Then Comes More

By Anika Lynn

Moving on never felt so good.

 

Abigail is doing her best to move on since the death of her husband. But his dirty little secrets refuse to stay buried. She thought she knew him, believed in their love with all her heart.

 

Now she knows better.

 

Jaded by his countless deceptions, Abigail embarks on an erotic journey of self-discovery. Steamy encounters. Sizzling adventures. Tantalizing experiences. Yet when pleasures of the flesh begin to morph into real feelings, her every impulse screams for her to run before she gets hurt... again.

 

Can Abigail escape the shadow of betrayal haunting her and find the love she truly craves? If one man can't sate the cravings of her heart, can she settle into the unorthodox bliss of multiple loves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Rebelle Books
• Release date: Jul 3, 2021
• ISBN: 0997620021

Book preview

Chapter One

When you can't be with the one you love. There's a classic song that talks about loving the person you're with. I really did love my late husband and I honestly do believe, at some point, he loved me. The problem, for me, is that he loved other women, as well. A lot of them. More than I know about or probably care to. But it doesn’t stop me from missing him. From having a moment every once in a while where the breath sucks from my lungs and I don’t think I’m going to be able to catch another because it hits me that he’s gone. Even now. When I’ve moved on. Grief, just like any other repressed emotion, rears its ugly head at some of the most inopportune times, I'd rather drown my sorrows in sex instead of booze any day.

Abigail: wyd

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Kyle: Thinking about you.

He has all the best answers. Little shivers of thrill walked along my spine.

Abigail: Good thoughts I hope.

---

Kyle: Good and… naughty.

Like I said, he has all the best answers. And now my body is vibrating. Wanting him.

Abigail: Describe naughty.

Flirting is a decadence I enjoy. One I have newly discovered and plan to make the most of at every opportunity.

Kyle: It’s better that I show you. Can you be ready in an hour?

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Abigail: Of course… What've you got up your sleeve?

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Kyle: Tricks of course

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Abigail: Tricks are for kids… or something like that.

---

Kyle: Good thing we’re both young at heart.

There were about a thousand things I wanted from him, and a thousand positions I still want to try. Kyle is a love sage. A machine. Looking at his sin-designed body always made mine wet, achy in all the best ways. Sometimes, he didn’t even have to touch me. His voice was deep, smooth, and sexy. This guy could’ve been a professional voice actor. It was one of the things about him that made me glad it was my ear he whispered his sweet nothings into.

I shower and find something to wear that will make his eyes and his cock bulge with equal intensity. He’s the kind of man who deserves a little extra effort. A second swipe of mascara, a pair of never before seen panties he can peel off me, a new dress.

My lingerie purchases of late have been Kyle inspired. Silky. Flimsy. Satin and lace. And tonight is about silky. Bra and panties sets aren’t enough anymore. I want sensuality. Seduction. I buy things that have lace in the back, tie on the sides, come with garters and stockings so silky they turn me on. And he’s grateful in all the best ways.

When I think about his hands, the delicious friction over my skin, my body gets tight and warm. And fantasy Kyle has nothing on the real thing. I brush my hands over my nipples and they’re taut. Hard little nubs.

I imagine his mouth, the light nibbles, the swirl of his tongue, and I mimic the tension and watch myself in the full-length mirror standing in the corner of my room. Ooh. Ideas abound while I watch my hands, and the sensations of my touch along with the visions in my head wash over me.

I turn away from the mirror. I should wait for him, wait for his hands, his mouth, his big, beautiful cock. The thought heightens my need, and I drift my hand down my stomach.

Put your hand over your mound but don’t put your fingers in. For being a memory, his voice loses none of its rich resonance. It’s potent and stirring, making my blood rush through my veins.

I am so wet, I can’t stop myself. He isn’t here to chastise me, but then he is. Here. Must have let himself into the apartment. His body is pressed into mine. Kickstarter fantasy has become reality. And his kiss against my shoulder is warm and wet, his fingers urging mine are strong, insistent. There’s nothing more erotic than watching him slide my panties down my hips except for when we both have a finger in my pussy, and we’re both working me into a frenzy.

My eyelids flutter shut, and he takes his free hand and tips my head back, growling in my ear. Watch the mirror. He shifts, and his cock pressed into my ass. I am so close to shattering when he pulls away, when he robs me of the sweet pressure of our fingers inside me, and I add another of my own in sad compensation for the loss of his.

But then he shoves his pants down, and his gloriously large cock springs free. It’s long and thick and beaded with precum. I lick my lips because there’s nothing I want more in the world than to lick that glistening spot.

I glance into his eyes. They’re dark with desire, dilated with passion. His hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking while I watch him move behind me. His knees bend as he pushes me forward.

Look at how beautiful you are.

I do, because he says it so softly. Not a command, more as if he’s in awe of me. I look, because I’m mesmerized, hypnotized by this man and his touch. The woman in the mirror is in the throes of passion. Her eyes are half-lidded and her cheeks are flushed. A fine sheen of sweat coats her glistening skin, but it’s her fingers, her nipples, her pussy that has me transfixed. This is a woman who’s strong and knows what she wants. Her body is an instrument; she’s playing like an entire symphony is at her command. It’s me. I am her.

I’m a woman with needs, and wants, and desires. Kyle is a solution to all of those things. It’s fucking intoxicating. He turns me toward him and kneels in front of me. On the floor in front of the mirror, I sink down onto his cock, slow, enjoying the delicious friction of this man’s body against mine.

He gives up control to me, leans back on his hands and watches me, watches my tits bounce, watches my pussy take every inch of his cock. You’re so fucking amazing.

His praise is an aphrodisiac. I sink low and grind against him, swirling my hips, and he groans, clenches his fingers in the carpeting.

The pressure inside of me builds, and I claw his chest. I can’t do more than pant and he takes over. Flips me onto my back. Then moves. Harder. Faster. Thrust after thrust.

Fuck me, Kyle. I’m so close, my muscles are tight and tense. I’m an explosion waiting to happen and he is the trigger. The detonator. Fuck me.

And he does. With the skill I’ve come to respect. It takes practice to be this good. And I’m the benefactor of his experience. Oh! Oh, fuck! I can’t hold back. Even if I wanted to. I can’t stop, either. It’s primal and raw, my body shimmies and shivers as my legs lock around him and I rake my hand down his back. He growls in response and thrusts hard enough I feel it in my stomach. Oh, shit, Kyle! Fucking him is a transcending experience.

A second after my tremors begin, he’s a man possessed. Pounding into me, his body as taut as mine, and the pleasure is an exquisite torture when he drives in and holds, my pussy milking his cock, squeezing, taking every drop.

His head falls back even as he pulls me close. When he opens his eyes again, I’m staring because he is as much as sight to behold as I am.

I kiss his chin, then his throat and his hand creeps up my ribcage to my left nipple. I pant for a second, then kiss him until neither of us are breathing like humans. One of the things I love about Kyle is that he needs almost no recovery time.

My stomach, on the other hand, isn’t so grateful, and growls loud enough he chuckles. I promised you dinner.

Did you? I grind my hips where we’re still connected and his arms tighten around me. I can wait. I grin, hungry, but not for food. If you can.

He lies down, and I have a view of his chest that rivals any sunset or painting. I swirl my hips again, and he sucks in a breath and holds it for a second then lets it whoosh out. Oh yeah. I can wait.

Me, too.

Standing in front of my couch, I clap my hands together. Some part of me who was heavily invested in interior design, in comfort in my space, in feng shui, decided today was a good day to rearrange my furniture, and put up the new pictures and decorations I'd purchased. My new apartment has a nice sized guest bedroom, a large master bedroom, two bathrooms, an eat-in kitchen, a formal dining room, and a living room. The realtor who showed me this place pointed out that it’s a lot of space for one person, but where I came from to get here is much bigger and this feels cozy to me.

For weeks, there wasn’t a single picture on the wall, or what-not on a table. For me decorating is permanent, and I wasn’t sure about this place. It took me a while to get into the right headspace, but when I did, I went all in. Now, I’m really putting down roots, and I’ve gone for a black and white look. It’s chic. Elegant. The new me and the new place.

I’m really in love with being at home now. Since I am a legitimate blogger, I set myself up with a desk in the corner. I kept the black and white theme here too. There’s a glittery gold notebook for ideas, and every color pen imaginable. I finally feel like I’m hitting my stride this year.

My late husband would have never let me decorate like this in our pristine home. Everything was antique and expensive. He liked for me to decorate with royal blue and greens, because according to him they have a calming effect. Whatever. I’d been a good little wife and let him do whatever he wanted. Now, it’s just me and I am going to decorate the way I want. I'm thinking of a gorgeous pink for my guest bedroom, with as many pillows as I can fit on the bed. I smile at my ideas.

I’ve picked out a black and white ornate rug and a glass coffee table. The walls have black and white framed photos of roses, and I purchased a black and white lace lamp shade for light. I’m quite happy with the way it turned out, and I’m considering doing my master bedroom in a similar fashion. Right now, it’s got a basic setup with a boring comforter. It’s a thought for another day. I want to brag, to tell someone I’ve finally put down roots and hung a picture. I’ve put my spin on my place.

And there’s only one person I can think of who will celebrate with me. I know my best friend, Audrey’s number as well as I know my own and as I sink down onto my couch--it’s overstuffed and oh so comfortable--I dial. Hi, Audrey, I say when she picks up. "You’ve got to come over."

Her voice is high-pitched with concern. Why? What happened? Are you okay?

I chuckle. I’m great. Fabulous, even. But I finally finished fixing up my living room. And I’m dying to show it to someone. I can’t help the pride that comes into my voice. This is a big accomplishment, the topic of many discussions, and I know she’ll appreciate this.

You're making your apartment a home, that's good, she says. It’s about time you put all that behind you. Now, you need to get laid.

Tell me how you really feel. I laugh. My bestie always tells me exactly what she’s thinking. I smile, because her worry about whether or not I’m getting dirty with a man is unfounded. I've got that taken care of.

Her assumptions aren’t her fault, though. I haven't quite managed to tell my best friend about all the sex I've been having. It makes it that much hotter without anyone knowing. My blog readers know, but for the sake of my privacy, and whatever reputation I have left, I am anonymous on Lover's Revenge. It just feels good to do what I want with my body and not have to worry about what anyone thinks.

I think I can be happy here, I say. Not that every night has been easy. There’ve been a few I wasn’t sure I was going to