by Knox, Abby
I can’t tell what Reese is thinking, his face is as pinched as ever as he watches Avery spread her fast and upbeat energy all over the place.
I follow her to the break room, wondering if I should offer to take her bags, or make her a fresh pot of coffee, or — I don’t know — offer to shine her shoes. The sense I get is she doesn’t need or want anyone to do anything of the sort, but … something about her makes me want to be in the same room to watch what happens next.
Any sports editor in his right mind would be in a panic that his new writer doesn’t seem to know the difference between baseball and football. But as I watch her sip terrible break-room coffee with those full, pink lips, I know I’m far from in my right mind.
I’m in big trouble. This whole place, in fact, is in big, big trouble.
Epilogue
The following Christmas
Crosby
Ridley yawns, nearly unable to hoist herself up the staircase. “I’m going to bed.”
It’s our first Christmas as a married couple and to my surprise, Ridley wants to spend it at home. Not her childhood mansion on the tallest hill in town, nor at her father’s enormous lake house. But in our little bungalow on Main Street.
It’s Christmas Eve, and we’ve just returned home early from our parents’ Christmas party. Ridley pooped out early, and I’m expecting an email with the prototype of the new game I’ve designed around a central character that looks oddly like Ridley on our wedding day.
I look up, and next to her on the stairs, I notice a lump in my stocking.
“But babe,” I say. “You said you wanted to open our stockings together tonight by the tree.”
She yawns again, holding herself up on the banister. “I know, but I’m so tired,” she says. “You can go ahead and fill my stocking and we’ll open them in the morning, OK?”
I watch her slump up the stairs, and then I go to fill the kettle to make her some tea. Perhaps she’s not feeling well and she’ll want some to drink later, I think.
While the water boils, I can’t keep control of my curiosity. I plunge my hand into the stocking and pull out a small, flat, cardboard box, unwrapped. In it, is a strange black and white photograph.
I turn it to the side and realize, finally, what it is.
Forgetting all about the tea, I climb the stairs and slide into bed, wrapping my arms and legs around her from behind, my tears dripping into her beautiful hair.
* * *
Ridley
My hand comes up to cup my husband’s face as his warmth surrounds me.
“You were supposed to wait until morning,” I say sleepily, but not really mad.
“How long have you known,” he asks, ignoring my question.
“Couple of months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted it to be a Christmas surprise,” I say.
“You have to stop keeping secrets from me, Ridley.”
I giggle. “But it’s so much fun when you get all worked up about it.” The hand that cups his face as he spoons me lets go so my arm can reach back and squeeze his hard ass. In response, Crosby presses into me with a ragged grunt.
“Don’t grope me if you’re tired; you’ll wake up the Gamer’s Favorite Joystick.”
The snort that escapes me has Crosby laughing and rolling me onto my back. “Just tell me to stop if you’re sleepy.”
I stretch out my limbs slowly and lazily like a cat while he tugs away my Christmas pajama pants. Then I inhale sharply at the pleasant sensation of my husband’s beautiful mouth on my lady bits.
“Hmm. You can send me to sleep just like that. Take your time,” I say.
Crosby moans against my sensitive skin, kisses my folds, licks my clit until it’s awake and needy for release. “Sweetheart, I plan to make you scream until you fall asleep, both as a thank you and a punishment for my Christmas present.”
I go nonverbal. Some strange, guttural lady growls escape me as Crosby’s mouth kisses, licks, nibbles and sucks every inch of me between my thighs. I’m close to bursting in response to all the sensations, combined with the sounds, and the vibration of his low, masculine moans. I arch my body closer but he grips me tight to him with his arms. “Let me hold you up. Relax into my arms, babe. I don’t need your help for this.”
Something in his words bring me even closer to the edge. My hands scrabble around the sheets, then go to his hair, then up above my head to grip the railings of the headboard. I’m on happiness sensation overload.
I break, finally, and I’ve never screamed so loud or rolled my eyes back into my head so hard. My body shatters in the kind of orgasm that should be written about in the history books. Man invents fire. Women march for the right to vote. Crosby gives Ridley such good oral she sees the stars of a completely different galaxy altogether.
He keeps on savoring every last drop through wave after wave of aftershocks. Minutes pass and I’m still quivering, whimpering.
Crosby slides up behind me, warming my body with his skin. His warmth sends me off to sleep on Christmas Eve with the visions of our future queen bee dancing in my head and growing in my belly.
Epilogue
Five years later
Crosby
We walk the halls of Greenbridge Academy to help our daughter, Antonia, become familiar with the grounds. Ridley and I have just enrolled her in kindergarten here. Knowing that her mom and grandparents went here, she wanted to see all of it. Including the case that holds the tiara and crown with everyone’s names who have ever been prom king or queen on a plaque next to it.
“Oooh, pretty!”
Our daughter gazes in wonder and awe at the sparkly tiara that sits in the case at the Greenbridge Academy’s Hall of Fame, at the dark end of the long hallway boasting state swim trophies, national chess championships, debate wins, and notable alumni who've gone on to be Secretaries of State, military generals, Ivy League university presidents and more.
“Honey,” Ridley says, “look at Mommy’s swim trophy. Isn’t that amazing?”
I chuckle. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I say.
Ridley eyes our daughter, who is staring up at the tiara, and reminds me, “Remember when she was born and my father tried to put his own private security team on the maternity wing?”
I laugh and pet my daughter’s hair, which resembles that of my wife’s. “Mr. Rushmore met his match in the form of neo-natal RNs that day. I bet he wasn’t expecting that.”
“No, they were not having him. They almost didn’t let him in to see us,” she says, “and he ended up gifting every nurse on the wing a free week’s stay at a Rushmore resort of their choice.”
“And remember how your mother fought with the hospital photographer on just the right angle for the baby’s first photograph?”
Ridley shakes her head. “Oh yes, how could I forget? I was still stuck in bed after my C-section and powerless to stop her. At least your mom was the voice of reason and stepped in to calm her down.”
I give my wife a squeeze. “I’m glad our moms are friends.”
“I want to wear the crown. Mommy, please?”
Ridley shakes her head at our daughter and removes her hands from the glass, where they’ve now made fingerprints. “No, honey. It has to stay in the case so it doesn’t get dusty. And, it’s very old and fragile, not a toy.”
Antonia stomps her foot. “I know it’s not a toy. That’s my crown!”
I hold my breath, but my wife leans down and says to our daughter, “I said no. And if you stomp your foot again, you don’t get to play video games with Daddy later.”
Antonia pouts and stares daggers at my wife. But not even a five year old — spoiled rotten by her namesake grandfather — can stand up to my wife. The staring contest goes on for another thirty seconds before Antonia heaves a sigh. “OK.”
“Good girl. You can wear your toy tiara when we get home,” I say.
“And we can also talk about some pretty great women at th
is school who did more impressive things than wore a crown,” Ridley says.
But Antonia is already distracted by the plaque on the wall next to the oversized painting of her grandfather, the school’s largest donor. “I’m going to be like PaPa Anthony when I grow up.”
“Oh god,” I say, laughing and trying not to let my daughter see the mock horror on my face.
Ridley places a hand on her lower tummy.
“Well, we might get a second chance at another little gamer or a swimmer. Or, you know, another little individual who can do whatever the hell she wants.”
“What do you mean?” Crosby asks.
I lean in close and whisper in his ear while sliding a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “You’re a smart fellow. I think you know exactly what it means. The force is strong with my big nerd.”
THE END
About the Author
Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.
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Also by Abby Knox
The Greenbridge Academy series
Swim Coach (book one)
Grumpy Dad (book two)
Benefactor (book three)
Headmistress (book four)
Queen Bee (Book five, Ridley’s story! Coming soon! … formerly titled Prom Queen. I changed it, because I can.)
The Very Good Boy Duet
Fencing Her In (A bad neighbors to lovers story. With a lot of dogs. You need this in your life.)
Doing Him Good (An insta-love, sowing-his-wild-oats whirlwind romance.)
* * *
Need more?
From the Small-Town Bachelor Romance Series
(each can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want to read in order … this is the order)
Take Me Home
Game Face
Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition
Walk With Me
Stay the Night
I’ve Got You
Come And Get It
* * *
The Windy City Holiday Duet
Pumpkin and Spice
Comfort and Joy
* * *
Beach Avenue Babes
His Vinyl Vixen (a stand alone for the rock ’n’ roll nerd in all of us)
Her Hi-Fi Hunk (Dusty and Jed from His Vinyl Vixen)
* * *
Stand alone short reads and novellas
The Halloween Bet
One Good Woman (a stand-alone mistaken identity/conspiracy/political drama)
Naughty Irish Heart (a time-hopping Saint Patrick’s Day Romance — two couples and two HEAs in one book! Part of a four-author themed collection!)
Sweet Jane
(An over-the-top amnesia story about being lost, and then found.)
The Christmas Pickup (a holiday short read full of feels, quirky characters and one damn hot tow truck driver!)
Saved for Me
(a special Holidays with Alexa Riley story)
Matched for Me (A Valentine’s Day story with Fletcher from Saved for Me)
Off-Season Stud (a fun and sexy vacation trope with an OTT ending!)
* * *
The Sisters of Enchantment series (a paranormal collection of stories about … yes … witches. I know you want more of these … they’re coming!)
Some Basic Witch
Witch, Please!
