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)
The next thing I know he’s between my thighs, his mouth on my sex, his tongue dragging slow and deep like he’s truly famished.
I brace myself on the edge of the bench, gasping, my head tipping back as heat floods every inch of me. His hands are rough, palms spread wide on my thighs, holding me in place, his mouth working me over like he’s got something to prove.
He devours me with sharp, precise strokes that make my spine arch, my legs trembling. I bite down on my lip to keep quiet, but it’s no use—every flick of his tongue has me unraveling faster than I can hold together.
“Hunter—” I gasp, but he doesn’t stop.
He keeps going until I’m breaking apart, the orgasm ripping through me so fast and hard I have to slap a hand over my own mouth to muffle the cry.
By the time I catch my breath, he’s standing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he just won first prize at the county fair.
I re-dress as quickly as I can, tugging my shorts and panties up, barely managing to get my tank top straight when the door swings open.
Three guys stroll in, talking loud—until they see me. Then it’s crickets.
“Boys,” Hunter says, his voice casual. “This is Wren.”
They each nod, eyes flicking between us like they know exactly what they just walked in on. My cheeks flush warm. Hunter stays composed and unbothered with a hint of pride behind his bright blue eyes.
“That’s Cal,” Hunter says, motioning to the tall guy with a backward hat and a permanent shit-eating grin. “Truitt”—he gestures to a stockier guy with a dark beard and kind eyes—“and that’s Levi. He’s Cal’s cousin. Sometimes he helps out around here.”
Levi gives me a polite nod, young, probably late teens, shy smile on his face.
I give them a wave, cheeks still burning but trying to play it cool.
They’re rough around the edges, but polite. The kind of farm boys you can tell grew up being raised right, even if they can’t hide the knowing glances between them.
Hunter grabs the lunch bag from the counter and winks at me.
“Thanks for lunch,” he says, his eyes still eating me alive.
And all I can think about is the fact that I’m standing in a grease-stained shop, my body still buzzing, my stomach still growling. He got his fill, but I’m still hungry—for him.
39
Hunter
The door’s barely shut behind Wren when Truitt starts in.
“Jesus Christ, boss,” he mutters, grinning like he just saw Santa Claus. “That’s the girl? No wonder . . .”
“We’re neighbors. She brought me lunch, that’s all,” I say.
Cal chuckles, wiping grease from his hands. “She brought you lunch, huh?”
Levi, quiet and polite as ever, keeps his head down, pretending to check the oil filter on the tractor even though he’s watching every move I make.
I grab a wrench off the bench like it’s business as usual.
Truitt laughs. “So what’d you do to earn that delivery service?”
“Told you. We’re neighbors,” I grumble, heading back to the rig I was working on. “We do nice things for each other.”
“Uh-huh.” Cal shoots me a look. “Fellas, do you always look like you ran a marathon after your neighbor stops by? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
“Get to work,” I bark, pointing at the half-assembled engine Truitt was supposed to finish an hour ago. “We’ve got two planters still torn apart.”
They chuckle among themselves, but they listen. Eventually.
Still, I’m off my game for the rest of the day. I can feel her on me—the ghost of her legs wrapped around my shoulders, the sound of her breath catching when my tongue first dragged the length of her slit. I can smell her addictive scent in my beard, faint but unmistakable, and it’s enough to keep me hard half the afternoon.
I wish we’d had more time. I wish I could’ve slowed down, stripped her bare, laid her out right there on the workbench and taken my time making her come again and again until she was begging me to stop.
The things I’d do to her if I had more time.
Instead, I’m dealing with grease and gears, half crazy with want, replaying the sound of her muffled moans like a dirty highlight reel.
I don’t know what I did to deserve her visit today, but there’s one thing I know for sure—I’m not gonna last long before I find another excuse to see her again.
40
Wren
By the time afternoon rolls around, I’m at Natalie’s shop downtown, half helping, half hanging out while she unboxes her latest inventory shipment.
I’ve been writing so much lately I actually hit my daily word count before noon—and I still feel like I’ve got more in the tank. But instead of draining my creative well dry, I decided to visit Natalie in the name of having some kind of work–life balance.