Sunshine Bleeds A Black Edge (The Wild Things (standalone) Book 3)

by A. Wilding Wells

  “I want that. Want you in me.”

  Rebel nods, and with one hand resting at my side and his other guiding his cock, he pushes inside me. “Not gonna last while you’re doing that.” He looks down to where we join and stares at my wet fingers as I play.

  “Give me eight seconds, Wishbone,” I say, then giggle. Rebel grins and together we count to eight. And my God, when that number arrives we come together in a union filled with love and forgiveness. And also, a future I’m certain is filled with trust.

  Chapter 55

  Ruby

  One thing I’ve learned in life is, you will never know exactly who someone is. You think you have people figured out by the things they say or do. You give them labels. She married for money, knew she could get away with it. Has an Ivy league law degree framed on her den wall stating she accomplished enough. Still, she’s a trophy wife. Or is she? You have no fucking idea who she is. You never will. Neither will he.

  It goes on and on, the way we make up stories about people. From family to friends to people we follow on social media. We think we know who they are. We think we know what they’ve been through. We don’t. Not by a long shot. Because most people have something hidden behind their smiles or their stormy, sassy retorts. Or the way they jab at others. For many, it’s pain, guilt, or shame.

  I was that girl. And, while I still harbor guilt and struggle with it now and again, my running away and then coming back home to Rebel has given me freedoms I didn’t think I’d ever find.

  Freedoms to see in new ways, with a gentler opinion of others. Maybe the Kline boys had been through their own hell. I’ll never know. And, though I can’t forgive or forget what they did, I have come to the realization that maybe something damaged them too. Something awful that made them want to hurt other people. No one is born a monster; people tend to be molded by something fierce.

  “Do you wear Franks? You have no panty lines showing,” Mom asks Etta as they clear the dishes while Echo and I play with Gilbert’s four puppies.

  “Spanks…yes. I do. Helps me keep my figure and lessen the jiggle.” Etta smiles back at me and winks.

  Etta and I have found a new level of friendship. She thought, once I knew her side of the story, I’d leave Rebel. She thought I’d come at her with devil-soaked vengeance. Instead, we talk a lot and about so many things it blows my mind. We’re more similar than I could have ever imagined. We’ve both gone through our own version of despair and we’ve both evolved. The way I’ve come to see it, you evolve or you die.

  “You wash, I’ll dry,” Mom says, taking a plate from Etta. “I was wondering…” She gulps a sip of her boozy slushy. “I had read…” She slugs the rest of it down.

  I brace myself for a big one. I shouldn’t because she too has turned quite a corner. Well, more than a corner. She admitted to knowing that Dad did what he did. Echo told her via a cartoon he drew, and he gave to Mom for her reminders box. He told her he needed to forget but she should remember. In that same box is the cartoon Opal drew and gave to Echo the night she died. She couldn’t speak that night and lots of their communication was done via cartoon drawings anyway.

  “You can ask me anything,” Etta says, a slur in her voice from the old-fashioned cherry slushes we’ve been enjoying since four this afternoon, one week in at our new farm.

  “You didn’t get it cut off, did you?” Mom points to Etta’s crotch, and my cheeks burn. “That wasn’t true that you donated your…”

  “No. I was just joking with you.” Etta waves a hand around and chuckles.

  I sigh in relief, like I’m helicoptering two naughty toddlers who made it across a treacherous river.

  “I read they turn that part inside out,” Mom says, proud as a peacock. “Like a sock.”

  “The penis, yes. Something like that.” Etta nods and shrugs. “Close enough.”

  I scoop my glass off the floor and stand for a refill. Truth is, I’m fascinated by Etta and Mom and my excuse to get closer to eavesdrop is my empty cocktail. They’ve become something new. Friends. The most unlikely friends ever, but the beauty blossoming between them is as exquisite as spring rounding a corner post a tired gray winter.

  “Monday?” Etta says then stalls for an oddly long time.

  I busy myself but peek up for a take on her body language. Nervous with a side of interest.

  “I was wondering… Would you care to go to the movies with me?” she asks.

  Mom stretches her neck tall then gives Etta a once-over. Please say yes.

  “Are you asking me on a date? I couldn’t date a woman who has an inside-out penis up inside her. I couldn’t date a woman at all. I’m not a thespian.”

  “Lesbian. I realize.” Etta’s lips thin, and I get all butterfly nervous for both. “Not a date. Just…friends,” she says. “Girlfriends.”

  Rebel waltzes into the kitchen with two puppies snuggled in his brawny arms. I shoot him big eyes. Big pay-attention-this-is-really-good-stuff eyes. He nods and winks.

  “Girlfriends? Oh.” Mom practically squeals.

  I do too. Girlfriends.

  “That’s so…kind of you. I haven’t gone to a movie with a girlfriend in a long time. Come to think of it…I haven’t had a close girlfriend in a while. Most women are such foods.”

  “Like french fries?” Rebel asks. “Ruby though—she’s sweet like a cherry.”

  “Prudes,” I say, helping Mom out. “Not foods.”

  “The rumor.” Mom rolls her eyes and scratches under her wig with a fork. “What about Lake and Echo…and Lenny and Opal?”

  “They can stay here, Ma. You girls go. Have fun!”

  “They can join us,” Etta says. “And I’ll drive. There’s room for everyone.”

  When Etta and Mom stroll out of the house, Etta toting Lake, Echo trailing behind them, and Lenny and Opal drifting across the heavens somewhere or another, I realize some beautiful things. And every fiber in my body overflows with happiness. Family comes in more shapes and sizes than I ever thought possible. Imperfections and oddities you’re better off embracing than judging. We may be a strange bunch with bizarre and rather damaged history, but we’re us. Each of us is unique and truer to ourselves than ever before. It warms me and makes me chuckle. And then my knees buckle, previous thoughts vanishing when Rebel dances kisses down the side of my neck, reminding me of other things. Namely, that we’re alone.

  “That was pretty sweet, huh? The whole girlfriends thing?” I say.

  “Etta mentioned it to me earlier. I think those slushy old-fashioneds gave her the courage to go for it.”

  “Sometimes all you have to do is ask.” I laugh when Rebel spins me in his arms.

  “Then I’m asking.” He waggles his brow.

  “Blow job?” I say, since he’s been hinting at one all day.

  “I was thinking hand in marriage.” He scoops me up in his arms and spins. Spins my whole world.

  Tears flow, and my heart beat zips, my one needed word stuck in my throat.

  “It never crossed my mind to ask, ‘Will you marry and blow me?’ Seems like an odd combo.”

  I snort out a laugh, and he kisses tears off my cheeks.

  “Will you be my wife and blow me for life, sweet thing?”

  “Rebel.” I shake my head and crack up all over again.

  I love him more than life. I guess that’s just one of the reasons I left him in the first place. Sometimes you love someone so much that the only thing you can do to protect them is get out of the way.

  “Was that a yes?” He presses his forehead to mine, nodding.

  “Yes to being your wife.” I swallow hard and grin like a fool who just drank an ocean full of sunshine. “And we can rock-paper-scissor for the blow job.”

  We play our hands, and Rebel laughs then kisses me so deeply that I’m lost in him again. Seconds become an eternity of moments like this. All of it unfolding magically in my mind. It’s sexy and perfect and everything Rebel.

  “Guess today’s my lucky day
.” He grins. “Rock beats scissors.”

  The End xxx

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  Acknowledgments and About this story

  Dear Scrumptious Lovely Reader!

  Thank you with all my heart for reading this story. I hope it gave you big feels; I hope all my books do. This is Book Three in the Wild Things Series (Standalone).

  If you did like it, I’d be so grateful if you’d consider posting a review. And, I’ve written a couple of other books you may also enjoy.

  ~ How To Tame Beasts And Other Wild Things (book 1 of the Wild Things series, a standalone)

  ~ Mastering The Art Of A Three Ring Circus (book 2 in the Wild Things series, a standalone)

  ~ A Mess of Reason

  ~ A Field Guide To Catching Crickets

  ~ Of Winged Creatures & Nesting Grounds

  Big thank-yous to my many awesome ARC readers + blogger friends! I adore you for embracing my work and for sharing it with the world. You are lovely generous souls! I cannot thank you enough for embracing my creations. Oceans full of kisses xxxxxx

  Mickey and Rahab, I bow down with appreciation. Your editing is truly so appreciated!

  Thank you BEXHARPER DESIGNS for the amazing cover you created and the sexy stunning edits! Love the pants off you two!

  To my darling husband, and family, I love you more than cake.

  On Pinterest (www.pinterest.com/awildingwells/) you will find my inspiration board for this book. I do love building worlds—you might want to check it out. Also, please consider following me on social media if you’d like to be notified about my upcoming books and cool giveaways, which are plentiful.

  About This Book

  The idea of this book came to me when I was running the backside steps of the bleachers at the high school in the town we used to live in. My husband and I typically ran them together, but on this particular day he had been busy, so I was running them alone. I’m not sure why I got creeped out at one point, but I did…and in came this novel. I ran to my car and started writing it the second I got home.

  If you’ve read my books, you know I have a fondness for the following:

  - Quirky characters that are so real they become a part of you.

  - Chemistry between my characters, especially the H/H.

  - Family stuff. All of it.

  - World painting, and especially small towns.

  - Twists. Dark bleeding to light. The unthinkable. And of course, the HEA.

  I also pluck a bit from my own life. Now for some rambling.

  Like Ruby, I left high school a few days after graduation, and moved to Paris, France with a modeling contract in hand.

  My reason was not to run, but rather, I needed to see what was going on in the world outside of the small town I grew up in and that contract was my ticket.

  While I was there, I had a few scary run-ins with guys. Nothing that scarred me for life, but no question things that put me on the defensive anywhere I am. I pulled plenty from those chapters for Ruby Mae and embellished them with layers. Unfortunately, Ruby got the horrifically raw side of the deal as too many women do.

  Ruby playing Martyr came into play when I was early on in this book and we decided to move from California to Nicaragua. Everyone seemed to have some sort of opinion about our move and while most were supportive, so many poked the oddest questions at us. Sort of like this: “How dare you do this to your children…steal their high school years from them for your own wanderlust.” It blew my mind that anyone would first think so narrow mindedly, and second, have the balls to say it to a person they don’t even know.

  So yeah, when I write, I charge on no matter what’s going on in my life because no matter what it is, there is a story inside it.

  Rebel came about naturally once Ruby was formed in my mind. Plus, he had played a small role in Mastering The Art Of A Three Ring Circus, and I was already smitten with him and his rough-and-tumble sexy ways. One of my favorite things about Rebel is his vulnerability and how he loved with such intensity. I do so adore a man who loves like this but is still so human and imperfect. Etta gave Rebel so much in terms of depth and growth. And Rifle, though he didn’t play a huge role, still helped define parts of Rebel that I wanted to shine.

  Monday Rose might be one of my favorite characters in the book. She was easily inspired by the very idea of family holidays. In particular, one of my own family’s Thanksgivings when I was in high school and my great-grandmother, who was in her late nineties and rather deaf, blurted out at the table a most unfortunate blunder about another family member. Thank God that individual laughed, because it could not have been more offensive. Deads day was inspired by that moment.

  I realize what I write is a bit out of the box when it comes to romance novels. But I love…truly love how you guys reach out to me and share your feelings about my stories. I love that you appreciate how wonky my books can be at times. I write what I love, what pours out of me. Thank you with all my heart for appreciating my words and for continuing to read them.

  xxx,