Pumpkin King Page 9

  “In that case,” I say, running my hands up her calves, squeezing all her tense muscles, eliciting another sigh.

  “God, that feels good. My legs are aching.”

  My hands find their way to her thighs and I rumble, “Let me tell you what else is aching.”

  “Henry,” she says, her eyes closing. “You’re making me wet.”

  “So?”

  She laughs. “So? Our kids can see us through the sliding glass door.”

  I put my hand to my ear and gesture for her to be quiet. “Do you hear that? The sitters are here.”

  Jane lifts her head. “What? No, you didn’t. On a Tuesday?”

  It’s true. Jet and Rocket have seen how busy we’ve been lately, so they offered to take the girls to their house for a sleepover with their family. All of our kids love each other, so it’s never a problem. It’s just not very common on a weeknight.

  My bestie is such a good friend that she doesn’t even peek outside to check on us before they leave. Through the open windows, we hear them packing up all the kids’ gear, then leaving to pile them into the car.

  As soon as they’re gone, I disappear my wife’s goddamn yoga pants and granny panties. No soft and teasing this time; she’s had a long day at work. My need to taste and devour her is urgent. God, she tastes even better when she’s pregnant. I kiss her and stroke her, sucking her clit into my mouth. I massage the tight little button with my tongue while I suck on it, and when her orgasm hits her, she drops the plastic tumbler onto the deck.

  I kiss up her thighs while I make quick work of getting rid of my sweatpants.

  “Get up here, woman.” I help her ease herself onto me, her back to my front. I love this position when her beautiful belly is round with my babies. I love kissing her tired back, stroking her ass, and reaching around to gently hold on to her full, tender breasts.

  The best part of taking my wife this way is hitting her spot at just the right angle. I don’t want to make her do any of the work; I simply let her stay put, loving the feeling of filling her up, of her surrounding me with her wet heat.

  “I hope I’m not making you more tired by doing this, sweetheart,” I say, pressing kisses all over her back.

  She laughs, squeezing me with her inner muscles, and says, “No. In fact, I have a really good view of the pumpkin patch, and I have some ideas.”

  I hate to spank a pregnant woman, but I also enjoy the delicious squeak she makes when I go ahead and do it. So delicious that I’m almost unable to hold it together long enough to bring her all the way.

  “I have an idea. How about we don’t talk business while I’m inside you.”

  She laughs some more, which combines with her moans as I gently move inside her. “But why, though? We have sex at work—why can’t we talk about work while we’re having sex?”

  I smirk and keep up my movements, feeling the tingle at the base of my spine. “One more word and I’m gonna take you down and bend you over Big Daddy the Fifth.”

  “You’re my big daddy. Oh my god! Henry! Yes!”

  We come together so loudly I’m glad we still live out here in the boonies. We’re not big on the risks of being overheard, the way that Jet and Rocket are, but we do all right.

  I turn her around to nestle into me from the side and hold her tight to me, one hand on her belly. “I love you, Jane. And I love you too, little pumpkin,” I say, kissing her belly.

  “I love both my pumpkin kings,” she says, rubbing her belly.

  I can’t wait to meet our baby boy, I can’t wait for his sisters to meet him, and I can’t wait to see what all of our tiny pumpkins grow up to be.

  Whatever happens, Jane and I will be here for each other, growing with care everything that we’ve planted.

  About the Author

  Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.

  Keep up with the latest news with Abby’s newsletter!

  Say hello at

  authorabbyknox@gmail.com

  Also by Abby Knox

  Need more stand-alone short reads and novellas?

  Check out Abby’s other titles!

  Butter Queen

  Fighting For Dylan (book four in a six-author MMA series!)

  Hot Off The Press

  The Halloween Bet

  The Christmas Pickup

  From the Small Town Bachelor Romance series

  Take Me Home

  Game Face

  Written in the Stars

  Walk With Me

  Stay the Night

  Come and Get It

  Nephilim’s Captive: A Divine Giants Romance. (Book One of seven in the paranormal romance series Sons of Earth and Heaven.)

  Duets

  Pumpkin and Spice

  Comfort and Joy

  ***

  Marrying Up

  Shacking Up

  ***

  Maid for the Billionaire

  Made for Marriage

  ***

  Doctor Dave

  Officer Max

  ***

  Saved for Me

  Matched for Me

  ***

  Off-Season Stud

  Midsummer Fling

  ***

  His Vinyl Vixen

  Her Hi-Fi Hunk

  ***

  Fencing Her In

  Doing Him Good

  Need more stand-alone short reads and novellas?

  Check out Abby’s other titles!

  Butter Queen

  Fighting For Dylan (book four in a six-author MMA series!)

  Hot Off The Press

  The Halloween Bet

  The Christmas Pickup

  The Greenbridge Academy series

  Swim Coach (book one)

  Grumpy Dad (book two)

  Benefactor (book three)

  Headmistress (book four)

  Queen Bee (book five)

  Bake Sale Queen (book six)

  Snowplowed

  An excerpt from Abby’s next stand-alone holiday romance, coming December 2, 2020!

  With my camera case at my side, I find a table inside the warm diner, buzzing with townsfolk full of holiday spirit. Feeling begins to return to my numb fingers, allowing me to check over my baby as soon as I sit down.

  She’s fine; her lens is just a little wet from the snow, so I dab her off while I wait for a menu. My now-vintage film camera, who I call Sally, has been with me from the beginning of time, it seems like. She’s been through much worse weather than this, but I want her to last until I’m dead, so I have to be careful.

  “Your camera OK?”

  I reply, “I think so. This is the first time I’ve ever take photographs outside in a snowstorm.” I stop fussing with Sally and put her away, then turn to the waitress who’s speaking and trying to hand me a menu. “Polly,” her name tag reads.

  Polly the waitress laughs good-naturedly and says, “Listen, big fella. This is no snowstorm. This is a light dusting. Just you wait.”

  The suggestion of snow falling heavier than it is tonight makes my feet shiver inside my sopping wet socks.

  “Note to self: buy snow boots,” I say, before ordering a burger and a large strawberry shake.

  What can I say? It’s my first time experiencing snow. Born and raised in LA, I’ve never set foot in the stuff, and I’m ill-prepared for this weather.

  Just as I’m making a mental list of all the rest of the cold-weather outer gear I’m going to need on this trip, the mayor strides in. He sees me and heads over to my table; I already know what he wants.

  “Very nice tree lighting ceremony, Mr. Mayor. Got some great shots; I think you’ll be pleased.” We chat briefly about other events around town leading up to Christmas, most of which were already included in the brief when the town council applied for the arts grant. The grant program is the entire reason I’m here, and I’ve read up on everything there is to know about the town. But the mayor likes to talk, and I don’t mind listening.

  Thankfully, Polly delivers my food in a few short minutes, and I secretly hope to be left alone to fill my growling stomach in peace.

  No such luck. Not only does the mayor not walk away when I start to chow down on my burger, but also my whole world gets turned upside down when she walks in.

  An angel has just drifted out of the snow and into my life, wearing a puffy winter coat, a stocking cap with a pom-pom almost as big as her face, and the biggest, ugliest snow boots I’ve ever seen. Not that I know jack about snow boots. Her long hair peeks out from under her hat, all of it wet from snow. She politely wipes her boots on the mat by the door while she looks around the room eagerly, waving to people she knows.

  I completely forget my manners and stare. The mayor follows my gaze and makes a joyful noise.

  “You’re in luck, son! There’s Ruby right now, the one I was telling you about. You need to make sure she’s included in the collection for your exhibit; she’s a pillar of the community.”

  Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore. All I can think about, all I want, is to talk to her. Ruby.

  I’ve never seen anyone like her before.

  “I’ll make damn certain not to miss her, sir,” I say, not taking my eyes off of Ruby. “I’d remember if she ended up in one of my shots, that is for sure.”

  I watch as Ruby receives a hug from Polly the waitress, who asks if she wants the usual. Ruby nods and thanks her, then shoves her hands into her coat pockets while her eyes search the room for an open table.

  The mayor has caught me staring. I realize this when he says, “She’s single, in case you’re wondering.”

  I look up at the man and he’s giving me a wink. “Oh. I wasn’t. I mean…” I stammer, trailing off like an idiot.

  “It’s OK,” he assures me. “I’d better be off. I promised my wife I’d help her decorate our tree tonight.”

  We shake hands again and I watch him go, glad-handing a few more of the locals as he leaves. He side-hugs Ruby, who hugs back like it’s a completely normal way to be greeted by the mayor. Gosh, this is a friendly town. Even knowing this, an irrational feeling swells in my belly when I see the mayor put his hands on her, albeit innocently.

  Hands off. She’s mine.

  My god, where did that thought even come from? I am not that kind of guy.

  My eyes trained on Ruby, I use my foot to push out the chair across the table from me, and it makes a loud scrape against the tile. Ruby looks my way, with an expression of someone who can’t quite place who I am.

  She saunters over to me with a curious smile.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m Aiden. Would you like to join me? Looks like you were searching for a table.”

  She smiles. “I was, yeah. Thanks.” She sits down, still studying me quizzically. “Do we know each other?”

  Polly sidles up and sets down on the table a large ceramic mug with the name “Ruby” printed on it. The hot cocoa with marshmallows looks too good to pass up, and I ask Polly to bring me one as well. I’ve seen this kind of thing before: local pubs and diners keeping a stash of personalized mugs set aside for the extreme regulars. It’s the kind of local charm that sets off a strange ache in my chest. I’ve never been part of such a close knit community as to have a restaurant owner emblazon a coffee mug with my name. I make another mental note: to ask Polly for permission to go behind the counter and photograph all of the named mugs together; I can already envision how that would look in black and white.

  I then explain to Ruby who I am and what I’m doing here: volunteering to document a small town Christmas as part of a federal grant program. Ruby’s eyes light up. “Oh! I think I read about that in the newspaper. You’re super famous, right?”

  I may be famous in fine arts photography circles, but I wouldn’t say I’m famous in general. OK, maybe I have about 500,000 followers on my Instagram, but who’s counting? “Aiden McMaster,” I say, reaching out to shake her hand. “Just a photographer, that’s all.”

  She slips her warm hand into mine, but her smile become muted. “Ruby Dees. Nothing fancy like you. Just a snow plow driver.”

  In my line of work, I come across people every day who downplay what they do for a living. She is the last person in the world I would wish to feel unimportant. “Listen, when the real shit hits the fan, people like you will be keeping society running while I’m just walking around with my stupid camera.”

  Ruby smiles a bit brighter. “Points for being kind, but negative points for being a little bit over the top,” she says. “But, since you’re not running for office, as far as I know, I’ll forgive it.”

  Sweet, adorable, and a little bit snarky, this woman is captivating me more and more by the second. I like it. I like her. A lot.

  I laugh. “I can see why everyone loves you. You say exactly what’s on your mind. Can I take some pictures of you while you’re working sometime?”

  Ruby’s answer to this is to look down and stare at her cocoa, quickly losing its heat. She takes another sip, a long one and then looks up at me. “Nah,” she says.

  I wait for a follow up explanation, but I don’t get one. In the meantime, Polly delivers my cocoa.

  Ruby smirks and remarks, “Hot cocoa and a strawberry milkshake. Hope your insides enjoy a double shot of dairy late at night.”

  I ignore the comment and press her on my question. “What do you mean, Nah? Just no? No photographs at all?”

  She lifts both shoulders all the way up to her ears in an exaggerated shrug to get her point across. “I don’t like having my photograph taken.”

  I sit back in my chair to marvel at this incredible woman. I come across people every day who hate cameras. But people are beautiful. Even people who are not conventionally beautiful. They all have something inside them: a humanity, that deserves to be documented.

  Ruby, however, is unequivocally, objectively, drop dead gorgeous in my eyes.

  I work very hard not to blurt out what I’m thinking: that I would follow her around like a puppy dog whether or not I had a camera. I’ve done personal portraits for presidents, actors, comedians, candids at major world events. I’ve won every award there is to win for photography, both for fine art and for journalism. I could make her famous if she’d let me do my magic. She would be in magazines. Art exhibits. Museums. She has to let me do my work.

  I appeal to her civic duty. “Listen. The mayor has given me strict instructions to include you in this collection. Apparently, you’re everyone’s favorite citizen. You aren’t going to get me into trouble with the mayor, are you?”

  The tips of her earlobes that peak out from under her hat turn pink when I say this.

  “The mayor exaggerates,” she says, shaking her head and sipping her cocoa some more.

  “Doesn’t look like it. A dozen people waved at you when you walked in here, after probably just seeing you fifteen minutes ago at the tree lighting ceremony. The waitress hugged you. So don’t even give me that baloney.”

  My attempts at disarming her do not work. In fact, she digs in her heels.

  She gulps down the rest of her cocoa and sets down the mug just a tiny bit forcefully. “Look, I just don’t want to be photographed, OK? You’re going to have to respect that.”

  I do respect her wishes. I never photograph anyone who doesn’t sign a release.

  However, I also like to encourage people to change their minds. I like people to gain a little bit of confidence when I show them what I can do. I’m not talking about photoshopping or touch ups. I wouldn’t remove a single freckle from that face.

  “Fair enough, Ruby Dees,” I say, enjoying the way her name feels in my mouth. “But I’m sure I’ll see you around. And I’m sure I’ll change your mind at some point.”

  She gives me a grudging smirk. “You can try. But if you’re going to keep up with me, you’d better go and get yourself some decent winter gear.”

  I point to the pom pom on top of her head. “You mean like that?”

  She squints at me as she stands to go, seemingly not sure of the intent of my comment. “I knitted this hat myself. You want one? Fifteen bucks each.”

  I grin up at her, noticing her matching mittens as she pulls them on. “I’ll take a set just like that,” I say, nodding toward her hands…hands that I’d very much love to make contact with again, as soon as possible.

  Ruby pushes out her lips in an expression of extreme skepticism of my motives. She leaves, saying nothing more.

  I watch her walk out the door, leaving me feeling like I’ve just been buried under ten feet of snow and I’m not sure how I’m going to dig myself out.

  Smooth, McMaster. Real smooth.

  Watch social media for announcements about Snowplowed, part of a brand new holiday collection called Santa’s Coming, featuring Megan Wade, Shaw Hart, Cameron Hart, and Penelope Wylde!

 

 

  Abby Knox, Pumpkin King

 

 

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