by Gina Kincade
“I was going to tell you,” he garbles around a chewy caramel. “Wanted to get over the cold I caught from Tommy first. How about we start over?” His hope-filled eyes plead but my heart shields are high and the organ is Chuck Norris. No one messes with Chuck.
He extends his hand, introducing himself and listing his ownership of the coffee shop and his seat on the bench. I shrug; shaking his hand, I respond with my information. Up close, he is a true masculine beauty. All dark with sharp angles and captivating eyes. His smile is contagious and he smells like a dream. But I’d rather lick the buttons than admit it.
After another hour trapped, we’ve discussed our childhoods, parents, college, and touched on our dating history. I explain how I met Geo and he clues me in on why his shop is named after a turkey. Java Tom’s was his grandfather’s brainchild. His name was Thomas and little Tommy is his namesake.
He asks about my confession the last time we spoke. This is it; the true test of his character is if he is accepting of my imagined ones.
I lay it all out there, beginning with how I enjoyed playing with my imaginary friends as a child more than the real kids who liked to tease me. As an adult they disappeared, becoming hallucinations. I explain the dump-me truck, how I hear music and see singers when there aren’t any, and how, in the world of my mind, I punish all who dare to hurt me. Most would label me insane and demand I suffocate my delusions with drugs.
“I’d rather live in a world where unicorns dance with Billie Eilish while singing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ than spend it muted in the haze of antipsychotics. I know what’s real, and if I ever reach a point where I can’t distinguish between my worlds, then I’ll get help.”
“All those wild cases you handle; I looked up your win ratio, and even though the odds were stacked against you, you won. Those arguments should have never made it in front of a judge, but you prevailed because you see beyond the veil to what could be. Does it make you extra? Maybe. But it also make you, you.”
With each uttered word the iceberg around my heart breaks, dropping chunks into the envisioned sea of resistance. Splashing down to cause swelling tsunami tides until I’m pulled under and floating in the warm gooey ocean of love.
Glug, glug, glug. I’m drowning and happy about it.
He scoots until we’re hip to hip, mistaking my shiver for being caused by the drafty air; he engulfs me in his embrace, offering his warmth. The stale recycled elevator air hasn’t hindered his scent. Eyes closed; I bury my nose in his shirt. Coffee and fabric softener fill my nose when I feel his lips touch my forehead. Electricity zings all the way to my toes as goosebumps cover my skin. His finger trails down my cheek to my chin, where he angles my face up to his. We share the air between us with blue meeting blue.
Butterflies flutter and birds sing as Bob Ross paints a happy sun to shine a beam down on us, breaking through the snow with a bright colorful rainbow.
We meet in the middle with teasing small pecks, testing our compatibility, lighting the fuse. Sizzle, spark, the line burns. He nips at my lip and BAM the fireworks explode, creating a colorful display over our heads. I could tell you how gorgeous it is but his muscles under my hands are mucking up my brainpower. He feels better than my imagination is possible of replicating.
Rushing hands and roaming fingers feed the powder keg of want. When the clothes start disappearing, my creative vision fades and it’s only him and me. First times are awkward and spent learning each other, but we move as though we’ve been together for years. He takes me to screaming heights, working me with his tongue until I surrender to the orgasmic euphoria. The stifling chilled air turns humid with our hot breaths and locking bodies. He hovers above, lavishing all the parts of me with his kiss-swollen lips until our mouths meet. I taste myself on his stubble and it pushes me over again and again. Thrust for thrust, we meet until his release rushes forward, punctuated with a caveman growl.
Sweating and pleasured, I rest on his chest, listening to the thump of his heart. Covered with nothing more than my expensive coat, we drift off.
Chapter Fourteen
“Huh, guess they found a clever way to pass the time,” a barreling chortle pulls me from my warm, blissful sleep. The following baritone of laughter draws my notice to my lack of clothes and my eyes pop wide.
Remember the fireman I wished for hours ago? He’s here and he brought friends: an EMT, maintenance man, and three fellow firefighters. They all stand in the now open elevator door, staring at my naked breasts.
“Hey,” Rhodes roars, shoving my sweater over my head. He orders them to turn while we dress, ensuring I’m covered before giving the all clear.
My cheeks flame and I’m unable to meet their eyes. I assure the medic I’m fine, claiming the need to pee for my rush to the ladies’ room. The image in the mirror smiles. Her pale freckled skin is flushed and the eyes shine a satisfied ocean blue. Red hair wild in a spiking halo around her head and she’s wearing the cat who ate the canary grin. She’s rocking a great just-fucked look and she wears it well.
Obviously, it’s my reflection but the double thumbs-up and ‘go get em girl’ she offers is all her. When I exit, Rhodes leans on the wall all ruffled and stunning, holding two fresh cup of Java Tom’s coffee. His eyes meet mine and I expect to see regret preparing for his excuses, but his lips tug up on one side and a devilish glint sparks in his eye. He meets me halfway, handing me a cup. “Drink up. I’m far from done with you and you’re gonna need the hydration. I promise to screw you until February 14th becomes your favorite day of the year.” He raises his cup, pausing at his mouth. “Valentine’s Day isn’t all that bad after all, huh, Alexandra Conner?”
The chorus of angels sing. All the characters of my imagination gather round, promising with surety of my sanity how my heart is safe in his hands.
Epilogue
One Year Later
“I told you this would become your favorite day and you can still get all the half-priced candy you want tomorrow. If I let you out of bed, Mrs. Milam.” He kisses the tip of my nose before flopping over on his back.
The waves crash outside our window and I see the bright full moon shining a yellow path on the surface of the water. Three hours ago, standing where the sand meets the sea with Georgia at my side and Glenn at his, we promised forever.
I forgave her conniving a week after she returned from this very location. Rhodes cycloned in my life, proposing after what seemed like a mere hot minute. Most thought we were nuts because it was too soon, but when you know, you know. Five years, six months, or fourteen days: time doesn’t matter when your soul meets its mate. He made it his mission to disparage my dislike for the lovers’ holiday. With him in my life, everyday is full of the little things Geo called out all those months ago.
The candy and greeting card companies make their money off the lovers and those without, well they suffer death by cheap chocolate. I fought my loneliness with lattes, and a contrived wrong number text message.
THE END
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More Works by Billie Dale
Love in Seven Mile Forge
A Second Chance Series of Standalones
Wannabe More
The Reigh Witch Chronicles
Paranormal Romantic Comedies
Birthday Witch
Princess Witch
Wedded Witch
Forever Witch
A Fairytale Fantasy
Standalone series of fairytale parodies
Never After
Not So Wicked
Labors of A Hero
Standalones
&
nbsp; Ravyn: A Psychological Thriller
Potion Perfect
About The Author
Billie Dale lives in nowhere middle earth. Lost in a small village in the Midwest with four kids, three animals, and an amazing, word inspiring book boyfriend worthy husband.
A blogger by nature and a writer because she got tired of arguing with the voices in her head. She loves and lives the words on the page, whether writing them or reading them her life is consumed by the worlds her head creates.
Her greatest wish is that readers will fall in love with her words as much as she loves writing them and as much as she loves reading others. She loves to create new worlds to explore and loves to write words that will take root in your soul.
Paranormal, New Adult, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary—there is not one box she fits in. She’s a rebel in the author world who writes what her head tells her even it jumps from genre to genre.
Satisfy My Craving
Sheri Lynn
4 Flames
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Copyright@2019 Sheri Lynn, Author
About Satisfy My Craving
Luckee, Lucille Aiken, didn’t hide away from life in her uncomplicated, somewhat isolated existence; she simply didn’t desire exposing herself to certain behaviors. And Preston Ingram incorporated too many that tested her boundaries.
Rich. Hot. Smokin’ hot. Super sexy. Confident. Popular. Luckee didn’t want any part of it. But attraction is a beast not easily confined. And the more he pursues her, the weaker she becomes.
Some habits are hard to break, especially the ones we use as defense mechanisms. Preston is linked to the tragic event that altered Luckee’s perception of herself. Will she allow it tear them apart or join them together? Will he?
Chapter One
Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Trudging through the mud, as well as wearing it from head to toe, Luckee straightened her finger to push the doorbell but stopped short when she noticed all the thick, orange, wet goo covering her entire hand. Searching for a clean spot anywhere on her jeans or shirt to wipe it off before pressing the button, she groaned and performed a semi-tantrum which included her jogging in place in frustration.
The door in front of her opened and it went from bad to the absolute worst. Preston Ingram. He stood there, all over six foot tall of him, staring at her in obviously not her best moment. His eyes narrowed with confusion. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked.
She wanted to die. Evaporate. Anything. Before she managed a reply, Jessica yelled from inside the house. “I’m expecting a student from the art class I teach—” she announced walking within sight. Viewing the mud monster at her door, she rushed over. “Oh my. What happened, Luckee? Get inside. Come on.” Grasping her arm, she guided her inside.
“I can’t come in like this. I don’t want to get your place all dirty.” And what a place it was, rustic, but updated, and jaw-droppingly beautiful, a dream lake house. It had high, vaulted ceilings, and exposed natural wood beams.
Pulling her along behind her, Jessica insisted, “Follow me. I’ll get you to the laundry room. There’s a small bathroom with a shower through there. Are you hurt?”
Just her pride. “No. My car didn’t fare so well though. I really feel terrible traipsing through your house like this.” Doing her best to tip-toe over the hardwood floor, then the tiled kitchen, she regretted not removing her shoes.
“Oh no. I’m guessing you slid. Did you hit a tree? I’m meant to text you and warn you about the dirt road after all the rain we’ve had.” Taking her into the laundry room, Jessica pulled the slider door closed behind them. “There are towels in there. Just remove your clothes and throw them in the washing machine. I’ll go get you something to put on. I’ll get Corey and Preston to go and check on your car.”
Hearing Preston’s name sent her back into the humiliated mode. She never expected to see him again, and certainly not like that. “It’s going to need a tow. I tried to crank it and nothing.”
“No problem. I’ll have them call someone out and meet him. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you aren’t hurt. I’ll lay the clothes on the dryer for you.” Jessica took the shoes Luckee removed and put them in the utility sink rinsing them off.
Luckee finished undressing as fast as she could manage, her embarrassment progressing and escalating quickly into a teary episode. Down to her bra and panties, she escaped into the bathroom.
As the warm water ran over her head and she watched it turn Alabama clay colored before disappearing down the drain, she realized her next appearance to Preston would be one of a drowned rat. Her naturally wavy red hair would frizz as it dried, and so much for any make-up she had on. And he would be his golden, Greek god self. She could look at him and never get bored. He epitomized everything she never had been or would be. Rich. Popular. Confident. Gorgeous. Hot. Charismatic. Congenial. And why was he there? How did he and Jessica know each other? Through her husband, Corey?
Fingering her hair as best she could as she didn’t find a brush anywhere, she located the t-shirt and gym shorts Jessica left for her. Jessica started the washing machine too. Luckee couldn’t continue to stall. The time came for her to embark on her walk of shame. And not the one she would have liked involving Preston.
Finding Jessica in the kitchen with her stepson, Max, and toddler, Sam, she took a barstool across the massive island. She hadn’t met the children prior to that evening, but she heard all about them. Jessica smiled at her easing some of her discomfort. Placing Sam in a highchair, she offered, “Would you like some coffee, tea, beer, or wine? I just poured myself a small glass of white. It’s on the door of the fridge if you want some. I’m going to get him fed, he’s fussy.”
“I’m sorry to show up right at dinner time. I had a dance class this afternoon and couldn’t—” Pausing, she thought about her paintings, the whole reason for her coming over. “My portfolio. I left it in the trunk of my car.” Should she go back out and get it before the tow truck came? Standing, not sure what to do, the front door opened and she heard male voices.
“Jess, can you grab us a couple pairs of sweats to slip on?” One of the guys asked.
Sticking the baby spoon back in the jar of baby food, Jessica sat it on the counter. “Can you just keep an eye on him for a sec.” She dug a handful of cereal out of a box and dropped it on Sam’s tray before leaving the kitchen.
Walking around the island closer to Sam, Luckee had a clear view of the guys at the door. Preston, and she assumed Corey were removing their shoes. Going for the waistband of his jeans, Preston unbuttoned and pushed them down—down his long, slender, toned legs. His red boxer-briefs hugged him in all the right places. His thighs were the perfect size. Not too thick. Not too slim. Straightening from bending at the waist and sliding the pants over his feet with minimal mess, he looked right at her, grinning. Oh gee. He caught her checking him out.
Twisting her head, and looking down at the floor, she felt the heat in her cheeks, among other places. She needed to get the hell out of there. How much mortification could one woman handle in one hour?
She heard Jessica speaking with them, but she didn’t comprehend a single word. It’s not as if under a different set of circumstances she would ever have a chance with Preston. So, it didn’t matter, he could forever know her as the girl that wrecked her car, subsequently slipped and fell into the muck that caused the accident, and he caught ogling him as if she could and would devour him if given the opportunity. Of the two opportunities she had to make an impression on him, she failed miserably.
“Thanks for standing here with him. He hasn’t managed to pull out of his seat yet, but you can’t ever be too safe. Why don’t you stay for dinner? Preston brought your purse back from inside your car, but he didn’t open the trunk,” said Jessica. She came back in the kitchen and resumed feeding Sam the jarred contents.
“Um, no. I appreciate the offer, but I need to call my insurance and the tow truck company,” Luckee replied.
Could she claim a possible concussion? No. Why cause any unnecessary worry? She couldn’t blame her stupidity on a bump to the head. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Max approached beside Preston and the two shared fist pumps. “Hey, little man. Next time I’ll come earlier and we can throw the ball some.” Taking two of his fingers, he flicked under the bill of Max’s ball cap knocking it to the floor before returning his focus to her. “So, Luckee is it? Some kind of pet name?” His ice blue eyes widened and he tilted his head at her.
“Or a pet’s name,” added Max.
Preston and Jessica scolded him in unison, “Max—”
Jessica apologized, “I must have baby brain. My brother, Preston…Luckee…and Max.” She pointed to each of them making the introductions.
“So if it’s not a nickname, do you feel ‘Luckee’ best signifies you?” asked Preston. He grinned at her, but she couldn’t interpret if in a teasing playful manner or a teasing sarcastic manner.
“Considering the events of this evening, what do you think,” she snapped.
Slapping his palm to his chest, he groaned, “Ouch.” Going to a cabinet and retrieving a wine glass, he took the wine out of the fridge and poured some. He handed it to her. “It does suck, but it could’ve been worse. You walked away from it.” Grabbing two beers while returning the wine, he handed one to Corey who joined them.
