Losing Her Heart (Sweet Somethings Book 4)

by Rory Reynolds

  “I’m gonna… oh, God… Clay!” she screams my name as she comes again. Her upper body collapses to the ground. I flip her back over, stroking my cock hard and fast until I’m coming all over her tits and stomach. Rope after rope of come covers her. She moans at the sight, then does the last thing I expect. She slides her finger through my come and brings it to her mouth. She looks me right in the eye as she licks her finger clean, letting out that same little moan she did while drinking down that shake.

  Fuck.

  I collapse next to her on the floor and pull her into me, not caring that she’s covered in my release. She easily cuddles into my chest, resting her head right over my heart. Prue’s eyes fall closed, and she hums in contentment.

  7

  Prue

  Shit.

  What just happened?

  I just had dirty sex on the floor with the worst person to choose ever. The man that has me confused, and now I think there are feelings involved. I don’t do the whole cuddling thing, and yet I can’t make myself move.

  Clay runs his fingertips up and down my back, lulling me to that point between wakefulness and sleep. If it wasn’t for the hard floor and itchy tarp under us, I could probably fall asleep like this. Another big no-no. Never sleepover.

  What is wrong with me?

  Something about Clay has turned me into an idiot who doesn’t follow her own rules. Rules that have kept my heart safe for years. We cuddle—oh God, I’m cuddling—for a few more minutes before we get up. Clay pulls on his jeans then walks over to the water cooler he set up for the workers to drink from. He wets a rag and brings it to me. He carefully cleans my chest, giving me a heated look as if he doesn’t like that he’s wiping away his mark.

  “Thanks,” I say shyly.

  Jesus, I’ve never done anything shy before. I’m not shy. I remind myself of that and pull my clothes back on. It’s then I remember that Clay ripped the zipper on my coveralls, and it no longer covers all. He gives me a chagrined look.

  “Sorry about that.”

  I shrug, “I’m not. It was hot.”

  “You can wear my shirt…” he says, holding the proffered shirt in my direction.

  “Nah, I’m fine.” I tie the arms of the coveralls around my waist in a makeshift belt.

  Clay gives me a fiery look. “You’re not walking around with just a bra.”

  “Watch me. You don’t want me wandering around topless, don’t rip my clothes off me.”

  What I don’t tell him is that I have a change of clothes in the van since tonight is “book club” with the girls. It’s more fun to see him all growly and grumpy.

  I squeal when he pulls me into his arms… have I ever squealed once in my life? What is this man doing to me? Clay growls low in his throat. He cups my cheeks in both of his work-rough hands and tips my head back for a kiss that sears me straight down to my toes. I gasp into his mouth when he pinches one of my nipples.

  “These are only for me, princess. I refuse to share.”

  My pussy clenches at him staking his claim on me. I never thought I would be the type to actually enjoy someone so bossy, but I do. It gets me hotter than I’ve ever been. The thing is… I can’t take the command lying down. That’s not who I am.

  “I’m not a possession, asshole.”

  Clay makes a sound low in his throat before crashing his lips back to mine. He pulls away for a second and tugs his shirt over my head before continuing the kiss. My arms are trapped, and I’m not having that for a second because I want to touch him—need to touch him. I thread my arms through the sleeves, my arms instantly wrapping around him so that I can touch the corded muscles of his back. I run my hands up in a smooth caress, then back down with a bite of my nails.

  Each time my nails lightly scratch at his skin, he deepens the kiss, making possessive sounds that have my panties wet all over again. I just had the orgasm to end all orgasms, and I already hunger for more.

  He breaks away, and I pout, wanting more of him. He chuckles, tucking a flyaway hair behind my ear. The move is so sweet it makes my long-dormant heart clench in my chest. I’m feeling things I’ve never let myself feel before, and I’m not sure that I hate it. In fact, I sort of love his highhandedness and the possessive way he’s looking at me. Definitely not something I ever would’ve pictured for myself the few times I let myself imagine being in a relationship with a man that didn’t involve casual sex.

  Every protective instinct in me bristles, wanting to rip his shirt off my body and argue. I push that defensiveness down—another thing I never would’ve done before meeting Clay. I’ve never held my tongue. Always preferring to let my quips and biting comments keep men at arm’s length.

  Only three people in the world get a partial view of the real me—Lani, Margo, and Ana. My best friends see more than anyone ever has. Why do I want to show that side of me to someone I’ve known for barely a week who infuriates me to no end? Ugh, I’ve totally caught feelings for Clayton York.

  After I clean up my tools, Clay walks me out to my van, claiming that it’s not safe to wander around after dark. I laugh, telling him this isn’t the big city. Sugarhill is a sleepy town with a next to zero crime rate. He doesn’t let me argue, though. He just grumbles something about persnickety woman and does it anyway.

  I can’t say I mind when he opens the door for me and then kisses me soundly. He leaves me breathless and ready to blow off my friends to drag him back into the bar for round two. But he takes a step back, letting me climb into the van. He tells me to drive safely and that he’ll see me tomorrow.

  Some part of me can’t wait until tomorrow, but I shove that part down and leave before I can do something crazy like tell him I don’t want to go.

  All three of my friends give me wide-eyed looks when I come into Sweet Reads—Lani’s bookstore—wearing a man’s shirt with my coveralls tied around my waist. I walk straight past them with my bag of clothes thrown over my shoulder. I quickly change into a pair of jeans that have seen better days and a t-shirt that says ‘nope’ on it.

  I bury my nose into Clay’s shirt, smelling his cologne and something that is altogether just him. When I imagine getting home and pulling this shirt back on to sleep in, a thrill goes through me. Wanting to be wrapped up in his scent all night is insane.

  The second I come back into view of my friends, they pounce.

  “Whose shirt was that?”

  “Why were you wearing a man’s shirt?”

  “Did you finally sleep with Clay?”

  The questions come rapid-fire in a way that I have no idea who asked what… except that last one. It’s Margo. I level my best evil eye at her, but she doesn’t shrink away like anyone else would. That’s the thing about friends. They know you better than you know yourself sometimes.

  “Why on earth would you think I would sleep with Clay?” I ask her.

  “Because he’s hotter than hell, and it’s easy to see there is some serious chemistry flying around between you two.” She shrugs. “I’m I wrong, though?”

  I drag my hands over my face. “No, you’re not wrong. I slept with Clay.”

  Three sets of eyes look at me with shock. They know that I rarely sleep with anyone from Sugarhill. It’s awkward when you run into them at the market or diner or really anywhere else, and it’s bound to happen in such a small town.

  “How was it?” Lani asks. “I bet it was good. He’s got the whole growly alpha thing going like Torin…” She gets a dreamy look on her face that lets me know just how good she finds having a big bossy man to come home to.

  I imagine myself coming home to that every day, and some stupid part of my heart does a little flip. Shit. My heart is already involved. Casual sex is off the table, and I know it. Whatever this thing is, I either need to run with it or smash it down right now. The thing is… I don’t want to walk away this time. I want to see where things go for the first time ever.

  Finally, I’m able to redirect the conversation to book-related topics… and cupcake
s, of course. Months ago, we stopped the whole pretense of this being a real book club as only Lani excitedly read the book, and Ana would sometimes read one. I think Ana only did it so she could completely destroy the books. It makes Lani’s eye twitch like no other, and you can just see the frustration rolling off of her. Our normally cool as a cucumber friend gets her panties in a twist seeing a precious book defamed.

  The thing that nobody knows and a secret I will take to my grave is that I read every book she’s given us for our little book club. I especially like the romance books. Why don’t I confess this to my three best friends? It’s because I don’t want even them to know I’m a closet romantic.

  Keeping that part of myself hidden away has kept my love is bad approach sound. The tiny white lie has served me well over the years. No one tries to set me up with the forever kind of guy, and I never have to try to keep my heart out of the mix. Clay has singlehandedly wrecked all that careful work. I know without a shadow of a doubt, there will be no keeping my heart safe behind its walls. Not when I know it’s already involved.

  8

  Clay

  I watch Prue drive away with a smile. I was right that my little plumber scratches like a wildcat and purrs like a kitten. That fierceness she carries around like a shield translates to something wild and untamed the minute I touch her. I love it. I have scratches down my back and bite marks on my chest and shoulders. Though, I know she’s not without marks. I couldn’t help myself. I want people to know that she’s mine—because she is, even if she won’t admit it yet.

  I’m sanding down the top of the bar when my phone rings. I hope it’s Prue, but it’s Amos.

  “You fuckhead,” he yells. “You slept with Prue. My wife’s best fucking friend.”

  “I don’t know what business it is of yours who I sleep with,” I say calmly.

  “It’s my business because I know you. You’re not the type to settle down, and from what Margo told me when she got home from that farce the girls call a book club is that she’s afraid that Prue is about to get hurt by the playboy you’ve always been.”

  I let out a deep sigh. “Look, Amos. You’re my best friend, and I appreciate your protectiveness for Prue, but I can tell you that I have no intention of hurting her.”

  “So what? I’m supposed to believe that you move to Sugarhill and are just magically ready to settle down?” he asks incredulously.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, man. Look, I don’t know how or why, but the minute I saw Prue, I knew she was mine. As crazy as it sounds. Remember how you told me you just knew that first time you saw Margo that she was something special? Well, that’s exactly the same with me,” I confess.

  “Does Prue know that?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Amos laughs, his mood instantly changing from a bull in a china shop to the jovial friend he’s always been. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, my friend. Prue is the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

  I think back to the first day when I met her and tried to push against these feelings that she pulls out of me so easily and how she laughed as she left and flipped me off over her shoulder. That moment is burned into my mind because it marked the first time I jacked off to thoughts of Pruette Oleson.

  Once I’ve convinced Amos that I have no nefarious plans to sleep with and dispose of his wife’s best friend, we chat about how things are coming along at the bar, and he seems surprised with the progress that’s already been made.

  After we end the call, I decide to call it a night. The never-ending list of things that I need to do before this place can get up off the ground.

  “Why are you so damn stubborn?” Prue yells at me. “I’m telling you this color is atrocious in here.”

  I hide my smirk because she’s not wrong. The paint looks more like mustard on the walls than the golden color I was going for, but I like how feisty she gets when I disagree with her.

  “You’re impossible. If you want your bar to look like someone smeared baby shit all over the walls, so be it, but I want it on the record that I told you so.”

  She starts to walk away, and I pull her against my chest. “I could be convinced that I’m wrong, and you’re right.”

  Her lips quirk up in a grin, and I can’t hold back my own smile. She knows exactly what I’m doing by baiting her. It’s become a little dance we do—I do something ridiculous; she tells me I’m an idiot, and then we kiss like crazy until I eventually give in and tell her she’s right.

  She tips her head back, waiting for my kiss. When it doesn’t come, she pouts. “Go out with me.”

  Prue gives me one of her patented are-you-kidding-me looks. “Like on a date?”

  “Exactly like a date.”

  She purses her lips, and I think for a minute, she’s going to deny me. “Fine, but I hate seafood and don’t even get me started on sushi.”

  “No sushi got it.” I tip her head back with a finger under her chin and kiss her soft and slow.

  When she tries to take control of the kiss, I nip her bottom lip. She whimpers but lets me guide our kiss. Our tongues lazily stroke against one another. The normal frenzy pushed away for something sweeter, more meaningful. Prue surrenders to me just like I hoped she would. It’s taken days, but she’s slowly but surely letting herself be led into tender moments like this.

  Her eyes are hooded when I pull away. Walking her to her van has become something that she’s finally stopped fighting me on. Once I’ve opened the door for her, and she’s climbed inside, I brush my lips over hers one last time. “Pick you up at seven.”

  “Okay,” she breathes.

  9

  Prue

  I’ve never been on a real date. Sure, I’ve met men at a bar or somewhere neutral so that we could talk before hooking up, but never has someone picked me up at my house and driven me to a restaurant. I’ll never admit how excited I am.

  I’m going through my closet for the third time, trying to find something to wear. I’ve officially become one of those girly girls who cares what a man thinks. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I finally decide on my nicest pair of skinny jeans and a blue top that does wonderful things for my less than curvy body. I actually have cleavage in this top… well, the push-up bra doesn’t hurt either.

  Though I don’t think Clay cares that I have small breasts so the effort might be lost on him. He seems pretty obsessed with them; if all the love bites say anything, it’s that he loves them. He marks me in a new spot every time we have sex, and that’s often.

  As soon as everyone else is gone for the day, he’s got me pinned to a wall, spread out on the bar top, bent over one of the tables… basically, any surface is fair game. I love it. All of our sparring throughout the day finally bubbles up to a crescendo and comes out in the best sex of my life. It’s hot and earth-shattering. The only place we haven’t had sex is a real bed… I have a feeling that’s about to change.

  There’s a knock on my door as I finish swiping lip gloss on my lips. I answer the door with a smile. Clay tugs me against him and kisses my carefully applied lip gloss right off my lips. I smack his chest and grumble about it, but my wet pussy says I loved it.

  “You look amazing, princess.”

  I roll my eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”

  “Get used to it, wildcat. You are my princess, whether you like it or not.”

  I have to hide my smile. I love being Clay's princess, even if it’s a ridiculous pet name that doesn’t fit my personality one bit. “What if I start calling you Prince Charming?” I ask tartly.

  “You think I’m charming?” he asks with that crooked smile of his that never fails to make my heart sputter in my chest. “Be still my beating heart.”

  I laugh. “I’m surprised you can get that ego of yours through the door.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. I love it when he laughs. It sounds free and happy. Knowing that he’s laughing because of something I said tempts me t
o make him laugh more often. I’m totally gone for the man already. I’m officially all in, and there’s no going back.

  “Let’s go, princess. We’ve got a bit of a drive to get where we’re going.”

  He takes me into the city, not surprising as there’s not really a date spot in Sugarhill. I’m shocked when he up to my favorite Italian Bistro. “How did you know?”

  “A little birdy told me.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Let me guess your little birdy is Margo.”

  He doesn’t confirm, but it’s not like there could be anyone else. He’s met both Lani and Ana, but they aren’t on his speed dial like his best friend’s wife. The little traitor. I inwardly shake my head. I suppose I deserve a few secrets being revealed after how tricksy I’ve been in helping my friends get their men even when they were being stubborn.

  Message received.

  “This is delicious,” Clay says around another bite of lasagna, my favorite dish. “I should’ve gotten this instead of the ravioli.”

  “Told you so.” His fork moves to take another bite from my plate, and I poke his hand with my own fork. “Eat your own food, buddy. This is mine.”

  He gives me a sad little pout, but I don’t give in. I’m not possessive of many things, but I will get food aggressive over Luigi’s lasagna. “Maybe next time you’ll listen.”

  So far, the date is going well. We chat about all kinds of things. He asks about my dad and how I got into plumbing. I don’t shy away from the conversation. I tell him all about going with him to his jobs and loving it. He taught me everything I know. When I actually went to school for my trade degree, I passed the classes in half the time because I already knew everything along with a few tricks of the trade.

  The look on his face as I talk is one of pride. It does something funny to me to know that someone other than my father can feel pride in my work. I mean, I’m proud of myself, sure, it’s just different when it’s someone who obviously cares about you.