Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Come for me, Wren.” His breath is hot against my ear. “You need this. I know you do. You need it just as bad as I do.”
He’s not wrong.
But I don’t want this to end.
Not yet.
“You’re taking me so well,” he says with a groan, feeding me every inch. “It’s like you were made for me.”
Without warning, the release I was holding on to for dear life begins to overtake me. I can’t fight it any longer. My legs go light, jerking and trembling as he pins me with each thrust. As sounds escaping my lips grow louder, he cups a hand over my mouth—which makes me orgasm almost instantly.
As soon as my body stops convulsing, he curses through gritted teeth, slamming into me a final time before pulling out completely and spilling his seed down my left ass cheek, hot, wet, and dripping.
We stay like that—bent, panting, spent.
His hands slide off my hips.
I grab a nearby shop rag, wipe him off me, and pull my jeans up, slowly swallowing the ache in my throat as I struggle to keep my balance. My body vibrates with little aftershocks, numb and electric at the same time.
Neither of us says a word.
But maybe there’s nothing to be said.
We both got what we needed.
End of story.
I find my shirt and pull it on without meeting his gaze.
“I have to go pick up Atticus,” I lie, brushing my hair into place.
Hunter zips his jeans, still breathless. “I should run into town. Parts store.”
It’s after six. I doubt the parts store is even open.
I nod once, back already turned, keys in hand.
We don’t say goodbye.
We don’t make plans to see each other again.
We don’t ask what this was.
We both just walk away like what just happened was the most natural thing in the world.
On the drive home—and for the rest of the night—I convince myself it meant nothing, and I promise myself it’ll never happen again.
While I’ve been the recipient of a million broken promises in my thirty-nine years, I’ve never broken one to myself—and I don’t intend to start now.
19
Hunter
I catch my reflection in the rearview on my way to the shop the next morning. No denying I look like hell. Didn’t sleep more than a handful of hours and not for lack of trying either. My mind ran laps all night—around the shop, around the mess we made, around the way her mouth made the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard as her body surrendered and all but conformed to mine.
Didn’t plan for it to happen like that. Hell, I didn’t plan for it to happen at all. But the second she walked into that shop—avoiding my gaze like she was allergic to me—I swear something overtook me. I needed to see her smile again. I wanted to see those sparkly indigo eyes. Some part of me craved her warmth and softness, the things she gave to me so freely before I left her on her front porch that night.
Can’t blame her for being cold to me yesterday. I imagine I made her feel foolish, rejected. But in my desperation, I created a whole new set of feelings—feelings I’m still attempting to untangle.
My mind wanders to the first time I saw her and our brief conversation at the meat counter. Then I think about how I pretended not to notice her at the coffee shop despite feeling the weight of her stare the entire time. Then there was the batch of cookies she brought me. Getting her unstuck in the rain as she sat shivering in my old Carhartt jacket in my truck. Eating that god-awful casserole together. Sipping wine with her as she razzed me while wearing the cutest smirk on her pretty little face . . .
Goddamn it, I want this woman—and I’ve wanted her since the moment I first laid eyes on her.
I’m not a word guy. Never have been. I don’t sit around journaling my feelings or talking them out like Cal after three beers. I fix things. I act. If I care about something, I do something about it. That’s why I pulled her car out of the ditch. Why I brought her the generator. It’s why I let her in at all.
Hell. I don’t just want her . . . I need her.
And it terrifies the shit out of me because it’s the one thing that’s beyond my control. I spent years convincing myself I didn’t need anyone—and then she comes into my life like a hailstorm in mid-July, bowling over everything I’ve worked for without warning.
“Jesus,” Cal mutters as he walks into the shop. Truitt’s two steps behind him, two tumblers in hand. “Someone drag you behind the 7600 last night or something?”
No, but it sure feels that way.
“I was gonna say maybe he fell in the bin and got churned up a bit,” Truitt adds, smirking as he passes me a coffee I didn’t ask for.