Reaching down, I stroke him through his pants.
“Jules,” he groans into my mouth, his body pressing firmer into me. “I dream of this. At night, when I look at the moon, I imagine, what it would be like to have you, with me, on my side. And here you are.”
He’s throbbing, hard as the steel rods that line the wall of the carriage house. I wrap my leg around him and pull him further into me. “I’m here. I’ve always been here.”
He removes my bra; the night chill hardens my nipples until his mouth leans down and warms them. Swirling, sucking, pulling every intense amount of erotic pleasure from my skin. I push his pants down, needing to feel him, all of him. Using my toes, I push the denim down his legs, not wanting him to release himself from me to do it himself. I grab his incredibly firm ass and hiss at the feel of it and round my hands around his hips and take his cock in my hands.
“Sweet Jesus,” he mutters as my fingers pump along the shaft, my thumb tracing the throbbing head. “This won’t last long if you keep doing that. And I have plans for you. For us.” He rubs my clit and my body arches back at the touch.
“Fuck me, Jameson. Please.”
“You were always impatient. Ever since you were a kid,” he says as he removes my panties and throws them with his pile of clothes.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” I say, splayed out on the sand, ready to taken by the most incredible man.
“Don’t I know it,” he growls. His head dips down to my body and takes a nipple. His mouth greedy as he sucks hard and bites the end. I scream out in pleasure, which only makes him do it again to the other one. He rubs a thumb against my clit and the feeling of pleasure and pain is so intense, I may come all over the couture beneath me.
Jameson moves his hips against me. Rubbing, pumping, as if he’s fucking yet he’s not even inside me. The heavy weight of his cock against me, his hand rubbing my clit to intense levels of pleasure combined with his teeth sinking into nipples is lighting me on fire. My hips buck off the ground. My core clenches. And my body builds to a climax so high that I scream. Scream so loud the waves stop to listen.
I come. And I come hard. My release so powerful I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Jameson continues to move, continues to touch and taste and keeps the orgasm going. Running my fingers through his hair, I yank hard and try to control the build of the second wave.
Seven years of want. Seven years of touching myself in my room. Seven years of lusting after a man only to have him do this to me is more than my mind can comprehend. My body, on the other hand, is releasing seven years of lust.
I push on his shoulders and force Jameson up. On my knees, I take his mouth in mine and climb onto his lap kissing him hard and deep. His arms wrap around me and pull me in. We kiss forever, or at least it seems that long. We can’t let go. Can’t stop. Won’t stop. His hands caress my body. There is nowhere he is not touching. My legs, my hips, my spine, my breasts.
I push him back onto the sand and run my tongue up and down the shaft.
“Condom,” he hisses as he reaches back to find his pants, all while I’m lapping and sucking, trying to get as much of him into my mouth as possible.
He tears open the condom, and I rise to let him sheath himself in it. When he’s fully coated, I climb back onto him and lower myself down onto his cock.
I moan.
He moans.
We both moan on impact.
He’s so heavy and thick, too much to comprehend inside of me. I put my hands on his chest and begin to rock against him. My insides ignite, a spot deep inside me coming to life with each grind of my hips. I do it over and over again bringing myself intense pleasure with the action.
I do it faster.
I ride him like I was born to fuck him.
Jameson grabs my hips and starts pumping up into me. I sit up and lean my hands on his thighs and allow him to take over. His coarse hands clenching onto my skin, pulling me into him as he pulses pleasure through my veins. My breasts are out in the open wind. The feeling exhilarating. I should be cold but my body is on fire. On fire because our bodies are rocking together, and when I look down, the carnal gaze he’s giving me, watching me come undone above him, because of him, for him, is all I need to start coming again.
“Jameson,” I exhale.
He rises up to a seated position. His hands snake around my back and head. He kisses me as our bodies continue to grind against one another. I’m slick with orgasm. My body sliding up and down.
He places his forehead against mine and looks me in the eye. His head is creased, his mouth is open and his face is filled with pleasure so fierce he looks like he’s in pain. He’s gripping tighter, pumping harder, his cock feels like it’s about to burst.
“Jules,” he cries as he comes, hard, inside of me. I continue my stride and pull every bit of pleasure from him.
And when he’s done, he kisses me again. Rolling me over, our bodies intertwine as we kiss.
Kiss in the sand.
Kiss by the sea.
Kiss under the moonlight.
I wake to the scruffiness of Jameson’s beard kissing my back, tickling my skin, forcing me to roll over and face him.
“You have freckles on your back,” he says. He’s just as beautiful first thing in the morning as I’ve imagined.
“How many,” I ask, teasingly.
“Fourteen.”
I lean back in surprise. “You counted?”
His blue-green eyes fall a bit. “You’re leaving for Paris today. I’m trying to take in every piece of you before you disappear from my life.”
My head falls to the pillow. I forgot about Paris. About my adventure and starting my new life away from Father and The Manor. About the dream job I took in the most romantic city in the world. Though, that romance will always pale in comparison to last night.
After we made love on the beach, we dressed and ran back to The Manor. I didn’t want to, but Jameson was right—my family would be looking for me in worry. I tidied myself up and went back to my party telling Father I was tired and wanted to prepare for my trip the next day. It took me longer to leave than I wanted but when I made it back to my room, Jameson was there. I locked the door and escorted him into the shower where we laughed and talked and washed the sand off of each other in places people shouldn’t have sand.
We spent the evening in my bed where we devoured each other again. I’m glad my parents sleep in another wing of the house otherwise the slaps Jameson gave on my ass would have been heard. And I’m not ashamed to say I wouldn’t have stopped no matter who knocked on the door.
There were also sweet times. Like when he held me and told me all the times over the years I made his heart stop. And I told him mine.
“I’ll be back.” I lean on my elbow, facing him. “I can come back for Christmas. I wasn’t planning on it but I can make the flight. Paris to New York is easy. Non-stop, too.”
Jameson gives me a half smile. “You’re not supposed to come back. That was the plan. I can’t keep you from experiencing life anymore. You deserve better.”
I sit up, holding the sheet to my body. “Better than you?”
“Way better than me. I do OK, your father pays me well but I can’t give you this.” He motions to my room which is larger than some Manhattan apartments. “I can’t give you the home you dream of or the lifestyle you’re used to. I can’t give you what you want.”
He runs his hands through his beard and down his neck. I pull his chin toward me, forcing him to look at me.
“What if I’m looking at everything I’ve ever wanted?”
Jameson sits up, his gorgeously sculpted torso on display. “Why did you wait until last night to tell me how you feel?”
His question causes me to stop gawking at his physique. With a tilt of my head I ask, “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been an adult for a while now. All those days we spent talking; you could have let me know how you felt. Instead, you waited until the l
ast moment.”
I know what he is implying. “If you think this was a goodbye fuck then you’re wrong. I never said anything because I was too afraid of being rejected. Scared you’d laugh and tell me I was a spoiled little girl who knew nothing about real life.”
I rise from the bed, taking the sheet with me. Jameson is left naked on the white Egyptian cotton.
Jameson opens his mouth to speak, but I continue, “I knew in high school I was too young for you. I knew in college Father would have fired you on the spot. But I’m a woman now, Jameson. A woman madly in love with you. I’ve been with other men. I’ve tried to fight this feeling, but I can’t. I keep coming back to you. Always you.”
A lopsided smile rises on Jameson’s face. “You love me?”
“Yes, you idiot.”
Jameson falls back on the bed, his hands propped behind his head on the pillow as he looks up at the ceiling with the goofiest grin I’ve ever seen.
I climb onto the bed and straddle Jameson, my long blonde hair falling around his face.
“Come to Paris with me,” I say and kiss him. I can already feel him hardening beneath me.
“I can’t hold you back.” He raises his hands and undoes the sheet around me so my breasts are flush against his chest.
“You wouldn’t be holding me back. You’d be pushing me forward. I can’t start my next adventure always wondering about the one I left behind. I need you by my side.” I kiss his neck and his erection rises to full mast. It’s taking everything in me not to start riding him bare.
“What would I do in Paris?” he asks with labored breaths.
I lean down and stroke him. “Do you really need to ask that question?” I can’t help my laugh.
Jameson grabs my head and pulls my face to his. The fun and games are over for in his eyes is concern. Way too much concern for a man who is being stroked by a naked woman.
I curve my brows at him in worry.
“You know what I mean, Jules. There’s a reason why I could never share my feeling with you in the past. We’re from different worlds. What could I possibly do in Paris that would benefit us in any way?”
I stare back at his blue-greens and the worry he has for being able to provide for me. I could tell him that I’m wealthy enough to support us both but I won’t. Jameson is a proud man.
“You do know they have cars in Paris,” I say, causing Jameson to roll his eyes. I pull his attention back to me. “What I mean is you can do anything you want, anywhere you want. I’ve seen you work on European cars. There’s so much you can do and be a success.”
I lean down and kiss him, and thank the heavens, he is kissing me back. “I need you, Jameson. I need you to take care of me. For the rest of my life.”
Jameson leans back, seemingly stunned by my words. He pushes my hair back around my ear. His eyes crinkle. This time, with so much love and hope, I think I’m imagining it.
“Now, that’s something I can do,” he says.
“So you’re coming with me?” I ask, hopefully.
“I’ll go anywhere as long as I’m on your side of the moon.”
About Jeannine Colette
Jeannine Colette is the author of the Abandon Collection, a series of standalone novels featuring dynamic heroines who have to abandon their reality in order to discover themselves . . . and love along the way.
A graduate of Wagner College and the New York Film Academy, Jeannine went on to become a Segment Producer for television shows on CBS and NBC. She left the television industry to focus on her children and pursue a full-time writing career. She lives in New York with her husband, the three tiny people she adores more than life itself, and a rescue pup named Wrigley.
Website: www.JeannineColette.com
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I took one look at him and let out a piercing shriek that would surely cause the Channel Island feral pigs to stampede, even though they lived oh, twenty miles across the freaking Pacific Ocean from us.
After being away for more than two weeks, I’d just stepped foot into our beach house south of Santa Barbara laden with suitcases and bags of presents, excited and happy to return to Ryan but also feeling nostalgic about my trip.
I’d been traveling with Marie, my best friend, on an extended quasi-bachelorette party to New York. We saw Times Square, three Broadway shows, MOMA, the Guggenheim, and all the flagship stores. At night, we hit the town or stayed in, ordered room service, and talked or watched movies until we fell asleep. In sum, best girl trip ever. Since this trip was the last time we’d be together with both of us single, Ryan had splurged, buying Marie and me first class plane tickets and a suite at the Plaza hotel, our home base for some final shopping before the wedding.
Our wedding. The wedding we weren’t going to have in five days because I couldn’t stand the sight of him.
I took a deep breath and prayed for serenity. Gathering myself, I asked in a slightly calmer voice, “What on Earth did you do to yourself?”
By “slightly calmer,” I mean my decibel level would make seagulls take flight, but it wouldn’t scare the feral pigs. That deep breath hadn’t really done anything to help me find my inner Dalai Lama.
I glared at him.
My surfer boy, shirtless as usual, with ladder-like abs and golden curls I loved to touch, had been lounging on a couch watching television. He’d heard me come in, so he stood up, loping over with a broad grin and arms wide. “Amelia,” he said in his raspy voice, ready to give me a welcome-home hug.
His blue plaid board shorts hung down below the divots in his hips, and as usual, I got distracted by the happy trail headed down his lean torso.
But once I’d caught sight of his face, I didn’t see the abs or curls. I just saw red, like stop sign red. Fighting mad red. Bullfighter red. Like no, absolutely not, this is not happening red.
My beloved fiancé had grown a fucking beard right before our wedding.
Goddamn him. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d hate him. As it was, I was so pissed I couldn’t form sentences, and instead, resorted to shrieking like that haunted shack in Harry Potter.
His response?
A smile. One that cracked his face wide open and revealed his even, white teeth and glorious full lips. But that smile was surrounded by patchy blond hair that wasn’t there two weeks ago.
Stubble, I could handle and actively liked.
But this?
No.
I stared at him, violet eyes wide, finger pointing at the hair on his chin, not sure what to do next.
Ryan chuckled and rubbed his beard like all hairy men do, whether their beard was just-grown-in or antediluvian. Thoughtful stroking must be part of Beard Ownership 101. That and being utterly fascinated with how it grows in.
But because his blond hair was so light, Ryan’s monstrosity grew in unevenly, like it had been mowed by a particularly bored goat who couldn’t be bothered to actually eat all the grass available. I’d heard Joel McHale make fun of Spencer’s “creepy flesh-colored beard” on The Hills. Pretty much Ryan’s fate.
It was scruffy.
This. Was. Not. Okay.
Our wedding did not allow scruffy. Our wedding was going to be elegant. I hadn’t hired a wedding planner because I loved party planning. I liked pretty things. Our wedding had table settings that I had spent at least three solid weeks designing. I was just waiting for the shipments of imported napkins and vases any day now. I’d even choreographed our wedding so that it took place on the beach at sunset, during the magic hour when the wind was down and the waves were smooth. Our wedding was going to be perfect.
No beards allowed!
“I take it you’re not a fan of the facial growth,” he said, again doing the beard-stroke thing. Apparently me standing mute, pointing, and gawking gave him the hint.
I shook my dark hair. “No. I’m not. It doesn’t . . . how could you . . . Ryan! It’s our wedding! Why did you do this?”
“I always wanted to grow a beard.”
“Are
you going to shave it off?”
“Nope.” He grinned annoyingly. “I like it.” He leaned in for a kiss, unrepentant, but I took a step back, not ready.
“But couldn’t you wait to do it until after we take pictures that we are going to look at for the rest of our lives?”
He came up in front of me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him. Ordinarily, I loved this, loved the way he smelled, and loved the feel of his muscles.
But right now all I felt was revulsion. I mean, he looked ridiculous.
How could I even give him a kiss? I’d need a machete to find his lips.
He’d changed something, and it was not acceptable. There was no possible way the whole entire universe, whether in our solar system, or in some distant galaxy, that this was acceptable.
“Does it really look that bad?”
I nodded.
Instead of agreeing that yes, Amelia, he was going to march his tight ass down to the bathroom and shave, he stretched up his arms, popping his goddamn abs (those abs), looked at me, and said, “Let’s see if you change your opinion when you feel this beard between your legs.”
A shudder rippled through my body involuntarily. Damn body. Traitor.
I started to say something that sounded like, “Guh,” when he reached down, took my hand, and said, “I missed you.” And he leaned down and kissed me, my first ever beard-kiss.
As he met my lips, the hair on his face scraped my pale skin. But because this beard-kiss came from Ryan, I soon forgot about the scratchiness and lost myself in his taste and his feel and his tongue, the love I felt for him and the love I knew he felt for me.
In short, swoon.
When we broke apart, under that facial hair I caught a glimpse of the face that I loved more than anything on this Earth. A face that had healed me. One that I loved to wake up to and was my favorite thing to see before I fell asleep. One that never failed to give me a visceral reaction of how handsome he was.
