by Jove Belle
Synopsis
KC Hall loves her family, her small East Texas town, and her best friend, Emma Reynolds. All of that takes a backseat when her lover beckons. Lonnie is blond, beautiful, and willing. She’s also married and a lifelong friend of KC’s mama.
KC knows the affair is a bad idea, but she just can’t help herself. When presented with the lush landscape of Lonnie’s body, KC subscribes to the philosophy of “orgasm first, think later.” Unfortunately, a secret that big is impossible to keep in a close-knit community where everybody knows everybody else’s business. The scandal would hurt her entire family.
Emma is KC’s exception, the one woman she loves enough to not have sex with. When Emma confesses that she’s loved KC since high school, KC is terrified. One wrong move and she could lose Emma completely.
Is she willing to let her family pay the price for her good time? Or will she turn to Emma to discover the true meaning of love and devotion?
Love and Devotion
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Love and Devotion
© 2013 By Jove Belle. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-006-5
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: June 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Indelible
Chaps
Split the Aces
Edge of Darkness
Love and Devotion
Acknowledgments
I’m pretty damned lucky. I have an amazing partner who, after eighteen years, still loves me like crazy, a fabulously supportive family, a kick-ass publisher, and a diverse circle of friends who challenge me every day to find the lesson life is offering at the moment.
Thank you to Sacchi Green for buying the short story and always encouraging me to write more. You are a pleasure to work with. Andi Marquette, thanks for your relentless support and for picking up the ball when I dropped it. Gill McKnight, who never fails to kick my ass when I screw it up, I truly cherish your friendship. Laydin Michaels, thanks for answering my endless barrage of Texas questions and pointing it out when I got it just plain wrong. Liz McMullen, host of my very first online interview, thank you for your kind, supportive words. Karis Walsh, my new friend and willing reader, I hope you like me because you are officially stuck. And Cathy Rowlands, friend, mentor, and surrogate mom, thank you for everything that you do. My world is a better place because you are in it.
After two years of virtual silence, I wasn’t sure if Radclyffe would even remember my name, but she did. And she once again confirmed my belief that Bold Strokes is a place I can call home. Thank you.
Shelley Thrasher, what a joy you are to work with. Here’s to a long, long professional future.
Everyone else at Bold Strokes who worked to make this book happen, thank you, thank you, thank you.
Finally, because all things in my world begin and end with one woman, thank you to my partner. Tara, I love you. I’m not sure how I got so lucky or why you agreed to spend your life with me, but I’m so very grateful you did. You are my happily ever after.
Dedication
V. Ilene Milburn
March 9, 1935–January 9, 2011
Chapter One
The crunch-slide of tires on gravel was KC Hall’s only warning that she was about to have company. She barely had time to check her teeth for signs of the cold pizza she’d been eating and run her hands through her hair. Lonnie slammed through the door, leaving a string of curse words such as “fucking hell” and “damnation” in her wake.
“Lonnie, what’s going on?” KC sounded like she wasn’t happy to see Lonnie, which wasn’t true. She mostly wasn’t happy to see her car—a candy-apple red Mustang—slanted next to her beat-up Accord. No way her neighbors wouldn’t recognize it as Lonnie’s. There were a few other Mustangs in town, but hers was the only one with a FRONT STREET BAPTIST CHOIR bumper sticker on one side and THE PTA GTS THINGS DONE on the other.
Lonnie grabbed KC’s lapels and kissed her hard. She’d have liked it better if Lonnie had kissed her like she meant it rather than pouring off anger about whatever brought her to KC’s door in the first place. KC eased back a tad, teasing the edge of Lonnie’s lips with her tongue. This woman was melted-sugar hot, and the taste of her made KC weak. She still didn’t know why she’d arrived at KC’s door early on Sunday morning for God and all creation to see, but the longer they kissed, the less KC cared.
By the time Lonnie released her, she’d have let Lonnie add a bumper sticker that declared I’M FUCKING KC HALL.
“I’m going to kill that bastard.” Lonnie’s eyes were on fire, and not the good kind of fire that said KC’d touched her in just the right way. Nope, this was more of a spitting-mad kind of fire.
KC stepped away. She didn’t want to get caught at ground zero if Lonnie decided to give life to that temper of hers. Fortunately, Southern women were simple—a glass of whiskey and a little bit of time was the standard therapy session. She poured four fingers of Jack Daniel’s, added some ice, and passed it to Lonnie.
“Thanks, sugar.” Lonnie closed her eyes and tipped the glass. The lines of her face softened.
She waited until the first sip passed Lonnie’s lips, then asked, “Which bastard?” No doubt Lonnie was talking about her husband. KC liked to pretend he didn’t exist, but she asked the question anyway.
Lonnie drained the whiskey and handed her the glass before saying, “Forget about that. We don’t have much time.” Lonnie zeroed in on KC’s lips and kissed her in a way that made her think she was being substituted for the whiskey.
KC pulled away with a gasp and set the empty glass on the counter. Lonnie’s chest heaved and she reached for KC, trying to pull her back in.
The flush in Lonnie’s cheeks ran down her neck and covered her chest. KC wanted to touch, to ride the wave of Lonnie’s labored breathing with her tongue. She moved closer to her, bent her face to Lonnie’s neck, and inhaled deeply. The sweet subtle scent of honeysuckle and lavender surrounded her, drawing her in. She exhaled long and soft against Lonnie’s skin. “Church starts in an hour.”
Lonnie tilted her head to the side, opening the line of her neck to KC. She gripped KC’s head, her fingers woven into her hair. “I know. Stop talking.”
“Yes.”
She traced her fingers over the buttons closing the front of Lonnie’s dress and sprinkled tiny kisses across her chest. KC followed the line of her open collar to tease the hint of cleavage. She pressed in tighter, drawing Lonnie to her. She ran one hand down Lonnie’s side, over her hips, lower and lower as she inched the fabric of her skirt up with her fingers.
KC loved to undress Lonnie, to unwrap her like a beautiful Christmas gift covered with glittering ribbons and bows, but they didn’t have time. If they didn’t hurry, they’d be late to the morning service.
Lonnie stiffened slightly and KC circled her with her o
ther arm, spreading her fingers wide against her lower back to hold her firm. She didn’t know what had brought Lonnie to her door and she didn’t really care. Her time with Lonnie was limited, parceled out like ration tickets to the poor. This was a bonus, an unexpected treat, and she would take full advantage.
“Mmm.” KC wanted to comfort Lonnie to a certain degree, but she didn’t want to let her dwell on her husband. Focusing Lonnie’s attention back to the source of her anger would stop KC from gliding a hand up her stocking-covered thigh. KC reached the lace edge of the stocking and traced the line between skin and nylon, barely touching with the tips of her fingers. She wanted to take her time, to drop to her knees and roll the stockings to the floor. She loved Lonnie’s legs, loved to reveal them inch by inch. Today, however, they had even less time than usual.
Lonnie inhaled sharply when KC’s fingers completed their journey and ghosted over the fabric of her panties. She teased it to the side and brushed her index finger over the short curls and soft skin.
“God, sugar, right there.”
She pushed one finger inside slowly and Lonnie gasped. KC yearned for more foreplay. She’d gladly spend hours kissing every inch of Lonnie’s body, deliriously happy to feel her heat as it seeped into her. More often than not, however, this was how they ended up, with them both still dressed and working against a deadline. Regardless, Lonnie was definitely ready. She shifted slightly, opening herself up to KC. Lonnie’s arousal, hot and wet, slid down KC’s finger and coated her hand.
“So good.” Lonnie half-whispered, half-moaned, and KC was proud that she’d distracted Lonnie from whatever Glen had done to piss her off. She was mad enough when she’d arrived to park in front of KC’s house, a move that threatened to expose their affair. KC wasn’t entirely ready to be catapulted from dirty little secret just to be revealed publicly as a revenge fuck. More than that, she wasn’t willing to turn Lonnie away when she was ripe with arousal. KC slid out and pushed back in, quick and hard, two fingers this time, and Lonnie whimpered.
She maneuvered Lonnie back, shuffling with her fingers still inside Lonnie, curling and uncurling, teasing her g-spot as they moved—left foot, curl; right foot, uncurl—until Lonnie’s back was against the wall and KC was pressed tight against her. Lonnie’s breathing was erratic and hot against her face. She held her lips just out of Lonnie’s reach, content to share her air as she pumped into her.
Lonnie’s eyes slipped shut and her head fell back against the wall. “This is just what I needed.”
KC fucked Lonnie harder, grasping her leg just below the knee and drawing it up to her waist. She used her hips for extra power. She wanted Lonnie to feel her all the way through the church service and on into tomorrow, long after she’d gone home to her husband. She felt Lonnie draw tighter and wanted to be the only person on her mind when she came.
“Next time call on your way over.” She spoke against Lonnie’s mouth, still not kissing her, but close enough to tease her lips with her tongue. “I’ll wear my strap-on.”
“Yes.” Lonnie gasped and dug her fingers into KC’s shoulder. She had long, manicured acrylics, and even through the fabric of her top, KC knew she’d leave a mark.
“I’ll bend you over the back of my sofa and fuck you from behind.” KC generally avoided vulgarities with Lonnie. She treated her like she was precious china meant to be filled slowly to the point of overflowing. But today they were on a tighter schedule than usual, and KC wanted to take Lonnie in a way that made her forget about her husband and whatever nonsense he’d been up to. She moved her mouth to Lonnie’s ear. “That would be so fucking hot. Your panties around your ankles, skirt around your waist, and your ass rocking back to meet my cock.”
Lonnie gripped KC’s head to her throat and thrashed her hips. She was satin smooth and heaven soft, and KC didn’t want it to end. She could feel Lonnie getting closer, her muscles drawing tighter. Lonnie’s legs began to shake and KC smoothed her palm over Lonnie’s hip and around to squeeze her ass.
“Oh, my God. Don’t stop.” Lonnie ground her teeth together, catching KC’s shoulder between them. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.” Lonnie was a loud, appreciative lover. A shouter, a moaner. Today her words were strangled, like she was choking back the moment.
“Let it go, baby.” KC added a third finger and Lonnie groaned, her hips thrusting forward. She was tight and KC’s fingers cramped together. Any mobility she had to twist and massage was gone. This wasn’t about finesse and gentle caress; it was about power and pushing deeper and harder and faster.
One final push and Lonnie collapsed in her arms, tears streaking down her face. Lonnie quivered, that uncontrollable jerking that came from being fucked properly, and her shoulders shook. KC removed her hand as gently as possible and wrapped her arms around Lonnie.
Lonnie clung to her for several moments, then straightened, her clothing falling effortlessly into place. Lonnie possessed a Golden Age movie-star quality. She always looked camera ready, especially when she shouldn’t.
“That was perfect.” Lonnie smoothed her pinky around the edge of her lips, erasing the smudges and all signs that KC had been there. She patted KC on the cheek and said, “Don’t be late for church, sugar.”
Lonnie slipped out the back door, much quieter than when she’d entered. Her perfume hung in the air after she left, tormenting KC along with the insistent, aching need low in her belly. She worked to calm her breathing, to settle her racing heart. Lonnie was gone and KC’s lingering lust wouldn’t bring her back. As always, their one-sided affair left KC unfulfilled and desperate for more.
KC sent a quick text to Emma—her best friend and Sunday morning ride to church—to let her know she was running late. She’d meet Emma there rather than having her wait at her kitchen table. Her house smelled like Lonnie and sex, and the last thing she wanted was for Emma to get a whiff of either. She opened a window and ran to the bedroom to change.
She needed a few more minutes to take care of the throbbing need Lonnie awakened in her. Unfortunately, all she had time to do was pull herself together and head to church. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t be late.
*
KC circled the lot hoping for a miracle. She wasn’t asking for a parking space next to the front door. She’d settle for one in the back forty. But so far no opening had presented itself. The good citizens of Fairmont didn’t have to search for God on Sunday morning. They knew right where to find him in attendance at Front Street Baptist Church, and half of East Texas had beat KC into the parking lot.
Her mama was going to kill her for being late for church.
KC found Emma’s car and parked perpendicular to it. If not for Lonnie’s unscheduled visit that morning, KC would be inside with Emma right now. KC’s car was short so it barely hung over the lines into the other spaces. The only snag was the car to Emma’s left. It belonged to the choir director and his wife. If KC hurried after the service, she’d beat them out of the church and they’d be none the wiser about her tardiness and disrespectful parking job. If by some stroke of demonic luck the choir director’s wife made it out before KC…mercy.
Consequences be damned, KC abandoned her car, ran like hell for the side door, and scooted inside just as the choir started up their weekly salutations to God A’mighty. Emma discreetly edged over to make room for her at the end of her pew near the back. As she sat, KC glanced up, hoping to see the back of the choir robes. Every time they watched a Dolly Parton movie, she and Emma would joke about the choir doing some big, fanciful beginning, like turning in one big dramatic sweep of fabric. No such luck. Twin disapproving stares from her mama and her mama’s friend and choir mate, Lonnie, greeted her.
The heat in Lonnie’s eyes both frightened and excited KC. She looked pissed, but otherwise perfectly put together. After all, Lonnie had an extra twenty years’ practice of pulling herself together at the last minute. It took KC just a little bit longer after some decidedly impious attention from Lonnie. Lonnie wasn’t nearly as nice
as she wanted people to think.
“What kept you?” Emma whispered in KC’s ear, and Lonnie’s eyes narrowed. She might well be married, but that didn’t mean she’d tolerate KC playing around with other women, especially not in the house of the Lord. Never mind trying to convince Lonnie that she and Emma were just friends.
“I got caught up at home.” It was the closest to the truth that KC was willing to provide at the moment. She might, at some point, give in and tell Emma all about Lonnie, but today wasn’t that day.
“Your mama saw you. And Mrs. Truvall looks ready to skin you alive.” Emma held up her hymnal to share with KC. She’d already turned to the appropriate selection. Not that either of them needed it. They’d been singing along to the same hymns forever and joined in right on cue.
They sang about fire in the blood, a recurring theme that their pastor liked to impress upon the congregation. Blood, in all its crimson glory, purified, redeemed, and tasted good when enjoyed with a small wafer cracker. That last bit was KC’s own interpretation of communion, formulated when she was too little to partake but old enough to know that her older sister got a snack during church and she didn’t.
KC sang along, hoping to appear pious even though her thoughts, and the ache between her legs, were far from that. The only fire in her blood was the leftover rampage from her encounter with Lonnie that morning, an unfulfilled promise with no hope of resolution any time soon.
The choir concluded their song and the pastor took over, continuing the message of redeeming fire that could and would save her from eternal hellfire if only she’d spend her days walking with Jesus. KC suspected their choir director and preacher of coordinating their efforts, but they both swore the Lord spoke to them independently, resulting in the cooperative effect. As yet, the Lord hadn’t graced KC with a two-way conversation, but she also hadn’t applied herself to His service. She supposed His silence was fair.
