by Christa Wick
"Please, Thomas, you're going to make me come so hard if you're inside me this time. Everything hurts but it's a good hurt. You made sure of that."
My chest swelled, my hard cock pulsing with the same need that drove her request. I settled between her wide stretched legs, my torso over hers. Gently I entered, heard her soft sigh and buried my face against her neck.
I kissed her, as soft and slow as I was pushing in and out of her, my hips rolling, my balls swelling bigger and bigger with the seed I wanted to release directly into her body.
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and then her thighs around my hips. Her ankles locked against the back of my thighs to hold me to her in a full body hug as we stopped talking, stopped breathing—and just moved.
I took her sweetly like that, the evening a mix of extremes both in our love making and how we had wrestled with our fears and emotions when faced with the vicious lies and machinations of people who wanted to keep us apart.
I stared down at her, remembering how many times she had tried to walk out of the house and my life that day. "Don't ever think about giving up on us again.”
A rough cry left her.
"Shhh..." I covered her mouth to keep any more sobs from breaking free.
She blinked and her whole face seemed to quiver. "You were right—what you said earlier," she whispered.
"What part?"
"When you said I already love you."
"Yeah," I grinned. "I told you that you loved me."
I didn't feel a quarter as cocky as I sounded though. My gaze danced all around her beautiful face in search of any sign she would soon retreat from what she had said. I didn't doubt that she had meant it, but love is scary. Hell, I'd been walking around with the cold sweats more than once since I'd met Rhea.
But Rhea, she didn't look ready to run. She looked soft, pliant and all mine.
"I love you, Thomas, and I've never said that to anyone before."
My heart slammed against the back of my sternum then did it again, trying to break out. She trailed her fingers lightly down to my chest as if she could sense I needed her calming touch there. I locked my arms behind her at the small of her back and pulled her in tight.
“I love you too, baby.”
Epilogue
Rhea
Two Months Later
I’d met Frankie and his mother, Sarah, a week after the idea of the fundraiser was born, with Wylie by my side.
There’d been tears, hers and mine, while the two men had just affectionately rolled their eyes at the females. We’d parted several long hours later, a budding friendship already growing and everyone optimistic about what we could achieve with everything Wylie had set in motion with his suggestion for what more we could do for Frankie.
And now here we were.
We took two months setting everything up. Sarah, Frankie and I recorded about a dozen videos between the three of us. Halfway through the preparations, Wylie's time became a little stretched as Coombs quietly resigned after pressure from the advisory board and Mae undertook a personal campaign to get Wylie appointed interim director.
Once we finally launched the fundraising campaign, everything snowballed. When one of my videos hit twenty million views in just three days, a big New York modeling agency contacted me, asking if I was represented and dangling some names of "interested" clothing and cosmetics companies that were opening new lines to focus on plus-size beauty.
The trust fund Wylie set up for Frankie swelled with donations. People found the Harbor House website and the seldom used donation button I had set up two years before was suddenly getting more clicks per minute than it had in all its prior existence. Bigger donors contacted Wylie about the shelter's needs, with manufacturers donating enough goods to fill three Harbor Houses.
So he started looking at nearby vacant buildings. He had narrowed the number down to four potential sites and asked me to visit each of them with him before he made a final decision to present to the board.
"Saved the best for last," he said, unlocking the door on the final building.
It was further than the other two from the existing Harbor House, but was both bigger and newer at the same price range, leaving room to grow and eating up less money with necessary repairs.
"There's a lot more natural light," I observed as we stepped inside and he locked the door behind us. "That will really help some of the kids."
At four in the afternoon, with the light streaming in to catch the dust particles in the air, everything seemed magical.
I snagged Wylie's sleeve and waited impatiently for him to turn toward me and close the distance between our bodies. A certain energy had waited just below the surface of his words as we inspected the other buildings.
I wasn't sure what it was, figured it was just nervous excitement about such a large investment by the shelter and the fact that the board was pushing to drop the "interim" part of his title as director of Harbor House.
Unlike past directors, I knew he would bear a very heavy, personal responsibility for the kids. He would want to rescue them all, something I had constantly struggled with, and that wasn't always possible because so much of it was up to the teen.
"You'll be great," I said, grabbing his other arm and tugging him to me. "If it's what you want, you should take it."
"They should have named you," he argued.
"It's not a job I ever wanted." I smoothed a hand over his business jacket—his choice of attire surprising me given how we had spent the last three hours in musty, dusty buildings.
"And even if I wanted it," I continued, "I know you'll do it better—which is more important to me."
He bobbed his head, his gaze grateful that I was formally tendering my approval.
"So, what are you going to do with your time, baby girl? Have you decided yet?"
I was still fielding calls from the modeling agency. They wanted me to keep "Gaia" as my modeling name, something I wasn't sure about. A few companies had contacted me directly. As flattering as everything was, I felt like I was the flavor of the day and would have to live with the consequences of how I presented myself after I "came out" for far longer than it would take to get past my topless dancing days. More than that, no one was willing to come to Memphis for fashion shoots. Most of it was in New York or European cities. I would be away from Wylie, the kids, and Frankie and Sheila.
Then there was the other offer, the one I had received the day before and hadn't yet mentioned to him, perhaps because it was the offer that tempted me at that moment in my life more than any of the others.
"Makara Publishing wants to buy my autobiography," I started, chest fluttering with the need to call back the words. Did I really think I could write anything at that level, not to mention that some of the painful memories I'd need to revisit might be better left alone?
"Of course, they told me they had a book packager who could write it for me," I babbled on. "But I don't want someone else to pick and choose events and recast them."
I wanted the autobiography to be as accurate as possible, especially how much Wylie had changed my life and how much of a brat I had been to him on the journey to where we were now.
"Aren't they like the biggest teen interest publisher in the U.S.?"
He looked shocked and pleased, which I wanted him to be, but the question of whether I could pull it off had kept me awake the previous night, so I was refraining from being over-the-top thrilled.
"In the U.S. and everywhere else," I agreed.
"Oh," he joked with a roll of his eyes. "Biggest in the world...way to steal a guy's thunder."
His voice sounded like he was joking but there was a vulnerable pinch to his strong lips.
I pressed as close to him as physically possible, neck straining as I looked into his face.
"What do you mean? All of this is because of you. Frankie's trust fund, the money pouring into Harbor House, me finally feeling like I have a future...all you."
I was getting weep
y. That was a big part of my desire to take Makara's offer—I wanted to make sure Wylie got the public acknowledgement that he deserved.
He shook his head. "I’m merely a facilitator of fortune, love. You’re the star."
Stroking my cheek, he gazed into my eyes.
The vulnerable cast to his expression had disappeared and I felt an immense love flowing from him into me.
"But the news is a bit of an ambush," he said.
I started to protest. If I was ambushing anything—
"Unintentional, I know," he placated. "And it's okay because I know that the best way to deal with an ambush is to go through it—not retreat."
Now I was thoroughly confused. I parted my lips, he silenced my building words with a kiss then pulled me down a wide corridor. There were big double doors at its end and we walked all the way up to them before he stopped and did nothing.
Frustrating man!
Thrusting out my hand, I tried to turn the knob. It wouldn't turn and then I spotted the keyhole. The damn thing was locked. I looked at Wylie, my brow lifting in a way I hoped put a holy terror in him that I would torment him in bed that night then drift off to sleep as he suffered from the worst case of blue balls he could ever imagine.
Grinning, he fished into his jacket pocket, carefully maneuvered his hand, then pulled out a key and handed it to me.
It took me a few seconds of fumbling, as if the key and lock were conspiring with him to be mysterious and confounding. But then the cylinders all clicked into place and I pushed both doors open.
"Surprise!"
I couldn't take in all the faces and voices at the same time. There was Frankie, front and center in his wheelchair with Sheila behind him. On one side of him was Mae and Earline, the last great director of Harbor House who had served when I was a teen resident. On the other side was Rachelle tucked against Eric's side, his hand around her shoulder.
Alex slid into view, walking a video camera on a wheeled tripod.
Turning, I looked behind me in search of Wylie. I missed him at first—my vision tunneling and heart irrationally sinking—and then his voice filtered up to me with a rough clearing of his throat.
He was on one knee, his hand fishing into the same pocket from which he had so carefully retrieved the key.
Out came a little white satin box.
"There's a bigger party that starts in an hour," he said, smiling up at me. "But I wanted this moment to be more intimate."
This moment? Was this really happening? All the years I had refused to have such a fantasy, both before the accident and especially after. And now I had this man, on one knee, opening a box with a blinding diamond set against a silvery band, his lips parting to speak the words I never expected to hear.
"Rhea, love, will you marry me?"
He wanted me to answer and stand at the same time? That wasn't happening.
I started to fold. He caught me and set me gently on the dusty ground.
"You're not getting out of answering me that easily," he teased, but I could see the anxiety in his gaze.
"You better mean it," I shot back in a whisper. "Because I'm holding you to it."
"It's not official until you say 'yes,' Miss Butler," Eric piped in, glancing at Rachelle from the side of one eye.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Make it official before we all pass out from the tension."
I looked at Wylie, forgetting everyone else as I answered his proposal.
"Yes, I'll marry you. I'll love you here and always..."
There was more I wanted to say but I would have to save it for the wedding vows because my throat knotted, making the words impossible.
Everyone cheered when they realized that was all they were going to get out of me. Wylie got me to my feet. Rachelle almost knocked me down again as she charged and threw her arms around me.
Mae came next, her hug threatening to crack my ribs. Earline planted a gentle kiss on my cheek then faded to the side so I could approach Frankie and Sheila. My hand shook as I placed it on his arm and gave a gentle squeeze.
I had watched him grow up for the last ten years, if only through the pictures and videos that Sheila posted. I had witnessed the milestones—coming out of the coma, regaining use of his arms, that first time he transferred from his bed to his chair all on his own. I had silently cheered for him, feeling like a shadow sister he didn't know he had.
"I need someone to get me down the aisle..."
My throat decided to clog up again, the muscles convulsing and my hand shaking so hard I started to withdraw my touch.
Frankie stopped me, placed his palm over my hand, and nodded. "I'd be honored, Rhea."
"We need to let her sit before she falls down again," Rachelle quipped, but she was right.
Wylie led me over to one of the tall, arched windows with a deep sill. His body momentarily shielding me from everyone's view, he bent down and kissed me, then wiped the joyful tears I was shedding.
"You better mean it," he echoed tenderly.
I clutched his hand, kissed it then kept holding it as Sheila approached.
"I'm going to head over to Harbor House with Frankie now. It'll take a little extra time."
"We'll help," Eric offered, snapping at Alex that it was time to put the camera away.
"One last kiss," Alex pleaded, zooming in on Wylie and me. "The light coming through the window is perfect right now."
Bending down to accommodate the teen, Wylie cupped my face and whispered his agreement.
"Perfect."
Thank You For Reading & Reviewing!!!
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story and will consider taking a quick minute to drop off a review at the eretailer where you purchased this book. Every single review means so much to me, and helps us authors so much in terms of book visibility. Reviews not only affect online presence on eretailer search engines, but also marketing/promotion opportunities as well. And most of all, it helps readers like yourselves find books and authors. It’s one of the best ways you can support us indie authors and help our books find their way into more readers’ hands. Review or not, I appreciate all of you readers for continuing to hang out with the characters in my head and letting me continue to do what I love.
Sign-Up to Get Review Copies of My Books
If you would like to get **FREE** review copies of my books, sign up below to join my brand-new ARC Reviewer Team!
Sign Up >> bit.ly/ChristaWickARCTeamSignUp
As a reader on my ARC Reviewer Team, you’ll have access to review copies of all the 40+ books in my current catalog, which I’m revising and re-publishing all new editions of throughout the 2019 summer, along with ARCs for my future books as well. I’ll be capping the team at a few dozen members so be sure to fill out the google doc form to secure your spot!
Also by Christa Wick
the Far Too Tempting collection
[available now]
Tempted Beyond Reason (Wake & Lacey)
Tempted Beyond Relief (Wylie & Rhea)
Tempted Beyond Return (Logan & Lily)
Tempted By Trouble (Austin & Gina)
[an extra steamy Far Too Tempting standalone]
the Untouchable Curves collection
[re-launching 7/15/19]
Curvy Attraction (Owen & Gemma)
Curvy Seduction (Aiden & Cecelia)
Curvy Perfection (Cayce & Ashley)
His Curvy Temptation (Declan & Melanie)
[an extra curvy Untouchable Curves standalone]
the Irresistible Curves collection
[re-launching 7/22/19]
Chasing Her Curves (Hawk & Ginny)
Charming Her Curves (Shane & Velda)
Claiming Her Curves (Blake & Pippa)
Owning Her Curves (Ian & Juno)
[an extra alpha Irresistible Curves standalone]
the Unapologetically Alpha (alpha military) series
[re-launching 7/29/19]
1) Fearless (Corwin)
2) Defen
seless (Lucas)
3) Relentless (Teague)
the Promise Me (alpha cowboy) series
[re-launching 7/29/19]
Book 1: Every Last Secret (Adler)
Book 2: Every Last Doubt (Walker)
Book 3: Every Last Risk (Barrett)
Book 4: Every Last Touch (Sutton)
Book 5: Every Last Reason (Emerson)
And there are even more books coming in August & September (29 more re-launches to be exact).
Stay tuned!
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Christa Wick is a bonafide wallflower (a dandelion, if she can choose the flower) who has been accused of hiding her light under a bushel in the past. Truth be told, attempting to write this bio took more drafts than her books take. Here is what she came up with:
Christa Wick has been hybrid publishing since 2012 (yep, she’s one of the O.G. indie authors). She’s written 50+ romances starring curvalicious heroines and alphalicious heroes whose stories span the spectrum of: steamy & sweet, steamy & emotional, steamy & suspenseful, steamy & paranormal, steamy & dark, and…well, you get the idea. She also writes sci-fi thrillers and suspense novels under other pen names.
Website: http://christawick.com/
Enewsletter: http://christawick.com/alerts/
Places to find Christa hiding (other than her bushel):
