A good man falls seven times,
But I’m far from a good man.
I’ve got my own set of rules,
And I never stray from them.
I live by a simple set of guidelines and they’re easy to follow.
But when Chelsea Robinson walked into my garage,
The rules went out the door.
Suddenly, I was falling.
No, that's not right.
It was more like a crash-landing,
Because I sure as hell couldn't stop myself.
And now, I’m still falling,
For a woman I shouldn’t even want.
But when love steps in, you have no option but to break your own rules.
“Anita,” Chelsea says, looking like the Cheshire Cat.
Her low, satin-like voice is doing all kinds of things to my cock. I barely respond with, “Anita who?”Maybe I can cool down with a sip of water. My hand finds one of the bottled waters I’d pulled out from the refrigerator earlier.
“Anita dick inside me!” she says, cracking up.
Water comes flying from between my lips. Chelsea is beside me, cackling, and I’m choking. Did she just say she needs a dick inside her? I can’t catch my breath. I think about my next move. How much can I say?Fuck it. Might as well be upfront. Once I collect myself and put the bottle down, I catch and hold Chelsea’s gaze. “How about mine?”
“What?” she whispers, leaning away from me in a hurry.
I move closer to her as I’ve longed to do since we sat down. I have to touch her, and I settle on fingering a few of her long curls, twirling them around. I’m trying to collect myself and not come off as a desperate fool. I take in a few deep breaths to help me regain some of my composure. “I know where I’d like this to end, Chelsea.”
Her tongue slips through her lips and moistens them. I move closer to her, breathing her in, and I do believe I could actually come right now. Mutual desire saturates the air as our eyes connect and our bodies lean in at the same time. Unable to decide where to touch again, my hands drop to her thighs, where her skirt is hiked up.
Counting helps to calm me down. “I’ve been dying to see what’s under this thing since I saw you at the garage.” My hand slides up from her bare flesh to the edge of her skirt.
She hesitates, even though her mouth opens.
“Come on; you can tell me,” I prompt.
“I’ve wanted to see more of this for the last two weeks.” Her hand travels up my arm then grips it.
That’s all I needed to hear. I drag her over my lap so she’s straddling me. Her skirt rides up even more. All of her is exposed: gorgeous thighs and her more-than-handfuls ass cheeks. My hands get greedy, palming the body part—one of many—that has driven me wild since seeing her in those denim cut-offs. My finger trails down the thin strip of material that’s between her ass.
“Mmm,” she hums.
“Chels, you have to tell me to stop.” I give her an out, just in case she needs one. But she rubs her barely-covered pussy on me, and I take that as her answer.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
As a teen, allyn lost herself in the pages of some of Romance’s heavyweights, trusting that a happy ever after was just around the corner. In allyn’s own writing journey, as in life, she’s learned that people don’t always experience recovery and restoration after a fall. Her stories speak to the gritty side of life where the right choice isn't always easily identified and happiness not quickly gained.