First Comes Love: A Chronicles of Moxie Novel

by Z. B Heller

  Copyright © 2015 Z.B. Heller

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in

  any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical

  methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  FIRST COMES LOVE

  Edited by: Write Divas

  Cover Art: Cheeky Covers

  Formatting: Lindsey Gray Formatting Services

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Connect with Z.B. Heller

  For Lauren

  Editor to the stars, teacher to the grammar phobics, and above all else, my friend.

  Thank you for helping Moxie grow up and talking me off the ledge…on more then one occasion.

  I wrapped my leg around hers under the sheet and scooped her curvy body close to mine. She was still asleep. Well, from what I could tell, she was. Drool seeping from her mouth was a good indicator. She was restless last night, tossing and turning, mumbling something about a Ferris wheel and churros. I loved this woman. I suspected she still doubted my feelings for her from time to time, but I’ve told her and tried to show her as much as I could. There was a time when Moxie felt I didn’t like the way she looked, that she was too chubby. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Granted, I was a guy and, of course, looks were part of a package, but there was something about Moxie’s curves that got my dick hard the first time I met her and it hadn’t gone fully into flaccid mode since. It must have been her ass, I loved to grip it and smacked it when I walked by. Or maybe it was her boobs. God, Moxie’s tits were just…

  I would say it was love at first sight, but it was more like confusion at first sight. She was drunk at a bar called Dickie’s and had asked me if hairy balls or smooth balls were better. I had thought it was a little early on in our introduction to talk about my manscaping habits, so I tried to answer as diplomatically as I could. Before I could ask her name, she spewed the martinis she had consumed that evening onto my pants and shoes.

  It had been a bumpy road for us to get together. I had my son Dillion to consider, and he was my most important priority. Ever since my wife died in a car accident in Maine two years ago, I knew I had to protect my son. He was in the same accident as my wife and had been in a medically induced comma due to the extent of his injuries. A few weeks later, Dillion woke up and I thanked God every day that he was still with me. Since then he’s suffered from night terrors and post-traumatic stress. It was a lot for a seven-year-old to handle. Anyone who was going to be in our lives had to understand Dillion had issues and that was part of the package deal. I just never thought it would be his new kindergarten teacher—the same woman who’d hurled on me at the bar.

  “Your snake is poking me,” Moxie said, her voice raspy with sleep.

  “I can’t help it. The morning pee alarm is on.” I nuzzled my face into her neck. She smelled like the strawberry shower gel she liked to use.

  “Never, and I mean never, say the words pee in the bed we have sex in. Is that understood?”

  Since Moxie worked with five and six-year-olds at school, the words pee and poo-poo were officially omitted from all our vocabulary. Moxie didn’t get the grade change she was hoping for, like working with fifth graders. Instead, Mrs. James, her principal, placed her with first grade because she felt Moxie worked best with the younger kids. That and Moxie admitted she couldn’t do math above second grade. To make matters even worse, Moxie had a lot of her students from last year when she taught kindergarten. Even though Moxie liked her principal, she came home one day with a voodoo doll called Mrs. James and stabbed needles in the doll’s crotch.

  “Sorry, the snake needs to go to the watering hole.” I rephrased my statement.

  “It’s not that much better, although, I wouldn’t be surprised if something like that came out of one of my students’ mouths.”

  “Well, maybe after I drain my pipe, the snake would still like to play,” I whispered into her ear and nipped her earlobe.

  “As much as I would love for you to bury your rattlesnake into my hidey-hole, I have to get up and get ready to go.”

  “Why are you leaving so early?”

  “Because someone in this room, whose name I shall not mention, decided the suburbs would be a great living situation when I have go into the city to work.”

  “You see that stuff outside?” I pointed to the window. “It’s called grass. Little boys need space to spread out and play.”

  “And what does Dillion need?” The corner of her lip twisted up and she raised one eyebrow.

  I found her ticklish spot between her hip and ribs and went in for the kill. Another thing I loved about Moxie was her sarcastic, dirty mouth.

  “Stop! Truce, I call a truce.” She flung herself around the bed to get away from me, finally landing on her stomach with her head in the pillow.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute, and I’ll forgive your indiscretions.” I whacked her on the ass. “I’ll get Dillion up and start some coffee.”

  Before I left the bed completely, I moved her mane of red hair aside and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She rolled back over and under the covers like a burrito.

  “Okay,” she whined, her voice muffled under the sheets. “I’ll come out never.”

  I got out of bed and gave my naked body a nice stretch. I usually didn’t sleep naked. My boys needed support, even in sleep. But I had been finding it hard to keep any article of clothing on when Moxie slept over. Every time she’s around, I felt like a horny teenager and wanted to take her on any surface I could find. I flipped on the bathroom light, wincing at the brightness. I ran my hand over my messy brown hair and then my face, which sported a few days’ worth of stubble. Moxie eventually told me she had a thing for brown hair, blue-eyed guys. I, in turn, told her I had a thing for her beautiful red hair and a sweet squeezable ass. Before I met Moxie, I didn’t know that was such a turn on for me. But when I saw her at the bar, it was as if my dick had a homing device that pointed straight at her.

  I showered, skipped shaving because Moxie liked the scruff, and went back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist to check on Moxie. She was lucky to have an understanding principal, but her coworker, Amber aka The Wicked Witch of the West, would find a way to use Moxie’s tardiness to get her fired.r />
  My gray sheets were gathered into a ball at the bottom of the bed. Damn. I hoped to get an eyeful of naked Moxie when she got up. I supposed the clothed Moxie would have to do.

  After dressing, I walked to Dillion’s room to rouse him out of bed. His door was open, and I wondered if he was already up. I peeked in and my heart skipped a beat. Moxie was there, already dressed for the day and lying on the twin bed with Dillion. The problem was Moxie was sound asleep, and Dillion was trying to shake her awake.

  “I see the morning bird came in to wake you up.” I leaned against the doorframe.

  Dillion smiled at me. “She tried. I give her an A for effort but F for execution.”

  That was my son, the fifty-year-old in a seven-year-old body. Even in my thirties, Dillion surpassed my intelligence, and I wasn’t exactly stupid. He probably surpassed me in the maturity department, too. But I would never fess up to that in public. Dillion did take after me in the looks department. He shared my blue eyes and brown hair, except he was able to pull off the cute shaggy hair like a sheepdog. If I tried that, I would look like a dipshit.

  “You have my permission to sit on her head until she stops breathing.” I winked at him.

  “Daaaad,” Dillion moaned.

  “Fine. Shake her awake and get ready. Don’t forget to brush your teeth. No one wants to smell your breath when it stinks like an elephant’s butt.” Dillion looked down at Moxie again and giggled before he climbed over her sleepy body to get out of bed.

  I walked into the kitchen and flipped the switch on the coffee maker. I took two mugs out of the cabinet. Moxie’s favorite mug said, “If you value your life, don’t speak to me until this is done.” That was one of the things Moxie and I had in common. Our day didn’t officially begin until caffeine rotted away our arteries. My cell phone beeped with an incoming text. I grabbed it off the counter.

  Yo, douche. Want to catch some brews after work?

  It was Jeff Camden. He worked with me at the station. I was a graphic designer for the television station and he was in production. We managed to become friends, though, I wasn’t exactly sure how, considering he was an asshole most of the time, but he was nice to me when we moved here and I didn’t know a soul besides my sister Kelly. As cool as Kelly was, she didn’t have enough testosterone to talk about blow jobs. Not that I went around talking about blow jobs to random people, but it was nice to know there was a guy I could converse about it if needed.

  Kelly is taking Dillion out to the museum, so I’m going to surprise Moxie at school.

  I hit send and went to the refrigerator to get cream for my coffee while I waited for what I was sure was going to be some insightful words from Jeff.

  Dude, your penis is going to shrivel and die from overuse. You gotta let it breathe once in a while. Like fine wine.

  And I was right. He was so predictable.

  You wouldn’t know the first thing about fine wine, considering you thought Perrier was a type of Chardonnay.

  You think I pay attention to that shit, asshole? I just let the lady order what she likes because it gives me better access to her bush.

  I groaned and rolled my eyes before responding.

  Don’t say bush.

  Why?

  Because a pussy isn’t a fucking shrub.

  I ran my hand down my face while I shook my head.

  Dude, I went out with this Russian chick. You should have seen what I was dealing with. I needed a pair of hedge trimmers just to find the hole.

  See you at work, Jeff.

  I hadn’t had enough coffee yet to deal with Jeff.

  “Why did Dillion say that you had a death wish for me?” Moxie strolled into the kitchen with her hair pulled in a ponytail. All I could think of as I watched her hair swish back and forth over her bare neck was how I wanted to pull on it while working her from behind.

  My sexually charged thoughts cleared when my son tagged behind Moxie. I gave him the stink eye, but feigned innocence when I said to Moxie, “What are you talking about?”

  “Something about smothering me in my sleep.” She nailed me down with a glare. A glare she would give her students. But she wasn’t going to school me. She looked at me as if I were one of her students in trouble.

  “Oh, he misunderstood. I meant tap her gently and sing softly until she rises.” I laughed, crossing my arms over my chest.

  She walked up to me, grabbed my junk, and pulled. I let out an oomph and gripped the counter. Thankfully, Dillion was in the pantry, digging out some breakfast. She gave my dick a delicate caress, and I couldn’t help reacting to her touch. I grew hard because in truth, I was a guy and if Moxie touched my penis, it was going to respond. I would need to collect myself before going into work. I didn’t want to scare my coworkers by walking around with a hard-on. Except for Ryan. I’m sure he’d love to get an eyeful of what I sported in my jeans. Ryan liked to tease me that one day he was going to get me to play for the same team. I told him that if I ever changed my mind and suddenly liked dick, he would be the first in line to win my affection.

  “Next time when you disturb my slumber, I will detach this, make a mold of it, and use it for my pleasure. Then I won’t have to deal with the rest of you.”

  “Can you at least ask them to put on another three inches to the mold? I always felt that I lacked in the length department.” I wiggled my eyebrows.

  She let go and pressed her lips onto mine. She tasted minty.

  “Miles, if your dick was any longer, it would go in my pussy and come out my throat,” she said as she stepped back and winked.

  Not going to lie, that was so fucking hot. It was nice to have my ego stroked, especially when it had to do with my manhood.

  I grabbed her hips and pulled her back. Her breasts pushed against my chest, making my manhood even more rock hard. I pressed my forehead against hers and then kissed her full lips. After a moment, I pulled back because if I continued, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Moxie had the power to take over my brain, and I could lose myself in her for hours. Some people might call me pussy whipped, but I didn’t fucking care.

  “What are you doing after school?” I asked while she gathered her things for school in her bag. I poured myself a cup of coffee and changed Moxie’s cup to a tumbler she could take with her.

  “Besides stringing Katie the Girl Scout Savage by the toes, I was thinking of going to Dickie’s with Renee.”

  “Planning on taking any interesting bar polls this evening?” I leaned against the counter and flashed her my most devilish smile. Dickie’s was the bar where we first met when she asked me if I preferred hairy balls to smooth balls.

  “Yes. Tonight’s question might have to do with the topic of nipple hair. To shave or not to shave.” Acting as if she were really contemplating the question, she looked to the ceiling while scratching her chin.

  All I could do was shake my head at my little spitfire. “Well, try to keep the contents of your stomach to yourself.”

  “No worries. I only give you the vomit treatment. It’s kind of like a dog marking its territory. So you should have been honored when I lost the contents of my stomach on you the first time we met.”

  “Dad, can I have Frosted Flakes for breakfast?” Dillion skipped over to us with the box.

  “I never bought Frosted Flakes,” I said, grabbing the box in confusion. I tried to steer Dillion away from sugary cereal in the morning.

  “Oh geez, look at the time.” Moxie looked at her watch. She snatched her keys from the counter, grabbed the box of cereal, and kissed both Dillion and I on the cheeks. “Gotta go! Don’t want to be late for hell… I mean school.”

  There went my beautiful redhead, leaving a trail of flames everywhere she went. I couldn’t help but laugh because even though she would do sneaky things, there was no way I could douse those flames.

  I needed to stay late after school to prepare for teacher conferences. I hated conferences, especially for first grade. How do you tell a parent their child was doing
great in math when they couldn’t even button their own pants. Most of the time it was a chore, keeping their own snot from becoming an afternoon snack. It was as if I worked in a nursing home, making sure everyone’s tushies were wiped and making sure no one played doctor in the closet. Well, in that one case, behind the puppet show area. I thought I would leave that all behind when I left kindergarten. But apparently first grade was like kindergarten except the kids were three inches taller.

  Luckily for me not many of my fellow teachers stayed after school that day, so things were nice and quiet for optimal concentration. Which was complete bullshit as I would be here all night if I didn’t detach myself from the entertainment gossip websites. Reading about Taylor Swift’s umpteenth breakup was much more exciting than documenting who was not getting along in class.

  There was a knock on the door. I looked up and Miles stood there, looking better then Matt Bomer and Channing Tatum put together. My man was handsome, the handsomest guy on earth. But I’m not bias or anything.

  “Hey there.” I tried to roll my tongue back into my mouth.

  “Hey there, yourself.” He strode toward my desk, his hands in the pockets of his ass hugging jeans. My favorite ass hugging jeans. I had to remember to ask where he’d gotten those jeans so I could buy out the entire store.

  “If you’re here to pick up Dillion, you may have forgotten that you stole him from me. He is in this weird play called”—I used air quotes—“The Suburbs. It’s a mythical place full of minivans and soccer fields.” I loved giving Miles a hard time for living in the burbs.

  “He’s with Kelly. I had to work a little longer than normal, and since it’s Friday, she volunteered to take him to the Museum of Science and Industry. Dillion has a thing about watching the baby chicks hatch from their eggs.”