

  The reality—despite my continued shitty analogy—is that whatever this was, it is about to end. My plus-one will be back to only one.

  Lingering in my thoughts, I relish a few more moments of the freedom Duncan promised with sleeping nude. Before this weekend, I'd never done it. Now as the covers caress my skin, I wonder if I'll continue once I'm home and alone. It isn't a life-altering question. Perhaps that's why I allow my mind to dissect its continued possibility. Finally, I force myself up, slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and cautiously open the door.

  Thankfully, the hallway is empty.

  A few minutes later, I return from the bathroom with a lump in my throat that I'm unable to swallow. Despite my best effort, the lump is forming at a rate that's too big—too fast. I can't go downstairs and face the voices in the kitchen. Instead, I close my eyes and make a childish wish, the kind that is never granted, but perhaps it's my surroundings that remind me to try.

  "I want to open my eyes and be back in my apartment. I don't want to face the end of this arrangement. Please..."

  And then, as if adding insult to injury, I remember Shana. The boulder is back. When I do return to my apartment, she'll be gone and I'll be truly plus no one. The heaviness grows until my knees are no longer capable of keeping me upright. I gasp for air as I fall to the floor.

  Sometime during this weekend, the confident woman who lives in New York disappeared. I'm suddenly sixteen again, making magical wishes with emotions running out of control. Unable to think, reason, or deal with my current situation, I instead focus on my old bedroom. It's the same as it was ten years ago.

  Am I the same?

  My argument mounts. I'm not the same. I'm strong and successful. However, the tears cascading like waterfalls down my cheeks present an obvious objection to my case.

  Instead of sad, I focus on mad. Telling myself that anger is the more appropriate emotion of a strong adult...irrational rage buds to life and blooms within me.

  For no apparent reason, I'm suddenly obsessed with the posters decorating my pink walls. Why are they still there? I haven't listened to those boy bands since high school. No one has. It doesn't matter that the Backstreet Boys was my first concert, that I was madly in love with each member, or that just the sound of their songs coming from my iPod made my heart race.

  Giving myself permission and an acceptable outlet, I stand and reach for the curled edge of the thick paper.

  "It's over," I say to the smiling faces as a sob resonates from my chest. "It was never real. I was just some little girl in the twenty-seventh row at the Fieldhouse in Indy." Why do I remember that? "You never cared about me. It was never meant to last. It was all pretend."

  I pull the paper.

  Years and years of exposure to sunlight makes the poster's paper brittle and easy to tear.

  Rip!

  The sound echoes through the room. I tug more. As the tacks tightly hold to the drywall, the larger shreds of poster flutter to the floor. For only a moment, I stare at the wall. Framed by four corners of torn paper, an un-faded pink rectangle remains. Although the members of the band never truly cared for me, they left a lasting imprint on my wall.

  I was so naive when I hung these pictures.

  At the time it seemed like a good idea. I loved them. They brought me happiness. Yet none of it was real, only a stupid girl's illusion. The boys in the poster weren’t even smiling at me, but at a camera. They never promised me forever. They hadn't lied to me; I'd lied to myself. And now, looking at the un-faded rectangle, my wall will be forever changed.

  Stupid! I was stupid.

  It was and is all pretend.

  Another muffled sob hiccups out of my throat at the irony.

  Suddenly, it isn't enough to remove the pictures from the wall. I fall back to my knees and shred each piece. Smaller and smaller I tear until I'm left with a pile of torn pieces that can never be put back together.

  My chest aches as I repeat the process with the Jonas Brothers and NSYNC. By the time my walls are bare, I'm exhausted and my tears are dry. When I stand, I see the woman in the mirror. Her eyes are puffy and red, but her back and shoulders are straight.

  "They were just bands. They had too many fans to really notice me," I say aloud. "It's time to move on."

  The woman in the mirror nods her head in agreement. In her swollen eyes, I see her pain as well as resolution. Moving on won't be easy, but it wa
s never meant to last forever. Bands come and go. Each love is a rite of passage...my mother's and grandma's words of wisdom come back.

  When one door closes, another one opens...blah, blah, blah.

  I make my way back to the bathroom, thankful it's clear, and turn the shower to hot.

  "There are always going to be new bands," I mumble as I step under the hot spray. Like needles, the water prickles my skin. Instead of turning it down, I let it wash away the bands'/his touch.

  Last night, Duncan told me that the plane would be ready after breakfast. There was something he needed to be back to New York to do. I didn't ask what, though I wondered who. It's over. Just like the Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, and the Jonas Brothers...life moves on. He doesn't owe me an explanation. He doesn't owe me anything. His debt is paid.

  After my shower, I braid my wet hair, dress, pack, and do my best to clean up the torn shreds of my posters, scooping them and many scattered hairpins all into the trashcan. It's as I'm prying the last of the tacks from the wall that my bedroom door opens.

  With the same confident, almost cocky smirk he's had since the first time I saw him, Duncan looks at me. I turn away, unable to gaze back. I won't. I've already picked up the pieces of my heart. It's time to move on.

  If only I had my own airline ticket.

  Stop making childish wishes. Their time is over too.

  "Kimbra, what happened to your posters?"

  I take a deep breath and shrug. Still looking at the wall and the tack, I reply, "I decided I'm a little too old for boy bands."

  He takes a step closer. "But they were cute. And now I know what to get you for Christmas. I'll be watching for NSYNC reunion playlists."

  I straighten my neck and face him head-on. "Maybe the next guy I bring home won't think they’re cute. Better safe than sorry."

  Duncan's face contorts but for only a millisecond. "I see your point." He turns toward the suitcase open on the bed. "Are you packed?"