Spiral of Bliss: The Complete Boxed Set

by Nina Lane

  Kelsey rolls her eyes, but a pink flush of pleasure rises to her cheeks. Since seeing Kelsey get embarrassed while wearing an Olive Oyl costume is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, I decide to add a little mischievous fuel to the fire.

  “So,” I say conversationally, “why is it you two decided to dress as a married couple?”

  “We’re not a married couple,” Kelsey says.

  “I know you’re not in real life—everyone knows that by now—but Popeye and Olive Oyl were married.”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  “Sure they were,” Archer says.

  “No.” Dean shakes his head. “Kelsey’s right.”

  “Olive Oyl was torn between Popeye and Bluto,” Kelsey explains. “That’s why Bluto was always coming on to her. It was a classic love triangle.”

  “What about the baby Swee’Pea?” I ask. “Wasn’t that Popeye and Olive Oyl’s baby?”

  “Swee’Pea was an orphan, left on Popeye’s doorstep,” Dean says. “But they weren’t married, and they didn’t have a kid.”

  This is news to me.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “Why didn’t they get married?”

  “Well, Olive Oyl was a fickle lass,” Archer replies.

  “She was not,” Kelsey says. “She was just keeping her options open.”

  Archer snorts. “Maybe she needed to make a decision already.”

  “Maybe Popeye needed to be less of a buffoon.”

  “Maybe Olive Oyl needed to be happy with what she had.”

  “Maybe Popeye needed to realize how good he had it.”

  “Oh, he did,” Archer says, looking right into Kelsey’s eyes. “Why do you think he ate all that spinach? He did it for her.”

  He gives her a wink. A smile tugs at Kelsey’s mouth.

  “So,” I interrupt brightly, before they lunge at each other and start kissing passionately, “who wants more punch?”

  “Mom, we’re hungry,” Nicholas announces, as he and Bella come traipsing off the dance floor again.

  “Come sit down.” I gesture to the two empty chairs. “I already got you both some food.”

  “Uncle Archer, next year I want to go as a sailor too.” Nicholas climbs on a chair to examine his plate of pizza and fruit salad.

  “Great,” Archer says. “You can be Pipeye.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “One of Popeye’s nephews. His other nephews were Peepeye, Pupeye and Poopeye.”

  “Poopeye!” Nicholas dissolves into a fit of laughter.

  “Poop peep poop peep,” Bella chants.

  I push my chair back, indicating to Dean that this current situation is his to deal with.

  “I need to go coordinate the staff for the game booths,” I explain before heading toward the doors.

  Mirror Lake trick-or-treating starts at six, so we’d planned the Spooktacular Ball early enough for everyone to be able to enjoy the food, dancing, and games before taking their kids trick-or-treating. Later, there is a bonfire at Wizard’s Park and haunted train rides on the Mirror Lake Railway, which Archer and his crew finished restoring two years ago.

  The volunteers and I get the game booths going, and the corridors of the high school are soon filled with children going from classroom to classroom to try their hand at ring toss and balloon popping. After an hour, an announcement comes over the intercom that official trick-or-treating begins in fifteen minutes.

  The children swarm back to the gym, clutching plastic whistles and toy prizes. Dean and I find each other in the crowd and take Nicholas and Bella downtown where all the shops and restaurants are open for trick-or-treaters.

  We traipse up and down the street for a couple of hours, then I leave the kids with Dean and promise to meet them at the bonfire. The high school is deserted when I return, but I need to break down the game booths and close up before returning the keys to the building supervisor.

  I put the balloon-popping board outside the history classroom and close the door. As I’m locking it, two hands slide around my waist and pull me backward, right up against a very solid, male body.

  “Give me a kiss, beauty.” Dean’s deep voice washes over my skin.

  I shiver in response and turn in his arms—because that command is one I never can or want to resist.

  I lean forward to press my lips against his, the gentle contact making me all soft and fuzzy inside. I twine my hands around the back of Dean’s neck and thread my fingers through his hair.

  “It’s later,” he remarks, pressing his lips across my cheek to my ear. “Archer and Kelsey are taking the kids to the bonfire. I told them we’d meet them when we’re done here, though this might take quite a while.”

  “Really?” I breathe. “You think it could take a while?”

  “A very.” He kisses my ear. “Long.” He kisses my collarbone. “While.” He slides the strap of my gown aside and kisses my shoulder. “It’s just you and me now, baby.”

  A flutter of excitement starts low in my belly. I turn my head to brush my mouth across his cheek, the sandpaper grain of his stubble delicious against my lips.

  “I have to finish breaking down the game booths,” I say.

  “Mmm, love that dirty talk.”

  “Want to help me? You know how much I love watching your muscles flex and strain when you’re doing heavy lifting and… other things.”

  I slide my palm down his chest, looking up at him suggestively from beneath my eyelashes. Heat brews in his dark eyes.

  “What do I get if I help you?” Dean asks.

  “My everlasting gratitude.” I pat his cheek and pull away from him. “And maybe something else later.”

  “I thought this was later,” Dean grumbles as he follows me.

  “Later later.” I open the door and usher him inside. “Tomorrow we’ll move the equipment to the storage garage.”

  Dean grumbles a little more, but dismantles the plastic horseshoes game and piles the parts in the corridor. After locking the door, we move on to the chemistry lab where the beanbag toss is set up along the central aisle.

  “Did you know I once won a beanbag toss at the Santa Clara County Fair?” Dean asks, warming up to pitch one of the bags.

  “I didn’t know that. What did you win?”

  “A stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh. I wasn’t happy. Especially when Archer started calling me Roo.” He pitches the bag, which hits the board with a thud.

  “Looks like your skills are rusty,” I remark, loading the plastic prizes into a storage bin.

  Dean frowns and picks up another beanbag. He tosses it through the ten-point hole.

  “Okay, Mrs. West.” He steps aside. “Show me what you can do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He glances sideways at me, a spark of intrigue lighting in his eyes. The “sir” thing gets us both interested pretty quickly, though I question the wisdom of going there in the middle of a high-school chemistry lab.

  I bend over to pick up a beanbag, feeling Dean’s gaze sweep over me. I straighten and pitch the bag. It goes neatly through the fifty-point bull’s-eye in the center.

  “Hah!” I raise my fists in victory. “Olivia West, bean-bag champion of the world. Where’s my prize?”

  “Right here.” Dean moves closer and strokes his hand over my ass.

  “Really?” I ask dryly, turning toward him. “Isn’t that more like your prize?”

  “Oh, you’re definitely my prize.” He slips his hand beneath my chin and tilts my face up to his.

  Our lips meet in a warm, lovely kiss that tastes like spiced apples. And even though we’re in a classroom on Halloween night, I feel myself tipping easily into that intimate space where the rest of the world fades into black and white, and where colors bloom like flowers around us.

  I curl my fingers into the edge of Dean’s r
ed waistcoat and urge him closer, deepening the kiss. Heat flares inside me almost instantly—kindled by our earlier flirtation and the smoldering glances he sent my way throughout the evening. I open to let him in, loving the way he slides his tongue over my lips and into my mouth, a possessive claiming that fires sparks through my entire body.

  “This is so wrong,” I whisper, even as I nudge my breasts against his chest.

  “I warned you I’d lure you into the evil pleasures of lust, my sweet angel,” he replies, moving his hands between us to cup my breasts

  “We’re in a classroom,” I remind him in a vague effort to maintain a semblance of propriety.

  “Mmm. A chemistry classroom.” He lowers his head to press a trail of kisses along the side of my neck. “We should experiment with electromagnetism. Maybe chemical bonding. Definitely some kinetic energy.”

  “Or kinky energy.”

  “Oh, yeah. That too.” He lifts his head to gaze at my breasts, then hooks his fingers into the bodice of my gown and pulls it down over my bra.

  His breath escapes on a curse at the sight of my cleavage—which is especially pillowy and plump thanks to the push-up bra that I bought with a certain handsome devil in mind. I deliberately wore sexy lingerie beneath my costume with the expectation that Dean would enjoy taking it off me, though I’d envisioned this scenario in our bedroom later tonight rather than a high-school classroom right now.

  “Wait.” I put my hands over his before he can make me lose my senses entirely. “Door.”

  Dean releases me and goes over to make sure the door is locked. The windows lining the outside wall and the interior corridor are all shuttered, and when Dean turns back to face me, my breath stops in my throat.

  He’s standing with his hands on his hips and his feet apart, his black cape framing his muscular body. His dark eyes glitter with both promise and lust. Wreathed in shadows, the light slanting through the shutters the only source of illumination, my husband looks both sinful and so arrestingly beautiful that my whole body flames with need.

  He crooks his finger at me, his lips curving with that hint-of-wicked smile that is reserved for me alone.

  “Come here, beauty.”

  My heart pounds, a throbbing beat centering in my core. I approach him slowly, reaching up to take the halo off my head. He grabs my wrist, his eyes darkening.

  “Leave it on,” he orders.

  I laugh.

  “Okay,” I agree, sliding my gaze over him in consideration. “But that means you have to leave your horns on. And your cape, for that matter. Maybe your boots too.”

  A smile tugs at his mouth. He pulls me toward him by the wrist before lowering his head and settling his mouth across mine.

  A little moan escapes me as my knees weaken. Dean slips the organza wings off my shoulders before moving me backward until my hips touch the edge of a table. He pushes me gently onto my back and leans over me, bracing his arms on either side of my head. Our gazes meet, hot and electric.

  My heart pounds. In the shadowed light, with that black cape and red tie, Professor West really does look as if he’s a dark lord of the underworld. One who is intent on doing dirty, wicked things to an innocent angel.

  I hook one leg around his thighs, pulling him closer. He looks down at me, something menacing radiating from him as he twists his fingers into the straps of my gown and pulls it slowly over my shoulders and down to my waist.

  I swallow, flicking my tongue out to lick my lips. With a quick twist of his fingers, Dean unhooks the front clasp of my bra and pushes the cups aside. A rush of cooler air brushes across my nipples, stiffening them into tight peaks. Dean groans low in his throat at the sight of my bare breasts. He bends to capture my nipple between his teeth, sending a shock of heat to my core.

  My breathing increases as he lavishes attention on my breasts, cupping one in his hand as he presses his lips around my areola, down to the crevices beneath. His scruff scrapes exquisitely against my skin.

  I tangle my hand in his hair and tug gently, urging him back up to me. As our mouths meet again, I grasp his red tie and work the smooth knot. I leave the unfastened tie around his shoulders as I unbutton his shirt and waistcoat to reveal his powerful chest.

  His skin is hot beneath my fingertips, his heart thumping with the heavy beat of a drum. I squirm underneath him, my arousal intensified by the contrast of the hard table under me, and my hot, muscular husband on top of me.

  “Hurry,” I whisper, pushing my gown and slip up to my waist.

  Dean moves closer to the table, his gaze on mine as he unfastens his trousers and drops them to the floor. His erection presses against his boxer briefs, a hard ridge along his thigh. I reach out to palm the length, tracing my fingers over the shaft. My sex clenches with anticipation.

  Dean takes off boxers, letting his cock rise upward. The sight of the thick, veined shaft fires me with heat, and I wiggle to the edge of the table so he can better position himself.

  I push to my elbows, my pulse throbbing as I watch him—black cape billowing, red tie like a streak of blood down his chest. He tangles his fingers into the straps of my panties and pulls them off, exhaling a groan of appreciation at the sight of my damp sex. He presses his fingers into me, flicking his thumb over my clit.

  I lift my knees, gasping as he presses the head of his cock over my folds and slowly down to my opening. Then he’s pushing inside me, throbbing against my inner walls and firing heat through my nerves.

  I moan, pulling him closer as he starts to thrust, and then we both fall into the push-and-pull, give-and-take rhythm that has always come so easily to us. He tightens his grip on me as his thrusts increase in pace, driving into me the exact instant I arch my hips upward.

  “Come on, beauty,” he whispers, lowering his head to kiss my shoulder as he slides his fingers to my clit. “So fucking good…”

  “Yes.” I dig my fingers into his shoulders as the coil of pleasure winds tighter and tighter. “Dean, I’m… oh, harder.”

  He thrusts deep, jolting me against the table. One more press of his fingers on my aching clit, and my whole body arches upward, flooding with intense vibrations that wrench a cry from my throat. Dean’s mouth comes down on mine, his tongue sliding past my lips as the pace of his thrusts changes to a long, slow glide. I wrap my legs around his waist, opening myself fully as he gives a hoarse shout and comes deep inside me.

  Dean’s breath rasps through his chest as he lowers himself on top of me, his hands on either side of my head. I reach up to thread my fingers through his gorgeous hair, stroking it away from his damp forehead as I gaze up at his face—loving the satisfaction in his eyes, the lingering heat, the ever-present tenderness.

  With unspoken and reluctant agreement, we part slowly and get back into our costumes, helping each other adjust our clothes and accessories so we don’t look too terribly rumpled. I clean off the table while Dean finishes dismantling the beanbag toss booth. As we’re leaving the room, he grabs me around the waist and gives me a hot, hard kiss.

  “I fucking love you, beauty,” he says against my lips. “And I love fucking you.”

  I laugh and stroke his cheek, a riotous combination of love, longing, and happiness flooding me. I give in to the urge to sink against him for an instant, his arms closing around me in that warm, protective circle I know so well before we separate to return to the outside world.

  CHAPTER TWO

  OLIVIA

  THE HALLOWEEN BONFIRE BLAZES AGAINST THE night sky, patrolled and tended by several residents to ensure everyone’s safety. Wizard’s Park is filled with parents supervising their children, most of whom are running around comparing their candy hauls and sneaking pieces from their buckets.

  A line of people snakes behind the trees where the Mirror Lake Railway depot is awash in orange lights for the haunted train rides. Dean and I find Kelsey on a bench, trying
her best to ration Nicholas and Bella’s candy, even though their plastic pumpkins are half-filled with empty wrappers.

  “Sorry,” Kelsey says wryly. “But Nicholas did share his M&M’s with Archer.”

  “Ah, well.” Dean shrugs. “This is the night for treats, isn’t it?”

  He catches my eye and winks. I smile.

  “Thanks, Kels.” I pick up a few wrappers littering the ground. “Nicholas, do you have all your stuff?”

  “My sword is in Aunt Kelsey’s car.”

  “Come on, Snowbell.” Dean hauls Bella into his arms and rubs his nose against hers. “Way past your bedtime.”

  Dean and I load up with our children, their pumpkins, coats, gloves, and bits and pieces of their costumes. After saying goodbye to Kelsey, we walk back to the car and buckle the kids into their seats.

  “Halloween candy,” Nicholas says as Dean maneuvers out of the crowded parking lot. “That’s an Important Thing.”

  “True,” Dean agrees. “And town bonfires.”

  “Jack-o’-lanterns,” I say.

  “Ghosts,” Bella adds. “They were on train.”

  “Yeah, but they’re not Important,” Nicholas says, his mouth sounding suspiciously stuffed with chocolate.

  “On Halloween night, I think they are,” Dean says. “Along with witches, goblins, and monsters.”

  “And angels and devils,” I point out.

  “Devils aren’t Important Things,” Bella remarks.

  “Sure they are. If there were no devils, there wouldn’t be any angels. You can’t have the good without the bad.”

  “Or the sad without the glad,” Nicholas says. “Or the best without the rest.”

  “Or the dad without the plaid,” Dean suggests.

  We all chuckle.

  I look out the window as we pass our former apartment on Avalon Street, remembering the fall mornings when Dean would sit on the balcony in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms. I remember pushing aside the blue curtains and joining him with a tray of coffee and muffins.