Indulgence (388 page)

James’ fingers brushed my neck. “You zoned out for a
second,” he whispered.

Goosebumps took over my flesh. Every sense felt
overstimulated.

James draped his jacket over my shoulders, holding my hand
and resting his other arm against the back of my chair.

“I’m okay,” I said, but every nerve in my skin tingled and
burned, especially up the back of my neck.

“Rose?” Mom sat forward, watching me as intently as James
was.

“I have some not-so-great memories associated with
Princess.” I heard Gabe echo the word in my head, but I took a deep breath and
shoved him away. “I’m good.”

I relaxed, letting James angle me sideways to lean against
him. “I really am fine, Mom.”

She smiled and shifted Laney to her other arm. “I don’t
think I ever want to know the details, but I’m glad you two have each other.”

Reaching over my shoulder, I hooked my hand around James’
neck. “Me, too.”

He pressed his lips to my temple and whispered, “I love you,
Rose.”

My heart slammed into my chest walls, and the coldness I had
felt faded as warmth sparked beneath my skin. I watched his eyes dance as his
gaze flickered over me. “I love you, too.”

As long as I lived, I knew I’d never get enough of watching
the light catch his eyes every time he reacted to my proclamation. I nearly
forgot we were in a room filled with people, where my mom sat two feet away.
When I looked back, she still had a hint of hesitance behind her eyes—I guessed
it was weird for everyone else how quickly James and I could pull each other
back, but we’d grown used to it.

*****

After the reception, we drove out to the circle of cabins
where we’d be staying the next few nights. It was great to get away from
everything, and even better to have James all to myself. I kicked off my shoes
as soon as we entered, and considered stripping out of the uncomfortable dress
as well, but I decided to leave that fun for James.

We took a bottle of champagne to the back porch and curled
up together in a wicker love seat, toasting as darkness fell over the woods.
I’d nabbed the extra bottle from the reception to kick off our private
celebration. My insides were already curled tight in anticipation of the night.
To be honest, they had been since James told me about the cabin.

Being with him always kept me worked up, but he was
determined that we wouldn’t use sex as an out, and I knew he needed to heal. We
both needed to heal, but I had a feeling it was much deeper for him. Not only
what he’d done with me—to me—but what he’d had to do and watch before I even
showed up. So, as much as it frustrated me sometimes, I stood by our promise to
keep sex off the table.

And it made this night all the more delicious. I wanted it
so badly I could already feel my toes curling, but I also wanted to savor it.
To bask in the feeling of his skin on mine—the simple ease that had settled
between us.

James sat his glass down on the floor next to the leg of the
chair and dragged his fingers through my hair as I finished the last few drinks
of my own.

“You sure you’re ready for this,” I teased handing him my
glass as well.

He chuckled, slipping his fingers down the top of my tight
gown. Then he pulled them out and patted my stomach. “You’re right. Maybe we
should give it another few months.”

I straightened and pulled at his tie. “No.” I tugged him
closer until our lips touched. A gentle first caress. I wanted to savor every
tiny feeling, but I also had the urge to devour him.

The kiss turned into a heated struggle as my fingers found
his hair and his hands grabbed my hips, pulling me into his lap to feel his
stiffening member.

I loosened his tie without removing my lips from his for
more than a second. Our tongues collided as my hands flew to his shirt buttons.

“You want to do this here?” He glanced through the screen at
the neighboring cabins and I stretched over him to flick off the lights.

“They won’t see anything,” I kissed him and nibbled his lip,
but the wicker chair wasn’t going to be a very suitable location.

I pressed my lips to his once more then jumped to my feet.
“Wait here.”

I ran to the bedroom pulled off the comforter and dragged it
back out to the porch and spread it out on the porch.

“They may not see anything, but I’m sure they’ll hear
plenty,” James kicked off his shoes and grabbed the straps of my dress, pushing
them down over my arms. He kissed along my collar bone then down my arm, while
I worked at freeing his belt and getting his pants off. He unzipped the back of
my dress and slipped it down over my hips, then pushed me to the floor.

He tugged the dress past my legs and tossed it into the
corner, along with his shirt and pants.

I’d waited so long to have his hot skin against mine again,
to run my fingers over his muscles, and to feel him inside of me. Everything
faded into a blur of touching, kissing and pulling each other closer until
there was nowhere left to go.

James pulled away from my naked body. Circling his fingers
over the scar on my shoulder where I had been shot. Then, he ducked forward and
kissed the raised pink skin before inching his way down my body with his hot
lips. I moaned and wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer and
urging him on.

I was about to go out of my mind with need and all he could
do was tease. He smirked at my attempt but kept his attention above my waist,
tracing light circles around my nipples.

Grabbing his hair, I pulled him down to face me. “I’m.
Fucking. Losing. It.”

“Good,” he whispered. I moaned as he finally pressed at my
wet and waiting entrance, but he paused. I rocked my hips toward him, trying to
push him forward.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he groaned, pressing into me
slowly. I almost came from the mix of anticipation and the feeling of him
inside me for the first time in months. I wrapped my legs around his hips and
rocked mine in time with his thrusts.

I moaned against his neck and planted my feet against the
floor so I could press up against him until his pelvic bone pressed against my
clit with every thrust. My fingers dug into his shoulder blades, and I cried
out.

We had the next four days for slow and delicate. Right now,
my body wanted release—a hard and fast nerve-tingling orgasm.

My body quivered beneath his, our groans and pants tangled
together in a chorus of need as his pace quickened. Ever nerve came to
attention as the bundle of burning pressure grew. I caught his lips as the
initial wave of the orgasm slammed through me; his taste filled my mouth, his
tongue pressing against my own.

He continued thrusting as the trembling orgasm exploded
through me. Harder, deeper, faster, until he groaned and shook above me. I
rubbed my hands down his sweat-slicked chest as he rolled off me and pulled my
body against his.

As we lay on the floor, catching our breath, I laid my head
on his arm and traced the contours of his muscles with my index finger.

I felt full and content, the happiest I had ever felt in my
life. We’d come through hell together, fought for each other, and with each
other, and as much as that past made me want to scorch my own skin sometimes,
looking back at the pain reminded me of how far we’d come. What we were capable
of. It made every kiss sweeter. Every breath deeper.

I finally came to terms with everything that happened and
realized that I wouldn’t change even the darkest parts of my story, because as
badly as the wounds hurt, the pain meant I still had a chance at happiness. And
the pain had led me to the man who could help me find it.

“What are you thinking, Sugar?” James asked, trailing his
fingers down my jawline.

“That I’m lucky,” Alley’s words flashed through my head. My
last memory of her was when she was holding the gun just after the bullet
sliced through my arm. But that wasn’t her. She’d let the darkness consume her,
simply because she didn’t know how to live without it.

“I love you, Rose.”

“Good,” I smirked, “then you can show me in all of the other
rooms of the cabin.”

James chuckled and rolled me onto his chest. “You should
have told me I’d have to pace myself.”

“Then, let’s hop in the shower and you can recover. Now that
you’re fully warned, you can pace yourself for the
rest
of the night.”

He playfully smacked my thigh and I leaned forward and
whispered against his ear. “I love you, too.”

I was born and raised in rural Ohio and will always be a
country girl at heart with a love for reading and writing. I’ve spent my life
chained to the imaginary worlds of the characters who live in my head, and
thanks to the encouragement of teachers, friends, and family, I started writing
their stories down. In college, I separated from fiction and earned a M.A. in
Public History, but in 2011, I decided that I had spent far too long away from
the world of fiction.

Many of my early stories were paranormal, and although the
paranormal will always have a special room in my imagination, my interest in
BDSM and dark romance has recently led me to expand my focus.

When I’m not spending time with the voices in my head, I
work for a non-profit consulting center, offer my technical services to other
writers and small businesses, and enjoy life with my husband and the ghosts of
our dearly departed ferrets.

I’d love to hear from you!

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by
Theresa Troutman

I don’t know why I lived and they died. The night it
happened plays in a continuous loop in my brain, my recurring nightmare.

I started out as a happy person—really, I did. Tragically,
that changed five years ago on a rainy December evening. I was twelve years old
at the time, riding in the back seat of the car. My dad was driving on a
winding road. One minute I was laughing with my parents; the next minute I was
waking up in the hospital.

My left leg was shattered in the accident. In the months
that followed, I went through a lot of physical therapy. Between my injuries
and my grief, I ended up missing the rest of the school year. The leg never
healed properly and I was forced to use a crutch to help me walk.

My only living relative was my granddad, and he did the best
he could. He was eighty years old and kind of lost without my grandmother. We
were two pathetic peas in a pod. At times, I’m not sure who hobbled more, me or
him.

I got my parents’ life insurance money, which was a big help
in paying all the medical bills. Between the two of them, I inherited one
million dollars. My granddad insisted some of the money go into a college fund.
I didn’t argue. When you’re twelve, the last thing you’re thinking about is a
college education. He told me, “College will be here before you know it, Jake.”
He was right. Now I’m in my freshman year at Villanova University.

Why Villanova? For starters, it was close to home. I
commuted to classes so I could stay at home and keep an eye on Granddad. The
second reason was my two best friends, Rick and Sam.

I was trying to hurry to my class, but my stupid leg
wouldn’t cooperate. Even after all the physical therapy and hard work, I would
forever have a limp—definitely not sexy to the girls or manly enough for the
guys. I made it to class just as the professor began his lecture. My professors
never gave me any problems due to my ‘disability’ and I always sat in the front
row of every class so I didn’t have to hobble very far. Slumping into the
chair, I grabbed my notebook from my backpack.

College life was so different from high school. In high
school I was laughed at and ridiculed. My life sucked. I was the resident
cripple boy. Now, people didn’t seem to pay any attention to me. It went from
one extreme to another. I had to admit, this new phase of my life took some
getting used to.

I opened my notebook. There was a small cartoon doodle of
three stick figures: a boy, a girl, and a boy with a squiggle leg. All of their
arms were interlinked. I’d know Samantha’s handiwork anywhere. She had a
brilliant mind, but she’d never make a go of it as an artist. She had written,
Meet
you in the library at 3:00. Love you! Samantha.

I loved Samantha Andrews. She was one of my best friends. It
wasn’t a sexual love, but something much deeper, I think. I was an
eighteen-year-old virgin and had never kissed a girl. What did I know? We met
freshman year of high school. Sam was the only girl who could look me in the
eye and talk to me. She wasn’t like the other girls, who would make comments
about me behind my back and avoid my glances. She was wicked smart, which was a
huge help to me because she became my study partner. Thanks to Sam, my grades
were good. I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

My other best friend was Rick Welsh. He lived next door to
my granddad’s house and I met him after the accident. Rick was the star
basketball player on our high school’s team. At six-foot five, with blond hair,
ripped muscles, and a charming grin, he was every girl’s dream and every guy’s
envy. We were an unlikely pair; the kid that could run and jump with finesse
and ease was partnered with the limping slowpoke. The thing that sealed the
deal for me and made us lifelong friends was the day Rick defended me against a
bully who tripped me in the hall my freshman year. Rick was one of the cool
kids and I’m sure he took some flak for standing up for me, but no one ever
physically touched me after that incident. And for that I have Rick to thank.