Page 89 of Peaches

I did as he said, my hot mouth evoking groans from his lips as he reached behind me, pulled my panties to the side, and greedily fingered my sex. Running his fingers through my wetness from my clit to the top of my ass, I purred around his tip causing him to swerve slightly as he felt the erotic sensation all the way through his balls. This lasted all of 30 seconds before he was pulling off the bypass, finding a deserted road and quickly grabbing me into his lap.

This time, when I found myself pressed between a man and a steering wheel, I felt higher than I’d ever felt before as I gave myself freely over to the man I was born to love as he sweetly, intimately, loved my body back all while he whispered everything I could ever dream I’d hear falling from a man’s lips…

Mine.

He growled as I rode his length, my nails digging into his shoulders while he thrusted up quickly beneath me.

Fuck, you’re breathtaking, Peaches.

He groaned, as I rotated my hips, coaxing a moan to fall next from his lips as he reached between us and slowly, roughly, caressed my clit.

So beautiful.

He hissed, as I lifted my hips and felt my sex suck his tip in and out, slow then fast, repeatedly, as our breathing quickened and our bodies throbbed with need.

All mine, Grace.

He shuddered, as he fisted my hair in his hand and thrust up inside me harshly, quickly, carnally, moments before we both climaxed and our screams pierced my ears as our high ripped through our sweaty, pulsing, feverish bodies.

I love you so much it hurts, Sweetheart.

He confessed, as his hands held my face and I stared in his eyes moments later knowing I loved him even more than that. I sat wrapped in his arms, the man of mysweetdreams, and silently thanked my lucky stars for the day he walked into my life and gave me the best damn distraction, I too, never knew I always wanted.

A blush flushes over my face as I think back on the exchange a half hour or so ago, but I don’t get the chance to reminisce long as he steals my breath away by reaching for my hand, almost as if knowing what I’m thinking, and raises it to his mouth, placing a tender kiss on the inside of my wrist.

Finding the sass that is always bubbling to the surface inside me, a question comes to mind that has been hanging there for over a month now, and I turn his way slightly as he drives us down the gravel road, through the oak trees with Spanish moss hanging in the humid Georgia breeze, his family’s estate coming into view, and ask something I should’ve asked a long time ago.

“I’m curious,” I begin, as he eyes me cautiously out of the corner of his eye. “How can a man like you claim he doesn’t do romance?”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer, making me a little anxious as I wait for his response.

“I mean, everything about you screams alpha, billionaire, panty dropping, hot shot, swoon worthy hero that women would be masturbating to all around the world.” His laugh makes me smile as he pulls around the circular drive and we cruise towards the garage. “I’m serious,” I giggle. “Why don’t you like the genre?”

He brings us to a stop, killing the engine and pulling the parking break in the process. He turns my way as his brow furrows, and he bites his bottom lip. He’s trying to think of the right way to set off whatever bomb he’s about to throw at me, and my heart rate quickens slightly as I wait him out, hanging on every silent second and impatiently waiting for his response.

Regardless of what he has to say, I’m the lucky heroine who ended up with the man women can only ever dream of.

The Romeo. Casanova. Don Juan. Smooth Talking. Mr. Too Good To Be True hero of my own story, and anything he has to say, as far as I’m concerned, is null and void and has no weight in my world.

“It’s predictable,” he confesses with a sad tone in his voice as he stares in my eyes, worried what he’s saying is going to break my heart. “I mean, yeah, sure, if all you’re after is steamy sex, unrealistic promises, fairy tale endings, and false happily ever afters, knock yourself out. But every book is the same, if you read hard enough past the bullshit each author tries to spin in their own words to get you not to notice, you’ll quickly see what I’m saying.”

I roll my eyes and state the obvious. “Boy meets girl. Boy gets girl. Boy loses girl…”

“Boy gets girl back. Exactly!” He exclaims, as I focus back on him and give him a frown.

“Yeah, but all those stories, they’re not much different than the real world,” I argue. “Everyone has their own love story. Everyone has their own personal ups and downs. Everyone eventually finds their sort of happily ever after at some point. We, as authors, just choose to have the book end on a good note instead of exposing the crap we all don’t want to read about that comes after. The shit we can get our fill of by just watching the evening news.”

“Sure, Shakespeare’s most famous tragedy would’ve been considered the greatest love story of all time if the curtain fell on Act III Scene IV. If we let the audience go home and make up their own minds on the outcome, ending with the two lovebirds wrapped in each other’s arms after sneaking off to get married so their life is good, sweet, carefree, happy, I guess you could say. But, if you could continue after any author types ‘the end’ you’d probably see the same kind of tragedy that Romeo and Juliet dealt with. Just maybe minus the poison and daggers. My point is, we choose to end on a happily ever after because that’s what the majority of the readers want. But truth be told, if the story never ends, you’d see all the faults, all the blemishes you don’t really want to see. The same goes for Cinderella’s fairytale. We just choose not to expose them.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you make the world a happier, more carefree,sweetplace, one happily ever after at a time, is that right, Peaches?” He teases, making me roll my eyes at him and go to rebuttal, but he cuts me off. “You’re handing out your own take on your own personalsweetspot, one publication after the other,” he challenges me with mirth in his eyes and I can’t help but grin.

“I guess you could say that,” I shrug. “I’d rather be a giver of all things sweet, steamy and sexy, than try and win a prize for something manufactured, thought up and pushed by mypublisher,”this time, it’s his turn to roll his eyes,“becausehe, or they,” I continue, choosing my words wisely, “thought it was going to be the next big thing to make them money.”

“Be careful, Peaches,” he warns as he leans in and rests his mouth close to my ear. “I am still your boss, and I know how well your body responds to punishment.”

My thighs clench together as his breath feathers against my neck, and I almost forget what we were just discussing. I close my eyes and try and steady my breathing.

“Good thing for you,” he whispers, his voice, raw, smoky, sending ripples of ecstasy across my skin just like it did the first day we met, “I crave your sweet, steamy, sexy, sinful, peaches. In punishment and while I worship you, oneself-gratifyinghappily ever after at a time.”

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