The O'Conners: A Made for Love Novella

Copyright
©
2015 R.C. Martin. All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author
’
s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Cover Design by Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs
©
2015

Formatting by Brenda Wright at Formatting Done Wright

Made for Love Series

The Promises We Keep

Reckless Surrender

So Much More (Coming December 2015)

To Megan, who wanted a little more Grayson
…
preferably with his pants off.

Table of Contents

Dedication

June

July

August

September

March

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Contact R.C. Martin

Her mouth is moving. I know she
’
s speaking to me
—
to us
—
but I have no idea what she
’
s saying. I
’
m sure that I should be listening. She is my mother, after all. Not to mention, seeing as how the newly named Mr. and Mrs.
Willis
have just made their exit, whatever she
’
s trying to tell me
—
tell
us
, the matron-of-honor and the best man
—
it could be important. Yet, despite my best efforts, I catch only random snippets of her monologue.

“Their
…
flight
…
morning
…
brunch
…
gifts
…
home
…
tonight
…
beautiful
…”

I can
’
t even pretend to be able to string together her words in an attempt to make coherent sentences out of them. All I can think about is the feel of his knuckles as he grazes his fingers up and down the side of my neck, his hand resting on my shoulder. To an ignorant bystander
—
like my mother
—
it
’
s a meaningless caress. To anyone else, his touch is just the affectionate act of a husband who adores his wife. To
me
, it
’
s a reminder. A promise. A declaration. To
me
, it
’
s the most delicate and tantalizing tease. With every brush of his fingers, the desire in the pit of my belly grows more and more unmanageable.

He knows it, too. He
’
s no fool.

I
’
m his
wife
, his
lover
, his
woman
. He knows he
’
s stirring me up right now
—
reminding me of our rendezvous in the restroom an hour ago; coaxing the memory of his mouth pressed against my neck as he moaned my name repeatedly whilst finding his release, buried deep inside of me.

That
’
s how he comes. Every time. Whispering, calling, moaning my name
—
his lips grazing my neck. Every. Time. Except once
…

I fight to keep my eyelids from fluttering closed as I recall the most passionate night I
’
ve ever had in my life. It was as if we couldn
’
t get enough of each other. I had been away for the weekend, traveling with a small ensemble I play cello with for private events. It was the first time we had been away from each other since our wedding and it was the loneliest two nights I think I
’
ve ever endured. I didn
’
t expect for it to be so hard. I didn
’
t know how dependent I had become in one of the most natural and necessary acts, one that I
’
d been doing alone for most of my life. I figured sleeping was a basic routine I could fall into regardless of how much I missed my husband.

I was wrong.

I was exhausted upon my return. One look at his handsome face
—
into my favorite pair of brilliant green eyes
—
and I knew he felt the exact same way I did. When he greeted me with a smile and a gentle stroke of his fingers down my neck, I was his for the taking. We made love over and over
—
our hunger for one another seemingly insatiable. It was frenzied, heated, wild, sweaty, and
beautiful
. During our last round, I came so hard I thought I might literally pass out.

That was when he bit me.

A shiver of desire runs up my spine.

“
Avery Jade O
’
Conner
—
are you even
listening
to me?
”

“What? Hmm?
”
My eyes snap open as I reach for Grayson
’
s hand, pulling it away from my neck. He immediately laces his fingers with mine and then begins to trace slow circles with his thumb against my skin. I draw in a deep breath, willing myself to
hear
my mother and
not
think about the way he can make me lose control with that thumb
—
that same thumb he swirls in slow circles against my
—

“Honestly, my child, what
’
s gotten into you?
”
my mother chastises.

I can feel the heat of my blush as my mind continues to frolic amongst my inappropriate thoughts. I shake Grayson
’
s hand away. Hearing his quiet chuckle, I bite the inside of my cheek, begging myself not to start giggling like a lovesick loon
—
which, if I
’
m honest, is
exactly
what I am.