by Anthology
“You will be, Darling,” he informs me when he steps out of his slacks. Standing there in only his boxer briefs, I can’t stop my eyes drinking him in. The man is a god. He leans in, grips my ankles, lifting them to his mouth. His full lips tease their way up my calves in small kisses.
My eyes flutter closed as my head drops back in pleasure.
“Look at me. I want your eyes on me as I worship your beauty.” His mouth continues feathering soft kisses on my legs, higher and higher, until he’s once again on his knees between my thighs. “Either you take your underwear off, or I can rip them off. Your choice.” I quickly shift on the bed, shuffling my panties down my legs. Once my bra hits the carpet, he growls.
“You’re quite demanding, Mr. Stone.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Darling,” he quips as he settles himself between my thighs. His erection pressing against my mound, causing me to buck my hips. “Are you going to beg me now?” he questions.
“No. I don’t beg,” I retort, but my words are breathy. Needy. He doesn’t know how close I am to pleading. His one hand reaches between us, finding my slick lips, taunting me with slow strokes. “Oh, God!” I cry out when he teases my bundle of nerves, which sends sparks through me.
“That’s it, Darling, fuck my fingers.” His words fuel the fire in my stomach, tightening everything south of my belly button as he dips two fingers inside me. And like a wanton slut, I do as he says. I ride his fingers until I come hard, unraveling beneath him.
“You don’t play this game fair, Mr. Stone.”
“Nothing about this is fair,” he says as he leans back on his heels, his cock out, thick and hard, and I watch him slide on a condom. Then he covers me with his body, his shaft nudging my entrance.
I meet his eyes, and that’s when I finally obey him. I beg. “Please, fuck me, Landon,” I hiss as pleasure skitters down my spine when he drives into me. It’s hard, it’s fast, and it’s everything I needed. His hips slam into mine. Our bodies fit like puzzle pieces. Like a wave crashing on the shore, so Landon hovers over me, and I drown in him.
My legs wrap around his waist; my heels dig into his ass, pulling him in deeper. No words. Only moans and whimpers. Grunts and growls. And that’s how I finally let go of my past. But I know as we both find our release, moments after each other, that I’ll never be free. Which is all the more reason for me to walk away from this. To leave as soon as is humanly possible, because I’ll never be able to give him what he needs.
“Be mine,” he finally whispers the words I’ve been dreading.
I keep my eyes shut. I can’t look at him and tell him the truth. So, I give him the only answer I can. “Una notte.”
***
The warmth of the sun has nothing on Landon’s body against mine. His chest cocooning my back when I open my eyes. His apartment is beautiful, but there’s nothing that tells me he wants this to be his home. Which begs the question . . . Does he ever see himself settling down? I don’t know why the question comes to me, but it does.
This was meant to be one night. That’s all it can ever be. I’ve already broken every rule in my book. But I don’t regret last night. I don’t regret his touch, his kiss, or the way he made me come until I passed out.
“I know you’re awake, Darling,” Landon whispers in my ear. His voice heavy with sleep and lust. When he rolls his hips, his erection taunts me, pressing against the cheeks of my ass, causing me to whimper with need.
Who am I? What has this man done to me?
“You know, you’re quite the tame kitten when you’re turned on,” he chuckles into my hair, planting a kiss firmly on my head.
“Be careful, Landon, this kitten has claws,” I warn. Turning over to face him, I cup his handsome face in my hand. “I have to go.” I lean up, ensuring my lips meet his in a searing kiss, but when I try to pull away, Landon grips me to him. Holding me close, his body molds to mine.
“Stay,” he pleads. His eyes hold emotion, something that shouldn’t have happened. Shaking my head, I pull away once more, and this time he lets me go. Something I didn’t expect happens as I wrap the sheet around my naked body and leave him in bed. An ache in my chest causes my breath to hitch.
“Thank you for the evening, and morning, but it’s time for me to face reality. When you have the papers for me to sign, call me,” I tell him before making my way into the bathroom and dressing in last night’s clothes. He doesn’t follow me, and I don’t expect him to. Once I’m out on the sidewalk calling a taxi, the reality of what I did, how I feel about Landon sinks in my stomach like a lead weight. Memories of what we did, how his tongue, fingers, and cock made me tremble uncontrollably flit through my mind. Playing like a film, in high-fucking-definition.
The cab slows when we reach my building, and as if I’m on autopilot, I pay, exit the vehicle, and head into the hotel. It’s only when the door shuts with finality that I realize I didn’t want to leave the warmth of Landon’s bed, or his arms. I wanted to be cocooned, but there’s no way we could ever be more than I one-night stand.
Busying myself, I turn on the kettle and sigh as I watch the bubbles jump around the glass jug. It reminds me of how my stomach tumbled each time he smiled. How my body reacted every time his fingers would find my bare skin. And I slowly take all those emotions, the happiness, the excitement, and I bury it where I can no longer feel it. I can’t feel it.
A loud click alerts me that the water is boiled, and I fill my mug. Watching the steam rise from the rim, I feel the tears threaten, but as always, I blink them back. Well practiced. I pad over to the sofa and settle on it with thoughts of my one perfect night.
And my mind drifts to the man who gave it to me.
Landon Stone.
Only, I can never have it again.
Chapter Ten
Landon
Two fucking days. She sent a lawyer here to finalize the paperwork. She’s ignored my calls, messages, and when I went to her hotel, she didn’t answer the door. One perfect woman strolls into my life, and for the first time I want more.
It was meant to be one night. Una notte. That’s what I promised her, and that’s what she confirmed. But those secrets that danced in her eyes changed all that. I need more. I need to delve into the darkest parts of her mind and uncover what she kept hidden.
Picking up the phone, I hit dial on her number once more. Four rings and I’m about to give up when she finally answers.
“You need to stop, Landon.”
“I sold you a fucking building, Elisabet. I’m checking up on my property,” I hiss angrily. Feeling frustrated at her brush off. “You can’t just ignore me.”
“It was one night, Landon. This was always meant to be a business arrangement.” She sounds so fucking sure.
“Like fuck it is!” My fist slams down on the desk with a loud thud. I’m losing all control over a woman I know nothing about. “I need to see you.” I don’t know why I’m begging her. Clearly, she doesn’t want this, but it was the way she left that left me stung. Perhaps it’s me getting a taste of my own medicine that angers me, but I can’t just let her go without an explanation.
“I can’t do this, Landon. I told you the night we had dinner.” She’s confident in her words, but I know that there was chemistry between us. One night doesn’t mean shit when she feels what I do.
“Don’t walk away from something you feel, Darling,” I implore her, but the sigh on the other end of the line tells me all I need to know. No amount of pleading will change her mind. But what she doesn’t know is that Landon Stone doesn’t give up easily.
“Goodbye, Landon,” she says, hanging up before I have time to think.
Picking up my phone, I tap out Hailee’s number. “Hold calls, cancel meetings,” I tell my assistant. Pushing up from my chair, I grab my keys and head straight for the door. I move with purpose, stalking toward the elevator.
Once inside, I push the button for the garage. My mind is racing with possibilities as I exit on the ground l
evel and slip into my driver’s seat.
I speed out of the lot and into the road with the asshole behind me honking, but I don’t care. The only thing I can think about is getting to her and forcing her to tell me what the fuck she’s hiding.
It doesn’t take me long to arrive at her hotel, and when I see her car outside the building, I smile. “No getting away from me this time, Darling.” Exiting the car, I rush toward the building. Once inside, I easily take two steps at a time until I’m outside her door. Lifting my hand, I’m about to knock when it swings open and I’m met with those cocoa eyes.
“Landon.” My name is a gentle whisper on her lips, and I don’t wait. Leaning in, I plant a kiss on her mouth. She tries to pull away, but I don’t allow her to get that far. My hands hold onto her hips, pulling her closer. Needing her.
Our tongues duel, our bodies mold like they’ve been made to be together. I lift her up against me, and walk back into her apartment. Kicking the door shut, I let her down against the wooden surface, pinning her between it and my body.
“You’ve ignored me,” I say when I finally break the kiss.
“I needed to.” Her words heat my blood in anger. Allowing my hands to trail up to her breasts, I grip them firmly. Running my thumbs over her nipples that harden under my touch, I smile when she whimpers.
“You didn’t need to do anything. Look at this . . .” I drop one hand, placing it between her thighs where heat is emanating from her body. Cupping her pussy, I press my fingers against her slit. “You’re needy, wet, and you can’t deny this chemistry between us, Elisabet. There are no more lies. One night wasn’t enough. Admit it.” My eyes burn into her, imploring her to finally be honest.
“It was one night, Mr. Stone,” she finally says on a wry smile. “Una notte.” With that, she shuts the door to me. To us.
The end… or is it?
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HOPE SURFACING
(An excerpt novella from the upcoming novel, The Color of Hope)
By D.D. Lorenzo
Prologue
Reflection, especially personal, occurs best when looking at the big picture. Something greater than yourself. I ponder this revelation as I push against the wooden decking while looking out at the ocean. A frothy white foam takes a solid form at the water’s edge as the smooth back and forth rocking motion gently sways my chair. I brace myself against the sudden chill in the air by wrapping my favorite blanket around my shoulders. Its threads are filled with memories of days past and love experienced. I brought the blanket outside with me because I had anticipated a change in temperature. The ocean has a different type of chill to the air, but I have always preferred to live by the sea. I’ve gone through countless seasons along the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. As I rock, I recall how so many of my troubles and thoughts have been sorted and worked out in this very spot. Recollections reside amid so many memories. Most are good, some not so, but there is one thing that they have shown me: being near the sea clears my mind and soothes my soul. Today I am thinking about them all. The memories that are bordered with fringes of happiness glide easily through my thoughts, while those that are hurtful and challenging snag painfully on my heart. They unravel as they tug at the scars of sorrow left in their wake. I suppose that the good and bad have balanced out because I’m still breathing.
I look at the waves of blue to regain perspective. How can I not marvel at the majestic scene before me? The sun breaks through the clouds for a moment and the dark water is instantly transformed by the light shining down from above. It’s as though the waves are graced with a fragile silver thread. Like a beautiful necklace, it appears on the surface swaying with the saltwater curves. A gift from the heavens above. How simple and how profound. The sun kisses; the water receives. It is proof that when two treasures combine, the result is something so perfect and surreal that it surpasses human comprehension. A sweet reminder that when two people join their hearts together, the result can be amazing.
Tears fill my eyes as the sudden remembrance of being part of a pair pierces my soul. Thinking back, I realize that I was fortunate and blessed to have shared my heart with someone who gave back to me in equal measure. I was loved. The experience filled me and broke me, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t be who I am today without it.
Without love.
As I reminisce, my palm slides over the arm of the worn green paint on the Adirondack rocking chair. I habitually caress the wood in strokes of equal measure. How many times have I repeated the task to the metronome in my head? How many times have my fingertips lingered with long strokes over the lines and divots in the wood? Hundreds? Thousands? No matter. The solace I find in the repetitive coddling motion more than outweighs the repetition of the task. I obsessively run my palm in circles over the message carved into the wood beneath my hand. The action anchors me, reminding me that I was tethered to the heart of someone worthy. His love was all that I had needed, but love couldn’t survive without courage. Now, as a woman who has survived for so many years, I can only hope to be remembered as an example of the word I scratched into my rocking chair long ago. My life, my loves, and the strength I have gleaned from those experiences are all that I have to show of my existence. Would anyone want to know my story? Would someone care enough to share that love—real love—is worth all the risks you must take to obtain it? If only.
A smile crosses my lips as I recall how I’ve lived my life in stages, but not all in the order that they should have occurred. Most people use their younger years to fill selfish needs and employ their later ones to meet the needs of others. I consider myself odd because I had reversed them. As a young woman, I had found a satisfactory pleasure in pouring out as much of myself as possible to those who needed it. All of the people in my life—family, friends, and clients—were more than happy to be on the receiving end of my giving nature. But I didn’t exercise wisdom. I gave away too much of myself and found that my energy was depleted by the end of the day. Generosity wasn’t always reciprocated, which led me to the harsh discovery that life isn’t fair and life lessons can be bitter. After learning too many times what it felt like to be used, I found myself hoarding my emotions. My tank had been full, but the cruelties of life had depleted it at too young of an age. I’ve made many mistakes. Among them, I learned that too often I gave credit where it was not due, forgave those that were unforgivable, and excused actions that should have been inexcusable. All of this I did to gift myself a bit of peace, but forgiveness at this age is in short supply. I now know not to waste time on those whose motives are self-serving. I’m older. I should be wiser.
Yet I do count myself somewhat lucky. Time, tempered with the refinement of grace, has taught me invaluable lessons. I have grown beneath the light of having been loved and cared for. I have flourished while being held tightly in someone’s arms. I have also learned that I am a better person for having paid attention to those who would hurt me. The opportunists. Those that spoke soft, caring words, all while carrying out their selfish agendas. Those with an invisible knife at my back. The lesson I learned from dealing with those people is that now I don’t trust easily. If you have a giving heart, as I once did, you quickly discover the brutality of people crossing any boundary to serve their own purpose. They are the bastards who twisted my heart until there was nothing left but a cynical lump of muscle in my chest. My thoughts anger me and I push the heel of my hand into the carved letters beneath it. Maybe the force will imprint the word on my skin. As much as I wish it would, I still do not possess all of the traits that the simple word implies.
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I continue rocking as the clouds part and rays of sunshine pour over me. The heat warms me despite the cool breeze and I feel an infusion of energy course through my veins. A sensation of freedom occurs, nearly identical to that on the day that I decided to let one small word become my mantra. If I had been able to, I would have carved it into my skin to intermingle its definition with my blood. I remember the desperation that I felt on that day, but I had feared that I wouldn’t do it right. The very idea of self-inflicted wounds was not something I relished. That day and those thoughts had been my breaking point. Emotional pain had overshadowed the physical. Despondency had blanketed and suffocated me, while heartbreak had rendered me useless. I had cried until I made myself numb, and in the silence, I heard one word. It started as a whisper and got louder as it looped repeatedly. I reached for it, hooked my fingers through it, and grabbed it tightly within my fists. How could language do that? How could one word among thousands give hope to a desperate heart? How much power could one word yield that its definition could make you choose life or death?
I held onto the hope that those few letters promised and carved the word into my chair that day, wondering if it was akin to tattooing flesh on bone. I contemplated my thoughts and actions as I concentrated on the task at hand. As tears of hope fell from my eyes, they comingled with the tiny shavings. The word became mine. It no longer belonged to the masses. It was my new mindset. Should I forget what it meant, all I had to do was flip through the pages of the dictionary to remind me of the dark and light places where I had traveled both physically and mentally. It was my mission, as well as my compass. The embodiment of where I wanted to go and who I wanted to be. When I had finished my task, I realized exactly what that word was.
