CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WEST
“HOW MANY, SKYLAR?” I HUFF AGAINST HER EAR, FEELING ALL AT ONCE more accomplished and more exhausted than I ever have.
She mumbles something from beneath where her arm is slung over her face. But we both know that was number five.
She’s naked and splayed across my kitchen counter like a fucking smorgasbord. And I’ve enjoyed every inch.
“Please feed me. I might die if you make me come again,” she pants, chest heaving. There are hickeys all over her tits, and her legs are trembling where they’re propped against the stone. Her pussy is wet and puffy, and if she didn’t look so fucking good like this, I’d feel bad.
We’ve put each other through our paces, and there’s not a single regret in sight.
“Feed you this?” I lift my cock—hardened from taking in how thoroughly fucked she looks right now—and run it through her tender center.
She laughs at first, but gasps when she feels my bare flesh against hers.
“God, it would feel so good to fuck you bare. Blow in this tight, little cunt and watch it drip out.”
Her body shakes with a chuckle as I swipe through once more, groaning and torturing myself. “You’re all talk, Weston Belmont.”
“Okay, little miss I’m slow to finish who’s been coming on my cock for
the past couple of hours.”
“You should do it.”
I freeze. “Pardon me?”
She peeks at me from between her fingers now. “I’d like that, I think.
Bare. I’ve never not used a condom. I need to get back on the pill.”
“Fuck, Sky.” I look down at us, already touching. I could shove myself in so easily. “Don’t tempt me.”
She spreads her legs and wraps them around my lower back with a knowing grin on her face.
“Easy, crazy fan.” I slip two fingers into her and make her gasp in shock.
“I’m being safe with you. I’m always careful, but let me see the doc this week. You get your pills, then we’ll talk.”
Her legs go limp, and she sighs. She knows I’m right, even though she huffs out, “Buzzkill.”
My fingers pull out and I press a quick kiss to her clit, feeling her knees snap up on either side of my head.
“Okay, one more,” she whines, holding me in place.
“Not a chance.” My hands land on her knees, prying her viselike grip off my head before reaching for my boxers. “You told me you’d die if I made you come again.” Dressed enough, I round the island and head toward the fridge. “And I’d hate for you to die on an empty stomach.”
Her laughter filters toward me. “Death by dick. What a way to go.”
I’m smiling as I reach for the butter and a block of cheddar. “Grilled cheese?”
“Hell yes,” she responds, hopping off the counter. She leaves the kitchen as I work on slicing the cheese and building the sandwich, and when she
comes back, she’s wearing my shirt.
My shirt. Her face. Whatever.
She’s also wearing a teasing smile on her lips as she saunters toward me, hair mussed, eyes soft. She glides across the floor, and there’s something familiar about it.
Bare feet and an oversized shirt. Sun streaming through the windows in the middle of the afternoon. Just the two of us. Her arms wrap around me from behind and she rests her head against my back.
We’re in a hazy, happy bubble, and I never want to leave.
She doesn’t let me go until I start to fry the sandwiches, and I’d be a fucking liar if I said I didn’t want her back here, clinging to me.
Instead, she’s propped a shoulder against the fridge while watching me make the most basic meal in the world like I’m a fucking Michelin-starred chef.
“Don’t look so impressed. This isn’t foie gras, Sky.”
She smiles. “It’s better. I don’t think anyone has ever made me a grilled
cheese sandwich.”
My eyes dart to her. She’s fixated on the pan. My fallback feast that I make for the kids in a pinch—a few slices of cucumber on the side and we
call it a square meal.
“Even as a kid?”
She shrugs. “We had a chef. My mom was always trying out different diets. None of which included butter and melted cheese. I just ate what they ate.”
“That’s a crime. You can make grilled cheese in so many fun ways.
Different cheeses. Pickles. Onions. Meat. The options are endless.”
“Perfect. You can just fuck me and feed me grilled cheese for the rest of the weekend.”
It’s my turn to grin now. “Not gonna lie, fancy face. That sounds damn good to me.”
We end up sitting on the kitchen floor facing each other, too bone-tired to even make it to the table—my back against the oven, hers against the island, our feet tangled in the space that separates us as we eat our grilled cheese with a side of cucumber slices.
Somehow, this is better. Cozier. The counters provide walls around us, and I feel like I’m in a private little hideaway with her.
“Tell me about the tattoos.” She gestures to my hand. “You don’t have any others—I can now confirm,” she adds with a saucy wink.
I turn my hand over as I shake my head at her and stare at the spaces between each knuckle marked with a symbol.
“A cow skull on the thumb because the time I took working on a cattle ranch after high school set me straight. Hard to get into trouble when you’re so tired, you can barely drag your ass to bed at night. Learned a lot, but it was like bootcamp.” I smile at the memory. “A pine tree on the pointer finger because Ollie’s middle name is Forest. A fleur-de-lis on the middle finger because Lily is Emmy’s middle name and also because that finger just suits her whole vibe.”
We both laugh and a familiar pang zips through my chest when I realize I won’t see them until next week. I glance back down now, tracing the bare ring finger. “Left this one blank, for obvious reasons.” I peek at Skylar, who nods and chews thoughtfully. “And a sun on the pinky, because, well, I guess I’m an optimist. There’s always a bright side.”
She looks me dead in the eye when she says, “I love that about you.”
I swallow.
“It’s infectious. You make me feel like everything will be okay.”
“It will be.”
Her expression turns serious. “Even us?”
Us. Neither of us knows what this is, but we know it’s not a connection you walk away from. It’s… With her, it’s different.
“Especially us.”
“How can you know that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know anything, but I believe it. And for me, that’s enough.”
She smiles but it wobbles. Silence settles in for a moment, but she doesn’t
look away.
“Hey, Sky?”
“Yeah?”
“You good if I treat you like porcelain, just for a little bit?”
She blinks, then stares down at the plate resting on her legs, our feet where they lean together. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
I put our plates on the counter and reach down to give her my hand. She lets me lead her through the house, light softening as the day drifts toward evening. When we hit the glass encasement of the en suite shower, I turn, picking up a piece of her hair. One of the strands that trends a bit blonder, toward the front.
Gold skin, bronze hair—everything about her shimmers. I want to remember this. This day. This moment. This spot of brightness.
I pull her to me and press a kiss to her forehead as I reach into the shower and twist the knob, setting the spray to the right temperature before going back to Skylar. Her eyes are downcast, and she seems anxious.
My palm glides over the back of her head. “You good?”
She laughs. “Is it weird that this feels more intimate than fucking?”
“No,” I reply simply, lifting the oversized shirt over her head and letting it fall to the floor. She looks at me now, gaze searching as I step out of my
boxers. “Let’s go. In the shower.”
Her eyes brighten. “More sex?”
My jaw drops. “You’re a fiend. You have an…a-dick-tion.” I wink, and she bursts out laughing as she turns away from me.
“That is the daddest dad joke of all dad jokes.”
In turn, I reach forward and land a playful slap on her ass. “Get your fine
ass in there, fancy face.”
When the warm spray hits, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about more sex, but I contain myself because something tells me that’s not what she needs.
With the door shut behind us, steam fills the space, and I draw her close.
We let the warm water pour over us, breathing each other in for a few beats.
Then I reach for the soap and wash her. Her arms. Her breasts. Fuuuck.
Her breasts. I force my hands down to her stomach.
“What are you doing?” Her brows furrow.
“Washing you.”
Her head tilts.
“Haven’t you ever showered with someone before?”
“Yeah, but not where we wash each other.” A vision of her doing this with someone else in this moment flashes behind my eyes. “Usually, it’s just straight se —”
“You know what?” I cut her off. “Forget I asked. I don’t want to hear about that.”
I reach behind her and soap her back. Her ass.
“Are you jealous, Weston?” She has a playful gleam in her eye.
I chuckle at that. “If I had ten grand to spend on fucking your exes over, I
would.”
“They wouldn’t bid.”
She says it so matter-of-factly. I hate it. I hate that for her.
“I would bid on you every time,” I say, crouching down and pressing a kiss to her stomach before soaping her legs. Her ankles. I swipe a hand over
her pussy, and she hisses.
“Sore?” I ask, pushing up to standing.
“Well, yeah. I’ve been taking your massive pole for the last couple of hours.”
“Massive pole,” I muse, soaping myself. “That has a very lyrical ring to
it. You should put it in a song.”
“Yeah, yeah. Take your victory lap.”
“I’m sorry. Would you prefer I pull out an acoustic guitar and serenade you? I could cry a little at the beauty of what we shared on the hood of my truck?”
She’s full-on laughing now. “I’ve actually had both those things happen to me.”
I reach for the shampoo, shaking my head with a grin on my face as it pours out of the bottle. The scent of rosemary and mint fills the shower.
“Those assholes should have been washing your hair and treating you like a princess, not crying with their instruments.” With my empty hand, I twirl my finger in a spinning motion. “Now turn.”
She blinks a few times, like she can’t process this pampering. “You know, I was jealous of that horse the first day I saw you washing her.”
I bark out a laugh at that. This woman. “Well, today is your lucky day, then. You get the full training package.”
I see the tail end of a smile as she turns in place. But she lets me wash her hair. Condition it too. We stay in the shower, quiet and contemplative, until the warm water runs cool. And when we step out, I slather her in lotion, walk her to my king-size bed, and watch her eyes drift shut in a matter of minutes.
I watch her sleep for I don’t know how long. I think, and I think, and I overthink. I sneak out only to do the night check, and then I come back to her. Naked. In my bed. It seems surreal. It seems too good to be true. So I decide to soak it up for as long as I’ve got it.
My hands reach for her under the covers, and hers reach back for me. We spend the night naked and tangled up in each other.
Clinging to one another.
And I don’t know how it happened so quickly, so out of the blue, but Skylar feels integral to me. It’s inexplicable—cellular.
All I know is that she and I were meant to meet on that road.