by Abby Knox
“They’re all fine,” Quinn says in his sexy, creaky morning voice. “I know what you’re thinking and they’re all fine.”
I roll to my side and look at my husband, now head of the Language Arts Department at Greenbridge Academy. He’s applying to be an adjunct professor at the community college soon. “Someday I’m going to roll over in the morning and be married to a tenured professor with a distinguished gray beard and suede elbow patches on his tweedy jacket.”
Quinn snorts. “Fuck that old fuddy duddy.”
I raise my eyebrows and sit up. “Sure will, any time, any place.”
My husband laughs and cups one of my breasts, fully waking up the lustful beast inside me that’s never fully asleep whenever he’s around. We’re both still naked from last night, and I can feel his length against my leg, growing hard once again. I slide up on top of him so I’m straddling his hips, looking down at him.
He runs his fingers along the underside of my breasts, and it sends warmth all through me, readying my body to take him. To lose myself in him. While I’m enjoying his caresses all over my bare skin, I reach up and pinch my own nipples. He hisses at the sight of it.
“I was wrong, this view is even better than a sunrise.”
All of the sensations cause heat to pool at my core.
I feel his cock twitch under me.
“Get down here and kiss me,” he growls. “Right fucking now.”
His growling and his intense, tight face tell me he’s ready for me. He’s aching for my warmth but he still wants to kiss me first. It’s sweet and so…Quinn.
I bend over and he grabs my face, pulling me in tight to devour me in wet kisses. His lips on mine alone are sometimes enough to bring me to climax.
But not this morning. I need more than kisses after marathon lovemaking last night.
The release might be the nice cherry on top, but the long, slow journey of getting lost in each other is always the best part.
Getting lost in passion, in all-night conversation, good food, wine, music and books, and enjoying life with Quinn will always be my favorite journey.
About the Author
Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.
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Also by Abby Knox
The Greenbridge Academy series
Swim Coach (book one)
Grumpy Dad (book two)
Benefactor (book three)
Headmistress (book four)
Queen Bee (book five)
The Very Good Boy Duet
Fencing Her In (A bad neighbors to lovers story. With a lot of dogs. You need this in your life.)
Doing Him Good (An insta-love, sowing-his-wild-oats whirlwind romance.)
Need more?
From the Small-Town Bachelor Romance Series
(each can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want to read in order … this is the order)
Take Me Home
Game Face
Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition
Walk With Me
Stay the Night
I’ve Got You
Come And Get It
The Windy City Holiday Duet
Pumpkin and Spice
Comfort and Joy
Beach Avenue Babes
His Vinyl Vixen (a stand alone for the rock ’n’ roll nerd in all of us)
Her Hi-Fi Hunk (Dusty and Jed from His Vinyl Vixen)
Stand alone short reads and novellas
Maid for the Billionaire
Doctor Dave
Fighting For Dylan (book four in a six-author MMA series!
Hot Off The Press
The Halloween Bet
One Good Woman (a stand-alone mistaken identity/conspiracy/political drama)
Naughty Irish Heart (a time-hopping Saint Patrick’s Day Romance — two couples and two HEAs in one book! Part of a four-author themed collection!)
Sweet Jane
(An over-the-top amnesia story about being lost, and then found.)
The Christmas Pickup (a holiday short read full of feels, quirky characters and one hot tow truck driver!)
Saved for Me
(a special Holidays with Alexa Riley story)
Matched for Me (A Valentine’s Day story with Fletcher from Saved for Me)
Off-Season Stud (a fun and sexy vacation trope with an OTT ending!)
The Sisters of Enchantment series (a paranormal collection of stories about … yes … witches. I know you want more of these … they’re coming!)
Some Basic Witch
Witch, Please!
An excerpt from Shacking Up
A stand alone novella by Abby Knox, coming this spring!
Wren
Nice ass for an old cowboy.
My new friend Sam’s number gets called shortly after I return to my seat in the jury room, and I have to smile at the way he mutters under his breath as he slowly rises to his feet.
He’s saying something about how he’s being unjustly interrupted right as the plot of his Wild West novel is just starting to get good, too.
He can’t fool me. I can tell by the wear and tear, he’s read that book about 18 thousand times.
Nah, he’s just mad I didn’t get dismissed. He’s getting increasingly worried he’s going to end up in the jury box with little ol’ me.
I can tell he doesn’t like the looks of me at all. He’d probably be shocked out of his mind if he knew I thought he was cute.
I know the type. I see guys like him in the store where I work every day. Not all of ‘em would dress up for court the way Sam does: pressed dark blue jeans, belt with a silver buckle, not too flashy. Plaid button down shirt that’s slightly outdated but he carries it off well. And fills it out well, I might add.
Sam’s not an uncommon sight around here; this is cattle country, after all. What I do find unusual is the fact that he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Not even a dent in his sun-damaged ring finger to indicate there might have been one there, once upon a time.
I watch him quietly answer the judge’s questions, nodding respectfully and saying, “Yes, your honor,” and “no, your honor.”
I survey the crowd and I see a couple of other people staring at Sam too. Heat rises under my skin. I don’t like it that other people are admiring him. Why in the world would that bother me? I just met him less than 30 minutes ago. And using the word “met” might even be a stretch. More like I’ve just sat here bugging him to pass the time while we wait.
He seems like an interesting guy to talk to.
Not to mention he helped me save face when I accidentally forgot to pair my bluetooth earbuds with my phone and the entire first seven rows in the jury pool room got to hear the first seven seconds of my favorite fapping audio.
It doesn’t embarrass me at all if people know what I listen to. Some people read cowboy books. Hippie lady in the row in front of us apparently crochets baby blankets. Me? I listen to guys jerk it while I cross stitch cuss words. I didn’t bring the cross stitch with me today, though. I can’t very well be stitching “Fuck Off” at the county courthouse, I don’t think. That would be tacky, even for me.
I wait patiently and watch Sam stride back to his chair next to me, giving him another smile which he returns with a polite nod.
Even though his rugged face doesn’t give a hint of a smile back at me, it doesn’t feel cold.
“It’s OK,” I say.
“Ma’am?” I like the way he says “ma’am” instead of “what?” He oozes old school mann
ers.
“It’s OK you don’t smile. I can read people pretty well, and I think you’re the kind of person who reserves your smile for when you’re really feeling it. And that’s perfectly cool. In fact, I think that’s kind of rad.”
Sam is assessing me from the side, sort of leaning away and casting his eyes at me with a furrowed brow. “Glad I got your permission.”
I like his brand of sarcasm. We all know this dude does not give a shit about permission for much of anything.
“Also,” I say, “Thank you. For earlier.”
He has to think for a minute as I study his concentrating ice blue eyes.
“For taking the blame for the fapping noises coming from my phone,” I whisper.
Sam holds up his hands in surrender. “Ma’am, I don’t have to know what that was, I just didn’t want you getting in any kind of trouble. If anyone gets sent home, I’d rather it be me, ‘cause for some reason you seem happy to be here. Just make sure I don’t ever have to hear that foolishness again.”
I beam at him, give him my best thousand watt smile.
Just when I think he might see fit to allow himself to smile back at me, the judge interrupts us and lists off a bunch of numbers, indicating that the people assigned to those numbers will be called to go to a second room for more interviews.
Both my number and Sam’s number are called and we all are herded down the hall and into a courtroom.
“Ladies and gentleman,” begins a tall woman wearing a dark suit and kickass heels. She introduces herself as the assistant district attorney, and begins asking seemingly random questions to jurors, addressing them by their numbers. Judging by the kinds of questions she’s asking, I quickly deduce this isn’t just any trial. To my astonishment, we are being interviewed to be jurors for a murder trial.
Holy shit, I think silently, biting my tongue so I don’t cuss out loud.
I glance around the room. Down the row from me is Sam, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his eyes cast downward. He’s disappointed. He really doesn’t want to be here. Maybe he’s got a girlfriend, or important things to do at the ranch.
Me? Aw, hell yeah. A murder trial…this is a fucking dream come true.
And who knows? Maybe, in addition to performing my civic duty, I’ll find some way to cheer up my friend Sam in the process.
