ALMOST
BLUE
♫~♫~♫
A ROCK AND ROLL FOREVER NOVEL
BOOK TWO
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MARY J. WILLIAMS
Copyright © 2019 by Mary J. Williams.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
First E-book Printing, 2018
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Writing isn't easy. But I love every second. A blank screen isn't the enemy. It is an opportunity to create new friends and take them on amazing adventures and life-changing journeys. I feel blessed to spend my days weaving tales that are unique—because I made them.
Billionaires. Songwriters. Artists. Actors. Directors. Stuntmen. Football players. They fill the pages and become dear friends I hope you will want to revisit again and again.
Thank you for jumping into my books and coming along for the journey.
HOW TO GET IN TOUCH
~~~~
Please visit me at these sites, sign up for my newsletter or leave a message.
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MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS
~~~~
Harper Falls Series
If I Loved You
If Tomorrow Never Comes
If You Only Knew
If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)
Hollywood Legends Series
Dreaming With a Broken Heart
Dreaming With My Eyes Wide Open
Dreaming Again
Dreaming of a White Christmas
(Caleb and Callie's story)
One Pass Away Series
After the Rain
After All These Years
After the Fire
Hart of Rock and Roll
Flowers on the Wall
Flowers and Cages
Flowers are Red
Flowers for Zoe
Flowers in Winter
WITH ONE MORE LOOK AT YOU
One Strike Away
For a Little While
For Another Day
For All We Know
For the First Time
The Sisters Quartet
One Way or Another
Two of a Kind
Three Wishes
Four Simple Words
Five More Minutes (The Sisters Quartet Christmas)
Six Days (The Sisters Quartet Wedding)
Rock & Roll Forever
Almost Paradise
Almost Blue
Almost Everything
Almost Home
Almost Like Being in Love
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HOW TO GET IN TOUCH
MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
♫~♫~♫
BECK KRAMER’S EYES popped open, his irises a foggy gray. With an annoyed frown, he listened for a repeat of the noise that pulled him from a sound sleep.
Nothing but silence.
Rolling to his back, the sheet fell unchecked to Beck’s hips. Tomorrow—rather, later today—would be busier than usual, and he needed a full night’s rest, a rare and precious commodity the past few months.
Ringo didn’t need him, Beck decided as his eyes adjusted to the darkened bedroom. Once the burly, lovable mutt was down for the count, settled in his favorite spot near the back door on a huge, incongruous passion-pink pillow, nothing short of all-out Armageddon could roust the dog.
Beck wished he could say the same. One arm resting on his torso, the other slung over his head, his fingers tapped a random beat on the wrought-iron bedpost. Taking a deep breath, suddenly he knew. Relaxed muscles tightened as his hand gripped the headboard with white-knuckled awareness.
Clean, fresh, unmistakable, with the same subtle hint of citrus that floated through his home twenty-four hours a day. Elusive yet ever-lurking. A wisp of temptation ready to taunt his senses without a moment’s warning.
The only safe zone in the rambling three-story house was Beck’s bedroom. His sanctuary, his refuge—until now.
Impossible, Beck frowned. She never crossed the threshold, never dared. And yet… he breathed in again, and his mouth watered.
“Sawyer?” he asked, certain he must be mistaken.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
The slight husk of her voice, designed by God, he was certain, to drive a man insane, went straight to his dick. He barely contained his groan of desire/distress when a shaft of moonlight seemed to appear from nowhere to illuminate the bed—more specifically, the area between his thighs and abdomen.
Beck sat up, leg raised, sheet gripped in one hand, hoping to hide his arousal. He cleared his throat in a futile attempt to mask the need for her in his voice. Before all the blood rushed from his brain, he searched for a reason to explain her presence.
“Is something wrong?”
The question was ridiculously generic but the best he could do under the circumstances.
Sawyer stepped toward the bed. She could have done them both a favor and pretended not to notice the significant tenting under the covers. Instead, her hazel gaze moved down his chest and settled on the poorly concealed bulge.
Licking her lips, leaving them wet, glistening, she stepped closer; close enough for Beck to touch—if he could summon the nerve.
Oh, Lord, how he wanted to touch.
The robe Sawyer wore, the one he occasionally glimpsed as she scampered between the shower and her room, covered every inch of skin from her slender neck to the arch of her crazy-sexy, red-nail-tipped feet. Studded with tiny dancing bears, the fabric bagged around her body, the only proof of her mouthwatering figure provided by the matching belt tied at her waist.
No longer surprised by the discovery, Beck found terrycloth infinitely more alluring than silk.
“Something is wrong,” Sawyer whispered as she took the clip from her hair, the long, silky, dark tresses falling to her shoulders.
Beck swallowed—no, gulped—as her hand tugged the robe open.
“Sawyer, what are you doing?”
“Something I should have done long ago.”
Beck held his breath as she slowly opened the robe to reveal… Holy shit. He felt beads of sweat break out on his upper lip as his mouth turned arid dry.
The nightgown.
Granny in style, designed with comfort and warmth in mind, not seduction. He would swear on a stack of Bibles nothing got his motor revving faster. The hell with skimpy, overpriced lingerie. He’d take yards of thick, white
cotton any day—if Sawyer were the model.
The one time he caught a glimpse of her in the voluminous garment—as she bent to fill Ringo’s food bowl with a scoop of kibble, the succulent curve of her ass waving in the air like a beacon—was seared into his masturbatory fantasies.
Growing more desperate by the second for a taste of Sawyer, Beck reminded himself to breathe, sucked air into his lungs, and grumbled a curse as her scent assailed his senses in another crashing wave. Always the good guy—fucking fool was another interpretation—he refused to take advantage of what had to be a moment of weakness.
“You’re lonely,” Beck reasoned because he knew the feeling to the depths of his soul. “Don’t do something you’ll regret in the morning.”
“I regret not coming to you last night. Last week.” In one fluid motion, Sawyer whisked the nightgown over her head. She took his hand, placing it on her breast. “I regret not letting you touch me every night. I regret not touching you back.”
Instinct had Beck’s fingers tightening around her impossibly soft flesh. His cock twitched at the first brush of her nipple against his palm.
“I regret the wasted months, the long nights of unfulfilled desire, knowing you were here, one floor above me. Needing me the way I need you.”
Beck closed his eyes, wondering how much a mortal man was supposed to take before he either claimed what was offered freely or broke into a million pieces.
“If you want me to go, I will. No hard feelings, no recriminations.” Sawyer placed her hand over his and squeezed. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. “Tell me to leave. You have to say the words, Beck.”
Words? What were words? Beck’s befuddled brain could barely grasp the concept of Sawyer, so close, so delicious, so naked. How could he speak when a million better uses for his mouth came to mind—all involving her thank you, Jesus curves?
Every man had his limits, and Beck finally reached his.
Flinging back the sheet, he wrapped an arm around Sawyer’s waist—deliberately keeping his hand on her breast—and lifted her onto the bed. One quick turn and she was flat on her back.
“You sleep in the nude.” More a statement than a question, Sawyer ran her hand up his thigh and let out a ragged moan of unmistakable pleasure. “I’ve wondered. Fantasized.”
“Have you?” The idea that Sawyer lay in her bed thinking of him while he, one flight up, did the same about her, allowed Beck to set free the last of his misgivings. “What are your fantasies?”
“Nope. I made the first move.” To reiterate the fact, she snuggled close, her full breasts pressing against his chest. “I know you think about me, dream of me. Tell me everything.”
Beck’s philosophy was anything goes between consenting adults. If everyone walked away satisfied—if everyone walked away—live and let live.
His proclivities fell firmly on the pleasure side of the sexual spectrum. However, pleasure came in many packages and when Sawyer urged him to tell all, scenarios he wouldn’t have considered with another woman flashed through his mind in explicit widescreen, three-dimensional, high-definition detail.
To start, he saw her center stage—center bed—body writhing with pleasure, as she cried out two words, again and again. Yes, Beck. Yes, Beck. Yes, Beck.
Clearing his throat, he swallowed, ready to jump right in, full dick, full speed ahead. Hard and fast worked for him. Women, in his experience, needed more. Women, in his mind, deserved more.
Pushing aside his baser instincts, Beck focused his attention on Sawyer.
“Let’s start slow.” He cupped her ass, groaned, and felt himself inching toward heaven. “As we go, tell me what works and what doesn’t.”
“Only if you promise to do the same.”
Sawyer worked for him. Her scent, her voice, her touch. Every dip and curve of her warm, soft body. Beck couldn’t imagine anything better than holding her. Then she insinuated her thigh between his, and his idea of perfection expanded exponentially.
Full, firm, with just the right amount of jiggle, the kind of leg a man wanted wrapped around him under any circumstances—if the rest of the body belonged to Sawyer.
Unable to wait for a second longer, Beck kissed the nape of her neck, his tongue taking a much-anticipated taste.
“Oh, God.”
“What?” Sawyer sighed, tipping her head to give him better access.
“Ever wanted something so much, so long; certain reality could never match the fantasy?”
Sawyer cupped Beck’s face between her hands. Her gaze locked with his, flecks of gold filling the hazel.
“Careful,” she warned. “Tell me I fall short of your dreams, and sex with me is off the table—perhaps for the rest of your life.”
Another time, a different woman, Beck’s balls would have shrunk to the size of underdeveloped peas. But this was Sawyer, and nothing would stop him from wanting her. Confident his testicles wouldn’t let him down, he rubbed his foot along her calf.
“You, Sawyer Hale, exceed any dream, obliterate any fantasy.”
“Good answer,” she laughed. “Now, if you don’t mind, less talk, more action.”
“I talk during sex. Kind of my thing.”
“Words are fine. But you were blessed with a tongue and the ability to multi-task for a reason. In fact—”
Sawyer’s sentence was left unfinished as Beck sucked her nipple into his mouth, his teeth and tongue making her gasp with surprised pleasure. He hummed his approval to her response, causing her to arch her back.
“Yes. More. Please.”
Beck’s lips curved into a smile. He’d give her more all right—with plenty to spare. Shifting his weight until his leg was nestled high between hers, he felt a trickle of wet on his skin.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked, testing, teasing her with his fingers.
“Yes.” Sawyer gripped his wrist, tugging him closer, urging him on. “I’m ready for anything.”
Taking his time, Beck weighed her words in his mind. She knew her body better than anyone; if she said she was ready, she was ready. However, he wanted to be certain. Tonight had to be better than her dreams; limp-body satisfying yet designed to leave her wanting more.
Before Sawyer left his bed, they would fall into an addiction only the other person could appease.
Leaving a kiss in the hollow of her throat, he started a slow but deliberate journey. Lower, lower, pausing when the mood hit him, lingering to nuzzle her breasts, caress the curve of her waist, or give her belly button an erotic tickle.
His body, so long denied, might feel the need to hurry, but Beck was a man, not a boy ruled by hormones and lack of experience. Nothing if not disciplined, he believed she came first.
Beck would like to say his reasons were completely selfless—he’d be a liar. Watching his partner’s face as he brought her pleasure was one of the great joys in life.
Taking Sawyer to the peak and helping her orgasm then finding his own, would be the best kind of delayed gratification Beck could imagine.
“You’re ready?” he asked in a teasing voice. “Show me.”
Hoping Sawyer would play along, Beck waited what seemed like an eternity for her response. A mere heartbeat passed. He expected words, flirty, coy. He should have known better. Unpredictable—as always—she decided to show, not tell.
Holding Beck’s gaze, Sawyer brought his hand to her mouth, kissing the tip of each finger, biting his thumb. Then, as her tongue traced the curve of her bottom lip, her eyes never leaving his, she guided his touch lower, lower, settling between her legs.
“You heat my blood.” She shuddered, gasped, gripping the sheets. “I want you in ways I didn’t think possible.
Magic. The absolute sincerity—the need—in her voice shot through Beck like a bolt of sexual lightning. Further guidance wasn’t necessary. He knew exactly what to do, exactly what she needed. Exactly what they needed.
Settling between her legs, he licked the
inside of her thigh. Every inch of her tasted better than the last. The ultimate morsel lay before his eyes. Saliva pooled in his mouth.
Looking up, over the swell of her breasts, Beck found Sawyer watching, waiting, her lips parted, her breath unsteady.
“Tell me what you want.” Though he already knew the answer, he wanted to hear the words.
“What are my options?”
Damn, Beck chuckled. Even as Sawyer trembled under his touch, her skin flushed, her pupils dilated, the banter kept on coming.
Every part of her was sexy—especially her brain. No wonder his desire for her grew with each passing day. A boring person, lacking in intelligence and curiosity about the world, with little to offer but a well-developed body, was easy to dismiss. A vibrant woman who embraced and explored her surroundings, who refused to settle, insisted on making her own opportunities? Unforgettable.
“Options?” Beck pretended to consider her question. “We could roll over and go to sleep.”
“Or…?” she queried.
A second later, as his breath bathed her most sensitive skin, air burst from her lungs. Liking the sound, wanting more, he blew again, then asked in an off-hand manner, “Parcheesi?”
Sawyer’s moan was followed by a husky laugh.
“Kind of old school.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Like you.”
“Only where board games are concerned,” Beck assured her, pressing a kiss to her very core. “I know some very twenty-first-century tricks. Want me to share?”
Sawyer ran her fingers through his hair, her eyes liquid gold.
“You know me, always willing to try new things.”
Beck believed when you loved your work, great things happened. Pleasing Sawyer could never be called work, but he adored every second, every sigh, every gasp, every don’t stop. With her enthusiastic encouragement, how could he not deliver—heart and soul?
The best part as she came, beyond the feel of her inner muscles clutching his fingers, was when Sawyer called out his name. Wailed would be a better description. Perfectly pitched to harmonize with his satisfied growl; the sound was music to his ears.
ALMOST BLUE Page 1
