I Love My…
Healed Heart
Jessica’s Story ~ Books 1-4
By Sabrina Lacey
Cover Image © Ollyy
Licensed through Shutterstock.com
© Sabrina Lacey
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
1. I Love My Breakup
2. I Love My Office Fling
3. I Love My Freak Out
4. David Sucks
5. I Love My Destiny
6. Epilogue
I Love My…
Breakup
By Sabrina Lacey
Contents
1 Tonight
2 The Next Day
3 A Half Hour Later
4 Seventeen Min. Later
5 Forty-Five Min. Later
6 The Next Morning
Tonight
I never thought I’d be the type of girl to answer a sex ad. They were gross, laughed at, ridiculously disturbing even. But then there are those posts tonight that cause my mind to question the masses, the ones that beckon me, like: “Use me like I’m him” and “I’m free of judgment - and in New York for only one night.” The latter one really catches my attention.
Why am I looking? Because I am at the height of my sexual prime and even though my heart hurts from the loser boyfriend that just under two months ago ended our relationship without my consent, I want it. Sex. I want a man’s body on top of mine. I want the pressure of his chest against me - the weight of him, the smell of him, on top of me. Behind me. Underneath me. Next. To. Me.
I want it. So I answered one.
Will I tell anyone I answered the ad? Hell, no.
While I’m sitting on my couch with my glass of Pinot Grigio, watching an episode of So You Think You Can Dance, I hear it…the unmistakable sound of an email alert on my phone. It could be more spam from my credit cards. It could be a notice that someone liked my post on Facebook (I really need to turn those alerts off), or it could be my ticket out of this boredom and anger. I consider waiting for the commercial break to check it… Yeah, right. I reach for the phone.
The email reads, “I loved what you had to say. You’re really funny. And if those pics you sent are real, I’d love to meet you. Where are you now”
My heart starts to race. That’s not the credit card company. Thank God I put up real pics, but now that he’s brought it up, did he put up real ones? I never even thought of that. I’m too honest. I really should try to lie more often. But then I’d be more like my ex. And that jerk is such a lying sack of… but who cares? There’s a man waiting for my email and I know how it feels to wait. Boy, do I.
I start to type, but stop to take a sip from my wine. Do I have more wine in the fridge? This is going to take more than one glass. “I’m home. East Village. Where are you?” I hit send and already feel the wetness building. My mind starts to race with the “pleases.” Please be cool. Please be handsome. Please have posted your real picture.
How many women answer these ads, I wonder. Who knows? How many of them had been dating David, my ex? Well, with him, the possibilities are endless. I smile at my ability to laugh at the situation. I can joke still, I tell myself. Nice. Well done. You’re still in there… I think. Let’s see if everything still works. With the phone still in my hand, wine glass half-drained in my other, the vibration and tone signals a hasty response. Email alert! He didn’t make me wait long. He’s excited, too? I giggle like a teenager, alone on my couch, and open it.
“I’m in the East Village, too… just below 7th. Lucky me, huh?” He included a happy face. Nice. I like a guy who can use a properly placed emoticon. It’s an art.
I think quickly. I want to make sure to be funny in return. Keep his interest. Spark the fire. Did I just say, “Spark the fire?” Oh my…someone help me. Okay, here goes. I type fast, without censoring myself.
“No… Lucky me.” I hit send and wait.
The next minute goes by with my heart pounding like there’s House music playing in my chest: bam bam bam bam bam bam. Maybe I’ve had enough wine. Nah. I take a gulp. This calls for a glass…or five…of courage. If you can’t be honest with yourself, who can you be honest with?
Vibration and tone go off again. I can barely stay seated on the couch because I am FREAKING OUT. I check the email. It’s not from him. It’s one of those stupid alerts from Facebook. Don’t get me wrong - I love Facebook - but hearing from it now is like hearing from my Aunt May. Not sexy. Focus on the kids dancing on the TV, I tell myself. They’re so talented. So gifted. How are they all able to do the splits? Riiiiing tone! Woop! I check the email and this time… it’s him.
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
Holy what? Where? Here?!! He wants to come here?!! I hadn’t thought this through. Do I have him come here? To my home? Am I that crazy? No way. No way! Never gonna happen. I cannot be so stupid as to invite a man I do not know back to my apartment. I don’t even have a dog. I do have neighbors, though. I could tell them to watch out for any weird screaming. This is crazy. Don’t be ridiculous, Jessica, I tell myself. You’re an intelligent woman who went to college and had a healthy childhood (for the most part) and has good friends and an okay job and WHO KNOWS BETTER.
“On one condition,” I write, and hit send. What the hell am I doing?
I look at the TV and turn it off because now all that dancing is annoying the f- out of me all of a sudden. I look at my almost empty glass and chug what’s left. Looking around my place I realize how messy it is and consider writing back, with something like: “Never mind. I can’t entertain anyone right now until I’ve had my maid clean up.” Only I don’t have a maid, so that would be a cop out. Not like he would know, though. He doesn’t know I don’t have a maid. Yeah, maybe I could cry “maid!” and get out of this. But the tingling in my panties is telling me otherwise.
Email alert! I tuck myself into a ball, open up the email, and read it.
“I will meet any conditions you have for me,” he wrote. I read it again and again, not believing what I’m reading. And then another alert sounds and I look to find he’s already written me, before I’ve had chance to reply. I open it and read: “And I’ve already started walking. Which direction am I heading in? Don’t leave me out here all alone. And, yes, I’m still waiting to hear your condition, which I promise to uphold.”
My heart nearly bursts out of my chest. I jump off the couch and fly to the bathroom where I turn on the sink, start running the water, and search for my toothbrush. I grab for my toothpaste, almost miss and knock it onto the floor before I catch it and squeeze some onto the bristles, reminding myself once again that I need to buy more toothpaste. There’s only a little bit in there, but by great effort on my part, I manage to get enough out to make my mouth appealing, and hopefully hide the sweet wine taste as well. Men prefer red, right? I’m losing my mind.
He’s on his way! I’m not ready. Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. What am I going to do? Wait, I have to email him back. He doesn’t know where he’s going. What am I doing? I’m totally losing my mind!
I should call a girlfriend and confess
to her my insanity in hopes of rescue. I think of Amanda and know that, without a doubt, she would talk me out of this. She would tell me that I am rebounding from the pain of the breakup from David and that I should invest in a big jug of ice cream…and maybe more wine. But I did that. It didn’t work. And she’d probably ask me to come out and join her and her casting director co-workers who are no doubt listening to that new band “The Coke-Heads” at the ultra-hip bar, one stop off the L Train. Which is right by my place, but still.
I don’t want to call her.
Instead I type my response with one hand as I’m straightening my hair with the other, “My condition is this: No speaking. I don’t want to talk.” I look at my words and yelp aloud. Do I dare send this?! It’s exactly what I want. I don’t know this guy. If I’m going to do this, I don’t want to chit-chat because, let’s be honest – any talking could change my mind, easily. Hi I’m Tony, he could say. No! Not Tony. I can’t sleep with a “Tony” without dinner first because what is this, “The Godfather?” Are you a hit man and I’m on the way to a… This is how my mind works. I know this. So I have to prepare, right? Right. Okay.
I hit send and I wait.
My hair looks pretty good. It’s a miracle. I mess with it some more. Now it doesn’t look as good. Damn. I mess with it again. It looks pretty good. Not as good, but pretty good. Okay. Stop messing with it and put on some lipstick. No, no lipstick. David hated lipstick because it tasted funny. Screw David. He’s not coming over. Mr. In-Town-For-A-Night is, and I get to do what I want. I put on my favorite lipstick and nearly smear it all over my face as another new email alert spazzes me out of my reverie.
“You’ve got it. I won’t say a word,” it says. I nearly scream from excitement. I cannot believe it…but I am typing my address to a stranger who may or may not look like his photo. His beautiful, sandy brown hair, fiery brown eyes, gorgeous ripped chest and a face that looks like he could be Ryan Gosling’s brother, photo. Oh… please look like your photo!! I send him the address and my apartment number. I tell him that the lock is broken on the building so he should just come on up.
I squeak like an excited mouse and run to the bedroom where I grab out of habit a dress that David loved. As soon as I realize this is David’s favorite dress in my hands I throw it like it’s got a cobra coming out of it, and relegate it to a pile of his things that are on the floor, waiting for a trip to Goodwill. I am cleansing the place of him. It has to be done.
Time to go shopping – so there’s an upside to getting your heart broken? This makes me smile and I decide, wait…why do I want to wear a dress? I think this occasion calls for only bra and panties. Dare I? I dare. Searching through my underwear drawer I find a Brazilian bra and panty combo I bought, but never wore, for David. It’s light pink and super flattering against my skin tone. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and am surprised at how good I look. Take that, David!
I’m a little mid-west looking, even though I live in the city. Red hair (dyed). Nice smile. Brown eyes with long lashes I inherited from my grandma. My hips have some girth in a very feminine, sexy way. I reach down and touch myself, just a little. I can feel that from the excitement, I’m getting really wet.
This was such a good idea, I tell myself.
Screw what Amanda would say.
The knock at the door makes me jump and my heart beats like it’s going to explode. It is pounding so hard in my chest. I tiptoe to the door and unlock it very quietly. I don’t want to open it myself, because I have a better idea. This guy might be a nerd pretending to be a stud, and that’s fine because I am going through with this if it is the last thing I do. But I’m going to do it in a way that excites me.
I walk away from the door to the wall at the opposite end of the room and I lean against it, wearing just my pink bra and panties. I give my hair a little tousle and touch myself between my legs because my pussy is screaming for attention now. I can feel the arousal building a delicious slow burn.
“Come in,” I call, my voice only loud enough for him to hear, and I may have raised the timber to sound extra appealing. I watch the door open and see his arm enter the room, his hand on the knob. His body follows and his head, his face, his sandy brown hair. He looks exactly like his photo, except that in person - when he smiles - my panties want to fall right off.
“Hi,” he says, closing the door.
“Shh,” I say, gently pressing a finger to my lips. No talking, remember, my smile reminds him. He locks the door, looks me up and down and I can tell he loves what he sees, (which is exactly what I need after the rejection of having been cheated on. In my own home). He stands there and looks at me. My heart is beating so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it. I cannot believe his height. He’s gotta be 6’2” or more. Then he walks to me, and I lean my back against the wall, wordlessly waiting for him, my eyelids half-closed, and his gorgeous caramel brown eyes are locked on my mouth as he clears the distance between us.
Standing in front of me, he leans in and puts his hand on the wall by my head. He just looks at me; his mouth, his face, inches from mine. I breathe in the intoxicating scent of him. With his free arm, he reaches around my neck, runs his fingers up into my hair and brings my mouth to his, kisses me hard, the electricity between us ridiculous as my legs threaten to give out beneath me. I feel his kiss all the way down to my toes and I can’t remember the last time that’s happened.
Our bodies press together and the warmth of him - the strength and size of his body against me - makes me feel so tiny, so delicate, so hot. This is what I need. I can feel the throbbing hot bulge in his jeans growing, as he presses himself against me, so warm, so encouraging, so appreciative. I feel beautiful and desirable again and fuck that David and his cheating and stupidity. Oh God, would my mind please shut up???!!
I force myself to focus on the moment, to listen to my body. Kissing, our mouths mold onto each other’s, become one, our breaths short and heated with longing. He pulls me back by my hair and searches my eyes. What is he looking for? What the fuck is he waiting for?? Oh... he wants to make sure I’m okay. He wants the connection real. He’s asking me without words, because I forbade them, if he should keep going. If I want him to.
It’s so sweet and unexpected that my walls come tumbling down from my heart. I stare back at him, vulnerable, hurting. I say nothing. He kisses me gently, pulls back again, looking for my answer. His eyes… it’s like they understand me, like they know me. I see little specks of gold, I’m so close to him. The core of his manhood calls to me, but the domesticated beast is waiting for permission. I don’t know why, but this melts me. If I were to say I don’t want this, I can’t, I’m just acting out against pain and hurt and betrayal – I know he would leave, and would not make me feel badly about my choice.
Tears hover in my eyes and I nod, tell him yes, I want this. I want this so badly. I give him complete and total permission to do with me as he will. His eyes search mine deeper, asking are you sure? I nod one short nod and press the back of my head into his palm, tilt it back, expose my neck, let my lips fall open slightly as I say one quiet little word, the word my soul has to say.
“Please.”
Something inside him opens and unlocks. I can see it in his eyes. He’s more animal than man now. He’s hungry for me… he won’t ask again. Good. I don’t want him to. I’ll cry if he does. I know it. Please just make this anger go away. Like he heard my thoughts, he kisses me hard, takes both my hands and brings them above my head, presses his body firmly against mine, warming me, as he pushes me up against the wall. It hurts a little, but I don’t care. It’s better than the pain I’ve been feeling since that night my heart was shattered. I don’t want to feel anything except the ravenous desire for this handsome stranger’s touch.
His mouth blends into me as we explore each other. I moan and he presses his jeans against my pelvis and with a sculpting movement of his hips, commands my legs to yield to him. His mouth moves down my neck, his teeth nibble and grab me, the hot b
reath and moistness making a delicious path to my breasts. He reaches around and unleashes me from my bra with a single snap. Oh my…
Freed, my breasts beckon to him, my nipples hard and inviting. He smiles and leans down, takes the left one in his mouth, tonguing it, teasing it, sucking on it, combining pleasure and pain, his teeth helping when they need to. I moan as he moves to the jealous breast on my right. I feel freed, too, as he makes his way down and devours my body, his lips on my skin, everywhere.
He unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, leaves the fly hanging open after he let go of my hands with a command in his eyes telling me to keep them above my head. I’m so wet that my panties are drenched, and I know I smell good. I’ve been told that by enough of my boyfriends to know that he is in for a treat. Please touch me. Please, please, please kiss me down there.
He understands what I yearn for because he’s a man. Men want to lick us. David never wanted to. And David is a monster. Stop, Jess. Let go! On his knees, this six foot and then some, stranger, has to bend to pull my panties aside. As he does, he slides his hand in the slit between the lips of my pussy. I cry out at the touch of his thick, roughened by life fingers, and let out a sound I’ve never made before. Then he almost makes me pass out because kneeling right there, in front of the place on my body that I hold dearest to my heart, he brings his mouth in and kisses me, sticks his tongue in, separating me with his hands. I bend to help him, open myself to him as he licks me, my clit, my lips, my inner thighs. I feel it in the crown of my head and the bottom of my feet. Goosebumps explode up and down my skin, everywhere.
He rises, slides off his jeans and unleashes the most beautiful cock I have ever seen. He reaches back over the top of his shoulders like guys do, and pulls his shirt off over his head, from the back to the front, messing up his hair. He gives it a shake and it falls back to place, a couple chunks sexy and tousled. I love it when they do that. He steps back to let me look as he stands naked in front of me. He wants to see my reaction. Wearing only my panties, hands still above my head, my back resting against the wall, I look at him. I am breathless. His chest is incredible, sculpted, strong, and muscular. His legs are defined and perfectly shaped. His calf muscles are beautiful and his skin has a nice light olive tone. He has those lines that lead down to his cock like an arrow showing you where the gold is.
I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) Page 1
