by Ivy Jordan
Epilogue
Charlotte
The sky was blue, with pink swirling throughout the white clouds that floated like cotton above. Owen spread a blanket on the ground in a tall patch of grass, and helped me carefully lower myself onto it.
It was a beautiful day, one so beautiful I couldn’t remember one better. I had everything I’d ever wanted.
The warm summer air blew against my skin, the sun kissed at my face. I squinted out into the field where Carlos grazed, fully grown and healthy. Owen planned on selling him after he raised him, but I’d fallen in love; we both had.
Everything had fallen into place, just like a fairy tale.
“Do you want some fruit?” Owen asked, opening the picnic basket he’d packed.
I smiled, nodded, and then watched as he carefully dug through the basket for my fresh, sliced apples. He sat down beside me, opening the container to pull out a slice. He didn’t let me take it from his hand, but instead fed it to me.
He really was an amazing caretaker. The scar on my arm from the surgery reminded me every day of how well he took care of me. He’d stayed by my side, helped me dress, bathe, and even eat when I was having trouble. I’d never once felt like a charity case, like something he had to do. He expressed so much love in everything he’d done for me; it was obvious his intentions were true.
The sun caught my ring, bouncing off the diamond and making a rainbow of light around us. He reached for my hand, stared lovingly at the ring he’d slid onto my finger four years ago, and smiled. “I still can’t believe it’s all real,” he said.
I laughed, remembering how I’d thought it was a dream when he’d come into my hospital room.
“It’s real,” I said, gripping his hand and moving it to my belly.
His face stiffened as he rested his hand on the bump of my belly. The baby kicked, strong and hard, causing him to grin with such enthusiasm I couldn’t help but laugh with joy.
“What will we name him?” he asked.
I let my head fall back against my shoulders and took in the beauty of the sky while I pondered that question. “Charlie,” I said softly.
Owen gripped my hand, squeezing it tightly in his. I knew that was what he wanted. I wanted it too. Charlie had become like a father to me over the last few years. He gave me away at our wedding when my father was too ill to walk down the aisle, he took care of me when I was sick, and most importantly, he was the one who had pushed Owen to me, telling him he deserved to be happy.
I knew the day Owen had put on his black coat and tie to attend Charlie’s funeral, it was the hardest day of his life. He had been Owen’s best friend—a brother, a father, a mentor. Charlie had told him how proud he was of him before he passed. “I’ve got no regrets. I had a great life. And, there’s nothing better than knowing you helped someone else get what they deserve, as well.” That had been one of the last things he’d ever said to Owen. It stuck with him, and I knew it would for eternity.
“You’re so beautiful,” Owen said, leaning in and softly kissing my cheek. “What if it’s a girl?” he asked, giving me a curious look.
I laughed, knowing it didn’t matter. “Charlie,” I said with a smirk.
He gripped my face, turning me toward him. His lips met mine, soft, and then hard and passionate as he moved his body over me. I rolled to my back, letting him caress my skin, first my breasts, which were now full and firm, and then my belly, which was beginning to really show my pregnancy.
His mouth kissed my neck, slowly moving down to my breasts. He stopped to kiss my belly, placing his cheek against my skin gently before going even lower, between my legs.
His hands pushed my skirt up, and then pulled my panties away from my skin to expose my delicate flesh.
My body reacted to his eyes with tingles of electricity rolling through my veins. I loved how blue his eyes were in the summer sun, and how hungry they looked as he peeked up from between my legs.
Warm, wet laps of his tongue teased my inner thighs, causing me to moan out into the hot air. His lips wrapped around my clit, tugging on it gently, and then sucking it into his mouth to massage it with his tongue. The sucking motion made my back arch, and my breasts feel as if they’d explode with excitement. He slid a finger inside of me, working it slowly in circles, left to right, as he sucked on my sensitive pearl.
It didn’t take him long to bring me to orgasm, my body exploding with pleasure in delicious waves. His tongue worked hard to lap up my juices, his finger never stopping the sweet swirling motion inside my pulsating pussy.
I reached up, gripping his pants and pulling at them until they opened. His cock was hard and ready as I stroked it in my hand. “On your back,” I ordered.
He quickly obliged, laying on his back, his cock stiff and standing at attention. My mouth lowered to him, taking only the tip in with my lips. My tongue flicked at his tiny hole, teasing him as my hand rolled his balls with soft, massaging motions. I widened my jaw, lowering my mouth onto him, sucking hard as I swallowed his shaft. He growled, arched his back, and gripped my hair between his fingers to guide me at the pace he liked.
He was close, real close, but I wasn’t ready for our fun to end. I sucked hard, pushing with my cheeks around his cock, squeezing his balls in my hand, and then I released my grip suddenly. He shook as I calmed him with a caressing hand on his rock-hard abs.
His eyes opened, staring at me hungrily; he pulled me toward him. My body spread over him, my pussy resting against his hard cock as his mouth consumed mine. The taste of our sex mixed together on my tongue was like a delicious cocktail. His hand reached between my legs, guiding the tip of his cock into me, and my body lowered, taking him in as I let out a moan.
“Damn, you’re sexy, darlin’,” Owen’s voice was deep and sultry as he spoke.
Even though my belly was growing, Owen always made me feel sexy. I rocked my hips into his, pushing him deeper and deeper into me. The sensation of my clit rubbing against his pelvis made my legs quiver, and my skin prickled with excitement. His hands reached out, caressing my breasts; his fingers rolled around my nipples, tugging to make me cry out his name. They were so sensitive that the slightest touch made me want to come; with him inside me, tugging on the sensitive skin, there was no stopping the orgasm that roared through my body.
Owen gripped my hips, holding me still while my body quivered and pulsated around him. He smiled, staring into my eyes as my orgasm blasted around him. When I finally calmed down, his eyes rolled back into his head, and his own explosion started. I loved feeling every last pulse of his pleasure surge through my body.
I climbed off of him and collapsed onto my back to catch my breath. He rolled to his side, caressed my full belly, and stared into my eyes.
I was lost in those baby blues as I allowed my body to relax in the warm sun. Owen Michael Martin had proven not only to be an amazing man, but an amazing husband—and I knew he would be an amazing father. “I love you,” I sighed, closing my eyes as I daydreamed about our future.
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MR FIREFIGHTER
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan
Chapter One
I was beginning to think I didn’t belong in this town.
The small room where I would audition for the leading role in an independent film was filled with typical L.A. women. It felt as though every eye was on me when I entered, like they were wondering why I was there. I was beginning to wonder the same thing.
“Name and role,” the lady at the desk asked as I approached. She didn’t even bother to look up as she scribbled down my name next to the role of Lucinda, the abused housewife that kills her husband.
>
I took a seat next to one of the Barbie look-alikes, and re-read the part I planned to use in my audition.
The only jobs I’d managed to snag since moving to this town were two commercial roles, a few print ads, and a nobody role in a cheesy, low-budget play. I needed this part. I needed something. Otherwise, I was heading right back to Lydick, Indiana to work in my grandfather’s hardware store. I couldn’t go back. Not after promising to be somebody. That look of disappointment in my father’s eyes when I turned down the scholarship to Notre Dame still haunted me at night. When I called home, I could still hear the pain in his voice.
One after one, the blonde Barbies all took their turns in the casting room. My anxiety started to take hold of me as the room started to clear out. I stroked my long brown hair nervously. I was next. Deep breaths, inhale….exhale... “Emily Warren,” the woman at the desk called out. She pushed her glasses up on her nose as her head lifted to scan the room for the one belonging to the name she’d just called.
“Here,” I said nervously.
“This isn’t attendance. Go on inside,” she said, sarcasm oozing from her tongue.
Her lips curled into a half smile as she lightly shook her head. I knew that look. I’d had it given to me time and time again. It was the look that said, “You’re different. You don’t belong.”
I’d been on dozens of auditions, but they never seemed to get any easier. “Hello,” I said, clearing the lump of nerves from my throat as I entered the small room.
The heavy door shut behind me, slamming and causing me to jump. “Sorry,” I apologized to the three uninterested faces behind the long desk that sat against the far right wall in the room.
“Emily Warren?” the woman in the middle of two men asked. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her eyes were narrowed and small.
“Yes,” I said quickly, moving to my spot in the center of the room.
“You are auditioning for Lucinda?” the woman asked, then looked to her left, and then to her right.
The two men on either side of her didn’t seem to notice her glance. It was obvious she felt I wasn’t right for the part, but I had to push through.
“Yes,” I announced with a cheerful smile.
“Do you need someone to read with you?” the man on the left asked.
He was older, but handsome. His bald head was shiny, creating a small glare that I couldn’t seem to quit staring at. “No,” I said, pulling my eyes away from his head.
“Go ahead whenever you’re ready,” he said, offering the slightest hint of a smile behind the thick coat of his beard.
“I’ll be reading the speech Lucinda gives the cops,” I stated.
They all nodded and then turned to the page in the script that matched my audition.
Tamara, one of my three roommates, had taught me how to cry on demand. I read the speech, pleading with the cops to believe I didn’t mean to hurt my husband, even though fifteen bullets had been found in both his chest and back. A tear rolled down my cheek, which I slowly wiped away, and then let my head fall into my hands in dismay.
It felt good. Real good. “Thank you,” the woman in the middle stated without emotion.
I hated casting agents. They never showed any emotion. You had to leave the audition not knowing if they hated you or loved you.
The bald man leaned back in his chair towards the man on the other side of the woman. They were whispering as I gathered my script, and the rest of my belongings, ready to head out for the three-day torturous wait for rejection.
“Wait,” the bald man said quickly.
My heart throbbed in my chest, so hard I was afraid they could hear it. I stared in his direction, trying my best to avoid eye contact with the glare spot on his head.
“I think we can all agree that your acting ability is spot on,” he said.
Oh my God!
“We had originally decided to cast someone more…more L.A.,” he continued.
Yeah, more L.A. I knew what that meant. Blonder, bustier, faker.
“I think we may have overlooked a great opportunity to cast someone with a more girl-next-door look. You’d be perfect. The audience would fall in love with you, and believe that you’d end up in an abusive marriage,” he said with a smile.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I look corn-fed and stupid? Who cares, if it gets me the part.
I smiled, even though I wanted to scold him with a mean glare for his inconsiderate and completely inaccurate words.
“Are you comfortable with the sex scene?” the man on the right asked. His eyes were wide and his lashes thick, thicker than most women’s.
“Yes. Totally,” I boasted, even though ‘comfortable’ was a strong word. I was willing. Comfortable? Not so much.
“We’ll call you and let you know within three days,” the woman spoke up, obviously ready to debate the boys on why I wasn’t right for the part.
“Thank you,” I said, and then left the room where I felt degraded, judged, and somewhat ecstatic that I’d won over two-thirds of the table of assholes in the room.
My phone rang, playing my ringtone of Nirvana’s ‘All Apologies’ as I walked down the narrow staircase of the building and out the front doors to the sun-streaked sidewalk. It was October, and it was ninety degrees with full sun—unusual, even for Los Angeles, at this time of year. I still wasn’t used to it. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it. At home, it was probably forty degrees, and the trees were all shedding their leaves, the grass turning brown, and the threat of snowstorms right around the corner.
Tamara’s face lit up on my screen as I slid the answer button. “Hey girl,” I answered.
“Oh, thank God you answered,” she sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“My fucking model didn’t show up,” she snarled though the phone.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“Can you get here in twenty minutes?” she asked with desperation spewing from the edges of her voice.
“I can get there in five,” I replied.
“Oh my God! You’re amazing,” she squealed.
I shoved my phone into my purse and hailed a cab. I was only a couple miles from her studio, but the hot sun deterred me from trying to make the walk.
Tamara had been trying to get her big break as a photographer for years and had sunk every dime she made into newer and higher-end equipment. I knew how important this job was to her, and to her career, so I was happy to help.
After paying the cabbie, I rushed into the white stucco building where Tamara worked. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, or what she’d have me modeling, but I didn’t care. I was on cloud nine. Two out of the three assholes liked me for the part. I had a chance. A real fuckin’ chance.
“Oh, thank God,” Tamara rushed to me with open arms.
A quick squeeze to greet her, and I was rushed into the dressing room. “What’s the ad?” I asked.
“It’s a new water brand,” she said, pushing a skimpy red bikini into my hands.
“Oh, wow,” I laughed, looking at the tiny suit.
“I know. You’ll be doing me a real solid. I need this to be perfect,” she pleaded.
“Of course,” I said, swallowing my modesty and agreeing to put on the tiny red bikini.
An Asian woman, whom I couldn’t understand when she talked, started fussing with my hair. A flamboyant man with wavy blond hair sat down in front of me with a large bag of makeup and brushes. “Here. Wipe off that horrific makeup,” he said with a snotty tone as he handed me a cloth and tube of makeup remover.
I did as I was told. This wasn’t unusual treatment; I’d gotten enough work to know that. The town was harsh, and the people harsher. It was a good damn thing my parents had raised me to have thick skin.
“You ready?” Tamara yelled.
The makeup and hair artists cleared the way, and I slipped behind the curtain to change into my suit.
As I exited, the man with
all the makeup brushes was there to greet me. He didn’t say anything as he knelt to his knees and started brushing my inner thighs. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and I was just thankful I’d waxed earlier that week.
“You look amazing,” Tamara assured me as I entered back into the studio.
A large area was coated with thick layers of sand, and an umbrella stuck out with a backdrop of the ocean.
One of the hottest men I’d ever seen walked out of the other dressing room wearing nothing except firefighter pants and suspenders. Oh, my!
I shot Tamara a look of excitement with my teeth showing, my eyes wide, and my body so tense I could snap if I made any sudden movements.
“Emily. This is Josh. Josh, Emily will be filling in for Sandra today,” Tamara said as she moved behind her camera.
I extended my hand to him with a smile. “You want me—er—where do you want me?” I stammered.
He grinned, showing off his perfectly white teeth. I watched his strong hand as it slid across his squared off chin, as if he was thinking about my mistaken question, and then through his thick, wavy blond hair. Jesus, he was fuckin’ hot!
“I believe you’ll need to be in my arms. Like I’m carrying you,” he said, his voice so sweet it could’ve been honey.
“Okay,” I said, feeling my cheeks burning.
I heard Tamara giggle from behind her camera. Thank you, Sandra, for not showing up today; and thank you, Tamara, for thinking of me!
It was awkward at first, but Josh’s natural charm and confident charisma made it easy to relax. He took the lead, pulling me into his arms while Tamara snapped the shots. “Just relax,” he said with a smile.
My body melted into his. Oh God, that was too relaxed. I tensed back up.
His smile was warm and his eyes patient as he stared at me. “Emily. You need to be really into him,” Tamara said. I am; that is the problem!
“He’s the hot firefighter that is there not only to quench your thirst with the water he carries, but to quench your desires as well,” she added, and then ducked back behind her camera.
