Lucy has a wild streak, but she has a sweet side. She is a romance writer who has yet to find love.
Samuel, a new minister at the local Presbyterian church, falls in love with her. But Lucy believes that she may hinder his reputation, and she ends all hope of a relationship. In need of a distraction, she and her wacky friends decide a road trip to Florida is the answer.
While Lucy is in Florida, however, Samuel decides to make a surprise visit and sets out to sweep her off her feet. Together, they determine that, though Lucy is a very strong woman, she is sexually submissive.
But can their passion and love survive? Or will Samuel’s collar get in the way?
They say that people who cannot do, teach. That saying has always struck me as a bit presumptuous. However, as a romance writer, I am starting to think that those who cannot find love, write about it.
I stare at the opening paragraph. It is perfect, but I just cannot add to it. I have writer’s block. I have heard about it. They say every writer will experience it at least once. I thought that I was the exception. I have nothing.
I have no man that I lust after enough to build a character around. Every romantic notion floating through my head seems trite. My well has run dry. As the saying goes: You cannot make chicken salad out of chicken feathers.
I close my laptop, and I hear a knock at my door. I look out the front window. I see Eliza Jane and two of her employees holding flower arrangements. I open the door, and the three women just keep handing me arrangements. I am speechless as I place them on the floor around me.
The older ladies are obviously swooning over the romance of it all. Fifteen arrangements. Amazing. They are all different, yet they all complement each other.
I feel my heart lighten. Eliza Jane hands me a card. They all wait expectantly for me to open it. Eliza Jane is a dear, loyal friend. The other two ladies are just a bit nosey, in my opinion. I open the card. It is a plain white card with a handwritten note that reads:
At the risk of sounding cliché, you made me believe in love at first sight. I never thought I would believe in love again, much less love at first sight. You are in my heart, thoughts, dreams, and prayers. Will you make me a happy man and have dinner with me?
It is signed “Samuel Greathouse.” My heart feels heavy again. He is the fairly new preacher at the church I attend.
The women file out to the van, telling me how romantic it is. Eliza Jane reminds me to tell Lilly Peyton, a mutual friend. I smile, wave, and nod. I hate to tell them that there is not a chance of romance between me and Samuel.
Southern protocol dictates that when a man sends flowers, the woman must immediately thank him. I dial his office number. It is saved in my phone since we work together so often. He answers on the first ring, which just shows how together the man is.
“First Presbyterian Church, Pastor Samuel speaking,” he answers in his naturally cheerful manner.
“Hello, Pastor Samuel,” I greet with a smile in my voice. He just has that way of making everyone feel at ease.
“Won’t you call me Samuel?” he quietly asks.
I pause. What would it hurt? “Samuel. Thank you for the flowers. All fifteen arrangements of them.” I giggle. I cannot believe I just giggled. I never giggle. Giggling is for brainless girls who have no head on their shoulders.
“I wish I could put into words how I feel about you.”
“Oh, I think I now have an idea.”
“So…will you have dinner with me?”
I don’t want to be having this conversation with Samuel. I don’t want to hurt him. Most of all, there is a small part of me that would like to get to know him better in another setting besides church. However, there is no possible way for Samuel and me to have a relationship. Therefore, I must not even let the hope of one ignite.
“Samuel, we cannot.”
There is silence on the line. Silence that hurts me deeply.
I explain. “You are such a good man. You have dedicated your life to helping others. I am a romance writer who can get a little bit crude at times.”
“I am a man, and you are a woman. If you are implying that your profession would negatively affect me, don’t worry about it. I am tough. I can deal with whatever comes my way.”
“It is not just my profession. You need to be looking for a preacher’s wife,” I explain. “I am not preacher’s wife material.”
“Why is that? You are sweet, helpful, kind, loyal—”
I interrupt. “I also cuss like a sailor, like hard lemonade, and tell some pretty nasty jokes.”
“Lucy, I really like you and your spunk. While I don’t think we will be doing any of that in church anytime soon, I don’t want you to think that I will try to tame you. You are who you are. I like it. It is just dinner. We all have to eat.”
“I don’t want to lead you on,” I argue.
“One meal,” he pleads.
I concede. “Eliza Jane Winters, a friend, is having a pig pickin’ tonight. It is a big deal. It is in Coats. Want to join me?”
My hand is sweaty in his as we walk to our room. Neither of us mentions what we know is inevitable. I feel timid, giddy. I feel so much. This is the man that I will be waking up to every morning for the rest of my life. The thought is surreal.
I had pictured this moment as one of those in a bodice-ripper novel. We would make out in the elevator and hallway while we try to make it to our room. He’d fumble around with the key card while kissing me passionately. As the door would close, he’d back me up against it while tearing my clothes off. We’d be breathlessly moaning each other’s name.
This is not turning out to be like that. We are both acting like awkward teenagers. We put our bags away, take turns in the bathroom, and sit on the bed staring at each other bashfully.
He breaks the silence. “Are you tired?”
“A little,” I answer.
“Want to go to bed?”
“Hope you don’t mind, but I usually just wear my boxer shorts.”
I giggle. I giggle, and I cannot stop giggling. What the hell is wrong with me?
“What?” he asks.
“I was just thinking about the fact that I always sleep naked.”
He clears his throat nervously. “Well, I want you to be comfortable around me…”
Someone has to break the tension in the room. I sit on the bed, and I slowly take off my boots and leggings. I hear Samuel’s breathing get louder. I turn my back to him, and I lift my hair. Neither of us says anything as he slowly lowers the zipper on my dress. I turn toward him. I have been clutching the bodice. I let go, revealing my simple white bra. Samuel does not say anything. However, he is holding on to the bedding to the point that his knuckles are turning white.
I stand before him with my white bra and white lace panties. “Do you want me?” I whisper.
“I want you so much,” he answers.
“Show me how much.”
He pulls off his boxer shorts, and his dick is rock hard. The head is covered with pre-cum. I drop to my knees, and I lick off the jism. I run my tongue around the head of his cock. I feel his hands in my hair. There is nothing better than falling in love with a man who is well hung. It is like having your cake and eating it, too.
Slowly, I work my way down his cock, taking it all in deeply. I suck hard, knowing it is the pressure of the sucking that men enjoy the most about a blowjob. I let my tongue linger on the underside of the head, and he moans each time.
“Cannot last much longer,” he warns.
I normally would continue on, but tonight, I want his cum inside me. I stop sucking, and I take off my bra and panties.
“I need you,” I announce as I push him back and straddle him. “I need to come all over your cock. I need you to shoot your load inside of me. Then, I want to lick our combined juices off your dick.”
“Baby, fuck me!” he yells out.
I slowly lower myself over him. I savor the stretching sensation. He makes me feel so full and complete.
I grind my pussy against him. I need that release. I feel the pressure continue to build. My body continues to tighten until suddenly the pressure releases.
I tingle from my core through my entire body. The pleasure radiates from my clit, and I scream out my ecstasy. As I feel myself center, Samuel moans, thrusts upward, and sends his warm seed shooting through my cunt.
Never before have I actually felt a man’s cum fill me up. Samuel comes so much that I feel it spurt from the walls of my pussy and drip onto him. It is warm and welcoming.
I lick every drop of us off of his balls and dick. There is something savage, yet comforting, to know I just joined with this man—my man.