by Stella James
Clipped
A Blue Falls Novella
Written By Stella James
Copyright © 2016 Stella James
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, events or locations are entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my husband and kids who continue to put up with me and my incoherent ramblings.
J, L and R, thank you for reading this little diddy and contributing to make it more. I love you.
And to anyone who doesn’t quite fit within the confines of what society thinks you should be…life is too bloody short to worry about that shit. Pour yourself a glass of wine, grab a snack, order that vibrator you’ve been eyeing up online and spend some time with your pal Mona, because she totally gets you.
Xox – Stella
This one’s for you, Deb.
Xox
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About the Author
Exclusive excerpt
Chapter 1
Mona
I recline back on the bed and prop myself up, watching with blatant appreciation as he slowly pulls his belt free and removes his expensive slacks, followed by his white Calvin Klein’s. I’ve already ripped the shirt from his body, sending tiny buttons to scatter all over the fancy hotel carpet. His body was made for one thing and one thing only. To fuck me into a coma. I bring my heated gaze to the main attraction and nearly pass out. Holy mother fucking penis batman. I am no stranger to the d. I love the d. And the d loves me. But this thing is in a class all its own and looks like it means business. My thoughts are interrupted by a deep voice. Ah yes. That deep, panty melting, kick me in the face sexy as fuck voice.
“Don’t worry, Red. We’ll take it slow,” he says with a smirk.
Pardon moi? Slow? Umm, no. If this is my last one night stand ever I am not taking it slow. I am going to hop aboard the cock express and choo choo my way to pleasure town. If I die, at least I’ll die happy. I’m already naked and waiting on the bed. Well, naked except for my shoes. They are red and fabulous and Slick here insisted I keep them on for the duration of our little tryst. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I stand in front of him in my four inch sticks and still have to tilt my head back to meet his stare.
“Well the thing is, Slick, I’m not really into slow.” I place my lips on his chest and gently bite his taut skin. I soothe the small mark with my tongue and watch as his blue eyes turn dark, like a storm or some equally poetic shit. I let him nudge me back on to the bed and pull me to the edge of the mattress so that my feet are touching the floor.
“Thank fuck for that,” he says before he puts his mouth on my neatly waxed pussy and begins to lap me up like a damn ice cream cone. I lift one leg and drape it over his broad shoulder, grinding my hips up, I try everything in my power to bring his face closer. Never in my life have I felt such a rush. My whole body goes up in flames. He sucks my swollen clit into his mouth and uses two of his very large fingers to fuck me. He shows no mercy. He shows no sign of slowing down. I am seconds away from drenching this man’s gorgeous face. I would scream his name over and over if only I knew it. My orgasm hits me like a ton of bricks, a steady stream of moans and incoherent ramblings fall from my lips as he continues to devour me. When I float back down from orgasm heaven, I reach for the condom beside me. He crawls onto the bed, licking his lips and groaning with satisfaction. I rip the package open with my teeth and cover his massive cock before I straddle him, my thighs are snug against the sides of his magnificent body. I lean down and put my mouth on his, the taste of whiskey and my own brand heavy on his tongue. I guide him to my dripping core and drop down slowly. His breathe hisses as I bury every inch of his cock inside of me. I remain still as my body stretches around him, when the burn fades I sit up and begin to rock back and forth. Sweet holy hell, I can feel him everywhere and it’s fucking fantastic. He places his hands on my breasts and rolls my pierced nipples between his fingers, plucking at the small silver bars. I increase my speed as his hands grip my hips forcefully. He pulls me along his length and growls deep in his throat. There is nothing romantic about the way we fuck each other. We are like addicts chasing a high. I cum again and feel it in every bone in my body. He flips me onto my back and fucks me hard until he cums with a strangled shout met with a curse. He pulls out slowly and rolls onto his back beside me. The hotel suite is quiet with the exception of our heavy gasps and pounding hearts. He goes to the bathroom to take care of the condom while I take one last look at his very fine ass. When he comes back to the bed, he pulls me close and I instinctively curl into his side. I wait until his breathe is slow and even before I slide from his hold, grab my dress and head for the door.
*
I roll over and snatch my phone off the end table, fumbling with the screen until the wretched noise ceases to exist. It’s been three days since my one night stand with that slick suit and his beautiful penis and three God damn nights of little to no sleep. What did he do to me? It doesn’t matter how dead tired I am, the minute my head hits the pillow and I close my eyes, I see him. I feel him. Trusty old Mr. Bob can’t even take the ache away. And if he can’t then nothing will. Bob is top of the line. The Cadillac of vibrators. I need help, or therapy or some kind of herbal cure. Anything. I blame the wine, it’s always the damn wine.
I was sitting at the bar in the hotel lounge after my epically lame date with Derek the realtor. I had high hopes for that one, really I did. He was hot and built and unintentionally funny. I was halfway through my perfectly cooked slab of steak when he whipped out the big guns. The fucking question that never fails to end things before they really begin.
“So, do you want kids someday?”
Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. Just to be clear, I love kids. They are funny and honest and usually pretty cute. But do I want my own? Nope. I don’t. I know people say that and then in the back of their minds they think oh, well maybe someday if I find the right person. Nope. Not me. I just really don’t want them. I don’t know why, I just don’t. I’m sure a therapist would tell me it has something to do with the fact that my womb provider took off when I was twelve, leaving my dad to raise two preteens on his own. But it’s not, because I have never been the girl dreaming of having a family. Fun aunt, yes. Mama bear, no. And when you’re twenty seven years old and live in the same small town you grew up in, the dating pool starts to consist of dudes that are looking to fertilize. Usually the question doesn’t come up on the first date. Derek was clearly an eager beaver. But it always comes up eventually and when I give my honest answer, because I am always honest, things get weird. They start looking at me like I’m their filthy little filler until wifey comes along and that shit just isn’t fair. I love sex, especially really good sex. But I want to be a wife. I want a commitment with one person. I would love to fall in love. Unfortunately, it’s been my experience that no one wants to marry the woman who won’t let them spray her lady garden with homemade miracle grow. So that’s where it ends. I end things because I refuse to be the waiting room before happily ever after. I am a fucking catch and I deserve more than that. I’m peti
te with perky tits and a lovely, well-manicured vagina. I’m a business owner and a wicked hair stylist. I have PHENOMENAL taste in music. Where the fuck is my prince charming? Where is my happily ever after?
So there I sat. Staring at the tiny candle flickering next to my wine glass as if it would give me all the answers to my problems when out of nowhere, he appeared. I swear I could feel him before I could see him. Over six feet of pure masculine beef wrapped in a polished suit. He approached the bar and took the seat beside me. The timber of his voice sent all kinds of shivers to my lady parts when he ordered a whiskey neat. He smelled like man heaven. His hair was thick and dark with touches of grey at his temples. If I had to guess I’d put him near forty. Too bad I had already made a vow to myself after Derek the dud that I would be steering clear of any and all dick unless it was attached to a man prepared to accept me the way I am. On the other hand, perhaps a nice healthy one nighter was the way to begin my newfound celibacy. Sure, one night to get it all out before I lock the doors to Monaville. It started with a flirtatious grin, a whispering touch and ended with the best sex of my life. He asked me my name, I looked at my shoes and replied, Red. I asked him his name, he looked down at his suit and said, Slick. And boy was he.
I take an unpleasantly cold shower and get dressed for work. I’m going to do some serious research tonight and find out if there is such a thing as penis obsessive disorder. Either that or I’m hitting up Amazon for a new vibrator.
Chapter 2
Walker
I slam my laptop shut and run my hands roughly over my face, as if the gesture itself will magically take away my frustration. I’ve been reading the same damn email for the last twenty minutes and I still don’t know what it says. I’m a successful hotel owner, having built my empire from the ground up in my twenties and yet here I am, completely fucked up over one night with a woman. I look around the massive suite that I am currently calling home and I swear I can still smell her. Red.
The most unexpected part of my trip wore a tight black dress and bright red shoes and was easily the hottest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking. I had just finished a meeting with the hotel manager when I spotted her sitting at the bar alone. Her dark hair fell just past her shoulders in a sleek curtain and when I got closer I realized her shoes were the same colour as her full lips. She was petite but generously curved in all the right places. She had boldly coloured flowers and vines swirling down her one arm, the rest of her skin was unmarked. She was a fucking work of art.
We practically attacked each other when we made it back to my suite. One taste of her full lips had my dick straining against my pants, begging to get wet. Women can be a dime a dozen but she was different. She took as much as I did and held nothing back. There was no teasing glint in her bright blue eyes when she laid on the bed naked on full display. No ulterior motive. Just a look of heated yearning that matched my own. This woman didn’t need to play coy, she knew what she wanted and she took it. It was refreshing and hot as hell. When I woke up to an empty space beside me I wasn’t shocked. We didn’t even exchange names but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about her. The way she smelled, the noises she made when she came all over my cock and of course her sweet tasting pussy. I’m forty-three years old and I’ve probably jacked off more in the last three days than I did when I was fourteen. I’m only in town for another week before I’m due back in Vegas and chances are she was just passing through as well. The caveman in me wants to track her down and tie her to my bed so that I can take her over and over again we both feel satisfied. I have no way of finding out her name or where she’s from, so unfortunately I’m left unfulfilled. When I get home I’ll swing by one of my usual clubs and find a suitable replacement to appease my cock. One with dark hair and an ass that’s begging to be smacked.
I grab the keys to my rented SUV and decide to head into town. I have two more meetings this week with potential investors and I could use a haircut. It’s a good excuse to get the hell out of this hotel room before I drive myself crazy. I pull onto Main Street and park in front of a brick store front with a black and white striped awning. The sign in the window says The Beauty Boutique. One of the receptionists at the hotel recommended the place and booked me in. I turn off the engine and make my way to the front door. The interior is painted a soft shade of pink with portraits of Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn hanging on the walls. I check in with the girl at the front desk and wait for a woman named Mona. Apparently she’s the owner and has some “thing” about handling new customers herself. I don’t really give a shit as long as she can do her job. I’m flipping through a magazine when I hear a sexy female voice call out for her virgin sacrifice. I look up and meet the stare of a very surprised woman. My woman. Red.
Chapter 3
Mona
What in the actual fuck? When Lucy came back to tell me my next appointment had arrived and that he was sexy as hell, I brushed her off. Monaville is closed. Locked up tight. And yet here he is. Slick. Sitting in one of my black leather chairs, waiting for a haircut. From me. Of course. I don’t know how much time goes by before he stands up and walks towards me. One look at his sexy smirk and I’m clenching my thighs together to ease the need burning between them. Never in my life have I reacted this way to a man. Never. Ugh get it together girl, it’s just a cock. A very large cock. Attached to a man that gave you the best orgasms of your life. Fuck.
“Mona, Is it?” He holds out his hand and smiles. And of course his smile is ten thousand times hotter than his smirk. I straighten my spine and stand tall. I am a business woman for shit sake. I place my hand in his and give it a firm, business like squeeze.
“That’s right. Mona Mitchell, I’m the owner.”
“Walker Powell, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mona.”
“Pfft, of course it is, I’m delightful.”
He throws his head back and laughs. I swear I almost cum right there in my fashionably distressed skinny jeans.
“Wait, you’re Walker Powell? You own The Astoria.” Interesting.
“That’s right, I do.”
“Alright then. Am I cutting your hair or are we going to stand here for the rest of the afternoon and continue to picture each other naked?” I am not even joking. Not even a little bit. As far as I’m concerned he’s naked right now. He gives me a thoughtful look, shakes his head and laughs again.
“Lead the way, Red.”
Ugh, kill me now.
*
I’ve been doing hair for eight years. And in eight years I have never once thought the act of washing someone’s hair was sexual. Until today. Until I lather up and run my fingers through Walker Powell’s gorgeously thick hair. It’s erotic and arousing, as evidenced by my soaking wet panties. It takes every ounce of inner strength not to rip my bottoms off and hop on his face. Every ounce. We make ridiculous small talk as I trim his hair. Weather, tourists, the scones at Olive’s café. We cover the boring basics while I snip and clip and use all my will power to stop myself from begging him to go down on me. I can’t tell if this heat is one sided or if he’s feeling it too. He is a damn hard nut to read. Or crack or whatever. I remove the cape and brush the hair off his neck. I decide to be super inappropriate and bring my lips close to his skin. I blow softly and watch in the mirror as his jaw tenses and his eyes turn dark. Yup, he feels it too. He follows me to the front desk and takes out his wallet.
“Oh no Mr. Powell, this one’s on me,” I say with a wink. Mm, there goes that jaw again.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he says. It isn’t a question but I consider my answer regardless. As far as I know, he doesn’t live here and will likely be leaving soon. I can enjoy his company until such a time comes and he goes on his merry way. My lady bits will be nicely satisfied until I find a proper candidate to meet my “we will never have children but that’s okay because we love each other and want to spend our lives together anyways” prerequisite. Hmmm. Decision made.
“I’ll be ready at six thir
ty.” I write down my address and slip it across the counter.
“Until then,” he says as he folds the note and tucks it into his back pocket.
He turns and leaves my shop, my eyes remain glued to his delectable backside. Until then indeed.
Chapter 4
Walker
Mona Mitchell. Mona. My woman has a name. And there is no mistaking the fact that she is mine. For now anyways. The minute I looked up from that magazine to see her standing in front of me, her fate was sealed. I’m not typically known for my possessive behaviour. It’s a natural instinct that stays close to my surface but rarely makes an appearance. One night with Mona and she’s managed to set it free. What was once quiet and tame is now foaming at the mouth ready to claim what it wants. I have seven days to fuck this woman out of my system. Seven days to give into the growling need within me that demands I have her. All of her. And then I’ll let her go, whether I’m satisfied or not.
I knew a long time ago that I wasn’t the family man type. It’s not that I don’t like kids, it just never crossed my mind to settle down and have them. Work is my life. Women come and go and that has always suited me just fine. I suppose I would have at least married had I found someone worth the effort but the truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman that made me want anything other than a fuck. I have no qualms with monogamy but I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t dream of having the perfect family and that is something I’m not prepared to deliver on. My younger sister Sam and her family live in Colorado and I make sure to stop in and see them as often as I can. My nephews and I always have a great time together but having kids of my own just isn’t something that I want. Our parents are enjoying retirement in Arizona and have long since accepted that Sam will be the sole provider of Grandchildren.
