by Molly McLain
“But I’m not yours. Yet.”
His only response is a bruising kiss. His lips coax my mouth open easily as his tongue slides inside, stroking my own with a fevered hunger I’ve never experienced before. My body melts into his embrace, everything and everyone around us just fades away. I can feel the entire length of his cock pressed firmly against my stomach. Goosebumps pepper my skin at the thought of wrapping my hand around his large erection.
Scott breaks the kiss but doesn’t pull away. Our breathing is labored, our lips a mere whisper away. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve craved you from the moment I first saw you. You are mine. You’ve always been mine. Tonight, I’ll just make it official.”
Suddenly, we’re moving. He takes my hand and guides me through the couples on the dance floor. We make our way over to our seats, say a quick goodbye to Mark and Joanne who are drinking champagne at the table, and grab his tuxedo jacket along with my clutch purse that’s inside the breast pocket.
The music ends. The lead singer grabs the mic and starts the countdown. “10, 9, 8, 7…”
We make our way to the door easily as all eyes are facing the front. Glasses are lifted high in the air. “3…2…1…Happy New Year!” a chorus of cheers follow us into the hallway.
The hall is empty since everyone is inside, celebrating the start of the new year. I stumble into Scott when he suddenly stops and spins around. He kisses me like a man possessed, his lips demanding everything I am. His strong hands make their way into my hair as he holds on to me, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss. It goes on forever. I can hear partygoers exiting the ballroom, comments of ‘get a room’ echoing through my lust-filled brain.
Finally, he breaks the kiss and pulls back. “Happy New Year, kitten.”
“Happy New Year,” I reply, the words dry and choking in my throat.
Fireworks burst outside and the echo of the band fills the hallway. “Let’s get out of here. We have a new year to celebrate privately.”
Best Way To Start The New Year
Scott
I realize I’m practically dragging Tara behind me, but I can’t seem to slow my steps. I’m in a hurry, a man possessed. The faster we get to my car, the faster we get to my house, and the faster we get to my bed where I can bury myself deep inside her. Any other outcome is not an option at this point.
Handing the valet ticket to the attendant, I spin her around once more and kiss her lips. We’re outside, surrounded by fellow partygoers and guests of the hotel, all gazing upward towards the bursts of color in the brightly lit sky. I keep the kiss as close to PG as I can. Making sure I keep my hands at her waist, I revel in the feel of her lips against mine, tasting and savoring her mouth with precision and expertise. Fuck, can this woman kiss. Her lips were destined for mine, and it pisses me off that I waited so fucking long to claim them.
As soon as my car pulls to the curb, I’m instantly assaulted with memories of our earlier rendezvous and her body tightening and coming on my fingers. It also reminds me that I have that little scrap of red lace securely tucked in the inside breast pocket of my jacket. That also means she’s not wearing anything beneath that dress.
Tara seems nervous as I pull away from the hotel and head towards my place. She’s fidgeting with her hands on her lap, which suddenly makes me nervous. Is she changing her mind about spending the night with me? In all honesty, I have no plans to let her leave anytime soon.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching over and taking hold of one of her hands.
“Yes,” she says breathlessly. Her eyes reflect desire.
“You still sure you want to come to my place?” My voice sounds a bit nervous, even to my own ears. If she has changed her mind, I’ll take her straight back to her car, but damn, do I hope she hasn’t.
“Yes,” she says forcefully. I can’t stop the wide smile from breaking out on my face.
I drive swiftly back to my house, the oxygen in my car replaced with sexual tension. There’s a small gate at the end of my driveway and I quickly type in my code. One of the pluses to working for Hunter Enterprises is that I’m compensated well. Very well. Of course, I’m also on call twenty-four seven, or at least I used to be. Now that Reid is with Dani, he actually sleeps some at night instead of working around the clock.
I head straight for my two-car attached garage and park next to my old Dodge Charger. This girl might be my pride and joy, but that ol’ black muscle car is my baby. I don’t care how quickly she goes from zero to sixty; she’s got more horsepower and balls than most tricked out muscle cars on the market.
“That thing is…sexy,” Tara purrs as I help her from the passenger seat.
“She’s pure sex,” I confirm. Spinning her around, I pin her body against the smooth black fender. “You thought I got excited watching you come in my Porsche? You have no fucking idea what it would do to me to fuck you in this car,” I bark, grinding my erection against her stomach.
She spreads her legs–well, as much as she can while wearing an evening gown–and pushes right back against my cock. “What about fucking me on the car?”
My brain short circuits. My throat dries. My heart rate speeds up. I’m pretty sure I am already barreling head-on into love, but now? I’m completely gone over this woman who wants to be screwed right here on the hood of my favorite car. “I wanted our first time to be in my bed.”
“But, if I recall correctly, I believe there was something you wanted to do before you got me in your bed.”
I can’t help but smile. My little kitten glances up at me beneath her eyelashes, a coy little grin playing on her plump lips. Running my hand up her side, I snake it around her body and pull her in close. My lips find hers all on their own accord as she grips the back of my dress shirt.
After leaving her breathless with a kiss, I slowly maneuver her towards the hood of my car. Taking her lips with my own once more, I move her back until her ass is against the vehicle. I slide my hand up her leg, pushing the dress upward as I go. When it’s pooled around her waist, I push her back until she’s lying across the car, breaking the kiss.
Standing back up, I take in the sheer beauty of the woman before me. Her blond hair is splayed across the black hood, her dress twisted and gathered at her hips, and her chest rapidly rising and falling. Gorgeous doesn’t even seem like a sufficient enough word to describe how stunning she is.
Without breaking eye contact, I remove first one and then the second silver strappy shoe. Slowly, I run my hands up the insides of her thighs, gently spreading them open. She adjusts her legs so that her heels are resting on the front bumper, her legs falling open just a little bit more. She’s a goddess.
I slide my tongue up her thigh and swipe it across her center, savoring my first decadent taste of her. She’s soaked, but I already knew that. I groan against her flesh, licking and sucking on her already swollen clit. Her hands find my hair as I toy with her entrance with two fingers.
“Please, Scott,” she begs, breathless and needy.
“Is this what you want?” I ask as I slide both fingers inside of her warmth. My dick is throbbing in my pants as she grinds against my fingers, seeking out relief. Her moan is her only response.
My fingers set a steady pace as my tongue continues to play with the little bundle of nerves at her center, alternating between sucking and flicking it until she’s fucking my face. Her fingers grip my hair tightly as I curl my fingers upward, finding that place inside of a woman that makes them detonate faster than a lit firework. If I thought watching her come on my fingers was something spectacular, feeling the result against my mouth is nothing short of amazing.
Before she can even come down from the orgasm, I grab ahold of her and carry her into my house. She’ll get a tour later; right now, all I want is to be balls deep inside her pussy.
When she’s lying in the middle of my bed, I remove every scrap of clothing between the two of us until there’s nothing but moonlight spilling across her skin. I wish I could savo
r the way she looks right now, but my singular goal is to finally make this woman mine. Grabbing a condom from my bedside table drawer, I sheath myself quickly before climbing onto the bed. I slide my body over hers, reveling in the feel of skin on skin.
Finally.
Her eyes are dark and lustful as I position myself at her entrance. I pause to make sure she’s ready, her smile a silent agreement, and then I slide inside.
Home.
That’s exactly what this feels like as her tight heat wraps around my dick. She’s the only woman to ever make me feel so complete and whole. Everything before her was nothing compared to being with her now. Every piece of my past that I’ve held on to like a security blanket fades away. Why in the hell I fought this for so long is beyond me. She’s everything.
“I think I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you,” I whisper against her ear as I move inside her. No, not necessarily smooth on my part to declare the L word for the first time in the middle of sex, but this isn’t just sex. And she’s not just anyone.
“I think I’ve been in love with you just as long,” she whispers, the words making my heart flip in my chest.
Elation and jubilation fill my body. Every reason I had for staying away from Tara Hunter evaporates as I make love to her. I take my time, savoring and loving every part of her body. I wish I could keep this up all night, but a much-needed release is barreling down on me at Mach speed. As soon as her muscles tighten around me and my name slips from her lips in a deep, breathy moan, we explode together. My balls tighten painfully as I release everything I have into the confines of the rubber. Sex has never been like this before.
“I’m not ever letting you go,” I confess minutes later as we lie together, tangled in a mess of blue sheets, both of us working to steady our breathing.
“That’s good to hear because I don’t ever plan on going anywhere.”
Maybe this isn’t forever, but I’m finally willing to put my heart on the line and find out what’s in store. But, damn do I hope this is it, because being without her is no longer an option.
As she drifts off to sleep beside me, I grab my phone from my nightstand. I’m sure he’s not up, but there’s just something I need to say to my friend. I shoot off the text without stirring the woman at my side.
Me: Thanks for the ticket, Hunter.
Even though it’s after two in the morning, the little bubbles appear on the screen. His reply comes a few moments later.
Reid: You hurt my sister and you’ll wish you were never born. Night, Dixon.
I laugh softly as I place my phone back on the table. Tara snuggles in closer, my hand grabbing her hip and holding her tight.
This is it. My life. I have the woman I’ve always wanted, craved like no other, nestled beside me in bed, our futures laid out before us to discover. We may have taken the long route to get here, but we’re here now, and I’m not letting her go.
She’s mine.
Always.
~ The End ~
Author Note
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading! This short story is part of the Bound Together series. If you want to learn more about Scott, Tara, and the backstory of characters mentioned in Craved, please check out Submerged, Bound Together book 1.
If I’m a new-to-you author, and you enjoy small town romance, please feel free to check out Trust Me, Rivers Edge book 1, which is FREE at all retailers.
Thanks again for supporting the anthology! I’m so proud to be a part of it!!
Lacey
About the Author
Amazon and International Bestselling Author Lacey Black is a Midwestern girl with a passion for reading, writing, and shopping. She carries her e-reader with her everywhere she goes so she never misses an opportunity to read a few pages. Always looking for a happily ever after, Lacey is passionate about contemporary romance novels and enjoys it further when you mix in a little suspense. She resides in a small town in Illinois with her husband, two children, and a chocolate lab. Lacey loves watching NASCAR races, shooting guns, and should only consume one mixed drink because she’s a lightweight.
Diced
BESTSELLING AUTHOR
GINGER SCOTT
Diced
Text copyright © 2016 Ginger Scott
All Rights Reserved
* * *
No part of this novella may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
* * *
This novella is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
* * *
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
* * *
Ginger Scott
Chapter 1
Mia Stone
I am not my father.
Thomas Stone would have looked at the job ahead, marquee New Year’s Eve gala for a thousand A-listers at the MGM Grand, and shrugged it off as no big deal. I guess when you’ve cooked for the president and The Rolling Stones, you sorta scoff at Vegas parties, even if they’re serving rock stars, champion fighters and the guy I drooled over in the movie I took myself to just two days ago.
I miss my dad’s cavalier approach to enormous tasks. Fuck, I just miss him. I even miss his goddamned temper!
I inherited some of his qualities—temper, top of the list—but whatever it was that he had that kept his emotions in check definitely skipped a generation with me. My nerves are all Mom, which is why I didn’t mention this little gig to her. Mix my freak-out mode with Carolyn Stone’s inclination to cry, and the people attending tonight’s party might end up getting sack lunches instead of lamb with rosemary miso.
Though, I’d give just about anything to fly my mom in from her lovely retirement nest in Boca Raton right now. Because right now…I not only want to cry—I need to.
“So let me understand what you’re saying, Jeffrey…” My words trail off as I tremble, my hand working hard to simply hold my phone to my ear. “You…quit?”
“Mia, it’s nothing personal…it’s…”
I can’t stand the thought of his arrogant, stiff, fucking-hack voice finishing that statement, so I hang up, then whisper the last word to myself.
“Business.”
Jeffrey Rich is…was my sous-chef. We haven’t been together long, but I’d picked him from a long list of applicants. He was a prick, if I’m being honest. Late often, questioning me more often. But his touch on things reminded me of my dad. His even temperament—prickish as it were—was my perfect complement. In two short years, together, we’d climbed our way to this moment—on the cusp of closing the deal to land the coveted restaurant spot in the MGM’s new expansion plans.
My eyes blink slowly, and I shake my head slightly, looking down at my feet and the very unsexy but orthopedic shoes they are stuffed in—shoes I broke in for weeks for a night where I’d planned on being on my feet for hours, thriving and killing it in that kitchen. My menu is perfection—an American fusion concept of lamb, vegan, salmon staples all turned upside down with my special twists on the palate I’ve become known for. Prep work has been going on all day, but the real work begins in two hours—the moment that big fight lets out.
Only…my second-in-command just bailed because if I fail, he gets a sweet deal from the competition.
“Chef, I think we’re short on scallions, and the risot
to samples taste sour. Can you come…”
I walk away before the young face blathering words begins to cry. I walk away because it makes me look tough, like I have things handled, but the moment I round the corner and bury myself deep amidst the racks of linens and stacks of boxes filled with tiny creamers and sugar packets, I let the tears flow. It’s not a hurt kind of cry. It isn’t even because of the betrayal because I get it—the restaurant business is cut-throat and ugly. We lose our lives in here, surrounded by the literal heat, and we make practically nothing, all so people can put our art in their mouths and devour. I’ve seen it play out from all directions before—nice chefs lose, ruthless ones earn stars and Beard awards. My tears right now are from anger—and maybe a little from panic.
And they’re from the goddamned embossed card my thumb is flicking in my pocket.
I thought the universe was cruel enough when it slammed Jamie Augusthill and me together last weekend at a wedding reception for an old college friend up in Tahoe. I’d forgotten that we both knew the couple way back then. A decade makes you forget details like that. I suppose a broken heart makes you forget, too.
The exchange was short, awkward, maybe teetering on a fake sort of pleasant. I’d bragged, because he deserved to hear how far I’d come without him, and he handed me his business card. I didn’t read it until I dumped things from my purse the next morning. The moment I absorbed the few but important words on his card—Jamie Augusthill, Head Chef, Pilaf’s of New York, Los Angeles and London—I realized how unimpressive my little remark about being close to landing my own restaurant here on the strip really was.
