Finding Us

by S. K. Hartley

  I moaned as his words took me to new heady heights, his fingers slowing almost to a stop, giving me new sensations I had never experienced before.

  “Make love to me, Tate,” I whispered, my hand moving between us and gripping his thick, hard length in my palm.

  He hissed as I squeezed with enough pressure to send his head dizzy with lust before guiding him to my entrance, stopping the moment his tip slipped inside. I moved my other hand above my head, seeking out his other hand, I placed it within mine. Always holding on, always in the moment.

  Tate’s hand moved from between us, grabbing onto my hip as he slowly took me, inch by inch until he was fully seated inside me.

  “Christ, you feel so good,” he growled.

  I was growing impatient. My need for him overtaking any logical thought I might have had. Flexing my hips, I grinded against him, trying to find that delicious friction. Tate quickly got the hint as he started moving oh so slowly inside of me.

  Tears stung my eyes as his penetrated mine, watching every move, every emotion, every moan that coated my skin as he slowly made love to me. He moved at such a slowly delicious pace it didn’t take long for the orgasm to build. His grip on my hand tightened as he placed soft sensual kisses upon my lips, his other hand still holding on for dear life to my hip.

  His tongue probed my mouth as I panted against him, trying to fight back the impending orgasm as his pace quickened, his movements becoming less synchronized as he pounded inside me relentlessly. Within moments, completely without warning, Tate’s name was a whisper upon my lips as my orgasm ripped through me so fast that I was sure I was free falling.

  “I paper heart you, Low,” he growled as he tumbled down into his own delirious bliss.

  Panting and blissfully relaxed, Tate dropped his weight against me. I couldn’t deny I missed the heavy feeling of him above me.

  “I paper heart you too, Tate,” I whispered breathlessly.

  I felt him smile against my neck before he rolled on to his side, taking me along with him, still fully seated inside me.

  “I have another present for you, baby.”

  Pulling out of me slowly, he walked over to our dresser, completely naked. My mouth salivated at the sight of him. Well, until he held up what I presumed was my present, a huge smile on his face.

  Hanging on two of his fingers was the most delicate silver chain I had ever laid eyes on. My eyes roamed every inch of silver. It seemed to go on forever until my gaze locked on the tiny pendent that hung beautifully from the chain. It was a miniature glass jar, so small I had to gaze hard to really take in its beauty.

  With sure steps, Tate walked towards me, crouching beside the bed and holding up the necklace. It was only then I realized what was in the miniature jar. It was one tiny paper heart that dangled from delicate string, attached to the lid of the sealed jar.

  “Now you don’t have to carry around that big jar. Now you can carry my heart with you wherever you go,” he whispered, moving my mass of blonde hair resting on my shoulder.

  I closed my eyes as the light weight of the chain hit my neck, the chill from the silver chain licking against the flesh of my chest. I opened my eyes, looking down at the beautiful gift he had given me.

  My heart was full.

  My soul content.

  My life complete.

  No one could take away the feeling of pure bliss that washed over me in the moment. Not my father, not the mafia, not my lies or any of my past. Nothing. No one. Because it didn’t matter where you came from or the ugliness of your past: as long as you knew where you were going, the ugliness would truly make the beauty shine.

  Epilogue

  Four months later

  “I still can’t get over it.” I smiled, chewing on the best piece of pasta I had ever tasted. “You can cook.”

  Logan smiled warmly at me, his arm snaking around Neva’s shoulder as he sat back and enjoyed having his ego stroked by me.

  “I’m fatter than I should be, I swear,” Neva groaned, rubbing her protruding stomach. “I’m twice the size of other moms at the prenatal checks.”

  “I love you like this.” Logan smiled, placing his hand on Neva’s stomach. “There’s more of you to feast on.”

  “Again with the euphemisms,” Tate groaned, placing his fork on the plate. “I don’t want those pictures tainting my delicate mind.”

  I laughed softly as I watched my friends interact around our table. Logan, Neva, Colt and Zane bantered like usual, Colt driving most of us nuts. There was one person missing though. One person I still couldn’t get off my mind.

  Jace.

  I had been checking the newspapers relentlessly to try and find out how he was doing. No phone calls. No letters. Nothing. It hurt my heart daily, knowing he had put himself into that position to save something he thought he could never have. A normal life.

  Things had changed, like he said they would. I was still in college, Tate was still recovering, Neva was now four months pregnant, Logan was now working for a modern architecture company. Everything around us was changing. I had gotten myself a job at the coffee house alongside Jared, who was still pining over the loss of Preston, who left to take care of his sick mom.

  Neva still worked at Bones, but only playing her set which Dex now pays her for. Dex and Trix: that is a whole new chapter of its own. Trix was still pissed at Dex, Dex was still hopelessly in love with the woman who couldn’t separate love from paid sex.

  Lorena and Tate’s relationship was better. Not great, but better. He finally opened up to me, telling me what happened the day he walked into his mom’s bedroom. He never planned on telling Neva something so heartbreaking, not after everything she had been through, but she overheard us talking. Learning that her mother had planned to take her own life to be with her father broke her heart, but it was clear she understood.

  Neva was still seeing her therapist on a weekly basis. She still had her moments when her PTSD was overwhelming, but she was making good progress.

  Everything was falling into place.

  Except for Jace.

  “You okay, baby?” Tate asked, taking my empty plate from in front of me and placing in on the kitchen counter.

  “Yeah, I just… I just wonder what he’s doing,” I admitted.

  All eyes turned to me. They knew who I was talking about: the man who had saved us all, if unknowingly to the rest of my friends.

  “I miss his stupid ass too.” Neva sniffed, drying her eyes. “God, ignore me. Stupid hormones.”

  I chuckled lightly, watching as every one of my friends looked at me solemnly. They all knew the truth. I hadn’t kept any part of my and Jace’s life before we moved here a secret. I was done with secrets, lies and deceit. I was under the impression that spilling those secrets, those lies, would make me weak, make me vulnerable. But they didn’t. They only made me stronger.

  “I swear, if he knocks at the door, I’m not here.”

  All eyes moved to the front door, where Trix had let herself in, following her as she stepped into our bathroom and locked the door behind her. Jesus, here we go again.

  Seconds later, in walked a pretty pissed off Dex.

  “She’s in the bathroom again, isn’t she?” He sighed, defeated.

  “I’ll talk to her,” I said, standing from the table.

  “No. I’m done. I’m so done there isn’t a damn word for it!” he yelled, turning to the bathroom door. “You hear that, Trix?! I’m fucking done!”

  With an apologetic glance towards me, he stormed right out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “So… I’m just going to see if she’s okay.” Colt smiled, standing from his seat at the table.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I hissed, pointing at his waist. “Now’s not the time to think with your dick, Colt. You’re not touching her: if you do, I will shoot you myself.”

  Not everything had changed. I still kept my Glock under my pillow and my secondary attached to my ankle. You know, just
in case.

  Baby steps. Tiny baby steps.

  The End

  Finding Forever

  Angel’s story

  Coming late 2014

  Drink. Ink. Drink. Ink. Maybe sleep.

  It’s been two years – two years since I started with my new life.

  Two years since I walked out of that bar and drove as far away from that town as I could.

  Two years since the bottle became my best friend.

  Two years since my father landed himself back in jail; two years since my mother disowned me.

  I’m a tattoo artist, working ink into the skin of people who have no idea of the man I am. Just the man who I pretend to be.

  Vile. Disgusting. Evil.

  I can feel myself spiraling out of control. Most days I don’t even know my own name, never mind those of the faceless women who are wrapped around my naked body every night.

  I can’t flush her out. She’s in my dreams, my nightmares, my damn thoughts all day, every day.

  Her screams. Her pain. Her heart broken.

  It’s my fault.

  Now I’m paying the price of taking away the chance of finally finding my own forever.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for taking the time out of your life to read this book! I hope you were thoroughly entertained and enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  If you have any extra time, PLEASE leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads, alternatively you can send me an email (s.k.hartley@hotmail.co.uk) so I can personally thank you.

  I’m forever grateful for each and every one of you who read the words I put down on the page, and I hope to be re-invited to your bookshelf with my next release.

  Dream big, aim high.

  Much love,

  S.K.

  Acknowledgements

  To my husband and Little Dude – Thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement, even when I was locked away in the writing cave, you still stood by me and pushed me to turn my dream into a reality. I love you.

  To my editor, Jenn (who is no doubt reading this right now) – Thank you for putting up with my stupid tense issues, my overuse of commas, and my ridiculous addiction for over-expressive adjectives. Thank you for being a friend and my awesome editor.

  To Judi, Kiki and Crystal, my team of publicist’s – thank you for being so amazingly awesome, especially during a crisis. You’re awesome at what you do and I’m so happy to be working alongside you.

  To Cami, my beta reader – I love that you don’t put up with my shit and that you’re honest when something doesn’t work. If it wasn’t for you, Finding Us wouldn’t be what it is today. I look forward to working with you with my future works.

  To Ena, my awesome promo expert! – Thank you so much for everything that you do for me as an author and a friend. Your organization skills are second to none and no matter what the question, maybe you always answer me honestly. I love you!

  To Emma Hart and Kendall Ryan, some of the best writers I know – Thank you for your support and friendship, I’ve loved every second of getting to know you guys and I can honestly say that I can’t wait to meet you both!

  To some of the most awesome people, some of who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and others I am yet to meet but love like crazy – JB Salsbury; K. Bromberg; Katy Evans; Tijan; Jay McLean; Rachel Van Dyken; Michelle Valentine; Kirsty Moseley; Chelle Bliss; Kitty French; Erin Noelle; Ilsa Madden-Mills; Megan Noelle; T.A. McKay; K. Langston… You all inspire me every day, inspire me to be a better writer and an all-round better person.

  To the blogs that work tirelessly to promote their authors – Eyecandy Book Store; Swoon Worthy Books; Romance Addiction; Books, Coffee & Wine; Panty Dropping Book Blog; 50 Shades of Fictional Men and so many more! Thank you for the work that you do, you’re all rockstars!

  To my Heartbreakers – Thank you for supporting me. Your belief and support mean the absolute world. Thank you for being so awesome!

  About the Author

  S.K. Hartley is a wife, mother and author of The Bad Boy Series.

  Based in the not so sunny North West of England you can find her either glued to her computer desk, in the public library (Yes, they still exist!) or floating around her favorite author’s books signings.

  S.K. Hartley has an unhealthy obsession with coffee, chocolate and retro computer games and a healthy obsession of stalking indie authors.

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