Wet: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 1)

by Ashley Bostock

  Wet

  Love in Lone Star

  Ashley Bostock

  Contents

  1. Miranda

  2. Ryan

  3. Miranda

  4. Ryan

  5. Miranda

  6. Ryan

  7. Miranda

  8. Ryan

  9. Miranda

  10. Ryan

  11. Miranda

  12. Ryan

  13. Miranda

  14. Ryan

  15. Miranda

  16. Ryan

  17. Miranda

  18. Ryan

  19. Miranda

  20. Ryan

  21. Miranda

  22. Ryan

  23. Miranda

  24. Ryan

  25. Miranda

  26. Ryan

  27. Miranda

  28. Ryan

  29. Miranda

  30. Ryan

  31. Wild - Chapter One - Thatcher

  Newsletter

  Also by Ashley Bostock

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Ashley Bostock

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are being used fictitiously. Any references to such are entirely coincidental and are used for merely the telling of a fictional story.

  Bonnie West

  You mean more to me than you know.

  Sharon Morgan

  Sometimes it only takes a second to know someone is meant to be in your life.

  Ryan J. Bostock

  There is always Mexico

  Chapter One

  Miranda

  “He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

  “Trust me, I’ve noticed. I can’t keep my eyes off him. But every time I catch him looking at me, he looks at me long enough to make me swoon and then looks away. Why won’t he come talk to me?” I ask Phil, as I reach across the mahogany bar top to retrieve my drink.

  I’ve known him my whole life and he is currently the bartender for my co-worker’s wedding. Phil and I had always been good friends and I didn’t have many of those. Lone Star was a small town and when you behaved as badly as I had during my younger years, it tends to burn a lot of bridges. Even when you’re older. We both look around the community center, which is brimming with people. Lights have been strung up on the steel beams that line the ceiling, intermingled with a white tulle which, for the life of me I can’t figure out why, reminds me of a pin cushion – the kinds women use for sewing. People sit around the dinner tables which have been decorated in white linens and flowing table skirts. I turn my attention back to Phil.

  “That usually means we don’t want to get involved,” he laughs.

  “Great. Wouldn’t be the first time a good guy like him would be afraid of me,” I say just as the groom’s grandmother gives me a disapproving frown.

  “If he’s as good as everyone says, then he’d judge you on his own. Not take someone else’s word for it. Take my advice, Miranda, if he does that, he ain’t worth it.”

  I raise my eyebrows, taking my beer and head back to my seat, pondering Phil’s words.

  This was the case: Ryan was good…too good. He was too good for the likes of me. Everything he did…was good. Honorable. Kind. Fair. He was smart. He helped old ladies cross the street. In short, he was a decent man. The kind of man I wanted in my life but never managed to have. He was a man, I was sure could please me sexually as well as intellectually. He knew how to farm. He knew when the rain would fall and in which direction the wind blew. His dark hair was cut perfectly against his neck, just above where growing it much more would be an inch too much and as he tilted his head back taking a swig of his beer, my fingers itched to run through it. His jeans fit perfectly along his lean legs and tight butt – more than what I had ever been used to in a guy. Most of the guys I had been involved with had worn ill-fitting pants and that never counted if they were on their hips or not.

  But Ryan’s were.

  They fit perfectly. They were tight where they needed to be and God, did he smell good. He smelled like the rain, the wind and leather. Which I had been blessed with knowing when I ponied up to the bar, in line behind him earlier when he was ordering a drink.

  As it were I was, hoping, wanting and needing him. God, how I wished he would take me into the corner of the bar…well, at least lead me down the hall into the quiet and tell me how much he’d like to have his way with me. I knew he wanted me. You can’t tell me the way he smiled at me, the way his eyes glistened and roamed over my chest wasn’t giving me the slightest hint that he was into me. We had something. A connection of some type that I’d never experienced with anyone but him. It was as if, all of this attraction, all of our thoughts, could be conveyed to each other through these looks.

  I’d worn a simple, royal blue dress that came up above my knees – a mini dress, if you will, and he couldn’t take his eyes off me. I’d danced all night, hoping he would come and talk to me, dance with me. He hasn’t done either. It was as if he’d been warned to avoid me. As if he knew in his heart of hearts, I wasn’t much like those out-of-town women he dated – the cliquey prom queen kind. Yet, his quick glances and the way his lips parted when he was watching me, told me he was thinking about me.

  Ryan wasn’t a bad boy, not like all of the bad boys that had breezed through my life. Nope, this one was good and I had somehow managed to snag his attention. He was good because of the things he hadn’t experienced in his life, like I had, by the time he was eighteen. No, by the time I was eighteen, I was working full-time, had already experienced the joys and pain of sex and heartbreak, had been involved in illegal activities and done more things than any one person should experience in their lifetime.

  But not him.

  Maybe this is why he’s been avoiding me all night. It’d been too long since I’d had a man touch me. Bad girl that I was, I knew what had to be done. I watched him until he took off alone down the darkened hall of the banquet room and without thinking of potential consequences, I followed him. I stood on the edges of the darkened hallway and waited until he came barreling out of the bathroom and I threw myself into his arms. Literally. He’d caught me by surprise, just like I’d caught him. His muscular arms were already around me, balancing me so we wouldn’t fall together. Even though the naughty girl part of me would have been okay with that. His smoldering gaze bored into my soul, neither of us spoke a word.

  The attraction was definitely there.

  This up close, I could see the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, a tiny scar above his left eyebrow that I hadn’t noticed from far away and of course, the small freckle on his cheekbone. He opened his mouth to speak and I took that as my invitation to dive in. I closed my mouth over his hot lips. His grip on me tightened as I shoved my tongue hard into his mouth, right down his throat. His heat was melting my insides, making me wish his hands were under my short dress instead of around my waist. He had given as good as he got. The fire that had burned between us all night was finally coming to a close…or maybe to a new beginning. His mouth was hot and minty even though I could faintly taste beer, as his tongue mingled with mine. We had managed to move ourselves inside a door off the darkened hallway. I don’t know if that was my lead or his but we’d gotten into a space…someone’s office, from what I could faintly make out with t
he light off. There was a desk he propped me up against and when a sheaf of papers fell to the ground, I idly wondered if those were papers for the wedding. We were at least hidden from view lest anyone wanted to use the men’s bathroom.

  My pussy was soaking wet from his kisses. They were exactly what I envisioned they would be – how we would be together. His muscular arms, his rough hands and I couldn’t believe I was going to do it – actually I could – brazen girl that I was, I slipped my hand down the front of his denim jeans and cupped the thick bulge I knew was there because of me.

  He groaned into my mouth and soon his kisses were all over my lips, my cheek, along my neckline and collarbone. His warm breath teased my skin as he went from my neck to my ear and back. Finally, his hands made their way to the hemline of my skirt and in one swift movement, he’d pulled it up my thighs exposing my bright, now soaked, purple panties.

  For being a good guy, he sure knew how to be bad. His hands were experienced that was for certain. He didn’t even hesitate with the whole, stick one finger in then two ordeal, he just shoved two of his fingers inside my waiting heat and had me begging for release. His fingers were big, they stretched me comfortably good.

  I wanted more. I wanted his cock inside me. Now. I fumbled with the buckle on his jeans long enough for him to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t going to fuck me here and if I wasn’t being so selfish, I too, should’ve had sense enough to realize this stranger’s office, where anyone could walk past the open door, was not the place.

  He stopped with the kisses and his Southern drawl groaned in my ear, “Can’t. We don’t have a lot of time. Just come.”

  His voice alone had brought me closer. His palm rubbed my clit in short strokes as he finger-fucked me like I had never experienced before. I came faster than I ever had, clinging to him like he was my savior, wishing I could take his cock out of his pants and return the favor. His warm breath was in my ear, his lips teasing and tasting my skin and my knees were starting to buckle. How could that have felt that intense? That good? Our bodies had some crazy magnetic attraction that molded us together on a level I had never experienced.

  He grabbed my hips with his strong hands and pulled my dress back down to an appropriate level, “Be clear, Miranda, that was a one-time thing.”

  What? Hell no, it better not have been. What about him? Didn’t he want me to satisfy him? What did he mean by that? Was I not good enough for anything more than a finger-fuck, honestly?

  I tried really hard to ignore the sudden anger rising up in my chest, “What do you mean a one-time thing? I’m not good enough for you?”

  His hard stare had me guessing what he could possibly be thinking, a quick glance downward told me he was still hard as ever. I wanted to erase the words he just uttered out of my mind, out of his mind. I reached down to grab his erection and he latched onto my wrist.

  “Miranda, don’t. I didn’t say you were or weren’t good enough for me, what I said is this isn’t happening again. Ever.”

  If he wasn’t telling me exactly what I didn’t want to hear, I might have enjoyed the way his southern drawl said my name, the way it flowed from his mouth like it belonged there, but he had me so mad I didn’t know what to do!

  “What the fuck was this then? Why did you do that to me?” I gestured downward toward my dress where it still showed faint wrinkle lines of being bunched up around my waist.

  I looked up into his icy blue eyes, waiting for an answer. For a second, I thought he wasn’t going to answer and then in a low, hard voice he told me, “You’ve been looking at me all night, begging for it. Swaying your ass practically in my face. I did it because you wanted it. I’ve got to go.”

  He left so fast, my head was spinning. I angrily picked up all the papers that had fallen to the floor and without trying to crumble them due to my anger, I haphazardly threw them back on top of the desk. I was reeling, I was so mad. My chest heaved with short, angry bursts of breaths. I felt used even though what he did to me was exactly what I wanted…well, not exactly what I wanted but good enough for now. I had asked for this. Was I already thinking wedding bells for us?

  My heart was still beating fast from the best orgasm I’d had in a long time coupled with the added anger he just brought out of me. I wanted to storm after him, to twenty-question him on who the hell he thought he was and why the hell he went along with that episode. He clearly wanted me as much as I did him. If only for a few moments. Instead of storming out there, I counted to ten. This was a wedding reception and there were still loads of people milling around; I would only make myself look foolish, not to mention selfish and I wouldn’t ruin the bride’s special day.

  I went into the women’s restroom and restored order to myself, checked my hair and make-up before I walked back into the banquet hall. Of course, the first thing I noticed was Ryan’s disappearance. He was nowhere to be found. Thatcher Patterson looking mighty fine in a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms, sat next to an empty seat. His hair was a tad darker than Ryan’s and a close-shaven beard and mustache lined his face. The guy was gorgeous but didn’t compare to Ryan. At least not to me. I rolled my eyes in resentment. Ryan must have high-tailed it out of there as fast as could be, running from the likes of me.

  Now, fast-forward two months later and here I was sitting at a city council meeting listening to the council members discuss the firing of the City Manager, Arthur Yates. Town rumor, and Arthur’s stance himself, was he had been fired because of his sexual preference for men. Most likely he had been the one who had started such rumors but as it was, it had gotten the council members to hold a public meeting – all meetings were public – but only a handful were as popular as this one tonight. The city had to prove and show documentation they fired Arthur because of his repeated absences and tardiness to work.

  Thoughts of what we did together the last time I was here for the wedding had my attention completely. The community center was packed to the gills with people. Instead of the round tables that had been on display for the wedding, someone had set up rows and rows of chairs for people to sit. In the front of the banquet hall, they’d set up a rectangular table with seats for the council members. I had gotten here early because I was the reporter/photographer for the town’s newspaper and it was best to be up close. And who was I kidding? I had to see Ryan. After he’d left me satisfied and equally hot and bothered two months ago, I’d been dying to even catch a glimpse of him since then. You would think since I was the town’s reporter, I would see him more than I had, but he was good at hiding. Perhaps he was avoiding me.

  Ryan – or Mr. John, as he was known in these meetings – sat on the city council as a council member. He was the youngest at thirty-one years old. And biased as I was, he was the smartest.

  The meeting was due to start any moment and there wasn’t a city council member in sight. Probably conferring, getting their facts straight and making sure they presented a united front. I scribbled down a few more questions I had, should they not get answered during the meeting. Then, like everyone else, I waited.

  Finally, the five council members and the mayor walked in. My chest beat so loud I could hardly hear the murmurs of the people around me. I could hear only the pounding of my pulse and my erratic breathing.

  Ryan was the last one who sauntered out of the room and as if there was some cosmic force at hand, he glanced up and looked directly into my eyes. I didn’t waver. I didn’t move. I held his gaze and my panties got wet, right there in the front row inside the packed hall of the community center. Why did he affect me so? He didn’t smile at me, didn’t show any type of emotion but I was sure he could see the lust in my eyes. I glanced at his cock, wondering if perhaps he might be thinking of the last time he saw me, wondering if I just might drive him as crazy as he did me but I couldn’t see a thing. Then, when I glanced back up at him, I was certain there was the smallest of smirks on his face! He knew what I was thinking! My cheeks heated and I finally managed to look away.

&
nbsp; They got down to business pretty quickly. A small portion of our community believed he was wrongfully terminated. The majority felt it was within factual bounds of the rules for employment with the city. Of course, the city had all the documentation to prove this had nothing to do with Arthur’s sexual preference and only to do with his repeated tardiness and absences, even after he’d been put on probation.

  It was my turn to ask questions so I walked to the podium and I could feel his heated gaze following me. I knew it without confirmation because I felt the exact same way I did when he’d pulled me into that room and kissed me. Same electricity. Same feeling deep in my belly. I took my mind out of the gutter in order to do my job. What a sucker I was!

  “Good evening! Mr. John, do you have potential candidates for the open position?”

  He ran his hand through his hair and answered, “We have a few candidates that have begun the interview process.”

  “When can we hope for a new city manager?”

  “We hope as quickly as possible, ma’am.”

  Ma’am? He finger-fucked me in a dark room sixty days ago and he had the nerve to call me ma’am?

  “Mr. John, how hard has it been these past two months since you’ve been, well, hard-up to find someone else to get the job done?”

  I was toying with him and by the look on his face he knew I was. My double-entendre had us both eyeing each other – him silent, no doubt thinking of an answer – and me, trying very hard not to be pulled to him by the invisible force I could feel between us.

  He took a drink of his water. Deliberately slow and calculating. I waited, resisting the urge to press my fingertips against my clit because fuck, he already had me in knots and I needed release. I momentarily forgot the mass of people in the hall before he spoke again.

  “It’s easy when you can take matters into your own hands.”