Chiseled - A Standalone Romance (A Super Sexy Western Romance)

by Naomi Niles

  “What’s going on upstate?” Dad never took simple excuses without getting some elaboration. It was part of his Marine training, I suppose. Perhaps it was just being a father.

  “It appears the board from my newspaper contributes to an orphanage up there. They’ve gotten some reports that they’re not too happy about and want one of their nosy reporters to check it out.”

  “Well, they’ve got the right girl.”

  Dad’s sarcasm wasn’t wasted on me. “Yes, I know, you think I’m wasting my life. Regardless, I thought I would be the good daughter and let you know, Dad.”

  “Thank you for being so thoughtful. Have a safe trip and let me know when you’re back.”

  The line went dead and Dad’s salty tone no longer felt the way it had when I was young and insecure. At least I had done the right thing, and moreover, I was preventing him from hunting me down while Sean and I were on our own.

  I threw a load of laundry into the machine and called down to Sean. “Anything you need washed?”

  I heard his footsteps coming up the staircase. He walked toward me and held out a pair of jeans. He was wearing nothing else from the waist down. The breath went completely out of me. “Oh, my God.”

  “Sorry. Do I embarrass you? I guess I sort of thought you and I were past that point?” There was a devilish look on his face and I knew he was pushing my buttons. However, the surprise was on him when I reached behind me and picked up my glass of ice water, sloshing the frigid liquid over his lower half. He leapt backward, clutching himself and I howled with laughter.

  “That will teach you,” I taunted him.

  “There definitely is a devil in you, my dear.”

  “I think I may have temporarily chased it out of you!” I laughed.

  “That, and a bit more, I’m afraid.”

  We laughed and in that one, golden moment, I knew we were both lost. There was no way we could ever return to an informal friendship; no way we could dismiss all that had gone on between us.

  * * *

  I had rented a bright-red Jeep Grand Cherokee for our trip upstate. It was required that I be the driver as the car had been rented in my name. Sean didn’t seem to mind and settled back for a relaxing trip once we left the city. He put a CD in the player and we listened to music, content to just be together.

  The bed and breakfast was in a Victorian house, one that was unbelievably restored. It looked as though it had been shrouded from time, to have just recently emerged. It was painted a pale yellow and the eaves were trimmed in white with white, fish-scale shingles. It had a broad, seasonally enclosed porch that was covered with ivy trailing down its posts. The postcard was complete with a series of white rockers in pairs, lining the expanse. In the front lawn, between the hydrangea bushes that were sleeping for the winter, was a sign that read, “Mulberry House.” It was absolutely, picture-perfect charming. I wished I could pack it in my bag and take it home with me.

  Sean carried our bags in as I checked in at the tiny counter in the foyer. We were given a room that overlooked the street and by the time we got settled, it was time for dinner. The hosts of Mulberry House were a quiet, yet gentle couple who stocked an excellent kitchen, if the meal on the table was any example.

  There was an antique platter filled with delicate slices of roast beef, surrounded by buttered new potatoes and carrots.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such delicious, homemade bread. Mom used to make it when I was a girl and it always signified a special occasion. Once again, this was a special occasion; Sean was with me and we were almost playing house, even if it didn’t belong to us. There was an apple crisp made from the fruit of the harvest. It was served warm with scoops of vanilla-bean ice cream. As they say, my eyes were bigger than my stomach and I was only able to take a few bites, but I felt so pampered. That was an expression I would often use with Sean, for his mere presence made me feel pampered.

  After dinner, Sean and I sat in the large family room at the back of the house. It had floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the beautifully landscaped backyard. There was an arbor and I imagined that roses had grown over it in the summer. I told myself if ever Sean and I were to be married, this was where I would like it to take place. It was as if it were made for us. They had laid a fire in the massive fireplace and I watched as the flames played hide and go seek from one another amongst the logs. I was utterly and completely content.

  Sean’s arm was around me and his fingertips were rubbing small circles into the flesh of my forearm. I moved my arm so that he touched the soft skin on the inside of my elbow and I shuddered with delight at the sensations this wrought. His finger imitated the movements I wanted to feel in that private area that belonged only to him. I looked up at him and smiled and he knew what I was thinking. He stood and helped me to my feet, and together we walked up to our room, bidding the proprietors a pleasant evening.

  We were charmed to find out that they had also laid a fire in our bedroom. There was a four-post bed that probably dated back to the late 1800s, although it was furnished with an ultramodern mattress and box springs. This combination caused it to be high off the floor, and there was a small, wooden step waiting at the edge of the bed. I pulled my night things out of my suitcase and went into the bathroom to shower. When I came out, Sean was sitting in a chair by the fire, staring at the flames. Without saying a word, I began turning down the bed, fluffing up the pillows, and folding the thick comforter down to the feet. Sean never looked up, not even as I climbed beneath the coverlet. I sat up, resting my chin on my arms bent over my folded knees.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked him.

  A few moments passed before he answered. “No, not really.”

  I was perplexed. “Do you not want to be here?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain this,” he began. “It feels as if I don’t belong here. I know you like it here, I can tell. I even think you might like the idea that you and I would have a house together at some point in the future. Am I wrong?”

  “No,” I shook my head and laid it once again upon my arms. “You’re not wrong.”

  “Gwyne, I can’t give you weekends away like this. I literally am flat broke. You know that firefighters don’t make very much money and there’s no reason to think that’s going to change. I had accepted that when I came to New York City. All I could think about was helping people, helping people like Damien. And it never entered my mind that I might meet someone, and most certainly not someone like you. You deserve more from life. I have no right to be with you here, now, as if we are lovers with a future together. The more time we spend together, the closer our hearts become. I know you feel it, too.”

  As his words rolled about me, they became a swirl and there was a fear in the pit of my stomach that he was about to say goodbye. I really didn’t know what to think. “What are you trying to say, Sean?”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t know what I’m trying to say. You don’t belong with a guy like me who can’t give you everything that you deserve. Even if I gave up firefighting and did something else, I wouldn’t be enough for you. I’d always feel a sense of regret that I didn’t live up to the promise I made to myself. You would know I wasn’t happy and you would feel responsible.”

  “Would you like me to go downstairs and rent a second room?” I made the offer and the words choked me. I held my breath, waiting for his response. He continued to look into the fire, as though it would give him the answers he needed.

  “No, there’s no need for that. I can sleep here in the chair.”

  Everything I had been dreaming of for the past three days had turned to ashes. By this time, I had expected that we would be in one another’s arms, our legs intertwined and his fingers exploring my every crevice. This was not at all what I wanted. I laid back against the pillows, anticipating his objections before I commented. “You know, you just might be wrong about all of this.”

  “How’s that?” He still did not look up f
rom staring at the flames. I understood then that he saw the flames as hell welcoming him on the wings of temptation.

  “First of all, I don’t remember you asking me whether money was important or not. You also might remember that I have a job. I don’t happen to be one of those traditional women who believes that the man has to make the most money in a household. I have a job, I have a home, and it’s paid for, and I’m the only child of a man who will soon be retiring. I have no debt and I have the ability to earn more money if I need to. What I don’t have, however, is a man in my life who makes all of that worthwhile. If all you want from life is money, that’s the easiest thing to get. It’s the quality of the partner you’re with that gives you true value.”

  “Pretty words from a pretty writer,” he said in a low voice.

  “Why are you being so hostile to me? What have I done wrong?”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong. What you are is a temptation. How would any man in his right mind pass you by? So what does that make me? Does that make me not a man? Does that make me somehow not well-balanced in my thinking? I’m trying to aspire to be a better human being. I don’t want to take advantage of you and of this wonderful place and this precious time. I don’t belong here, Gwyne. I can’t get here on my own, so this is not my world.”

  “You’re wrong again, Sean. This is not your world by choice, not because you’re incapable of attaining it. Anyway, what is this? It’s a little bed-and-breakfast in upstate New York. What is so extremely fabulous about that?”

  “Because you come with it.”

  His words were simple and yet made his point so eloquently. I inhaled as the full meaning of his words sink into me. He was in love with me. If I doubted it before, I did not doubt it then. He was drawn between temptation and a sense of honor to a commitment he made to a boy who was long dead.

  “He’s gone, Sean. All your nobility is not going to change that.”

  “Don’t you think I know that! Don’t you think I understand what I’m doing?”

  “What I think, is this: I think that you were a man who was lost and could not foresee his future. You found an opportunity to make what you did in the future count for something. That makes you extraordinary. But what I also see is a man who is filled with sensitivity and passion and intelligence. That should not end with you. Those are gifts from the Almighty and should not be wasted. You can help people. But there are many ways to help people. It doesn’t always have to be in a fireman’s overalls and helmet. It doesn’t even have to be within the firefighting industry. A man like you has options: hundreds of options. It’s up to you to recognize them.”

  “Gwyne, that’s easy for you to say. You went to college. I did not, nor can I. I don’t have your background, your connections. You can’t possibly understand what it is to come out of the middle of nowhere and find yourself in New York City with nothing more to survive with than your wits.”

  “Who gave you the right to corner the world on feeling sorry for yourself? Do you think the people in that shelter that I visited have no options? They have options; they simply choose not to exercise them. You are certainly far and away above where they are in life.”

  “Is that so? Isn’t your house my shelter?”

  I was aghast at his words. He had just vilified the entire concept of a shelter—or at least the shelter that I was offering him.

  “I’m offering myself to be a shelter, Sean. I want the same from you. That doesn’t take a degree or money or contacts. It only takes love and commitment and integrity. You’ve got more than enough for the both of us.”

  “If only I could believe that what you say is true. I recognize that some of what you say has validity. That’s why I am so torn. You see this fire here on the hearth? I sat down here and realized I was drawn to the flames. I don’t mind telling you that it provoked quite a strong response from within me. At first I thought it was because I got hurt in that apartment fire. But it goes much deeper than that. Fire has always held a fascination for mankind, since the first twig smoldered in the soil. Fire has the ability to sustain us: to protect us from predators, warm our bodies, heat our food, sterilize against infection. These are the qualities about fire that appealed to me. I suppose in some strange sense you could say I want to be fire. I know, that sounds absolutely freaking crazy. I get that. But at the same time, fire can get out of control so easily. One moment it’s where it’s supposed to be, helping you, and in the next moment, an ash blows in the breeze and suddenly the building or the tree or the person next-door is aflame. That’s how I feel. I feel like when I am in control, then I can provide all the positive qualities of warmth, protection, and light. And then I look over at you, lying on that bed, waiting for me to join you. For me to cross those few feet to join you is the same as that spark that flies free of the fireplace and lands on the cover. It spreads and it will burn deeply and all will be lost.”

  “That may be so,” I told him. “But you’re forgetting something. You are here. It is your job to keep the flames in the fireplace. It’s also your job to give me all those qualities you describe. You know the difference.” Sean stared at me a few moments, my words sinking in, or at least I like to think that’s what was happening.

  In that next, brief second, he made his decision. He sprang from the chair, his movement sudden and with the propulsion that suggested that should he hesitate, all would be lost. Suddenly, he was upon me. His mouth was on mine, his tongue delving deeply into my mouth, sucking my tongue into his. His lips were soft and yet demanding. He had taken me by surprise and I felt as though I needed a deep breath before continuing. With this urge, I pushed my hands briefly against his chest to lift him away from my body so I might catch my breath. Sean knocked my hands aside and growled beneath his breath, “You are my flame. I won’t let you go and I won’t put you out. You have my word.”

  With those words, Sean rose above me, pulling me with him. He kicked the pillows and coverlet down to the floor and lowered me onto them before the fire. As the cold of the room met with the heat from the fire, both on the hearth and inside my loins, my nipples responded instantly. Sean knew this instinctively and with one hand, he gathered the fabric of my nightie into a wad against my back so that the shape of my nipples protruded through the soft cloth. With a single fingertip, he traced the outline of my nipples, the result of which was that they emerged like rosebuds straining toward the sun.

  Sean’s head lowered and he took the first rosebud into his mouth, his tongue circling it until the fabric was soaked with his saliva. The cool air combined with the wet fabric emphasized the contrast of his mouth and the sensations on my nipples were overwhelming. I moaned and twisted enough so as to feed my other breast to his mouth. He began the same circling movements and then grew frustrated and pulled my gown over my head, leaving me absolutely naked.

  His clothes came next and then it was just the two of us, the fire, and an explosion of need that drew us together like opposing magnets. I don’t think that either of us were fully awake or cognizant of what followed for the next two hours. Our mental bodies traveled within the other and then, as the sensations coaxed them back, we went to another level of consciousness. Sean’s hands were all over me, and for every place that he touched me, I wanted to touch two places of his. I wanted to crawl inside his skin. I had read that written in romance novels but didn’t understand what that meant until that very moment. I simply never wanted to be separated from him. I knew my body was not able to produce the same ecstasy, no matter what I was to do. The world was Sean. The world was us.

  Sean stopped suddenly and my body felt instantly cold without his heat. I thought he was having second thoughts and tensed, expecting him to stand up. Instead, he sat back on his haunches and said, “My God, you are beautiful!” Using his index finger, he began to trace the curves of my body. It trailed down my forehead and over my nose, which he then bent to kiss. I relaxed then and knew the pleasure of patience.

  His touch crept with the speed of a
rising sun down my chest and to my breasts. I squirmed, raising my torso to be closer to him—and to make him move faster to where I wanted to be touched the most. He chuckled and pressed me flat, his finger circumventing my breast and travelling downward.

  “Ohhh…” I moaned, disappointed.

  “There are penalties for rushing the master,” he whispered into my belly button.

  I could feel the breath from his words ruffle the tiny hairs of my womanhood and I froze, not wanting to disrupt the current. The fingertip travelled lower still, and his lips followed. My mind left my consciousness at that point and all I knew was sensation. His fingertips gently prodded my woman’s lips, as though testing for ripeness. I felt the heat gush into me then and he drew in his breath as his finger touched dampened flesh.

  I parted my legs, yearning for his deeper touch, but he withheld it, making me senseless with need. I remember opening my eyes only a slit and seeing his penis looming over my hip. It was engorged and standing outward from his body. I had the fleeting impression that it had always been meant for me, that it was simply waiting until this moment to be a part of the rich, moist heat of my tunnel; Sean and his immense cock belonged exclusively to me. I began to pant and with each breath I took, the lips of my labia pulsed as the blood flooded my private flesh.

  My mouth opened and I reached for him again, wanting to taste the salt of his precum as I could see it dripping from his tip. He drew back, denying me access. Perhaps he knew once my fingers encircled him, his control would be lost and he could no longer lead me down this torturous journey.

  His attention was then turned back to me once more. His finger, although rough as a working man’s should be, felt gentle against the tender flesh of my petals. He parted me, gently pushing his index finger into me, deep into the moist cave that was me. It painted sensations along the cave walls, searching for that spot that would trigger the explosion. I wriggled, trying to match the location with his flesh, but it was all aflame and impossible to pin down. As his finger pushed in and out of me, it made a sucking noise, as if my vagina kissed his finger’s re-entry. He withdrew his finger, touching my juices to his tongue and then to mine. I tasted myself then, and discovered I had a scent that surprisingly stimulated me, as well as him.