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)
But there’s nothing to say.
I feel it in the way he moves—slow, deep, intentional. Like he’s savoring every second. Like he’s making a memory.
He thrusts deeper, hitting that spot in front of my cervix that makes me cry out, and his hand clamps over my mouth, his eyes darkening.
“Gotta stay quiet, honey,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine. “Don’t want anyone hearing you like this.”
Despite it just being the two of us for miles and miles, his words make me wetter, my body clenching around him, desperate for more. He moves faster, his hips snapping, his hand still over my mouth, his other hand gripping my thigh, holding me open wide so he can go deeper yet.
I’m close again, the tension building, my body burning. He feels it, too—I can tell by the way his thrusts get rougher, more urgent, his breath ragged against my ear.
“Come for me,” he commands in a low growl. “I want to feel you pulse around my cock.”
Just like that, I do—hard and fast, my body shuddering beneath him, the orgasm tearing through me like a wave I can’t outrun. He follows with a guttural groan, his body tensing, his hips stuttering before coming to a complete stop for a few seconds.
When it’s over, he collapses on top of me, both of us breathless, our skin damp, hearts racing.
We stay like that for a long time—tangled, sweaty, quiet.
Eventually, he rolls onto his side, pulling me with him, his arm heavy around my waist, his lips pressing lazy kisses to my shoulder.
“You’ve ruined me,” he mutters against my skin, “for anyone else. I hope you know that.”
Same—only I don’t tell him that.
He pulls me tighter.
For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, the chirping of the crickets and bullfrogs outside, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my ear.
I’ve never felt more wanted, more desired in my life.
He holds me close for what feels like forever, his hand stroking my hair, his lips brushing my temple.
I never want this to end—but I know too well that all good things always do.
“You’re addictive,” he says, still catching his breath. “Every time I get a piece of you, I want even more.”
I smile, letting his words soak into my desert-dry soul. I hope he means it, but odds are he’s just a man saying what men say when they’re basking in the afterglow of an intense bedroom session.
Still, I allow myself to enjoy it—carefully.
We stay tangled in each other’s arms for a while, neither of us moving, both of us pretending time isn’t ticking by faster than we want it to.
I’m half tempted to text Natalie and cancel, just so I don’t have to leave this bed.
My head is on his chest, his hand lazily tracing circles on my back, when a thought pops up and won’t leave.
“Hey,” I say. “Those old toys . . . from the other night. The ones Atticus found in the closet.”
His hand stills.
I lift my head, catching the shift in his expression—softening, clouding. He stares at the ceiling for a beat, his jaw tightening like he knows exactly where this is headed.
“Those were mine,” he says, voice low. “Mine and my brother’s.”
I blink, sitting up a little. “Ben?”
His gaze flicks to mine, surprised. “How’d you know?”
I push some hair out of my face. “I saw some drawings. In the closet in Atticus’s room. They had his name on them.”
He lets out a breath, like the memory’s settling heavy on his chest.
“You grew up in this house, didn’t you?” I ask, gently.
He nods.
“That why you wanted this land so bad?”
His eyes drift to the window, the fields stretching wide and endless under the afternoon sky. “Yeah.”
I almost tell him I’m sorry. That I didn’t know. That I wouldn’t have bid on the place if I’d known what it meant to him. But I bite my tongue because he’s not done. His eyes are somewhere else—years away, distant but vivid.
“I was sixteen. Ben was twelve,” he starts, his voice steady but faint. “We were outside . . . right down by the river that runs past the back of the property. Ben was messing around, skipping rocks, doing whatever he could to get my attention.”
He pauses, his lips pressing thin.
“I didn’t pay him any mind. I had a girl over. My first real girlfriend. Big deal at the time, I suppose. At that age, I was more interested in her than my kid brother. She wanted to go sneak around behind the grain bin . . . so I went.”
I can already feel an ache boiling in my chest because I have a feeling where this is going, but I don’t interrupt.
“When I came back, he was gone,” Hunter says, staring hard at the ceiling. “At first I thought he just wandered off to chase frogs or something. Then I heard screaming.”