Book 3 of the Brothers in Blue Series...
BROTHERS IN BLUE: MATT
The Brothers in Blue Series, book #3
Jeanne St. James
Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance
Meet the men of Manning Grove, three small-town cops and brothers, who meet the women who will change the rest of their lives. This is Matt’s story…
As a former Marine, Matt Bryson has dealt with PTSD ever since coming home from the Middle East. He finds himself fortunate to be able to return to his job as a cop at the local police department with his brothers Max and Marc.
Dr. Carly Stephens works hard as an obstetrician at the local hospital, struggling to pay off her medical school loans, financially support her elderly parents, and save money to adopt a baby. Unable to have children, she still longs for one of her very own.
Instantly attracted to the Dictator Doctor, Matt finds Carly easily brings him to his knees both emotionally and physically. What starts out only as a convenient sexual relationship turns into a whole lot more when dealing with their pasts and their future. Especially since Matt doesn’t ever want children.
Matt and Carly find themselves on a passionate and emotional journey that can either bring them together or rip them apart.
Note: This book can be read as a stand-alone and has an HEA ending. Due to the sensual and explicit sexual nature of the story, it is intended only for readers 18+. Trigger warning: this book includes a main character who is dealing with PTSD.
He secured the flap on his tent and strode toward the house with a purpose. And that purpose was to be between Carly’s soft thighs within the next few minutes.
He slowed as he walked through the sunroom and entered the kitchen. She was bent over in front of the fridge, moving things around. She straightened with a large pan in her hands. When she turned, she squeaked in surprise, and then visibly relaxed when she recognized him.
“Jesus, Matt. You gave me a freaking heart attack.”
“Sorry.” He moved closer and glanced at the dish in her hand. “Is that my mother’s lasagna?”
Amusement filled him as her cheeks reddened and she looked guilty.
“Yes. I couldn’t sleep. Her lasagna kept calling out to me.”
“Good shit, isn’t it.” Not a question but a confirmation. His mother’s cooking definitely was the bomb. She always stocked the kitchen and then acted like he couldn’t figure out who did it.
He knew she had a key. He wouldn’t complain about her invading his privacy as long as she continued to drop off homemade dishes like her lasagna. It sure beat military chow. Or MREs. Or a mouthful of sand.
“Are you mad I’m eating it? It’s addictive.” She slid the pan onto the counter and pulled off the plastic wrap.
He realized she thought he was frowning because of her actions, not his own thoughts. “No. I don’t blame you for pilfering my meal.”
She smiled. “Want some?”
“Hell yes, I want some.” His voice even sounded husky to his own ears.
She turned toward him with a spatula in her hand, her robe gaping enough for him to get a healthy eyeful. “You’re not talking about lasagna, are you?”
“Is this going to be a nightly thing?” she asked, smirking. She licked some sauce off her finger, causing his cock to stir.
He sure hoped so. “I’ll leave that up to you to decide.” He closed in, unable to keep his eyes off her in that sexy, clingy robe. Wrapping his arms around her, he slid his palms along the silky fabric at her waist and buried his nose into her neck, inhaling deeply.
“Oh, sure. Put the pressure on me,” she murmured, dropping the spatula on the counter with a clatter.
Her nipples pebbled beneath the robe, and he tucked a finger where the fabric met in the V over her breasts. He tugged and, from where he tucked his face, could see the upper curves of her breasts easily.
His cock grew painfully hard. He broke her hand free from the counter where she gripped it like a lifeline and placed it over the bulge in his BDUs. “No pressure. You can say yes to this, or no.”
“Sounds fair,” she said, swallowing hard.
“Very fair. Which one is it? Yes?” He slid her hand up to the top of his erection. “Or no.” He pushed it back down. Her fingers closed around him and squeezed. He groaned against her skin and thrust into her palm.
“By the way, I told your mom we’re just roommates,” she said, her voice ragged, her breath hitched.
“Good,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. He traced her collar bone with his tongue, pushing the fabric out of his way, then sank his teeth gently into her shoulder.
Carly gasped and leaned back against the counter. He quickly untied the sash of her robe and it fell open.
“You don’t want lasagna?” she asked shakily, her eyes hooded as he dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Fuck the lasagna.”
“Don’t ever say that in front of your mother, she’d cry—” Her words turned into a gasp as he pressed his mouth against the skin above the narrow strip of hair at her pelvis.
Her fingers gripped his head, directing him lower, but he resisted and looked up her body instead. “Turn around.”
Her face appeared flushed, though not from embarrassment. From need. She clearly wanted this as much as he did. She turned to face the counter.
“Drop the robe.”
Without a word, she slid the silky fabric over her shoulders and it slipped to the floor. He nibbled along the globes of her ass, appreciating the roundness, the firmness. He separated her cheeks, running his tongue along the crease.
Her thighs trembled against him. He stroked a finger between her legs, finding her wet with arousal. She was so responsive to his touch. The thought became heady and intoxicating. As he slipped a finger inside her with ease, she groaned, pushing her hips toward him, giving him better access to slide in another. Her pussy, slick and ready, gave him no resistance.
He climbed to his feet and observed the woman before him. Her head bowed, making her loose blonde hair a curtain. Her breath became rapid, ragged.
She was perfect.
Her head rose and she peered over her shoulder when he stepped away to pull out one of the kitchen chairs. He shoved his BDU’s down to his ankles and stepped out of them, his hard-on bobbing painfully with each movement he made. He sat on the wooden chair and held out a hand to her. “Come sit on me.”
Without hesitation she came over and straddled him, perching above him. He grabbed the root of his cock, placing it at her entrance and when he held it perfectly aligned, she sank down upon him with a shaky sigh. He closed his eyes and held his breath as her wet heat enveloped him. The weight of her body pushed him inside her as far as was possible. Balls deep, he blew out a breath before opening his eyes.
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she gazed down into his face. And then she smiled, which made his cock twitch deep within her. When she began to move, she controlled the pace.
She started excruciatingly slow, rising and falling on him. Tilting and circling her hips. He released her waist and brushed his thumbs over her nipples, marveling how hard the flesh could become. He sucked a nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip, flicking it. Little noises escaped her with each lift and lower of her body.
Oh fuck, he belonged inside of her. She had been made for him. Why did he find her too late? Why couldn’t he have met her before he became too broken to fix?
He pressed his mouth against her other nipple, scraping his teeth over the peak. She cried out and ground down upon him, drawing a gasp from him.
She repeated something over and over. His name. “Matt… Matt… Matt…”
His chest tightened as he looked up at her. She tried to make eye contact, attempting a connection. He couldn’t allow that to happen. If he did, he could be…would be lost.
And maybe this time forever.
He couldn’t take any more pain, or loss, or—
She cried out in pleasure and, most likely, frustration at him closing himself off. But he couldn’t offer any more than what this was. He buried his face between her breasts and groaned as she ground down upon him harder, working to drive herself over the edge.
He slipped a hand between them to find her slick clit. He pushed the sensitive nub, pressing, circling until she tensed above him. Her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders and her inner walls squeezed him tight. When the first ripple surrounded him, he let himself go with her. It felt like a dam shattering and waves broke over them both.
One heartbeat, two, and then she collapsed against him, boneless. Her warm breath beat a tattoo against his ear. He closed his eyes and held her for a moment. Only for a moment would he allow this weakness before wrapping his fingers around her waist and lifting her from his lap. They both cleaned up in silence.
As she tightened the robe’s sash around her, she asked, “Hungry?”
He couldn’t see her face, but he heard the disappointment in her voice. Matt glanced at the forgotten lasagna on the counter. “Always.”
JEANNE ST. JAMES is an erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only 13 when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.
She has a few new releases coming up in 2017. So keep an eye on her website at www.jeannestjames.com or sign up for her newsletter here.