Breathe Again

by Fields, MJ

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About this novella

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  If You Like This Short

  Use Me Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Read the rest…

  About MJ Fields

  About Chelsea Camaron

  Breathe Again

  Written by

  MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron

  Copyright

  Copyright © MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  This is a work of fiction. All character, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  1st edition published: March 2017

  Editing by: C&D Editing

  Cover design by: Jersey Girl Designs

  Thank you for purchasing this book. This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

  This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.

  About this novella

  This is a bonus story to Use Me (Caldwell Brothers, # 4). This is the story Tatum is working on during her time in Detroit. We hope you enjoy.

  Breathe Again

  Annie is on a journey. She’s lost hope, love, and a reason to believe.

  All is not lost, all is not gone, and it’s time for Annie to learn to breathe again.

  Jonathon is caught up in his work, life, and day-to-day existing. When is the last time he was able to just breathe?

  Two people broken brought together to learn to live again.

  The writing duo of MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron team up to bring you a hot, quick read that is part of the story for Tatum Longley and Michelangelo Mazzini in Use Me (Caldwell Brothers 4). While this story is written by our main characters in Use Me, it is not necessary to read Use Me or the entire Caldwell Brothers series to follow this story. Use Me is a standalone novel available through all major e-book retailers.

  Chapter One

  ~Annie~

  To live is to love. To love is to live. Somewhere along the way, I lost this. Or maybe I never had it.

  To love is to breathe again, I once read that somewhere.

  Inhale deeply and feel full; is that what love is? Can I find it for myself? I don’t know. I’m skeptical.

  I’m thirty years old and my life is still as much of a mess as it was when I was eighteen and starting college. The only difference now is that I’m old enough to know myself.

  I know what I want. I know what I once had.

  My heart is heavy with grief. I need to find a way to move on. He would want that. I want that. I just have to figure out how to achieve it.

  I moved to Detroit. More importantly, I immerse myself in life here. Even though I will only be here for twelve weeks, I decided I need a change and this place, Detroit, will be perfect for that.

  The old saying about repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting a different result, I can’t keep staying on this cycle.

  I moved here, eyes wide open, pushing aside all the reasons I chose to live as a traveling nurse. My temporary apartment looks like anything but a place I plan to leave. I have made myself a home. Can I make roots for a change?

  This place has endless possibilities, yet I don’t have to go out and explore them.

  Work is close, even the grocery store is close to my apartment. Everything is so convenient. More convenience and less commuting means less time to get lost in worry, both a waste of energy and a waste of time.

  For the first time in forever, I feel like life’s heavy burdens are starting to lessen. I don’t have to overthink, and I can allow my mind to run amuck.

  I laugh at this thought then allow worry to set. Worry about how I will spend the luxury I am now afforded—extra time.

  That is when I remembered part of my rent includes the use of the gym next door. And that is just what I did, and now I can’t get my mind off the man at said gym.

  My first workout was a stress reliever. The next workout and the following have all been a balance of hoping to see him and getting my mind off life and work.

  Pulling out the leather-bound journal I always keep with me, I scribble away my thoughts, my desires, and my guilty pleasures. They are just words, my own, and no one will ever have to know what I secretly want.

  The first time I saw him, I knew he would rock my world. He stood a foot taller than me, and when I dared to look up, I could see need in his eyes. It mirrored the need I felt in my soul.

  It had been years since a man had affected me the way he did. Years since I wanted anyone the way I suddenly wanted him.

  My heart told me no, my head told me no, but the most private parts of my body screamed the opposite.

  I lay in bed that night, thinking about him and how his rough, callused hands would feel as they glided down my body. How my breath would be lost as his long, thick fingers rubbed my inner thighs, causing my body to come to life after its long and painful winter.

  Thinking of him, I slid my hand under my silk panties and used my finger to rub my sensitive, swollen clit, imagining it was his tongue. When I pushed my finger inside, I imagined it was his thick, hard cock.

  Never able to bring myself to orgasm before, I wasn’t expecting it to happen at all. I was astonished when just the picture of him in my mind caused my walls to contract and my orgasm to ripple through my body like an earthquake.

  When I couldn’t come anymore, I rolled to my side, hugged my pillow, and pretended it was him. Something else I had missed—being held at night and made to feel so safe in the arms of a man, even one who was a complete stranger.

  I fell asleep feeling safe, sated, and wanted for the first time in years.

  Because of him.

  This has become my new routine since coming to Detroit. Thinking of him, getting myself off, and going to sleep satisfied. I’m on a new hamster wheel of cycles … one I’m not sure I ever want to get off of.

  It’s safe.

  ~Jonathon~

  Detroit, Michigan is a city of hustle and crime. The suburbs aren’t so bad, but downtown, where my businesses, the gym, and rental properties are … Well, it’s not the safest of places.

  One of the newest residents, Annie Dahms, uses her free membership regularly.

  Her pert tits, slim waist, and long, dark hair all grab my attention, and just about every man in my establishments. I can’t help wondering if she realizes the attraction men have to her. Hell, even some women check her out.

  Is she from a small town? A city? What brought her to Detroit? What does she do for a living? Is she taken?

  I haven’t see a ring, I haven’t seen her with a man in all of her comings and goings, but certainly she’s not single. She isn’t easy to read like the other women who come into the gym. She comes to work out, not socialize or check out the scene like she’s at a bar or club, looking for a hook up. I would be the first to notice if she did. I’
d also be the only one she’d hook up with.

  Who the hell am I kidding? I don’t have time for a woman. I have a business to run. My business is my life. Still, something about Annie makes it easy to want to make an exception, take the time to explore her.

  Stunning and intriguing woman.

  I open my laptop and click the file with the folder containing my member’s applications and find hers.

  Short-term lease, traveling nurse, leaves in twelve weeks.

  I lean back in my chair and run my hands through my hair as I eye the picture of her in the file used for her gym membership card and rental application.

  This just may be perfect.

  Chapter Two

  ~Annie~

  From one place to the next, my charge nurse changes. This is both a blessing and a curse. The blessing: if I’m not comfortable in one place, I can move on to the other. I don’t have to take my work home with me for the long-term because, well, nothing is long-term. The curse: the charge nurses seem to demand more of the traveling nurses. They know we aren’t sticking around, so there is no real reason to build relationships. In turn, some, not all, can become pretty bitchy. Since I’m only here for as long as my contract allows, I don’t take much personally. I do my job and I go home.

  Most days, this works for me. Most days, I can let go of the night that changed me forever. The time in my life that I craved human companionships and building relationships. The time when I had more than my job to focus on.

  Today isn’t most days.

  Today, I can’t help wallowing in my sorrows, thinking of the man I loved, who died in my arms while I worked a shift in the emergency department.

  Today, I had a charge nurse who didn’t want to let any of us have a chance to breathe. It’s good because, if I can’t breathe, I also can’t think. It’s bad because now I’m off work and have nothing left to occupy my mind.

  I needed to wind down from the long shift, and the only thing I could think to do was work out. Yet, tonight’s workout went so differently than I ever could have imagined.

  The man I am lusting over, the one I haven’t found the courage to talk to, made his move today, and I made mine.

  After a long day at work, I headed to the fitness center to work off the frustration from the high demands of my boss. That was when I saw him, the man I had dreamt of, the man whose mere image incited desire to burn inside of me, an undeniable desire. A desire so strong I laid in bed the night before and touched myself while imagining it was him.

  Unable to stop myself from staring at him, I looked up from his chiseled body to see him looking at me.

  I quickly looked away, hoping maybe he would do the same. But when I looked back, he was walking toward me—more like stalking toward me, like a man determined.

  “Jonathon,” he said, reaching his hand out for me to shake.

  When I touched his, I felt some sort of current course through my body, making me jump back as I pulled my hand away quickly.

  He looked confused, shocked, and I wondered if he felt it, too. The spark, the connection, the way a simple touch of our hands caused a spark to ignited. A spark I knew I could never forget.

  How could I?

  When he made no mention of it, my initial instinct was to leave, to get away as fast as I could, but running was not an option. Not with how his eyes held mine captive and captivated.

  “Your name?” he asked in a low, deep rumble.

  “Annie … My name is Annie.”

  “Annie.” His tongue rolled around my name, caressing it in the most intimate way I had ever experienced. “Annie,” he repeated, and I felt my knees tremble.

  Then he walked away from me, but looked over his shoulder, while I remained under the spell of his beautiful brown eyes.

  “Jonathon,” I memorize the name of the man who has me mesmerized. “Jonathon.”

  I ride the elevator to my apartment on the ninth floor, wanting to shower and eat something unhealthy. Maybe I will just have ice cream for dinner. I did just work out. I ought to be allowed the calories just because I spent an hour at the gym. Plus, I deserve a reward for not running when I saw him look at me with lust and sinful intent.

  When I get off the elevator, I see him again, sweat drenched and walking down the hall.

  “Annie?” My name comes out as a question.

  “Jonathon,” I return, feeling my face burning with embarrassment.

  “You live here?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “New to the building,” I answer, trying to sound less shy and more convincing.

  “I see,” he comments, eyeing me up and down. “I was just on my way out to get some coffee. I seem to have forgotten it when I was at the store earlier.”

  “I have plenty. Why head out again? I can spare some coffee beans.”

  “You mind if I shower first?”

  “By all means, go ahead. I’m in nine twenty-four.”

  “Interesting. I’m right across the hall.”

  Once inside my apartment, I lean against the door, seeking the contrast of the cool metal against my heated flesh.

  “Jonathon,” I say out loud, finding myself getting turned on by just the sound of his name as it slips past my lips.

  I cover said lips as I imagine how he would kiss me.

  His lips would be soft against mine, like a satin pillowcase. They would be wet and coveting. He would control the kiss completely, taking away the burden and pressure I would feel, wanting to deliver the most amazing kiss possible, because I would want him to need more.

  I look around my little apartment. It is tidy since I don’t have much. Just a few pictures of me and … him.

  I wonder for a moment if it would leave Jonathon with the impression that I am married or in a relationship. I’m not. And I haven’t been in many years. I haven’t even wanted to be in a man’s arms, not until I saw Jonathon.

  I question if it’s a relationship I desire or a man to make me feel like a woman again.

  Relationships are complicated. People get hurt. Men and women want two different things. We want hearts and flowers. They want sex and the physicality involved, or that is what we think, anyway.

  By we, I mean women who believe that all endings can be happy, and that if they weren’t, we would live each day wishing for a different ending.

  I have learned that it is not true about me. I know there is a beginning, a middle, and an end to each person’s interpersonal story. I know that life is full of those relationships, all making up chapters in my book that is life.

  I decide on the latter.

  Would Jonathon be another chapter?

  I certainly hope so.

  I finally push myself off the cold, metal door and quickly walk around, tidying up the place. I find myself placing flowers and figurines in front of the pictures, preferring not to have those awkward conversations if it can be avoided, yet I won’t hide my past. It is that who made me who I am today.

  Coffee, I giggle to myself, and then think, well, it is much more convenient than asking for sugar. Or, in my case, offering it.

  I pause in front of the mirror and look at myself, remembering I have also been at the gym and a shower may be a good idea for me as well.

  I don’t have time to do my hair, so I simply scrub my body and swipe a razor over my legs, armpits, and between my legs. Every skin follicle seems to come alive with every sensation, every bead of water, and every touch. My need for this man only grows more as I ready myself for his arrival.

  While toweling off, I feel silly. He probably isn’t interested in anything but my coffee beans.

  Then I cringe at the thought of having just shaved my pubic area. If things did get steamy, would he wonder if I prepared for him? Or would he think I am a woman who is overtly sexual and have been with man after man after man?

  I ponder the idea that it might be what a man like him wants—a woman who is that sexual, who thinks more like a man than a woman when it comes to her sexuality. He
wouldn’t be completely wrong in that thinking.

  Sex is sex.

  It’s physical. It’s an exchange, a connection, a release.

  I am a smart woman. I know that a man doesn’t fall in love with a woman for her body’s ability to please him. He falls in love with a woman whom he respects, and one who can stimulate him mentally as well as physically. He falls in love with a woman because he needs her in his life, not because he likes her in his bed. He falls in love with a woman because she will take a bullet for him.

  When I hear a knock on the door, I quickly pull the clip out of my hair that I placed it in so it wouldn’t get wet from the shower and throw on a pair of leggings and a tee-shirt.

  I open the door to find him standing there, freshly showered and smelling of man and soap.

  I open the door wider and invite him in.

  “Let me grab you that coffee,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears as I turn around.

  In the kitchen, I reach up to the top shelf of the cupboard and pull down the bag of coffee beans, and then turn to grab a baggy to put some in for him to take.

  But I can’t turn. His hands grip the counter top, caging me in.

  I feel my entire body buzz at just the knowledge that he is so close and seems so … alpha.

  “I’m not here for coffee, Annie.” His bravado voice is so sexy, confident, aware.

  I feel my knees begin to shake slightly.

  “No?”

  “I think we both know why I’m here.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Turn around, Annie. I want those lips.”

  I turn slowly and look up at him. “These ones?” I ask, licking them slowly.

  He nods as he stares at my tongue, and then he wraps his massive, muscular arms around me, lifting me off my feet, and then carrying me into my bedroom, staring into my eyes the entire time, saying nothing verbally. In his eyes, though, I can read what his intentions, desires, and needs are. And I know my eyes are telling him the same story.