The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... #1) Read online

  "Question. Is it that you think that you don't like a word or that you're scared of how the word makes you feel?"

  I looked at him. "What are you, my therapist?"

  "Not even close. But a word is just a word. You can make it mean whatever it is you want it to mean. You can award it whatever connotations you want to give it. But if you don't give it power, it doesn't have it."

  I gazed at him in silence. So he was an enlightened sage, was he?

  But he continued. "A priest told me that 'fuck' means to plow. So in the olden days you used to fuck a field. There's no reason to cringe about fucking. It's a normal word."

  "A priest?" I asked.

  "Parochial school," he said in explanation. "That's a story for another day."

  "I like the word 'plow,'" I acknowledged.

  "I like to plow you," he said, with a gravity-defying grin.

  I gave him a shove.

  "I really want to plow you again," he whispered in my ear. "Right now."

  I took a deep breath, crossed another Rule off my list, got right up and personal with his gorgeous face, and said, with resignation, but also with a giggle, "Nah, just fuck me."

  And so he did, again.

  Feeling and Light

  I AWOKE, WARM AND comfortable, with another heartbeat throbbing under my ear. In my bed. In the morning. Rule #7 (no spending the night), shattered, along with Rule #4, Clause 2 (no oral sex; rule broken for me, we'd have to see about him) and Rule #10 (I "make love" only).

  Sheesh. What kind of lawyer was I? If I had myself as a client, I would have full-time employment to deal with all of my Rule-breaking.

  You know what? In the soft, buttery Santa Barbara morning light, it didn't matter.

  I yawned, snuggled into Ryan's chest, and looked up at him, content. He was already awake, his glossy eyes sleep-heavy, but intense. He had been watching me for a while, it seemed, as I slept on his torso, my legs intertwined with his. He shifted a finger from my lower back, trailed it up my spine to my jaw, and kept it there. And then he said the most beautiful words in the English language.

  "I'll take you to breakfast."

  At the restaurant, it felt like every female eye was on Ryan as we walked to our table. He was that good looking, sure, but it also seemed like there were flickers of recognition in their feminine eyes.

  It made me wonder.

  After breakfast, Ryan dropped me off at my house, saying that he had to go do some things that day for work, and that he had already scheduled himself at Southwinds every morning that week, but that he would pick me up on Friday at 5:30. He told me to wear "comfortable clothes" on Friday, kissed me breathless, and left.

  I updated Marie, fended off Hugo by telling him about Ryan (he was immediately interested), and got ready for the week.

  Ryan texted me late that night: Sweet dreams.

  I wasn't sure that this was really my life.

  Ryan texted me every day that week.

  Monday

  What rules do you still need to break?

  Most of them.

  Specifically?

  Oral sex on you for one.

  Ryan?

  Crickets …

  Did not want to have to jack off at work today.

  Sorry.

  I'm not.

  Tuesday

  Another rule we need to break?

  Nothing demeaning.

  What does that mean?

  Don't make me crawl naked across the room to you.

  Don't give me ideas.

  Would you want to do that? Can't believe I'm saying this but I'd consider it. For you.

  Ryan?

  Crickets …

  Not specifically. I'm not into BDSM, although if you want to try, I'm up for it. The image of you, naked, crawling on the floor to me, totally submissive, totally turned on. Fuck. It might turn me into a dom.

  [Giggles. Licks lips.]

  Did not want to have to jack off at work today.

  Sorry.

  I'm not.

  Wednesday

  Hit me with today's rule that we need to break.

  Do you have to go jack off?

  It depends.

  Well, I've already broke the no masturbation one today. For me, that is.

  Ryan?

  Crickets …

  Fuck, woman.

  On Wednesday, Hugo came to my office to take me to lunch, and chatted with Neveah, our receptionist. As Marie said, that boy. Still, they looked cute together.

  Don't match make, Amelia.

  Thursday

  Send me a picture of your beautiful tits.

  Send me a picture of your beautiful abs.

  Your wish is my command.

  Fucking hell, Ryan. Now I need to go break the no masturbation rule again.

  Ryan?

  Crickets …

  Don't think I need the picture anymore.

  Never mind. Yes I do.

  Your wish is my command. Shit, I can't believe I'm doing this.

  Ryan?

  Crickets …

  You are so fucking beautiful, Amelia. Did not want to have to jack off at work today.

  Sorry.

  I'm not.

  Friday

  Anything else on that list?

  True doggy style.

  Did not want to have to jack off at work today.

  Anything else?

  No toys.

  Fuck, Amelia.

  No dirty talk.

  We'll see.

  No anal.

  Ryan?

  Crickets …

  Ryan?

  Do not know why I torture myself.

  Friday evening brought a tall blond surfer to my front door, his cool old truck looming behind him. I debated whether we should take my Mercedes, but decided not to be a bitch about it. He kissed me, grabbed my hand, and told me that I looked beautiful in my off-white sweater, fitted jeans, and flat brown boots. His long-sleeve, plaid flannel shirt stretched across his shoulders, and strained over his muscular arms.

  Yeah, he was still the Sun God.

  His truck was spotlessly clean.

  He played me music as we left Santa Barbara, heading for a rural area just north of it. As we drove through the gates of a farm and down a dirt road, I realized that he was taking me to a country fair.

  "A pumpkin patch?" I asked, incredulously. WTF?

  "They have the best cider and doughnuts. I used to come here as a kid. It's only open this time of year. C'mon." We parked in a dirt parking lot, and headed for the fair.

  The area was set up with food trucks, craft booths, a corn maze, rides, hay bales to sit on and for kids to climb, and pumpkins and gourds everywhere. It smelled like a fair, a combination of hay, cotton candy, burned butter, and grease from kiddie rides. A bluegrass band played in a shady area under a tree, with hay bales set up for seating benches. I giggled. I hadn't done anything like this in a long time.

  Yet again, Ryan did the unexpected.

  We held hands as Ryan paid for the entrance fee, and walked around looking at the arts and crafts. He bought us fresh pressed cider—pressed right in front of us, the apple peels squished into mash, hot apple doughnuts—made on a machine right in front of us, and tri tip sandwiches.

  Yum.

  We sat at a picnic table to eat and I noticed that when Ryan ate, he savored it, enjoying it. He ate slowly and carefully, licking the sugar from the doughnuts off of his fingers. It wasn't over the top or exaggerated; it was just an appreciation. We finished and explored the fair. When we walked past the petting zoo, he stopped. "Let's go in," he suggested.

  "That's for kids," I protested.

  "Are you allergic?"

  "No."

  "Then come on."

  He paid a dollar for each of us to go in, and fifty cents for feed in a Dixie cup. We approached a 4-H kid holding baby chicks. Ryan reached for one and placed it in my hand, stroking it gently.

  "Feel it, Amelia."

  I dutifully petted the
chick. He stepped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "No, Amelia," he whispered in my ear. "I want you to remember how to feel pleasure, and not just when I fuck you in my bed. I told you, I'm a sensualist. Notice. I want you to feel how light the chick is, how soft its feathers are, how fast its heart races, how its claws dig into your skin." His full lips were so close to my ear, it was turning me on. He nibbled my neck, distracting me from the fact that I was standing with him on hay-covered ground, in an animal pen.

  The downy chick was an adorable, little puff ball. Ryan was right. The little chick weighed almost nothing, but it felt so alive, so vibrant in my hands. Its heartbeat was nothing like the one I felt the other morning, with my ear plastered to Ryan's drool-worthy chest. I cooed at it, petted it, and gave it back to the 4-H attendant.

  We met all of the animals in the petting zoo. It was funny, we towered over the little kids, out of place. Neither of us cared. I petted the goat with its weird, horizontal eyes, felt the rough bristle of the fat mother pig and her babies, and rubbed the back of my hand on a soft rabbit.

  I was coming back to feeling.

  After we visited all of the exhibits and booths, we went to leave. On our way out, Ryan grabbed a wheelbarrow, and started putting gourds and pumpkins in it of all sizes, colors, and shapes, the more bumpy and misshapen, the better. He insisted on buying a ridiculous amount of them, and hauled them to his truck, putting them in the back.

  When we got back to my house, he set them up my walkway. Now my house was decorated like the others in my neighborhood. Wow. He was thoughtful. So, obviously, I invited him in. This was seriously one of the best dates of my life.

  Fifteen minutes later

  "Turn the light off, Ryan."

  "I want to see your eyes when you come."

  "You can see my eyes any old time. But I don't have sex in the light." I was naked, sitting on the bed, pulling up the sheet. I reached over and flipped the switch off.

  He stared at me, confidence and disbelief radiating from him, as he stood to the side. He wore only boxer shorts, which made it a little hard to argue with him.

  "No. Lights on," he ordered.

  Scratch that. I was arguing with him. What the fuck was this? I was not going to play that game with him. I was in charge here. My Rules. My house. My body. No.

  "No. Lights off," I snapped. He reached over and flipped the switch back on. I grabbed my shirt and went to put it back on.

  "Lights off. Deal breaker."

  He looked at me, grabbed my shirt back, and sputtered. "This is crazy. You are beautiful. Why do you need to be in pitch blackness?"

  "I just do, okay."

  "You're not letting me in."

  "It's early," I hurled the words at him. "I've let you in more than anyone else. I don't do it in the light."

  Holding me by my waist, he dragged me to him. "What is this?" he asked in a quiet voice. Probing. Gentle. Damn him.

  "I can't do the light. No light. It's against my Rules." I behaved stubbornly and I knew it and I didn't care.

  "So the Rules protect you? Do they really do that?" His voice was sharper now, challenging me.

  I had had it.

  "Yes!" I yelled. "They do." I glared at him. I wasn't backing down from this. I tried to cover myself up with the sheet.

  I had no idea what he was going to do next. Was he going to back down? Was he going to face me head on? How big was this fight going to be? I was a lawyer. I could do the head on challenge. I was stubborn too. I could sulk with the best of them. But what he did next completely undid me.

  He prowled towards me, put his hand under my jaw, and caressed me with his golden fingertips. Talk about an about face. He then leaned in and kissed me softly on my lips.

  "You beautiful thing," he murmured.

  "I don't understand why you can't understand why I need the light off."

  He let out a breath and sighed. "Let's try something," he said gently. "Stand here. Take a deep breath." All lights were on and he was still ordering me around. I was not going to be fucking obedient. Not going there.

  Right?

  But something about his tone made me trust him. I dropped the sheet that I was clutching, and walked to the middle of my bedroom, wearing nothing.

  I had been naked with him before, but this felt different, because I felt more exposed and vulnerable. Indeed, I had never felt more naked, standing there, in my bedroom in my little house, all the lights on, in front of a man. This man. I felt like all of my flaws, my scars, especially that one, were on display.

  I stood there and waited, while he looked at me. His eyes passed over my entire body, starting with my head and moving slowly over me, all the way down to my toes. I could see the hunger in them. I braced to protect myself. I wanted to move my arms, to cover my breasts, my abs, my scar.

  "I want you to understand something, Amelia. There is one thing about you that I want you to change."

  I was immediately disheartened and slumped my shoulders down. What was it? My abs? My boobs? Did I need to make more money? Dress differently? Get a new job?

  "I want you to stop being so hard on yourself. I want you to accept yourself."

  I looked at him in stunned silence. The fuck? So he had been talking to my therapist.

  "Everything about you, physically and mentally, is beautiful. Your insecurities are beautiful. But you don't need them." He circled me, trailing a finger around my waist as he surveyed me. "Let me point out some things that I adore." His fingers teased across my head. "Your dark hair. It smells like hot girl. I love to feel it, play with it. I love it when it's up and I really love it when you take it down."

  I shrugged in embarrassment and looked away from him.

  "Your beautiful face. You have the face of a movie star. I've never seen eyes like yours on anyone else. Your eyebrows and cheekbones make you look so elegant. Your lips make me think that they need to be on my body at all times. Especially around my cock." He grinned suggestively. "Your ears, your neck are stunning. Everything that goes on inside your head is attractive. Your intelligence. Your humor."

  I looked at him, stunned, as he continued to list all of my attributes, touching each, caressing each.

  "This hollow, right here, on your collarbone. Priceless." He stalked to my back and ran his tongue from the nape of my neck to my ass. "This backbone. It's where it's at—you've got spirit, and one hell of a backbone, but it's also superb. These curves." He took both hands and whispered them down my sides, from my armpits to my hips. "I've never seen such impressive curves. You are all woman, Amelia."

  "Isn't that just a nice way of saying that I’m fat?"

  "You're not listening," he chided, "so I'm gonna keep going until I get this into your head." He reached towards my front and gently caressed a breast in each hand, pressing his boner into my back. "These are fantastic tits. Fucking fantastic. They are the stuff that make hard-ons happen, obviously." He kept one hand on a breast, kneading it, and took the other hand down to my belly button. He splayed his hand over my belly. I covered his hand with mine. "This right here, is so soft. It's like nothing you know. Soft skin. It's womanly, comforting. It's so attractive."

  He walked around in front of me and kneeled.

  As an aside, I’d never had a man kneel in front of me. My ex proposed to me over the phone, the asshole. But I heartily recommend having a guy kneel in front of you. Wow. Talk about sexy submission.

  Focus, Amelia. He was worshiping you.

  I waited for him to continue.

  But then he traced my C-section scar first with his finger, and then his tongue, and looked up at me, imploring.

  "I know you've had a baby. You can tell me about it when you're ready. This scar is part of you and it means that you're a woman. It's gorgeous and meaningful and I want to kiss it as often as I can."

  I burst into tears.

  "I'm gonna keep going and then I'll hold you as long as you need. This pussy. I'm not good with words, but I could write, like, a p
oem about your pussy." He grinned. Still kneeling, he kissed one hipbone and then another. "Your hipbones and hips are fantastic. And your ass. Another poem." He reached around and caressed my ass, while pulling his tongue out and getting a few licks into my pussy. His fingers trailed down each of my legs. "You have knockout legs, Amelia. I love to look at them. I love them wrapped around me. They’re so hot."

  And I was sobbing.

  I'd never had anyone go through my body, inch by inch, and tell me that it's acceptable. But he didn't just tell me that it was acceptable, he told me it was wonderful. Attractive. Attractive to the Sun God. I'd never felt the affection that he just gave me.

  I didn't feel naked and vulnerable anymore; I felt cared for. This fast, he had got through yet another one of my defenses: my insecurity. While I had tried to tell myself that I was a badass, in reality I never believed it. And not believing it was precaution against getting hurt. If I took myself down first, no one else could do it, and no one could do it better than me.

  He trailed his fingers from my ankles up to my hips, then with a graceful movement, got up off of his knees. He traced his fingers up my sides, over my shoulders, and around my back, then down to my ass again. Then he moved his warm hands to my back, and hugged me hard, kissing the top of my head.

  I fell into his embrace, sobbing, getting tears all over his naked chest. I didn't care if I turned red and my eyes got puffy. I didn't care anymore whether he saw my C-section scar or my Buddha belly. I didn't care anymore that the light was on.

  All I cared was that I finally felt accepted, not just by him, but by myself. By telling me that he accepted my body, exactly as it was, no changes, with my history, gave me permission to loosen the grip of unconscious self-loathing that being in the dark symbolized. He broke me open, telling me that he saw me in the light, and he liked it. Because of that, I felt better in my own skin.

  Sabrina

  MY SOBS SUBSIDED. I was a wet, puffy mess. I shivered. Ryan's chest glistened, completely soaked in my tears. I looked up at him and burst into laughter. "I didn't mean to drown you. I'll get a towel."

  "I have a better idea."