9781618850676UnchainedMelodyHunter Read online

  UNCHAINED MELODY

  Hill County Heart 1

  Sable Hunter

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

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  A Secret Cravings Publishing Book

  Erotic Romance

  UNCHAINED MELODY (HILL COUNTY HEART 1)

  Copyright © 2011 by Sable Hunter

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-067-6

  First E-book Publication: November 2011

  Cover design by Beth Walker

  Edited by Ariana Gaynor

  Proofread by Keisa Burrell

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Secret Cravings Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my family and friends.

  Thank you for all of your love and support.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and the following trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction:

  iPhone

  Jaguar

  Dodge Viper

  Dolce

  UNCHAINED MELDOY

  Hill County Heart 1

  Sable Hunter

  Copyright © 2011

  Chapter One

  “Touch me,” she begged as she unbuttoned the tight blue jeans of the handsome cowboy. He held her so tenderly. Jenna rained soft, eager kisses on the hard jaw line roughened with sexy stubble. The friction on her lips fueled her desire for friction between her legs.

  She thrust her naked, aching breasts up toward his face and he answered her bold invitation by capturing a hard nipple between hungry lips. As she moaned, he began to feast on the soft, succulent flesh. He pulled as much of her breast into his mouth as he could and began to eagerly suck on the tender mound. Jenna began to tremble, her other breast jealous for the same attention its fortunate twin was receiving. As if able to read her mind, he left the one breast, only to move to the other and begin encircling the swollen areola in a feverish dance with his tongue that almost sent her over the edge.

  Hungry for more, she stroked his hard length and whispered, “I need you. Let me suck your cock. Please?” He tore his mouth from her breast and helped her remove the last of his restrictive clothing. When their clothes were finally off, just for a moment, they were still. He stood over her and let his eyes roam up the length of her tanned legs, up over her silk-covered treasure, on to the bountiful breasts that were still damp and reddened from the ravishing they had received.

  Unable to wait any longer, she sank down at his feet. Reaching out a tentative finger, she touched the distended length of him, admiring the thick, engorged treat beckoning her like a banquet tempting a starving man. Jenna brazenly grasped his substantial manhood and carefully drew him to her, close enough to swirl the tip of her tongue around the large, velvety head. A groan escaped her lips, and the sound echoed from the lips of the man she pleasured. The taste of him excited her like an aphrodisiac—salty, musky—all man. He spasmodically jerked at her touch, the pleasure almost more than he could stand.

  She sat up on her knees, wrapping her arms around his strong thighs and drew him even closer, all the while teasing him with her tongue. With a trembling hand, she caressed his rock hard hip, which was clenching and unclenching in a rhythmic motion, the same involuntary movement echoing in her molten pussy. She slid her other hand around his broad thigh and tenderly cupped his velvety sac. This tactile invasion caused him to surge toward her and she responded by taking even more of him into her warm mouth, sucking eagerly. The cowboy’s large rough hand tenderly cupped Jenna’s head, holding it stationary, and she released his balls to see to her own needs, rubbing her own fingers over her swollen, hungry clit…

  With a frustrated groan, Annalise Ramsey pushed the laptop computer away from her. Writing hot, sensual sex scenes completely drained her. No matter how hard she tried to steel herself against it, the steamy descriptions never failed to turn her on. At first she fought the urge to lie back on the pillows and touch herself. She really didn’t have the time, a troublesome deadline loomed. This book, for some reason, was not coming as easy for her as some of the other ones had in the past. But the torturous longing that ate at her loins was excruciating. Unable to deny herself, she hastily unbuttoned her lace camisole and unfastened the plain white bra. Hiking up her cotton skirt, Annalise tugged her briefs down and opened her legs wide, as if in invitation, all the time seeing his face. Already, her nipples were peaking, reaching upward like a flower, seeking his warm, tugging lips. Memories of how he had suckled her, feasting at her breasts made the heat rise in her body like a supernova.

  Annalise covered both of her breasts with her own small hands and began a rubbing, massaging onslaught on the aching flesh, circling the tips, teasing herself. Her breasts and nipples were ultra-sensitive. That was one of the things Ethan had loved about her body and he had prided himself on his ability to bring her to a raging climax just by worshipping at her breasts. Annalise let herself enjoy the moment, the thoughts of Ethan, the feel of her nipples as she pushed them into her palm, scraping them with her own fingernails. Soon even that was not enough. Knowing what she liked the best, she began to milk her nipples, pulling them out and rubbing them between her thumb and forefinger, causing spirals and sparks of ecstasy to shoot directly to her womb. “Oh God, Ethan. I want you so much. I miss you.” Annalise hadn’t been with a man in six years and there was only one she wanted to be with. Ethan Stewart.

  Closing her eyes, she imagined he was here, his beautiful body stretched over her, as hungry for her as she was for him. Everything within her cried out for him. Annalise had no qualms about masturbating. She didn’t do it often, but when the words she crafted and the memories she held dear overwhelmed her, she allowed herself this small measure of comfort. Knowing full well the likelihood of ever having another lover was next to none, she found solace in her stories and in her yesterdays. Still manipulating one breast, she used the other hand to tease her ravenous vulva, tracing the nether lips, pulling on them, making her clitoris quiver in anticipation. Soon she wanted more.

 
Reaching into the bedside table, she extracted her dildo, which she had named Comfort and Joy. The pink jackrabbit had been a Christmas present to herself and while it did bring her pleasure, it was a poor substitute for Ethan’s magnificent cock. What made Comfort and Joy so wicked was the clitoral stimulator. The insertable shaft was only about five and a half inches long, unfortunately, about three and a half short of her former lover’s glorious rod. Still, it was what she had. Already wet and weeping, she parted he folds with one hand and edged the rubber dildo into her desperately empty channel. “Oh God, Ethan. Love me, please love me.” Pushing on the shaft, she positioned the piece designed to dance against her clit. This particular model had a remote control and she had this down to a science. Turning it on full blast, the shaft began to rotate and thrust and the stimulator began vibrating at a high rate of speed, causing her to raise her hips and curl her toes. Tossing from side to side, Annalise maneuvered the dildo in and out, in and out, visions of Ethan scorching her brain. It was if she were having an out-of-body experience, floating above herself, seeing the Ethan of her dreams, weighing her down, his strong muscled hips and thighs moving like a piston, battering at her grateful body, launching them both into a realm of exquisite rapture. Annalise felt her internal muscles ripple along the rubber rod.

  How sad. She had so much love to give. So much passion. And how glorious the remembrances of those eight passionate nights she had been Ethan Stewart’s lover. With a sigh, she let herself relax and gently pulled out the vibrator. Her body was semi-satisfied, but her heart still longed for something it would never have again.

  It only took a few moments to re-adjust her clothes, clean Comfort and Joy and then put him back to bed. Dragging the laptop to her, she attempted to force her way back into the story. Annalise loved her work and she was good at it. Two awards and twelve best-selling novels attested to the level of her skill. The romance reading community had been good to her and she was committed to writing the red-hot, yet poignant love stories that her fans had come to expect. If the truth be known, Annalise lived in her stories. In each one she created a world and populated it with a gutsy heroine and exciting, provocative situations, but the hero was always the same. In the pages of her books, Annalise reconnected with Ethan, the man who had taught her sex could be beautiful and that once-upon-a-time she had been a desirable woman.

  Over the years, many had asked her why a woman of her obvious beauty and sensuality would choose to remain unattached and never seek out the company of a man. Her attractive appearance and glamorous occupation were at odds with her chosen lifestyle. Annalise preferred her own company, immersing herself in her writing–avoiding most social situations—preferring the company of her dog and her daydreams.

  When people looked at her—they saw a small woman, about five-foot-four, with long dark hair and big brown eyes that sometimes had a haunted look about them. Her body was perfectly curved—not the slim, coltish figure that was so popular these days. The features of her face, the high cheekbones and the small upturned nose had been passed down from her French Creole grandmother. Altogether, Annalise was a very appealing woman; a woman who seemed to have an abundance of love and warmth to offer the right man—yet she chose to remain alone.

  She didn’t really avoid men, she just didn’t encourage them. After a few moments in her company, most men picked up on her obvious disinterest in them as members of the opposite sex. She was never rude, she just treated men and women exactly the same. She had trained herself, in public, to emit an asexual persona. Those familiar with her work, the erotic tone of her stories, were shocked when they met her and discovered none of that sensuality seemed to ever surface in her actions or conversation.

  What they did not realize was she had learned a very hard, yet very valuable lesson.

  To sum the lesson up succinctly—Annalise Ramsey had been taught there are much worse things than being alone.

  * * * *

  After completing the last steamy love scene, Annalise was surprised to find that suddenly all of her creative juices just, literally, dried up. She was facing a case of writer’s block unlike anything she had ever known before. For days, she had sat at her computer and fingered the keys. The cowboy proved to be the strong, silent type and Jenna, the heroine, did not have anything to say either. Annalise tried every trick she could think of, she created a romantic atmosphere to write in—lighting candles and putting out fresh flowers. She watched old tear-jerker films and listened to love songs on the radio, she even watched some late-night Cinemax soft porn—but nothing seemed to help. As a last resort, with great love and reverence, she took out his picture. She held it in her hands and studied it, the one she had taken of him that last night at Pace Bend on Lake Travis. She ran a finger over his sweet face, remembering a smile that rivaled the morning sun and a kiss that could bring her to her knees. Tenderness welled up in her as she remembered the way his hands had felt on her body and the way he had made her tremble with desire. She held the picture to her heart as tears rolled down her cheeks, but still the words just wouldn’t come.

  In desperation, she finally decided to take her editor, Cecile’s, advice. A change of scenery was what her friend recommended and the location that had been at the top of Cecile’s list was a Bed and Breakfast in the Hill Country of Texas by the name of The Lost Maples. The location intrigued her, mainly because it wasn’t too far from both The University of Texas where both she and Ethan had gone to school or Pace Bend where she had fallen in love.

  Cecile had gone on and on about the area and the inn. She had explained an unusual stand of Bigtooth Maples that shouldn’t even exist in Texas flourished there; a relic from the last ice age according to the Park System. Cecile said the Bed and Breakfast complex was unique and had all the right ingredients to surely loosen up the blocked flow of creativity that presently plagued Annalise. So she took her friend at her word and called, made reservations, packed her bags, loaded the dog and now she was on her way.

  * * * *

  Ethan Stewart was lonely, even in a crowd. His sole salvation was the exhaustion that came from relentless hard work. Only when he was too tired to think, could he achieve any level of peace at all. He was twenty-eight years old, in good health and reasonably well off. The Lost Maples belonged to him and his brothers and they did not owe a dime on it. The cabins were fully booked for months in advance and everything seemed to be going their way. Women found him extremely attractive, but since his divorce Ethan had not let any woman get close to him. He had not made love to a woman in over eighteen months and the desire that raged within him ran thick, hot and almost uncontrollable.

  He lay in his bed at night and literally ached with longing. He had been raised to believe a real man did not resort to masturbation—only men who couldn’t get a woman resorted to that temptation. For eighteen months, he had refused to succumb to the temptation to find release by his own hand, but today his self-control was wearing thin. He had dreamed about her. Again. But this time the dream had been so real he had awakened in a cold sweat. Lise. His Lise.

  Lately, he’d been reliving sweeter days. He thought of Lise and how she’d reveled in his lovemaking. He remembered her soft touch and how eager she had been to receive him into her body. But Lise had walked out of his life and he never knew what happened to her. He’d done everything he could think of to find her, but the phone number she had given him was no good and the one on file with the university had been disconnected. She didn’t come back to the university the next semester and after that, he’d graduated and moved to the East Coast to pursue a career in investment banking. It was as if she’d dropped off the face of the earth. The only thing he had been able to surmise was that she had not wanted him to find her. Still, he had never forgotten her.

  On a trip home from New York, he had reconnected with Francine Shepherd, a girl who pursued him relentlessly before and after his interlude with Lise. Somehow, before he knew it, he had married her—truly the greatest mistake of his life.
She had been entranced by life in the city and her size DD breasts had entranced him—even those had proved to be a disappointment. He soon realized that there was no substitute for real, soft, pliable, excitable, natural female flesh. The first six months hadn’t been so bad, but after that it had all went downhill. She had tired of his long hours then she had tired of him. He hadn’t really fought it; the sex just hadn’t been that good. He knew this sounded sappy, but there had been no tenderness or passion between them. She treated him like an escort or a business associate, only interested in where he could take her or what he could buy her.

  He had tried to make her happy and, although sorely tempted, he had never been unfaithful to Francine. His career on Wall Street had taken off and it seemed that out of spite, as soon as he started to really succeed, she had started to whine to move back to Texas. Ethan had put her off for a while; at least until he could save enough money to buy what she had sworn that she could not live without—a Bed and Breakfast in the Texas Hill Country. So here he was, back where he had grown up and went to college—back where he had met and loved Lise Evans.

  After their return, Francine had gotten caught up in the excitement of buying and renovating the old Victorian Farmhouse that was now The Lost Maples, but something strange had happened about the same time. Francine had gone from being merely selfish and cold in bed to being just downright cruel to him. He was a healthy male and he loved sex, but Francine began to criticize and denigrate his lovemaking. At first, he had been able to ignore it and blamed it on typical female monthly imbalances, but it soon became obvious it was much more than that.