Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4)

by R. C. Martin

  Also by R.C. Martin

  Made for Love Series

  The Promises We Keep

  Reckless Surrender

  The O’Conners

  So Much More

  The Holloways

  Mountains & Men Series

  Encore Worthy

  Worthy of the Harmony

  Worthy of the Dissonance (Coming Fall 2016)

  Copyright © 2016 R.C. Martin. All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs ©2016

  www.pinkinkdesigns.com

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also by R.C. Martin

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  The St. Michaels: A Made for Love Short

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To Hayley—because if I was going to dedicate my monster baby to anyone other than me, it could only be you. Thank you for loving Judah as much as you do, and for supporting me every step of his journey.

  Assholes aren’t born, they’re made. When I met him, he had already been tarnished. Broken. His heart had already been marred by the darkness that ravages the world like an unstoppable beast. I didn’t know it then—didn’t recognize the depths of his pain. I couldn’t begin to understand the ways in which he was using me. I wasn’t prepared for the ways in which he would destroy me.

  Justin had my heart. He had my love. Then the asshole took what he wanted and left me, kicking the dust off of his feet as if the particles were my remains–the leftovers in which he no longer had any interest. I couldn’t see it then, but I see it now. He had been torn apart and remade in the image of an asshole. I was his victim.

  Where does the blame reside?

  He was a victim once too, wasn’t he? Then again, to say that I feel remorse for him would be a lie. I loath him with every fiber of my being. The truth is, every victim has a choice. To rise or to fall. He chose wrong. He might not ever understand. He might not ever see—the blinders of his carnal nature, the fortress around his battered heart preventing him from embracing the purity of love. Life. Happiness.

  He may have broken me, but unlike the villain that made him, he did not make me.

  I have been reborn.

  She hums around my cock, her head bobbing back and forth across its length. Her right hand squeezes at my base, pumping in tandem with her swollen lips. Her left hand is in between her legs, her fingers busy massaging her clit. She doesn’t look up at me as she sucks, licks, and gags—swallowing the head of my dick. Naked and on her knees, her eyes closed and her mouth full, it’s the way I like her best. I don’t need to remember the color of her irises. I don’t need to see the depths of the hunger in her gaze. I don’t wish for the intimacy of a single glance.

  I don’t want it.

  This she knows. This she understands.

  This is why she is here.

  On her knees.

  Worshipping my cock.

  She sucks me harder, moaning as she reaches for my balls, and I know she’s worked herself to the brink of an orgasm. I grunt, tangling my fingers in her hair and yanking her head back. Her eyes shoot open as she gasps. Now, her gaze locks with mine.

  “You come when I tell you to come.”

  Her shocked expression melts into a mischievous one, the corner of her lips curling up into a sly smile as she lifts her hands in surrender. “Yes, sir,” she quips.

  “In the bed. On your stomach,” I command, jerking my head toward my mattress.

  Without another word, she stands to her feet, sauntering the short distance to the bed. She crawls over the duvet, folded down at the foot of the bed, and lays across my sheets. Propping herself up on her elbows, she spreads her legs for me and looks back over her shoulder. Her straight blonde hair is cut just below her chin, her bangs falling into her eyes. I watch as she pulls her plump lip between her teeth, waiting for me.

  I tear open the condom and slide it over myself before crawling into the bed after her. My hands skim the back of her strong, toned legs before squeezing her ass. I spread her cheeks and she sighs.

  “Jude—god, I love your hands.”

  “Good, because I’m quite fond of this ass.” I lean down, bringing my lips to her ear before I murmur, “I’m waiting for you to give me permission to fuck it.”

  She chuckles, the sound low and sultry, making my dick ache.

  “My ass doesn’t do casual, Jude. Boyfriend privileges, remember?”

  I grin before sinking my teeth into her shoulder with a groan. She whimpers, reaching back to grip a fistful of my hair, lifting her hips when I suck on her skin. I grasp the flesh of her backside with determination, running my dick along her slick center.

  “One day,” I mutter, kissing my way around the teeth marks left on her shoulder.

  “One day, what? You’ll be my boyfriend?” she asks, properly amused.

  “No, Diana. One day this cock will know your ass,” I clarify, sinking into her core.

  “Oh, fuck,” she breathes. She lets go of my hair, her fists curling around my sheets. “You feel—” Her words get lost in a moan, her argument and her praise lost to the sounds of her pleasure as I slide out of her and ease my way back in.

  “Fuck, yes. So goddamn wet.” I slide my hands up around her perfect hips, pushing her pelvis into the mattress as I glide in and out of her slowly. I know my pace will drive her wild. Soon, she’ll be begging for more.

  I want to hear her plead for me—plead for her release.

  I want her to acknowledge who is in control.

  Her orgasm belongs to me.

  I feel it when she tries to lift he
r hips, her body speaking on her behalf. My lips curl impishly as I slow my rhythm even further. I look down, my eyes admiring our connection as I bury myself deep, pulling out until just the tip of my head parts her pussy lips before I ease back in.

  “Jude—please, don’t torture me,” she whines, the confident seductress from a few moments ago long gone. “Let me come—god—let me come!”

  Victory is mine. Always.

  I pick up the pace, slowly at first. Soon, the room is filled with the sound of my skin pounding against hers. She gasps, whimpers, and moans—calling my name as I fuck her warm, wet cunt.

  “I’m going to come,” she warns me.

  “Wait,” I grind out, clenching my jaw as I slide a hand up her back, along her neck, and into her hair. I tangle my fingers in the silky blonde strands, pulling her head back, making her back bow.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck—Jude, I can’t. Shit—” She sucks in a breath, holding it as she attempts to do as I say. Her obedience makes me even harder. As my balls begin to tighten, I slide my hand out of her hair, around her neck, and under her chin.

  Tilting her head back just a little more, I bring my mouth to hers before I whisper—“Now.”

  I can feel it when she lets herself go, her pussy tightening around me. She cries out, the sound captured in my mouth as I close mine around hers. Reaching up, she cups the back of my neck, keeping me close as I pump into her faster—harder, chasing my release on the heels of hers.

  I let her go when I feel myself swell before spilling my release. She collapses on the bed, her cheek pressed against my pillow as I ride out my climax with a grunt.

  “Damn, that was good,” she whispers, still short of breath when I pull out of her. I flop onto my back at her side.

  “You aren’t surprised,” I say in reply, reaching down to remove the condom.

  She laughs, turning her face to look at me. “No. You’re not one to disappoint, St. Michaels.”

  “I’m a man of my word, and I always hold up my end of the deal.” I sit up, tie the condom closed, and reach over to smack her ass before stepping out of bed. “I have an early tee-time in the morning,” I inform her on my way to the bathroom.

  I hear her exasperated sigh just before I start the shower, but she says nothing in reply.

  Diana is not one to complain, which is why I feel inclined to keep her number. However, she’s a cuddler. On the couple occasions that she has spent the night, it doesn’t matter how much space I put between the two of us before sleep, in the morning, she’s latched onto me like some sort of tick.

  An attractive tick, of course—but a tick is a fucking tick.

  Her company is best kept on the nights when I have an excuse as to why she’ll need to leave too early for her to care to stay. I won’t lie to her. I’m not a liar. I’m simply smart enough to schedule our rendezvous strategically. I’ll be up at six in order to meet Aunt Eddalyn tomorrow morning for a seven a.m. game of golf. I’m certain Diana would prefer to sleep in on her Saturday. I’m banking on it, content to see her go.

  When I’m finished with my quick shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and head back into my room. Just as I suspected, Diana is sliding on her high-heels upon my entrance. She spots me, her gaze traveling up and down my wet body before she shivers. Her reaction to me makes my dick jerk, but I ignore it.

  She saunters over to me, as confident as she was the day I met her, the dress she wore to dinner now wrinkled from its time on the floor. Sliding a hand up my chest and around the back of my neck, she simultaneously pulls me down and pushes herself up on her tiptoes, reaching for a kiss.

  “Call me,” she purrs before making her way out of my bedroom.

  I watch her go, enjoying the view. Then, a beat later, I follow behind her, so that I might lock up for the night. I wait until I hear her car pull out of the drive before I set the alarm and head to bed.

  “Okay, boys, I think I’m going to head out,” I inform them before finishing the last of my wine.

  “What? No! You can’t go,” Geoffrey protests, scrunching his brow at me.

  I smile, amused by his attempt to intimidate me with a single glance. Unfortunately for him, he looks more adorable than aggressive—the copious amounts of alcohol in his system preventing him from looking like anything other than the blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty that he is.

  “It’s almost midnight, Geoff. It’s been a crazy week, and I just want to go home,” I tell him, reaching over to brush a lock of hair off of his forehead.

  It’s so unlike him to look anything other than stylishly disheveled. His bed-head-comb-over, which looks a hell of a lot better than it sounds, probably takes more time than I care to spend every morning taming my own long, wavy locks.

  “You can carry on without me. Just promise me you’ll call a cab?” I ask, looking across the table at Andrew. His only response is a knowing smirk.

  I watch as he taps the underside of his left ring finger against his beer glass, a habit of his. I’ve learned that he does it absentmindedly when he’s practicing patience. I’ve always wondered if the use of his wedding ring is ironic or telling. Though, his wife, Carrie, is great. I bet she’s just as anxious as he appears to be for him to be home. In my head, their relationship is this wonderful thing, with a connection that is still full of so much spark. I’ve seen the way she smiles at him sometimes.

  Although, in reality, after fifteen years of marriage, she’s probably hoping he’ll come home to help her clean up, following the evening she’s spent with their five-year-old—our impromptu outing a sacrifice we’ve all made in the name of love.

  “You can’t leave. It’s bad form,” Geoff states, pulling my focus back toward him. “I’m nursing a fucking broken heart, Teddy. Besides, you’ve been drinking. You can’t drive.”

  “I’ve had one glass,” I laugh, nudging his broad shoulder with my little one.

  “Well, that’s fucking bullshit,” he mutters before lifting his arm, signaling our waitress. “You’ll have another. We’re drinking, dammit!”

  I open my mouth to protest, but the determined expression on his face, coupled with the sad look in his eyes, steals my ability to speak. I look back over at Andrew, hoping for a little bit of help. He shrugs and says, “We’re drinking, dammit!”

  I cough out a half-hearted chuckle and then sigh in surrender. I don’t even protest when Geoffrey orders my wine, only to call the waitress back a second later to inform her that I will have two.

  Looks like we’ll all be sharing a cab home.

  “Fuck,” he mutters before draining the rest of his beer. He slams the glass down on the table and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe he left me. That piece of shit bastard. What a fucking prick. I mean, damn him. Seriously. I’m the best thing that ever happened to that fuck face.”

  “Hey, hey—calm down, babe,” I insist, reaching over to rub his back.

  I know he’s hurting and he’s justifiably upset, but the last thing that we need tonight is his temper getting out of control. His inner beast is best unleashed in the privacy of his own home—where he can break his own things and not someone else’s.

  “You’re right. You’re amazing, and this breakup is truly his loss. I’m so sorry, Geoff. I know how much you loved Reeve, but I promise you—you’ll be okay.”

  “Don’t give me that shit,” he huffs, glaring at me. “Seriously, Teddy, I don’t need the bullshit. I gave that man two years of my life, and he just traded me in for a younger model. I’m old and—”

  “You’re not old!” Andrew and I object in unison.

  “Coming from you, I’ll accept,” he says, tipping his chin across the table at his brown-haired, hazel-eyed cousin. “You’ve got me beat by three years. But you?” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Baby girl, you don’t know the meaning of old. I could be your fucking father.”

  I laugh, because he’s being wildly dramatic, and then cup my hands around his cheeks, turning his face toward mine. “Aside fro
m the fact that you’ve never attempted to make a baby—let alone at the age of fourteen and a half—being thirty-seven does not make you nearly old enough to be my father.” I press a quick kiss against his pouting lips, pulling away with a smile. “And stop acting like you don’t know I’m right. You’re my best friend. I’d never lie to you, and you know it. You’re not old. And just because Reeve didn’t appreciate you, that doesn’t mean you won’t find someone else who will. You’re a catch. If you weren’t so gay, I’d be all over your ass.”

  He rolls his eyes before returning my kiss with one of his own. “Please,” he mutters, pulling away from me. “You’ve never been all over anyone’s ass—so don’t give me that.”

  I let go of his face, reaching for my recently delivered wine. I take a long sip, hoping that my silence will encourage the conversation away from me. When Andrew chuckles, I know I’m about to get an earful.

  “He’s got a point.”

  “Andy…” I warn.

  “It’s Friday night in the dead of summer. You’ve got those great legs and those big eyes, and instead of using them on some lame chump who probably doesn’t deserve you, you’re drinking with your married boss and your gay colleague. Bestie broken heart aside—no offense, Geoff.” He pauses, raising his glass toward his cousin. Geoff nods his encouragement before Andrew continues. “We’ve known you for almost two years, and not once have you even thought about dating someone.”

  “Hey—that’s not fair,” I argue, pointing a finger at him. “I’ve been on plenty of dates.”

  “A dozen, tops. None of them repeats,” says Geoff.

  I give him the side-eye. His annoyingly accurate memory is not helping. The truth is, they are both right. I haven’t had a boyfriend in a long time. In fact, my life hasn’t been a very good reflection of my age since I was nineteen years old. My circle of friends is tiny. I don’t go out much; and when I do, it’s not with the intention to draw any sort of attention my way. Granted, on the few occasions that I am noticed, I’m smart enough to know that a date every now and then is probably good for me. I do want to be in a relationship. Some day. I can’t be completely out of practice.