Love and Neckties (Rockland Falls Book 4)

by Lacey Black

  But I can’t help it.

  I smell her.

  I want her.

  My car pulls into a small pharmacy lot, practically on its own. Inside, I head straight for the soap aisle, and the first brand I find is the one she uses. I spy my former brand too, but I quickly bypass it so I don’t upset Freedom anymore. I’m not really a guy who follows animal testing and such, but I don’t want to willingly use those products. If she says it happens, I’m sure it does. Freedom wouldn’t lie about something like that.

  There are a few other name brands for men, and after a quick scan of the print on the back to confirm they weren’t lab animal tested products, I settle on a shampoo and a bodywash in a clean, ocean breeze scent. I don’t really know what an herbal blend ocean breeze smells like, but it must be decent if they bottle it up and sell it for ten bucks a pop.

  It’s after six when I finally pull into my driveway. The front porch light is on, but the lights appear to be dim inside. Freedom’s car is parked along the street, and to be honest, I’m not sure how she got it here. I assumed I’d have to run her to get her car tonight, but apparently someone else beat me to it. There’s also a second car there, a nondescript Buick I don’t recognize. I’ll have to ask Freedom about the car when I get inside.

  After a quick stop at the mailbox, I insert my key into my lock, open the front door, and stop dead in my tracks. “What the hell?” I ask, completely stunned at the scene before me. Freedom is standing there, a woman wearing a sheet from the waist down lying on the massage table, as soft sounds of nature filter through my speakers.

  “Oh, hey,” Freedom says, offering me a warm, welcome home smile, before turning back to her task at hand as if it’s perfectly normal to give a naked lady a massage in the middle of my living room.

  “Freedom?” I ask, keeping my back against the wall as I try to look anywhere but at the scene in front of me. The lady is completely covering any vital parts, but it still makes me feel a little uncomfortable as Freedom rubs big circles across her oily back. “A word?”

  She glances at the clock. “I’ve got ten minutes left here. Please wait in the kitchen.”

  Ordering me around like she owns the place.

  Typical Freedom.

  I keep my back as close to the wall as possible as I make my way through the living room and to the kitchen. Once there, I practically sprint to the fridge and grab a bottle of water. Then, I set it back inside and pull out a beer. I’m not a big beer drinker, but I’ll have one every now and again. Usually, at my mom’s with my siblings, but today, with Freedom on the opposite side of the wall giving a strange woman a massage, well, I say that constitutes a special beer-drinking occasion.

  “Make sure you drink plenty of water,” I hear Freedom say. “Go ahead and get dressed in the bathroom, and I’ll meet you back in here.”

  I hear a door shut, followed by Freedom breezing into the kitchen as if she hasn’t a care in the world. “Good evening, Sammy.”

  “What the fuck, Freedom?” I practically growl, setting my beer bottle down on the table with a little too much force.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why are you massaging a strange woman in my house?” I whisper-yell so said strange woman doesn’t overhear.

  “What are you talking about? Priscilla isn’t a strange woman. I’ve been massaging her for years.”

  “In my house?”

  She crosses her arms, and I can’t help but notice the way her top dips down low. “No, in my house. But since I currently don’t have an apartment, I’m doing it here.”

  “Without asking?” I ask, rubbing my forehead and willing the headache forming to go away.

  “Umm, did you not tell me to make myself comfortable?”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Well, yes, but that was in your bedroom. You know, like put your clothes in the dresser drawers and your books on the nightstand?”

  “Well, I only did what you offered me to do. This is how I make money,” she tells me, lifting her eyebrow, as if daring me to argue more.

  “I get that,” I grumble, glancing down at my shiny brown leather shoes. “I just thought you went to the massage parlor for, you know, massages.”

  She shrugs and heads to the fridge, retrieving a water bottle. “Usually, I do, but some of my clients that I’ve had forever have always come to my place. Priscilla is one of them.”

  “One of them?”

  “Sure, there’s Sally and Garth Peterman and Emmie Snodgrass, who refuses to wear underwear. Plus, Phyllis Jones and Angel Cays. They both come once a week,” she tells me, making my eye twitch.

  “Okay, okay, so I get that you need to work, and apparently, some of that is from home. I think we just need to set some ground rules,” I concede.

  Before she can reply, the bathroom door opens. “Hold that thought, Sammy,” Freedom says, patting me on the chest and heading back to the living room.

  I follow, but linger in the doorway, leaning a hip against the wood trim. Freedom goes over post-massage details, even though I know she doesn’t need to, and gives her client the bottle of water on her way out the door. Once she shuts the door, Freedom turns and busies herself with picking up the sheets and setting them in a pile to be washed, all while humming along to the sounds of the ocean waves rolling through the speakers, as if you can somehow hum to unheard music. But she does.

  When she grabs a Clorox wipe and starts cleaning her table, I say, “Freedom.”

  She glances up and smiles. And my heart pounds heavily in my chest. That one simple gesture is enough to bring me to my knees. To beg her to stay. The concept is so foreign to me, I’m not sure what to do with it. Before I even realize what’s happening, she’s standing directly in front of me. Her wide brown eyes gaze up, innocence and desire battling for dominance.

  “What?” she whispers, the mintiness of her breath tickling my chin.

  Clearing my throat, I try to push all inappropriate thoughts of kissing her—or worse, making love to her—from my mind. That’s not going to happen.

  Even if we are technically still married.

  Freedom slides her hands up my arms, and even through my dress shirt, I can feel the burn of her touch. My brain starts to malfunction. I can’t seem to think about anything but her. Wanting her. Tasting her. Needing her.

  Freedom.

  I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly, my lips are on hers, a hunger I’ve never felt before. No, I take that back. It feels familiar, yet new at the same time. A sudden flashback of kissing her in the shower with the same fervor parades through my mind. My hands on her ass as I press her against the wall, press my cock into her body. It’s the slightest glimpse of a memory, but it’s there, flashing like a neon sign and refusing to leave.

  I wrap my arms around her back and pull her against me. My body completely takes over. Desire and demand crash together like two cars in a demolition derby, both fighting for dominance. Freedom goes up on her tiptoes, her chest pressing tightly against mine. She purrs, like a kitten. A sexy kitten in a long blue and paisley skirt and tight pink top.

  “This isn’t exactly the ground rules I was planning to discuss,” I grumble, gasping for air.

  She’s still in my arms, her nipples hard and pressed against the material of her shirt, pretty much confirming she’s not wearing a bra. Her eyes are even darker, full of her own desire. So, when she places her lips against my ear and whispers, “Fuck the rules,” well, I pretty much lose all ability to think rationally. That’s the only logical explanation as to why I reach down and grab her hips, lifting her small body and carrying her to my bedroom.

  Her hands dive into my hair, and for the first time in forever, I’m a little glad to have missed my last haircut. She tugs, pain shooting down my neck and spine and landing in my groin. That little burst of discomfort only seems to fuel the craving I feel right now. That deep down yearning for something I shouldn’t want, yet can’t seem to stop myself from caring.

  When I step inside
my room, I head immediately to my bed. Freedom’s legs slip out from under the skirt as she brings them up and hooks them over my hips. Setting her down on the duvet, my mouth finds hers once more, my tongue dipping into her mouth and tasting.

  Her hands are clawing at my shirt, pulling at my tie and grasping at the buttons. “Take this off. Now.”

  I quickly stand up and start to unbutton my shirt. Freedom crouches on the bed and carefully removes my cuff links, tossing them onto my nightstand. “Be careful. Those are antique.”

  She rolls her eyes and I swear I can feel it all the way down to my balls. “Oh, they’re fine, Sammy. But you won’t be if you don’t get this shirt off immediately.” Freedom practically grabs the material and pulls it apart, pawing it as if it wasn’t custom tailored to fit. I’m able to save the buttons by getting them released right away as she loosens my necktie. “I like this,” she whispers as she smooths the black and gold silk.

  “I like this, but it needs to go,” I tell her boldly as I reach for her top. She instantly stops and extends her arms over her head, waiting for me to remove it. My fingers graze against warm, soft skin as I lift. My mouth waters as I expose her small breasts, the ones I’ve held in my hands before, yet barely remember.

  But I’ll remember tonight.

  Even though we should stop, even though I should send her to her own bedroom and forget about this crazy lust consuming me, I don’t. I can’t. The need for her is too great to fight.

  So I don’t.

  The moment her top is gone, my hands are on her breasts, palming them and pinching her nipples. She mewls, her head falling back in ecstasy. When she looks back up at me, her eyes are blazing as she leans into my touch just a bit. Something almost animalistic sweeps through me, and I know I need more. Picking her up, her body pressed against mine, I lay her back down on the bed and start to lift her skirt. My cock aches in my trousers, but I ignore my own lust, needing more of her.

  Bright orange panties with a black lace trim peek from under the skirt, and my mouth starts to water once more. I glance up, seeking permission to remove those delicate panties. Freedom lifts her hips and shimmies as I slide them down her legs. She’s completely bare. Not a speck of hair anywhere, and I swear every ounce of blood my body possesses goes straight to my groin. It’s painful how badly I want her.

  But I continue to ignore my own desire, needing to taste her. I spread her legs and slide between her thighs. The first swipe of my tongue is like touching an electric fence. It’s a jolt that stings and is something I won’t ever forget. The sound of her moans of pleasure spurs me on as I lick and suck on her sweet flesh. Freedom spreads her legs even farther, giving me full access to her most intimate places.

  Using a single finger, I tease her entrance, coating my finger in her wetness before sliding it inside. I can feel the tightness of her muscles contracting around me, which only makes me suck on her clit that much harder. She hollers my name, wiggling her hips and riding my finger and mouth in a frenzy as she barrels headfirst toward release. I can tell she’s getting close, so I slip a second finger inside her just to help her along.

  Her orgasm slams into her hard, as she bellows my name over and over again. Her hips rock against my face as she takes everything she wants and needs from me. Watching and feeling her come may be my new favorite thing in the whole world. Especially when it’s my name flying from her sweet lips.

  “Holy fuck,” she mumbles as I glance up. She has the most perfect euphoric look on her face, her eyes all glazed over and a seductive and satisfied grin on her lips.

  Licking my lips, I rest my chin on her inner thigh and just watch. Freedom Rayne has the ability to completely wreck me. I know this now. She has this power over me, a force I’ve tried to ignore for years, but here it is, alive and breathing. I don’t want to fight it, but I know I have to. Everything about us coming together this way has been a little backward, and I’m not a man who goes the wrong way. Ever.

  That’s why I have to fix this marriage mess as soon as possible.

  Starting with right now.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I can’t sleep with Freedom. I shouldn’t have carried her into my room, to my bed. And I definitely shouldn’t have gone down on her like I was a crazed man. Though, tell that to my cock. He’s pretty excited about what just happened and is ready to claim her in other ways too.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” she whispers, her voice as pure as sin.

  Freedom gets up, so I do the same. I’m about to excuse myself to the bathroom—to take care of the little problem I’m having down south—when she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me. Her lips are like nectar, sweet and delicious, and I can’t stop. My tongue dances with hers as she pulls me forward until we’re pressed together.

  “Take off your pants.” Her breath fans against my face, her words like a direct link to my cock.

  I shouldn’t, but I do. My hands wrap around my belt buckle, releasing the leather. Still, the rational part of my brain tries to force its way through the thick sex-fog. “I’m not sure we should—” I start but am cut off.

  By her lips.

  Again.

  “Less talking. More sexing,” she whispers, sending my brain into orbit in another universe.

  Freedom helps me ditch my trousers, my button-down, and necktie. She drops her skirt on the floor. My socks go next, followed very quickly by my briefs. I barely have them around my thighs when her hand wraps around my length, tight and warm. I’m not sure where the loud groan of pleasure comes from, but by the glint in her eye, I’d say it came from me.

  By some divine powers that be, I reach into my nightstand drawer and find a condom. The foil package is ripped from my hand as Freedom gnaws at the packaging with her teeth and pulls the protection from inside. All I can think about is how amazing her hands feel as she strokes me, long and hard, positioning the condom at the head of my cock.

  “I’m going to suck that, but not now. Right now, I need to feel you inside me,” she says, as she slowly rolls the protection over me.

  Meanwhile, in my brain, I’m trying not to think about how truly glorious it feels to have her touching me so I don’t come before I’m even inside her body.

  She spins us around and presses on my shoulders until I’m sitting on my bed, my back against the headboard. Then, she’s straddling my waist, positioning my cock at her entrance, and sitting down.

  I feel everything. The tightness of her body as I press inside her. The warmth of her arms as they wrap around my neck. The muscles of her thighs as they press against my outer legs. And the squeeze in my heart as we come together in the most intimate way possible.

  Completely.

  Like someone lights a match, fire spreads through my veins and my hips buck upward, burying myself to the root. Freedom stills, a gasp slipping from her sweet lips. “Shit, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” I ask through gritted teeth. My body is begging to move, but I refuse if it’s only going to cause her discomfort.

  “Holy shitballs, I forgot how big you are,” she whispers, her eyes closed.

  “We can stop,” I tell her, realizing I might actually explode if we do. But I won’t hurt her.

  “Don’t you dare stop.” She gasps, slowly lifting her hips and sliding back down again. “So fucking good.”

  She’s right, this is too fucking good to stop. Now or ever.

  With my hands on her hips, I let her set the pace. She slowly moves up and down, her hands positioned on my chest for stability, as she adjusts to fit me. I can feel every flex of her muscles, every delicious slide of her body as it grips mine. And holy hell, does it grip. She’s got my cock so tight, I’m not sure I’ll last much longer.

  Her nails score against my flesh as my grasp on her hips tightens. Quite possibly, I’m leaving marks, but I can’t seem to stop myself. She rocks and grinds in the same motion, and I’m not sure if I should beg her to stop or plead for more. My brain has officially left the room, probably
off to have a cigarette. I’m left with a burning desire to claim her and an ache in my chest where she seems to have rooted.

  I’m close, teetering on the edge of sanity and oblivion. With each move she makes, she brings me closer to release, like the vixen she is. This wild and carefree vixen I can’t stop wanting. Needing.

  She clenches my cock as her hips buck uncontrollably. My eyes start to cross and all I can do is hang on tight. I’m pleading with myself to not come, to sit back and enjoy the ride, but it’s impossible. Especially when she says, “I can’t get enough of you, Samuel.”

  My name.

  The way she says it, her voice dripping with seduction and confidence, as her orgasm washes through her, triggering my own release like a bomb. There’s no stopping or containing it.

  My hips thrust upward, hard and fast, until I’m finally unable to move. Freedom’s lips claim mine, our gasps for air as tangled as our tongues. My hands finally release her hips and move to frame her face. Hair hangs over her eyes, soft, yet wet from sweat. Our bodies are pressed together, a fine sheen of sweat covering mine, which is something I can’t say has every happened before. Sex has never been so…aggressive. Nice, yes. Sweet, absolutely. But this raw, animalistic obsession that leaves me fulfilled and spent? Not so much.

  Not until Freedom.

  She pulls her lips from my own and rests her head on my shoulder, the slightest tickle from her breath caressing my neck. I hold her tightly against me, wishing we could stay just like this. Wishing things between us could be different. Not the sex. No, I wouldn’t change that for anything, but the confusion I feel because of it. My head still tells me to do the right thing, to step away and right the wrong we made in Las Vegas. But my heart? It’s telling me I’ve already found that right.

  With her.

  My back sags against the headboard as exhaustion sets in. I’m not sure if she’s sleeping or just that relaxed, but her lithe little body is practically limp against me. Carefully, I turn us sideways and pull from her body. She whimpers, but it doesn’t seem to be from pain or discomfort. Freedom clings to my chest, her breasts pressed tightly against me.