by Blue Saffire
I part her ass with my fingers and lower. Capturing the drip of her essence with my tongue, I drag through her folds all the way to her crack. Her pants and moans are like music.
I feast on her until my lips and tongue are numb and she’s nothing more than goo on the bedsheets. I chuckle when she whimpers into the mattress. Reaching between my legs, I acknowledge the pulsing steel I’ve been neglecting.
Peeling her from the sheets, I turn her on her back. I groan and bite my lip, watching her breasts jiggle with the motion. I’ve never been turned on by a woman the way I’m turned on by the sight of her.
I lift her leg, kissing my way down her thigh, just needing to feel her skin against my lips. My hands caress anywhere I can touch. It’s the simple touches that cause her to bow off the bed and give me looks that convey so much.
“You’re everything to me,” I whisper against her thigh, placing another kiss to her flesh.
“Show me,” she demands.
I nod, moving between her legs. The moment I enter her I know things have changed again. I’m hers in a new way. The kind of love that’s hidden deep and is found when needed most. When surface love just isn’t enough, there’s this love. The unbreakable kind that you have to dig deeper for.
“Don’t give up on me, Kia. No matter what, don’t let me go,” I plead.
“Never,” she whispers in my ear, as we climax together.
* * *
Now you have reached your final chapter. If your book has a cliffhanger, that should be moved to your epilogue. Wrap your story up nicely here in the meantime.
Epilogue
Parker
I keep blinking. I want to remember this day for the rest of my life, but it would be great to be able to see it fully. I move my head to take in as much as I can. The things people take for granted.
Today I have to choose what’s most important to see. My vision decided to fuck with me on one of the most important days of my life. I look away from the doctors, back at my wife.
Her face is drenched with sweat. She’s still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. She’s so brave and strong. I didn’t know I could love her more than I already did.
I thought I was the luckiest man in the world when she said I do. Since that day, my life has only gotten better and better. Now this, my son is on his way into the world.
“Relax,” Lakia whispers.
“I should be saying that to you,” I frown.
“I’m familiar with the terrain. I got this,” she winks.
I nod. “He’s almost here,” I say in awe.
She giggles at me. “You don’t have to whisper, he’s not going to change his mind and go back in,” she teases.
“Mrs. Parker, we need one more good push,” the doctor interrupts.
“Okay,” she nods, licking her lips and bearing down. “Argh.”
She lets out a little roar and the next sound I hear is the cry of my little boy. I turn my head quickly, not wanting to miss him and I swear it’s like my vision opens up the moment I set eyes on him.
He’s so small, but his cry is so big. He has entered this world making his presence known. I watch in wonder as they place him on Lakia’s chest. They look perfect together.
“Should we name him Myles?” I ask, reaching to brush his little cheek.
Her brows knit. Slowly she shakes her head. When her cola eyes look up at me they seem perplexed.
“Mama always used to say, you don’t name a boy after a man still living his legacy,” she replies with conflict in her eyes.
My own brows draw in. I search her face for understanding. She bites her lip, I can tell she’s debating whether or not she should say the words just on her lips.
“I had a dream about my brother. Mama never did feel like he was gone… For now, let’s name our son something else,” she says softly.
“Whatever you want, Baby Girl. You choose his name. I trust you,” I wink at her.
* * *
The End
Thanks for reading!
Continue the Lost Hearts Series in book One, Where the Pieces Fall.
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About the Author
Blue Saffire, award-winning, bestselling author of over thirty contemporary romance novels and novellas,—writes with the intention to touch the heart and the mind. Blue hooks, weaves, and loops multiple series, keeping you engaged in her worlds. Every word is meant to have a lasting touch that leaves you breathless for more. Blue and her husband live in a home filled with laughter and creativity, in Long Island, NY. Both working hard to build the Blue brand and cultivate their love for the arts. Creativity is their family affair.
http://bluesaffire.com/
Full-On Clinger
Sylvie Stewart
Full-On Clinger © copyright 2019 Sylvie Stewart
* * *
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Full-On Clinger
Back in high school, there were two things I was desperate to get rid of: my virginity, and Rosina Carmichael.
* * *
That was then. This is now.
* * *
Rosie is back, but this time she wants nothing to do with me. Not that I can blame her.
* * *
But those long legs and sassy mouth have me wishing I hadn’t gone and alienated everyone from my past.
* * *
Rosie can snarl at me and push me away all she wants, but I’ve got my sights set on a second chance, and I’m always up for a challenge.
* * *
Who’s the clinger now?
1
“Are we gonna get wet?”
I flash my signature grin at the brunette with the smallest bikini in the group. And that’s saying something.
“Only if I’m doing my job right.”
Somebody’s going to lose their bottoms before the afternoon is out, and I won’t even need to lift a finger to make it happen—not that I don’t plan on using all my fingers later tonight to drive Miss MicroBikini crazy. But I’ll bet my left nut she’s never met a class IV rapid, and neither has her scrap of a swimsuit.
Her wide eyes turn liquid as she lets her gaze fall down my body. Yeah, that’s it. If I’m tightening my muscles a little, it’s only because I just came from my morning workout and I’m still in flexing mode. Yeah, she likes what she sees, which makes all the time I spend working out well worth it.
I thought Brody and Josh were going to strain something trying to get an eyeful of my guests. A few choice curse words were flung in my direction as I made my way over to the waiting girls—God I love the week before graduation at SCUW. The bikini-clad co-eds come out in droves to enjoy the freedom of true adulthood and a fast-flowing Chattooga River.
Reluctant as I am to cut this little eye-fucking conversation short, I have a job to do. I clap my hands together and address the entire group. “Okay, ladies! Everyone put on your safety helmet and PFD, otherwise known as a personal flotation device. I’d hate to lose any one of you gorgeous girls to the
river gods.” This wins me a few giggles, just as I intended.
“My name’s Denny and I’ll be your river guide today.” I pick up a paddle and flip it around with one hand as effortlessly as spinning a pencil. The move is well-practiced and always guaranteed to earn some smiles at the natural ease of my movements. “This here is your paddle. Not an oar. A paddle.” I twist mine and bring the grip to a halt at my chest. “This is the T-grip. It needs to be covered with one hand at all times to keep you from knocking one of your raftmates unconscious and to maintain proper control while paddling. Control is crucial.” I wink at a redhead in an electric blue bikini who’s got her plump lower lip clenched between her teeth. I may have to invite her tonight as well.
I continue with my instructions—and my flirting—until I’m confident my delectable guests aren’t going to drown or make me dive into the rapids at Bull Sluice after any of them. I hand out the paddles and more smiles. Damn, this is one fuck-hot group of girls.
But I’ve got two paddles left at the end when I should only have one. Somebody’s missing. I do a headcount and, sure enough, seven beautiful ladies have turned to the riverbank where our raft awaits. I’m about to call out to Miss MicroBikini to ask where the last guest is when Brody jogs over with a hand up.
“Hey, man. Your eighth was hanging out inside. She’s getting a vest on now.” He stops with his hands perched on the waistband of his board shorts and lifts his chin. “I wanted her to learn the ropes from the best, so I went ahead and prepped her for you.”
I bark out a laugh. “That’s okay. I’ll undo whatever you did in about thirty seconds.”
Brody scowls. “No way, man. She’ll see right through your pathetic moves and I’ll be here when y’all get back. I’ve already laid the groundwork for a date tonight.”
I haven’t even seen this chick, but my competitive streak rears its head regardless. The brunette and the redhead have suddenly lost their new-girl shine.
“We shall see.” I bump Brody’s shoulder and he shoves me, but it’s all good. This is how we operate.
“Denny?”
I turn to see the brunette has wandered back up the bank. She’s definitely at least a 9.5 so I get my head back on straight and bring on the slow smile again. “Yeah, darlin’.”
I swear I can see the moment the endearment hits because she does one of those little inhales that’s like a tiny hidden gasp. She lowers her eyes for a second and then brings them back up to hit mine. “Can I sit in the back by you? You know, because it’s my first time.”
God-damn! I’d better watch myself or I’ll be guiding this entire run with my dick standing straight up. I purse my lips like I’m thinking on it. Part of me is tempted to tell her she’s more likely to get rocked around in the back, but the idea of her sitting close by when she screams is too appealing.
“Sure thing.” I put her out of her misery.
“Chantal, if you want even the smallest chance of keeping your lunch down, you want to stay far, far away from the back of that damn raft.” This comes from a new voice.
I turn to see who I assume is my missing guest walking toward Brody in a pair of short cut-offs and one of our standard red PFDs. I’m about to forfeit her to Brody on principle when my eyes finally reach her face and I lose the power of speech.
And it’s not because she’s abso-fuckin’-lutely gorgeous—which she is.
It’s because my past just turned up to take a giant shit on what was looking to be a hell of a nice day.
“Rosie?” I finally choke out before clearing my throat. I take her in again, from the long legs to the curvy hips and on up past the shapeless vest to the nose that turns up just a bit at the end. Her tanned skin tells the story of a spring spent outdoors and the hair pulled back from her face reveals cheekbones I don’t remember being quite so high. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She doesn’t smile and neither do I.
“What the hell do you think I’m doing here?” She strides forward and grabs the extra paddle from my hand as she passes. “Going rafting, shithead!”
Shithead? Shithead? What the hell?
Rosina Carmichael has never once cussed in her life—at least not in front of me. And what’s with that tone of voice? The Rosie I know—or knew, I guess—would never in a million years speak to me like that.
I turn and watch her walk away because it’s the only thing I can do. My mind is so wrapped in confusion and surprise I hardly even hear Brody laughing his ass off at me. Rosie joins the assembled group, her dark ponytail swinging back and forth as she struts—yes, struts. There’s no other word for it. One of the girls immediately grabs her arm and strikes up an animated conversation with her before they both glance my way.
The other girl wears a knowing grin, while Rosie’s mouth is turned down. Her full pink lips are almost in a pout—the kind that makes a guy want to bite one of those lips.
I have clearly entered an alternate universe.
The last time I saw Rosina Carmichael, she did not look like this. Not even a little. And she most definitely did not talk like this, walk like this… anything like this. If I didn’t know the impossibility of it, I would think this woman was a twin or maybe a really damn close relative. But those eyes tell me different. They’re Rosie’s eyes. The same ones that were brimming with tears the last time they met mine.
Brody grabs my shoulders from behind, his body still shaking with laughter. “Good luck with that.” Then he shoves me toward the group of girls, sending me tripping over a tree root in the process.
Fan-fuckin’-tastic.
I’m torn between two instincts—the need to get as far away from Rosie as possible, and the opposing desire to get up close and personal with her to find out what the hell is going on. I have it on good authority that she’d never come seek me out until the day pigs decided to grow wings. Her appearance here is absolutely not a coincidence, however; of that, I’m damn certain.
Did Luca send her? It wouldn’t really be like him to hide behind his sister, so I dismiss that one right away. And since my brothers and sister have given up, that leaves Mrs. Carmichael. That’s much more likely—and probably scarier. If Adrina is getting involved, I’m up shit’s creek—no pun intended.
But there’s no time to catch Rosie alone so it’s a moot point. As soon as the women begin choosing their seats, Rosie goes for the one the farthest as possible from mine—and one that will assure she’ll get doused in no time flat. Typical.
Despite Rosie’s warning, Chantal decides to stick with me and take one of the seats at the rear of the raft, right in front of mine. I just hope Rosie was teasing when it comes to motion sickness because we’re in for a bumpy ride.
I brief the girls on where to place their feet to stay balanced and how to follow the strokes set by Rosie and the other girl in front. We practice shifting positions and paddling on land, as well as all the safety precautions before I tug the raft in the river and we all get started on our adventure. The tour usually lasts around five hours, a decent length for a bunch of first-timers—which has me questioning again why Rosie is on this outing with the bikini brigade. She’s an experienced rafter, and I’d bet tonight’s date with Chantal and the redhead that she does not own one bikini, nor has the word “amazeballs” ever passed her lips.
Chantal is full of chatter, very little of it about the breathtaking scenery or the river. It centers mostly on tales of Senior Week and questions about me. It seems half the girls in the raft are graduating and the rest are underclassmen in the same sorority or something. I’m trying to strike a balance between flirting with her and doing my job as a guide, but I’m not succeeding at either. So, I throw both out the window and cave to my burning curiosity.
“So, Chantal, how do you know Rosie?”
Her brow creases at first and then she frowns. “You mean Rosina?” She lets go of her T-grip and I motion for her to grasp it again. She pouts but does as instructed.
“Yeah. Rosina.” It’s been s
o long since I’ve spoken her name that it feels foreign on my tongue.
“She’s friends with Gwen.” Chantal motions to the girl sitting next to Rosie—the same one who shot me the knowing look earlier. What she thinks she knows is a mystery to me.
“She doesn’t go to SCUW, though, does she?” It’s admittedly been a while, but I have to believe I haven’t put myself so far out of the loop that I don’t even know where Rosie lives.
Chantal pouts again. “No. She goes somewhere else. Gwen invited her on the trip with us. Why? Do you know her?”
I give a noncommittal grunt. Do I know Rosie? That’s a damn good question. I thought I did, but I clearly don’t anymore.
At my silence, Chantal grasps the opportunity to change the subject. “So how long have you been doing this?”
I point out a rocky outgrowth and shout an instruction to keep up with the slow, steady paddling since we’re on a quiet part of the river. I don’t want them to use up the energy they’ll need later. Giving into the subject change offers me a moment to think on Chantal’s explanation.
I return my attention to her. “I’ve been here about two years. Before that, I was out in Colorado, but I grew up rafting around Asheville.”
“Wow. So you really know what you’re doing.” She’s out of rhythm with the other paddles, and I should call her attention back to the task at hand.
