All Fore Revenge Read online

  All Fore Revenge

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  17 Ludlow Street

  Staten Island, New York 10312

  All Fore Revenge

  Copyright © August 2008, Piper Denna

  Editing by Colleen Simpson

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  ISBN: 978-0-9818905-5-5

  www.lyricalpress.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: August 2008

  All Fore Revenge

  by Piper Denna

  dedication

  This book may have not been possible and definitely wouldn’t be the same without help from the following people:

  Jim – who let me quit my job to be a full time writer.

  Amanda – who stopped me from changing this story to make it more “marketable.”

  Felicity Kates – who is always there, says just the right thing, and is quite possibly the world’s best editor for all media.

  Morgan Q. O’Reilly – who provided a critique group and gave great pointers on my work.

  Sutton Fox – every writer should be so lucky to have someone who will tirelessly answer silly questions (and she’s a darn good critiquer, too!).

  All the critique partners at Morgans_crits – Amanda Young, Deb, Katie. Kimberly Bronheim, Mary Reilly, Rose, and Jasmine Black, for all the help and support.

  And Gretchen – who gave me the nudge when it was “time” to get this published.

  Thank you one and all.

  All Fore Revenge

  Chapter 1

  The service call was scheduled for “sometime between one and three.” My doorbell rang at one-o-five.

  Appreciating the technician’s punctuality, I stirred from my window seat in the family room. I’d spent the better part of the day curled up there, contemplating my life while staring out at the pool. My introspection would have to go on hold. The cable guy was here to install my husband’s latest-upgrade, high-def boxes.

  Rather than being thankful we could afford the best picture quality available, I was simply annoyed. I needed time to myself to solve a dilemma, and didn’t appreciate the interruption Bill’s demanding taste had imposed. Actually, he’d imposed the dilemma as well, and four days of concentrating on it had brought me no solutions. Well, I was married to a man who knew what he wanted and got it. That’s how he got me, and how I’d ended up soul-searching for the last few days.

  Out of habit, I fingered my wedding ring on the way to answer the door, still wondering what the hell to do about my discovery of four nights ago. With a defeated sigh I opened my front door and pasted on what I hoped would pass for a smile.

  “Hi. Are you, um…” The tall blond technician, seeming a bit flustered, had to peek at his clipboard. “…Alison Smyth?”

  I nodded my head. “Ali.” It was what my friends called me, but why was I telling the cable guy to call me that, when he should be calling me Mrs. Smyth?

  “Ali. Okay.” He seemed a little surprised by my familiarity, but he smiled, and oh, what a smile he had! All dimples and sparkly blue eyes. “I’m with the cable company, here to install your new box.” A name badge on his wide chest read Moreton.

  Tension over my problem began melting as I opened the door wider and he brushed past me, giving me a whiff of warm, woodsy cologne. He was tall—over six feet—and not one of those gangly, tall guys, either. I could tell this guy worked out by the way his muscles rippled and strained against his clothes. Below his standard-issue khaki uniform shorts, nicely tanned, ripped quads gave me the impression he was a serious bicyclist.

  He asked, “How many sets do you have?”

  I was still thinking about his legs, and the set of glutes surely hiding above them. “Um, sets?” I asked, feeling dopey (and, frankly, pretty turned-on).

  “TVs?” he prompted. He’d looked the living room over and turned back to face me.

  “Oh. Yeah, TV sets. Sorry.” I smiled up at him, already knowing I’d like him to be the solution to my problem. “Four. But only two are getting HD boxes.”

  He followed me back to the family room, where I’d been sulking before he came. His lowered brows told me the heap of crumpled tissues must have betrayed my previous activity, though I hadn’t actually been crying since right after dropping my kids off at school. I’d given myself fifteen minutes of “breakdown time” before my daily power-yoga routine and swim. Since then I’d been thoughtful, but not distraught.

  Too bad I hadn’t had the sense to destroy the evidence.

  He set his bag of tools down next to the TV, then turned to look me over. I could see he wanted to ask me something (probably whether I was okay), but professional courtesy stopped him.

  “So, Mr. Moreton…”

  “CJ.” His sympathetic smile didn’t include dimples.

  “CJ,” I repeated. “Would you like something cold to drink?” He looked interested, so I began listing what I had to offer. “Water, soda, iced tea…”

  His eyes returned to the window seat, where my own tumbler of tea still sat.

  “It’s sweetened. The tea.”

  “I like it sweet. I’ll take that, thanks.”

  I felt his eyes follow me to the kitchen, where I had to reach on tiptoe for the tall glasses in my cupboard. I hadn’t given much thought to what I put on that morning after my shower. It was just my most comfy cotton shorts and a cami. Dammit, I should have spent more time putting on makeup. This guy was hot, and flirting with him would have been very therapeutic. Hell, even seeing him was therapeutic.

  Maybe I’d have to spend some time on the net later, checking out hot guys, possibly unearth the old vibrator. If I had a picture of this CJ, I could probably do the job without the vibrator.

  I was out of breath from anticipating my solo encounter when the icy tumbler left my hand for his.

  “Thanks,” he said, before he drank. “You swim a lot.” It wasn’t a question—he just knew. I wondered how he’d figured that out, staring at my legs like he was, then the reflection of waves on the pool outside the window flashed over his face.

  “Every day. One of the few benefits of living in Phoenix, right? Year-round swimming without freezing your butt off.” Since he was still looking at my legs, and it was making my heart race, I kept talking. “And year-round golf, too. That’s how we ended up here. I mean, my husband…” Shit. Why did I have to bring up being married? That’s not usually the best way to start a flirting jag.

  CJ closed his eyes, then turned to the huge LCD screen on the wall and began unhooking the cable from our old digital box. Damn, lost him.

  Might as well keep talking. “He’s a golf pro. We came from Colorado. Well, I did. But he can’t really work there in the winter, so we moved here.”

  “I’ll go get the boxes. Be right back.” He hustled out to his truck.

  Good going . He can’t get out of here fast enough now. Like he really wanted to hear my life story.

  CJ’s eyes went to the window seat as soon as he came back in.

  I’d disposed of all the mascara-smeared tissues and put the box away under a table.

  Sympathy eclipsed the serious, all
-business expression he’d worn in. His eyes seemed a darker blue now, almost cobalt. He turned his back to start working. “Somebody die?”

  Now here was dilemma. Should I play my biggest card and tell him why I’d been crying earlier? It was a shortcut, but if it got me to the destination I suddenly wanted to reach, so what? “Thursday night, I found out my husband’s been banging his personal assistant.”

  CJ sucked in his breath. “Musta been tough.” He set one receiver on the carpet and asked, “Uh, where’s the other box go?”

  “Master bedroom. I’ll show you.”

  He followed me up the stairs without a word. When I turned to face him in front of the bedroom TV, he observed, with raised brows, “Thursday. That’s four days ago, but his stuff’s still here.”

  Indeed it was. Bill’s usual string of dirty socks and pricey collared shirts had accumulated on his side of the bed, since I hadn’t felt inclined to pick up after his cheating ass.

  With a shrug, I said, “It’s his house, technically. I haven’t brought it up with him, because I haven’t decided what to do. For sure.”

  I knew by then what I wanted to do, but it didn’t mean I would, or could. I wanted to do CJ. Repeatedly, and in every way possible. My breath was coming faster again, so I put some distance between us, closing my bedroom shades against the blinding mid-day April sun.

  “How’d you find out?” he asked, his head inside the armoire where the old box sat.

  I took a moment to check out his rear end before answering. Taut biker buns. Perfect. Thankful he couldn’t see my face, I told him what I hadn’t yet told another soul.

  “I was, um,”—there was no delicate way to phrase it—“going down on him…” CJ’s head smacked the shelf above it, “…and the smell of latex was incredible. You know, lubricated latex. So I started kind of looking around, and found lipstick smeared on lots of places I hadn’t been yet.”

  “How’d you know it was his P.A. and not some lunch-time hooker, or a rich bitch at the country club trading lessons for lovin’?” He sounded not only curious, but maybe a bit angry on my behalf. I liked that.

  “Oh, I’d know that lipstick color anywhere. A friend of mine sells that lipstick to her, and she’s the only person I’ve ever known who buys Berryluscious. It’s a hideous color.” It was supposed to be the longwearing, non-smearing kind of lipstick, but it obviously fell short of its advertised promises.

  After pulling his head and shoulders out of the cabinet, he wrapped coaxial cable around the old box. “I guess the latex was a good thing. It’s better than no latex.” He started hooking up the new receiver as he asked, “Got any idea what you’re gonna do?”

  Boy, do I. I cleared my throat and started folding the load of jeans I’d tossed on my bed earlier. “Still thinking. I did talk to the assistant pro at the course. He wouldn’t say the words, but he confirmed my suspicions. It’s a new thing, nothing with a long history. Well, she’s only been there a couple of months anyway.”

  I wasn’t sure it mattered whether he’d fucked her a hundred times, or one. I’d maintained a migraine since that life-altering, mid-fellatio moment, and I was pretty sure old Bill would never catch me without a headache again.

  CJ was finished with the new box, jotting down the serial numbers from its sticker to a carbon form on his clipboard. He followed me back downstairs.

  “I guess it seems kind of weird for me to be telling you all this,” I said before I took a long drink of iced tea through my straw.

  He shrugged and started hooking up the other new receiver. “Gotta talk about it sometime. Consider me a confidante, like a bartender.” He looked at me with raised brows, as if offering to harbor more of my secrets.

  I took a deep breath. No wedding ring on his finger. “You got a girlfriend, I imagine?” That breath lodged in a huge ball in the middle of my chest while I waited for his response.

  He dropped the pliers he was using to tighten a connection, then raised his eyes to meet mine. “Broke up last week.”

  The breath came back out. I didn’t want or need to know more—he was available, and I wouldn’t be causing some other female the same pain I’d been experiencing if anything happened between us.

  I could feel the nerves coming on. If I didn’t make my move soon, I’d chicken out. “You, um, got a full schedule booked for today?” I asked. I’d moved closer, standing right next to where he knelt. My breaths were coming fast and shallow, and looking into his dilated eyes washed away my fears.

  He wanted it, too. But would he do it? Could he? My heart was racing, the smell of his cologne, the thought of kissing him, left me hot all over. Wet. I was wet like I’d normally only be after extensive foreplay.

  I didn’t wait for his answer. He sat back on his heels, and I straddled him when he pulled me down on his lap. His lips were hot, and almost immediately open so his tongue could flick out and trace over my lips. It was like an electric shock, feeling and tasting someone new this intimately.

  He tasted sweet from the iced tea, but I imagined he always had a sweet flavor. I kissed him long and hard, burying my fingers in the back of his hair. Stupid Bill’s dark hair was thinning, but CJ had nice, thick bunches of it.

  Before we’d come up for air, I was grinding against CJ. Feeling him hard under me made me want him in a way I’d forgotten I could want anything. His lips left my mouth and trailed along my jaw, ‘til he stopped to lick my earlobe, sending shivers down me. I arched back, trusting his strong arms to hold me.

  His mouth nudged aside the strap from my cami, then slid lower until it was nuzzling in my cleavage. His thumb pulled the cami down, exposing my left breast. “Beautiful,” he murmured, before his scalding lips took my nipple. It felt like the first time my nipple had ever been touched. I could no more help pushing against him than I could help breathing. Or groaning.

  His mouth covered mine again, and I got another taste of that sweet tongue while he pulled down the other side of my cami. I wanted to suck on his tongue forever. Scratch that. I wanted to suck more, much more, than that. He made slow circles around my other nipple and my hands slid inside the collar of his polo shirt. God, his muscles were so hard!

  I tugged the shirt to untuck it, then slid my hands up inside, until my knuckles brushed his nipples. A few hairs tickled the backs of my hands. I wanted to see him.

  “CJ. Your shirt.” He paused long enough to tear the thing over his head, and I got even wetter, just looking at his chest. “Jesus. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  I held his head away with my fingers, which he took in his mouth. Judging by his sudden intake of breath, he was a surprised when I licked his nipple. When I nipped it with my teeth, he moaned, causing me to grind against him again. I slid my hand between us to cup my palm against his erection through his pants.

  “You sure you want this?” he panted hopefully.

  For an answer, I pulled his right hand between my legs, where I knew he could feel that my shorts were damp. I watched as he brought his knuckles to his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled. His dimples told me he appreciated what he smelled.

  It took him no time at all to have me on my back on the carpet, peeling off my shorts with one hand while the other slid inside my panties. His fingers found my swollen bump right away, and I yelped at first, but then bucked toward him.

  “Ali. Is this for real?”

  For an answer, I pushed my underwear away and sat up to kiss him again. “Even in a dream I never wanted anything this bad. It’s real. Please,” I begged, fumbling to unbutton his shorts.

  He was up kneeling again, and he helped me get them off.

  I pushed his boxers down just behind. “Oh my God,” was all I could say, when I saw his cock. I took it in my mouth, tasting the sweetness that seemed to be all over this guy, savoring the salty when a drop came along, sucking more, drawing enough pleasure for us both from the feel of him in my mouth.

  I felt him tensing, knew he was near the end. I had no plans to pull off, b
ut he pulled away.

  “Not yet, baby,” he told me.

  He must want to do some serious screwing, which was okay with me. I was positively pulsing with need, throbbing to be filled. I nodded as he lay me on my back, but instead of mounting me like I’d expected, he stuck his face between my legs and lifted my hips.

  That yummy tongue of his was perfect where his fingers had been too intense. The tongue went inside for a minute, then back out to work at the clit, as his finger entered me, exploring first, then stroking back and forth over the knot I’d come to know as my g-spot. I whimpered, predicting the painful heat I was feeling would soon be… ah, yes. There it was, taking my breath away. My clit grow tight, then with a release, I was immersed in the sensations of the contractions inside, the sound of the wet gush, and the feel of the hot fluid spraying all over myself and poor, unsuspecting CJ.

  “Oh, baby. Fuck, yeah!” he breathed, and my fears that he’d be put off by his surprise shower were dispelled. Perfect. He knew, immediately, just how to please me. How long had it taken Jerkoff to work out how to get it right?

  When CJ’s body covered mine, my wetness rubbed from his shoulders and chest to my own. His kiss tasted like me this time, which normally would have bothered me. After what it had just done, I was hard pressed to resist his mouth for any reason. “Do we need to use something?” he panted in my ear.

  “I have an IUD.”

  It was all he needed to hear. At last he slid into me, and looks weren’t deceiving; he really was bigger than what I was used to.

  My engorged muscles gripped him, feeling every ripple of his cock. His head pushed back and forth over my sensitized g-spot, sending me into shaking spasms again. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, almost wanting the orgasm to end so I could feel in control again, then he collapsed on me, pushing himself hard and deep inside, his moans melding with mine until I didn’t know whose voice was whose.