by Knox, Abby
Come and Get It
A Small Town Bachelor Romance
Abby Knox
Copyright © 2019 by Abby Knox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
Proofread by Red Pen Princess
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations
This final book in the series is dedicated to the singer/songwriter Dar Williams. Her song “Iowa” slayed me so hard with memories that I was inspired to start this entire series.
I fear that to fall in love with you would be to fall from a great and gruesome height.
Dar Williams, “Iowa”
Contents
Come and Get It
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
21. Epilogue
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Abby Knox
An excerpt from Abby’s next title …
Come and Get It
Book Seven in the Small Town Bachelor Romance Series
After seven years, Paul leaves prison a changed man, except for one thing: he's going to pay a visit to the judge who put him there.
Drea prepares herself for the release of the town's nastiest bad boy, whom she put away years ago. He promises to find her, but she's one tough judge who's not scared of anything -- least of all a muscled ex-con.
Get ready to wrap up the Small Town Bachelor series with the quaint hamlet of Middleburg’s most forbidden love story! Paul and Drea’s secret tryst will leave you breathless, with a sweet happily ever after that will make you believe in the redemptive magic of true love!
Chapter 1
Paul
It may look like I’m leaving this shithole a free man, but I’m headed straight into another prison.
Fucking Middleburg.
My hometown, where everybody knows what I did to end up on the inside.
Where I have no family farm left to go to. No place to live.
I take nothing with me from my cell—not the small stack of tattered paperback books generously given to me by the prison librarian. Not even my paper and pencil, which I was permitted to own after I’d proven to be a model prisoner.
Not even her replies to my letters. Apart from reading my way through one end of the prison library to the other, reading and re-reading her letters got me through my time here. Never received a single letter from anyone, except from her.
I want zero things to remind me of my life behind bars.
This morning, I re-read her most recent letter before crumpling it up and dumping it in the trash, along with the rest of them.
Her challenge is burned into my mind. Big talker. Come on, then. Come and get it. I fucking dare you.
Everything she said to me needs to disappear. Can’t have any evidence hanging around for what I’m about to do.
“Ain’t anybody coming to give you a lift, Chet? If not, you can call for a ride,” says the prison guard, with a bloated air of generosity.
He was a real douchebag back in high school—even worse than I was—so I know he’s enjoyed to no end seeing me locked up. He calls me by my old name, and I don’t bother correcting him. He ain’t part of my new life.
His head gestures toward the handset on the wall after he removes my cuffs. “No more three hots and a cot for you on the public’s dime, ol’ Chet. The last thing the taxpayers of the State of Iowa have for you here is a free phone call; take it or leave it.”
Oh yeah, he’s a real smarmy son of a bitch.
The old me would have laid him out flat in a heartbeat.
Even now, I’d love nothing more than to sucker punch him in his little piggy nose. All these years on the inside, looking up from my mess tray and seeing that shit-eating grin leering at me from the corner, I never once gave him the satisfaction of starting anything with him. I told myself I didn’t need to, since I had beat his ass plenty of times in high school.
That piece of shit is child’s play. As big and jacked as prison has made me, that pencil neck ain’t worth the effort.
I grit out, “I’m walking.”
The guard wheezes out a dismissive laugh. “Good luck with that, buddy.”
You ain’t my buddy, fuckstick, is what I want to say,
but I don’t want to give him any excuse to escalate his fuckstick behavior.
I hear the bars clank closed, a jarring but familiar sound I hated at first, but have become hardened to.
Now, I’ll never have to hear them again.
As long as I’m careful.
The walk will help me keep myself under control until I get to where I’m going.
Seven years of frustration is a lot to let loose on a person.
Even if she is the judge who put me away. Even if she’s asking for it—for every second of what I’m about to do to her.
Chapter 2
Drea
“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?”
My younger sister Ever is sweet but overly concerned for my safety.
“I’m perfectly fine. Nobody is coming to hurt me. You can go.”
She eyes me suspiciously and rubs her swollen tummy.
“All right, but I don’t feel good about this.”
I smirk at her. “And what are you going to do if he does try something? Threaten to give birth right here on the braided rug?”
She cocks her head to the side. “Very funny. I just wish you would agree to stay with Logan and me for a few days. Just to be on the safe side. You are the judge who put him in prison for years, you know.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. “I’ve sentenced a lot of criminals.”
“But he’s the worst that Middleburg has ever seen!”
I laugh. “Are you forgetting that cold case murder that was just solved last year?”
“OK, besides that. And that hasn’t even gone to trial yet. This one did, and he’s a bad guy.”
I could tell her she’s just being as small-minded as all the old-timers who drink coffee at the bowling alley every morning, judging everybody who ever did so much as jaywalk in this town. I should remind her that the man has paid his debt to society and has the right to be free now.
But something stops me. I can’t protest too much or she’ll figure it out.
So I just have to play her off with my midwestern compulsion to never be a burden.
“While I relish the idea of a few sleepless nights in your tiny house by the river with your very randy husband making you moan all night long, it’s a hard pass.”
Looking at Ever’s face, she’s not denying it. She still bites her lip and blushes just thinking about h
er doting husband. A part of me wishes for that feeling, that feeling of being looked after and fussed over by the person who shares my bed and my life. Sometimes it hurts to watch Ever and my brother-in-law Logan together.
I’m jealous but I don’t show it. I’m the stalwart big sister. The protector. I’m also the judge who has served as officiant for every wedding in this town in recent years, and it’s starting to feel a little more raw every time I’m asked to do it.
But I don’t say no. I’m the sweet and accommodating judge everybody wants for their wedding, the first female justice to grace the courtrooms of our charming courthouse, and the youngest elected justice in the history of this rural eastern Iowa county.
Ever tries every other angle to get me to leave with her, but I’m staying put.
I kiss her on the cheek before she leaves. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll call for a patrol car to drive by sometime tonight. And I promise I’ll call you if the boogeyman shows up, OK?”
She pouts at me and I finally have to shut the door to compel her to leave my front porch.
And to think she used to be the wild one who needed my protection as a child.
When she’s gone, I draw myself a bath with lavender salts and have a nice soak to relax my tired feet.
After my bath, I pad around the house, closing all the windows on this cool summer night, and draw all the curtains shut.
All except one: my bedroom window.
I leave it wide open while I watch some TV on my laptop.
Any woman in her right mind, alone in a big, old isolated house in the country would close up every last window and lock them before drifting off at night, but I am not in my right mind.
No, I’m ready to completely lose my mind and my whole self.
Just as soon as my partner in crime gets here.
I pause the movie I’m watching because I can’t concentrate on it.
I open the side table drawer and pull out the letter.
I have read it over and over and over again. The edges are frayed and the writing is smeared along the creases where it’s been unfolded and refolded two dozen times. The words make me blush and bite my lip.
Just like every other time I’ve read this letter, I get the urge to reach under my bathrobe and pleasure myself. Stroke my naked body. Finger fuck my own pussy and rub my throbbing clit until I get relief.
But relief—real relief—is imminent.
So instead I roll over and lie on my side, facing away from the window, and close my eyes. It will be that much better if I’m startled out of my sleep.
The room is black except for the fireflies outside my window. The only sound I hear is crickets and the occasional cry of a distant coyote.
And later…footsteps on the gravel.
A certain exquisite anticipation that no other person has been able to provoke rises in my belly.
The footsteps stop just outside my window, followed by a brief silence. Then, the sudden ripping of the window screen. The excitement rises in my chest.
By the time his boots hit my bedroom floor and I feel the weight of him on the mattress, my pussy is so slick I think I feel a drip sliding down the back of my thigh.
When his hand clamps down over my mouth, I suck in a breath and breathe in the sweat, dirt and dust from twenty miles of country back roads between here and the state penitentiary.
“Paul.” My voice is muffled by his firm grip over my mouth.
Between the sound of my own whimpering, the press of his hard chest against my back, and his already-erect cock nudging against my ass, my climax is just below the surface, ready to burst.
I move to hike up my bathrobe for him, to welcome him in, but unexpectedly, his other hand grips my wrist and he jerks my arm behind my back. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”
The awesome pain in my arm combined with his angry words feathering my ear push me to the point of no return. I can’t control it any longer. My pussy spasms and I scream out. He lets go of my arm and uses that hand to pull up my bathrobe, wetting his cock between my damp lower lips from behind. My arching back involuntarily presses my ass tighter against him.
When he hears my muffled screams, Paul jabs his middle finger into my mouth. I dutifully and joyfully suck on it while I moan through my shattering orgasm. Then another finger, and another.
Each one I suck and lick and nibble, the sensation making him curse with pleasure into my hair.
Paul lifts my top leg over his so his thick cock can slide back and forth between my lips while I continue to come. He’s so thick and long between my folds, the tip of him is almost reaching my clit.
He uses his free hand to reach beyond the tip to touch my sensitive little button.
As my full-body orgasm ebbs, I can barely stand for him to touch it, but I push through that mental wall and let him have his way.
He needs to have his way.
And holy shit…what he does with his hand, circling and flicking right there, it extends and teases out my orgasm until I can barely even breathe through it. I see stars. He has me close to paralyzed with pleasure.
His attention shifts from my clit to my breasts. While his cock still plays in my wetness from behind and his fingers continue to have their way with my mouth, his other hand now cups one breast. Although he’s been rough with me until now, his hand on my tit is gentle, caressing, like he’s memorizing every curve, every tiny bump of my areola, measuring the size and sensitivity of my nipples.
It seems impossible that I could keep coming, and yet every touch, every sound, every taste, somehow squeezes out another spasm, another shudder, from me.
Paul’s thrusts increase in speed and intensity. I press backward, thinking perhaps he’d like to finish inside me. But he doesn’t; he seems content to keep his rod sandwiched between my folds, humping instead of penetrating.
I whisper, “Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll…”
“Shut up,” he commands raggedly, crashing through my folds once, twice, three more times and then letting go of my breast to reach down and catch his own cum in his hand.
“Fuck!” he roars. “Fuck me.”
I want to ask him to let me take it, or to penetrate me and finish inside, but he made it clear in the letter this is how it was going to go. He wants his first fuck out of prison to be exactly like this, and I am not to ask any questions.
So I let Paul do exactly as he had asked. His climax pulses through him again and again. It’s intense and wild and angry, full of curses, and in the end, he sounds almost choked with tears.
As his orgasm subsides, he gets up abruptly. “Bathroom in there?” he says, nodding his head toward the door at the far end of the room.
“Yeah,” I say.
Seconds later he returns and spoons up behind me in bed.
This is not what we agreed on.
We were supposed to fuck and then he was supposed to leave.
Instead, Paul falls dead asleep, exhausted from the sex and the long day’s walk, one hand on my breast, the other arm cradling my head.
My own body is thoroughly shaken and spent. I spend about an hour lying there in shock that I’m being cuddled—no, cradled. What is this?
Finally comprehending that he’s just completely wrung out from being released from prison, walking miles to get to me, and having his first sexual encounter with a female in years, I relax into his warmth and let myself fall asleep. I trust that he’s not going to hurt me.
He was a bully when drunk in his former life, but otherwise, he doesn’t a violent past—just a fucked up one.
Despite that, he spent his first night of freedom giving me what no other man has ever agreed to give me. And I’m…content.
This must be what dying at peace feels like, because if he’s been lying in his letters all this time—if, in fact, prison did change him into a deadly criminal and he decides to kill me in my sleep—I’d be OK with that.
If only my sister knew exactly what kind of boogeyman she was trying to p
rotect me from.
Chapter 3
Paul
I should go.
That’s what we agreed on.
Drea had only agreed to be the one to get my dick wet. To be of service. To be the vessel to give me my first relief on the day I was released from prison.
Yet here I am, holding this beautiful blonde angel in my arms. Her profile glows in the moonlight. Her long legs are just as I had imagined them.
I remember my carnal thoughts on the day of my sentencing.
I was on my way to prison, yet all I could think about were her legendary legs under that black judicial robe. I wondered how many times I could wrap her blonde hair around my fist once I tugged out out of that tight bun and how her hypnotic shade of lipstick would look smudged on my cock.
Any human within fifty miles with a pulse would jump at the chance to find out what, if anything, she wears under that modest black robe.
And any guy with a lick of sense would wonder why in the hell she’d want to let him into her bed when she’s got no time for other men who’ve tried to date her.
But I know exactly why I’m here.
Because I want to be here.
She’s the only person who ever wrote me letters while I was in prison, even though I didn’t deserve it.
When my father handed the farm over to me before retiring out of state, he never expected me to fuck up so badly. My brothers, who don’t know shit about animals but whose names were on all the paperwork as part owners, sold the farm out from under me. Mom died and neither her new husband nor my asshole brothers bothered to tell me.
