Ready for Love

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Ready for Love

  Carolyn Faulkner

  Blushing Books

  ©2018 by Blushing Books® and Carolyn Faulkner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  Carolyn Faulkner

  Ready for Love

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-543-7

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61258-587-1

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Contents

  What’s Inside

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Carolyn Faulkner

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  Blushing Books

  What’s Inside

  Was that a growl I heard?

  Despite his warning, I found that I couldn't contain my curiosity, although I did so long enough to sit up, with a knee on either side of him, to get rid of his hoodie and tug his t-shirt over his head, and for a moment there, when I'd deliberately made him naked from the waist up, I found myself totally mesmerized by the sight of him bare like that.

  He was gorgeous—lightly tanned, nicely defined muscles but not grossly so, with a dusting of chest hair that was just perfect.

  My mouth literally watered as I stared down at him, and I could tell that he was amused by the way I was checking him out, but I couldn't help myself.

  And he didn't reveal his own insecurities—or ego—by asking me if I liked what I saw, either. Instead, he seemed to enjoy watching me watch him.

  Impulse control was never really my thing—delayed gratification, either, for that matter—so when I did finally move, it was to shimmy down him just a bit and bend my head to one of those tiny nipples, flicking it with my tongue and biting gently while I used my other hand to pluck at the other one.

  A huge sense of satisfaction washed through me at his gasped, "Jesus—holy mother—" and the way his hands came up immediately to hold my head to him, to keep me there.

  I nibbled and licked and kissed my way back and forth between his nipples, concentrating all of my attention on him and them, listening attentively for non-verbal clues as to what he liked best, so I missed it when one hand moved away from my head and made its way to the loose waistband of my sweats and panties all at once.

  Before I could even begin to think about stopping him, his big hand was cupping me there, and I thought I was going to faint as his middle finger delved between my folds, moving up to find my clit after being drenched in my juices.

  It was almost too much—I couldn't cope with the strong sensations that were rushing through me, making me feel a little light headed, so I began to move down him, which had the added effect of removing his hand. He might have wanted to keep it there, but my cheek was now right on his hip, staring at the bulge in his pants, my hand trying to cup it and not succeeding very well.

  That same hand worked the button loose, then reached for the zipper pull and tugged it down very slowly.

  I wasn't expecting to set him loose quite yet, necessarily, but I did—the man had gone commando.

  But I couldn't even call him on it, because I was beholding the magnificence that was his truly gorgeous cock.

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  Chapter 1

  When the text came in, it surprised me. I actually checked the name when I read it.

  Come rescue me!

  If Decker Hale needed to call me to help him, then the end was, indeed, nigh! I couldn't think of any person who was less likely to need help. If he couldn't handle a situation then I wasn't going to be any help at all—except perhaps to stand a bit away from it and laugh hysterically, probably, depending on from what it was that he needed rescuing.

  What's going on? You okay? I texted back from the glorious sanctity of my tub. It wasn't sunken, and it didn't have those lovely jets that soothed away your cares, but it was hot, full of bubbles, and there was a box of decadently expensive chocolates along with a moderately priced glass of wine within easy reach, and I was all set to watch some Orphan Black and relax after a hellish week at work.

  I'm at Simon and Kelly's party, because I said I'd go, and now I'm surrounded by a bunch of kids that can't be more than twelve, if that. I think I could be the father—maybe the grandfather—of everyone else here!

  I immediately texted back, I think you'd have to have been pretty sexually precocious to have been anyone's grandfather, although you are old!

  Hey, I came to you for sympathy and support, not insults!

  *snort* Then you obviously texted the wrong person—have we been introduced?

  Very funny. I'm being coerced into playing some kind of drinking game I have never heard of. Save me.

  Frowning, I typed back, What game is that? Deck was at least as anti-social as I am, so I wasn't surprised to hear that he wasn't familiar with whatever game it was that they were going to play.

  Something called I Have Never Ever?

  I actually gasped out loud at his answer. Oh, dear God, what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall during that game!

  LOLOLOL Really. Never Have I Ever. Well, that'll be an interesting game for you to play! You should have fun with it!

  You know it?

  I know OF it.

&n
bsp; Spill, woman.

  That wasn't going to work with me. Or, rather, I wasn't going to let it work. And it didn't help at all that I could hear him demanding that in his low, husky growl.

  But I was immune to the effects of his very definitely masculine—and very distinctly dominant—charms.

  At least I liked to pretend that I was.

  So all I sent back to him was "..."

  Then I let him stew for a while.

  It wasn't long before I heard that trill again.

  You are so damned lucky that you're not mine, you know.

  For which I shall count myself as ever grateful, believe me.

  I still need recuing. Come to the party. You can be the den mother.

  What does that make you?

  An ornery old fart.

  He was the very opposite of how he had characterized himself.

  Are you sure you don't mean a horny old fart?

  Nah. Too young. Nothing in common. They don't remember M*A*S*H* or the Doobie Brothers or much past what happened three hours ago, I don't think. Just get here before I become suicidal at the stark realization of just how out of touch I am.

  Oh, I could have told you that.

  Grrrrrr. Are you coming or what?

  Can't.

  Why not?

  Cuz I'm relaxing in the tub with chocolate, wine and television, and any one of those of those things is a zillion times better pursuit than hanging around a bunch of people who are not as old as my oldest wrinkle!

  This time he was the one who sent the "…"

  Then, You're in the tub?

  Yes.

  Right now?

  Yes.

  Naked?

  That is usually how one bathes.

  Then he texted something I never expected to see from him.

  Do you need someone to scrub your back?

  After I got over the shock and adjusted myself in the tub so that I was no longer throbbing at the thought of him doing what he'd suggested, I shot back, No, thank you. I have a bath brush.

  Quick as a flash he answered, There are other purposes for that instrument.

  No, there are not, I replied flatly.

  Apparently, he wasn't going to pursue that any further, thank God, because his next text was back to begging—which I had to admit that I really enjoyed.

  Please come. I'll owe you one.

  Owe me one what?

  Whatever your little heart desires.

  I had a pretty good idea what he was hoping I might respond with, but instead, I looked around the room then questioned, So you'd be fine with remodeling my bathroom?

  I've never heard it called that before. Is that a euphemism?

  No, it's a construction job. You're in construction, are you not?

  I haven't actually constructed anything in a while—I'm the boss. But if that's what will get you down here.

  No, that's not what I would want. I just wanted to know if you were desperate enough to agree to do that. I sighed heavily, realizing that I was probably not going to see the rest of Orphan Black any time soon. But my consolation prize was that I was going to be able to be there to watch and listen to him playing that deliciously revealing game. All right. I'll be there. But don't expect scintillating conversation.

  I never expect scintillating conversation from you.

  And, with that little comment, I'm getting back into the tub.

  NO! NO! NO! I'm sorry. You know how I am. Please. I can never resist teasing you. I'll wait by the door. Don't take too long or I'm going to be peer pressured into smoking weed, which I haven't done since I was in my early twenties. My ancient system couldn't take it! I'm skeered!

  My muscles are all noodly and relaxed from the water. Give me twenty minutes or so.

  This was the weirdest exchange I'd ever had with him. As much as he joked, there was an underlying sexual tone to it that had never been there before, and it gave me pause. Then I shook my head to clear it of that absurd notion.

  Luckily for him, I never take long to get ready. I swear, even if I was going to the Academy Awards, I could get ready in under fifteen minutes. Everything was already shaved; I was fresh from the bath. It was summer, so I didn't need hose. All I had to do was to put on a very light layer of makeup—which was all I ever wore, regardless, and more often than not, I went without.

  After slipping into a pretty, flirty little polka dotted dress, brushing my hair back into a bun, and adding strappy sandals that matched the country blue of some of the dots, I grabbed my keys and my purse and headed out the door.

  I knew Simon and Kelly, but not well enough to get an invitation, although I knew where they lived. Kenduskeag Lake was a small enough New England community that everyone knew where everyone else lived, which could be good and bad.

  I arrived on their doorstep within less than a half an hour, for which I was inordinately proud of myself, and rang the bell.

  I expected one of the hosts to open the door, but it was himself, instead, who reached out a big paw and dragged me into the house, saying, "'Bout time you got here—they're just sitting down at the dining room table to play."

  "Play?"

  Deck looked at me as if I was being deliberately obtuse. "I Have Never Ever or whatever the fool thing is."

  "Never Have I Ever—you have some sort of mental block against the name of that game," I quipped, surprised when he let go of my wrist and instead slid his fingers between mine so that he could hold my hand rather than possess it as he dragged me Lord knew where.

  Our hosts hadn't answered the door because the room where the table was small enough that, having found their seats early, they were blocked in.

  When I entered behind Deck, who was gentlemanly and held out a seat that was next to where he ended up, I realized that I knew almost everyone there, which allayed some of my fears and amped up others.

  "Does everyone have access to their liquor of choice, as well as a shot glass?" Kelly asked.

  There was a half-gallon jug of tequila between Deck and me, and a generic—if entirely too large—shot glass in front of me.

  "Does everyone understand how to play the game?" Simon asked. Almost everyone—of the nine or so of us around the table—said yes.

  Deck wasn't shy. "Please explain the rules for those of us who are old and feeble and were young before this game was invented."

  Kelly laughed, saying, "We go around the table, and the person whose turn it is says 'Never have I ever' whatever it is that they haven't done. Then, if you have done whatever it is that they said they haven't, you take a drink. You get to know a lot about the people around you really quickly."

  Of course, being me, I had to nail down the particulars. "Are the statements supposed to only be about sex?"

  Everyone seemed surprised I was even asking about that. There was a chorus of, "Yes!" and, "Definitely."

  Deck was gentlemanly enough to pour for the both of us, giving me a full shot and himself a smaller one.

  I immediately reached out and poured half of the shot he'd given me into his glass.

  This made him grin. "Chickening out so soon?"

  "If I have any hopes of being able to make it home tonight, then they're going to be half shots."

  People were still mostly sober, and the first round was pretty tame. When it came to me, though, I scrunched my forehead and bit my lip as if I was having to think extra hard to come up with something I hadn't done sexually, which made everyone laugh.

  "Well," I said by way of explanation. "I'm older than you guys. I've done a lot more, uh, living."

  By far, Deck was the one who was staring at me that hardest, which I found the hardest to ignore. Those dark, largely shuttered eyes of his were boring holes through me.

  "Okay, got one. Never have I ever had sex on a beach."

  That got quite a few people drinking.

  Except for Deck.

  Instead, he leaned over and murmured, not quite under his breath, "I have to say I'm surprised to hear t
hat, considering you grew up around the ocean."

  I snorted derisively. "Yeah, which means I'm smart enough to know that beach sand gets into everything, and there are places on a woman's body that it does not belong. I've had friends who did that and weren't careful—and they regretted it severely. They said it was like having a cheese grater between their legs until they could get to a shower." I shuddered—and not delicately. "No, thank you."

  That got even him laughing, and he was a notoriously tough audience.

  Someone stated that they had never had sex with a person of the same gender. I drank, and Deck didn't.

  I was not surprised to see that he hadn't. I couldn't see him on the giving or receiving end of that equation.

  "Really?" he asked me quietly.

  "Would I lie during a drinking game?" I asked, batting my eyelashes at him and wishing I'd had something for dinner besides chocolates, which did nothing to absorb the alcohol I was consuming.

  "I don't think I've ever heard that story."

  "I'm damned sure you haven't," I replied, my posture not inviting any further questions about the matter.

  I think after five or six rounds I'd only missed like, two shots. Someone had said they'd had sex in public. I noted with interest that he drank on that one, and I didn't. Then the subject of STDs came up, and neither of us drank—and I was surprised by how many of the younger people who did.

  Suddenly, it was my turn again, and I said, "Never in a car."

  Deck actually leaned away from me in his chair and gave me the once over. "Never?"

  "Oh, hell no! I am a creature of comfort all the way! Give me a nice hotel room with a king-sized bed, room service and an in-room Jacuzzi, please." I snorted. "In a car? No, thank you."