by H. M. Ward
"Sean, please,” I moan.
But he holds me still, not allowing me to move against him. His kisses change from slow and leisurely to desperately hungry. I cry out and fall forward, clutching the wall. His tongue flicks against the perfect place before pushing deep inside of me. Sean repeats the movement again and again, tugging my hips down hard every time his tongue presses into me.
The sensation is all consuming. I can’t think. I can’t move. My thighs are trembling and unable to hold this position for much longer. I feel his mouth work against me and the tightness that forms deep within me suddenly explodes into intense waves of pleasure. I scream his name and buck wildly against his mouth, enjoying every second of it.
When the waves die down, I slide down his chest and press my body against his. Sean smells like me. It makes me grin like a schoolgirl. He kisses my temple and pulls my hair back so he can see me. Our bodies are slick with sweat and Sean’s heart is still racing in his chest. I can feel the rapid beating beneath me.
“Will you always silence me like that? If so, I approve.”
I laugh and take his face in my hand, pulling it toward me. “Only when you’re moderately bad. I have other plans for when you’re really naughty.”
Sean’s lips pull up into a grin. “Really? You’ve been planning this?”
“More daydreaming than planning, but yeah. And thank you. I wasn’t sure about it.”
Sean’s finger is tracing an invisible circle on my arm. “I’m glad you did.”
We lay there in comfortable silence for a while. I finally ask him, “What are you thinking about?”
“You. I’m thinking that we should get married tonight.”
I dart upright. One of my breasts was plastered to his chest and stings, but shock overwhelms me.
“What?” When Sean’s only response is a soft smile, I blink at him. “Are you serious?”
“Of course. When am I not serious?”
“Pretty much never.”
“I want to marry you, Avery. I have no idea how tomorrow is going to turn out, and I’d regret not taking that step with you. We’ve been tossed all over the place, and our lives have been out of control lately. But this--we can choose this--we can do it now if you’ll have me.” His voice is tight with worry. Sean presses his lips together, watching me.
I imagined being his fiancée and then beyond that--having the little house and maybe even being Mr. Turkey’s sister-in-law--but I never pictured the actual wedding. It was a sore spot, a place I couldn’t see. My father isn’t here to walk me down the aisle. My mother isn’t alive to help me get ready. I’m alone.
“So, we’d elope?”
He nods. His hopeful blue gaze locks on mine. Sean remains still, laying on the comforter with his head on a pile of fluffy pillows. The sunlight changes from bright white to golden oranges. Night is falling. We could be married tonight; we could be married right now. All I have to do is say yes.
Sean watches me, hopeful. His breathing is slow and his lips are parted as if he wants to say more. He finally sees our life together. He wants me, and not just for now, but forever. When he said he saw me holding a baby girl, I realized how much I wanted that, too. It’s the future I couldn't have. Sean said he wasn’t that guy, but he’s changed. And so have I.
Watching Sean, I make my decision.
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEAK OF:
Secrets & Lies, Volume 1, by H.M. Ward
CHAPTER 1
Is he serious? What an assface! I stumble through the quad, accidentally bumping shoulders with someone.
“Watch it, bitch.” I look up to see a pointy-nosed girl surrounded by a pack of nasty friends, all sneering at me. I have no friends here, not yet.
The truth is, my life sucks. It’s sucktacularly fucked up and I refuse to cry on the first day of college, but I’m having trouble swallowing the plate of shit my wonderful boyfriend just force-fed me. Excuse me, force-texted me. The asswipe texted me. He didn’t even call. The more I think about it, the more my throat tightens. Breathing is overrated.
I mumble, “Sorry,” and get the hell out of there, before they hogtie my ass and toss me down a flight of stairs. Not that I’ve ever seen anyone hogtied, but this is Texas, right? I’m out of my element, by far.
As I hurry away, I hear my roommate’s voice ring out, “That’s right, Bacon! You better run!” The girls all giggle like Chelsey just said the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Great. She’s leader of the bitch pack. Why can’t I ever attract a psycho sans backup? My luck sucks. Have I said that? Well, bad luck is my key feature and the bane of my existence.
As I haul ass across the quad, my phone chirps. Don’t look at the screen. Don’t look at it! I chant to myself, but I can’t. I have to see what he said. It might be an apology. He might be breaking up with his other girlfriend and texted me by accident. Uh, wait. That’d be worse. I think.
The thing is, we’ve been together since we were kids. Our parents used to joke that we’d be married one day, as if it were meant to be. It even felt like fate brought us together. On the day we met, I was playing outside when a terrified bunny chased Matt the two blocks from his house to my front yard. Running blindly, Matt mowed me down, leaving me for the bunny to attack instead of him.
Okay, this bunny was the size of a small dog and had a hunger for marigolds. In an effort to save their gardens from becoming rabbit food, the sweet little old ladies in the neighborhood were actively trying to poison it. I saved that rabbit from the wrath of the grannies and my prize was Matt. He called me cool names like Rabbit Slayer. Okay, it sounded cool in grade school, and much better than the normal nicknames kids give each other. Boogerface or Rabbit Slayer? Please. Like that’s even a choice.
Matt and I have been together so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be apart. Now the unthinkable has happened and I’m two thousand miles from home, completely on my own. Matt is everything to me.
I pluck the phone from my pocket and scan the screen.
There’s this other thing…
Fuck. Like it could get worse. He already broke up with me. What’s worse than that?
I type back, I doubt it.
No, you need to know. There’s someone else. I’m in love with her, Kerry.
The prickling sensation hits the back of my eyes hard and fast. As I push through the door, I turn right and search for a bathroom. I can’t fake my way through this. I can’t sit here and pretend that he didn’t just rip my heart out. How can there be someone else? I was his and he was mine. We were a couple. I have his damned ring on my finger. We were going to give this long distance relationship thing a chance.
But Matt didn’t give it a chance.
A sob escapes my throat and my vision blurs. I race down the hallway, feeling the stares of strangers following in my wake. I can’t cry now. I’m trying so hard not to, but my heart won’t listen. It’s curling into a ball and shriveling inside my chest. Grief takes hold of me, but I’m not crying yet. I try to find a restroom, holding back the cascade of sorrow that’s building behind my eyes.
Plowing through the door, I head straight for the mirrors. There are always sinks by mirrors. I slam my books down on the counter and clutch the edge of the sink. Big gasping sobs wrack my body as I bend over the sink and stare at the white basin. Just as my tears start to fall, I see something move in the mirror. I feel eyes on me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I hadn’t noticed anyone—not that I could see with my eyes full of tears.
Glancing up, I look across the room and don’t understand what I’m looking at. A guy is standing by the wall. He’s tall and toned, with dark hair and of standard build. At least, that’s what he looks like through tears. Why is he in the girl’s room? My brain is broken. I stand there and gape, not realizing that he’s holding his thingy in his hand and standing in front of a urinal.
A crooked smile lines his lips when he sees me staring. “I, uh, think you’re turned around.”
&nbs
p; His voice doesn’t reach me. My body is in the middle of a full-fledged freak out and there’s a guy in the ladies room, peeing on the wall. What the hell kind of school is this? I keep blinking, but I can’t wrap my brain around what I’m seeing.
I manage to squeak out, “What?”
The guy zips up and gives me that pity look—you know the one. It says, thank God I’m not you, in the nicest way possible. “You’re in the men’s room. The women’s room is down the hall.”
This can’t be happening. Horrified, I lunge for my books, but he steps to the counter to pick them up at the same time. We collide and his firm body smacks into mine. I stutter something incoherent, finally getting a good look at his face. Holy hotness! I never look at other guys, but once in a while someone that is supermodel perfect catches my attention. When people like that cross your path, it’s impossible to look away. His beauty is blinding, and even through tears I notice his sexy smirk, mildly amused blue eyes, and perfectly smooth skin.
Add in his hard body and holy crap. I smacked into the hottest man I’ve ever seen, stared at his package, and made an ass out of myself. I’m still upset, but so mortified at the same time, that I no longer think and adrenaline takes over. Heart pounding, I push off his firm chest and right myself. My mouth dangles open as I try to form words, but my balance sucks and my hip bumps the books. They topple off the counter and clatter to the floor, while the rest of my stuff slides into the sink for a swim. I can’t be this catastrophe. I can’t face this hot guy with raccoon eyes, unable to do anything but grunt at him like a baboon.
There aren’t many ways to play off a disaster of these proportions. I decide to do the only respectable thing and run like hell. Before he can say anything else, I’m out the door and down the hall. And we’re talking full out run, not that little sissy girl run. I mean full out, an axe murderer is going to chop me up, run.
I hear his voice behind me, calling me to come back. Thank God I didn’t put my name in my books, yet. I have enough problems without shit like this happening. Horrified, I think about how freaking weird I had to look standing there, mascara running, just staring at his thingy. I stared. What the hell is wrong with me? Who does stuff like that?
I shove through the door at the end of the hall and fly down the stairwell. I’m outside and into the parking lot before I slow down. Rasping for air, I round the side of the building and double over, struggling to breathe. I stand for a second before sliding my back down the wall and pulling my knees to my chest. I bury my face and let the tears fall.
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About the Author
New York Times bestselling author HM Ward continues to reign as the queen of independent publishing. She is swiftly approaching 10 MILLION copies sold, placing her among the literary titans. Articles pertaining to Ward's success have appeared in The New York Times, USA Today, and Forbes to name a few. This native New Yorker resides in Texas with her family, where she enjoys working on her next book.
You can interact with this bestselling author at:
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