The Plan: A Standalone Off-Limits Romance

by Ella James

-Your pussy, bare and spread for me. My tongue between your swollen slit. My fingers in your cunt. My thumb on your clit.

  Offering:

  -One hard cock—only sometimes a dick. Plenty of stamina and more-than-average mystique.

  In his own neat, all-caps, hand, he wrote: BE READY FOR ME.

  9

  Marley

  I haven’t told a soul about The Plan. Not because I feel so sure my besties wouldn’t understand but—

  Okay, yes, it’s safe to say my friends will think I’ve lost my everloving mind.

  Sex with Gabe would seem extremely no bueno—risky at best, self-destructive at worst—but if they find out I’m trying to have a Gabe baby? They’d probably have me committed.

  And it’s true, we need to talk more about how we would share the baby. Who would have the baby and when. But I can’t really see a losing situation. It’s about ethics. If I couldn’t conceive a child by a father I have access to, I’d use a sperm bank, and I wouldn’t feel badly about it. But if I can give my baby a dad—if I can give my unborn, unconceived child the gift of a living, breathing father who could mentor him, who would love her—then I have to try. And Gabe would love a baby.

  If he still wants to be a father to a child who isn’t his by blood and whose mother wants him to get lost, I think it’s very safe to say that he would love a baby we made.

  And he wants to make one. I can’t help grinning into my bedroom mirror like a kid at Christmas.

  I’m wearing Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer leggings and a red sweater I know maximizes my bustiness. I rub a little lotion on my throat and have to suppress a giggle. I feel like I’m in high school.

  I’m not sure when or if Gabe’s going to come up tonight, so I get busy in the kitchen, setting up some of the southern-style chicken and dumplings Gabe used to love, and then starting on a pecan pie. If he doesn’t come around tonight, at least I’ll have this pie to keep me company.

  While I work, I pour some apple cider—this time, cold—and turn on the latest Lorde album. A lot of it is about failing relationships, breaking up, or moving on. Since I didn’t really plan to make this proposal to Gabe in the first place, I haven’t spent that much time dwelling on it…but as I get the dumplings simmering, I think how in a fucked up way, I’m fortunate. To get another chance. To not leave things between us how they were left for so many years. Every time I thought about him, I felt smothered by guilt and regret.

  Maybe we can turn all that around. If not spouses, become—

  I hear a knock and nearly yelp as I spin toward the door. Wrong door. He’s not knocking on the outside door. He’s at the interior door, leading into the den. I grin as I hurry over to it.

  It’s not locked.

  I turn the knob, trying for a neutral look as I pull the door open.

  And there he is.

  I laugh. “It’s you.”

  His brows shoot up toward his curls. “It is.” He’s wearing khaki shorts and a gray Tom Petty t-shirt—and socks.

  I laugh at his socks.

  He shrugs, moving his hands out of his pockets. Which draws my attention to the fact that Gabe had his hands in his pockets. “No need for shoes.”

  I step back, waving him in. “Come in.”

  “Damn. You cooking something?” He eyes the stove, and I smile.

  “Chicken and dumplings. Oh, and pecan pie. For me.”

  “I’ve made my peace with pecans.”

  “Yeah?”

  He shrugs. “Up in New York, I kinda missed them.”

  “Yeah, I had to learn to make pecan pie in Chicago. Short of going to a Southern-type restaurant, I wasn’t finding one in any stores.”

  His eyes close as he inhales.

  “Feel free to take some with you.”

  When his eyes open again, he presses his lips together and puts his hands back into his pockets.

  “Jesus, Marley.” He gives a shake of his head, like he can’t believe we’re really doing this, and for a heartbeat, I feel almost dizzy with fear that he’s about to back out. Then his eyes rove up and down me, and his mouth curves. “You’re looking fucking good in that thing. Sweater? Tunic? I should know this shit for character descriptions.”

  “I would say sweater.” I run my hand along it. “I think tunics are more flowy?”

  His gaze tugs up to mine, and I watch his face go serious. “You sure?” he says quietly.

  “Is it too crazy for you?” I whisper. “No, don’t answer that.” I hold my hand up. “Are you ready to do something crazy?” I ask, sounding breathless.

  “This’ll be the second something.” His words are low and slightly drawled. With his earnest eyes and that low, Southern voice, he sends memories of us driving down The Strip and smoking cigarettes and kissing on a hotel roof cartwheeling through my mind.

  I look down at my feet. “I should have made The Plan more thorough.”

  His face is thoughtful as he steps a little closer. “What do you need?”

  My eyes sting. “I don’t know.” I laugh. “I guess I’m nervous now.”

  I can see a bolt of anguish cross his face, and it’s a gift from God. It lets me know he cares.

  “You’re not the only one,” he says in that low rumble.

  “No?”

  He nods, poker-faced, and then I see him bite his cheek as he looks down at my rug. He doesn’t give me more, but then he doesn’t need to.

  “I’ll sign papers. Anything you want, so you don’t ever have to worry. I don’t want my child to be without a father, Gabe—like I was.”

  For a second, his eyes shut. When he opens them, they’re molten.

  “Come here,” he says softly.

  I step to him, feeling small and soft and fragile, and his hands cup my shoulders. He looks into my eyes and, with a small squeeze of my shoulders, he says, “One thing, Marley.”

  “What?” I whisper as my body tingles.

  “No more stealing pork chops. No more shit like that—from me.”

  I smile. “You were just being a dick because you wanted me.”

  “Not gonna deny that.” His eyelids are heavy as he runs his hands down my arms.

  “You wanted me?”

  He cups my breasts through my shirt. “Oh yes, Marley. That was never our problem.”

  And then he’s kissing me. Soft then hard, tender and then deep, gentle and distant and then rougher, with his arm around my head and our chests pressed together…our hips pressed together.

  “Oh God.” When I can breathe, I’m gasping.

  Gabe’s mouth is annihilating mine. It’s like…an attack. I’m stunned to find I’m sagging in his arms, my shaking hands are fumbling at his pants. When I can’t get into them, I rub him through the smooth fabric… I rub myself against him and then try to go up his shorts leg. I catch him by his long, hard cock, and Gabe groans roughly into my mouth.

  Bedroom.

  It’s as if he hears me. He picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and spirits me to my room, where he sets me on the bed, peels off my sweater, and pushes my bra back, freeing my heavy breasts.

  “I’ve missed these,” he rumbles, tracing my hard nipple with the tip of his tongue.

  I shut my eyes and let my head list back as he sucks, and I moan. He rubs me through my leggings. I open my legs.

  “I want your pants off,” I whisper.

  “Not so fast.” He rubs my nipple while kissing down my tummy, lying me on my back as his mouth crawls, hot and tender, toward the top of my pants.

  He works them off my hips, pushes them down, groaning at the sight.

  “Fucking hell, you’re beautiful…”

  He leans over me and, with his hands and fingers, starts to play me like a tune. I come so hard and fast, it’s like an out-of-body experience. When I open my eyes, I find him kneeling between my legs with a smirk and a rock-hard boner jutting up in his pants.

  “Gimme…” I tuck my legs beneath me and take his pants down. As I look at Gabe McKellan in
a pair of boxer-briefs, I think he might be the sexiest man alive. And is it weird that he doesn’t feel like my ex-husband? Just some fuck hot guy I know, a good lay… Someone to have fun with. God, it’s weird, but still, I feel dizzy with desire as I peer at his massive hose of a cock curving as it fights to spring free from the boxer-briefs’ elastic waist.

  “Here we go,” I murmur as I free it. I’m rewarded with a nearly audible boing and a moan as Gabe’s head tilts back. “This is kind of crazy, you know that? It’s almost at your belly button…”

  I pet the head: little, light strokes with my fingertips, making Gabe man purr. The sexy rumble comes from deep down in his throat, and turns into a growl as I trace my fingers gently up and down his shaft.

  When I give his balls a tug, his mouth falls slightly open. “God…”

  “You like that, don’t you? Balls are hot. I don’t care what anybody says.” I remember what he likes, the teasing tugs and cupping and the rolls as I stroke his prototypic dick and then, when he’s gripping my shoulders, already panting and on his way to wasted, the way I suck his head into my mouth and squeeze him in between my cheeks. I don’t know for sure, of course, but what I hope is that it feels like hot, soft velvet all around him.

  I’m good at deep-throating because of Gabe. One night after we first moved into his apartment in Las Vegas, I begged him to teach me how to give a good blow job, and what he taught, I learned. I feel a bite of pain as I remember younger Marley on her knees like this, wanting so badly to be a good wife. I shove those thoughts away and swallow him back carefully, taking him so deep I feel his clenching fingers grip my hair. I can suck his cock right now and be an awesome baby mama. We’re not in a box, a little box for exes. This shit can be fluid.

  Fluid like the tears prickling my eyes as I take him in and out, shallow and then deeper, playing with his balls and gripping the base of his shaft. I know how to work him, how slow and how fast, how much to tease and when to give.

  I feel like a fucking goddess as he “ahhhh”s in that delicious voice of his and starts to moan out f-bombs. I’m doing so well, I want to grin around him. I can taste him, I can feel him getting thicker, harder, his hands more frantic as they tug my hair. It hurts, but I love it. I love the forceful, messy, painful sex. For it to be good, I feel like it needs to really strain you. God, my mouth and throat are so full right now…and yet—I’m wet myself. I’m getting wet and craving something in my pussy just from sucking on him.

  I can feel his abs tighten…the way his legs start flexing…

  “Marley, oh God, Jesus…”

  He sounds so good begging my name and the good Lord’s. My very favorite sort of blasphemy, I think as I suck harder, deeper…stroking his taught balls with just the barest touch—and he explodes.

  God, it’s thick and warm and good because as I swallow, he all but collapses on me. I leave him inside while his dick thumps and he sucks in a long breath.

  “Marley.” And it sounds so sweet. It sounds so breathless. Almost needy.

  And I love that. I love feeling vital to someone.

  He pulls out gently, his palm covering my forehead as he peers down at me with his serious Gabe face.

  “That,” he says, “was fucking art.”

  I grin, because, why not. I’m proud of myself.

  “Thank you. Someone smart taught me the basics.”

  He chuckles, and then surprises me by stretching out on my bed, cupping himself as he leans against my pillows.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes are shut.

  “No worries.”

  I take the throw blanket at the bottom of the bed and spread it over him, and Gabe gives me a funny little half-smile something.

  “Good head is revitalizing. I agree.” I smile. “I’m going to check the dumplings. Rest up, cowboy.”

  I hear him chuckle as I walk into the kitchen.

  Dammit. Shit fuck. I twirl in a little circle. This is intense. I’m surprised I have so many feelings. So many feelings that aren’t “I hate him.”

  And yet…

  I do my dumpling thing and step quietly back into my room, where I expect I’ll find him still stretched out, lounging with his hand around his half-soft cock. In fact, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing him like that. Instead I find him seated, cross-legged, with my current read in his lap. As I reach the bed, he holds his phone out toward me.

  I frown at the chart that’s pulled up.

  “Clean,” he says simply.

  “Ooh.” I squint down at it, and yeah—that’s test results.

  “From back in May, but…” He shakes his head slightly, and I nod.

  “That works. I actually don’t have one, but…”

  He winks. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  I don’t know why, but that makes me howl with laughter. “Did you really just say that?” I flop back on my bed, laughing because that’s something that my grandma says.

  “Too good to be a goose?”

  I howl some more. “Oh, hell no. I appreciate some down home Southern shit.” I lean my cheek against my shoulder and peer up at Gabe, still sitting cross-legged with my book. “It’s kind of good to know that being uber-famous hasn’t ruined you.”

  “Ehh.” He gives a weak smile. “I think uber is a stretch.”

  “Trust me, it’s not a stretch. Remember when you used to rail about James Patterson having his own special section in the bookstores out in Vegas?” I wiggle my brows, and his gaze drops into his lap.

  “What’s this?”

  “Are you embarrassed?”

  “Mm, looks good. New author?”

  I grin. “You’re embarrassed. And I like it.” I prop my cheek in my palm, my elbow on the mattress, and all but bat my lashes at him. “Modest is a good look on almost everybody, but especially Mr. Fancy Famous Author Man.”

  Through his beard, which looks like it’s been trimmed, I swear I think I see a hint of blush. I take pity on him and move on.

  “So, yeah, she’s new. Spec fiction, obviously. I’m not that far in, but pretty great so far.”

  He runs his hand along the front. “I like the cover.”

  “Really basic. Maybe sort of like yours.”

  He shrugs. Then he sets the book back on my nightstand. I watch as he examines my bedroom.

  “Your furniture?”

  “Nah. Mostly came with the house. Did you not see this space before you rented?”

  “Naw. She told me it was rented already, to a ‘nice girl’ from Fate. Asked me if I could behave myself,” he flashes me a crooked grin, “and I said yeah.”

  “Clearly a lie.”

  “Clearly.”

  He’s sitting cross-legged in a way where I can’t really see him, but he didn’t put his boxer-briefs back on. As I recall, Gabe was always too unaware of his own sexy beastness to be shy about his nakedness.

  “So is it time?” he asks. His eyes look so blue as they cling to mine.

  “Time for what?”

  “Is it that time,” he clarifies. “When you could get pregnant.”

  “I think it could be—yeah.”

  “You feeling okay still? I would be okay with it if you wanted to wait until I get the paperwork. But I’m also okay with not doing that.”

  His brows arch. “Kind of surprised you would trust me.”

  I shrug. “Kinda gotta go all in, you know? Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  “Does that mean that I can trust you, too?”

  I sit up, nodding slowly. “I would never take your baby from you, Gabe. I’m okay being a lone mama bear if that’s the way it ends up, but I’m better with a partner. We weren’t made to raise babies alone. Humans evolved to live in tribes, in villages.”

  “It takes a village?” he quips, smirking slightly. But I think he’s hiding nervousness.

  I nod. “I really think so.”

  “And if my village is…in a lot of villages?”

  “You mean you travel
all the time?” I shrug. “I can handle that. You see little peanut when you can, and when you’re gone, you FaceTime.” I pull my lips tight as surprise tears blur my vision. “Do you know how happy it makes me to think about my baby having a father?”

  He shakes his head slowly, his face somber. Then one corner of his mouth tucks up, and he looks sad. “I don’t.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Dammit.”

  “I know, right? Emotions.” He wrinkles his nose.

  “How is he? If you don’t mind that I ask?”

  He shrugs, his gaze on the mattress for just a second before meeting mine. “I have him up at Cedar Crest, you know, assisted living.” He shrugs again, just one shoulder. “He’s not drinking.”

  “That’s amazing. And it has to feel so good, you know? His body must be so much stronger now.”

  He pulls his features into a neutral sort of look that might be a poker face but probably is cover for a frown. “Dementia. So—hard to say.”

  “Ah, damn. I’m really sorry.”

  “Gets me hard faster than anything. You wanna make a baby?” He smiles, and it’s a little desperate and for sure a cover for the sad.

  “Oh yeah, after we talk about my grandma’s dentures. Kidding. She doesn’t have dentures.” I cross myself. “Sorry, Grandma Ellis. Her teeth are better than mine. WTH.”

  Gabe smiles. “You always brushed excessively.”

  “I know, that’s what they said! They gave me a soft toothbrush and said be gentle.” I roll my eyes.

  His smile broadens. “Too much of a good thing.”

  “Unlike this.” I lean in close to him, and Gabe’s hand comes to my cheek. Then we’re kissing…and it’s like the very first time.

  10

  Gabe

  It’s not supposed to go this way. Even as my body tears at Marley’s—I’m kissing my way frantically toward her pussy, and then nudging my tongue between her slit—alarms are peeling in my head.

  It shouldn’t be so effortless, so easy to be near her. She shouldn’t taste so good, feel so good.

  She’s not yours.

  I try to tell myself as she comes under my tongue, her soft thighs tensing around my shoulders. As she strokes my cock and looks into my eyes, her own gaze curious and kind—affirming, even. Marley feels just like a friend, her confidence and warmth overflowing in the ether between us. Where she was hesitant and insecure as a younger woman, now she seems strong and vibrant—in the very best of ways. I can feel it even in her grip on me: Marley is all in. She knows what she wants, and she is going to get it.