I Have Lived And I Have Loved: A Charity Romance Collection

by Willow Winters

  “Now!” he shouted.

  It was like a switch inside my body that only had to be flipped, his demand instantly filling that need. The shudders started in my navel and burst up to my mouth, screams filling the air around us. “Ahhh!”

  “You’re fucking milking me,” he moaned. “My fucking God you feel good.”

  I could feel his cum hitting the depths of me, each pulse causing his cock to grow even harder. His thrusts came with a strength he’d reserved just for this moment. And every one made me shout out in ecstasy, like his orgasm was causing ten more of my own.

  “James,” he roared. “Fuck!”

  He continued that ruthless pattern, my pussy and ass quivering until he slowed, but he kept himself buried inside me.

  When he finally pulled out of my pussy, his face landed on my stomach where I felt his breaths warm my flesh. “Fuck me,” he sighed. “You’re my dirty, dirty girl.” His finger was still in my ass and he swirled it around, giving it a few final dips before he gradually popped it out.

  “Mmm,” he moaned. “I already miss that hole.”

  He reached behind me and loosened the tie from my wrists, the string falling to the couch, and then I heard the sound of him putting on his clothes.

  Within only a few seconds, his mouth was hovering above mine. “Don’t take off the blindfold until you hear the sound of the door.”

  I expected his mouth to land on mine, rewarding me with a good-bye kiss.

  But he didn’t do that.

  Instead, he leaned down to my pussy where his lips gently pressed against the top of my clit. He kissed that spot several times, giving it a small swipe of his tongue, before he whispered, “My good fucking girl.”

  I smiled and gave him a final moan.

  I heard the sound of footsteps and then the door closed, the lock clicking into place.

  I was alone again.

  My heart was pounding, my breath barely returning, my body feeling like it had been through the most satisfying war.

  Knowing it was finally safe, I reached up and took off the blindfold, taking a quick inventory of the space around me. Everything looked the same, like that man had never even entered my trailer.

  I had no idea how long I had been in here, but I knew I was cutting it close.

  I found my thong and jeans and heels on the floor and I quickly put them back on. I rushed into the small bathroom, checking my face, making sure the tears hadn’t stained my cheeks or the sweat hadn’t ruined my eye makeup. There were a few smudges but nothing my fingers couldn’t take care of. I ran my fingers through my hair, ensuring the back didn’t look like I’d just been fucked.

  When I was sure I looked presentable, I hurried through my trailer and opened the door, going down the steps and across the lot, entering through the back. The set was as full as I had left it and, like before, I didn’t make eye contact with anyone I passed before I returned to the spot on the floor, directly in front of the fireplace.

  The hair and makeup staff immediately came over to me, something they did every time we left the set. With pallets and brushes in their hands, they touched up my face and hair, making sure my long locks looked slightly messy and the black liner was smudged, like the teenager I was supposed to be for this role.

  Sabrina joined me on the floor, professionalism covering her expression, a calmness in her demeanor. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded, “Yes.”

  “James!” the director barked from several feet away. “I hope you’re finally ready to perform. I’m expecting perfection and I’ll accept nothing less at this point.”

  “I’ll deliver,” I replied.

  The whispering on set quieted, the assistants disappeared from around us. I was staring at Sabrina, waiting for the countdown until I finally heard, “Fireplace scene, take six and … action!”

  “Mom,” I started, the breath in my chest warming, the knot sliding into my throat where I needed it to live in order to gain the full emotion this scene required. “Oh God.” I shook my head as though I didn’t know what I needed to say, but the lines were just waiting to be spoken. “I … I don’t know how to tell you this.” I paused, shifting my legs like a fidgety teenager full of nerves at the news I was about to give her.

  But the movement caused something else.

  It triggered the cum that had been shot inside me to begin dripping out of my pussy. I felt the thickness hit the underside of my thong and within a few seconds it would slowly be running down my legs.

  Instead of smiling, like I wanted, remembering those yummy moments of passion, I found the tears that I needed.

  The angst.

  The expression that I had to dig deep for, but I knew was showing on my face.

  The Oscar worthy moment was here and not a single thing in this world would stop me from delivering.

  As I opened my mouth again, a tear now falling from my eye, I heard, “Baby, it’s time to wake up,” in that voice that had growled at me from inside my trailer.

  Wake up?

  “You’re going to be late for your first day of shooting,” the same voice added.

  Late?

  My eyes flicked open and the sight of Brett was the first thing I saw.

  It had all been a dream.

  But it was his hands, his deliciously long cock, his blindfold.

  He’d been the star of my fantasy, of course.

  “You were sleeping so hard, you slept right through our alarm,” he said. He was on his knees, next to the bed, his face in my neck. “What were you dreaming about, baby? It almost sounded like you were moaning.”

  As he pulled away to look at my face, I smiled, feeling the heat trickle over my skin. “You.”

  “Is that so?”

  I nodded against the pillow. “You showed up to my trailer on set and …” I shook my head, remembering each of his movements. “Whoa, things got extremely steamy.”

  He kissed my cheek and stood, going over to the doorway where he gripped the frame, gazing at me. “I want to hear all about it tonight when you get home.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to make you reenact it.”

  He chuckled, knowing he was the one who made the dominating demands, not me. “Good luck today, fucking nail it.”

  “I will.”

  He continued to stare at me, his eyes narrowing. “And if you’re a good fucking girl when you get back, I’ll reward you with anal.”

  Before I could respond, he was gone.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading! 100% of the profits from this anthology will be given to the Live A Thousand Lives charity.

  This charity donates audio players - equipped with hundreds of hours of classic stories - to low-to-no mobility patients in nursing facilities and hospitals.

  The Live A Thousand Lives Project has been fueled by prolific Romance writers and unabashed book lovers who appreciate that audiobooks boost mental health, improve memory and stimulate the brain in ways that mirror reading printed text.

  * * *

  * * *

  WAYS TO HELP:

  You can find out more and donate by clicking here!

  Or you can purchase an audio device for yourself - a Brilliant Blue Classic or a Red Hot Romance Audio Player (with over $200 worth of audio books from bestselling authors) by clicking here!

  For every ONE player purchased, Live A Thousand Lives is able to donate TWO Brilliant Blue Classics.

  If you would like to read more about Brett and James, check out their novel, Signed, a super steamy, forbidden, Hollywood romance.

  About the Author

  USA Today best-selling author Marni Mann knew she was going to be a writer since middle school. While other girls her age were daydreaming about teenage pop stars, Marni was fantasizing about penning her first novel. She crafts unique stories that weave together her love of darkness, mystery, passion, and human emotions. A New Englander at heart, she now lives in Sarasota, Florida, with her husband and their yellow lab. When she�
�s not nose deep in her laptop, working on her next novel, she’s scouring for chocolate, sipping wine, traveling, or devouring fabulous books.

  Want to get in touch? Visit Marni at …

  Facebook

  Instagram

  Website

  MarniMannBooks@gmail.com

  Also by Marni Mann

  Stand-Alone Novels

  Before You (Contemporary Romance)

  The Assistant (Psychological Thriller)

  The Unblocked Collection (Erotic Romance)

  Wild Aces (Erotic Romance)

  Prisoned (Dark Erotic Thriller)

  The moments in boston series—contemporary romance

  When Ashes Fall

  When We Met

  The agency series of stand-alone novels—Erotic Romance

  Signed

  Endorsed

  Contracted

  Negotiated

  The Prisoned Spin-Off DUET—Dark Erotic Thriller

  Animal—Book One

  Monster—Book Two

  The Shadows Series—Erotica

  Seductive Shadows—Book One

  Seductive Secrecy—Book Two

  The BAR HARBOR SERIES—NEW ADULT

  Pulled Beneath—Book One

  Pulled Within—Book Two

  The Memoir Series—Dark Fiction

  Memoirs Aren’t Fairytales—Book One

  Scars from a Memoir—Book Two

  Novels Cowritten with Gia Riley

  Lover (Erotic Romance)

  Drowning (Contemporary Romance)

  Baby It’s Cold Outside

  By Melanie Harlow & Corrine Michaels

  Chapter 1

  Harlow

  “Ugh!” I scream as I try to pull the damn tree through the glass doorway of my new apartment building—unsuccessfully. I’ve been at it for ten minutes and even in the freezing cold December-in-Chicago weather, I have sweat beading on my forehead. What the hell was I thinking trying to move a six-foot-tall live tree by myself?

  Oh, I know, I was listening to Willow talk about how a tree with lights would be magically jolly for my psyche, and necessary to get out of the foul mood and bad luck I’m enduring. Pfft. I should’ve known better. Willow may be the best boss and top matchmaker in Chicago, but she was wrong on this.

  I don’t feel jolly. I don’t feel festive. I feel sweaty and frustrated, and I would like to shove this tree right up Santa’s …

  I give it another yank and my hand scrapes against the bark, ripping a hole in my glove.

  That’s it. I’m over it all.

  “Stupid Christmas and all its stupid holiday crap. Santa … blah! Who needs him and his jolly elves when life sucks? Stupid tree, stupid holiday, and stupid joy!” I kick the stump, then wince because it hurt.

  “Well, that’s not very festive,” a deep voice says from behind me. “I don’t think the tree did anything to deserve your hatred.”

  Of course someone is standing here, watching me like a freaking idiot. What a sight I must be too. I’m holding the cut end of a tree, trying to drag it through the heavy door that keeps closing, ripping off branches as I pull harder. I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry.

  I huff, my hair falling into my face, obstructing my view of my current life crisis. “Sorry, I’ll apologize to it later.” I don’t even turn to look at the stranger because whatever with it all anyway. “Once I get it in the stupid door.”

  I’m a damn mess, but what else is new?

  Two weeks ago, I got dumped. Merry-fucking-Christmas to me. Instead of the gorgeous ring I was hoping for, I got the gift of finding out my boyfriend of six years wanted to ride someone else’s sleigh. So I packed my shit and left. Thankfully, my boss had just moved in with her fiancé, so she gave me the keys to her fully furnished apartment and told me to add plants because plants cure everything.

  I should’ve gotten a bunch of fake ones—that way I wouldn’t kill them—but Willow insisted I get a real Christmas tree to push myself into the holiday spirit.

  And even in the absolute craptastic state I’m in, I wanted to fake it till I made it. I’m vying for partner of My Heart’s Desire and every little thing helps, right? I should’ve known better. Now I’m going to have a big half-alive, half-naked tree to look at, one more reminder of how I’m failing at life.

  Well, if I can get it upstairs.

  I pull on the tree again, tug-of-war style, needles flying everywhere. I debate just leaving it here. There’s no tree in the lobby, so I can just call it a contribution, right? If it was my name on the lease, and not Willow’s, I might do it. Or maybe if I didn’t care about my job or had another place to live, but alas, I don’t. So the tree must go to its final resting place where it will undoubtedly die before the big fat guy makes his way on the 25th.

  “Are you planning to put that in your apartment?”

  “Yup,” I say as I yank again. It doesn’t budge. “Well, maybe.”

  He lets out a chuckle. “Need help?”

  “Nope,” I say through gritted teeth. “I got it.” I wipe my brow where the sweat is now dripping and groan aloud. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I got this.”

  “You know I can’t leave until you get this tree inside.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice. At least I’m amusing him.

  “I’m happy to help since you’re struggling.”

  This is the worst week of my life.

  The voice behind me sighs loudly. Giving in, I turn to ask for the help I so clearly need, ready to deal with the embarrassment of my life.

  “I’m not strugg—” I start, but when I turn, I want to die. Because in front of me is the most attractive man on the planet, standing there with a smile on his face.

  He has dark brown hair that’s pushed to the side, but not in that slick way—it’s as though it just moved there because he commanded it to. His jaw is strong and covered with a dusting of stubble that I want to brush my fingers against. And then there are his eyes. Jesus Christ. His eyes are the most stunning shade of blue. They’re not quite royal blue, although I could see specks of it. They’re a deep, rich sapphire color with traces of green, or is it just a lighter blue? Either way, I can’t stop looking at him.

  My mouth hangs open just a bit as I try to get my brain to form words. What do you say to a god?

  “I can see you’re not, but … I’m a gentleman, it’s Christmas, and you know … I have somewhere to go before New Years.”

  “What?” I ask, not remembering if there was a question or whether I am supposed to do something besides stare at him like the present I’d like under my tree.

  “Are you ready for me to help?”

  Yes, the answer is yes. Yes to anything he wants. Yes!

  “Huh?” is what comes out past my lips.

  “The tree. Are you going to let me help you?” He grins at me, knowing my only other choice is to leave it here, stuck in the doors.

  “Help?”

  “Yeeeeah,” the word comes out slowly, which is apparently the cylinder I’m firing on. He puts his coffee cup down and then extends his hand. “I’m Michael.”

  What a name. It’s simple, classic, and so totally him. I think there was an angel named Michael, right? Maybe a god? If not, there is now. The god of Sexy Men. That is Michael.

  I sigh, my eyes blinking slowly as I stare at him.

  His head tilts just a little, lips pursed as he waits expectantly.

  Shit. I should talk. “Harlow.”

  “Harlow?”

  “Yes?”

  He smirks. “Your name is Harlow?”

  If the ground could just open me up and swallow me, that would be cool. “Sorry,” I say as I take his hand like I should’ve to start with. “Yes, I’m Harlow, and this is my tree that is resisting its new home.” I’m hoping I can recover from this horrific introduction with a modicum of self-respect intact.

  “I hear that some trees are just difficult.”

  “This is apparently the story of my life.” />
  Men. Trees. People. Parents. They’re all difficult. What’s that saying about the common denominator? I’m starting to wonder …

  “Well, let’s see if we can’t get the tree upstairs and willing to behave.”

  “Doubtful, but I appreciate it.”

  Michael moves to the double doors and pushes one to the side and then slides in a locking mechanism I didn’t know existed, and then repeats it on the other side.

  Seriously, I hate my life. “That would’ve made it easier ….”

  He gives me a panty-melting smile and his brows rise. “And probably saved a lot of branches.”

  “That too.”

  “Why don’t you grab the top?” he suggests.

  I move to the front of the tree, resisting the urge to punch myself in the face.

  “Ready?”

  I nod.

  With almost no effort, we move the tree through the doors and to the elevator. “Thank you, I can get it upstairs.”

  Michael gives me a look that says he’s not so sure of it, which I’ve earned. “I’ll help you get it to the apartment. You know, there are two more doors to get it through.”

  I laugh, because what the hell else can I do? “I’m never going to recover from this. This is the most embarrassing thing ever.”

  “I’m sure I have you beat.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugs. “Have you ever been to Cancun for spring break?”

  I’ve never gone anywhere outside of Chicago. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Then I promise, you’re not even in my wheelhouse of embarrassing moments.”

  I appreciate his attempt to make me feel better, but this definitely blows. If he wasn’t so attractive, maybe I wouldn’t care, or if he wasn’t a guy, it would be fine. However, he is both and I am mortified.

  I push the button to go to the twentieth floor and will myself not to say anything stupid on the elevator ride up.