And Then There Was Her (And The There Was 1)

Fate had a funny way of making things work out when someone least expected it. I felt so strongly for him that first night, when I spoke to him, when he touched me… when I gave myself to him. I had been scared of those emotions, so I ran, left without saying anything. I’d regretted it as soon as the thought entered my mind, and every second of every day after that until destiny had brought us together once more.

I’d fallen in love with Oliver when I looked at him from the stage, saw the way he watched me, this transfixed expression on his face. I felt this pull toward him, and we hadn’t even spoke two words to each other. I’d never felt that with any other person in my life, and that’s how I knew it had been real.

That’s why it had scared the shit out of me.

I honestly never thought I’d have him in my life in the way I desperately wanted. But here I was, going to spend the rest of my life with him. He’d become such an integral part of my world that I didn’t know what I’d do without him. My heart belonged to Oliver always.

For the last year I’d stopped waitressing and just sang… and sang and sang. I was an exclusive act at Lyrics, Bishop giving me the position because the crowd I drew in had been staggering to all of us. I had no idea people cared that much—or enjoyed for that matter—listening to me sing.

My dreams were coming true, had come true.

And here we were, all these months later, all this time past since I knew I couldn’t let Oliver out of my life. I was pregnant with our first baby, and the home we’d bought last year had really come together. There was even a little garden out back that he’d made for me. I planted flowers in the beds, had asked him to make me a vegetable garden. And he had, hadn’t even hesitated as he built the raised beds, as he brought me an array of seeds.

He’d even made me my own sound rom, a little place where I could go and create and record music even if it was only for me, for us. It was convenient as hell having a husband who was good with his hands.

God, I loved this man.

And Lord, was he good with his hands. I flushed at that thought.

Over the last year I’d seen how possessive and territorial Oliver was when it came to me. Most women might have found it too controlling, too overbearing. Not me. It showed me how much he loved me. He gave me my independence, let me have my space. But he protected me, let me know how much he loved me, how much I meant to him.

I heard the shower shut off and lifted my head up from the book I was reading. It was getting late. Oliver had just gotten off work, but I knew he’d want to spend time with me. He always did, and I was so grateful for that.

The bathroom was attached to the bedroom, and when the door opened, steam billowing around before the light was turned off and Oliver stepped out. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and another one covering his head as he dried his hair. I instantly heated even more. I set the book I’d been reading on the bedside table, smiled slowly, and felt every part of my body come alive.

He finished drying his hair and tossed the damp towel into the hamper by the door. Then he slowly looked up at me, and I watched as his expression turned to heated desire. My nipples hardened, my pussy became wet, and I felt my entire body heat with lust. Oliver’s chest was so masculine, a work of art. He had bulging muscles, a six-pack that was so defined I could have probably bounced a coin off it, and that delicious V of muscle that dipped down to disappear beneath his towel had me feeling so feminine I couldn’t even breathe.

This deep growl left him as he lowered his hands to the towel at his waist, pulled the material free, and let it drop to the floor. He was already sporting a massive erection, his cock long and thick, straining toward me. My mouth dried at the sight.

“Baby,” he groaned right before he stalked toward me, pulled the blanket away from my body, and covered my chest with his own. I spread my legs to accommodate his larger frame, felt his massive dick press against my panty-covered pussy, and a gasp of pleasure left me.

“You’re insatiable,” I said against his neck. He started running his tongue along the side of my throat.

“Only with you, Adele. Only ever with you.” He let out this low growl and thrust his cock against me again.

“Good.” I smiled, even if he couldn’t see me.

“You make me so fucking hard, so turned on I can’t even control myself.” His mouth was still at my throat, the vibrations seeping into my body.

He pulled back, looking at my mouth. I lifted my hands and tangled my fingers in his damp hair. He gave one last deep groan before all but tearing at my nightshirt and panties until I was naked. He latched onto my nipples right away, the feeling of him sucking at the peaks with his hot, wet mouth causing me to squirm in desire. The blood rushed to the surface and swelled under his ministrations.

For several agonizingly pleasure-filled seconds, all he did was suck on my breasts. He alternated between them, drawing the tissue out with his teeth and then dragging his tongue over the slight sting he caused. It felt so incredibly good, and I wanted it to last forever, but I desperately wanted him to advance in what we were doing.

I was vaguely aware of the sounds coming from me, ones that should have embarrassed me, but I didn’t care, not with how Oliver made me feel. He slid his palm down my slightly rounded belly, pushed my legs apart even farther, and covered my panty-clad pussy with his big hand.

“I need this gone,” he grunted a second before he ripped the material from me, the fabric pulling against my flesh before the garment gave way. I gasped at how much that turned me on. He pulled the panties up and brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply as he stared at me.

“So fucking sweet.” He tossed the material away, and at the first touch of his fingers on my slick cleft, I cried out.

“Tell me how it feels.” He added a bit of pressure, and I gasped again.

“It’s so good, Oliver. So good.”

“Yeah, it really fucking does feel good, baby.” He continued to stroke me slowly. He slipped a thick finger into my pussy and started pushing it in and pulling it back out slowly. All the while, he stared into my eyes. “And it’s all for me, baby. You’re wet and primed and ready for my cock… only my dick, baby,” he murmured at the same time he pressed his thumb to my clit and started working the bundle of nerves back and forth.

I nodded. “Only for you, Oliver.” His name fell from my lips like a plea, like I was begging for more. And I supposed I was. All I wanted was Oliver to have his cock inside me, stretching me, filling me. I wanted him desperately.

“Yes,” I moaned and shifted on the bed, lifting my hips, needing him deeper, needing something thicker, more substantial.