Pointe of Breaking

by Amy Daws

  He approached me, keeping his gaze locked with mine through the mirror. He slipped his glasses on his shirt collar and stood just close enough that his breath tickled the nape of my neck. He slipped his hands over my stomach. Stealing my breath, he rewarded me with his beckoning moan. I turned my head and placed a slow, sweet kiss on his lips. I hadn’t intended for it to linger. I rarely did. Yet, my intentions often changed when Leo was around. His kiss just did something to me. It moved me; awakened me. It fucking turned my world upside-down. And then he left me craving the taste of his aphrodisiac kiss by pulling away.

  “Did you forget about Gamma Phi’s Black Tie Spring Fling?” he asked as he sprinkled kisses down my shoulders. “Or are you going to wear this? Because it would be a hit. Although not dress code, I doubt any guy would care. But I’d be spending the entire night, unable to take my hands off of you.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” I asked, savoring the sensation of his lips on my skin. Even after almost half a year, I still relished his kiss.

  “Not if you don’t care about ruining your feathers,” he whispered in my ear. His voice was thick with desire. “And I promise that I’ll ruin them when I rip this off of you.”

  The fantasy of him tearing my clothes off, taking me in my dressing room, feathers cascading down over our bodies as I screamed out his name… Oh sweet heaven. I wanted it. And he knew it. He loved teasing me to the point of breaking.

  So I’d do it right back. Turning on toe so that we were facing each other, I said, “Close your eyes. If you open them, I promise to torture you at the frat house like I did for the MTR party last fall. You don’t want to suffer through that again, do you?”

  He sighed but did as I asked. I waved my hand over his face to see if he reacted. Not a flinch. I went to work loosening the laces of my outfit. One swift pull and the show-stopping costume fell to the floor.

  “You’re a fucking tease, Adeline.”

  I grinned. Good. I loved messing with him. He was the one who said he liked it messy. I slipped on a short black, choker dress. Black lace covered the nude slip underneath. I strapped on knee high black boots with a high walkway heel.

  “Okay, you can open them,” I said, grabbing my clutch purse.

  He gave me a once over. “You look good but…” he eyed the feathers still on the ground. “I think I would have enjoyed the wardrobe change more.”

  I laughed. “Probably.”

  With that we left the studio. His Ducati was in the quiet alley out back. The sun had fallen, casting dark blues and oranges into the sky. The city lights had just begun to flicker on. Some of them were still dark. It was that perfect time of night when there were still so many possibilities to be had.

  When we got to the bike, he handed me the helmet. I tossed it right back, straddled the motorcycle, and gripped the handlebars.

  He raised his eyebrow. “Babe, don’t take this the wrong way, but you will put my bike on its side before the first red.”

  “So you won’t even let me try?” I stuck my lip out. “I want a ride.”

  “Christ woman!” He lifted his leg over the bike, straddling it behind me. Pressing his chest against my back, he guided my hand to the ignition and started it. “Just give it a little gas…”

  I closed my eyes and savored the vibrations of the engine revving beneath me. God, I loved this bike, the man I was next to, and the passionate world we’d created for ourselves. He leaned forward and whispered something about proper bike mechanics in my ear, but I didn’t hear a word. All I could focus on was the feel of him pressed up against me, the sound of his deep voice, and the way the bike purred against my apex. And just like that, my intentions went to hell. Again. I shoved my butt against his hips. Hard.

  I glanced over my shoulder and whispered, “I said I wanted a ride.”

  “I’m showing…oh.”

  “You promised me that you’d take me on this bike…and it’s been months! School is nearly out, and I’m sick of waiting. Every time I see you straddle this thing, I get jealous.”

  His eyes darkened, clouding over every dangerous, sexual thought that was going through his mind. A fleeting look passed over his features that made my heart jump.

  “What are you thinking, Leo?”

  EPILOGUE CONTINUED ~ Leo

  My breathing picked up speed, as I stared into Adeline’s clear blue eyes. The eyes that gazed back at me with so much promise, so much adoration, and so much…love.

  I looked down and clenched her tightly against my chest as I tried to calm myself. Trembling began in my arms and legs as I buried my face into the crook of her neck. I needed to break our intense eye contact. Fuck! My baby wanted me to make good on my promise to take her on my Ducati and that’s all I should be focused on right now!

  “What?” she asked again, her voice more urgent this time.

  “You won’t want to hear it,” I mumbled, nuzzling my face into her neck as my heart hammered away beneath my chest. Damn, she always smelled so sweet. Her soft hair and smooth skin just felt like a place I wanted to live in and call home.

  “Why don’t I want to hear it?” she asked.

  I groaned at the aching heaviness in my chest. “Baby, don’t press this.” I pulled my head up and kissed her on the cheek, then pumped my hips into her rear to get her back into her proactive mood.

  “Out with it,” she demanded.

  I took a deep breath in, trying to steady my heart rate. “I’m thinking it can’t be real,” I whispered. “None of this.”

  “What do you mean?” Her voice was weak and confused.

  I hated confusing her. I needed to be clear here. I needed to reassure her that whatever visceral reaction I was having right now was intense…but in the best possible way.

  I swallowed hard. “I’m thinking I can’t really be this happy. I can’t really be this in love. I’m thinking life like this can’t possibly be real.” My heart leapt at my guttural admission.

  Even after being with her for this long, I still felt like I could lose her. I knew that might seem strange, but I sort of loved it. It made me realize I’d never tire of her. I’d never be complacent. I’d never stop being hungry for her.

  I would always fucking fight for her.

  She hopped off my bike and turned, remounting with her legs draped over top of me. Her short dress rode up scandalously high, and my hands instantly went to her outer thighs tucking her closely into my groin. We’d sat this way on my bike before, but that felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed…and all for the better. Gazing down at her, I was stunned to see tears shining in her eyes. I looked at her in silent question.

  In response, she cupped my face in her delicate hands and said, “It’s as real and as messy as we want it to be, Leo.” She kissed my lips sweetly and as soon as her words sunk in, I grabbed her tightly, cinching my arms around her waist so our bodies were flush against each other.

  Our groins happily met in the middle as I deepened our merged lips, swirling our tongues and offering her a chaos of every emotion I was feeling in that moment. That beautifully, intense, all-consuming, messy moment.

  I made good on my Ducati ride promise. I made good and I planned to continue making good well into our forever because…

  This was our dance.

  THE END

  Sarah J. Pepper

  Sarah J. Pepper specializes in dark, paranormal romance - think "happy ever after" but with a twisted, dark chocolate center. Real-life romance isn't only filled with hugs, kisses, bunnies, and rainbows. True-love can be more thoroughly described in times of darkness and tribulation. It's in those harsh moments where you see what a person is truly capable of - both the good and bad. Sometimes prince-charming isn't always on time, and the glass slipper is a little snug. However, it doesn't mean Charming is not Mr. Right, and who says every shoe is the perfect fit?

  www.sarahjpepper.com

  Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Goodreads

  Click here for a sneak peek of Sarah’s book,
r />   Snow White Lies of the Twisted Fairytale Confessions Collection.

  Amy Daws

  Amy Daws is a commercial producer and lives in South Dakota with her husband and daughter. The long-awaited birth of Lorelei is what inspired Amy’s passion for writing. On most nights, you can find Amy and her family dancing to Strawberry Shortcake’s theme song or stuffing themselves inside children’s-sized playhouses because there is nothing they wouldn’t do for their little miracle. For more of Amy’s work, visit: www.amydawsauthor.com

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  Click here for a sneak peek of Amy’s book,

  Becoming Us: College Love Never Hurt So Good.

  Book 1 in Amy Daws’ London Lovers Series.

  BECOMING US

  By Amy Daws

  CHAPTER ONE

  Before starting college, I’d never considered myself much of a coffee drinker. It tasted like cigarette butts to me and burned my mouth. Ick. Why did people like that stuff? If I ever needed a kick-start, I’d grab a soda. That actually had a good taste.

  My first year at K-State, that all changed. Coffee became my savior. I had no idea coffee’s caffeine was so much stronger than soda’s. And holy crap, school is hard. Managing classes, complete and utter freedom away from parents, and a budding new social life have proven to be more than I can handle. I quickly realized coffee was the only thing that gets me through tests, papers, midterms, finals, last minute cramming—you name it. Coffee is now a vital necessity of my day-to-day life.

  I still remember ordering my first cup at the University Plaza dining center. I was a green-behind-the-gills freshman and had no clue what I was doing. I just knew that the shower I took that morning physically hurt my skin and I needed something—anything—to get through the day. I had a huge slug of classes and a raging hangover. I needed to find the will to live.

  I walked up to the counter and repeated something I’d heard my dad say when he ordered coffee: “Black.” I had no idea what it meant, but sure enough, the person behind the counter handed me a cup of hot steaming liquid. I must have fooled him.

  I don’t especially like the taste of plain black coffee, but I look at it like I look at beer. Beer tastes terrible, and those that try to tell me otherwise are simply lying to themselves. I drink beer for the sole purpose of getting a buzz or getting drunk. Definitely not for the taste.

  The familiar ringing sound of the door at Chaz’s resonates in my ears as I enter the convenience store. “Hey Alex,” I say with a small wave, heading over to the huge coffee dispensers next to the fountain pop machines.

  “What up, Finley?” he drawls in his southern accent, not even bothering to look up from his cellphone. “SHIT!”

  “What?” I ask, stopping suddenly in front of the counter.

  “I’m trying to get more power gems. Do you play Bejeweled, Finley?” he asks, pushing his beanie hat back and looking at me seriously.

  I smile, “No, sorry, I don’t,” and continue walking toward the coffee.

  “Pshh, loser,” he scoffs, hunching back over his phone and turning his back on me.

  I look back at him incredulously. “You’re the one swearing over digital jewels at eight in the morning,” I reply, laughing slightly.

  I smile to myself at Alex’s accent. There are quite a number of people at K-State from the more southern parts of Missouri and Kansas, and they most definitely have thicker accents, like Alex’s. My hometown of Marshall is almost smack dab in the middle of Missouri, so it’s a tossup whether or not people from my area have an accent. I don’t have the drawl most of my classmates do, but certain words do seem to have a mind of their own on their way out of my mouth.

  I push down the tab on the dark-roast blend and begin filling my mug, glancing around as I wait for the cup to fill. It’s the summer before my senior year, so there are not nearly as many students around. I love Manhattan in the summer. Without the entire student population mulling around, it’s quiet and peaceful.

  Chaz’s C-Store is only a two-minute walk from where my apartment building sits. My roommate Angela and I are both permanent fixtures here, which is why most of the counter clerks know us by name. I’ve been walking to Chaz’s every morning for over a year now to get my daily cup of coffee. My morning wakeup routine isn’t just the coffee. The refreshing morning walk to get my fix really starts my day off. I need the fresh air to wakeup. I crave it.

  The bell of the door sounds again and my heartbeat increases instinctively. I know who it is before even looking. Not wanting to deny my body what it so badly wants, I look up and see one of the most gorgeous men in all existence. Jake LeShae. Jake LeShae, oy—just his name uttered in my head makes me weak in the knees.

  Okay, so maybe I don’t just walk to Chaz’s for the coffee.

  Jake walks toward me with his familiar saunter I’ve literally had wet dreams about. I never even knew wet dreams were a possibility before I laid eyes on Jake LeShae. He’s a senior like me, and a point guard for K-State’s basketball team. Biggest point guard I’ve ever seen. I played basketball in high school, and never saw a man his size dribble a ball the way he does.

  He smiles at me, like he has everyday for the past three weeks. I smooth back my messy brown ponytail and my eyes glance up into his shortly buzzed, nearly black hair. His presence is overwhelming as his height looms over me. I love tall guys. Growing up, I was always the tall girl in class. I spent the majority of my pubescent years towering over all the boys in my small town class—and I hated it. I topped out just under six feet by my sophomore year. And honestly, nothing makes me feel less womanly than dating a guy shorter than me.

  Standing next to Jake, I feel every bit the woman I am. He is panty-dropping tall and gorgeous. I bet he towers a good six inches over me.

  I stop hands from messing with my ponytail, silently chastising myself for feeling self-conscious. I’m wearing a pair of black running shorts and a neon green racer-back tank. Thankfully, I had the foresight to put on a bra.

  This silent game of flirting we’ve been playing for nearly a month now is the epitome of the word bittersweet. Bitter because we don’t speak—sweet because I don’t ever want it to stop.

  The first day I ran into him, I counted myself lucky for laying eyes on him. Then for the next four days in a row, we both continually went in to Chaz’s at the same exact time for our morning refreshments. I would have cried stalker if he was anyone else. But he was Jake LeShae: Basketball legend, sex on a stick, and downright offensively good looking. Can I just say his name again for good measure? Jake LeShae. Damn, that feels so good.

  He always comes in and purchases a 32-ounce fountain drink—half Sprite, and half Powerade. Not that I’m paying attention or anything. I realized by week two that we were on the same summer schedule. It was way too frequent to be a coincidence. He brings his own cup in, just like I do. The fact we’ve never addressed our commonality is weird and exhilarating. There’s that bittersweet feeling again. Every morning I anxiously wonder if today will be the day one of us speaks to the other. But part of me doesn’t ever want to say anything to him. I don’t want to ruin this silent and sexy cat and mouse game we’ve got going on.

  The ice plops loudly into his thick plastic cup. He glances over at me as I snap the lid down on my coffee. His eyes drift down my body and squint ever so slightly. I feel myself squirm under his perusal. I bite my lip, feeling frustrated at myself for drinking black coffee—if I used cream and sugar, I’d have an excuse to stand here longer, breathing in his fresh shower scent. God, he smells so good.

  He smiles at me and I smile back—like we always do. Every. Single. Day.

  “Hey,” Jake says, looking at me speculatively.

  Holy shit! He just spoke to me!

  “Hey,” I reply, trying to stop my voice from squealing with excitement. I really need to calm the flutters screaming inside my abdomen right now. Keep cool, Finley. Keep cool.

  “I’ve seen you in your window,” he says, and qui
ckly scowls and shakes his head. I see a red coloring creep up his olive skinned neck. “I mean, my window looks into your window.” He frowns again, even further, and sets his cup down deliberately. “Jesus, I’m sorry. This is coming out so creepy.” He looks at me apologetically.

  “What are you saying?” I look at him in wide-eyed wonder. If any other person was saying this stuff, I would either be running for the hills or screaming in their face for being a disgusting pig. But this is Jake LaShae.

  “You live at Wildwood, right?” he asks, composing himself.

  “Yeah!” I reply, way too brightly.

  “I just moved there at the beginning of summer. I’m Jake.” His expression says he’s assuming I know who he is.

  “I know who you are,” I blurt, before thinking. Jesus, Finley. You could have at least played it cool and acted like you didn’t know him.

  He smiles cockily at me.

  “So, what about my window?” I ask.

  “Oh, um,” he says, and grasps his cup and snaps the lid in place. “I think my apartment is directly across the parking lot from yours. I’ve seen you in your window before. Not naked or anything!” he finishes, looking nervous again.

  “Thank God,” I reply, not knowing how to respond to that. He looks down toward my chest, briefly, but then back up at my face. “So, um, Sprite and Powerade, huh?” I bite my lip again, feeling so incredibly lame. I’m biting so hard I’ve picked an area of skin completely raw. But I can’t help it. I’m desperate to keep talking to him and I need to change the subject from creepy window-peeping.

  He shrugs and says, “Yeah, it’s my coffee.” He gestures his cup toward mine.

  “Cool,” I reply, tipping my cup toward him in response.