by A Collection of Valentine Themed Sexy Short Stories (epub)
There was also a reason two.
Reason two was that the duplex did not communicate via Lee “I provide for my wife and children” (with italics).
Therefore, he’d bought us a thirty-five-hundred-square-foot mini-mansion.
I had protested this because, a) this meant Tod and Stevie were not on the other side of us, and as such, who was going to put on my fake eyelashes when I needed that (and who was going to do the yardwork, because Stevie did not do bad yard but Lee nor I did yard at all)? And b) I did not have the desire to clean our one-thousand-square-foot duplex, I really did not have the desire to add two thousand five hundred square feet to that.
Lee, being Lee, hired a cleaner, a gardener and told me I looked as gorgeous without makeup as with it so who gave a fuck about fake eyelashes.
I still drove to Tod and Stevie’s when I needed my eyelashes put on.
By the by, that evening, I’d had to pop by Tod and Stevie’s for an emergency eyelash fitting, which Tod fit in before they took off for their Valentine’s Day plans.
I was swiping on my long-wearing lipstick when I heard Lee say, “Indy, I called—”
He stopped speaking abruptly, primarily because he’d hit the doorway to our bathroom and caught sight of my ass.
I was tall and had never been svelte.
My husband, fortunately, got off on curves, and equally fortunately, way got off on the additional ones I did not quite lose after I gave him two children.
But it wouldn’t matter.
I looked the shit. I might have ass, a belly, big tits and arms you could not see the sinews of my muscles in, but I fucking rocked it.
So I was in a kickass body con dress because I knew my husband would dig that.
And I was in kickass body con dress because I kicked ass in that dress.
It was bright red.
It was midi-length.
It had a deep plunge at the neck that went past my cleavage well to my midriff and showed breast curve big time.
It led down to legs that ended in high-spike-heeled, matte-gold strappy sandals.
And it was worth a repeat, it was body con
As in, skintight.
I looked through the mirror at Lee and said, “Hey.”
He did not reply.
He was focused.
And as he’d been special forces trained by the Army, his focus was focused.
This on my ass.
This was proved when he moved into the room and put both hands on said ass, slid them around to my hips, my belly and looked over my shoulder into my eyes in the mirror.
Seriously.
He was hot.
Melty chocolate eyes.
Thick, wavy brown hair.
Tall.
Built.
Beautiful.
“Hey,” I repeated.
“Hey,” he replied.
Okay.
So I was weak.
But all was forgiven with that look on his face, his hands on me, his heat hitting me at the back, and his deep voice saying, “Hey.”
“Where are the kids?” he asked.
Translation: I’m going to fuck you in two minutes, so I need to know the whereabouts of the children so I know if I need to lock the bathroom door and how much noise we can make.
“With Dad. It’s Valentine’s Day. Surprise. We have reservations at Barolo Grill and those reservations are soon,” I told him. “You need to change.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day?”
Okay, I was back to being pissed.
“Yeah,” I snapped.
He smiled at me, and I was even more pissed, regardless that my nether regions quivered at seeing his smile.
Lee had been voted best smile in high school. He also would have been voted most likely to get in your pants, if the school administration had allowed that category.
This because he was hot.
Also because his smile was that good.
He bent his head, kissed my shoulder, and murmured, “I’ll change.”
He then moved away.
I finished my lipstick, grabbed my perfume and spritzed it in the air before walking through it, like the dudes on Queer Eye taught me.
I then ignored my husband changing because I might have curves, but he kept ultra-fit due to his career choice, his personal choice, and his need for his wife to want to jump his bones at any given moment, and I did not need to be witnessing that, or we’d never go on a date.
(Just to say, preemptory jumping of bones was eighty-nine-point-nine percent of why we never went out on dates.)
I grabbed my evening bag, dumped in my lipstick, checked its contents, then moved into our room, then the hall, down the stairs, and kept motoring.
But I stopped dead at the dining room table.
This was because there was a massive spray of perfect red roses on it, under which sat a heart-shaped box of chocolates festooned in red cellophane paper with a big red bow.
He’d given me hearts and flowers.
My husband, Badass Lee Nightingale, had given me, Rock Chick Indy Nightingale, hearts and flowers.
He hadn’t forgotten Valentine’s Day.
Oh.
My.
God!
He’d given my hearts and flowers!
Shit.
I was gonna cry.
I did not do tears.
His arms were gliding around me from behind, and when they’d fitted me to his body, he whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” in my ear.
“You’re a jerk,” I said through deep breathing.
“Right,” he said through what I could tell was a smile.
“We’re going to dinner. We’re not canceling Barolo Grill. Not again. I’m not going to let you do me on the dining room table,” I declared, even though I so totally wanted him to do me on the dining room table.
Gah!
“I’ll do you on the table later.”
“That’s a plan.” I turned in his arms, pulling out of them, and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”
I marched him to the garage door and into the garage.
FYI: Our house was three thousand five hundred square feet.
Our garage, I didn’t know, I didn’t get out the measuring tape, but at a guess, it was five thousand.
This was because I’d upgraded my dark-blue VW Beetle to a light-blue convertible VW Beetle.
This to the extreme distress of my husband.
But I did it.
He flatly refused to drive it, ride in it, and as far as I could tell, look at it or acknowledge its existence.
He also forbade our children to be transported in it due, he said, to safety reasons.
I allowed this ban since he bought me a rad, red Volvo SUV in which to cart our kids around.
This left the Beetle for joyriding, which I still did, frequently, with one or several Rock Chicks.
Callum, by the by, his father’s son, also refused to acknowledge the Beetle’s existence.
But Suki had made me write out (in pink glitter pen, which meant she meant business) my intention to leave her the Beetle in my will.
Once we hit the garage, as was my husband’s way, I was no longer leading. His longer legs overtook me, and he guided me past the Beetle, the Volvo, his company Ford Explorer, to his sleek black Maserati.
It had been a sad day when we’d retired his Crossfire.
Though it wasn’t retired, as such.
It was in storage since neither of us could bear to part with it and we didn’t have space to fit it in our garage.
But as you could see, what we had meant we had a four-bay garage.
And that didn’t count ample space for holiday decorations, mine, Lee’s and the kids’ clothes I couldn’t bring myself to give away (I totally needed to KonMari), and Lee’s Ducati.
We got in his killer car.
Lee hit the door opener then made the car purr.
He backed out.
And away we went to Barolo Gril
l.
Finally.
Yippee!
Since my lipstick had set, I was applying the overlayer of lip gloss when it struck me we were not headed to 6th Avenue.
We were headed downtown.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“What?” he asked back.
I turned my head, ignored his crisp, steel-gray shirt and the kickass blazer he wore (for I knew he looked so good in them, it would give me the desire to take them off), took in the planes and angles of his handsome face, his square jaw, his fantastic head of hair…
And said, “Liam Nightingale, love of my life, father of my children, often supreme pain in my ass, where are you going?”
“Gotta do something real quick.”
Oh boy.
Downtown was where his office was.
“Are you taking me to your office on Valentine’s Day when we have,” I dug my phone out of my purse, checked the display, and finished, “T-minus ten minutes to make our reservation?”
“Cool it, baby. We’ll be good.”
Okay, there was a rule in Rock Chick Land.
A guy, even a guy as hot as Lee, did not get away with “baby” when it was preceded by “cool it.”
“Lee…”
“Indy,” he reached for my hand, brought it to his mouth, touched my knuckles with his lips, and finished, “trust me.”
Shit.
He could totally get away with that because I did that.
I trusted him.
And the lip touch was sah-weet.
Though I would find, in short order, we were not going to his office.
We were going somewhere else.
This I knew when he pulled smoothly to a stop in front of Hotel Teatro.
Okay.
All right.
So we were going to The Nickel.
The food was good there.
And maybe hitting a show or the symphony after (or before) at the Denver Center for Performing Arts.
This meant he really hadn’t forgotten about Valentine’s Day.
It wasn’t Barolo Grill, but I’d deal.
The valet opened my door.
I got out.
Lee commandeered me and walked us into the hotel.
We did not head to The Nickel.
We headed to the reception desk.
Oh boy.
“Nightingale, Liam. Reservation,” he rumbled at the reception lady.
She stared up at him, ignoring my existence, and did it with an expression that said she was trying not to drool.
I tapped my (blood-red, SNS, coffin-shaped, hell yeah, I was a Rock Chick) fingernails on the reception counter somewhat patiently impatient because I had practice with this.
A lot of it.
A man walked behind the desk, stopped dead, stared at my hair, then my tits, then jerked when he felt the scorch of my husband’s eyes, and turned on his fancy, trendy brown shoe and walked away like he needed to go check if his hair was on fire.
All right, then.
“You’re all set, Mr. Nightingale,” the woman said, eyeing me enviously and handing Lee a little envelope with key cards. “The Chancellor’s Suite is waiting for you.”
The Chancellor’s Suite.
Okay.
Well, apparently Lee really had not forgotten Valentine’s Day.
Lee looked down at me. “I cancelled Barolo Grill.”
Obviously, he knew my plans.
Equally obviously, Shirleen (and probably others) were in on this.
I said nothing and didn’t even get a little mad, because…
Chancellor’s Suite!
Lee then walked us to the elevator.
But he didn’t speak again until we were in it.
“You know, I’m gonna expect you to do that thing with your mouth.”
We were going to the Chancellor’s Suite.
My husband had not forgotten Valentine’s Day.
I was oh so totally doing that thing with my mouth.
“And that dress is on the floor,” he continued, “but you’re wearing those shoes until I make you pass out.”
Another nether region quiver.
A good one.
I turned my head and smiled up at him.
His eyes dropped to my smile, his face grew dark, and his hand tightened around mine.
The elevator doors opened, and he walked me out.
To our room.
Into our room.
And I saw there was a fireplace, a living room, a full kitchen and a dining room table that seated twelve.
Nice.
Options.
Lee did not bother with the fireplace, the kitchen or anything else.
He put out the do not disturb sign, closed the door, threw the security latch, and took hold of me again to walk me to the bedroom.
He stopped us at the foot of the bed, but I was in a trance.
I was this way because each nightstand had a crystal globe filled with fresh, tightly-bunched red roses. One nightstand had a plate of petite fours, a small plate of truffles, two sparkling champagne flutes, and standing on the floor in front of it was a bucket that held two bottles of Dom. The other nightstand had a charcuterie board and a crystal bowl of cashews.
The bed was covered in red rose petals.
And there was a long, thin burgundy velvet box on the end of the bed.
With no ado whatsoever, Lee swiped up the velvet box.
“Because you’re a great mom,” he started.
Oh shit.
Shitshitshit.
I was totally going to cry.
He flipped open the box.
“Because you’re beautiful.”
He pulled a twinkling diamond bracelet out of the box.
“Because you’re dynamite in bed.”
Lee grabbed my wrist.
I started hyperventilating.
He clasped the bracelet on.
It was amazing.
He looked in my eyes.
“And because I love you.” He slid an arm around me and bent his face to mine. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Indy.”
“You suck,” I whispered.
And got The Smile.
“And you’re a pain in my ass,” he replied.
I wish I could deny that
But I couldn’t.
I put my evening bag between us, unsnapped it, and pulled out the item I’d taken out of the box (since the box didn’t fit in my purse) and wrapped in an eyeglass cleaner.
I unfurled it and showed it to him.
It was a Piaget watch, limited edition, rose gold, wood and leather marquetry dial, brown alligator strap, and it cost so many of Tex’s coffees, I couldn’t think about it or I’d faint.
I felt bad about the gators, but that watch was awesome.
Lee was not a watch guy.
Lee was a blowjob guy.
But he was staring at that watch like I’d shown him I’d discovered dilithium crystals.
“It’s engraved,” I shared and flipped it around.
I knew Lee read the Since I Was Five after he growled, took the watch from me, tossed it on the bed, then tossed me on the bed.
And wasted no time joining me there.
I sang the “Hallelujah” chorus six times that night.
I also gave my husband spike-heel marks in his shoulders, his ass and the backs of his thighs.
We drank all the champagne.
We decimated the charcuterie, cashews, petite fours and truffles.
We tried out the fireplace.
And we totally broke in the dining room table.
I did that thing with my mouth (twice).
And it was a Rock Chick Valentine.
* * *
The End
Books by Kristen Ashley
See all Titles on
Kristen’s Website
* * *
Rock Chick Series:
Rock Chick
Rock Chick Rescue
Rock Chick Redemption
Rock Chick Renegade
Rock Chick Revenge
Rock Chick Reckoning
Rock Chick Regret Rock
Chick Revolution
Rock Chick Reawakening
Rock Chick Reborn
* * *
The ‘Burg Series:
For You
At Peace
Golden Trail
Games of the Heart
The Promise
Hold On
* * *
The Chaos Series:
Own the Wind
Fire Inside
Ride Steady
Walk Through Fire
A Christmas to Remember
* * *
The Colorado Mountain Series:
The Gamble Sweet
Dreams Lady
Luck
Breathe
Jagged
Kaleidoscope
Bounty
* * *
Dream Man Series:
Mystery Man
Wild Man
Law Man
Motorcycle Man
* * *
The Fantasyland Series:
Wildest Dreams
The Golden Dynasty
Fantastical
Broken Dove
Midnight Soul
* * *
The Honey Series:
The Deep End
The Farthest Edge
The Greatest Risk
* * *
The Magdalene Series:
The Will
Soaring
The Time in Between
* * *
Moonlight and Motor Oil Series:
The Hookup
The Slow Burn (Releasing April 30, 2019)
* * *
The Three Series:
Until the Sun Falls from the Sky
With Everything I Am
Wild and Free
* * *
The Unfinished Hero Series:
Knight
Creed
Raid
Deacon
Sebring
* * *
Ghosts and Reincarnation Series:
Sommersgate House
