by Measha Stone
“Please.” She wiggled her ass at him. She needed more than just his finger; she needed all of him. His kisses, his cock, his heart.
His finger left her, and he pressed his cock to her entrance while his hands grabbed her hips. “I love this garter belt, Angel. Fucking love it with this dress piled up on your back. It’s like you were made for me.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, a smile on her lips. “Don’t make me wait, Damien. Please.”
“No, we’ve waited long enough,” he said and plowed forward, filling her almost painfully.
He took no time to let her adjust to him before pulling back and thrusting again. And again. He was like a man possessed. As though he’d waited his whole life for this moment and he wasn’t going to let it slip away. His fingers dug into her skin, his cock thrust hard into her. He bent over her body, kissing and biting at the bit of exposed shoulder.
“Damien!” she cried out, feeling the pressure building unbearably inside her. One of his hands maneuvered between her and the bed, finding her clit and flicking it. Her eyes crossed at the arousal that flooded her. “More!” she screamed when he backed off on the force of his thrusts.
He slapped her hip and drove forward as his fingers pinched the bundle of nerves—sending her catapulting over the edge. She cried out with each new wave hitting her until they slowed down and let her breathe again.
Damien pulled her ass back toward him and plowed into her once more before his own cries of release filled the room. His forehead dropped onto her back, his hot breath washing over her skin.
“Angel,” he said in a raw tone.
“Yeah?”
“You’re never leaving me again.” He pinched her ass.
She smiled. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“You’ll be mine forever.” The heavy words were spoken softly.
“Always, Damien. I’ll be yours, obediently ever after,” she said lacing her fingers through his hand at her side.
Epilogue
“I think you’re taking this too seriously.” Angelica stood in the corner of their bedroom three months after she’d moved into Damien’s townhouse. Her ass was burning and throbbing from the paddling he’d just given her.
It probably wasn’t the time to dispute his claim that she needed to dial back some of her volunteer hours.
“I think you’re not taking it seriously enough, Angel,” he said from behind her, too close. His hand cupped her ass. “Maybe we weren’t done discussing things before.”
She shook her head. “I’m not being disrespectful anymore,” she pointed out. Her yelling at him had landed her over his lap, but she was keeping her tone civil now.
“That’s right, you’re not. Fine. Say what you want to say, then.” He stepped away from her, leaving the cool air of the room to brush against her burning ass.
“Can I turn around?” she asked. Talking to the corner didn’t exactly give her the confidence that she needed to win the argument.
“I can hear you fine like that,” he answered. She imagined him with his arms crossed over his chest, his feet spread in his typical authoritative stance in case she decided to make a run for it.
She’d only done that one time, and she’d never ever do it again. Not until he burned that damn cane he’d pulled out after the stunt.
“Fine,” she huffed. “I only volunteer a few hours a day.”
“Yes, but you do it four days a week, on top of your working hours, and now you’re talking about Sundays as well. It’s too much.”
“Too much,” she scoffed. “It’s volunteering, not working in a coal mine.”
“I know you enjoy volunteering, but you’re thinning yourself out too much. You need at least one day a week to do nothing.”
“You mean to be at your beck and call,” she muttered.
A hard swat landed on her ass, and she yelped.
“No. I want my wife home with me for at least one day. Not to serve me like some maid, but I wouldn’t mind going out to dinner now and then, or just sitting up and watching a movie. You’ve been taking on too much, and you’re exhausted.”
She blinked a few times. Lowering her hands, she turned around, no longer caring about the rules of corner time.
“Did you say your wife?”
His glare softened.
“I suppose I did.” He smiled.
“Were you going to ask, or did you make that decision for me?” she asked, fighting back a smile. He rarely made decisions that impacted her without asking or talking to her about it first. He wasn’t like the rest of her family who still wanted to dictate every move she made.
“I was going to ask. Later. In a much more romantic gesture than this. Preferably with you facing me instead of your spanked ass.” He laughed.
“I don’t want a big wedding,” she blurted out, making him laugh harder.
“Then we won’t have one. Just a small ceremony. Hell, we can just go to city hall and get it done for all I care,” he said.
She studied him silently for a long moment. “Three days of volunteer work. No Sundays unless they absolutely need me.”
“Now you’re being reasonable.” He motioned to the bed. “Are you ready for the second part?”
“Second part? I just agreed to marry you and to give up some of my volunteer hours.” She waved a hand.
“I mean the part where you take off that damn dress of yours and lie on your back with those gorgeous legs spread wide for me, so I can see the pussy I’m about to fuck.” He pulled his shirt off as he walked to the bed.
He had a way of mixing a romantic tone with crude words. If his glare and his kiss didn’t heat her body up for him, the dirty talk would make her melt into his hands.
And in his hands was exactly where she wanted to be.
Always and ever.
Thank you for reading Obediently Ever After! I hope you loved meeting Damien and Angel! They’d love to meet all the people, so please spread the word- tell a friend about these books!
Not ready to leave Ever After yet? Perfect. Meet Erik and Melinda in the dark Red Riding Hood retelling: RED. It’s out now! You’ll find an excerpt on the following page!
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RED
CHAPTER ONE
Caffeine really was a girl’s best friend. Whoever made up that lie about it being diamonds obviously hadn’t been introduced to the right cup of coffee.
Melinda entered Into the Woods coffee house, taking a deep breath to enjoy the brewing beans. It had been a long day, and she needed the pick-me-up before heading home for dinner with her grandmother.
Melinda stepped to the end of the line and grabbed her phone from her jeans back pocket. Swiping the screen to life, she dove into her emails—having been too lost in her writing to check them earlier.
She deleted the garbage cluttering her inbox until her eyes landed on a possible life changer. An email that could either break her heart or make her day. Taking a deep breath, her insides shaking, she opened the email. This could be it.
Two sentences in, the shaking stopped, and the nagging twist of despair surfaced.
Her heart sank into her thick wool socks.
Another rejection.
She knew it was bound to happen. Over and over again, she’d be rejected before a literary agent picked her up. And then it would be another few rounds of rejection before a publishing house picked up the book. A lot of agony to get to the big payoff at the end—a publishing deal.
It was what she’d worked her ass off for the last two years. With her MFA degree in one hand and her dreams in the other, she’d jumped out into the world. Each new rejection chipped away at the newfound confidence, but she’d get there.
She had to.
It was all she really had left.
“Excuse me, can you move up?” A woman behind her tapped her shoulder. Melinda looked up, n
oting the large gap in front of her. While her career had taken a step back, the rest of the line had taken a step forward.
“Oh. Sorry.” Melinda hurried forward, tripped on her own boot, and stumbled smack into the next customer’s broad back.
“Oomph! Sorry!” She retreated a small step.
He twisted halfway around, but it was enough for her to see his rugged features. Clear blue eyes peered down at her. Full lips curled into a joyless grin. She couldn’t see his chin beneath his thick dirty-blond beard, but, judging from the muscular mass of the rest of him, she easily assumed it was tense.
“Are you okay?” he asked in a low tenor.
“Yes. Thanks. Sorry about that.” She pulled the lapels of her coat together, needing to feel more guarded with him.
“Maybe you should put the phone away. It seems to be distracting you.” His pointed gaze moved to her hand gripping the device.
Her cheeks heated at the obvious reprimand.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Her lips tightened, but she kept smiling. She had bumped into him, after all. But he didn’t need to be such an ass about it.
“Well?” He raised his brows at her, like he was waiting for something.
“Oh. Uh.” She blinked a few times, not really sure what was happening.
“Put it away,” he said in that same deep voice. Quiet enough the rest of the coffee shop couldn’t hear their exchange, but she heard it. The authority in his tone, the steely resolve in his eyes, all of it sent a familiar tingle through her body.
A tingle she didn’t have time for, she reminded herself. No distractions. Just work. The thick air of authority hanging around him made it more difficult, but she would have to power through.
With a huff, she slid the phone back into her pocket. If it would get him to turn around, she’d put her phone away. He just needed to focus his attention elsewhere.
“What can I get for you, sir?” The young girl behind the counter rescued Melinda.
He stepped up and gave his order. A black coffee. Simple. It seemed to fit him.
She shook her head. Fit him. What the hell was she thinking? Deciding to tune out his presence, she focused her eyes on the menu. She already knew her order. Medium Caramel Latte. Same as always. Always knowing what was coming. That was safety.
After he paid, he moved to the left to wait for his drink. Melinda stepped up, doing her best to ignore his hulking presence.
The cafe was nestled in the heart of downtown, near the university. Most of the patrons were students or people who worked in the nearby shops. He didn’t fit there. Though with his bulk and those rugged features, she wondered if he would fit anywhere that didn’t involve tearing down trees.
He’d make a good lumberjack.
“That will be five fifty-three.”
“What? Oh, right.” Melinda snapped out of her head and handed over her credit card, sensing his glare still focused on her. After she got the card back and slid it in her wallet, she glanced up. His stare pinned her. She cast him another smile and moved around him to wait for her drink.
“Erik,” the barista called from behind the counter, his arm outstretched with drink in hand.
The rude lumberjack stepped forward and took the small cup. Melinda’s gaze flicked between the barista and Erik.
As he stepped away from the counter, she caught a glimpse of a silver medallion hanging around his neck. He didn’t wear a tie, and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the piece. A wolf. A cold shiver ran down her back. She’d seen the medallion before. His shirt shifted, covering it before she could get a closer look to jog her memory. Where had she seen it?
“Excuse me,” he muttered, walking around her. He brushed up against her as he made his way through the small crowd.
He paused at the door, glancing at his watch. Such strong hands.
“Melinda.” The barista drew her attention from him.
“Melinda, isn’t that you, hon?” The woman from the line was beside her, nudging her again.
“What? Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Melinda took the drink and checked the door again. He was gone.
She definitely needed to take a break from all men, not only the dark broody sort who made her heart leap into her throat. Just looking at him made her all weak in the knees, and that wouldn’t get her very far in her new endeavor.
With college in the rear view, she had an uncharted road ahead of her, and she was going to make the most of it.
She zipped her coat clear up to her chin when she stepped back out into the blustering wind. Only the promise of one of Grams’ home-cooked meals could have driven Melinda out in the cold night.
Nothing compared to Grams’ home-cooking. The microwave mac ‘n cheese dinners she’d been eating weren’t exactly the comfort foods of her youth.
Melinda’s coffee sat nestled in the cup holder of her sedan while she drove up the winding road to her grandparents’ subdivision. She owned an old house in the middle of a cul-de-sac, but it had always felt like home.
The soft-yellow glow of Grams’ porch light acted as a signal, calling Melinda home. She’d been living in her own apartment for the past two years, but it never felt truly like home. Nowhere felt as safe and warm as Grams’ house.
Melinda parked in the driveway. She grabbed her coffee and purse and climbed out of the car.
Two identical black sedans with dark-tinted windows were parked in front, sending an eerie shiver over her neck. Obviously, she’d gotten deeper into the first draft of her horror novel than she’d thought.
An easy night with her grandmother would settle her comfortably into reality. Monsters weren’t real.
Melinda slipped her key into the lock only to find it wasn’t needed. She opened the door and stepped inside. Grams must have heard her pull in and unlocked the door for her. Although the neighborhood was safe, Grams had been living on her own since Melinda went off to college in the city. She didn’t leave her doors unlocked at night.
“Grams?” she called when her grandmother wasn’t in the front room. Melinda dropped her purse on the table in the foyer and headed to the kitchen. She couldn’t smell Grams’ usual chicken pot pie baking; maybe she wanted to order in.
“Grams? I’m here.” Melinda took a sip of her coffee, making a face at the chilled beverage. She left it behind with her purse and walked down the hall.
“In the family room.” Grams’ voice shook. She sounded forced, scared.
Melinda hurried to the rear of the house. The family room was right off the kitchen, overlooking the backyard.
Her grandmother was there. Sitting on the love seat, her knees pressed together, her hands folded neatly in her lap. But it wasn’t her that had Melinda’s heart climbing up her throat. It was the hulk of a man standing beside her, staring at Melinda.
“Grams?” Melinda’s gaze roamed over him, until it settled on the silver wolf head hanging around his neck.
The man from the coffee shop.
“Melinda.” Grams sniffed back a sob. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
Melinda stepped down from the kitchen into the family room. Keeping her eyes focused on the wolf, she made her way to her grandmother.
“Grams, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay,” she assured her, sinking beside her grandmother on the couch. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Melinda regarded Erik.
“What are you doing here?”
“Collecting what’s mine,” he said coolly, as if that told her anything.
“Are you hurt, Grams?” She pulled back to examine her grandmother.
With red, swollen eyes, her grandmother peered back at her. The woman who’d taken her in after her parents’ death, the woman who’d kissed every skinned knee, hugged away every nightmare had regret weighing down her expression.
“No. He didn’t hurt me. He’s not—” Grams took in a long shaky breath. “Your grandfather…” She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Your grandfather did something horrible
. Terrible. Beyond forgiveness.”
Her grandfather had had his issues, but Grams always forgave him, and they’d kept a happy home.
“What are you talking about?”
“When you were in high school, he had a problem with his card games. He loved playing them, but he was no good at them.”
Melinda remembered easily beating her grandfather at poker whenever they played a friendly game. He didn’t have a knack for knowing when to fold and when to hold.
“Yeah?” Melinda scooted closer to her grandmother on the couch.
“He almost lost the house one year. You don’t remember because you were so young. But it was worse when you were in high school.”
Melinda tried to keep up with her ramblings, but Erik’s narrowed gaze made her uncomfortable.
“Grams, what did he do that you can’t forgive? Why is”—she cast a quick glance at Erik—“he here?”
“Your grandfather gambled away everything he had and even more he didn’t,” Erik interjected with annoyance.
“Funny”—Melinda turned a hot glare on him—“you don’t look like my grandmother. I’m talking to her, not you.”
“No, don’t fight with him.” Her grandmother gripped Melinda’s knee.
“Can you go away for a minute? You’re scaring my grandmother, and I want to talk to her.”
“No,” Erik said with finality.
“No?”
“Melinda—” Her grandmother grabbed her arm when Melinda stood up from the couch.
“That’s right, no.” He set a firm stance, planting himself right there in her grandmother’s family room. The room she’d played board games and video games with her grandparents. This man acted like he owned the room.
“Melinda, please.” Grams stood up with her and yanked on her coat until Melinda was facing her again. “He’s telling you the truth. Your grandfather lost everything, and he kept playing, kept going back, taking more loans, selling more things, until the only thing he had left to sell”—tears ran down Grams’ cheeks—“was you.”
