by LK Shaw
I scooted closer to her and gently cupped her face. “You don’t have to. I’m falling hard for you, Callie. Hell, I started falling for you back in Miami. That’s my only excuse for pushing you away. Everyone I’ve ever cared for has left me. I don’t know if I could handle it if you left me as well.”
“So, you left me first.” It wasn’t a question.
A shrug was my only answer. “What do we do now?”
“We do whatever it takes. We talk as often as possible. We have to be honest with each other. This won’t be an easy road we’ll travel. Long distance relationships are hard. They rarely work out. Statistics are against us.”
“Fuck statistics. If anyone can make this work, it’s us.”
We finished dinner, and I took her back to her rental. Neither of us spoke as we made sweet, gentle love. Unspoken promises were made. We cherished this last night together, and we didn’t think about tomorrow.
The next morning, I woke first. I watched Callie sleep and listened to her soft breathing. In that moment, my heart swelled, and I wanted to spend all my mornings waking up to her. Lying back, I closed my eyes and envisioned our future. Soon, she began to stir next to me. A cat-like stretch arched her back, causing the covers to fall and expose her to my view. She opened her eyes and looked over at me. She smiled a sleepy smile.
“Good morning.”
“With you next to me, it’s a great morning.” I gave her a lingering kiss. “It’s almost time for you to leave.”
Regret weighed heavily on me that we couldn’t spend more time together, but Callie had to catch an early flight. Her thoughts must have echoed mine.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave already.”
We kissed again, but I broke it quickly because I knew there wasn’t time for us to indulge in more than that. I’d worn her out last night, and we’d slept later than planned.
“You get packed, and I’ll go get you some breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit.”
We both got out of bed and after donning my prosthesis, throwing on my pants, and a t-shirt, I left her to pack and get ready as I went down to the kitchen. I made us both an omelet, and after cleaning up my mess, I hurried back upstairs. Callie’d just stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body and her head, when I walked into the room. She quickly dressed, and we ate our meal.
“Call me when you get home. I want to know you made it home safely.”
She nodded, but didn’t reply. I reached out and tilted her chin up so she had to look at me.
“I told you last night, we’ll make this work.”
Finally, she smiled at me. My tone brooked no argument. I had confidence in us. We finished our meal and talked of inconsequential things. I cleaned up while she finished her packing. Once Callie was done, I carried her bags out to the cab as she said her goodbyes to her friends. Five minutes later, she was standing next to me.
“Call me the minute you get home.” It was an order.
“I promise.”
I closed the door behind her and gave a small wave as the car backed out of the drive. Shit, this was harder than I’d thought. I stood there, waiting, until I couldn’t see the vehicle anymore. My shoulders slumped in defeat as I headed over to the house next door.
12
Callie
It had been almost two months since I’d driven away from Myrtle Beach and Kyle. I remembered tears had threatened to fall the whole flight back home to Nashville. I fulfilled my promise to call him the minute I got home. In fact, we’d talked every single day since then. He’d come to visit me as well—twice since I returned home. I also talked to each of the girls a couple times. I was so happy for all of them. It seemed love found everyone in Myrtle Beach.
Checking the clock, I realized it was almost time for my evening call to Kyle. I dialed his number, but frowned when it went straight to voicemail. I waited a few minutes and tried again, to no avail. Still voicemail. I left a message and figured he’d call me when he got the chance. When he hadn’t called me by midnight, I started to worry. I tried one more time without success. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep picturing every worst-case scenario in my head. He was in a horrible accident. He was dead. He found someone else and didn’t want to be bothered with me anymore.
Several loud knocks on my front door startled me. I glanced at the clock, which indicated it was 1:00 a.m. What the hell? Nothing good came from middle of the night visits. I peered through the peephole my father insisted I install and squealed at the sight on the other side. I hastily turned all the locks and threw open the door. Standing there, looking more handsome than I remembered, was Kyle. I threw my arms around him and felt his hands circle my waist, pulling me closer. I leaned back and looked up at his face.
“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night, Kyle. Good grief, come in.”
I pulled him inside and shut the door behind us. The second I turned back to him, he had me in his arms, and his mouth crashed down on mine. He kissed me as though he never wanted to stop. I absorbed the heat of his body and let the sensations take over. Barely breaking the kiss, he lifted my top up and over my head. He deepened the kiss as his hand reached up to cup my bare breast. He mauled me in a way that felt as though he was claiming his property. I loved it. His passion ignited mine.
“I need you now.” Kyle’s words flared the need in me. Quickly, clothes were discarded, and I suddenly found myself on my back on the couch. I barely had time to breathe before I felt his weight on top of me. I gasped as he entered me. Moans of pleasure and soft voices sounded in the dark of the night as we frantically made love. He touched every inch of my body, and my back arched as my climax hit, followed closely by his. He inhaled his name on my lips with a kiss.
Kyle collapsed on top of me in exhaustion, but still managed to keep his full weight off me. Not that I would have minded. I felt safe and loved in his embrace. Once he recovered, he stood. I heard water running and felt a warm cloth as he cleaned me up. When he was done, he went back into the bathroom. I sat up on the couch and waited for him to return. He sat on the couch and turned to face me. He reached out to clasp my hands in his.
“I’ve missed you Callie. I love talking to you on the phone every day, but it’s not enough.”
My heart stopped beating, and a boulder dropped in my belly. Blackness clouded my vision, and I thought I was going to throw up. I couldn’t breathe. He must have sensed my distress, because he reached out to cup my face in one of his hands.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
I finally gasped air into my lungs as I stuttered out, “Are—Are you breaking up with me?”
He scooted closer and tightened his grip on the hand he still held in his other hand. “Oh my God, no! Whatever made you think that?”
“You said I wasn’t enough.”
“No, baby, I said talking to you on the phone wasn’t enough. I need to see you in person every day, not just hear your voice. I want your face to be the last thing I see when I go to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. Callie, I love you. I want to marry you.”
As I sat there stunned, he reached down into his pants that still lay on the floor where he’d thrown them. He fumbled in the pockets, and when he sat back up, he held a small velvet box in his hand. Numbed shock settled deep inside me. When I finally began to process what was happening, my whole body shook.
I whispered, “Yes.” Then my voice gained strength, and I couldn’t stop. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
He opened the box and pulled out the ring. He gingerly reached for my hand as though fearing my reaction. My hand trembled in his grasp. He almost dropped the ring when my hand started shaking so badly. I used my right hand to hold my left one steady as he finally placed the ring on my finger. I threw my whole body against him, and this time, he was the one who fell back onto the couch. I covered his face in kisses.
“I love you so much, Kyle Chambers. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life you.”
�
�I love you too, Callie. You’ve made me the happiest man on Earth. I want babies with you. I want everything with you.”
I crawled off him and led him back to my room where we spent the night making love. I’d never been this happy before, and I couldn’t wait to see what the future held. I was finally whole.
If you loved these stories, then be sure to check out my Secrets series, starting with Secrets of Submission ! Turn the page for a sneak peek !
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Secrets of Submission
Butterflies fluttered in my belly as I wiped my sweaty palms on my pant leg. My heart beat a hundred times a minute. My mind urged me to run. I was about to step outside my comfort zone. My safe, vanilla comfort zone. A comfort zone that, to date, had brought me nothing except heartache. I sat in my car contemplating changing my life for that very reason. Would it change for the better? I didn’t know, which made it even more nerve wracking. How it changed couldn’t be any worse than the stagnant life I currently led. I was floating through life without a paddle. I needed direction. The fact that I continued to sit here contemplating this made me question my sanity. This being showing up to a vanilla potluck attended by people in the BDSM community.
Vanilla meant a non-kink, family environment. A casual get-together to laugh and have fun. I’d spent weeks researching the kink community on the internet and had waffled back and forth so much about showing up today that my head ached from all the tension. My muscles tightened with anxiety. My emotions volleyed like a ping-pong ball between excitement and nervousness. Mild panic caused my heart to flutter, my face to flush, and sweat to bead across my forehead.
So many questions rattled around in my head. What would I wear? What should I bring to eat? Who do I talk to? Most importantly, WHAT do I talk about? I imagined everyone there would know exactly what I was — a thirty-five-year-old, overweight woman, whose longest relationship had only lasted a year. A relationship so toxic I don’t even know how I managed to find myself again after I broke it off.
Throughout the entire relationship, my ex told me I was fat. That I wasn’t smart enough or good enough. He spoke of it so subtly, though, I didn’t even realize it had been happening until one night when we were out with some friends. I had come back from the bathroom when I overheard my ex talking to one of the guys about me. About how he had to turn the lights off when we had sex, because he couldn’t stand to look at me. He even joked about how I had no idea the number of women he had on the side. At that point, I realized what I’d allowed him to do to me and my self-esteem. I felt so stupid for being oblivious to how I’d allowed him to treat me. The pain radiated like a slap to the face. It spoke to how beaten down he’d made me feel that I hadn’t recognized the signs. That moment defined me and made me realize that I deserved better. Without a word, I walked out of the bar and never saw him again.
I had dated some since then, except I never let anyone get close enough emotionally to hurt me. I fiercely guarded my heart, afraid to open myself up again and be vulnerable to the kind of hurt I’d already experienced. I fought back against the insecurities that had become so engrained in me. I hadn’t fully recovered my confidence or self-esteem, but every day, I studied my reflection in the mirror and told myself, “You are beautiful, smart, and good enough for any man.” I continued to have bouts of the self-doubt bullshit to work through, but I figured that the more times I said it, soon enough I would believe it. I also worked on opening my heart to someone, which I found extremely difficult. Once trust is broken, it’s hard not to become cynical about love.
As if having low self-esteem wasn’t bad enough. My sex life turned virtually non-existent. I had never gotten any real enjoyment out of sex when I’d been with my ex or any of the guys I’d briefly dated since then. I had tried to love fucking as much as the next woman, but something always seemed to be missing. I rarely orgasmed, but I became a pro at faking one. If I did come, it usually happened because I resorted to getting myself off when my partner fell asleep.
I had reached the age where spending my weekend nights at a bar or club trying to pick up a man no longer appealed to me. The majority of my friends were already in relationships or married. I had a few single girlfriends, and a couple of them tried to set me up with one of their friends, but nothing ever worked out. So, I spent a lot of my time reading and living vicariously through the characters. I read a lot of dirty books. They were my guilty pleasure. I read books with sex scenes so hot, I practically felt the deep pounding of a man’s cock inside me. The mingled breaths, the gasps, the moans, the fingertips ghosting along my skin sending shockwaves through my body. While dating my ex, urges came over me. Urges to give up control and be dominated. In hindsight, I realized why I never expressed my wishes and fantasies to him.
I had an inkling, a feeling, a hunch, a whatever you want to call it, that I was submissive. The thought of being dominated and controlled had me throbbing deep inside. Other than the throbbing in my pussy I experienced when reading BDSM books, I didn’t really know what it meant to submit or to give up control. With not being in a relationship, and having not been in one for a long time, I wasn’t comfortable exploring or giving up that control to someone I didn’t fully know and trust. I realized now that I’d always kept a part of myself hidden from the few partners I’d been with. I wasn’t getting any younger either. I wanted to find that person I could trust with the needs I didn’t fully understand. I needed more from life than casual fucks that I only half ass enjoyed.
Which led me to my current situation. Me, sitting in my car at a local city park, store bought potato salad in hand. I’d never pictured myself as a voyeur until today. Finally, after a half an hour of watching, I worked up the nerve to open the car door and start placing one foot in front of the other. I made my way to the shelter house and sat my potato salad in the buffet line. I moved by the wall and remained there, like a wallflower, while I waited for someone to talk to me.
“Mmm, fresh meat,” a deep, gravelly voice spoke from my right. I turned in that direction. What I saw caused my breath to hitch, and I had to remind myself to keep breathing. Beside me stood the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. He appeared slightly older than me and stood over six feet tall with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He wore blue jeans and a tight navy t-shirt that only accentuated his muscular chest and arms. The flecks of gray in his wavy, dark brown hair glinted in the sunlight. I became lost in the soul searching forest green eyes that roved over me from head to toe, pausing slightly at my lips. Unconsciously, I licked them. As I did, his nostrils flared and a flash of arousal lit up his eyes. My face heated as a blush spread across my cheeks, and my eyes automatically dropped away from his intense stare. His full, sensuous lips were quirked up into a half smile, and I fantasized about running my tongue up his square jaw lined with the perfect amount of scruff. “What a delectable blush.”
I almost turned around to make sure no one stood behind me. I mean, completely fuckable men like him had no interest in short, overweight women like me. Don’t get me wrong; I reluctantly accepted this body with all its bumps, rolls, stretch marks, and cellulite. I even tried to actually love and completely embrace it. With my track record, though, I had yet to meet a man this irresistible who showed this much interest, a sexual interest anyway, in me. It made me wonder what thoughts were running through his he
ad as he admired me. I had my long, wavy, slightly reddish brown hair gathered in a top ponytail, a belly, and wide hips. From the look in his eyes though, he wanted to eat me alive. My body temperature spiked, and I shivered despite the warm weather.
“I’m Marcus, by the way. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“Pe-Penny,” I stuttered, almost breathlessly as I sensed my blush intensifying. I really needed to get it together. I’d never blushed this much before in my life. I needed the confidence I showed the world, even as unreal as it happened to be. Fake it ’til you make it was my mantra.
Marcus leaned closer as he stepped slightly inside my personal space, his mint-scented breath rasping along my ear, “What brings you out to play with us today?” Subconsciously standing a little taller, I began gaining the confidence I typically displayed as a nurse working with chauvinistic surgeons. I told him about my interest in learning more about BDSM and the lifestyle. I wanted to find a neutral place to meet people and gain, if not friends, then at least acquaintances, and definitely knowledge.
“Knowledge about what?” Marcus asked, showing true interest. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know the sensation of giving up control, how to please someone and be pleased in return. I wanted to be dominated, to discover why I couldn’t find someone who wanted that happily ever after with me that I constantly read about. Sadly, I didn’t know how to express any of this.
My shoulders shrugged as I settled on, “Whatever someone will teach me.”
“Sweetness,” he cooed, “I’d be happy to teach you anything you want to know. Let me introduce you to some friends of mine.” With a hand brushing across my lower back, startling me with the sparks of electricity that flowed through my extremities, Marcus led me over to a group of women. Marcus made introductions and left me to mingle. I noticed he never strayed far, and several times, our eyes met over someone’s shoulder. The smoldering glances he gave me sent heat burning throughout my body. My nipples pebbled like berries, and I felt myself getting wet the longer he kept staring at me. It wasn’t often that a man scrutinized me the way Marcus did. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time that even happened. I felt naked and exposed under his gaze, as though my barriers were being broke down. It was disconcerting to say the least.
