F*cking Awkward (22 page)

“Why isn’t it going down?” she speaks to my dick and me.

“I don’t know, but it’s not a good sign. Maybe I’m too big for the ring?”

“I need a pair of scissors,” she states matter-of-factly.

“What?” I squeal like a twelve-year-old girl. “No!”

“Yes, I can’t get the damn thing off,” she says in frustration and walks away.

I follow her like a sick puppy still holding myself. She picks up the phone on the nightstand and hits zero. I sit down on the bed and wait to see what she says.

“Yes, I need a pair of scissors brought up to room 715, immediately. It’s an emergency.” She goes still while the other person responds.

“Well, there is something wrapped around a part of my husband and I can’t get it off.” She throws a hand on her hip as she speaks. Again she is quiet after talking.

“That’s better. I’ll meet the bellhop at the door.” A couple seconds pass.

“For Christ’s sake. Yes, we will be dressed.” She slams the phone down on the receiver.

“Idiots!” She shouts into the air. “They made me tell them why I needed the scissors and why it was an emergency. So I told them the truth, because I don’t want anything happening to our sweet baby maker.”

“Baby maker?” I can’t believe this. Now she’s bringing babies into this debacle. I’ve asked her if she wanted any more kids for a few months, because I’d like to try again.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about that this weekend. I want one more too.” Her smile is weak at best, but it works.

“Hot damn. Then we better get this fucker off me a.s.a.p.” There’s a knock at the door a split-second after I said that.

“Oh shit. Clothes!”

“Bathrobe.”

“Right.” She scrambles to the bathroom and comes out wrapped in a plush white robe.

“You better hide.”

“Fine.” I scoff and shuffle to the bathroom, but leave the door cracked a smidge so I can hear what’s going on.

I hear her feet pad toward the door and a click as she opens it. “Hello,” she greets the deliverer of my hopeful relief.

“What do you mean he has to sign for them?”

What? I have nothing on. I scan the bathroom for another robe and see only towels perfectly placed on some shelving.

The place is too damn cheap for his and hers?

“Okay. But I’ll have to take the form to him.” She says in a pissed off tone.

The door flings open and she’s standing there with a sour face, and a white form in her hand along with a pen.

“Sign, please.” I take the paper and scribble something on it and pass it back to her.

She turns on her heels and heads back to the door. A few seconds later she’s back with scissors in hand. I’d like to say I am feeling hopeful, but the sharp edges and pointy ends make me queasy.

“Sit on the toilet,” she orders me and I do as she asks.

“Will it hurt?” I am sounding like a child now and feeling like one too.

“Close your eyes. I promise it will be fine.”

I close my eyes tight and cover my ears. I don’t want to see or hear a thing. Unfortunately, I can feel everything, though.

Her fingers pull on the cock ring and I want to scream to the roof, but I hold my tongue. I am thinking they should’ve brought up a shot or two of scotch along with a bullet to bite down on.

Cold metal touches my skin and I freeze in place. I might be saying a prayer to every known deity too.

I feel slight pressure and then relief. I remove my hands from my ears and open my eyes.

“Voila,” Marilee says. The remnants of the deadly cock ring in one hand and the scissors in the other. “The baby maker is saved.”

My swollen dick is starting to return back to normal. Thank fuck!

“You know what?” I ask

“What?”

“Even after all this crazy shit, that orgasm was worth it. Now, what are we going to do to make sure this thing is still working?”

I scoop her up in my arms and head toward the bed in the suite. This time the only ring I want to see is the one on her finger.

S
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Raised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, Liv Morris now resides on St. Croix, USVI with her first and hopefully last husband. After relocating tweleve times during his corporate career, she qualifies as a professional mover. Learning to bloom where she's planted, Liv brings her moving and life experience to her writing.

F
reya sprinted
toward the rustic barn, tucking her sky blue shirt into her tan riding pants then straightening her belt.

“Freya?” A deep sexy baritone halted her in her tracks.

“Yes. Can I-?” She choked on the last of her words. As soon as she saw him, her breath hitched, and her cheeks heated.
Holy hell!
Tall and blond, his athletic build was enough to make her drool. He was gorgeous.

Freya walked toward him, noticing how his muscles protruded through his thin snug shirt, exposing more of his defined chest. At once, she noticed how confident he appeared in his stance. She forced a smile to hide the awkwardness and discreetly cleared her throat. “Sorry, can I help you?” she asked, leveling out her tone to mask her minor humiliation.

“Um, no. Not quite. But I believe I can help you.” He extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Cyrus. I’ll be your instructor today.”

“Sorry, what?” Confusion etched lines across Freya’s forehead, as her eyebrows rose in question.

His expression fell.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just – I wasn’t expecting anyone else but Magnolia. Is she not here?” She smiled, hoping to ease an awkward first introduction. All she could concentrate on was his aura glowing around him, presenting him to her. As she reveled in her immediate attraction for him, she considered how he appeared to be the epitome of the kind of hot sex her friends often spoke of… The kind she’d yet to find. And given the chance, she’d jump him. Why not? It’s not like she had a boyfriend anymore. She snickered, releasing the entertaining notion.

With a flirtatious glint in his eye, he looked down at a now nervous Freya. “Ah, I see. Well, darling, she’s otherwise preoccupied, so sorry to disappoint you.” His face relaxed as he rocked back on his heels, crossed both arms across his broad chest, and watched her as though he was eating her with his eyes.

He
was
flirting with her. And she liked it.
Good Lord!

“No. You’re not. I mean, you didn’t. I was expecting Magnolia,” she said, fumbling over her words. Crimson red painted her cheeks. No man had ever made her stutter. The anxiety curled into Freya’s stomach, twisted into knots, and then had her choking on the words in her throat.

“Trust me, you do not disappoint.” Her gaze traveled the length of his body, from the bulge in his pants –
Fuck
– to his radiating smile. She squared her shoulders and seized the opportunity. “If you did, though, you’d be the first to know.” Her breathing calmed as she relaxed her stiff posture, and the sudden spell of sureness smothered any lingered anxiety. “Let’s just say you are a pleasant surprise.”

Cyrus walked closer to her, a grin settled on his firm lips. The sun beat down on her, and for a second, the way his eyes penetrated her, she swore she melted a little.

“So, what do you say, Cyrus, you ready to take me on that ride?” Freya winked on her way past him and headed straight inside the stables.

Cyrus grabbed her elbow, walked up beside her, and looked at her. “You bet, Chestnut. It’ll be the ride of your life.” Promise shined in his grin, emphasizing his dimples, and pure sex radiated from the glow in those baby blues matching her riding shirt. She was doomed.

Freya considered skipping today’s lesson and teaching him how a ride of her life should be, but preferably not on a horse.
His
stallion would be her preferred choice – behind closed stable doors rolling in the hay. She raised one corner of her mouth while arching a brow and snatched her elbow back. “Well then, seems we shouldn’t waste any more time. C’mon, cowboy, let’s see what you’ve got.”

They rode side-by-side until they passed into an even gait, making conversation easier. At first, Freya concentrated on the surrounding beauty, ignoring his eyes burning through her. After their earlier banter, if she paid any mind to Cyrus, she’d halt her horse and jump him now. Instead, she lost herself in the ride. The scenery reminded her why she took lessons in the first place – her recent break up with Trentyn Graham. And nothing was more therapeutic than nature, an exhilarating ride, and a hot riding partner.

After a few minutes, she cleared all thoughts of Trentyn and turned her head toward Cyrus. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? The freedom. The beauty.” Her attention went to the trees, creek beds, fields, and wildflowers. “The power and strength...” Her words waned as she leaned forward to pet the horse before she straightened and ogled Cyrus. She couldn’t help it. The power and strength of the horse she rode wasn't all she enjoyed.

She caught Cyrus staring at her. Tiny chill bumps covered her body as her temperature rose. Thousands of swarming baby butterflies flitted in her abdomen. That never happened to her – ever. A keen desire flowed between them. He made her heart rate increase, and she gripped the reins tighter in order not to fall off this dang horse.

The magnetic
way
he studied Freya gave her the impression he absorbed her as if he was branding her image into his mind. Crazy, she reflected, until Freya realized she’d never had a man do that before now. She gaped at him, as he examined her, and she simply basked in how the sunlight lightened his blues. He turned her on more than she expected.

Their intent stares held until their horses moved into a full-blown gallop. The summer sun warmed their skin and an inviting breeze provided comfort amid the heat. The terrain went from level and smooth, to rough and unsteady. Twice or so, they pulled back on their reins. “Whoa” drifted into the space between them. As they rode together, continual conversation became shared glances and laughter. So much was said, without a single word uttered.

Once they slowed at a small narrow creek, Cyrus took the reins from Freya, making her feel safe as they crossed the rocky bed. His hands brushed hers and pulsing throbs riveted her pussy.

“I’m fine,” she offered, not wanting to appear dependent or needy. She tried to dismiss the pulsations, placing more focus on the leathered straps, before peering at him through thick lashes.

“Yes, you certainly are,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “And it’s my job to make sure you stay that way.” He flashed a mischievousness expression that had Freya’s body reacting.

Freya didn’t argue or break their captivated stare. He was more forward with his flirting efforts, but she didn’t mind. Not. At. All. She thought how truly nice it was having someone show an interest in her again. But she also couldn’t deny the intensity she felt with Cyrus, even if she tried.

And, she’d tried. Each time, she’d failed.
Fuck!

They made their way up the hill and came to a rest on the ridge.

“So, I need to know something,” she said, caressing the horse’s mane.

“You can ask me anything. Shoot.”

“Okay. Not to be forward.” Freya paused, contemplating her words. “Actually, you know what? After breaking up with a guy who could never be honest, or direct, I
will
be straight with you.” She aligned herself in the saddle, wiped her sweaty palm against her pant leg, and glanced at Cyrus, whom she caught resembling a Cheshire Cat. “Do you flirt like this with all the female riding clients? Be honest.” After Trentyn’s cheating ways, she vowed she’d never have time for games. She kept her full attention on Cyrus as she waited for his reply.

Cyrus never skipped a beat. “Are you fucking kidding me, Freya?” Irritation etched his words.

Had Freya detected pain in his answer? He looked away first. His chest rose and fell while he scanned the open wilderness. For a hiccup in time, she almost felt bad for asking.

“Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. I need to know. I mean, whatever this is,” she moved her arm back and forth between them, “this attraction happening between us, won’t likely lead to anything. Well, except maybe ‘the ride of my life’, right? But I believe in honesty.” She paused, taking a deeper breath before she sighed. “Look, I have zero plans on getting caught in another player’s spider web of lies, cheating, and deceit. So, no, I’m not fucking kidding.” She hesitated, watching as Cyrus took a deep breath and let it out. When he turned to face her, Freya asked, “Do you?”

A deafening silence ensued between them. The only sounds came from nature. Birds chirped. Tiny pitter-patters of unseen wildlife scurried over fallen branches. Water rushed from somewhere close by. The brief awkwardness made her antsy, so Freya pulled her canteen out of her satchel and took a gulp. She was thirsty anyway, she reasoned. As soon as Freya returned the water to her bag, Cyrus addressed her.

“Look, I don’t know who fucked you over, Freya. And it’s not my business, but just know that I’m not him. Hell, for all accounts and purposes, Chestnut, you’ve already condemned me to Hell
and
branded me with a Scarlett letter of ‘C’, without even giving me a fucking chance. Not all guys are cheaters, you know.” He groaned. “I believe in honesty, too, Freya. So how ‘bout you riddle me this. Do you always do that to men you meet? Prejudge them?”

His words resonated with her. In the past two months, since Trentyn, she hadn’t realized she’d done what Cyrus accused. But he was right. She’d prejudged him. Hadn’t given him a real chance. Even though she’d been having fun with their mutual attraction and banter, she’d somewhat attacked him by accusing him of flirting with all female clients. Hell, she needed to amend the damage, and fast.

She flipped her dark ponytail over her shoulder. The only way to reverse what she said was to get this conversation back on track, and focus more on the rest of the afternoon’s lesson with Cyrus. The thought made her excited. She’d like nothing more than to get to know Cyrus. Even if it was only for a wild ride.

One breath, maybe two, passed through her lips before she answered him. “I’m sorry, Cyrus.” She offered a genuine smile before addressing the ‘elephant’. “He’s not worth the airspace. Trust me. You don’t need to know who he is, or was, I should say.”

His jawline tightened but the tension diminished almost as hastily, and the sudden variance had Freya second-guessing she’d even witnessed it. Freya blinked a few times. Then, Cyrus released a short snicker. “Good to know.”

“Yep. So, how ‘bout that ride you promised,” she teased, toying with him and lightening the mood.

The horses snorted. It seemed a tad ironic, considering, and they both laughed.

“See, even they agree,” Freya said, and her horse bobbed its head.

“Seems someone’s impatient and bored. So, let’s do that… Let’s get back to our ride, shall we?”

“After you.” Freya motioned for Cyrus to take the lead.

Their horses and the natural comfortableness between them resumed, and soon they slipped into regular banter.

“You’ve ridden before, haven’t you?” Cyrus asked.

Freya shook her head. “Some. I grew up around horses and have always had a love for them. Many of my friends have horses and a couple of aunts and uncles do, too. But my overprotective mother always coddled me while I grew up and didn’t allow me to ride much for fear I’d get hurt.” A transient frown displayed on her face with the recollection, but Freya quickly shrugged it off. “Anyhoo, that’s why I’m taking lessons. One, it is cheaper than therapy, and the best recourse for getting over a breakup. And two, my mother has no say in how much I ride now. I’m on my own.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I could’ve sworn you rode in the past. Hmm, a natural, then.”

“Sure, I guess.” She beamed with pride over the thought. As much as she’d loved horses, she never imagined it’d come so easy for her, or that the horse would be so responsive to her. The feeling she got while riding didn’t compare to any other sport or hobby she’d ever experienced. The deep, sexy tone of his voice captured her whole attention.

“Well, I’ll have you know that I’m a natural at mending broken hearts.” His words were smooth like syrup and just as sweet. The mere consideration they could hold any truth had Freya almost melting, this time in her saddle.

Another breath caught in her lungs when he brought his horse nearer to hers and leaned mere inches from her face. Freya inched forward until they were even closer. Time seemed to stop. Sexual tension thickened the air. Cyrus took her hand and placed a sensual kiss on the back. Avid and fast, he pulled away, took a solemn breath, and hopped off his horse, motioning for Freya to stay where she was. He led her and the horses down the hill to a ravine and brought them to rest along a wide flowing creek beneath tall oaks that provided shade from the sun’s rays.

“Stay there,” he commanded.

Freya, drawn to his demanding tone and influenced by the affection he displayed by the kiss to her hand, froze in the saddle. The prospect of what he had planned had her pulse thumping even wilder.

With the horses secured around the tree, Cyrus stopped in front of Freya. Her heart leapt, beat by beat.

“Sidesaddle. Now.” He stepped between her legs, spreading her knees. The previews of how dominating he could be didn’t turn Freya off. It turned her on even more. Her hardening nipples ached for his touch. Her palms grew clammy. Their lust, prevalent all day, escalated with insurmountable speed.

“Planning to mend my broken heart?” she quipped, but with a quiet, serious expression.

One of her boots fell to the ground, and he unzipped and removed the other. Moving to her pants, nimble fingers unbuckled her belt, unfastened the button and zipper, and dragged them and her thin lace undies down, until they all pooled on the ground near the horses’ hooves. Each sensual touch of Cyrus’s hands had Freya’s fingers grasping tighter in his blond curls until a growl escaped his lips.

She inched forward, wanting, no, needing to get off this horse. Cyrus placed his hands on her hips to hold her in place as his eyes hinted of his intentions. The leather saddle nestled beneath her bare ass was foreign to her. For a brief minute, she wanted to resist, but obeyed, finding herself enraptured by this man.

Stepping in a stirrup, he lifted himself to her, kissing her with rising passion. Freya thought his lips, soft and thick, existed for hers. When he withdrew, little by little, Freya enjoyed how their bottom lips had time to resist the separation.