by M. S. Parker
We sat like that as our breathing slowed, and then Gracen shifted us, settling me across his lap so I could rest my head on his shoulder. For a while, neither of us spoke, merely sat, enjoying the fire and each other.
“You know, maybe I shouldn't have been surprised that we ended up here, in my time.”
“Why not?” he asked as his fingers traced circles on my thigh.
“I've had dreams about being back here,” I admitted. “And I had other dreams too. Some of them about the past. Some of them came true.”
If what I said surprised him, he didn't show it. Then again, once a person had traveled through time, prophetic dreams seemed a bit more believable.
“What did you dream about this time?” he asked, tone curious.
“Well, I dreamed that I was old and there were a bunch of kids sitting around me, listening to me tell stories. They felt like grandkids. Lots of them.”
A smile curved his lips as familiar heat shone in his eyes. “Many grandchildren?”
I nodded, arousal warming my belly again.
“Then we probably have more than one child.”
I smiled, liking where he was taking the conversation. “Most likely.”
“Then I suppose we should start working on that right away.” He leaned closer and nipped at my bottom lip. “Shall we move this into the library?”
Chapter 30
It was snowing again. Soft, gentle flakes that made for a beautiful white Christmas, but not for dangerous driving. Not anymore anyway.
“When I learned to drive, we had snow tires for days like these.”
“Gran?”
I started, turning away from the window. “I'm sorry, dear. Where was I?”
“You were saying that Grandpa surprised you by buying this place.”
The girl who prompted me had my eyes, but her hair was red. I was pretty sure that made her my grandson Jacob's daughter, Matilda. I couldn't swear to it though. Jacob and his wife had four kids. All girls. All red-heads.
“You kids aren't wearing Gran out, are you?”
I looked up, smiling as Alexander picked his way around the kids sitting on the floor. Gracen and I had six children, and I loved all of them equally, but Alexander was the only one who had a connection to what happened all those years ago.
“I'm fine,” I said as he leaned down to kiss my cheek.
“You need to rest,” he insisted.
I gave him a stern look. “I'm ninety-three, not dead, young man.”
“Grandpa Alex.” A little boy with thick black hair tugged on Alexander's hand.
It still surprised me to think of my Alexander as a grandfather, but all three of his children had kids of their own, the oldest of them having just started her junior year of high school.
“Yes, Logan?” Alexander crouched down.
“Gran says you time traveled.”
Alexander glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, she does, does she?”
Logan nodded, and several of the others did too.
“Are you telling stories again, Honor, love?”
My heart skipped a beat as Gracen appeared in the doorway. Our eyes met, and I saw just as much love in his as I had more than three hundred years ago when we first admitted how we felt about each other. We celebrated our sixty-seventh anniversary two days ago, but in private, we joked that we'd been together for centuries.
“I thought the children would like a story before dinner.”
Our oldest daughter, Alice, pushed Gracen's wheelchair over to park it next to mine. He reached for my hand, his thumb brushing over my engagement and wedding rings.
“But it isn't just a story, is it, Gran?” Matilda asked. “It really happened.”
“How can it really happen?” One of Alice's grandkids spoke up. “Time travel isn't real.”
“You think so?” I asked and winked at the kids. “Maybe one day, one of you will get to find out. It does run in the family.”
“All right.” Alexander laughed as he stood. “I think it's time for dinner, then presents.”
The kids all cheered as they ran for the dining room. We'd added onto the estate over the years, but the dining room still wasn't big enough for the whole family. Most of the rooms on the bottom floor would be filled, and I wouldn't want it any other way.
“You know,” Gracen said as he leaned toward me. “I often wonder if we made a mistake telling Alexander the truth disguised as bedtime stories.”
I squeezed his hand but did so gently. The years had been kind to both of us, but there was only so much kindness could do after more than nine decades.
“We did the only thing we could do,” I reminded him. “If he'd gone around telling people that he'd been born in 1776 because his parents were time travelers, we would've had problems.”
“True.” Gracen chuckled. “And we did already have our hands full with the twins.”
“That we did,” I agreed. “But I wouldn't have changed any of it.”
“Me either.”
And when he smiled at me, I could see the handsome young man I'd fallen in love with all those years ago. No, I wouldn't change a single thing about my life. It hadn't been perfect, but it was everything I ever wanted, and that was all that mattered.
Turn the page to read the free bonus story, Wicked: The Complete Series.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Belmonte Publishing LLC
Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC
A Wicked Lie
Chapter 1
I'd been asleep for at least a couple hours when the feel of the mattress dipping behind me drew me from the darkness. A moment later, I could smell the subtle scent of our shampoo, mingling with his slightly spicier body-wash. I opened my eyes, but didn't roll over. The room was still dark, but the red numbers on the clock glowed. One thirty-two in the morning.
“Baby, you awake?” His voice was a whisper, but clear enough that I could tell he wasn't drunk. If he'd been sampling some of our vineyard's vintage wine, he hadn't over indulged.
Not drunk, but definitely horny. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he moved closer to me. A moment later, a hand slid over my hip and down my thigh.
“Shae, babe, you awake?”
The hand started to pull up the pale pink silk nightie I'd put on after my shower. I made a non-committal sound as his fingers moved over bare skin. Across my waist and up to cup my full breast.
“It's late, Allen,” I murmured.
“I know, sweetie.” He pressed his lips against the hollow spot under my ear. “But I've been thinking about you all day.”
I wanted to ask him why, if he'd been thinking about me, hadn't he just come home when he’d known I'd be awake. His office for the vineyard was only a few hundred yards from the main house. He could've come up to see me when I'd gotten home from school, or for dinner.
Instead, I'd eaten alone.
Again.
I didn't say anything though. I was too tired for an argument, or even a discussion. I couldn’t remember the last time I wasn’t mentally and physically drained.
His fingers rolled my nipple even as he pressed up behind me and I suddenly realized that he was naked. His cock was hot and hard against my ass, burning through the silk. I moaned as he began to kiss his way down my neck. I was tired, but my body wanted him. We'd been married for a little less than a year, but we'd been lovers for eight years, and he knew exactly how to arouse me.
“It's been too long.” His breath was hot against my skin.
I agreed. With school ending and work at the vineyard picking up, we'd barely seen each other all week, never-mind having the time to make love. My head fell back against his shoulder as he moved my nightgown higher. Hi
s hand dropped from my breast and moved down my stomach to the juncture between my legs. His fingers skimmed the thin layer of golden curls he found there, then delved between my folds. With practiced accuracy, he found my clit and began to move his fingers in a quick back and forth movement, sending shivers of pleasure through me. His hips rocked against me, rubbing his cock against my ass.
“Please, Shae,” he murmured as his fingers steadily coaxed the dying embers inside me to a flame.
I rolled onto my back, reaching up to wrap my fingers around the back of his neck. In the dark, I couldn't see him, but I didn't need to. I knew every inch of my husband. The sparkling hazel eyes, the tousled tawny hair that never seemed to stay in place. His strong jaw and the nose that was just a tad too long to be perfect. His long, lean body, strong fingers.
I pulled him down to me, his mouth easily finding mine. His tongue traced my lips before slipping inside. I ran my free hand down his chest, lightly scratching his nipple with my nails before wrapping my hand around his cock. He groaned as I gripped the base of him tight.
Damn. He hadn't been kidding, I thought as I stroked the full length of him. He was practically throbbing in my hand. He had to have come straight out of the shower with a hard-on. He'd never been one of those men who acted like he needed to have sex every day, but despite how long we'd been together, we had a healthy sex life.
His fingers slid inside me, carefully stretching me even as his thumb kept up the steady friction on my clit. His free hand bunched my nightgown even more until his mouth found my breast. I could feel myself getting wetter as his lips fastened around my nipple.
“Allen,” I breathed, my back arching.
The hot suction made a straight line from my breast to the place where his fingers were keeping up a steady rhythm. I reached out towards my bedside table, fingers fumbling for the drawer. Even as one half of my brain registered the heat building in my belly, the other half was rummaging for a condom. My fingers brushed against the cool plastic of my vibrator before finding what I was looking for.
His fingers slid out of me and plucked the little packet from my hand. A moment later, I heard the wrapper tear. I shifted towards him as he raised his head from my breast. I couldn't see him, but I knew his body well enough to easily adjust myself so that I was right where I needed to be when he moved on top of me.
He groaned as he eased inside, rocking his hips to make sure I was ready. I slid my hands down his broad, muscular back and gripped his ass, pulling him towards me. I caught my breath as he surged forward, filling me. I flexed my fingers, encouraging him to move. His lips found mine as he began to thrust. His first few strokes were slow, as they always were, giving my body the time to adjust. He'd been my first lover, my only lover, and he'd been a wonderful instructor. He knew my body almost better than I did, knowing just exactly where to touch to turn me on, to drive me towards climax.
My tongue twisted with his, drawing it into my mouth. I sucked on it and felt his body tense for a moment before he picked up the pace. I shivered as he drove in deep, sparking pleasure all across my nerves. His lips moved from my mouth to trail down my jaw, my neck. They were soft, open-mouthed kisses that sent heat slithering across my skin.
“I've been dreaming about this,” he moaned into my ear. “Being buried in your sweet, hot pussy.”
My hips rose to meet his, my body instinctively knowing exactly how to move. Our bodies danced together, a dance we knew well and enjoyed. I could feel my orgasm approaching, the tightening in my belly. Even as I approached my release, I felt his hips stutter and knew he was close.
As he knew my body, I knew his. If I'd had him in my mouth or hand, I would've felt his cock twitch, his balls heavy.
“Come on, baby,” I murmured, raking my nails lightly up his back. Never hard enough to hurt, just enough to feel. “Come for me.”
“You first,” he said, his voice harsh, rasping. “Touch yourself, babe. I don't think I'm going to last much longer.”
I slid my hand between us with a skill that came from years of practice. It didn't take much, just a few quick strokes even as he jerked his hips against me. He came with a rough grunting sound and I followed a moment later with my own soft sigh.
He slumped onto me, his weight familiar and solid. The feel of home. I pushed his still wet hair back from his forehead and kissed his temple. It didn't matter that sometimes the sex was predictable, or that he sometimes spent too much time at the vineyard. He was mine and I was his. I loved him.
“I've missed that.” His breath was hot on my neck. He moved, sliding out of me even as he kissed my shoulder. He rolled onto his back, still breathing heavily as he pulled off the condom and tossed it into the bedside trashcan.
“Me too.” I smiled even though it was too dark for him to see me.
We lay there together for several minutes, not speaking, not touching, just being. Finally, I climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom for some clean up. When I came back out a few minutes later, I let the light from the bathroom stay on a bit longer. It shone right across the bed, revealing the face of the man I'd loved almost from the first moment I'd seen him.
I could still remember it, the first time I’d met the man I eventually married. I'd been born and raised in a small Utah town, so coming to UCLA had been a bit of a culture shock for me. I'd still been adjusting to my new life, even after two weeks, and I'd managed to get myself lost.
Again.
I'd been standing on the sidewalk, overly conscious of the precious minutes before my next class ticking by. I’d been trying not to cry when I'd heard a gentle voice asking if I was okay. When I'd looked up, I'd found myself staring at the kindest face I'd ever seen and everything had come crashing in on me. My mother's recent cancer diagnosis, being away from home for the first time, struggling to pay my tuition and keep up with classes that were promising to be difficult...all of that and the fact that I was probably going to be late to my Introduction to British Literature class had been too much.
I'd started to cry and, instead of bolting – or trying to take advantage – like most men would've done when confronted with a sobbing co-ed, he'd taken my elbow, led me over to a bench and sat down beside me while I spilled out everything that was wrong.
I hadn't made it to class that day, but Allen had known the professor and I hadn't gotten into trouble. It had been nearly half the semester before he'd asked me out on an official date, but he'd looked out for me from the moment we'd first met. He'd shown me around the campus, giving me hints of shortcuts and quizzing me until I'd known where everything was.
When his graduation had drawn closer, I'd been scared that he would be heading back to Texas where his family was in the oil business. Instead, he'd rented an apartment just off campus, making plans to go into business for himself. When, a few months later, he'd inherited the vineyard in St. Helena, he'd given me the apartment. Despite the distance between the vineyard and UCLA, he'd come down to see me every other weekend.
It was funny, I thought as I turned off the bathroom light and waited for my eyes to adjust. Funny how long eight years sounded, but how short it had seemed. When I looked in the mirror, I saw the same golden hair – though with a different haircut – and the same cobalt blue eyes. I'd always been curvy, but the years between eighteen and twenty-six hadn't put much weight on me. Allen was almost thirty and had a bit of his decade weight, but walking the vineyard had kept him lean.
While I'd been in the bathroom, Allen had crawled under the covers and had them rolled around him like a cocoon. I sighed as I climbed into bed and grabbed the edge of the sheet and blanket. I gave them a sharp tug and rolled my eyes when Allen snorted in his sleep. I pulled harder and he rolled towards me, releasing enough of the covers for me to get underneath.
The bed creaked slightly as I settled into my usual position on my side. I felt Allen bump against me as he moved closer. His hand curled over my hip and he sighed, dropping into a deeper sleep. The sound of his steady breat
hing and the after-effects of our love-making lulled me into my own slumber.
I was safe and I was loved. As long as Allen was at my side, I could sleep.
Chapter 2
One and a half weeks, I reminded myself as I dabbed my forehead with a tissue. One and a half weeks and I'd be free for nearly three glorious months. I loved my job, but I was definitely ready for a break. Especially now. Less than two weeks left in the school year and the air conditioning had gone on the fritz. And, of course, this had to be one of the hottest Junes on record.
I pushed back from my desk and walked across to where the fan was sitting in my open window and closed my eyes. The air outside was just as hot and humid as it was inside, but at least the fan created a breeze. As stifling as it was now, it had been worse an hour ago when the room had been filled with twenty-four sweating and irritable second graders. They'd even been too lethargic for a second recess.
I blew out a long breath and turned away from the window. Principal Sanders had asked all of us to stay late at least three days a week for the last month of school in case any parents wanted to come in to see how their kids were finishing up the year. Technically, that's what the parent-teacher conferences we'd had at the end of April should've been for, but I knew where he was coming from. Our parents were notorious for waiting until the last minute and then complaining when something didn't go their way. So far, I'd been lucky. None of my students were failing and the two who were close had actively involved parents who didn't blame me.
That didn't mean I didn't have work to do, however. Sitting on my desk – with a very reproachful air – were papers from yesterday and today that needed to be graded. The year-end spelling test as well as a set of math exercises and three sets of reading homework from students who'd been out sick on Monday.
As I thought it, I automatically reached for the hand sanitizer I kept on my desk. I replaced the large bottle at least three times a year, but it was worth it. I'd managed to only get sick once this year and I wasn't about to risk it this late in the season. If I could make it through next week, I'd most likely be good all summer, and with my wedding anniversary coming up, I definitely didn't want to be ill.
