by Mj Fields
I hold my finger to my lips, motioning for her to shh… and wink.
Ang smiles and looks back at her as I stand and place my hands on the sexy woman’s shoulders.
Her body stiffens under my touch, and Ang just smiles and raises an eyebrow at her.
“You ever hear the story about the princess kissing the frog and him turning into a prince?” I ask.
Her back stiffens even more. I like it.
Ang nods at her as she stands and says, “You dish out advice all day long, Autumn; I suggest you start practicing what you preach.”
Autumn, my favorite season, I think as she retorts, “How strongly?”
Ang laughs. “On a scale of wine coolers to Jack Daniel’s?”
Autumn nods.
“Moonshine.” She winks before turning and walking away.
Autumn starts to turn, but I stop her. Then, leaning in close, I whisper in her ear, “Close your eyes, princess. Then turn around and lets you and I see if there’s any truth to those types of tales.”
When she starts to reply, I stop her by pulling her back against me.
“Close your eyes.”
She giggles. “You better be worth it.” “No regrets,” I whisper.
She turns slowly, her eyes still closed, and she’s smiling as she says, “Lay it on me.”
A loud thud startles her, and she opens her eyes.
“That’ll be twelve dollars.”
Her eyes are a light brown, with hues of honey and flecks of pumpkin and mustard. They are insanely gorgeous, and now wide as saucers as she looks at me with obvious appreciation as well as apprehension.
She starts to step back, but I instinctively grip her hips to stop her.
She looks down at them then back up at me. “I need to pay the girl.”
“Can’t let that happen.”
“Oh, no?” Her eyes soften, and her full, light pink lips curve up slightly in the corners.
“I’d like to test that tale.”
She cocks her head to the side as she looks at me almost suspiciously.
Without breaking eye contact, I tell the bartender, “A bottle of Dom.”
“We don’t sell by the bottle, and we don’t have Dom.”
“Two glasses of Cristal then,” I retort.
Autumn raises a brow and gives me a slight nod, clearly impressed I know my champagne. I give her a wink in return, and she smiles. “We don’t have—”
“Krug.”
“We’re out.”
I roll my eyes at the same time that Autumn rolls hers. Then I regretfully look away and at the bartender and tell her, “Then another glass of what she’s having,” as Autumn says, “Then another glass of what I’m having.”
Laughing, we both turn back to one another as the bartender huffs and walks away.
“How about you and I get the hell out of here, go buy a bottle of the good bubbly, and test that theory somewhere a little less pretentious?”
“Less pretentious, huh?”
“The people, the place, the Hamptons—all of it.”
She shakes her head as she smiles. “You think that angle’s going to work on me, with a man who looks like you?”
“I’m not working any angles, Autumn. I’m—”
“How do you know my name?” she interrupts, shocked. Then, not giving me time to state the obvious, she shakes her head as she places her hands over mine that are still on her hips and starts to push them away. “If you know me—” “Ang knows you.”
She tilts her head in question.
“You used her name. She used yours. I pay attention to details. Don’t overthink this.”
I watch the realization hit that I’m not being shady as she eyes me suspiciously. “Come again?”
“That’s a given,” I deadpan, and she immediately blushes when she realizes the promise I just made, and then she smiles even brighter.
It’s fucking on, I think.
The bartender sets my glass of champagne on the bar, and I reluctantly release my grasp on Autumn’s curvy hips as I reach in my back pocket and pull out my wallet, dropping a hundred on the bar.
“I’ll be right back with your change,” the bartender says, not moving like she’s waiting for something, but she doesn’t have my attention. Autumn does.
When she finally walks away, Autumn huffs, “What, was she waiting to see if you were going to tell her to keep the change?”
I take both glasses and hand one to her. “My tip’s big. She’s not worth it.”
She laughs that magnetic laugh, the one that brought me to her side to begin with. The one I wanted to cause...and just did.
She bats her eyelashes—real eyelashes—and says, “Thank you, Prince...?”
“Eric.” I smile, and her eyes widen as she leans in to get a better look.
Is it odd? Sure, in a normal situation, but in an effort to keep it real, I have a killer smile.
I let her take a moment to appreciate it, while I take that same moment to savor every-fucking-thing about those eyes, those lips, that hair.
Need has never consumed me, for I have never been without, but right now, at this moment, I know what it feels like for the first time in my life.
I raise my glass. “A toast, to those who do, and those who don’t. But not to those who say they will, but we’re sure they won’t.”
“Kiss me, Prince Eric.”
Blindsided by the request, as well as amused by the name, I narrow my eyes as I take her glass and set them both on the bar. Then I lean in. “And again and again and again.”
With my lips centimeters from hers, I watch as hers part slightly as she exhales a sweet, champagne-laced breath and repeats in a suffocated whisper, “Kiss. Me.”
I lean in and kiss the tip of her nose, whispering against it, “The minute my tongue’s in your mouth, I’m going to wish I started at your belly button and worked my way down.”
She leans up and looks at me in confusion again, showing me those beautiful fall-colored eyes.
“I have no issue sitting you on that barstool and hiding under that sexy as fuck dress while licking you deep inside, but you may.”
She snaps shut her agape mouth and shakes her head.
“Perfect.” I reach behind her and pull the stool out.
“Have a seat.”
“What?”
I don’t look at her. I look over her shoulder at the wooden seat. “You’re a lucky bastard; you know that?”
She whips her head back and looks behind her. “Who’re you talking to?”
“The chair that’s going to have your sweet, round ass on it.”
She laughs again, and I step in, further closing the distance. She immediately stops laughing as I press my body against hers.
“Lucky fucking chair.”
My cock’s been hardening since I saw those eyes, and now with it growing against her waist, she’s aware.
“I’m not a hit it and go kind of girl.”
“I’m gonna treat your G-spot like a speedball, Autumn. I’m gonna hit it so hard and so often that you’re gonna come again, and again, and again. Then you’re gonna let me have it again the next day.”
Her voice is deeper, thicker when she says, “Pretentious and presumptuous.”
I slowly shake my head. “Confident that I’m reading you correctly.”
“Reading me?”
“I know women.”
“I bet you do.” She snickers then looks back at the barstool and nibbles on her lower lip.
I grip her chin lightly and turn her to face me. Before I can say a word, though, she blurts out, “I don’t have sex on the first night I know a man. So, if you can’t just kiss me, then we don’t—”
I give the lady exactly what she’s asked for.
I kiss her.
She tastes like champagne and fresh water, of sweet treats and fresh fruits, of celebration and new beginnings.
I know some would argue celebration and new beginnings don’t have a taste.
Not one that you can describe anyway, but they do now, and they happen to taste like Autumn’s mouth.
Argument solved.
Her lips are soft like pillows covered in silk, her mouth warm and inviting like a down comforter on a cold winter night, her face and hair soft and fragrant.
She lets me explore then pushes her tongue against mine gently, like one dips a toe in the water to make sure its temperature is inviting. When she slowly begins stroking it, I feel it in my balls. Before I lose my shit all over my shorts and her dress, however, I pull back, sucking on her tongue as I do.
My mouth no longer against hers, I watch through her still slightly parted lips as her tongue quivers ever so slightly.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, gripping her hips tighter, and she opens her eyes.
“Wha…? Wha…? What?” She seems to be in a daze, her eyes glassed over with desire and need.
“I need to see if your clit does that after I pull my tongue out of your soaked cunt.”
When her eyes pop open, and she’s no longer still in a fog from the tongue-gasm, she stammers for words again.
“Your tongue quivered.”
“Did not,” she says before closing her mouth, nibbles on her bottom lip, blushes, and looks up at me again, this time further embarrassed.
“I don’t know why you’d deny it. I have no problem telling you that I nearly came in my pants from kissing you,
Autumn, which is the only reason I pulled away.”
Chapter Two
Autumn
Holy. Shit, I think as I try to make sense of the last few minutes, but words evade me. So do logic and sensibility.
Obviously.
He ticks boxes, though. So many of my boxes, I think as I look him over.
Taller than me.
Check.
Much taller than me. At least six foot compared to my five-foot-five.
Fit, bulging, biteable arms.
Check.
I’m aware that’s odd, but I don’t care.
Six pack abs.
I’m sure under that black V-neck tee that hugs those fit and bulging arms there is a feast of hard, lickable flesh. And if not his abs...his erection, which is currently pressed against my belly, is...impressive, to say the least. It would more than make up for the lack of abs.
Suit and tie.
Well, he’s in shorts and a V-neck, but this man could Well, he’s in shorts and a V-neck, but this man could rock a suit and tie.
Chiseled features.
I don’t even know how to describe his features, but he has those brilliant blue eyes and his smile that is blinding...in a good way, if there is a good way. Jesus, Autumn, get it together.
Tattoos.
Don’t know. Don’t care.
Gentleman on the streets, freak between the sheets.
So far, so good, and there is no way he wouldn’t rock in bed. He looks like a man who could break it. For the love of all things holy...or unholy rather...he gave me a...what did he call it? Oh, right, a tongue-gasm.
Oral AF.
Check.
If the kiss was telling—which I throw up a silent prayer that it is, knowing such prayers are all kinds of wrong—I’m going to love my first weekend of sex without strings, expectations, regrets, or a care in the world. After all, it’s a holiday weekend.
This man, this Prince Eric, has me believing that maybe it won’t be a bust. With a sea of over-cologned, underwhelming pick-up lines, wallets bigger than personalities, and incapacities to understand the word no, without the woman—me—being a bitch, has me adding to my list.
Smells delicious.
Check.
Whatever he’s wearing, it smells of the woods and the ocean, and that scent has awoken my spirit ho.
Just for the weekend.
Weekend, I remind myself as I try to mentally gather logic, sense, and sensibility together, all of which are bouncing around in my head like a pinball game gone wrong.
“I wanna kiss you again.” His calm, husky voice is like Xanax, quieting the crazy in my mind. “However, I am not going to deny the fact that, as much as I give zero shits about the raging hard-on in my shorts, coming in them may be a bit out of my comfort zone.”
I clear my throat and nod once. “I should warn you that
I have rules.”
He smiles that blinding smile again, making me want to throw the rules straight into the Atlantic Ocean and watch them slowly sink into its abyss. “I can’t wait to break them with you.”
I suppress my smile because I am in fact serious about my rules, but...Jesus. “As hot as you are—”
He raises an eyebrow as he shakes his head slowly from side to side, stopping me with a sexy half-smile. “We. As hot as we are.”
My smile slips from its leash and, with it, a laugh. I quickly cover my mouth as I close my eyes and shake my head. When I open them again, I look up into smiling, amused, and shockingly beautiful blue eyes.
“I will not make love on a first date.”
As fast as the words fell out of my mouth, I want to Hoover them back in.
Make Love?
MAKE. LOVE?!
Redirect, reword...run! I scream at myself.
No, not today, Autumn. It’s time to get back on the saddle, and oh, what a beautiful ride he promises to be.
Mentally, I redline my error and correct it. “Or have sex.”
“Is fucking out, too?” he jokes.
The embarrassment of my slip of the tongue is erased by the calmness his presence brings, one I have truly never felt before but have always longed to have.
I smile. “It is.”
Ten minutes into a conversation with the most stunning man I’ve ever seen, and I am losing my reserves.
He grips my hips tighter with his strong hands. “So, we need to establish a few things.”
I nod and giggle...freaking giggle like a teenage girl...at thirty-three years old.
Get it together, Autumn, I scold myself. Then another part of me, the part that, as Angela says, should practice what I preach, reminds me to just let it happen.
“Scratch the word choice. It was a mistake.”
“I’ll itch whatever scratch you’d like me to. But to reassure you that your word choice wasn’t lost on me, I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m aware of the difference between making
love, having sex, and fucking.”
“The difference is in the relationship between the two bodies getting it on.”
“I feel differently,” he states.
“Care to explain?”
“I’d rather demonstrate.” As his pupils seemingly dilate, he lets go of my hip, steps back, and adjusts his hard-on while telling me, “Finish your drink first.”
Holding the champagne flute to my mouth, I watch as his pools of ocean-blue eyes drink in my lips. The truth in his confession—his desire to kiss them again—is as abundantly clear as my yearning for his kiss.
I lick my lips and watch his sexy, plump ones tighten, his strong jawline clenches, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. Then I sip on my mediocre glass of champagne, knowing I need some liquid courage to quell the voices threatening to mess this up—whatever this is.
Yes, the voices. Voices in my head telling me to be a good girl, don’t do something you’ll regret, don’t disappoint yourself and, more importantly, don’t disappoint anyone else.
Voices are memories that come from past journeys and experiences. I respect the journey, for it hasn’t been an easy one, yet I’m still here. If I didn’t respect that, it would all be for naught.
I will not overthink this.
I will not overanalyze this.
I will not sabotage this.
I will practice what I preach.
It was not all for naught.
I.
Will.
Move.
On.
Mentally hitting the reset, I allow myself the freedom that comes from starting over. And I do so a year afte
r a horrific divorce and six months of dating app bullshit behind me.
I’m not looking into the eyes of a man who I will allow to destroy that girl who grew up believing that you meet a man, fall in love, work hard, love harder, and everything will be fine.
No one could ever do that to me again.
Eric takes the glass from my hand and sets it on the bar. “Enough of that poison.” He captures my hand again and spins me like a ballerina then leads me forward, my back to his chest, his arm crossed over my body, one hand on my hip, still holding my hand with his other one.
“Where are we going?”
“Away from whatever was poisoning the moment and had you overthinking.”
I look back at him from over my shoulder, shocked at his intuition.
“When you have spent half your life tiptoeing around your father’s bullshit, siblings, and ex-wives.” He smirks and adds, “Plural—”
“Plural?”
He nods. “You learn real quick how to read a person.”
He twirls me around so that I am facing him. “Do we want to talk about pasts, or should we enjoy one another’s company?”
“The latter.” I laugh lightly at myself, just now realizing that we’re amongst couples dancing and I was so lost in his eyes, his proximity, his scent, and smile that I hadn’t realized he had moved us outside.
The voice from the song is recognizably Meghan Trainor’s, and I make a mental note to look it up.
He rests his hands comfortably on my hips, as he had at the bar, and I rest mine on his shoulders. Delicious shoulders, I bet.
“I forgot my manners at the bar. Thank you for the drink.”
He lifts his chin, and then I remember what else I had forgotten. I’m here with Angela, my boss, my best friend, my wing woman.
I scan the room and see her talking to a man who appears to be a few years older than her. I hope maybe they have a connection. Then I realize Ang has her office smile on. The smile that says: I’m being polite and tolerating you but would rather be on my couch, with a glass of wine, watching a movie with my daughter.
God, I miss her. Sweet little Natasha, who has just recently left for college in England, was part of our little crew.
