True, Deep and Forever: Part 1
Book 5 of The Dark and Damaged Hearts
One marriage ... a second chance at love
Eight years ago their love was instantaneous, all-consuming and intense. Garret Banks had to have Amy Shaw the moment he met her, and no one thought the flame would ever go out.
Now, they have everything they’ve ever wanted: great careers, a beautiful baby, and a rock-solid marriage. Or do they? Garret’s high-stress architectural job is taking its toll. Amy's predicaments would be hilarious if they didn't make her want to cry. And to make matters worse, her ex is back in the picture, demanding answers about the wild passion she left behind — answers she isn’t willing to give.
Garret and Amy grab quick, dirty sex while they can, but in between mommy wars, annoying in-laws, sleep deprivation and fears of betrayal, their marriage is put to the test time and time again. Once they were sure love conquers all, but how far can one marriage bend before it snaps?
#NSFW Excerpt
“What are you doing down here in the middle of the night … eating ice cream?” Garret asked, lazily sauntering into the kitchen and pulling out the chair next to me, knuckling sleep from his eyes. He wasn’t wearing anything besides his Fruit of the Loom boxers, and there was a healthy prickling of hair on his chin and scalp. Pillow creases ran across one side of his face, and the half-pitched tent in his pants told me he’d been having a racy dream.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I muttered, shoveling another spoonful of Turtles ice cream into my mouth, cringing immediately from the brain freeze.
Why’d I have to make my bites so bloody big?
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
More like a ton on my mind. Most of that was Daxon van Camp, but a bit of it was also Christopher Weston and the thought of possibly running my own gallery. Could I do it? Since Christopher had offered me the job, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. What would I name it? How would I run it? How would I decorate it? What artists would I approach? The idea of running my own gallery, or running a gallery for someone, kept sleep on the run, so instead, like any person with an addiction, I turned to my vice.
Garret nodded methodically, a half-smile turning up at the corner of his mouth when he realized there was no way in hell I was going to offer him a spoon or give him mine. We might be teaching Henry to share, but I was a grown-up, and grown-ups don’t always have to share. “Is that good ice cream?” he asked. “I can’t decide if I like the Turtles or the Rollo better.”
“Turtles all the way!” I scoffed. “The pecans are what makes it. Plus, the chocolate is better quality.”
“I seem to remember other ways, besides gorging ourselves on chocolate, at”—he leaned over to check the clock on the microwave—“two-thirty in the morning that we spent our time. And we usually always fell asleep right after. That rush of dopamine, ain’t nothing better.”
I smirked and snorted a laugh through my nose. “I’m sorry, but as much fun as being thrown down on the table and ravished right now sounds, I just can’t.”
He dropped to his knees and brought his chair around, grabbing my leg and placing my foot on the seat. “No, you can’t. But I can. It doesn’t always have to be fifty-fifty. Sometimes you can just spread your legs and let me lick your clit until you scream.” He grinned like the devil. “Let me, Ames.” His eyes lifted as he hiked up my nightshirt to my waist. “Let me make my wife feel good.”
Before I could answer, he dipped his head between my thighs and flicked out his tongue. I let my eyes close and leaned my head against the back of the chair. The man was so damn good. I scooped another bit of ice cream and put it in my mouth, feeling naughty and downright dirty, letting my husband eat me out as I devoured an entire tub of ice cream. And yet as he continued to feast, I found myself unable to get enough, and I pushed my pelvis into his face, rotated and ground my body against his mouth, taking and taking and taking, just like he’d told me to. All the while satisfying my need for chocolate as well.
Drawing my wetness down between the crease of my ass, he made sure I was good and lubricated before he pushed a finger into my tight hole. I moaned from how good that wicked and depraved invasion felt. His whole tongue flattened out and swept up my folds, using surface area and finesse to drive me ever-loving mad. Around and around my clit he went, never stopping, relentless in his quest. His finger pumped, then he added another.
The kinkiness of the moment drove my orgasm forward. I found a giant glob of Turtle and crunched down on it just as Garret brought my clit into his mouth. He sucked hard, and I detonated. I’m not sure if it was the chocolate, the finger or the sucking that galvanized my release, or maybe it was the combination of it all, but I went off like a rocket. My whole body shook as he relentlessly devoured me, his dedication unwavering until I had to run my hand over the top of his head and cup his cheek to get him to stop.
“No … more,” I sighed. “I can’t take any more.”
He lifted his head and grinned at me, wiping his hand across his mouth, then on his boxers. “Feel better?” he asked, chuckling when I offered him a bite of my ice cream in thanks.
“Much,” I said softly. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I finished off the tub and stood up to go put it in the sink. Garret washed his hands, too. “I think I might actually be able to fall asleep now,” I said dreamily. I reached for his hand and led him toward the stairs. “You really are the best husband.”
“I really only did it for the ice cream.” He guffawed. “You’re a terrible sharer, you know that?”
“Hey.” I yawned. “If that’s the going rate for a small spoonful of Turtles, then I think we can work out a very lucrative business deal,” I said, laughing as we climbed into bed and pulled up the covers.
He rolled his eyes as he leaned over to turn off his bedside lamp. “I just wish you liked licorice as much as I do. Then I could demand blow jobs for a Twizzler.”
“Even then, the way you eat them, all stale, I wouldn’t want it, anyway.”
He pulled me tight against him until we were spooning, his warm body quickly lulling my own into a pre-sleep calm. “You feel better, though?”
“Very much, thank you.” Then he pecked me on the shoulder and rolled over to his side of the bed, leaving me curled up in the fetal position in the middle of the bed and wishing that he’d held on for just a little longer.
ONLY 9 more days!
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