He pulls back slightly, lowering my leg, encouraging me to sit on the bed, then continues to kiss me until my body quakes. This would usually be when he’d slip himself inside me, but not today. The tan muscles of his body ripple as he crawls over my body, stalking me. His fingers caress me, leaving a hot path in their wake.
When his mouth finds my nipples, my moan is surely too loud, but I’m not in control of my body. He is. And that’s perfectly fine with me. I may have invented Woman on Top, but I really like the man to be in control. Slipping two fingers inside me, he continues to suck, lick, and nibble at my breasts. For such tiny things, they sure pack a punch to my libido.
This time when I come, he slips inside me before my orgasm is even over. My whole body coils around him, my nails digging into the muscles of his back. He waits for me to settle, for my eyes to find his, before rolling us to our sides, and hiking my leg to his hip.
“I like being spoiled,” I flirt.
“I’m just getting started.”
*
Leaning up on my elbow, I watch him sleep. He gave new meaning to the words spoiled rotten last night. No one compared to him as a teenager, but I’m certain that no other man will ever make me feel what he does. He can spoil me anytime, although I really should be the one taking care of him.
“I’m trying to sleep,” he says, his eyes still closed, that southern farm boy grin on his face. I’ve missed that smile. “Stop staring at me.”
“Your eyes are closed. How do you know I’m staring?”
“I just know.” He bursts awake, pinning me to the bed.
My legs spread open, and he sinks between them. “Insatiable.”
Giggling, I roll him off me. “Am not.” His eyes wander the curves of my face, his fingers toying with my hair. My laughter fades, and I do the same thing to him that he’s doing to me. “How are you?” I whisper.
“The sleep helped,” he says. “But the sex helped more.”
“Since you spoiled me last night,” I say, “why don’t you let me spoil you today?”
“I’m the spoiler, you’re the spoilee. Breakfast in bed?”
He plants a quick kiss on my lips before hopping up. I sit up, wrapping the sheet around my chest. His face wrinkles up as he stares into the refrigerator then he turns to me. “Cereal without milk or orange juice.”
We were in New York then his dad died, so he hasn’t exactly gone shopping, but it’s sweet he thought to do this. “Just juice.”
Bringing over a glass, he sits down on the bed, handing it to me. “Wish I could hide in here with you all day.”
“Like when Levi died?” I whisper.
He nods. “Sterling, I can’t move to New York. Even if I did get a job offer, I can’t leave my mom, not right now, not so soon.”
“I know, and I understand.” He looks away, his blue eyes searching. “Just say it,” I whisper. “Say what you’re thinking.”
“You don’t want to hear that. Trust me.”
“Try me.”
His eyes flip to me. “You’re not fucking going. That’s what I’m thinking. You’re staying right here with me.”
Are all guys such cavemen at their core? Is it part of natural selection or something? They order women around to keep us safe from harm or something? I have to cut him a break, though, he did just lose his father.
“You asked,” he says.
“I did. Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”
“It’s true, but it’s also true that I’m proud of you and wouldn’t ever want you to sacrifice anything in your life for me. I’m trying to listen to that part.”
“Good, because I don’t respond well to orders.” His head nods a little. “Asking sweetly might work, though.”
His eyes dart to mine. “Please don’t go back to New York. Stay here with me.”
“Okay, but we’re not making any babies!”
He tackles me back down to the bed. “What if I ask sweetly?”
*
RORKE
I watched her swallow down her birth control pill with a huge, cocky smile on her face. Asking sweetly hadn’t worked for that one. But she agreed to stay in Fall Springs, so I’ll let it go for now. Truth is, I understand her reluctance. Things between us have happened quickly in her mind. She needs some time to catch up with me. After all, I’ve been in love with her my whole life. Seems like we should have a couple kids already.
Bending down, I plant a kiss on the top of her head as she furiously scribbles notes onto her favorite pink hearts. “I’m going to check in on Mom then head to the field,” I say. “Football practice starts this morning.” All I get is a little head nod. She doesn’t even tilt her head up to kiss me. That I’m not having.
Moving her long brown hair to one side, I know just the spot, just how lightly to let my lips graze her skin to get her attention. Her hand stops writing as she takes a deep breath, her tits rising. “Rorke,” she whispers.
“Come with me to practice,” I say.
“I’ve got so much to do. The wedding. Moving here. Arranging work.” Her hand starts writing again, even faster.
I kneel, turning her towards me. This isn’t how I want her to feel—stressed out and anxious. “Just this school year,” I say. “Then I’ll move up to New York.”
Her hand glides through my hair. “You have your mom, this place, the camp. I know you’d move for me. That makes this decision easier. You haven’t pressured me into this.” I open my mouth to tell her she’s more important than any of that, but she places a gentle finger over my lips. “I’ve made my decision. You know, my parents are getting older, too. My mom already had that stroke.”
“So this isn’t just about me,” I tease.
“I’ll keep my apartment in New York and go up once a month or so. But I want to be here, with you. This is what I want.” She tosses a few sticky notes in the air. “There’s just a little stress in making it happen.”
“How can I help?”
“Unless you have a wedding dress stashed away somewhere, I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”
“Remember the dress you were wearing the day you showed back up in town?” I ask. “White. Little straps, no bra.”
She busts out laughing. “I had a bra on.”
“No, you didn’t. You remember the one?”
“I think so.”
“Marry me in that dress.”
“I can’t marry you in that. I think I got it at Target for like twenty bucks.”
“I knew I was in trouble as soon as I saw you that day.” She blushes. The stress of finding the perfect wedding dress fades away faster than the pink of her cheeks. “And make sure no bra this time, too.”
*
The next few weeks my routine stays the same. Helping my mom as much as I can, football practices, preparing for school to start, wedding and honeymoon details. And I work on plans for the camp as much as I can, finding an architect to draw up some initial designs.
My mom has good days and bad. The more accurate thing to say would be she has good moments and bad moments, and those can change like the wind. One minute she’s fine. The next minute she’s in tears. And just like when Levi died, she’s kept everything exactly the way my dad had it. His toothbrush still sits in the bathroom, his shoes are still waiting by the front door. And I know better than to try to persuade her to pack things up. She’s only hit me one time in my whole life, and it was the day I tossed Levi’s toiletries in the trash. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive. Hell, I wasn’t thinking at all. I’d come home for a visit and figured she hadn’t stepped foot in our bathroom, and I just chucked it all. She cried for two days. So this time around, I’m going to let her grieve the way she wants to. Planning our wedding has been good for her. A welcome distraction from dealing with the aftermath of the death of her beloved. Still, I worry about when Sterling and I are on our honeymoon. Yeah, I finally figured out where to take her, and I can’t fucking wait.
Sterling seem
s to settle into a routine, too. She and her mom both spend time helping my mom. Sterling tends to work in the morning and has let our moms do the worrying about the wedding, which is coming up fast. She’s set up a schedule for monthly visits to New York, some of which she’s coordinated around breaks in my school calendar, so I can go with her. And while I don’t think it makes a lot of sense for her to hang onto her apartment there, she’s adamant it’s a good long-term investment. Something about her hanging onto it makes me uneasy. It’s like she can run back there whenever she wants—some sort of insurance or safety net. But I don’t plan on giving her any reason to need it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
RORKE
I pull my Jeep in front of my mom’s house. It’s weird to think of it as just her house now. Sterling greets me at the door. I’m not surprised to find her here. She’s been incredible with my mom, helping her, consoling her, just being around so the house doesn’t feel so empty. She plants a little kiss on my lips.
My mom walks in, clutching some papers in her hand. “I need to talk to you. Both of you.”
“Everything okay?”
Mom shakes her head. “It’s about the farm.”
*
I know Mom would’ve preferred to tell me after the wedding, but finances being what they are, there’s no choice. She needs to sell the farm. She had no idea how much debt this place carried, and neither did I. Dad had mortgaged it to the hilt when Levi was sick. He’d been paying it down over the past ten years, but it’s not enough. And there’s nothing I can do to save it, not with my crappy salary.
Her hope is to keep the back couple of acres that holds our homes, but the other acreage will be sold. That should get her debt free with a little something to live on. Fuck, I can’t believe my dad left her in the lurch like this. How many nights did we spend at the kitchen table talking about the camp for Levi? Maybe he thought there was no way I’d be able to do it.
I’ve got donations already. I need to return that money unless I can come up with another location. But it was supposed to be here. This spot was special to Levi.
“I can take on more,” I say, feeling Sterling’s hand slip around my shoulders. “Get more boarders. Start giving riding lessons and trail rides. I can do it.”
“You already work a full-time job,” my mom says.
“What about life insurance?” I ask. “Didn’t Dad have . . .”
“It’s a small policy,” she says. “It’s not enough.”
“How much?”
She hands some financial papers to me. There’s a huge number circled in red at the bottom. That’s all that matters. And it’s large enough that my breath stops for a second. “I can talk to the bank. Explain Dad just died, and ask for a new payment schedule.”
“Rorke, there’s nothing we can do,” she says.
I wrap her in my arms. She’s lost my dad, my brother. I won’t let her lose this place, too. “Mom, I’ll fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I glance over at Sterling, who’s staring down at the number circled in red. She looks straight at me. That one glance is an attack to my pride. Silently, I will her not to say anything.
She looks at my mom then up to me, making my blood run cold. She takes my hand. Briefly, she looks down at our joined hands, the ring. Intertwining our fingers, she squeezes my hand as tight as she can, saying, “I can help.” My mom’s head darts up, hope springing into her eyes. “But I can only help if Rorke is okay with it.”
“Then the answer is no.”
My mother breaks down in Sterling’s arms. Sterling looks up at me. I can see the conflict in her eyes and know what’s coming. She’s going to try to convince me. Unable to hear it right now, I walk out the front door, stepping out into the night air. It sticks to me like sap on a tree—hot, humid, stifling heat—the kind that makes it hard to breathe. How can it feel like hell when the sun’s not due to rise for hours? I look up at the starless night sky. Part of me wants to curse my father, but I don’t. I can’t. Because when I look up, all I think is that he and Levi are together. So I just walk.
*
STERLING
It’s a lot of money, but not so much that I couldn’t make this all go away. This is a very different situation than I’ve faced before when people, some I barely know, have come to me for money. I love this family. This is my family, too. I want to help. He wants my answer to be as clear-cut as his. But it’s not.
Dear God, a part of me feels like I’m living in the Stone Age, asking for a man’s permission. I haven’t even vowed to honor and respect this man yet, but I do. And I will respect his wishes on this. I have to, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put up a compelling argument. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything in front of his mother? That might have been a mistake. Crap, I don’t know.
I could see his wounded ego in his eyes. The Notorious B.I.G. was right: “Mo Money, Mo Problems.”
Mumbling a string of curse words that would make my momma proud, I wonder how long he’ll stay gone. I’m going crazy waiting alone in his house. I know he needs time to work things out in his mind, but it’s pitch dark outside and the middle of the night. Telling myself he knows this land like the back of his hand, I hear my phone ding with a text. No doubt it’s his mom again. She’s worried sick and feels terrible. I reply that I haven’t heard anything from him. I honestly don’t think she realized what a can of worms this would be for us, especially with the wedding just weeks away. This is the last thing Rorke needs.
Pulling up my email on my phone, I respond to a few messages from work. That’s more productive than worrying and waiting. I hear the creak of the sliding barn door, seeing Rorke walk in with his hand in the front pocket of his jeans. He looks tired, but his lips turn up in the softest smile seeing me up waiting for him.
“I needed to think,” he says quietly.
“I know. But we need to talk about this.”
He stops in front of me, taking my hand. “Come shower with me.”
Momma touts lingerie for intense conversations. Maybe nudity works, too? He leads me into the bathroom, turning on the shower. I watch as he sheds his clothes, and I remind myself that underneath those hard muscles is a heart that is hurting right now. I think it’s easy for women to forget that sometimes. And the men in our lives don’t make it easy. They don’t cry. They don’t tell us how they feel a lot. Instead, their pain comes out in anger or silence or sex.
He strips off my clothes, gently pulling me into the shower. Maybe it will be easier to talk when we’re both stripped down, without our armor on. So I try again. “Did the walk help?”
He nods and squeezes some body wash in his hands, slowly caressing my body. “Did you mean what you said—that you wouldn’t help without my permission?”
I don’t think I ever used the word permission, but now’s not the time to play grammar games with an English teacher. “About something as important as this, I think we have to be in agreement. And I would never go behind your back.” He pulls me a little closer, his hands slipping to my ass. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No,” he says, holding my eyes with his.
“But your mom will lose the farm.”
“I’ve got the money my grandparents left me. That can help. I’ll just have to open up the place to boarding more horses and . . .”
“What about Levi’s camp?”
“I’ll have to return the donations I’ve received with interest accrued.”
“Rorke, please let me help.”
He steps back from me, the pouring water between us. “I can do this.”
“I know you can. But at what cost? You giving up on your dream for the camp, having to work full-time at school then running this place?” Placing my hands on his hips, I pull him to me. “I would like to see my new husband.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
STERLING
Nothing will change Rorke’s mind. There’s an aching tension between us. It’s been building up over the past wee
k, and it’s only a matter of time before it all comes to a head. Of course, I’d have to actually see him for that to happen. He’s up and out at dawn, and not home until the night forces him. And when he is here, he’s pouring over numbers, on the phone trying to drum up business, punching buttons on the calculator, trying to figure out where they can cut costs.
And one stroke of my pen could make it all go away.
To add to the chaos, the wedding is just two weeks away, and school will be starting up as soon as we get back from our honeymoon. In fact, football practice has already started. Rorke refuses to let go of that duty because he says he made a commitment to the team, but I know it’s really for the extra money, which isn’t much, to be honest.
He moves my hair to the side, finding that perfect spot on my neck. He seems to think me having piss poor sleeping habits is a green light to fuck me. And since this is really the only time I see him, I guess it’s a good distraction from us possibly having a real conversation. “Not this morning.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I miss you,” I whisper. Now, I know the man is not an idiot, but he still does the idiotic thing and leans back into my neck. Pushing him back and rolling onto my side, I snap, “Never mind.”
“Sterling,” he says, giving my hips a little wiggle. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”
I roll over to face him. “Then let me help.”
He moves to get up. “I need to go.”
“Five seconds ago, you wanted to have sex with me,” I say snidely.
“That’s not fair,” he says, throwing me a smile. “I always want to have sex with you.”
“Dammit, Rorke!” I hop out of bed. “Talk to me.”
He throws on his shirt. “You told me that this was my call. I made it, so let it go.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
“It feels too horrible,” I say, my voice cracking. “Stop and think about me for a second. How am I supposed to watch you killing yourself to try to save this place? How am I supposed to see your mom so sad? How am I supposed to do that when I could fix it all?”
Toying With Her Page 20
