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You’re lying on your belly with your hips hanging off the edge of the mattress. You squeal when he hoists your legs up over his shoulders, his large, rough hands gripping you to hold you steady while he buries his face in your soaking wet pussy.

The stubble on his cheeks is coarse against your soft, delicate skin. Your fingers twist into the bedding and your eyes roll back into your head as his skillful tongue finds your clit and flicks it hard, pushing you right into a trembling climax.

Before you can recover, he drops you, shoving you forward at the same time. Your knees hit the bed and you groan as he slams into you as deep as he can go.

You whine in ecstasy. He’s absolutely enormous. It’s almost too much for you, but as you stretch around him, you realize that you like it.

“Is this the biggest dick you’ve ever had, sweetheart?” he growls, pumping in and out of you slowly, making sure you feel every inch.

“Yes!” you whimper.

He smacks your ass with a resounding crack and you yelp as your skin tingles and starts to get hot.

“Atta girl,” he grunts, moving faster. “Come all over my huge cock.”

And you do.

Over and over and over.

On your knees.

On your back.

On top of him.

Underneath him.

Then you come all over his face again while you swallow his thick length, struggling to take it all into your mouth.

As the sun rises, he lifts you in his strong arms and nestles you into the center of your bed, pulling the blankets over your quivering body.

You can barely feel your thighs. Your bottom is red, your lips are swollen, and there are hickeys all over your neck and breasts.

It was so, so worth it.

He chuckles. “Oh, honey,” he purrs. “You are never going to forget me.”

He kisses you one more time and then he’s gone.

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“Looks like someone sent the birthday girl flowers.” Janet winks at you as she sets the lovely bouquet on your desk.

You wait to look at the card until she’s gone.

Meet me at the firing range at 9 PM.

There’s no signature, but you know it’s from Joe.

He’s emptying his clip when you join him. You bite your lip as you watch him shoot; he looks incredibly sexy with a gun.

He notices you staring and smirks, setting it down and holding his arm out for you.

You slip into his embrace, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling his head down to yours.

Your kiss is eager. Joe clings to your waist, his free hand teasingly tracing the curve of your neck. You start to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, tangling your fingers in his thick, dark chest hair.

Joe’s large palm cups your ass through your skirt. He presses your back against the wall of his shooting booth, tearing your blouse open at the same time so that your bare breasts fall free. You took your bra off and shoved it in your bag before joining him.

You undo his belt and pants as he tugs on your sensitive nipples, leaning down and sucking one roughly into his mouth. You moan as he nibbles on it and you get his cock free, your lips meeting again briefly as you drop to your knees.

“Fuck,” he mutters, bracing one hand against the wall and putting the other in your hair as you swallow his entire length.

Your sucking sounds and his panting echo in the empty room as you bob your head vigorously on his perfect dick.

Then he cups your face, pushing you off of him, his hands sliding down to your shoulders so he can get you back on your feet.

He lifts you as you wrap your legs around his waist, making your skirt ride up.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans. “You’re not wearing any fucking panties.”

Your only answer is a long whimper as he slowly pushes his slick shaft inside you.

Joe sets a steady pace. The wall bangs loudly each time he drives you against it, the flicking of his tongue over yours matching his thrusts.

He shoves your breasts up against his sweaty chest, leaning down to lick and suck one nipple, then the other, moving back and forth between your jiggling mounds as he slams into you even harder.

Your cries are loud and uninhibited as you start to orgasm, your tight pussy clamping down on Joe’s twitching cock. He stills, gripping your shaking body desperately as he finds his own release and floods your insides with warmth.

You gasp as Joe sucks each of your nipples softly one more time, then raises his head to give you a passionate kiss.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

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You smile as you hear spurs with an unhurried gait enter the store.

You don’t even have to look to know it’s Henry Delarue.

He approaches and leans casually against the counter, so handsome in his maroon duster.

“How are you, princess?” he wonders.

“I’m well, Mr. Delarue,” you answer. “Thank you for asking.”

He chuckles. “You don’t have to be formal around me, princess. Call me Henry. Where’s your father today?”

You frown. “His leg is bothering him. I made him stay in bed and rest.”

“Does he need a doctor, princess?”

“We can’t afford one,” you admit quietly. The store supports you both, but just barely.

Before Henry can reply, two local men join you.

“Well, well, honey, aren’t you looking mighty fine today!” one of them hollers. “Why don’t you let me take you out back and show you how to ride?”

You bite your lip nervously and Henry’s long fingers curl over his gun. “I’ll handle this, princess.”

He steps to the side so he’s no longer hidden by the shelves and the men go pale.

Henry raises one eyebrow and sucks his teeth menacingly. “You boys need to learn how to treat a lady,” he growls. “Do I have to teach you?”

“No, sir, Mr. Delarue,” they stammer. “We’re sorry, ma’am.”

They practically trip over themselves as they rush out.

“Thank you, Henry,” you say softly.

He tips his hat at you. “You’re welcome, princess.” He pauses for a moment. His silence is grave, like what just happened is driving him to make an important decision. Finally, he comes slowly around the counter and clasps your chin in his fingers. “Why don’t I stay until you close up and then escort you home? We’ll get the doctor on the way.”

“I can’t take favors, Henry,” you refuse him gently.

“Won’t be a favor,” he grunts. “If you accept my proposal, it will be my obligation as family.”

“Proposal?” you respond dumbly.

Henry nods. “I know those two fellas who were just in here don't count for nothing, but one day someone worthy of you will walk through that door, and I'm already mighty jealous of whoever he is. You’re a sweet woman, princess. You deserve to be cared for. You deserve a real man. I’d like it to be me, even though I'm honestly not sure that I'm good enough for you. But I won’t ask your father for your hand unless you say yes first. I don't want to force you into anything.”

He’s barely done speaking before you throw yourself into his arms. “Yes, Henry! Oh, yes, I want to marry you!”

“Didn’t think you’d be that excited, princess,” he rumbles. “I’m flattered.”

As you snuggle happily against him, he leans down and kisses your hairline. “Don’t you worry, princess,” he soothes you. “You’re mine now. Everything is going to be all right.”

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You dab gently at the cut right above his eyebrow, squeezing his fingers comfortingly when he winces. “You’ll survive, I think,” you joke, making him laugh.

“Thanks. Sorry I’m being such a baby.” You shrug, putting a butterfly bandage over his wound.

“Most men are when they get hurt, at least in my experience.” You wink and he laughs again, having the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Anything else you want me to look at?” you wonder, turning his hands over in yours and looking at the scrapes on his palms.

He shakes his head. “I’m a big boy,” he says quietly. “I’ll be okay.”

“Let me clean these anyway,” you insist, rooting around in the first aid kit. As you rub an antiseptic wipe over his skin, you admit, “I hate that kids come here just to pick on you because they think of you as the hick sheriff, you know.”

“They’ll grow up soon enough.” He blushes a little. “I appreciate the thought, though.”

“There. Done,” you announce. You stand, running a hand through his hair and impulsively kissing his forehead. After a moment, you move your lips and kiss right next to his injury. “All better.”

He grins. “Magic touch,” he whispers wistfully.

You linger for a moment.

You’ve always liked him.

Why haven’t you ever said anything about it?

Better late than never, right?

You bend down and gently press your lips to his, giving him the chance to pull away if that’s what he wants.

Your heart beats faster when he doesn’t.

When you lean back, his eyes are wide and his cheeks are red. When he finally looks at you, he grins like an idiot.

“That was nice,” he murmurs shyly.

“Stop by for dinner tonight. I’ll kiss the rest of you better too,” you suggest boldly.

He actually squirms in his chair.

“I’ll be there,” he assures you.

You smile. As you turn to go, he gets up and grabs you by the waist, pulling you into a tight embrace and kissing you again.

You twine your arms around his neck, clinging to him, enjoying how warm and solid he is against you.

“Why don’t I just walk you home now?” he asks breathlessly.

You press a gentle kiss to his neck, burying your face in his chest and giggling.

“I’d like that, Sheriff.”

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A little girl throws open the door and grins up at you.

“Hi!” she says brightly. “I’m Riley. Who are you?”

You smile, bending down and holding out your hand. “Hello, Riley. It’s so nice to meet you. I live next door.”

“Daddy, this is our neighbor!” she explains as a man joins her.

He pushes his black-framed glasses up on his nose and smiles as you straighten back up. “I’m Luke Vaughn,” he replies politely, gesturing behind him self-consciously. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Daddy can’t find the movies,” Riley states matter-of-factly.

“No, he cannot,” Luke confirms ruefully.

You laugh. “Hazards of moving. I watch my nieces a lot, so I have plenty of kid-friendly movies. Did you want to borrow a few? Or, if you’re up for some company, I’m making lasagna. You could stay for dinner,” you offer.

Luke stares at you, his heart beating a little faster. It’s been a long time since he’s had the luxury of being able to notice how sweet and attractive a woman is.

“Lasagna, Daddy!” Riley hollers excitedly. She looks up at her father and actually bats her eyes.

“Like I can say no to that face.” Luke picks Riley up. “That’s very kind of you. We wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Not at all,” you assure him.

He follows you home and Riley starts picking out movies. Luke accompanies you to the kitchen while you check on dinner.

“Thank you. I was trying to do the great dad thing, and, well, I didn’t do so hot this time around.”

“You care. That seems pretty great dad to me.” Luke actually blushes a little.

After dinner, dessert, and one movie, Riley insists on another. Luke looks to you for permission and you nod.

You already can’t deny Riley anything.

Her kind, handsome father is pretty irresistible too.

You end up snuggled into Luke’s side with his arm around you. You’re not exactly sleeping, but you’re enjoying resting your head against his shoulder with your eyes closed.

“Daddy!” Riley whispers loudly. Luke puts a finger on his lips and nods in your direction, but Riley persists.

“Daddy, she needs a kiss! Like the princess in the movie! Then we can live happily ever after and I can have a baby brother!”

Luke feels you shake against him as you giggle.

“That’s a lot to put on one kiss, Riley,” he tells her.

“She likes you, Daddy! And you’re a hero! Heroes always get the princess!”

You open one eye, making sure Riley can’t see, and wink at Luke to let him know that it’s okay.

So he puts his long fingers on the side of your face and kisses you.

You sigh dramatically, stretching your arms and pretending that he’s woken you up.

“My hero.”

Riley squeals, “I told you, Daddy!”

A year later, you’re married and Riley has the baby brother she always wanted.

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Negan walks down the line, studying each target carefully, making his final decision before he moves on.

“Simon, take that fucking gun away from him! He’d have more fucking luck throwing it at somebody!”

“Fuck me standing! You can’t shoot worth a fucking shit. I think they need someone else for fucking mop duty.”

He pauses at the third target, leaning closer so he can see the perfect grouping in the center of it. “Well, hot diggity dog!” he crows, swinging Lucille down from his shoulder gleefully and making a sucking noise against his teeth. “Which one of you fucking fuckers did this?”

You clear your throat. “That would be me.”

He turns, his eyes widening along with his Cheshire Cat smile as his gaze comes to rest on you.

“You!” He saunters over to you, licking his lips. “I fucking remember you.” He leans over far enough to glance behind you. “Mmm. That fine fucking ass hasn’t suffered any since I saw you last.” He looks back at the target. “Damn, sweetheart. I was going to ask you to be one of my wives so I could fuck you all the livelong, but that aim’s too good to fucking waste.”

You chuckle. “Thanks.” You grab him by the scarf and slowly draw his head down to your ear. “Just because I’m not your wife doesn’t mean you can’t fuck me, Negan,” you purr.

He laughs softly in your ear. “You want me to bang your brains out, honey? All you have to do is ask.”

That night, you’re pressed against his bedroom door, your legs around his waist, panting and screaming loudly as he gives you your third orgasm. He pulls out and you jerk him off as he comes all over your belly.

He rests his forehead against yours, sweaty and satisfied. “You let me know anytime you want my fucking shooting skills, baby,” he teases. “You are awesome.”

You take him up on his offer as frequently as you can.

At first, people whisper behind your back when Negan puts you in charge of the sharpshooters.

The whispers stop when he punishes the chief offender by having you shoot an apple off of his head with a handgun.

After that day, “you shoot like a girl” becomes a standard compliment around The Sanctuary.

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“Get over here, sweetheart,” John growls. He grabs you by the waist and kisses you like he’s a drowning man and your lips are made of water.

“John,” you murmur. It’s all you have to say to remind him of what you’re nervous about.

Every motel you stop at is the same. Paper thin walls. Beds sharing the same wall between rooms.

And his sons sleeping right next door.

They’re both adults, but it still makes you self-conscious.

“Sweetheart, come back to me,” John commands, roughly grabbing your chin. He’s in a possessive mood tonight, the kind that makes your stomach and toes tingle.

“I am tired of you holding back because you’re worried about them hearing us,” he confesses. “I am tired of Dean’s snide comments about you being better off with a younger man and undressing you with his eyes. Sam does it too, even though he’s smart enough not to say it.”

“So tonight,” he declares, his eyes flashing darkly, “I am going to make you scream my name so that everyone knows who you belong to.”

John has never been anything but confident when you have sex. You’re always the unsure one.

“Stop overthinking everything,” John orders, whispering the words sensually in your ear once you’re naked underneath him. “I love being with you, sweetheart. You love being with me. Just let go and enjoy it.”

You take a deep breath, promising yourself that you’ll at least try to do what he asks.

So you close your eyes and concentrate only on John and how he feels.

The weight of his body on top of you.

The heady smell of his skin and hair surrounding you.

The heat of his palms wherever his hands grip you.

The softness of his dark curls of body hair rubbing against your breasts, belly, and between your legs.

The thick velvetiness of his insistent throbbing erection as he pushes it gently inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” John hums.

What’s it?

The warm wetness of his mouth as it finds one of your taut nipples.

The raw strength in his shoulders as your hands close over them.

The steady movements of the muscles in his thighs as he thrusts in and out of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” John repeats. “Tell them you’re mine. Say my name.”

The explosion that overtakes you when he hits that perfect spot deep inside your body.

Who is making all that noise?

As John works you right into a second orgasm, you realize that it’s you.

And you finally understand that you like it.

“Oh, John, John, yes, John!”

You scream and John encourages you and the headboard slams repeatedly against the wall and every moment of it is absolutely amazing.

You vow to never be quiet in bed again.

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You walk into your last class of the day, smirking and sitting down right next to the tall, handsome man in the front row. “Hello again, Marcase,” you tease, winking at him.

He laughs. “Really? This one too?”

“We have the same requirements,” you point out. “I mean, you can forfeit right now, of course. If you’re chicken.”

You arch an eyebrow at him and he snorts. “Oh, it is on,” he promises.

This happens every semester. You’re the two best students at your college, and you had mutually decided to push each other by competing for the top spot in every class you share.

So far, you’re even.

But you have a feeling you can break him with this one.

“Give me everything you’ve got,” you challenge him, quieting as the professor walks in.

“Welcome, class. I’m Professor Harris, and this is Human Sexuality.”

At first, you follow your usual pattern. You partner with Edward for every lab and project. You do all of your studying together. You share library books and brainstorm paper ideas with each other.

But whenever it’s time to work on Human Sexuality, you play dirty. You undo a few more buttons on your top, let your skirt ride a little higher up your thigh, play with your hair alluringly, and make sure your glasses are perched just right on the edge of your nose as you bite your lip seductively.

It works. After finals, he’s top in two classes, but you’re top in three.

You’re walking past the fountain after getting your results, the snow swirling around you. He’s oddly quiet, so you nudge him playfully. “I win, Edward. Come on. No witty quip?”

“I don’t care that you won!” he snaps, turning around to face you. He runs his hand through his hair in exasperation and looks at you with fire in his eyes.

“Edward, I…”

He cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands and kissing you fiercely.

You stay completely still until he pulls away, blinking in surprise.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he murmurs. “Was it just so you would win, or do you want me?”

It’s not until he asks that you realize you do want him.

Later that night, you lay gasping beside him in your bed. You’re covered in sweat, your legs ache, and you’ve lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

“I think that was everything we learned this semester,” Edward observes, quite pleased with himself.

“Why don’t we call it a tie, then?” you suggest.

“I still have extra credit,” he retorts, rolling over and going to work again. “I have more tricks that aren't from a textbook.”

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“I told you when we started dating that I don’t like spending more than a year in one place! I can’t be stuck! It’s time for me to go, and I’m asking you to come with me because I love you! Why are you fighting me?!”

“Because someone has to be the adult in this relationship, Jason! Someone has to be responsible! And clearly you’re not going to be the one to do it, so I will! I can’t go anywhere!”

“Why not?! You hate your job! You hate your apartment! You told me that you hate everything in your life except for me, so let’s start over!”

“It’s too late!”

“No, it’s not! It’s never too late! What could possibly make it too late?!”

“I have cancer, Jason!” you scream.

That takes the wind out of his sails. He stands there in silence, processing what you just told him as you sit down heavily on the couch.

“You can get treatment,” he finally says, his voice thick with impending tears.

“It’s inflammatory breast cancer. Metastatic. It’s in my brain and my lungs and my bones. It’s everywhere, Jason. All the treatment will do is make me miserable until I die.” Your voice is soft and resigned, but it’s obvious that you’re afraid.

Jason kneels in front of you, reaching up and touching your face as the tears start to fall down his cheeks. “You’re not going to die.”

“Yes, I am,” you answer quietly.

He takes his glasses off and wipes his eyes angrily. You can see the wheels in his head turning.

He’s not a man who gives up. But this is one problem he can’t solve.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” you whisper. “I thought if I said I didn’t want to go, you’d just leave. I don’t want you to have to watch me die. So just go, Jason. Just go and forget about me. Go to the next place and find someone else who can give you what you want. All I can do is break your heart.”

He shakes his head gently. “You are what I want. I’m staying until it’s over.”

Six months later, it is.

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You finish wrapping yet another gift for a customer, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck before preparing to start another. Before you can, though, Tammy taps you on the shoulder.

“Why don’t you take your break?” she suggests. “That smoking hot man of yours is here.”

You look in the direction she’s pointing and see Jason leaning against the wall with coffee and a bag from your favorite bakery. He pushes his glasses up onto his nose and grins at you.

All of the women you work with get a little dreamy-eyed when Jason comes in to see you. You have to admit that it’s flattering. You wave at him and clock out to go to lunch.

Jason takes you to his truck so you can have some privacy. Once inside, you snuggle against him happily. “It sucks in there,” you sigh, making him laugh.

“I know, baby.” He waves the bag at you. “Hopefully this will make your day better.”

You eagerly take the bag from him and open it, expecting to see several of your favorite pastries.

Instead, you see a tiny black velvet box.

You look up at Jason in surprise. “What’s this?” you wonder breathlessly.

He smiles, plucking the box out of the bag and opening it so you can see the beautiful ring inside.

“I never thought anyone would make me want to settle down,” he admits. “But you do.” He kisses your temple and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Marry me, baby?”

You never thought Jason would ask you this question, but it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

So you slide your hands into his beard and pull his face down to yours for a passionate kiss. “Yes,” you murmur.

Jason takes the ring out of the box and puts it on your finger, making sure your lips never part.

When they finally do, he reaches into the backseat for another bakery bag and hands it to you. It’s filled with your favorite pastries.

“Aw,” you coo, kissing his nose. “Thank you.”

“Well, I’m not a monster,” he teases. “I wouldn’t promise you food and not deliver.”

“I love you, Jason Crouse.” You stare up at him adoringly as you take a bite out of the world’s biggest cinnamon bun.

“I love you too, baby,” he replies, leaning down and taking his own bite, getting frosting all over his beard.

You both giggle. “Best Christmas ever,” you say contentedly.

“Definitely.”

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You’re curled up next to Jason, wearing just his t-shirt, your legs draped over him.

You’ve each just finished a slice of pizza, and there’s only one left.

Jason looks at you and arches his eyebrow playfully; you squint back at him suspiciously.

“Don’t even think about it, Crouse,” you threaten mischievously.

“What if I play dirty?” he replies slyly.

He lunges and grabs you, starting to tickle your sides. You shriek, falling backward to get away from him, pulling both of you off the couch and onto the floor.

“Oof!” Jason grunts. “Baby, you’re heavy.” He winks up at you.

“Jerk!” You smack him in the chest, breathing deeply as he flips you onto your back.

He tugs your t-shirt up and licks his lips. “Now I’m hungry for something else,” he growls, burying his face in your breasts.

You moan as his large, warm hands squeeze and knead you, his agile fingers circling your nipples, teasing them into hard peaks.

You whimper as he takes one into his mouth. He tastes the other before flipping you again.

“I want your pussy in my face for dessert.”

You shed the t-shirt entirely and quickly arrange yourself over him. He nibbles on your skin as you peel his boxer briefs down and free his erection.

Jason buries himself between your legs as you flick your tongue all the way up and down his shaft, then start to kiss the tip of his cock.

“Stop teasing,” he groans, bucking his hips. You giggle and take him into your mouth, starting to suck eagerly, making sure he can hear you.

“Mmm, yeah, baby, just like that,” Jason murmurs. He pushes his tongue inside you, grabbing handfuls of your ass, sliding his fingers underneath you to find your clit.

You start to rock together, panting and gasping as you pleasure each other. You swallow around him, fondling his balls as his beard scrapes your thighs.

Before long, he’s filling your mouth and you’re coming all over him.

A few minutes later, Jason lifts you back onto the couch, wiping his face off with a napkin before joining you and grabbing the last slice of pizza. He holds it out to you.

“Share?” he suggests cheekily.

You grin and take a bite off the end of the piece. “Share,” you agree.

You finish the pizza together, then Jason pulls you into his lap and you start all over again.

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You’re sneaking quietly down the hallway to bed when you hear a low moan come from Jason’s room.

“Dammit,” he mutters. “Why aren’t you obeying the laws of physics?”

You blink curiously. That’s an odd thing to wonder at 3 AM.

You knock on his door softly, surprised when he grunts, “Just a minute!”

What’s got him so flustered?

“Jason, are you okay?” You know he’s between cities right now, which is why he’s crashing with you for a few days, but he’s seemed fine about it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m fine,” he assures you. “Come in.”

You stare at him skeptically as you step inside. His glasses are crooked and he’s sitting like he’s trying too hard to be casual.

“What won’t obey the laws of physics?” you ask bluntly.

He actually blushes. “What do you mean?” he stammers, all of his usual charm gone.

“You said something wasn’t obeying the laws of physics. What?”

“Oh, that. That was nothing. Must have said it in my sleep.”

You snort. “Sure, Crouse. Just tell me.”

He debates for a moment, then sighs and throws his blanket aside sheepishly.

You bite your lip as you study the impressive erection straining against his boxer briefs, warmth flooding your belly.

“Have you tried jerking off?” you tease, sitting down beside him.

“Yes!” Jason groans in frustration. “But it won’t go away!”

Well, at least now the physics comment makes sense.

You reach out and gently run your hand over the bulge in his shorts. His hips buck and he pants with need.

“Let me try?” you request hopefully. You’ve always wanted him. You’ve just never had the courage to say anything. This is the best chance you’re ever going to get.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, looking embarrassed.

You weigh your options, trying to decide what you want most. This might be the only time you ever get with him.

So you pull up the sexy little nightgown you’ve been wearing for the past few nights trying to get him to notice you, pull his underwear down, and get in his lap, taking him inside you in one smooth stroke.

“Oh, yes!” Jason whispers, putting his arms tightly around you and gasping your name. “Yes, please!”

“Mmm, Jason…” He feels perfect inside you. You loop your arms around his shoulders and start to bounce, your breasts rocking gently against his chest.

“Harder, baby!” he begs, his hips working faster. “Harder!”

You ride him as hard as you can, memorizing every sound he makes. You want to keep this for your lonely nights.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Jason holds your hips down against him as he comes inside you.

You wish it hadn’t been over so fast.

He leans back slowly, brushing his nose against yours affectionately. “You didn’t?” he wonders. You shake your head.

He turns you over, taking his glasses off and throwing them on the nightstand.

“Let me see what I can do about that.”

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Jason laughs as you pull him excitedly down the street. “Where are we going?” he asks.

“You’ll see!” you tell him. You walk a few more paces, then turn the corner.

“The American Museum of Natural History?” Jason wonders, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Aren’t they closed this late?”

You fish two pieces of paper out of your bag. “Not when you have tickets for the Frontiers Lecture!” you announce. You’ve been keeping this a secret for weeks and you can’t wait to see how he’s going to react.

Jason looks at the tickets, then back up at you. “How long have you had these? I tried to get some about a week ago and they were sold out.”

“I’ve had them ever since the lecture was scheduled,” you admit. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Jason’s smile could light up a city block. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he says a little shyly.

“Well, I’m glad, because I love you,” you confess.

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him softly. He wraps his arms around you and returns the kiss.

When you lean back, he’s blushing. “I love you too.”

You’ve never been happier.

You twine your fingers through his. “Come on,” you urge. “Let’s go see some stars.”

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“Happy birthday!” you sing happily, proudly setting down a cupcake with a single candle stuck in it.

Jason raises his eyebrow at you over his glasses. “I told you I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday,” he says grumpily.

You shrug. “This isn’t a celebration. It’s a cupcake. And one candle. You’d know if we were in the middle of a celebration.”

He doesn’t seem amused.

“Come on, Crouse!” You nudge him playfully. “52 and still smoking hot is something that deserves a little commemoration, don’t you think?”

“One year closer to dying,” he protests. But he blows out his candle, then plucks it from the treat and sets it aside. “Oh well. If I’m dying, let me eat cake.”

You kiss his cheek as he takes a bite. “You’re not dying,” you point out, trying not to let the thought upset you.

“Let me eat cake anyway.” Jason winks at you and you grin as he gives you a piece off of the end of his fork.

“Did you make a wish?” you wonder slyly.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you if I did,” Jason observes, watching curiously as you slip out of your chair and underneath the table. “What are you doing?”

You stick your head in his lap so you can stare up at him for a moment. “You said no presents, so I’m improvising.”

You start to unbuckle his belt and he leans back. “Maybe there’s something to this whole birthday thing,” he mumbles.

You giggle as you tug at his clothes, determined to make sure that he has the best birthday ever, even if he’s not that excited about it.

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“Please tell me you’re dog sitting,” you sigh when you find your husband literally laying in a pile of the fluffiest puppies you’ve ever seen on your living room floor.

He bats his big hazel eyes at you and you know the answer before it’s even out of his mouth.

“Nope. They’re ours! Go say hello to Mama, puppies!”

Surprisingly, the puppies obey, barking and running over to your feet. They jump up on your legs, wagging their cute little tails.

“Way to make me feel heartless, Jude,” you mutter. “We can’t keep this many dogs.”

“We can, babe! I’ll take care of them!” he promises, laughing as one runs back over to him and starts to lick his face.

You love your husband. You really do. But he has never been practical.

“Jude, you have to listen to reason,” you start.

He interrupts you. “But reason is boring!”

You open your mouth to protest and then shut it again, shrugging, tears pricking at your eyes. “Fine,” you relent wearily. You have had too long of a day for a conversation like this.

Jude gets up off of the floor. “Keep playing, puppies,” he instructs them unnecessarily before making his way over to you.

“Babe,” he says soothingly, rubbing your shoulders gently. “Hey. It’s going to be okay.” He turns you and points to the chair in the corner. “There’s one just for you.”

“Another one, Jude?” you ask in exasperation.

“Just go meet her. Please?”

You let him lead you to her and immediately see why he says she’s yours. She’s curled up, content to be quiet and sleep while her brothers and sisters play.

You kneel down in front of her and pet her head. “Hey, girl,” you whisper. She blinks and yawns, barking softly and smiling when she sees you. You hold out your arms and she crawls right into them, her tail twitching as she snuggles against you.

“See?” Jude nudges you. “She’s just like you. Quiet and calm.”

You sniffle a bit and Jude hugs you, kissing your temple. “Thank you, Jude. I’m sorry I got upset.”

Jude shrugs. “I should have told you,” he admits. “It was a bit much.”

“You always have good intentions,” you counter.

He chuckles. “Truce?”

You nod. “Truce.”

He gives you a kiss and goes to take the rest of the puppies outside. You follow him with yours, watching as he runs around excitedly.

“We’ll make it work, little girl. Won’t we?” Your puppy barks in response and you laugh.

As if you’ve ever been able to deny Jude anything.

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“Sorry,” you say into the phone, running your fingers through Bruce’s hair soothingly as you talk to your best friend. “I have a clingy and feverish assassin in my lap. I’ll call you back when I’ve convinced him that a cold doesn’t mean he’s dying.”

She laughs. She thinks it’s funny that you won’t tell her what your boyfriend really does.

Little does she know…

You hang up and stare down at Bruce. You’re sure his cold is making him quite miserable, but he’s blowing it way out of proportion.

“You’re not dying, Bruce,” you point out.

He sniffles and whines. “I am, babe. I typed all my symptoms into the WebMD and it said so.”

You roll your eyes. “Bruce Morgan, you are smarter than that. You have a cold. That’s all. You’d think a man who dishes out pain and suffering for a living could take a little too.”

Bruce pouts and sniffles again before burying his head in your lap obstinately.

You sigh. “Come on, baby,” you coo. “Let’s get you some medicine to help you feel better. Then you can take a hot bath while I make you chicken soup.”

He looks up at you. “The homemade kind?”

“Of course.”

“Okay,” he agrees, letting you help him up.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you tell him in the bathroom as the tub fills with water and you sort out what he can take.

He obediently swallows what you give him and smiles. “Thanks for taking care of me, babe.”

You hug him and kiss his forehead. “Always. You may be a huge nerd, but you’re my huge nerd.”

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“Is that blood?” Brian asks, nodding to where you’re clutching your arm.

“No?” You draw out the word until it’s suspiciously long.

Brian stares at you disapprovingly. “That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question,” he points out.

You sigh. “It’s nothing, really. I just scraped myself against the exposed piping on the wall over there.”

“Take off your jacket and show me,” Brian orders. His words are urgent, but gentle.

You could tell him that you think he worries too much, but then he might stop paying attention to you, and you don’t want that.

So you take off your jacket and sit down, watching him quietly as he cleans and bandages the wound and debates whether you need a tetanus shot or not.

You’re looking forward to the day that you’re not his trainee anymore, because then you’ll finally be able to tell him how you really feel.

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“And how is my favorite patient?” your doctor asks as he walks into the room. “Looking beautiful as ever today, I see.”

You blush and rub your belly. “Thank you,” you murmur, clearly flattered.

Clay clears his throat next to you, looking a little put out. You’re not sure why. It’s not like you’re together or anything. You had a one-night stand and he knocked you up. According to him, the only honorable thing to do is support you and be involved.

Which is fine. You don’t mind. And you like Clay. A lot, actually. But he’s made it very clear that he does not want a relationship.

So when your hot doctor flirts with you, you’re going to flirt back.

“All right, let’s take a look in there and see if we can find the prize,” the hot doctor jokes. “How are your breasts feeling?”

Clay’s eyes get wide at your conversation, and he doesn’t miss the way the doctor’s hand lingers on your belly when he lifts up your shirt.

“Um, hi? Can you lay off of the mother of my child, please?” Clay snaps. He’s not amused.

The doctor is obviously intimidated and doesn’t know what to say. You ask him to give you a minute and he leaves you alone with Clay again.

“What’s going on with you, Clay? I’m supposed to be the moody one.”

He crosses his arms. “Why the fuck is he all over you?” he demands to know.
You shrug. “He knows I’m single and thinks I’m hot. I’m pregnant and horny and I have no significant other, Clay. Not to mention that it’s hard to find a man who’s okay with me having another man’s baby.”

“I don’t want you to be with another man,” he admits grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sit up, pulling your shirt down over your belly and frowning at him. “You don’t get to decide that if you don’t want me,” you point out quietly. “And you were pretty clear about what you wanted when I told you I was pregnant.”

Clay worries his lower lip for a moment and then sighs. He uncrosses his arms, rests his forehead against your shoulder, and puts his hand gently over your belly.

“What if what I want has changed?” he wonders softly. “Is it too late?”

Your chest tightens and you start to cry.

You reach out to cup his cheek. “If what you want has changed, then I don’t need anyone else, Clay.”

He wraps his free arm around you and holds you tightly. You’re finally a family.

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“There he is! Come on!” Your best friend practically drags you up the red carpet to where your favorite actor, Negan, is smiling at the cameras.

You feel your face flush. You have no idea how she got these tickets, and you were thrilled when she invited you along, but now that you’re actually facing meeting your celebrity crush, you’re not sure you can handle it.

But it’s too late. You’ve reached him and she’s shoving you at him like he’s a lifeguard and you’re drowning.

“Negan, this is my best friend and she is literally in love with you!” she announces loudly. “Will you take a photo with us?”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment at her words, but Negan doesn’t seem bothered. He drapes one long arm over your shoulder and leans down until his lips are against your ear.

“Don’t be nervous, sweetheart,” he comforts you. His voice is deep and husky, and his beard is soft against your cheek.

You think you might faint.

You’re trying to think of something to say back when you feel the snap of cold metal on your wrist. You’re confused until your best friend pecks you on the cheek and says, “Have fun! I left the key at home!”

Then she takes off at a dead sprint. Security runs after her, leaving you to finally notice that you’re wearing handcuffs.

Well, one handcuff. The other is shut around Negan’s wrist where it still dangles over your shoulder.

You look at him worriedly. “I didn’t know she was going to do that!” you stammer. “I’m so sorry!”

Negan chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. It’s not the first time I’ve been in handcuffs.”

He winks at you and you turn beet red. Then you mentally kick yourself. “Oh! In your movies,” you murmur, feeling stupid.

You move a little closer to him as you realize that everyone is taking your picture over and over again. The reporters are loudly wondering what’s going on and asking Negan if he needs help.

Negan waves at them dismissively. “Nothing to see here, folks,” he drawls easily. “Just my lady friend and I having a good time.”

He leans back down. “Just follow my lead, sweetheart.” His fingers curl around yours, his arm still around you because of the way your friend put the cuffs on.

“And not just in my movies, by the way,” he reveals, kissing your cheek. “Maybe by the end of the night, we can really give your daring friend something to talk about.”

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“Babe! Babe, are you in here?!”

You look up a little blearily as Patrick comes into your room. They gave you painkillers, so you’re not exactly all here.

His face is a mixture of relief and panic. “Babe, what happened?” he whispers. “You’re hurt.”

You blink at him and shrug. “I was at Melissa’s party. There was a fire. Someone pushed me down the stairs on their way out and I broke my arm.”

Patrick sits down next to you, clearly fighting tears. “You didn’t even want to go to that party,” he murmurs. He curls his arm around you, being careful not to touch your sling.

You yawn and lean against him gratefully. You love that he’s always so warm. “I wasn’t going to stay long. But then everything happened. It was so fast.”

Patrick runs his free hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, babe,” he apologizes. He sniffles a bit as he looks at you and reaches out to gently stroke your cheekbone.

“It wasn’t your fault, Patrick,” you point out. “You were at work.”

“I know, but if I’d realized you were at that party…” He starts to cry. “Maybe I would have heard the call and I could have come to help you. You must have been so scared, babe.”

“Patrick…” You pull his forehead down to yours and press them together, trying to soothe him. “I’m fine. You’re here now. That’s what matters, okay?” You yawn again. “Can we go home?” you wonder. “I’m tired.”

Patrick quickly pulls himself together and nods. “I’m taking off work until you’re better.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you mumble sleepily. “It’s just a broken arm. I can manage.”

“But you’re the most important thing in the whole world to me,” Patrick confesses softly. “I wasn’t there, so you have to let me make up for it this way.”

He stands, lifting you into his arms and cradling you against his chest. You smile happily and snuggle into him. “You’re my big, strong hero, Patrick.” The words are completely sincere.

He squeezes you tight and kisses your hair. “I’ll rescue you next time, babe. I promise.”

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John tilts his hips and you groan. “Fuck, John, right there!”

He grunts and playfully bites your ear. “Don’t you think I know what the fuck I’m doing, woman?”

You chuckle. “A little guidance never hurt anyone, Winchester. Don’t take it personally.”

But he does, like always. He tilts again, shifting until he makes you squeal. “Fuck, John!” You’re louder this time.

You’ve been hunting with John for a while now. It didn’t take you long to learn that he’s exquisite in the sack. Blowing off steam after a hunt is a lot easier with him hanging around. There’s nothing quite like a guaranteed orgasm to relieve stress.

And he’s not going to fall in love with you. You like that. You’re not some sappy vixen he just saved from a werewolf. You’re a hunter who doesn’t want a relationship and also happens to like her sex hot and dirty.

John gets that.

Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he really starts slamming into you. Your legs are flung over his shoulders, your breasts are bouncing against his hairy, muscled chest, and you’re holding onto his arms as they tightly grip the seat behind you.

“Oh shit, John… shit… shit… fuck, John, I’m going to come…”

“I know,” he retorts, raking his sweaty hair back from his forehead as he sinks into you one more time, only letting go once you have.

You slump against the damp leather and sigh in relief. “You really do know how to use that big dick, Winchester.”

John winks at you. “That I do, ma’am,” he teases. “Give me a minute and we’ll go again.”

“Mmm, yes, please.”

But before you can, the door of the truck opens and Dean sticks his head in. “Dad, why are the windows all… fogged… up…?” He trails off and his eyes get wide as he sees the two of you.

John tugs his jeans back into place and coughs. “Surely you know why a truck’s windows would be all fogged up in a bar parking lot, Dean?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. You’d both assumed Dean would be in the bar for the rest of the night until he went home with some tail.

Dean’s face goes from shocked to angry. He’s always had a crush on you, so this discovery probably isn’t going to sit well with him.

But you do not have time for that. You’re not Dr. Phil.

“Well, boys. I will let you talk,” you announce, finding your clothes and pulling them on before you hop out of the truck. “I am going to get a drink. I’m up for round two whenever you are, John.”

He nods as you pat Dean on the cheek. “Don’t be disappointed, sweetie,” you tell him. “Sometimes a gal just needs the skill and not the stamina.”

He sputters, but doesn’t have any time to reply before you’re across the parking lot and through the bar door.

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Clay pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Why did you put fireworks next to the bomb?” he asks tiredly.

You shrug. “I wanted it to be pretty.”

“It was supposed to be subtle!” he argues in exasperation.

“Clay, it’s the Fourth of July!” you whine. “If you’re making to make me blow up a weapons depot on what was supposed to be my day off, you have to give me a little leeway.”

Clay rolls his eyes. “You could have said no,” he points out.

You snort. “Right. And let you try to do it by yourself?”

“I could have done it,” he mumbles. Another huge firework explodes in the sky, giving off wild sparks of red, white, and blue, and he shakes his head. “I could have done it better than this.”

You bat your eyes at him. “Oops, officer,” you say sultrily, playing with the low neckline of Clay’s half-unbuttoned shirt. “I had no idea there was a weapons depot here. I just set off some fireworks. What a silly accident.”

Clay can’t help himself. He grins and his shoulders start to shake with laughter. You giggle along with him.

“There is no way in the world that anyone would fall for that,” Clay protests. “You’re not that cute.”

You huff. “I am totally that cute, jerk!” You punch his bicep and he slumps dramatically.

“Ow,” he pouts playfully.

You huff again and start to pull away, but Clay drags you closer. “What do you want me to do about it?” you wonder accusingly. Why does he always tease you like this?

His long fingers stroke your hair away from your cheek and he smiles softly. “Kiss it better?” he suggests.

You stare at him dumbly until he tugs your lips down to his and starts to kiss you.

“I thought your arm was hurt, not your mouth,” you mumble awkwardly.

“It works everywhere as long as we’re kissing,” Clay explains. “Now shut up and heal me.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, clinging to him.

“Good girl,” Clay praises you.

You shiver. As he turns and presses you against a warehouse wall, you decide that you’re very glad you came to work today.

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Your bullet hits the target and you spin to grin at Henry. “I’m in the lead!” you brag.

He huffs and licks his lower lip carefully. “I’ve still got one more shot,” he reminds you as he focuses.

He hits the edge of the target and the bullet glances away into the field. He grimaces and sucks his teeth as you try not to gloat.

“Fine,” he relents. “What do you want?”

You point to your cheek. “Just a little kiss,” you tease.

Henry can’t help it. He smiles and chuckles before cupping your face in his large, rough hand and delicately brushing his mouth over your skin.

“How about a consolation prize, cowboy?” you purr, slowly getting on your knees in front of him.

As you unbutton his trousers, he parts the folds of his duster and leans back comfortably against the hay bales. His demeanor is, as always, stoic, but his eyes can’t hide his eagerness. He loves it when you do this for him.

You run your tongue all over his cock, stroking it as it rises to full hardness. Sometimes, you like to tease him. Sometimes, he even likes to be teased.

But today, you don’t waste time.

Henry groans as you push your mouth down over him, taking him all the way in, sucking and swallowing enthusiastically.

His hands tighten on the ropes holding the hay bales together when you start to bob your head, your breasts and his balls bouncing with every movement.

His hands tangle in your loose hair and he pulls you up. You resist for a moment, letting his swollen tip go with a loud, wet pop before looking up at him.

He smirks as he scoops you into his arms, bunching your skirt around your hips and bracing you against the door of the barn.

He likes taking you where you could get caught.

He likes people to know that you’re his.

His throbbing length finds your soaked entrance and he thrusts deeply into you, making you squeal as your back arches.

The barn door bangs loudly each time he slams into you, his grunting desperate as he nears his climax.

He likes it when you come with him. He’s too proud to say it, but you know it’s true. You shift your hips so that he’s hitting just the right spot over and over, panting with exertion as you hang onto him tightly.

“Yes, yes, yes, Henry, yes!” You spasm and he moans appreciatively, burying himself completely in you as he lets go.

You kiss him tenderly, running your fingers through the tendrils of hair emerging from beneath his hat. “Nice shooting, cowboy,” you tell him playfully.

He shakes his head at you indulgently. “Thanks, princess.”

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Patrick pushes forward desperately to get to you as the fire rages around him. Another firefighter grabs his arm to stop him. “Pat, it’s too dangerous! We can’t get through!”

“I have to!” he insists, pulling against the other man’s grip. “She’s in there! And she’s pregnant!”

All he can picture is you trapped in the little apartment you’d been planning to leave soon after you found a house to raise your first baby in, your hands clutched protectively over your belly as you wait for him to rescue you.

The ceiling starts to cave in and Patrick feels himself being tugged back again. “No!” he screams.

“No!” Patrick gasps and sits up in bed. He’s trembling and slicked with sweat, but finally, he realizes that nothing is wrong.

It was just a nightmare.

He turns to gaze at you, reaching out and gently tucking your hair behind your ear. You’re safe here next to him.

His eyes fall to your belly. He doesn’t know why you were pregnant in his nightmare. You’ve never even talked about having a family.

But he knows he does feel that way about you.

You stir, waking up slowly, feeling Patrick’s fingers against your cheek. “Patrick?” you murmur. “Are you okay?”

He sighs deeply, then lays down beside you, gathering you into his arms and brushing his nose over yours. “I had a nightmare,” he confesses.

“About what, Patrick?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to tell you,” he admits with tears in his eyes. “What I want to tell you is that I love you. Let’s get married and have a baby.”

You smile at him happily. “I love you too, Patrick. Of course I’ll marry you.” You blush at the thought of having a baby with him. “I want to have your baby,” you tell him shyly.

Patrick holds you as tightly as he can, already planning to start looking at houses tomorrow.

“It’s all right, Patrick,” you soothe him. “It was just a nightmare. It can’t come true.”

He nods. “I won’t ever let it,” he vows. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

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Sam opens the door, taking off his hat and running his hand through his sweaty hair. As he unravels his scarf, he waits for Tracker to come and greet him.

When the dog doesn’t appear, Sam smirks. He knows exactly where Tracker is.

Sure enough, he finds him in the living room. You’re curled up on the chaise end of the sofa, another of Sam’s scarves wrapped around your neck. Your nose is buried in it. He gave it to you when you told him you miss his smell while he’s gone.

Tracker was standoffish to you at first. He seemed to suspect that you were taking Sam away from him. He’d slowly warmed up to the idea of having you around, but he’d never been overly friendly.

But, a few days ago, you’d finally started to really show. Tracker, who had initially been rather alarmed by the sudden appearance of your baby bump, had investigated and apparently decided that his one mission in life now was to protect you.

He’s draped over you, his chin resting gently on your belly. He glances at Sam when he comes into the room and huffs softly in disapproval. He doesn’t like it when Sam leaves you alone anymore.

“Sorry, boy,” Sam apologizes, scratching the dog’s ears before he carefully sits down next to you and leans in to kiss your forehead.

You stir, smiling and snuggling into Sam. “You’re home,” you murmur happily. “I missed you.”

Tracker barks and whines as he raises his ears, upset that he’s not enough for you.

“Damn dog thinks he’s your husband,” Sam grumbles affectionately.

You giggle. “Aw, he’s just making sure I’m safe when you’re not here. Aren’t you, boy?” You reach down and pet him. “I’m lucky. Who else has two sweet men like this watching over her?”

Tracker barks appreciatively and slides to the side, still nestled against you, but exposing your belly so Sam has access to it. “Good boy,” you praise him. “Yes, Daddy wants to spend time with his baby.”

Sam shakes his head, but he can’t resist smoothing his hand over your belly. “How are you today, honey?” he asks.

You lean against him contentedly. “I’m perfect now that you’re here, Sam,” you assure him. Sam kisses you as Tracker whines again and pushes his head over your shoulder insistently.

“Both of you,” you assure Tracker, rubbing the top of his head. Satisfied, he lays back down beside you to fall asleep.

“I love you,” you whisper. “All three of you. I really do, Sam.”

Sam nods. “I know, honey. I really love all three of you too.”

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You know Ike is staring at you from across the bar. He has every night since you started coming here.

You turn your head and smile at him softly. He quickly looks away. As he does, he bites his lower lip and his brow furrows. It’s like he’s struggling to find the answer to a very important question, but he doesn’t know where to start searching.

You hadn’t expected to be dazzled by his charm. But when he’d greeted you as a new guest that first night, you’d fallen head over heels.

So you keep coming back, spending your entire night sipping club soda at the bar, just hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Hoping that maybe he’ll approach you again. Hoping that, against all the odds, he’s fallen for you too.

But all he does is stare.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You’re closer in age to his sons than to him. That would likely give any man pause, especially an obviously conscientious and aware one like Ike.

You’ve managed to convince yourself that he’s just looking out for you. That he’s worried about a young woman being by herself in a bar.

As if to prove your thought, a man sits down next to you. He squeezes your arm just a little too hard, and you aren’t oblivious to his large group of drunk friends watching you carefully to see what happens.

You tense and prepare to tell him you’re not interested when he’s suddenly yanked up off of his stool.

“Move along. Now.” That’s all Ike has to say to send the man scurrying.

Then he sits down next to you heavily, putting his arm around you and pulling you into his side. You’re immediately intoxicated by his warmth and his scent.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your breath ghosting against his cheek.

“You’re so much younger than me, but I can’t help loving you,” he replies quietly.

Your heart beats faster and you cling to him. “That doesn’t matter,” you assure him, “because I can’t help loving you either.”

He pays your tab and guides you to the elevator, never letting go of you. When you reach his floor, he takes you to the beautiful balcony in his room that overlooks the whole beach.

He turns you so you’re facing him. One of his arms is slung tightly around your waist, holding you close. The other is cupping your cheek tenderly.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispers. “I’ll always take care of you. I promise.”

All you can do is nod and hang on.

He kisses you as the waves crash on the beach.