I run my hand over her belly for the millionth time, but a little bump of motion surprises me this time. “I just felt him kick,” I say.
“Me too!” says Aubrey. “Wait, him?”
I chuckle. “Him or her.” I lean close to her belly and lower my voice to a whisper. “Him.”
Aubrey laughs, slapping at me playfully. “Don’t put your gender expectations on our baby! Can you imagine how much pressure that would put on the little thing?”
“Fine. You can be whatever gender you want,” I say to her belly. “But if you decide to be a boy, I’ll get you some ice cream.”
“In a couple years,” adds Aubrey, who is now talking to her own belly too.
Someone clears their throat behind us. We both look up to see the old German farmer who was going to take us for a horse carriage ride waiting. Aubrey and I saw horse carriages being pulled through the streets in Italy, and she looked like she wanted to try it, so I set this little experience up. I thought it’d be more fun to ride through the countryside than the smelly streets of the city. Besides, it’ll be easier to do what I’m planning to do to her out here where no one can see.
“Are we ready?” asks the German farmer in a thick accent.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Aubrey flashes me a quick smile before taking my hand and letting me help her into the beautiful carriage. It’s polished wood so dark it could be black, but the sunlight brings out the faintest lines of deep browns and patterning in the material. The farmer takes his spot at the front of the carriage, where he has two horses reigned and connected to the cart. We climb into the closed carriage, which has two doors that open outward and lead us into the cozy little space. There are two red velvet benches facing each other and windows on either side with curtains for privacy.
“Oh my God,” says Aubrey, “This is beautiful. I bet this was exactly the kind of thing royalty used to travel in,” she says.
“You don’t have to whisper,” I say.
“Shut up,” she says, trying to swing at me, but I catch her wrist and pull her in for a kiss as the carriage starts to move.
It’s a bumpy ride, but I can’t find a reason to complain as I hold Aubrey on top of me and she straddles my thigh, each bump in the road pressing her into me. I pull her dress up and pull my pants down so that her panties are against my bare leg, and it’s not long before the combination of kisses, touches, and the bumping of the carriage have her absolutely soaking for me.
“This is where you wanted to fuck me?” she asks huskily, pulling back from the kiss and meeting my eyes.
Goddamn. She’s getting better at talking dirty. Even if she wasn’t, even her innocent but failed attempts at seduction are sexy in their own way too.
“No,” I say. “This is where I’m going to fuck you. Get on your knees, sweetheart,” I say, motioning for her to turn so that her face is toward the wall.
She obeys, and I climb on the seat behind her, ripping off her panties in one powerful motion. She gasps slightly as they snap free and I toss them to the floor. I run my fingers across her slit, relishing in the wetness and warmth, loving how turned on my wife is for me.
“Touch yourself,” I say.
She knows exactly what I want, and I lean back, watching the amazing view of her perfectly round ass and her fingers as they frantically circle her clit and plunge into her heat. She rocks slightly against her own touch, and her other hand reaches back, searching for my cock. I give her what she wants, and she scoots back slightly so she can work the full length of me as she fingers herself.
I throw my head back, groaning. The carriage still bumps and jostles beneath us, but it’s a pleasant accompaniment rather than a bother, and I always enjoy taking my wife somewhere new.
“Fuck,” I growl. “I need to be inside you.”
My words draw a fresh moan from her, and she plants her hands down on the seat, looking back at me with desperate eyes. I grip the base of my cock and take in her glistening folds. I press myself inside her in a single thrust, burying myself to the root. She gasps, slapping a hand against the window to brace herself as I relentlessly fuck her, gripping her hips and pulling her ass into me as I pump myself into her again and again.
I don’t take my time building to a pace. I dive in, rutting into her with wild lust and urgency, gripping her tightly and fucking her like it could be my last time. Aubrey cums for me almost immediately. Her head falls between her shoulders and I feel her pussy clench around me, so fucking tight I could explode, but I don’t. Aubrey cums at least half a dozen times every time we fuck, and I don’t like to let myself cum until I’ve hit that number.
I bend down, gripping her heavy tits that are starting to grow even larger.
“Ride me,” I demand, sitting back against the bench and letting her get up.
She eagerly obeys, climbing on top of me and crossing her arms behind my neck. She sits on my hard cock, shamelessly grinding herself against me, as if she can’t fucking wait for more, and I love every second of it. I guide myself into her and let her rock her hips against me. I pull her face down toward me, kissing her and using my hands to pull her into me, driving myself deeper.
She breaks the kiss as another orgasm tears through her, throwing her head back and squeezing her own tits as she squeezes her eyes shut against the intensity, mouth open in a silent exclamation of pleasure.
Her pussy milks me, and it’s all I can do not to give her the cum she craves. It’s almost enough to put me over the edge to know that she always climaxes the moment I cum inside her, as if she craves it so desperately she can barely contain herself.
I can’t wait any longer though, and as she increases her pace, pumping her hips against me so quickly that her body glistens in sweat, I cum. I cum like a fucking explosion, filling her deeply with my seed, and as always, she responds, crying out as her pussy chokes my cock.
She slips off me when the aftershocks have faded, resting her head against my shoulder, dress still hiked up so I can see the bare curve of her hip.
“You had better pull that dress down, sweetheart,” I say. “Unless you’re ready to go another round.”
She sits up, cupping her tit and showing me her hard nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. “Maybe I am, Mr. King,” she says throatily.
I bite my lip, fuck. As much as I want to, we’re probably nearly to the cabin by now, and I don’t think we have time. “You fucking minx,” I laugh. “I don’t think we have time, but I’ll take you again tonight until you beg me to stop.”
“I guess you’ll never stop then,” she says, grinning.
I hold her silently, happy in the moment and not needing to say any more. We watch the green hills and peaceful farm houses roll by at a leisurely pace outside the window for another few minutes before the carriage comes to a stop.
The farmer knocks twice at our door. I push them open, leading Aubrey down the steps. I realize only after we’ve stepped out of the carriage that I left the panties I ripped off her on the ground. The farmer follows my eyes and clears his throat. I reach back in and grab them, stuffing them in my pocket with a quick smile.
“Strange,” I say. “Wonder how those got there.”
Aubrey is squinting toward the little cabin on the edge of a lake that’s surrounded by trees. There are two small shapes standing in front and looking toward us.
I look to Aubrey, who looks at me with a questioning but hopeful face. “Is that…” she starts. “Oh my God!” she says, clapping hands to her face. “They’re here?”
She hurries off, half-running the couple dozen yards that separate us from Sophie and Roxanne, who wait outside the cabin I rented for us.
And that’s where we spend the last week of our honeymoon. Our new family, all together. It couldn’t be more perfect. We walk through the woods in the morning when the air still has a chilly bite and the fog hasn’t risen, talking about nothing and everything, enjoying eachother’s company. We spend our afternoons snacking by th
e lake, swimming and lounging in the sun. And our nights are spent by the fire, telling stories to Aubrey and listening to hers as we eat simple, hearty meals.
And our late nights, well, Aubrey and I don’t get much sleep, but neither of us are complaining.
It’s perfect. The only word for what we’ve built together is perfection. I’ve learned that I never knew what it was to love someone other than family, but I feel it now, so strongly it surprises me sometimes. I love Aubrey with a depth that no ocean could match. There’s nothing I won’t do for her or my family. And after we get a call from our doctor on the day we’re set to head home, I can also say there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for our son when he’s born, either.
41
Bonus Content - Miss Matchmaker
Miss Matchmaker is such a special book for me. I decided not to put the blurb here because I think sometimes in the indie romance industry, the only thing many readers think about is the cover, title, and the blurb. But since I’m giving this one to you for free, I thought it’d be okay to just tell you why *I* hope you’ll read the book.
Miss Matchmaker is my favorite of all the books I’ve written. It’s sweet, sexy, funny, charming, ridiculous at times, and just a ride that I know you won’t regret taking. It always makes me a little sad to think about because it was actually my best reviewed book of all time and my least read book of all time… how about that for making sense! Anyway, sorry for rambling. This isn’t a sales pitch because, well, you’re already here. I just really wish more people had read this book because it meant so much to me. I hope you’ll give it a chance! It would mean so much to me just to think that a few more readers are experiencing this book.
Prologue
His fingers are rough against the tender skin of my neck--calloused from a life of hard work. The faint lines at the corners of his deep blue eyes speak of countless days squinting into the sun, of laughter, and of experience. Lucas Tate. The absolute last man on Earth I should be touching or even thinking about romantically.
“I can’t do this with you,” I say, trying to pull back, but there’s something magnetic drawing me to him, despite the alarm bells going off in my mind. Do not get involved. Do not get involved, Mila. No matter what you do…
“You don’t have to do a thing, darlin’,” Lucas says with an irresistible smile. “Just put those pretty lil’ hands over your head and let me take care of the rest.”
Air rushes from between my parted lips, as if pulled out by the sheer magnetism of him, as if my body is trying to give itself over to him no matter what my brain is telling me. Just tell him the truth. Tell him why you can’t. “I can’t…” I whisper, but the rest won’t come out. The truth stays lodged in my throat, as thick and heavy as molasses.
He’s not shaken by my refusal. He only brushes my chin with his thumb, tilting me up to look into those eyes that are so blue they send a chill down my back despite the heat. “Tell you what,” he says, voice so low and smooth it rumbles through my chest. “Give me one good reason why you can’t, and I’ll walk away. One reason. That’s all, darlin’.”
I meet his gaze, trying to summon up any of the thousand reasons this is a terrible idea, but every last one of them refuses to come up, leaving me speechless and helpless, knowing with a sinking inevitability that I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
42
Mila
A Few Days Earlier
I take one last look out at the view from my office window. I have a perfectly depressing view of the mold-crusted apartment complex next door. It’s not all bad though. If I squish my cheek against the glass I can almost see a sliver of blue sky. Almost. It’s more like a reflection off a window, but hey, if you can’t find positivity, make your own. At least that’s what mom always said.
“Are you ready for this?” Amy, my business partner, asks. She’s sitting across from my desk on a cardboard box that was supposed to serve as a temporary chair. Through some combination of being broke and laziness, it ended up becoming the permanent second chair in the cramped space I call a workplace. Amy’s just a few years older than me, maybe just barely in her thirties, but she has the somewhat irritating habit of getting prettier every year.
“Ready? No,” I say with a little laugh. “What if she takes one look at me and changes her mind?”
Amy hops off her box and moves to where I’m standing by the window. She gently puts her hand on my shoulder and leans in until I’m forced to look at her.
“Mila, listen to me. You’re going to be fine. Fan-fucking-tastic. Okay? I’ve never found a woman you couldn’t match with the man of her dreams. Never once. This isn’t going to be any different.”
“Except this time the client is paying us a small fortune,” I say. “And I’ve never let a client pick the guy I’m supposed to match them with. I’m really starting to wonder how I let you talk me into this.”
“You’re the one always telling clients the nerves they feel are in their head. Right?”
“You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath. I can do this. It’s just like any other client. Except this time, the client is offering us enough money to change our lives overnight.
“I’m usually right,” Amy states matter-of-factly. “You should probably just get used to it.”
It’s only then I notice the small suitcase sitting beside the box Amy was using as a chair. “What’s that?” I ask.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go out there by yourself, did you? C’mon. You need me! Besides, I can do my job from this,” she says, holding her phone up and winking at me. “I won’t miss a beat. Promise.”
I narrow my eyes. “Since when do you volunteer for extra work?”
Amy makes a show of being offended. “I’m your best employee. You take that back.”
“You’re my only employee.”
She shrugs. “Still.”
“Don’t you think two strangers showing up out of the blue might draw some attention?”
“No,” she says, “because I already cooked up a cover story for us. We’re reporters!”
I wait for the punchline, but it doesn’t come. “A cover story? Since when have we used cover stories?”
“Since when have we gone on the road for a match? Hm? Exactly. See? This is just a perfect example of why you need to have me come along.”
I sigh. “It might actually be useful if people thought we were reporters. It would explain a lot of behavior that’d normally seem weird.”
Amy waits for my final judgment with raised eyebrows and a hopeful grin.
“Fine. You can come.”
“Yesss!” she shrieks, throwing her arms around me and squeezing like she’s trying to pop me.”
Wade’s Creek is more different from my world of steel and concrete than I ever could’ve imagined. A cheery little blue sign on my way into town said: “Population 497, plus you! Welcome to Wade’s Creek!”
I drive over a small, rickety wooden bridge that spans a peaceful stream about ten feet below. After climbing a relatively steep hill, I’m given a full view of the town, which is nestled on either side of the quaint little creek that winds its way down through a valley and cuts the town in two.
The main boulevard of town is like a picture out of a postcard, except it’d be a picture from a sixty or seventy-year-old postcard, because everything from the whitewashed fences, the well-dressed men and women, and the rustic but clean feel of the town screams of a time long gone.
Shops with hand-painted signs are lined up, each looking so pristine I wonder if they re-paint the entire town every year. People stroll the street without the normal rush I see from New Yorkers trying to catch the next train or hurrying to grab a taxi. Every person I pass stares after my car for so long I begin to wonder if something is wrong, but then it occurs to me that there are so few people living here, they probably recognize me as an outsider just from my car.
I pull up beside K.C.’s General Store and step out, flashing an awkward smi
le to an elderly couple that waves to me as they pass by. I’ve got a room booked at a bed and breakfast nearby, but my rumbling stomach and a hefty dose of curiosity prompt me to check out the store.
I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, letting it all sink in. My big chance. If I land this match for my client, she’s going to pay us enough money to set us up for years. I could expand the business with new employees, a real office, new technology, maybe even a second chair for my office that isn’t made out of cardboard.
I open my eyes because my little mental pep talk only succeeded in making me feel nauseous.
Thankfully the scenery here is beautiful enough to take my mind off everything. The mountains are so far in the distance they’re as blue as waves. The air has a crisp, cleanness that makes me want to suck in as much as I can hold and never let it go. It even sounds peaceful here, like a blanket of quiet hangs over everything, muting even the occasional car engine to little more than a soft hum.
I never thought of myself as a small town kind of woman, but Wade’s Creek is already making a pretty good case for a more laid-back lifestyle. Then again, I’m sure actually living here instead of visiting couldn't possibly be as ideal as everyone is making it look right now.
It takes me a second to realize a shadow has fallen over me. I turn and nearly fall back when I see the mountain of a man standing in front of me. Broad shoulders, lean legs, and a plaid button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal the most to-die-for forearms I’ve ever seen. My eyes climb and climb for what seems like ages before I find the stranger’s face--which somehow puts the rest of his body to shame, if that’s even possible. He has a jawline that makes me want to swoon, thick dark hair, and blue eyes with just a hint of laughter in them.
Knocked Up by the Master: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance Page 33
