Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“God.” I drag it out, dropping my forehead to his shoulder as he pours every drop into me.
I let out a breath as I come down from my high, but reality crashes back into me, and I notice just how out of control the fire has become across the street. “Shit,” I say, the roaring flames starting to draw attention.
The sirens are close. Too close. And as if realizing that at the same exact moment that I do, Stone reaches around me, shoves the key into the ignition, and kicks over the minivan. Then, with his cock still buried deep inside me, he hits the gas, taking off into the smoky street and leaving this godforsaken city behind, once and for all.
EPILOGUE
RILEY
Two years pass like a dream as we hide out in Cedar Falls, though hide isn’t really the right word for it. We have thrived here. Sure, every now and then, travelers will pass through, and we’ll lay low during those times, but we’ve never had to hide here. Never felt as though we didn’t belong.
This is our home, and after everything we had to go through to get here, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The life we’ve built together is amazing. It’s more than amazing, it’s everything. It’s bittersweet because, without the pain, without the suffering, we wouldn’t have landed here.
Stone’s name will never be cleared, and that’s something we both came to terms with a long time ago, and while we seem to have a normal life here on the property, it’ll never truly be normal. We’ll never stop looking over our shoulders, never walk into a room without scanning it first. But with time on our side, Stone’s name has slowly begun to fade from the media, replaced by new stories, new breakouts, new headlines. It will never truly go away, but we’re okay with that because, no matter what, they won’t find us here.
Over the past two years, Stone and Ray have put blood, sweat, and tears into this land. They’ve breathed new life into it. They transformed a run-down, forgotten farm into something sustainable and thriving, with rolling green hills that disappear into the distance and land stocked with cattle, horses, and all kinds of livestock. Like this, it could thrive for generations to come. Hell, we have peacocks for fuck’s sake. Who would have ever thought that I’d have a peacock? I also have a rooster, but I don’t share the same love for it as I do the stunning peacock. The rooster is a dick.
We’re content here. We’re happy and free. We even took a quick road trip last year and headed back to the abandoned town where the barb-dicked demon may or may not reside to retrieve the black Firebird we left there. The kind thing would have been to make sure it somehow found its way back to the owner, who likely spent years fixing it up. Buuuuuut, Stone didn’t want to. He was emotionally connected to the car. He felt they had bonded during their time together, and he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. Even when it broke down three times on the way back to Cedar Falls. So now, instead of collecting dust in an abandoned town, it collects dust here. But apparently, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Stone loves working on the farm, and I love watching him do it. Every morning, he’s out there caring for the animals before working on tractors or fixing fences. The majority of the time, he does it with his shirt off and tucked into the back of his pants while Barbara and I watch from the porch, burning whatever is in the oven.
Can’t blame us, though. Stone Blackthorne is a glorious beast, the best kind of man meat, and when the blistering sun has a sheer layer of sweat coating his skin and showing off those defined muscles . . . I can’t be held accountable for the wicked things I do to him.
It’s just about six on Sunday evening as Stone walks us up toward the main house, his arms hooked under my thighs on either side of his body as he piggy-backs me. And no, even at twenty-six years old, a woman is never too old to be manhandled and thrown around by a fine specimen such as Stone Blackthorne, my unofficial husband.
My arms dangle over his shoulders, and I trail my fingers across his strong pecs. My lips hover just by his ear, and I lean in a little closer, kissing his neck. No matter how many lifetimes I live, I will never be happier than I’ve been here in this life with Stone.
Nothing could ever beat this. We’re two halves of the same whole. He’s the peanut butter in my jelly sandwich, and I’m the Bonnie to his Clyde.