Stroked long, p.33
STROKED LONG, p.33Meghan Quinn
Although we are madly in love, exploring each other’s body’s every night, and working together on divvying out money for the foundation—we made over fifty thousand dollars that night—we still have our struggles.
It hasn’t been all candy canes and lollipops. I would love to say we lived a fictional life where our problems just disappeared after an I love you, but life doesn’t work that way. Once a week we go to couple therapy with Dr. Auburn, the same doctor Bodi still sees every week on his own. We mainly talk about our progress as a couple and how Bodi can aid me and how I can aid him.
He still struggles with his OCD, and I don’t think that will ever go away. I catch him checking the locks in the middle of the night, and on occasion, he will call Eva at eight thirty, but she continues to miss his call. Secretly, she told me it kills her every time, but she refuses to go back to the way things were. I’ve noticed he does things in threes, such as washing his hair three times, wiping down the counters three times, stacking throw pillows three times. When I catch him, he flushes with embarrassment, but I reassure him that he shouldn’t be embarrassed but instead talk to me about why he feels the need to do his task again. It’s a tip I learned from Dr. Auburn.
Has he gotten better? Sure, a little. Will it ever make me love him less? Never. He suffered a horrific trauma when he was so young. That’s not something you get better from.
Even though he says he believes he didn’t kill his parents, I still see the guilt in his eyes when the topic is brought up. I don’t know if he will recover from such a horrifying experience or if he will allow himself to live guilt free, but what I do know is I will continue to show him what an amazing man he is every day to lessen that pain.
I meant it when I said I was made for loving him. There is no doubt in my mind that I was brought to him, to his sister, to help heal their family.
“Did you hear me? We aren’t done.”
I roll my eyes and shut my door. Bodi rounds the truck and links his hand with mine. One of the many things I love about this man: he has no problem showing any form of PDA. He’s actually one of those people you love to hate. You know, the ones that make you so insanely jealous because of the love he showers. Thankfully, I’m the one who gets to bask in it.
“When did you become so invested in knitting?”
“Since you started Naked Knitting Fridays.”
Yes, he knits. Mister Strong Olympian with multiple gold medals, muscles popping out of every orifice of his body, and a dick that makes angels sing, knits. He wanted to learn because he wanted to help knit for the athletes in Special Olympics, but when I started Naked Knitting Fridays, he became more invested in watching . . . as he puts it, “my tits bounce with each loop.” He’s insatiable.
“No.” He pulls me in and kisses my temple. “I’m just obsessed with you, especially you naked.”
That is the truth. If he had to be obsessed over anything, I’m glad it’s me, and I’m glad it’s me naked. I’m not going to lie. His ability to make me scream his name within four licks has me planted firmly in worship mode where he’s concerned.
“You like to see what kind of marks you can make on me with your beard.”
Yes, the beard has stayed. At first, I wasn’t too sure of it, but Bodi said since he started swimming he’s never been able to grow one out, and he kind of liked it. It’s only temporary. He has a few more months off, but once he gets back in the pool, it will be coming off. I look forward to the smooth skin to return.
“I’m not going to lie about that. But seriously, where do we stand with naked knitting?”
I laugh and knock on the door in front of us. “If you’re a good boy, I will consider it.”
Paisley opens the door and greets us with a giant smile. “Aww, you came!”
“Happy birthday!” I pull her into a hug and then hand her a card with a promise to treat her to a pedicure when her production schedule slows down.
“Thank you. Come in.” She pats Bodi on the shoulder. “Hey Bodi, glad you could make it.”
“Happy birthday,” he says a little awkwardly. We’re still working on how to interact in social situations. He’s had to learn new skills, ways of interacting that he had shied away from earlier. With the support of our friends, he’s becoming more confident. They make it easy on him.
“Thanks. Reese is by the pool, grilling some meat, and there are drinks in the coolers. Help yourself. I hope you brought your suits.”
“Wearing them,” I smile back, loving that Paisley decided on a pool party for her birthday. I don’t mind spending the afternoon ogling some hot men in swim trunks, especially the one beside me who, despite his consumption of Double Stuf Oreos since the end of the games, still has a well-defined six-pack that makes me weak in the knees. Damn you, kale. Damn you. *shakes fist*
We make our way to the back of the house where Reese is talking to Hollis, a beer in his hand, wearing only a pair of swim trunks. Yup, Paisley is a lucky girl, but not as lucky as I am. Hollis doesn’t seem to be paying attention to Reese and his story; he looks more pensive wearing swim trunks that rest so low on his waist I’m pretty sure if he turned around, I would see his butt crack. His gaze is fixed on the pool, never wavering.
Floating on a giant inflatable pretzel, is Melony, and I think back to when I met Hollis for the first time.
Hot sex. The “term of endearment” still makes me giggle. I wonder what’s going on between them.
“Do you want something to drink?” Bodi asks, leaning in to place a kiss on my cheek.
“Yeah. That would be great. Anything but water.”
“I wouldn’t even dare bring you a bottle.” He winks and takes off toward the coolers where he greets the men. I saddle up next to a lounge chair and strip my dress off over my head, revealing the same vintage-style bathing suit I wore for my “swim lesson” at the club. The same one I gave myself a moose knuckle in, yup, I have no shame. Compared to Paisley and Melony who are wearing tiny bikinis, I look pretty covered up even though I’m wearing a two-piece. A miniscule of insecurity flashes over me.
That’s until Bodi approaches me. His eyes eat me up with one glance, lust in his eyes, lust for me. He licks his lips and sets our drinks on the lounge chair. He grips my hips and says, “You fucking owe me big time.”
“Do you really think you can parade around in that sexy-as-fuck bathing suit and not get in trouble for it?”
“What about you? You’re about to go shirtless, do you think that’s easy for me?”
“It’s different.” He pulls me closer, a smile on his face.
“How is it different?”
“Because this is torture for me.”
Once again, I roll my eyes at the love of my life. “This relationship is so one-sided.”
“I’m just a horny bastard with eyes for only you. Sorry, Rubes, but you’re screwed.”
“I guess it could be worse.”
“Could be way worse.” He leans in and kisses me just as there is a loud splash in the water. We both turn to see Hollis pop up from the water as well as a drenched Melony.
“You fucker,” she shouts.
“Oops, were you trying to stay dry, hot sex?”
“Don’t fucking call me that!”
“Make me.” He pulls on her arm, forcing her closer only for her to palm his face keeping them at arm’s length. Talking through her hand, muffling his voice, he says, “I love it when you fight dirty, hot sex.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
He laughs and says, “Right about now, I would take any kind of attention from you. Kill away, baby.”
I turn to Bodi and smile. “I wonder what’s going on there.”
He shrugs. “Whatever it is, looks like the poor bastard has it bad.”
“How can you tell?”
Without even looking toward Hollis, he says, “Because you can see it in his eyes. He looks at Melony the way I look
“When did you become so smooth?”
“No fucking clue.” He chuckles. “I’m just glad it works on you.”
It works on me in more ways than one.
As he bends down and softly kisses me with an open mouth, not caring who watches, I thank my lucky stars for bringing this sweet, powerful, yet broken man into my arms. I may have changed his routine, introduced color into his monochrome life, reduced his kale-dependent diet . . . marginally . . . but he’s added so much to my life. So, although he tells me constantly how lucky he feels that he found me, I am the lucky one. He told me the other week that he plans to cherish the fuck out of me, spoil the fuck out of me, worship the fuck out of me. What more could any woman want than that?
Thank you for reading STROKED LONG. I hope you enjoyed it!
Keep flipping the pages for a SNEAK PEEK of the first chapter of STROKED HARD
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If you enjoyed STROKED LONG, don’t worry the series isn’t quite over, STROKED HARD will release November 1st, 2016. In the meantime, here is a list of my other books available.
The Romance Novelist Series
(Hilarious, laugh out loud romantic comedies)
The Virgin Romance Novelist
The Randy Romance Novelist
Romantic Comedy Standalones
(Full of heart, humor, and heat. Both heroes are sweet, yet demanding)
The Mother Road
The Bourbon Series
(Sassy, erotic romance with a gorgeous, protective alpha male)
Becoming a Jett Girl
Being a Jett Girl
Forever a Jett Girl
The Hot-Lanta Series
(My first series ever. Baseball sports romance with lots of drama!)
Playing the Field
Hit and Run
The Addiction Series
(Rock star romance, minor cheating and love triangles. Book three still to come, Rehab.)
The Warblers Point Series
(Three Irish brothers, their younger sister, and the drama they get into. Love triangles. Book three still to come.)
Beers, Hens and Irishmen
Beers, Lies and Alibis
“There was definite cuppage. I saw it man. “
Reese shakes his head. “There was no cuppage. If there was cuppage I would have felt it. Her hand was no where near my crotch.”
I raise an eyebrow at him and lean up against the wall, an ice cream cone in my hand. Fuck my diet, when there is a soft serve machine, I take advantage of it. “Listen, I’m not here to tell you how you get tailored but when I’m sitting there, watching an old man, wrinkles as deep as the Grand Canyon on his forehead, move his hand up your inner thigh, graze your dick, and then back down, I’m calling cuppage.”
“Why is this something we are even discussing.”
I take a bite of my ice cream. Licking is for pussies…literally. “Because, I want to know…did you chub out?”
“For fucks sake.” Reese walks away, not answering my question so I chase after him.
“Is that a yes? Dude, talk to me. Is this something you’re worried about? You know I would love you either way, right? Greg Louganis is my hero and he’s gay. I’m for whatever puts jollies in your pants because let’s be honest, everyone deserves to get off, no matter what kind of private parts are touching.”
“Why can’t you just say love is love?”
“Because the way I said it is more fun.” Reese opens a bottle of water and chugs it, avoiding my question. “Seriously though, is that why you’re doing this reality show? Because you need a beard?”
“What? I have a beard?” Reese says, looking confused and rubbing his actual beard. The stupid fuck.
“Not an actual beard you dumb shit, I’m talking about a fake girlfriend to cover up for the fact that you’re gay and you’re not quite ready to come out about it just yet. They call those beards. So, is that why you’re doing this reality show? Because you need a beard because you’re gay and you really enjoyed the cuppage from the old man with a fucking shrub coming out his head? Dude had crazy fucking ear and nose hair.” I twiddle my fingers near my ear, pretending to be that unsightly shit.
“I’m not gay, dumb ass.”
I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated. “Then why the fuck are you linking yourself with the biggest cunt on this planet since Hitler?” Let’s be honest, Hitler was a little bitch. I bet you anything, that dude had a massive bush bigger than his little peanut dick. It’s the only reason I can come up with for someone being that ornery and volatile.
Mein herr, zi can’t find your schnitzel.
“I told you.” Reese runs his hand over his face, clearly irritated with me.
“Refresh my memory.”
“Because, this is my last go around. After this year, I’m retiring. I need to curb my image, cash in on endorsements. Ashley, my publicist, is convinced this will do that.”
“Curb your image? What, do you want people to think you’re the biggest douche in the entire world?” I start slow clapping. “Because if that’s the case, you’re right on track to claiming your trophy.”
This will be Reese’s fourth Olympics, my third. He’s getting old for swim years and I get his need to retire and secure a future when he hangs up his goggles but attaching himself to Bellini Chambers to be on a reality show…uh not a fucking good idea. The only reason why Bellini Chambers is so popular is because Americans are masochists when it comes to reality television and love to hate the evil twat.
Hell my twin sister, Holly – yes, Holly and Hollis, my parents are fucking precious – loves tuning into Rollin’ in the Bacon just to watch what kind of self-absorbed bullshit Bellini will get into only to bitch about it to me later.
The worst part, she will call me up after the show airs to talk to me about it. You would think I would stop answering my phone, but for some reason, I enjoy hearing her voice, even if it’s to bitch about something. That happens when you almost lose your better half in a car accident.
“Is that why you came here? To harass me?” Reese asks.
I chomp on my cone and talk with my mouth full. “No, the free food, always the free food.”
“You know that’s going to catch up to you, right?”
Get fucking real. I lift my shirt and pat my abs, the same abs that have been voted on more than once for best in the country every Olympic season. Yeah, I fucking read Buzzfeed, especially when they do the “toilet” pics with divers. You try doing four tuck flips off a ten meter platform and not have a look on your face just screams “I’m shitting out a gerbil.” Thank you, Buzzfeed, thank you for making us look like we have chronic diarrhea. Slow clap for your employees.
“Metabolism of the gods.” I smirk. It’s true, but I also bust my ass in the gym.
“Just wait until you get to thirty.”
“Nah, I’m like a fucking tube of salami man, I get better with age.”
“Isn’t that wine?”
“Whiskey?” I ask. “Gouda perhaps?”
“Gouda? You fucking wish. If you’re a cheese, you’re a Kraft single: cheap and floppy.”
I stick the rest of my cone in my mouth and wipe my hands on my pants. Eh, my mom taught me better but she’s not here. “Th
Pushing my chest, he laughs. “Get the fuck away from me.”
I scan the room of production people milling about, setting up Reese’s photoshoot and search for any on-lookers. “Dude, that was good.”
“What was good?”
“You covering up your gayness. No one would have guessed you were gay with the way you pushed me away, not wanting to touch my crotch.”
“Pardon me, Mr. King, but can I get you to come over to hair and makeup.”
A joke about Reese getting his makeup done is on the tip of my tongue when I turn to see a little brunette with sun kissed hair, beautifully bronzed skin, and the biggest fucking green eyes I’ve ever seen standing behind Reese.
The hottest fucking woman I’ve ever seen is standing behind him wearing ripped jean shorts, a tight as hell white tank top, and teal Converse. Her hair is shoulder length, wavy, and looks so fucking soft that all I want to do is bury my head in it. But what’s really causing my pants to grow tighter by the minute are her pink glossed plump lips. I’m mesmerized by the way the lights bounce off them and I can’t fucking help the way my mind wanders, wondering all the ways I can have fun with those lips.
“Are you coming, man?” Reese asks as he walks away.
What? Oh shit.
“Sure. You need me to hold your hand like last time?” I ask, chasing after them. “I don’t mind, but when the scary blow dryer comes at you again, I won’t be cleaning your inner thighs from pee dribble. I did it once and it was fucking creepy. Never again.”
I don’t get a response besides the middle finger that is directed at me from behind his back.
STROKED LONG by Meghan Quinn / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes