“Hi. Sorry. Mind if I take this elevator, sir?”
“By all means. Just don’t tell my wife though. She would feel extremely jealous knowing I’m in here with such a gorgeous woman.” I smile and poke the close-door button. I don’t want anyone else getting in.
Rose stands next to me, and I can smell her perfume. It’s light and floral. It suits her perfectly. Everything about her makes my blood flow faster.
“Ah…” She bobs her head. “So your wife is one of those insecure types, huh? Is it because you mess around on her a lot?”
I turn and face her. “Not a lot, but I’m thinking of doing it right now.”
Rose turns and faces me, too. Her lips are plump and glossy. I’ve thought about them countless times over the months, kissing them, wrapped around my cock as she sucks it, licking various food items like whipped cream off my chest. Her lips are like a sinful indulgence.
“Mmm…so what exactly are you thinking?” She steps in closer, pressing her body against mine.
“Well…” I place my hand on her smooth soft arm. She’s a lot tanner than the last time I saw her. It makes me happy because I know how much she loves being outdoors. “I was thinking I might like to start off by kissing those lips. Then maybe I’d kiss my way down your neck and breasts, then finally make you come with my tongue.”
She blushes but then grabs my stiffening cock through my jeans. “And what about this? How would you use this on me?”
I try not to groan, but she seems so different now. Bolder. More sure of herself. The sweet little Peachtree Cinderella has become a strong woman, and it’s a fucking turn-on. Don’t get me wrong, I loved everything about her before, but seeing her like this… I want her more than ever. Also, her hand is on my cock. So that pretty much does it for me.
“What would I do? I think I’d pretty much like to fuck you with it,” I say. “Hard the first time. Maybe hard the second time, too. I can consider being gentler the third time—rose petals on the bed, naked massage, extensive body exploration…” I know she likes her fantasies, and I’m ready to fulfill every one of them.
She lifts one light brown brow. “Don’t I get a say?”
“Yes. After I’ve had you at least once.” I can’t resist. I dip my head and go in for those lips just as the elevator stops and the doors open. An older woman stands there staring at us, Rose’s hand still on my pants.
“Oh, uh…” Rose drops her hand and the two of us step out onto our floor, avoiding eye contact.
The moment we turn the corner in the hallway, I’m on her. I kiss Rose hard and slam my body into her. Months of bottled-up need comes raging out of me.
Rose kisses me back with equal heat, and all I can think of is tearing off her panties and finally consummating our marriage.
“Where’s your room?” I say, my voice husky.
“Right there.” She pulls a key card from her little purse, and we push inside the room.
Rose
Oh man. I did not expect to see Bex and feel like this. Even after all these months of telling myself that I am all I need, one look at him, standing there in his worn jeans and white button-down shirt, and I lost my mind. The way his muscular thighs and broad shoulders fill out his clothes only remind me of what’s beneath. Hard abs, perfect chest, and a long thick cock. Every time I touch myself, no matter how hard I try to think of someone else, it always ends up with Bex grabbing me from behind or slamming into me on a bed, fucking me.
I can’t help it. I want him, even though I know that’s not why I asked to see him. I need to break the news and tell him what’s going on, face-to-face.
But as his rough whiskers tickle their way down the side of my neck, his mouth sucking and licking its way to my collarbone, while his hands are kneading my breasts, I just can’t deny myself this one fantasy.
He slides the straps of my dress over my shoulders, and the entire thing falls to the floor. I reach for his shirt and start unbuttoning while I kick off my sandals. Within moments, he’s pushing me back onto the bed and sliding off my panties. The heat of his body, the searing kisses, the mere thought of him inside me have me ready and aching in an instant. I feel his hand go between us and free himself from his jeans. There’s this moment where he uses the head of this cock to play with the entrance of my pussy, and I almost come. That’s how hot he makes me.
He removes his hand and grabs my wrists, pushing them over my head. His kisses are deeper, faster, more passionate, and the ache inside my core is overwhelming. I tilt my hips and rock myself into him, trying to nudge him forward. He probably has no idea that I actually did save myself for him, but he’s about to find out.
He leans in with those partially exposed hips, and I feel exactly what I expected. A little bit of pain, overridden by a sensation so erotic and carnal that I don’t even care.
He pauses for a moment, like he’s just figured out my little surprise and briefly considers stopping to say something, but throws it out the window. Maybe it turns him on too much, because when he starts kissing me again, between the deep groans and heavy breaths, he’s fucking me hard, and I’m already coming. I can’t stop it. I can’t not think about how good he feels inside me and how long I’ve wanted him. Him, pushing on my clit, hitting that spot deep inside that I’ve read about in all those steamy romance books, making everything explode. I can’t help it when my moan turns into a muted scream of pleasure, and I know the other guests are going to hear every bit of it.
His grip on my wrists tightens as the pace of his thrusts quicken. I’m still coming, the walls of my pussy contracting around his velvety hard shaft as he slides out and pounds into me, his balls slapping that spot just below my opening.
“Fuck, Rose. I’m going to come. You’re so fucking hot.” He releases my wrist and slides his hand down to my knee, pulling it up and opening me more to him.
Just as I think I’m almost done, that long, thick cock of his hits something inside me, something deep, and I’m coming again. It’s better than anything I could’ve imagined or read about. My mind is about to leave my body and combust, because every movement he makes is intense and animalistic and racks my brain with pleasure. It’s my first time having sex and he’s making sure I won’t ever forget it.
He pushes into me one last time and releases a savage groan. I feel his shaft twitching inside me. I love it. I love him. I love us being together, lost to everything except this physical need. I tilt my hips and move just a little, savoring the feel of him jetting his cum against the mouth of my womb. It’s real and sexy and turns me on all over again.
His body begins to relax, but he’s still hard as fuck and takes my cue. I’m drenched with him, I’m raw, but I want just a little more.
He stays inside me, moving just enough to massage that spot I instinctually crave with the head of his dick. I open my legs wider to him so he can stroke it just right. And he does.
My fingertips tighten around the swell of his biceps as I come for a third time. My nipples tighten; my eyes clench shut; I can’t breathe or think straight. The waves of euphoria wash over me, inside me, and I’m igniting. I’m so crazy about this man. I can’t ever understand why I waited to do this with him.
I won’t ever get enough.
After several long moments, the orgasm starts to dissolve like sugar in a bowl of warm water, and I melt with it. Bex relaxes on top of me, and I don’t even care how heavy he is.
“I love you. You know that, don’t you?” he whispers in my ear.
I do. I do know that. “I-I…need a shower.” He rolls off, and I get up to go hide in the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I turn on the water but sit on the toilet. What am I doing? I can’t do this to him. I can’t…
“Rose, is everything all right?” Bex knocks on the door.
I quickly get in the shower. I don’t want him to see me freaking the hell out. “Yeah. Come in.”
Bex opens the door and joins me. He looks down at me like he knows somethi
ng’s up, but instead of asking me what it is, he kisses me. Slowly. Even now, after coming three times, I’m melting into him. I love the feel of his strong, warm body pressed against mine. I love my breasts pushed against the wet ripples of his abs. I love being wrapped up in his thick arms.
We kiss some more and wash up. I’m sore, but in a good way. My first time was so much better than any fantasy I’ve ever had. I can only imagine what it will be like the next time when there’s no virginity involved.
I wrap my hair and body in towels and strip off the comforter from the bed. They’re going to have to burn it or something. It’s a mess. “Maybe I should hang it out the window, like in the old days,” I mutter jokingly to myself. A proud symbol of finally shedding the v-card.
“Sorry?” Bex stands in the doorway of the bathroom, a white towel around his waist. He’s ripped—washboard stomach, swelling biceps, firm pecs. I’m guessing, like me, he’s had a lot of excess energy to work off these past months.
“Never mind.” I smile at him, doting just for a moment. He’s so beautiful. My husband. I want to keep him, I do, but I have to be fair to him now.
I sit and pat the space next to me.
Bex comes over and plants a quick kiss on my lips. “All right. Spill it.”
I blink up at him, wondering to myself how he always seems to know when something’s going on in my head.
“I, uh…” I remove the towel from my hair and drop it to the floor. “I, uh, really, really enjoyed that.”
“Me too, but that’s not what you wanted to say, is it?”
I shake my head no. “I found out that my mother didn’t write that book. It was some ghost writer.”
“Really?”
I nod.
“That explains a lot. I didn’t think that book sounded like her at all.”
“You’ve read her books?” I ask.
“Every one of them. I think I like the cowboy series the best. Very sexy, though I’m not sure I buy that scene where Derek and Julia have sex in the dirt. That sounded a little rough.”
I laugh. “Yeah, my mother did stretch reality a few times.”
“Is that what you really want to talk about?” He gives me a look.
“No.” I get up and go for my purse. I pull out an envelope and hold it out to him.
“What’s that?”
Standing in front of him, I do my best not to look away. “I’m not the same girl you met last year.”
“And?” he asks.
“And I’m not even the same girl who married you six months ago.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because that girl needed saving. She needed you,” I say.
“Are you saying you don’t need me anymore?” He takes the envelope and opens it. His scowl is immediate as he reads the first page. “Seriously, Rose?” He tosses the paper to his side on the bed. “We’re doing this again?”
“I wanted to give you a choice, Bex. I mean,” I slide the papers over and sit next to him, “you are the kind of guy who can’t help wanting to save everyone, including me. But I don’t want that or need it anymore. And I think, in all honesty, you might just stay with me because you feel this sense of obligation. You want to be my hero.”
He shakes his head. “You honestly think that what we just did”—his eyes flash to the portion of the bed behind us—“was because I feel obligated?” He chuckles bitterly.
“I think I’m insanely in love with you. And I think you married me to help me out of a bad situation. I can’t expect you to stay married to me.”
He stares straight ahead and scratches his rough stubble. “So let me get this straight. You think I don’t want to stay married to you because we didn’t marry in a big church as a real couple in one of those romance stories?”
“Well, no. I mean yes?” I huff. “I’m trying to say that I can’t hold you to this. I don’t want to. I want whatever we have to be real and not because some people were after my money. Also, I need to tell you that I’ve been accepted to Columbia. I’ll be living in New York City for the next four years. There’s your practice, and I know how much you went through to save your career.” He had to pay a fine and take some ethics training, but they basically gave him a pass because of my well-publicized situation.
Bex nods. “So you’re moving to New York. I’ve got my life. You have yours. And the marriage was based on necessity, so why continue? I think I understand.” Bex gets up, grabs the papers, and holds out his hand. “Got a pen?”
Fuck. I’m not going to lie. I don’t want this to happen, but I had to be fair and honest with him. He deserves that from me. Especially now that I know I can face this, the pain of losing him, I have to set him free of this obligation. But I can’t lie. It sucks.
“In my purse.” I jerk my head to the little black bag on the small nightstand.
“Great.” He digs it out, flattens the papers, and signs all of the spots with those plastic red arrows. “There you go.” He folds up the papers, hands them to me, and then starts getting dressed.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I’m free now, aren’t I?”
We still have to file some other paperwork and meet with our lawyers, but that was the first step. “Yes, but…don’t you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” He slides on his shoes, half buttons his shirt, and he’s out the door. Gone. Just like that.
I can’t even begin to digest what just happened. I’m confused, yet I can’t feel sorry for myself. Can I? It was my doing. I gave him an out. He took it.
But… I look at that bed. He just fucked the hell out of me, and he didn’t kiss me goodbye or anything?
Ohmygod. I drop my face into my hands and whoosh out a breath. I told myself I was ready for whatever he chose, but I’m not. I love him more than I ever did. Having sex just proved how right we are together.
What should I do? Run after him? Let him go? Cry? Scream? This can’t be how we end. I glance at the signed divorce papers. Why did I do that? Why? I should have been greedy and kept him. I think those things, but I know they’re wrong. From the beginning, I never wanted his pity. I just wanted his absolute, undying love.
And I had it and fucked it up. I can’t let him go. I get up and run for the door just as there’s a knock.
Still in my towel, I jerk open the door, and there’s Bex, disheveled, holding out a piece of paper.
“What’s that?” I take it, but don’t read it.
“It’s an IOU.”
“For?” I ask.
“A new ring.” He gets down on one knee. “Rose, I love you. I don’t actually give a shit how we were married to begin with, but it matters to you, so I will happily marry you all over again just to show you it’s by choice.” He takes my free hand. “Rose, will you please divorce me and then marry me again in a big, horribly expensive wedding so you will finally believe that I love you? Because I do. And though I won’t ever get tired of saying it, it’s time for you to believe it.” He smiles. “Plus, I’ve read your mother’s books, so I’m guessing you’ve been dreaming of a fairytale wedding since you were a little girl, and I really just want to make you happy.”
My heart pounds with joy against my rib cage. “Wow. That was a really long and wonderful proposal.”
“Is that a yes?”
I shake my head. “No.”
His smile melts away. “No?”
“No. I’m not going to file those papers. I’d rather just stay married so we can go back to bed. Not that we couldn’t have sex out of wedlock, but all that paperwork and meetings with lawyers would just waste time we could spend together.”
I pull him up to his feet, and he pushes me back inside, kissing the breath out of me.
He suddenly stops and looks down at me. “I love you, Rose.”
“I love you, too.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re finally on the same page now because I’m going to take you to that bed and make love to you slowly. I don’t want any more sur
prises after this.”
Oh, I doubt I can promise him that. Especially since I haven’t told him I’m going to write a book about my life. Of course, our story will be a part of it because, like in every good fairytale, there has to be a romance. He’s mine. He’s my prince, and he’s my happy ever after.
EPILOGUE
About one year later…
“Rose, no…you are not putting this in a book.” Bex tosses the bound manuscript on the dining room table, where I’m putting the final touches on the last draft. I’ve spent all summer writing and editing it, hoping to have it finished before school starts back up in two weeks. I don’t know if it’s any good, but it’s my story. It’s honest, it’s too crazy to believe, and I hope it will inspire someone out there who needs it. The good part is I’ve been getting some critique help from one of my professors. She’s been a huge supporter of mine from day one, as have the other students in my writing group. Yes, I finally have friends. Real ones who aren’t impressed by my money or unwanted fame. They judge me on my work and what kind of person I am.
“Come on.” I smile up at Bex. “It’s just one little paragraph about your penis.”
“No.” He shakes a finger at me from across the table. “You take that out. Especially the part where you describe the veins and all that. Nope. Nuh-uh. No.”
I wasn’t actually going to leave it in, but I thought it would be funny to see his expression when he got to that part. I wasn’t wrong. “Did you get to the next chapter?”
“I stopped there. Why?” he asks.
“I describe your balls and how the hair grows thicker on your upper thighs. Sort of like one manly shag carpet.”
His jaw drops. “I manscape down there, Rose. There is no shag, no carpet, no wilderness of hair. You take that out of your book this instant along with any other stuff you’ve written about our sex life. I’ll never be able to go out in public again.”
The Boyfriend Collector, Two Page 15
