by Nicole Snow
“No way! You didn't!” I'm in his arms, running my hands over his rough, handsome face as he carries me in. I do a double take and start laughing when I see the bed.
It's even more ridiculous than the one in his old room. It's like a Victorian thing on steroids with posts reaching almost to the ceiling, and a burgundy canopy threatening to envelope us for days, leaving us stranded together.
“I specifically requested it. Didn't get a chance to do half the shit I wanted to with that old bed, and this thing gives me all kinds of ways to hold you down 'til you're pregnant.”
Pregnant. Just the word makes me grab him and kiss him, hungry and hard as I can.
Okay, yeah, it's a little early in my new career for a baby, but writing is always family friendly. He's talked about having a big family for months, and my panties burn a little more each time I think about our future.
I'm ready. I'm willing. And I'm going to give him the greatest gift of all.
“Get this damned thing off before I shred it,” he growls, pushing me onto the bed. We climb in together as he shoves the curtain shut.
I pick at my dress, trying to unwrap it, while he effortlessly drops out of his fancy uniform. There's no brakes once he's naked.
“Too slow. Now, you're losing those panties first, then everything except the heels.” I laugh and try to slap him away, but he's too determined.
He reaches up beneath my skirt and rips them down, spreading my legs. He doesn't bother getting my dress off before he shoves his face between my legs.
My fingernails reach for the smooth sheets and grab fistfuls. I pull them hard, tense, all I can do not to lose my mind as I'm sweating rivulets in my wedding dress, staining it with wild lust for this crazy, beautiful man.
Chris growls as he licks through my folds, tonguing my pussy before driving up to my clit. He draws it deep, holds it when I start to buck my hips, panting and calling his name.
Chris, Chris, Chris! His name becomes a curse and a prayer before I'm too blitzed for words at all.
His fingers stroke my pussy while he laps my bud with insistent, fiery licks, sending me crashing into ecstasy. The white of my wedding gown engulfs everything as I see stars, coming on his face for the first time as a married woman.
I glide down from the high, but it fades less than ever. He pulls me up and lifts me out of the dress, surprisingly gently, using his SEAL precision.
“Hands on the post, babe. Don't move 'em 'til I say so.” He takes my hands and wraps them around the big corner post, spreading my thighs. “I'll hose you off in the morning with the champagne chilling in that bucket, whenever we're too exhausted to fuck again.”
Oh, God. With the edge in his voice, it sounds like it's going to be days, and my pussy pulses. He doesn't even need a belt or a rope this time – his words are enough to keep me bound where he wants me.
I'm still marveling at it when I feel his hands on my ass. He pushes into me with a firm, powerful thrust, grunting when he his cock drives deep into my unprotected depths.
My sex drive is off the charts since we went natural. I don't know if I've been off the stuff long enough to truly get pregnant, but I'm certainly going to try.
And with the way he's fucking me, so is he. He plows into me, stretching me open, shaking my entire body with a passion that's ten times more intense than every other time he's been inside me.
I'm thrown onto the precipice in a matter of minutes. He's drilling me, fucking me, owning me like the ring on my finger gives him permission to ravage me on demand, any way he wants.
Of course, it does, and I love it.
I'm screaming from the tension building between my legs when I start to come. Everything below my waist turns into a hot, twisted, sticky mess. My body explodes an instant, gushing on the sheets.
“Fucking shit, is finding out you're a squirter part of tonight too?” he growls, grabbing at my hair. “Doesn't matter, babe. Here it comes. I love you so goddamned much.”
It's the last thing he can say before his sounds become one long, drawn out growl. I feel his cock stab into me and stop, rooted, swelling in my pulsing silk. He's come inside me dozens of times before, but never like this.
When I feel his ropes shoot into me, it's somehow hotter, wilder, rich and mysterious with the stuff of life. My pussy convulses all over again, taking everything he has to offer, fusing with him until we're throbbing and groaning as one.
I'm his furnace that moment, and he's the fuel.
He's given me his energy, his life, and he's turned me into something marvelous. Now I'm going to take his love, his seed, and give him our entire future.
When the firestorm finally releases us, we lay tangled together, his huge inked body cocooning me. His cock feels good against my ass half-hard. I know it won't be long before he's ready again, and this is a perfect place to lift my leg and start while his hand covers my breast, flicking my nipple as we kiss.
“You're the hottest woman on the planet when you're wrapped around my cock,” he says, stamping his lips over my neck. “The new recruits are fucked. I'd tell 'em to find a good woman to push them through the bullshit overseas, but I've got myself the best. Nobody compares to you, sis.”
I turn my head, smiling into his bright green eyes. He hasn't called me that for awhile. It shouldn't be this exciting – especially when it's not even true anymore.
“We're not stepsiblings anymore, Chris. You shouldn't keep pretending.”
“Yeah, thank fuck. Pretending? Babe, I don't give a shit who or what the fuck you are. You're my woman, my bride, my property, my cement in this perfect family we're about to make. Is it so wrong I love you like a sister, a soul mate, and a whore all in one?”
His filthy words should shock me, but instead I just smile. The passion rolling out of his mouth still scares me sometimes in the best ways.
He's crazy, he's wonderful, and he's a badass. He's everything I'll ever want and all I'll ever need.
When I'm finally ready to answer him, I reach down and wrap my fingers around the length hardening against me, pulsing with new need that won't be satisfied until I'm his vessel again.
“I don't think anything with you will ever be wrong,” I say, gently stroking up and down, waiting for him to push my hand away and spread my legs. “I love you so much, husband. SEAL. Stepbrother.”
He grins, tangling his fingers through my hair, and pushing me onto my back. I watch as he moves between my legs, holding his cock at my entrance, full and teasing.
“Good. Let's use some of that love to find out who we'll be when we're complete.” He lowers his face to my ear, nipping at my earlobe before he speaks more. “Don't think I'll ever stop fucking you through the nursery rhymes and family holidays. I'll never get enough of your body, your taste, or the way you make my heart boom like a damned rocket.”
I run my hands over the angry dragon that's been re-inked since his scars healed, and the trident that reminds me every day I'm safe forever with this man.
He's right. I can feel his heartbeat. I let my palms linger there, pushing into his hard muscle as he sinks inside me, claiming me again.
We're both getting better with words, but there's still so much only our bodies can say. And right now, his talks loud and clear, telling me he'll love me forever.
Chris isn't just my stepbrother or a cocky SEAL I've fallen madly in love with. He's everything that makes me smile, want, and love.
He's my entire life. Unsealed, a little unhinged, and glorious.
Man Enough Extended Preview
Man Enough: A Single Dad Romance
By Nicole Snow
Extended Preview. Get the full book here!
I: Cupcakes for Room 205 (Tabby)
They say a woman knows it's obvious when she's found the one.
Prince Charming isn't subtle.
She remembers every first with Mr. Right. Every second, third, and fourth.
Every beat of her own enchanted heart.
His face, his
smell, the mischief dancing in his eyes that makes her all tingly and weak-kneed looking back on their wedding day, and then again many years later through the fog of love.
The lyrical cadence of his voice etches on her brain forever. His first kiss – the one that has to happen with storybook perfection – leaves the heart drumming on infinity shuffle, an echo of sweet nostalgia in her blood.
When I first saw Rex Osborne, there was none of that.
Just the roar of his old truck pulling into our lot. Two doors slamming shut. A half-second glance at him from behind while I hoisted the snow-packed shovel over my shoulder.
Another second spent staring harder. Maybe I thought his shoulders looked a little out of place in this small town.
Too big. Too broad. Too tall. Too heavy.
Too much urgency in his step.
Too much man for Split Harbor, and for me.
I heard two distant little voices at his feet, murmuring the happy nothings children do. Then the three of them disappeared inside the lodge.
It lasted all of three seconds before I tucked my head down and went back to work, scraping snow off the path. I only stopped for one more thing.
A growl rumbled in the sky, almost like thunder, totally out of place in frozen dead February.
I still don't know if I imagined it.
But I didn't imagine him.
I didn't know I'd met the man who'd ruin imagining for good, who'd tear what I thought I knew to pieces, who'd dynamite my heart, and who'd ground himself in my life's smoking crater.
Rex taught me so many things and showed me many more. Like what's real, what's undeniable, what's worth every shred of passion in two fiery souls.
Rex taught me how to live. How to love. How to hurt.
And then Rex set me free.
I tuck the shovel into the corner of the porch railings right next to the bucket of rock salt I’ll need again first thing in the morning. So far we've only gotten a light dusting of snow, but more is predicted.
No surprises. It’s winter. In Michigan.
My cheeks puff as I hold in the heavy sigh burning my lungs, wanting out. It is what it is. This is my home. My livelihood. My future.
I need to be thankful for that. All of it. And I need to be satisfied, too.
I owe Gramps big time. If not for him, Lord knows where I’d be right now. Rather than living in a lodge where people pay good money to rest, relax, and enjoy life, I might've ended up in a foster home.
Shaking off the melancholy that's been weighing heavier and heavier lately, I push open the employee entrance and remove my boots, coat, hat and mittens before sitting down on the bench to change into tennis shoes.
It'll be better when Russ returns, I tell myself. Who’d have guessed a guy could break an ankle so bad he’d need two surgeries by just stepping wrong off a ladder?
One less pair of strong hands. Which also means I’ll be shoveling a whole lot more yet this winter.
“Break time’s over.”
I glance up and crack a smile at my grandfather’s words. “Break time?”
The wrinkles around his twinkling blue eyes increase as he chuckles while walking down the narrow hallway. “I’ve been looking to hire someone to take over Russ’ duties, but –”
I laugh, interrupting him. “Everyone knows you too well, Gramps. Most who've worked for you before aren’t willing to do it again.”
“Only the lazy ones.”
“So, everyone in Northern Michigan?” I can't resist poking fun at my Gramps' impossible standards.
He scowls at me, which only makes me laugh harder. Pushing off the bench, I step closer to him and pat his upper arm. The softness my hand encounters reminds me he’s not as big and strong as he once was.
He’s run the Grand Pine Lodge for over fifty years. He'll continue until his old heart stops beating. And I’ll be right beside him. Probably after, too. This lodge has been in our family since the first building sprung up over a hundred years ago.
Like it or not, I know my destiny. My place. Some days, it's just harder to accept than others.
“I don’t mind shoveling the sidewalks. Never have and never will,” I tell him. Truth be told, it’s partly my fault that Russ broke his ankle. Fixing up the stables was my idea. A way to expand the services we offer, and hopefully increase occupancy and revenue. “Wes Owens will still plow. Just as long as Russ comes back by spring so we don’t have to hire lawn care, we’ll be fine.”
Gramps wraps an arm around my shoulder, nodding his thanks. “We make a good team, Tabby-kitten.”
“That we do, Pops.”
He scowls again, but then we both laugh. He doesn’t like being called Pops any more than I like being called Tabby-kitten. Never have liked nicknames. Tabby is close enough to a nickname all by itself, and it's all I've got. But I do love the old man, despite how ornery he can be sometimes.
“We got a late arrival,” he says, kissing my temple.
“Oh? I didn’t see a reservation.” I saw the man with two kids from a distance while I was busy shoveling, of course, but I don't say anything. Some days, we have more quick stops here looking for directions than proper guests.
“Didn’t have one. I put them in room 205. You’ll need to take something up for them to eat.”
I nod. None of this is unusual. Exceptional guest service in the middle of nowhere is our specialty, and being as small as we are, it’s not like we’re ever bursting at the seams. However, this time of year, after the holidays and before spring, we can go weeks without a single guest. “How many?”
“Three. I already told Marcy.”
“All right.” I plant a kiss on his soft and wrinkled cheek. “I’ll see to it, no problem. You head on up to bed and I’ll lock up after delivering the food.” With a grin over my shoulder as I start walking towards the kitchen door, I add, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Not if I see you first.”
The joke is almost as old as him, but I still laugh, mainly because he expects it. Life here would be nothing without reflexes, habits, and little rituals. I wait near the kitchen door until after he turns the corner that leads to the back stairs. Then I let out the sigh that was still inside me and push open the door.
Hustling around the large kitchen like it’s on fire, Marcy takes a couple single serving milk cartons out of the double-door fridge and sets them on an already full tray. She’s been with the lodge as long as I can remember, a wonderful cook. With my baking skills, we make a good team.
I lift the metal lid off the plate on the tray. “Yum, chicken salad.”
“I have a sandwich in the fridge for you, too,” Marcy says with a smile.
Skipping meals is my specialty. Comes with running the lodge, where there's never enough hours in the day to cover everything. “What would I do without you?”
“Me? Nonsense, Tabby. This place wouldn’t run without you,” she answers. “Everyone knows it. Including that grumpy old man.”
Marcy loves Gramps as much as I do, and works just as hard. “I'll clean after delivering this and then lock up.” Lifting the tray off the center island, I say, “Goodnight.”
“Sleep tight,” she says, removing the apron she wears day and night.
She has dozens of aprons, all handmade. I still don’t know when she finds the time to sew them up in her room on the third floor. Both she and Gramps have rooms up there.
In that respect, I'm lucky. I live in the cabin out back – except when I have to evacuate due to a huge group of guests rolling in. Thankfully, it doesn't happen often.
I exit the kitchen and head towards the back service stairway. The large front steps, as well as the small but serviceable elevator, are reserved for guests only. I try to tread carefully. These stairs are known to creak and I don't want to disturb the few guests we have, making my way up them and down the hall to room 205.
There, I shift the tray in order to balance it against me so I can use one hand to knock. Before that happe
ns, the door flies open. A huge hand grabs my arm, pulling me inside the room.
I manage to keep the tray from falling, but when I meet the nasty glare of the man still clutching my arm, I dang near drop it again.
“What the hell do you want and why are you sneaking around in the hallway?”
Holy crap. Guests have rarely dumbfounded me and never scared me. Until now.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Tongue-tied? Since when?
“Well?” he snaps before my mind has a chance to force my tongue loose.
I finally take a good look at Mr. Porcupine. My heart skips a beat. If he wasn’t so scary demanding, he’d be damn near gorgeous.
“Are those cupcakes?”
“Are they for us?”
The little voices coming from across the room snap me out of my deer-in-headlights mode. My heart slides out of my throat and back down in my chest where it belongs as I turn and see two little boys. Adorable little boys dressed in red and white striped pajamas with sandy-blond hair and big blue eyes.
The same shade of blue as the man still clutching my arm. No man, at least not one with an ounce of sanity, would accost a woman in front of his kids, so I jerk my arm out of his hold and carry the tray to the table in the center of the room.
“Yes, they're cupcakes, and they're yours.” My nerves are settling. Teasingly, I add, “But only if you like chocolate.”
“We do!” they sing in unison.
Twins. Identical, and with those eyes, the man could never deny parentage. Thankful my mind works again, I turn to their papa, whose scowl could rival Gramps any day of the week. Slowly exhaling my relief, because I know grumpy men far too well, I say, “I wasn’t sneaking. I was busy bringing you something to eat. Your sons are obviously hungry.”
His piercing blue eyes practically burn holes through me, but I hold my own. He’s mad, that’s a given, but there's something deeper in those eyes. Fear almost.
Odd.
What would scare a man like him? He’s over six feet tall, buff, and certainly not a weakling. His jawline looks strong pinched tight, built like it's made for kicking butt and kissing girls stupid. And the rest of him...sweet baby Jesus. The longer I stare, the harder it is believing there's such a bastard stuffed in this Adonis. I rub my arm, hoping it won't bruise tomorrow from my grabby mystery man.
