“Come inside me,” I whimper as I feel myself getting close, my hands gripping his hair. “Please. I need you. I need to feel you again.”
He pulls back, breathless, his mouth red and wet, and looks down at his costume. “You’re lucky these are pants, otherwise I’d need a hole too.”
“I’d cut it out with my teeth,” I tell him.
He gives me an odd look. “I’m not sure if that’s sexy or not.”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
“Yes, queen,” he says, bringing his cock out. He brings his body on top of me and I relish his weight as his elbows plant on either side of my shoulders, pinning me between him. There’s little hesitation before he pushes his cock in and I stretch around him, feeling impossibly full. There’s nothing else like this. Nothing at all.
I roll my hips under him, pulling him even deeper, causing him to gasp. I’ve missed those sounds of his. I’ve missed everything.
We are immediately lost in the silken push and pull of each other, our bodies joined, our souls grappling in lust.
It’s so easy with him.
So easy.
He groans and slowly pulls out before sliding back into the hilt. I close my eyes, pleasure curling down my spine, opening my legs wider.
“Is this a bad time to tell you I’m in love with you?” he whispers against my mouth.
My heart stalls.
I open my eyes and find him gazing at me, his stare so raw and smoldering, like he’s giving me all he has, all that he is.
“I suppose there could be worse times,” I whisper right back, running my hands through his hair and holding on. “I love you too, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” he says, breaking into a beautiful smile, the dimples deepening on his cheeks. “But I know now. And I won’t forget it.”
I grin, digging my nails into his ass and shrugging him forward, his cock sliding in deep.
“Take me to Asgard,” I cry out. “Or Ragnarok. Or pleasure town, wherever.”
“Anywhere you want to go, my peach,” he murmurs. “But we’re going together.”
EPILOGUE
Amanda
One year later
“Hey, you should sign it Tits McGee,” Blake whispers in my ear.
I pause just as I’m about to write my own signature. My eyes slide to him. “What? How did you know about that?”
“Oh, I’ve learned about a lot of things with your newfound fame,” Blake says, leaning in closer. “That your high school nicknames included Tits McGee, Lord of the Geeks and Sir-Pukes-a-Lot. The last one was pretty explanatory. You know, considering.”
I look up at the young woman standing on the other side of the table, waiting eagerly for me to sign her book. I flash her a nervous smile.
This is our first book signing with Blake’s father agreeing to hold it at Crawford Books. The store is doing really well now thanks to the new store manager they were able to hire, plus there’s the celebrity aspect of it all since everyone knows by now who Blake Lovecox really is.
But they also know who Blake Crawford is, just as they know who Amanda Newland is.
It’s been a year since Falling for the Secret Male Stripper came out. Since then we’ve released ten other erotic novels, with one of them, Slammed by the Single Dad, hitting on the New York Times list. You can bet Rio thinks she can add that title to her name as well. She’s teaching English in Japan now but she says she introduces herself to people as a NYT bestselling influence, which is kind of true when you think about it.
It hasn’t been just smut though. True to our hopes and wishes, writing and selling the kinky stuff and finding success in the genre has opened a world of possibilities for us. We both have agents and we both have our own novels out. The Land of Tears and Bone – now re-titled Phenelope – was just released this month by a major publisher. Blake’s sci-fi horror, Blood Aurora, was published by a small press two months ago. It’s already been optioned for a film, the lucky bastard, even though they say that’s never anything to get too excited over since options rarely amount to anything.
But it’s hard not to get excited these days. Things are falling into place.
And every day I’m falling more in love with him.
I mean, he’s still the man who holds my hair back when I vomit.
Which I did on the way over here this morning, as we walked from our apartment. Right as tourists in a horse-drawn carriage were wheeling past. I think they got photos.
Who knew your first book signing would be so nerve-wracking? I was so worried that no one would show up and then I started worrying that everyone would show up. What if I spelled someone’s name wrong? What if someone told me they hated my work? What if I farted? I don’t know, all valid concerns.
But so far it’s been going okay, except I’ve almost written Tits McGee in this person’s book. I slide the open page over to Blake, glaring at him. “If you talk to me while I’m signing, I will seriously write down all the wrong things.”
He just flashes those dimples at me and writes down his name in his usual chicken scratch handwriting. At least I’m known as the “neater one.”
Even though the signing is only for a few hours, it seems like everyone I know has come in to get something signed at some point. The show of support is amazing, albeit surprising. Sarah and her new husband David stop by, as does Miss Dumas and Heath. Kevin and Angelica briefly pop in on their way to Buchart Gardens for a fun day together.