by Sable Hunter
Annalise whipped into a Sonic. “It’s time for a Java Chiller.” She rolled down her window and pressed the button, telling the remote bell-hop what they wanted. Once she was assured that their caffeine/sugar fix was on its way, she unhooked her seat belt and sat nose to nose with Cecile. “Divorce the asshole. You can live with me until you decide what to do about your house.”
* * * *
A Few Weeks Later
Tamara lay on the bed, trembling with anticipation. Opening her legs wide, she offered herself to her lover. Derrick knelt on the floor, never taking his eyes away from the beautiful sight spread before him for his pleasure. She was wet and swollen for him. "I can't wait to taste you, precious. May I kiss you? Here?" He ran one gentle finger down the center of her pussy.
Tamara lifted her hips. "Please, Derrick. I can't wait. No one has ever done this for me, before." She watched in fascination as he bent his head, drawing ever nearer to her eager sex. At the first touch of his lips and tongue, her body almost bent double with delight. "Oh, sweet Lord," she whispered. "That feels so good!"
Derrick held her fast with strong hands as he ate his fill of her sweet cream. "Steady, baby. I've got you."
Tamara arched her back in absolute ecstasy. This was better than she had ever imagined. How had she lived without this pleasure? He cupped her breast with one hand and began to massage the nipple in time with his thrusting tongue. "Sweetheart, I love this. I could kiss you like this forever."
At his words of praise, Tamara pushed herself into his face, wordlessly begging for more. He met her need, circling his tongue around her clitoris—driving her absolutely mad with bliss.
Cecile read the words Annalise had written as erotic romance author Ann Pace. Her hand trembled as she hit the down arrow button to advance the page. Closing her eyes she let the muscles of her sex contract and ease, contract and ease. If she imagined hard enough, she could almost feel a cock moving in and out of her—giving her what she needed, what she longed for. "God! I'm pitiful!" Pushing the laptop away from her, Cecile lay back on the bed and cupped her swollen sex through her clothes. She was so horny that she might expire from sheer sexual frustration! "I've either got to get laid or change jobs," she sighed.
Annalise's writing was so hot! Unable to stand it any longer, Cecile pulled at her own clothing until she was nude. If no one else would make love to her, she would make love to herself. Never having indulged in the purchase of a sex toy, all she had to work with were her own hands, but she was beyond desperate.
Lying back on her beige quilted duvet, she bent her knees and spread her legs open wide. Just the air from the ceiling fan made her engorged clit vibrate. Hungry to be touched, she let her own palms slide up her thighs, over her abdomen and up to cup her aching breasts. Even the touch of her own hands felt good. Tossing her head from side to side, she played with her own tits. Finding that she needed more than a tender caress, Cecile clasped her nipples between her fingers and the base of her thumb and worked the tender nubbins against the hard part of her hand. It felt so good! As she massaged and pinched her nipples, she worked her hips up and down, clenching and unclenching the muscles of her vagina, pretending that a man was pumping into her empty, throbbing sex.
Needing even more, Cecile fingered her own pussy. Sliding the tips of her fingers up and down the lips of her vulva, she inserted one finger into the channel that pulsed with longing and moved it in and out. Finding that to be highly unsatisfying, she moved on up rubbing her clitoris in a circular motion. "Oh, that's better." As she pulled at her nipple and manipulated her clit, Cecile pictured herself as the heroine in one of Annalise's novels, a desirable woman that could attract and please a man. In her mind's eye, she saw him above her. His expression was heated and he had eyes only for her. Lifting her head, she sought his lips—fantasizing about greedy kisses and the mating of fevered tongues. Her hero would want her—her—Cecile. His cock would be hard and hungry—for her. He would find delight—in her. Arching her back she met his thrusts, and parried them with the rhythmic seeking of her hips. Frantically, she ground her clit beneath her own caress until she achieved release, a sad, lonely release. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran down the side of her face to dampen the pillow. Was this the way it was going to be? Would she never know the passionate touch of a lover? How sad, how very sad.
The buzz of her cell phone drew Cecile out of her orgasm induced stupor. As orgasms go, it hadn't been that good, but it was the best she had felt in many a day. Sometimes, Cecile thought that Annalise and the other erotic authors she dealt with on a day-to-day basis made a lot of that fireworks, the earth moved and volcanic eruption stuff up. Maybe Carl was right, maybe she was frigid. Her body craved a climax, but the ones she gave herself were weak and short-lived—nothing like what other women boasted of feeling.
Dragging herself off the bed, she retrieved the phone from her desk. For a moment, she hoped it might be Carl calling to check in on her, but it wasn’t. It was the gynecologist calling to remind her it was time for her pap smear and mammogram. Yuck! She hated doctor visits! Noting it on the calendar, she was grateful it was over a week away.
For a minute, she stared at the phone wishing she had someone she could call and invite out for a meal. Because Carl was such an asshole, they didn’t have many friends and he discouraged her from having girlfriends that she could meet for drinks and go shopping with. She didn’t know why. Sometimes she thought that he was afraid that she would talk to them, confide in someone how truly bad their marriage was. So Cecile wasn't close to anyone, other than Annalise, and she lived almost four hours away. Carl didn’t have anything to worry about, there was no way she was going to air her dirty laundry in front of her Dallas work acquaintances. They had no idea that she, an erotic romance editor, lay untouched every night in a lonely bed, forced to masturbate for even the smallest of amount of sexual relief.
Climbing back into bed, she opened her emails. There was a message from Annalise, apologizing again for not having the five chapters she had promised Cecile. She confessed that she was experiencing major writer's block. Typing in a quick response, Cecile joked with her, doing her best to inspire Annalise out of her funk. “Maybe, you need to take a laxative.” That didn’t work.
After talking to her friend coming back from the conference, Cecile had realized she wasn't the only one who was depressed. Annalise Evans was still desperately in love with a man she had met in college. They had a whirlwind romance, but had been torn apart after Annalise suffered a tragic rape. It had happened over spring break during Annalise’s freshman year. After that, she had endured several reconstructive surgeries. Annalise and Ethan had never seen one another again, and the only thing that Cecile had managed to get out of Annalise was that she had never told Ethan about the rape.
One thing Cecile did know—Annalise was still deeply in love with Ethan, because every hero in every book she had written was patterned after him. And every dedication in every book had his first name in tribute—to my own hero, Ethan. I will never forget you. At Annalise's insistence, the artwork on the front of every one of her novels carried Ethan's likeness. If he was as good looking as the man on the cover of the books, he was a sight to behold. No wonder Annalise was still in love with him.
If she and Carl got divorced, it would be a long time before she put herself into the dating fray. She was tired of getting hurt, but Lord, she craved sex. Exiting out of her email account, she logged onto a discreet adult site. Yea, they had what she was looking for—pages and pages of them—dildos. Smiling to herself, she clicked through the wide variety of battery powered, vibrating, and thrusting, pink or purple, plastic pleasure toys. Finding one that promised untold delight, she clicked the instant buy button and felt like she had accomplished something.
Feeling like her purchase was a major step toward taking charge of her life, she decided to set the ball rolling with Carl. It was now or never, she told herself. Dialing his cell phone number, she held her breath and waited. "
Hello?"
Carl had a deep, sexy voice. It had been one of the things that had first attracted her to him. That and his hair, he had beautiful blonde, thick hair. It was a pity he didn't find anything about her attractive. Taking a deep breath, she jumped in. She knew he had caller ID—he knew exactly who was on the phone. Yet he said nothing personal, waiting for her to make the first move. "Carl, it's Cecile. How are things going?"
She heard him exhale loudly. Lord, was she such a bother? "Not too bad. I'll be able to come home tomorrow, I guess."
He guessed? Where else would he go? Not for the first time, Cecile wondered if he were having an affair. Would it matter? After all, he sure wasn't sleeping with her. "Good. I'm glad you're well." It would have been nice if he had called to check in on her. For the past three days, he had been in San Antonio on business. Nothing had really changed, but at least they had dinner together the night before he left. When she had returned to Dallas from the writer's conference, after her talk with Annalise, Cecile had chickened out about telling Carl she wanted a divorce. Maybe she owed her marriage one last try. So here she was, about to try and execute her plan. Cecile was going to make an attempt to seduce her husband.
"Carl, I would like for us to meet at this beautiful Bed and Breakfast I’ve found in that southern lifestyle magazine we subscribe to. It's not far from where you are."
With a weary sound voice, he asked. "A Bed and Breakfast? Cecile, you know I don't like that kind of thing."
Quickly, she came up with her pitch. "It's near the Lost Maples State Park. They have eleven miles of hiking trails there. The trails go through some of the most gorgeous scenery in the hill country."
There was a pause. "That sounds like fun. Could you find some shopping to do?"
Actually, she had hoped they could spend the time together. Hopefully, she could work on common interests after they got there. "Sure. I can do that."
"All right," he agreed. "Give me directions. I'll meet you there tomorrow."
* * * *
Bobby walked toward the Darrell K. Royal Stadium. It was time for football practice. And there was nothing Bobby Stewart loved more than football—except women. Jeffrey Johnson and Ladon Mahoney stepped in beside him. "Hey, cowboy. How's it hangin?" Ladon slapped Bobby on the back.
“Can’t complain, gentleman.” He had come straight from the rodeo arena and was still dressed in full cowboy regalia.
Johnson laughed, taking in the scene. "Hey Stewart, did you know there are four cute little coeds on your tail? I think they like the way you look in those chaps." Bobby swung around and winked at the little ladies, making them giggle as he tipped his hat at them.
"You know it's just not fair," Ladon grumbled. "You've got it all Bobby. Not only are you a football star, you're also a champion bull rider and freakishly good-looking. The only thing I've got going for me is that my people are healthy and live a long time. I've got longevity in my genes."
Bobby laughed and cupped his crotch. "I've got longevity in my jeans, too."
"Heard you rode that killer bull. What was his name, Porn Star? Was he hung like one?"
“I didn’t check out the bull’s Johnson, Johnson.” Bobby shot him the finger.
Jeffrey Johnson laughed. “I like to jack with you, Stewart. You’re a good guy—even if you are a lucky son-of-a-bitch who has it all.”
"The bull’s name is Rock Star," Bobby said with satisfaction. "I stayed on that devil for the full, long eight seconds."
Ladon slung his backpack over his massive shoulders. "Only a bull rider would think eight seconds is a long time. I pity your women, man. They have to learn how to get it in gear and get off fast."
Bobby tipped his Stetson at a beautiful blonde who was walking toward him, and a curvy redhead that crossed their paths and spoke to him sweetly. "Hi, Bobby."
"I always leave my women completely satisfied." Bobby stated matter-of-factly as he opened the double doors to the hall that led to the locker rooms and the player’s lounge.
"That's what I hear." Reece Witherspoon heard Bobby’s confident declaration. He fell in step with the other three, flinging a towel at the large hamper in the corner. "Word is that Stewart is hung like one of those bulls he rides. Hence, his nickname—Bull Stewart."
"This is a locker room, 'Spoon. We've all seen each other's plumbing." Bobby passed off the good-natured ribbing with his usual smooth return. Looking up, he noticed that one of his coaches was standing at the door motioning him over. "Uh-oh, I'm being sent to the office."
"If it's what I think it is, I believe you'll find it’s worth the trip," Reece gave him a knowing smile.
"What's up, Coach?" Bobby didn't think he had done anything wrong, but he had halfway been expecting them to complain about his bull-riding. Some athletic programs frowned on their players doing anything off the field that could be construed as risk-taking behavior, and mounting one ton of pissed off bull was definitely a risk.
"I've got some good news for you." The coach grinned at him. Bobby inwardly let out a breath of relief—this was something else entirely.
"Good news? Do you have a special play that you want me to try?" He loved to be on the receiving end of the quarterback’s throwing arm. The younger McCoy could thread a needle with a football, he was just that accurate.
"The deadline for declaring for the NFL draft is January. Are you planning on pitching your hat in the ring or are you content bouncing around on top of those widow-makers with horns?"
Bobby looked sheepish. He hadn't tried to hide his extracurricular activities, but none of the coaching staff had ever mentioned it to him before.
Trotsky tapped a file folder on his desk. “Look, Stewart, I know extraordinary talent when I see it. It’s my business.” The balding ex-pro leaned back in his office chair, “Put my mind to rest. You’ve got that certain something that separates the good players from the great ones. I’ve always said, give Stewart one shot with the ball, he can make it happen—and make it look easy.”
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it. And the answer is yes about the draft. I've already got the paperwork done."
"Good, because Dallas is looking at you. You could be a first round draft pick."
Bobby swallowed hard. Had he heard right? Playing for Dallas was his ultimate dream. "Sir, are you serious?"
"They'll be at the first game. And don't worry about it. We've got a little time to get you ready. Just play like you normally do and try not to get yourself killed by one of those bucking hamburgers-on-the-hoofs, before then." Trotsky stood and put his hand on Bobby's shoulder in a fatherly gesture. "I'm proud of you, boy. I've enjoyed coaching you more than you'll ever know. You're a good kid."
Bobby walked back to the locker room in a daze. The Dallas Cowboys were interested in him—Bobby Stewart! Hot damn! He slapped his Stetson against his leg and laughed out loud. Dallas! He couldn't believe it. Hell, this was great news! Dallas wouldn't know what hit it when Bobby Stewart arrived. He was gonna take Big D by storm.
Later that afternoon, Bobby set out for home. Class had let out early and all he had to do was run some errands and he was free for two days. The only thing he had to return to Austin for was football practice, which was a pleasure. Grabbing the list from the glove compartment, he checked to see what Alex had mapped out for him. Crap! This would take forever. He had to pick up Ethan's liquor order from the beverage store, pick up some samples from one of Alex's environmental conservation clients, fetch Mojo from the vet's office and buy the paint that had been special ordered for the B&B. Glancing out the window, he noticed a storm was brewing. Hopefully, he could get all this done and get home before the bottom fell out.
Turning on the radio to his favorite station, Bobby rolled down the window and started singing Jake Owen's Eight Second Ride at the top of his lungs. He was on top of the world. He couldn't believe he might actually get the chance to play for Dallas. For a moment, he considered that he might tell his brothers the good news while he was home, but he didn'
t want to jinx the possible outcome. It was tempting, though—anything to nudge Ethan out of the funk he had been in. Since his marriage to that human piranha, Francine, Ethan had been on a steady spiral into depression. He and Alex had told him that divorcing the vicious bitch had been the smartest thing that he had ever done.
Pulling into the paint store, he checked his phone for messages. Damn! There were eight messages from assorted girls, and three of them would make a sailor blush. Bobby wondered what was wrong with him, he was fast losing his taste for pushy women. Most men would give their right nut to be in his shoes, but, more and more Bobby Stewart was finding that he wanted a woman who made him feel like a man, not just a piece of meat.
* * * *
Cecile put on a bit of lip gloss, rearranged her new sexy negligee over her breasts and went to face the music. Cracking open the bathroom door, she could see Carl standing in front of the window. A nature lover, he had been taken by the beautiful grounds of the Bed and Breakfast. Carl had already mentioned that he wanted to check out the rose bed and the picturesque creek which ran behind the main guest house.
He looked good standing there wearing only a pair of light blue pajama pants. Carl wasn’t muscled-up like some men, but he had a nice body. On the drive down to Lost Maples, she had tried to remember how it felt when she had first fell in love with Carl, or thought they were in love. There was so much distance between them now it was hard to recall the excitement of his kiss or the warmth of his touch. Moving toward him, she stopped in her tracks when his cell phone rang. He let his gaze rake over her. Without a smile or nod of acknowledgement, he picked up the phone and walked over to the kitchen area leaving her standing there in her skimpy little outfit with a hesitant, expectant look on her face.
