Encore Worthy: a Mountains & Men prequel novella

by R. C. Martin

  “Got it.”

  An hour later, at god knows what time, he lets me close my eyes and I fall asleep tucked under one of his arms, my cheek against his chest.

  MY EYELIDS ARE HEAVY when I try and open them, and it takes me a second to remember where I am.

  Only a second.

  When I catch a glimpse of her ashy brown hair, a complete and utter mess after riding in the convertible and then riding me, my dick twitches. Then my bladder sends an urgent message to my other head and I’m reminded of why I’ve been called out of sleep.

  I ease my way from the bed, careful not to wake Millie, and then search for my boxers. I slip them on and find myself stealing one more glimpse of her naked back, the sheets only covering her from the waist down. I can’t even count how many times I’ve snuck out of a woman’s bed after a night of sex, leaving before she woke up—sometimes with a note, sometimes not. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve wanted to climb back under the sheets with the sleeping beauty. I turn away from her in need of the bathroom, but with every intention of returning.

  Millie and I were a little busy last night, so I wasn’t given the grand tour, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that one of the two doors in the hallway leads to my source of relief. I peek my head into the room on my right and I know straight away that I’m looking into Sarah’s room. It’s empty, leading me to assume she’s behind door number two. I knock, hoping I can interrupt whatever girl routine she’s in the middle of.

  “Sarah?” She swings the door open and I offer her a tired, lopsided smile. “Hey, Sarah. I’ve really got to piss. Are you almost done in there?” I wait, somewhat impatiently, as she gapes at me. “I usually don’t mind an audience, but in this case—”

  “Right! Yeah. Um. Yeah—go,” she stutters, switching spots with me. I’m quick to shut myself inside.

  As I pull my dick out to relieve myself, I close my eyes and tilt my head back. Immediately, my mind is filled with memories from early this morning. Being with Millie . . . it was nothing like I thought it would be. I figured she’d be a fun and wild ride, but fuck me—she’s unbelievable. Last night was, hands down—dick up—the best lay I’ve ever had. Ever. It had all the excitement and wonder that comes with a good fresh fuck buddy, but it also felt natural and relaxed, as if our bodies had met before. It wasn’t just the sex, though. It was Millie.

  I remember it, when I buried myself deep inside her tight, warm pussy. I remember hearing the music—her music—just like earlier in the night, when we had met. I couldn’t explain it—can’t explain it—but I wrote the words that fell from my lips in that very moment. I looked down into her eyes and, shit, it was like magic. They were there.

  I swear, that woman is more than a muse. I’ve never sung to a woman in bed before. Certainly not like that. I have no fucking clue what it means, if anything, but I sure as hell know that I need another night with her. Another dozen nights. One night of purely, unadulterated, passionate sex will never do.

  After I finish my business, I open the door to find Sarah exactly where I left her. I’m so fucking tired, I can’t bring myself to offer up any sort of morning conversation. Instead, I compliment her dress before heading back to Millie’s room. I close the door, drop my boxers, and climb back into bed.

  I’m instantly overwhelmed by the scent of her—she smells like sex, sweat, and something sweet and feminine. Vanilla. I decide that she’s too far away and I scoot closer, pulling her into my arms. She sighs as she rolls toward me, resting her cheek on my chest. A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I close my eyes, falling back asleep within seconds.

  WHEN I WAKE FOR the second time, we’re spooning. I’m not sure how we managed to sleep our way into this position, but I won’t complain. I like holding her.

  Fuck. I sound like a damn pussy.

  I know by staying I’m acting out of character, but I can’t make myself move. I don’t want to. I remember her dark green eyes—her haunted, mysterious eyes—and that mouth—she’s such a smart-ass; but the way she looked at me when I sang to her, and the way she called my name when I made her come for the fourth time . . .

  I think she may be just as out of her element as I am, but she wants me just the same—no way in hell am I walking away now.

  I’m impressed that she’s still sleeping. I can only guess by the sunshine pouring into the room that we’ve slumbered through the entire morning. I smile when she groans and arches her back, pushing herself even closer to me. I trace lazy circles on her stomach with my thumb and she gasps before she turns around. I can tell she regrets the quick movement immediately as she groans once more and buries her face in my chest.

  “Morning,” I say with a chuckle.

  “You’re still here,” she grumbles, her morning voice raspy and sexy as fuck. My dick twitches.

  “Disappointed?” I ask, now tracing circles against the small of her back.

  “Surprised.” She yawns and curls even closer to me. She’s like a fucking cat; and I’ll be damned, but I like it. “I feel like shit.”

  “You put a few back last night,” I remind her, reaching up to smooth her hair away from her face. She tilts her head up and opens her eyes to look at me, and I’m instantly hard.

  She’s so fucking gorgeous.

  Her makeup has faded, her eyes are bloodshot from her hangover, and her hair is a mess, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever held in my arms.

  “Fuck . . . I wish I had a condom right now. Bet I could make you feel better, doll face.”

  She studies me for a moment, not saying a word. I’m beginning to think I’ve pissed her off before she tells me, “Behind you. Nightstand. Top drawer.”

  I arch an eyebrow before I lean away from her, reaching behind me to open the drawer. Sure enough, there’s a small stash of condoms inside. I grab one, holding it between two fingers as I scowl at her. “You mean to tell me that these were here the whole time?”

  She rolls her eyes at me and then lays on her back. “Are you going to bitch or fuck?” she sighs.

  A slow grin tugs at my mouth until a laugh bursts out of me. When she looks my way, her eyes light up and a small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “You’re kind of a bitch, did you know that?” The light from her eyes vanishes and she starts to roll away from me. I stop her, climbing on top of her and caging her between my arms. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She pinches her eyebrows together when she looks up at me. “That wasn’t an insult.”

  “Right. Because a girl loves it when a guy calls her a bitch.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you’re a no nonsense, no bullshit kind of girl. I like it,” I tell her, lowering my lips to the softest spot on her neck, just behind her ear. She sighs when I open my mouth for a taste. “What do you say, doll face?” I whisper, sliding my hand down her side. I take my time, reacquainting myself with her petite curves, changing directions when I reach her knee. I trace my fingers up the inside of her thigh and then I dip a finger into her heat. My dick throbs when I find that she’s already aroused. I leave a wet trail of kisses all the way to her lips and then I stop, my mouth hovering over hers. “Forgive me?”

  “Just shut up and kiss me,” she moans.

  I don’t waste another second, crashing my mouth against hers as I push two fingers into her wet pussy. She thrusts her hips up and I pull away from her. I smirk when she whines.

  “Fuck! I’m sorry—don’t stop! Make me come, Sage.”

  I rip open the condom package with my teeth before rolling the rubber over my rock hard dick and sinking myself into her core. “I’ll take care of you, gorgeous.” She spreads her legs wider and I slip in just a little deeper with a groan. “Sweet Jesus, you feel so good. So tight around my cock. I could fuck you all day.”

  “I think I’d let you,” she mutters, breathless.

  I smile down at her before I bring my mouth to hers once more. She circles her arms around my neck, keep
ing me close as my tongue sweeps through her mouth and my dick pumps in and out of her pussy. When I slide a hand underneath her hips, lifting her so that I can take her from a different angle, she rips her lips from mine with a gasp.

  “Oh, my god! Sage—shit—right there, right there—don’t stop!” Completely captivated by the way she’s beginning to unravel beneath me, I’m spurred on by the sound of her voice. My thrusts come faster and harder. “I’m going to—Sage!”

  Her words are swallowed by her cry as her orgasm explodes, making her whole body tremble. Her pussy tightens around me and I grunt as she beckons my release, milking me dry. My spine tingles as pleasure floods my veins and I feel sated and high. I collapse on top of her, short of breath. I don’t know how long I lay, my arms and legs tangled with hers, my dick still buried deep inside of her, before I pull out and remove the condom.

  “I think you broke my vag,” she mutters, propping herself up on her elbows.

  My eyes trail up and down her naked body, appreciating her long, toned legs, her narrow hips, her tight waist, and her perfect tits—perky and round and just big enough to be considered larger than too small. “I’d be more than happy to fix it,” I reply, finally bringing my eyes to meet hers.

  “Christ. You’re a machine,” she mumbles, slowly making her way off the bed.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “I need to drink about a gallon of water and I need to eat something.”

  “You mean I didn’t make you feel better?”

  She smirks at me from over her shoulder and I can’t keep the grin off my face. Instead of speaking, she makes her way to her dresser and pulls out some clothes. I watch as she steps into a pair of sweatpants—commando. Fuck, that’s hot. Then she pulls on one of those workout tops girls wear, leaving her shoulders bare. She curses under her breath when she gets a look at herself in the mirror and quickly pulls her hair into a knot on the top of her head.

  “Hungry?” she asks, looking back at me as she makes her way to the door.

  “Right behind you, doll face.”

  I SMILE WHEN HE joins me in the kitchen, annoyingly satisfied that he put on his pants but neglected to don his t-shirt. His glasses have also made a comeback, his hair a dark, beautiful, disheveled mess atop his head. My stomach tingles in excitement as he walks right for me, placing his hand over mine on the refrigerator door before stopping behind me. He kisses the space just behind my ear before he speaks.

  “You’re staring.” I can hear the smile in his voice and I barely manage to stifle a groan. “What’s for breakfast?” He wraps his other arm around my waist, pulling me back against him, and all my inhibitions seem to go into hiding.

  Here, now, in the light of day—even sober and irritatingly hungover—I’m drawn to him. I know that this feeling will go away—that he will go away; I know that relaxing against him is a stupid idea and that making him breakfast is a mistake; worst of all, entertaining the idea that I could spend the rest of the day in bed with him . . .

  “Millie?” he chuckles, his lips pressed against the nape of my neck.

  “Grilled cheese,” I answer, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. I regret the movement instantly, my headache suddenly returning. “And, technically, I think this would be lunch.” I reach into the fridge for butter and cheese just as his phone begins to ring. He lets me go, reaching into his pocket for the device as he leans against the counter beside the stove. When he silences the call, I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re not going to get that?”

  “It’s just my sister. I can call her back later. Oh, but while I’m thinking about it . . .” his voice trails off as he unlocks his screen and pushes a few buttons. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

  I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. I wasn’t expecting him to ask. It’s been a few months since I’ve had a one night stand, but I get the distinct impression we’re breaking all the rules.

  “Out with it, doll face. No fuckin’ way I’m leaving here without it.” I squint at him and he grins at me. “You’re killin’ me. What, am I supposed to leave our next meeting to chance? I don’t think so.”

  I remind myself that another night in bed with him won’t break my heart—not if I don’t let it. Which I won’t! Giving him my number is hardly a big deal. It’s not any worse than making him grilled cheese. I rattle off the numbers and then pull out the bread.

  “Millie—do you spell that i-e or y?”

  I giggle, amused, surprised, and impressed that he cares. “Well, aren’t you meticulous.”

  “My baby sis, Rosemary, lets me call her Rosy. She’s pretty emphatic about how I spell it, though. Always with a y—I made the mistake of tacking on an i-e just once.”

  “I see,” I murmur, sneaking a peek at him in my periphery as I smear the butter across four slices of bread. “Well, I spell it i-e.”

  “Is it short for something?” he asks, pocketing his phone.

  “Millicent,” I reply without pause.

  “Millicent.” He speaks my name as if he’s tasting it. “I like that. Millicent, what?”

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, setting the first sandwich on the skillet. “Did I miss the part where this turned into an interview?”

  “Come on,” he insists, nudging me with his foot. “Is it too much to ask for your last name? I’ve seen you naked.”

  “I’ve seen you naked and I don’t know—”

  “Sage Lawrence McCoy. Now I’ve told you mine, you tell me yours.”

  “Fine,” I comply, looking straight into his warm, icy blue eyes. “Millicent Tatiana Valentine.” He shakes his head as a knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth; only, I’m not sure what’s amusing. “What?” I ask self-consciously.

  “Figures,” he says softly, leaning toward me. He doesn’t stop until his lips are a breath away from mine. “Even your name is sexy.”

  Before he can kiss me, his phone starts to ring again. He sighs as he pulls away from me and I cover up my disappointment, flipping the sandwich in the skillet.

  “I should take this,” he mutters apologetically.

  “You’re fine.”

  “Bet your ass, I am.” He taps my backside and I roll my eyes. “Rosy,” he speaks into the phone. I can’t make out what is being spoken on the other end, but the woman doesn’t sound happy. Sage, on the other hand, can’t contain his laughter. “Pep—Pep . . . Pepper! Chill a minute, would you? Damn! I wasn’t screening my calls.” He laughs again and the sound makes my stomach flutter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. You know I love you, Pep. I’m kind of busy, sis, what do you need?” I flip the sandwich again, checking to see if both sides are the perfect golden brown. Noting that the top is lighter than the bottom, I flip it once more. “Count me in for dinner. Okay—I’ve got to go. Tell Rosy I said hi.” He chuckles once more and then ends the call.

  “I swear, Pepper is the most anal-retentive twenty-five-year-old I know. I’d blame her maternal status, but I think she’s always been a little intense.”

  I look away from the sandwich in front of me, confused by what he’s just said. “Wait—who is Pepper?”

  “My big sis.”

  My stomach drops. “She’s twenty-five?” Considering numbers are essentially what I do for a living, it takes me a fraction of a second to realize that there is no way Sage is older than twenty-four, making him no less than two years my junior. “How old is Rosy?”

  “Nineteen,” he replies with a shrug. “Why?”

  Shit. It takes me another second to figure out that if his parents spaced out their children equally, Sage can be no older than twenty-two, making him four years my junior. Then again, he could be as young as twenty.

  Fuck!

  “How old are you?”

  “Um—twenty-one. Why?”

  “Oh, shit.”

  He scrunches his brow at me and then his eyes flicker elsewhere. “Baby doll, I think you’re on the verge of charing that grilled c
heese.”

  I gasp, thoughtlessly using my hand to snatch the sandwich from out of the pan. It’s really hot, causing me to burn my fingers, and I drop it on a cool burner before sticking my fingers in my mouth. Then his words register in my head—baby doll. He called me baby doll. Sage—the twenty-one-year-old who fucked me all morning—is calling me baby.

  Oh, my god.

  I make my way out of the kitchen, moving as fast as my sore body and pounding head will allow. I hear Sage calling after me, but I ignore him as I gather the rest of his things from my room. Picking up his red Converse and his t-shirt, I spot the three abandoned condom wrappers scattered around the bed and I’m suddenly short of breath.

  I’m older than his big sister, for fuck sake!

  “Millie, I—What are you doing?” he asks when I turn and find him in my doorway.

  “You need to go. Now. You need to go now.”

  “Whoa, baby, slow down—what’d I miss?”

  “Stop calling me baby!” I insist, shoving his things into his arms. “You’re the baby. Fuck—I can’t believe I slept with you. I’m like a cougar or a pedo or something.”

  “What?” he scoffs with a grin. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re twenty-one! Oh, dear god, you’re barely legal,” I mutter, shoving him down the hallway. “You need to leave. Now. I mean it.”

  “Millie, stop. Wait! How old are you?”

  I feel it as my cheeks blossom with a blush and I curse my face. “Older than twenty-one, Sage.” I walk around him, unlocking the door and holding it open for him.

  “Come on, you can’t be old enough for it to matter.”

  I press my fingers against my temple, my headache amplified by my humiliation. “Do you know how old a twenty-one year old guy is in girl years? Like, fifteen. Maybe seventeen. Shit. I’m definitely a pedophile.”

  “Hang on one fucking second—I resent that, first of all,” he argues, his face scrunching up in offense. “Second, unless you’re, like, thirty or something, I don’t understand why you’re freaking the fuck out.”