August: Calendar Girl Book 8 (3 page)

“Gonna make that pussy so sore.” He rammed up into me. At this point, I was holding onto the top of the headboard while he thrust his hips up, and I sat my ass down, coming together in a crush of naked limbs and moist privates.

He fucked me so hard and with such intensity that I lost the ability to speak coherently. A litany of grunts, mumbles, and moans left my mouth as I rode Wes, a breath away from my second peak of the night.

Wes sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit down on the furled tip. I cried out, holding his head to my breast like a mother would her brand new babe. I didn’t want him to stop sucking, or biting, or sending those lightning jolts of ecstasy straight to my clit with every tug.

“Someone likes her tits worked over, huh, sweetheart?” I couldn’t respond, too lost in the beauty that was fucking Wes. He switched breasts and sucked, bit, and tweaked that nipple until I was circling my hips, so wet even I could hear the noise of our slick bodies coming together. The slide and pull of his cock as it burrowed deep and then grated along hyper-sensitive tissue on the retreat made me dizzy. It was heaven and hell rolled into one. Every thrust was so good, I sighed. Every retraction the same, only with the incoherent worry that his body was leaving mine, and I never wanted it to go.

“Want you coming on my cock, sweetheart. Need to feel that sweet cunt when it locks down around me. So fucking sexy the way it never wants me to leave. Don’t worry…” He thrust hard, and I gasped, feeling the ripples and tingles of the impending orgasm just on the cusp of exploding. “I’m going to fill you so full, you’ll be feeling the slickness trickling from between your legs for days, proving who owns this pussy. Me. Now give it to me!” he commanded, and lo and behold, my body responded.

I tightened every muscle, every nerve ending sparking, each new wave crashing over me. Every inch of my skin felt alive, loved, and most importantly, worshipped. I clasped my hands around Wes’s neck, sealed my lips over his, and kissed him with everything I had. Long sweeps of my tongue, nips of my teeth, until his own body turned rock-hard and he moaned, groaned, and convulsed underneath me. I held his mouth to mine, tasting his desire, his passion, and his love as he released his essence, pumping into me.

“Love,” he said into my mouth with those plush lips, moist and bruised from my kisses.

“Love,” I repeated.

“Mine,” he gasped, the last of his orgasm racking his large frame.

“Mine,” I agreed, mostly because I was his and he was mine. There would be no other definition needed from here on out. I only hoped it would stick, that he’d finally come to terms with my job and our position as a couple. I wasn’t leaving, yet I couldn’t stay. For now. Soon, though, and hopefully for the rest of my life, I’d be in this bed, with this man, doing this very thing a year from now, ten years, fifty, until I took my last breath.

“You’re still going,” he said, placing kisses along my neck and clavicle, massaging the back of my head, and soothing me into a state of pure bliss. Not that I wasn’t there already after the two rounds of life-affirming sex.

“Yeah, but you know what?” I tunneled my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Hmm?” he said a little melancholy.

“I’ll be back in just three weeks. I promise to come home between jobs.”

A huge smile broke across his face. “Home?” He grinned, not at all hiding the fact that he loved it when I used that word in a way that no one could dispute meant this house here in Malibu. The one he’d sneakily gotten me to agree to move into.

“Yes, home is where you are.” I laid my head against his chest and kissed his heart. “I’ll miss you though.”

He sighed. “I’ll miss you, more.” And even though I doubted that, I loved how much it meant to hear him say it and believe it.

I’d never been someone’s
more
before, but now that I was, I understood why people did it. Committed to the person they loved. Knowing I was someone’s choice, his light, his good ending to a shit day, gave me a feeling of power that couldn’t be darkened. It would always be there, shining bright, for his love would light my way home.

I
arrived
at the airport with a crick in my neck and a heavy heart. Leaving Wes to meet my new client in Dallas did not go over well. He’d wanted me to stay, take the money he kept offering, and call it good. Stubborn man could not accept that I needed to do this. Pay this debt to Blaine on my own, as much to save my dad as to save myself. Finish one thing from start to finish and come out the victor. Knowing that once and for all, I was the owner of my destiny. Every decision I made from here on out was because I made it. Me.

It was my journey, and I intended to finish it. Did I want it to cost my relationship with Wes? No, not in a million years. However, he needed to cool his jets and understand that not everything was about him and the way he sees things. It’s not as easy as just handing someone a cool half-million and all the world’s problems are solved. We were still new. Learning one another. In that newness, somehow he’d staked his claim and moved my ass in. Worse yet, I let him.

Without any real fight, I’d packed my tiny shit-hole apartment up in Los Angeles, stored my boxes in one of his five car garage bays, and set a box of my prized possessions—yet to be unpacked—in my old room. Really all the rest of my crap could disappear and the items in a small two-foot by two-foot box held all that ever mattered to me. Not wanting to waste the little time we’d had left with one another, I didn’t ask about adding my stuff to his home to make my mark the way a woman normally would. Maybe I needed the time to realize that I’d technically just moved in with Weston, but planned to continue my job as an escort for the rest of the year. Not exactly something you wanted to tell your friends and family about your new girlfriend.

My thoughts were a jumbled mess. I walked out of the airport, distracted and feeling hollow, lost in my own head. While I walked along the sidewalk muttering to myself, a warm hand curled around my bicep and stopped me. I looked up, and up, and up, until the rim of a Stetson cowboy hat blocked the sun, and my eyesight adjusted. Pale green eyes came into view. The eyes were so pale they resembled a green amethyst, much like my own. Damn near exactly like my own. Weird. A smile complemented his rugged square stubbled jaw. White teeth gleamed as he said something, but I didn’t hear it, too lost in my own thoughts. Golden blond tufts of hair could be seen at the back of his neck, proving whatever was under that hat was unruly, likely curly, and needed to be cut.

“Mia? You’re Mia, right?” the man said, but the rumble in his voice hit my heart and squeezed. Not with desire but a faint hint of something else. A familiarity shimmered across my senses, like a long lost dream I’d had, remembering it when I awoke, but unable to place the pieces appropriately. “Sugar, you okay?” Another large hand held my other arm. I glanced at both of his huge hands. The nails were clean, cut straight as if he’d recently trimmed them.

I stepped back, but he clasped my arms tighter. “I’m uh, okay. Sorry.” I blinked several times, trying to clear my head. “Do we know each other?”

His grin widened. “No, but over the next month, I reckon we will get to know one another mighty well. I’m Maxwell Cunningham. Max for short.” He held out a beefy hand. The calluses rubbed along my palm, scratching the tender flesh sharply. He wore a yellow polo shirt stretched tight over a broad muscled chest, if the contours through the fabric were any indication. The trim of his shirt sleeves around his bulging biceps looked as though it would tear at any moment with the sheer size of his muscles. With the polo, which incidentally, looked really good on his frame, he wore dark Wranglers with a wide leather belt complete with a silver buckle that was at least three inches wide and two inches tall with a gold star dead center. His feet were covered in a pair of dusty rust-colored cowboy boots that matched his belt. My guess, he’d made an effort to match them. As I took in his attire, he took in mine. Those green eyes, so like my own, scanned my simple sundress and sandals. My hair was loose and black curls flowed everywhere.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice coming out gritty as if he’d said the words but hadn’t meant to. His eyes were haunted, wounded in a way that made me want to reach out and hug him. I didn’t know why I had that desire, especially after what Aaron had done to me back in DC.

I looked around at the people passing by and gripped my sundress just to have something to do with my hands. The air between us was uncomfortable, thick, filled with things unsaid. When a man tells a woman she's beautiful and looks at her in a way that nearly guts her, a response of some kind is mandatory. “Um, thank you.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just you’re pretty,
real
pretty, and even though I saw your picture, I wasn’t prepared for the living, breathing thing. Hot damn, that didn’t come out right either.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his feet, a scowl marring his plump lips.

“Sir, this your truck?” An airport security man wearing a fluorescent vest interrupted our awkward conversation and pointed at the silver Ford F-150.

“Yeah, some kind of problem?” he asked.

The man nodded. “If you don’t get a move on, there will be. You’re obstructing traffic. Get going.” He gestured once more to the truck.

“Oh shoot. Sorry. Mia, this way.” He picked up my suitcase, opened the quad cab door, and tossed it in. Then he opened my door and held out his hand. I looked down at the hand as if it were dipped in acid. “Mia, sugar, I’d never hurt you. I’m a little out of sorts, but if you come back to the ranch, we’ll get you set up and Cyndi will make everything better.” He offered a small smile and kept his hand out.

When I put my hand in his, I felt that weird sensation again, and something nudged at the frail edges of a memory. It was just on the surface, like when you can’t recall the name of a song, but it’s on the tip of your tongue.

I stepped into the cab and sat down.

“Who’s Cyndi?”

He smiled huge, a big megawatt smile that was unnervingly familiar. I was sure I’d met this man before. Had to. Maxwell wrangled his large form in behind the wheel, put the truck in gear, checked his mirror, and eased out.

“Cyndi’s my wife.”

T
wo hours
in the truck and we were finally driving up a gravel driveway. A two-story yellow ranch house, complete with bright blue shutters hugging each window, stood at the end of the drive. A white picket fence surrounded the front of the home where a small child played with dolls on a blanket out in the late summer sun. A woman wearing a long sundress leaned against a white wooden column next to the stairs that led up to a wraparound porch. Her dress was myriad blues and greens, reminding me of the tropical waters I’d seen in Miami. One of her pale hands moved and pressed along a large, rounded belly. She had to be almost ready to pop. Her belly was the size of a basketball under the maxi dress. The woman’s light brown hair blew in the soft breeze, untamed by a tie or ribbon. Her entire being, the fertility she so effortlessly displayed, seemed ethereal in this setting.

When the car stopped, she waved at Max, and he smiled back. That same giant smile he had in the car a couple of hours ago when he spoke of his wife was plastered along his jaw once more. Since then, I’d learned his wife’s name was Cyndi, and he had a daughter named Isabel and a baby boy on the way. He was ecstatic about being able to pass down the Cunningham name to a son.

I found out he was an only child, raised by Jackson Cunningham who had recently passed away and left him fifty-one percent of the business. The other forty-nine percent was supposed to go to his sister. One he’d never met. One he’d been told shared my birthday and name. The details about what he wanted me to do were still hazy, but he said over the next month, things would become clearer.

Me, I was just thrilled he was married, and happily by the looks of it. I didn’t have to pretend to be a love interest. With my relationship with Wes so new, it felt like a godsend to find out I’d be playing the part of a long lost sister. There would be no hand holding, pretend snuggling, or chaste kisses for anyone.

This was going to come as welcome news to my movie-making surfer. A pang punched at my heart as I thought about Wes. It had been less than a day, and the distance between us felt far more acute than I thought it would be. In the past six months, I had been able to be in different places for weeks on end without hearing anything. Hell, in May, I didn’t even have a text exchange with him, both of us too raw after the Gina debacle. I ground my teeth, thinking about Hollywood’s sexiest sweetheart and how she’d had her clutches into my man. Before I realized it, Maxwell had the door open and was helping me down.

“Darlin’, come meet Mia. Bell, come meet Daddy’s friend,” he hollered at the little girl. His wife waddled down the steps, one hand holding the banister and the other her blossoming belly. The moment she got close, he put his hand to her stomach and the other wrapped around the back of her neck. He lowered his face and looked his wife in the eye. “How you doin’, darlin’? Okay?” She smiled prettily and her cheeks pinked up when she nodded. “And our boy?” He rubbed her stomach.

“Right as rain, Max. We’re okay, I promise.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly, just a peck on the lips before pulling back. Her bright blue eyes, the color of sparkling sapphires, took in my appearance. She held her hand out. “Cyndi Cunningham. Welcome to our home.”

I shook her small hand. “Mia Saunders. Happy to be here.” The little girl was hiding behind her mother’s legs, a little arm looped around her knee. “And who’s the pretty thing I see hiding there?” I pointed to the shy child.

Maxwell took a breath, his chest seeming to puff up even wider and higher. “That’s my first born, Isabel. Bell, honey, come out and meet your daddy’s friend.”

The small child peeked her head out from behind her mother’s leg. Pale green eyes and golden blond hair like her father’s framed her heart-shaped face like a halo of light. Cherub lips puckered as she wiggled out from her hiding spot. I took in her eyes and hair, and that sensation of familiarity piqued again. I must have run into this family before now, but I couldn’t place it.

“Hi, I’m Mia.” I waved with one finger as Isabel tugged on her mom’s dress and swayed from side-to-side, her feet kicking dirt around. Her dress was covered in rainbows that suited a child of her age, which I knew from the car ride with Max, was four years old. “I like your dress.”

Her green eyes got darker. “I love rainbows. They are so purdy.”

“Yes, I agree. Have you ever seen a rainbow in real life?” I knelt down so I could look her in the eyes. She nodded with the exuberance only someone her age would do. “Me too. You know what they say about rainbows, don’t you?” Her sweet little eyes widened and she shook her head.

“Well, Irish myth has it that at the end of a rainbow is a pot of gold. And the pot of gold is protected by a leprechaun! A little happy fella in a green suit and top hat!”

She laughed. “Maybe we can find one while you’re here?” she said, hope thick in her tone.

I shrugged. “Sounds like a worthy adventure. Next rainbow we see, we’ll be on the lookout. You and me. Okay?”

Isabel grabbed my hand. Cyndi and Max looked down at the two of us holding hands. Surprise clear in the astonishing way they tried to speak but didn’t say anything. “I’ll show you our house. Do you like pancakes? Oh! What about Care Bears? Which one is your favorite?”

When you had a child happily dragging you along, there was little that could be done other than follow, which I did. “Um, I love Lucky Bear, the one with the clover on his belly. And pancakes are yummy. Especially when you add chocolate syrup.”

She stopped walking and turned around, crossed her hands over her chest, and stomped her tiny sandaled foot. “How come we never have chocolate syrup on our pancakes?” Isabel asked her parents, clearly thinking this issue deserved the full attention of anyone in earshot.

Both Cyndi and Max laughed and shook their heads. “We’ll try it Mia’s way in the morning, Belly Boo,” Cyndi responded, petting her daughter’s hair. “You were going to show Mia her room, remember?”

Isabel spun on a toe and giggled while running up the stairs. “Come on, Mia!” she yelled.

“She always have this much energy?” I asked her mom and dad while trooping up the stairs after the exuberant one.

“Yes!” They said in unison, and we all chuckled.

“It’s going to be a fun month, I can already tell,” I said and turned around to see if they were following.

Max rubbed at his neck and glanced at his wife. She looked away, not making eye contact with either one of us. “We’re glad you’re here, Mia,” was all he said, but the way he said it was odd, telling, and anxiety-inducing. I got the feeling that sooner rather than later I’d be thinking the exact opposite.

S
ettled
into my room that night, I pulled out my phone and called Wes.

“Hey, sweetheart. You tucked in for the night?” he said without preamble.

I smiled and snuggled deeper into the down comforter. “I am. How about you?”

He yawned. “Not quite yet.”

“You sound tired though.”

Wes hummed a simple ‘mmm’ and the sound went straight through my body, softening and moistening the way I always did for him. Traitor.

“I am. It’s been a long day. I miss you though. Less than a week, and I’ve already gotten used to having you in my bed.”

Laughing, I played with a string I found hanging off the seam of the blanket. “You just miss fucking me.”

“True. Having you naked in bed next to me definitely has that side effect. It’s nice not going to bed alone. I think that’s going to be the hardest part, alongside your snuffling breaths when you turn over and rub your nose and mouth into my arm and then proceed to drool all over it.”

“I do not drool!”

He laughed heartily, and it sent a shimmer of sadness through me, knowing it would be another three weeks before I saw him again, provided he was in town and not on location for a movie.