“Taking a breather.” Letting my pride pick apart scabs. But it’s not Natalie I hear in my memories. It’s Mom’s rough voice.
I have more important things to do.
You couldn’t possibly understand.
Why do you suck the fun out of everything?
Campbell prods her forehead. A small shudder racks her body.
I move closer, setting the bottle on a shelf next to her. “Is it that bad already?”
“They were in the barn. Stanford and January.” She lets out a quiet but scornful laugh. “Caught them with their pants down in the tack room after they petted Hailstorm a few times. I turned him out and was going to put the halter and lead rope away.”
“Aw, hell, Campbell. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes shine in the weak light. “They were so loud.” Her lower lip trembles. “I don’t even want him, but it’s not fair, you know. He wasted years of my life. She’s stealing the wedding plans I told her about when we were kids. It’s not fair that she gets to swan around out there in her post-orgasmic glow and be the center of attention. It’s not fair that he gets to be satisfied right before he’s allowed to be a controlling bastard to me—again. It’s not fair. None of it. And I was late again because I have to face them and be polite and professional when I’m so damn angry. They should be wound up as tight as me for having to suffer through them.”
Her chest is rising and falling. She’s hurting, and what I felt minutes ago pales against what she’s going through. The disrespect continues. Stanford and January probably intended to be heard and possibly seen.
Those assholes. Something should be done. At the very least, there should be a way to relax her. A way to get the couple back without anyone knowing.
When I walk by, she has to question how well he remembers me naked and sucking his dick.
I told Campbell that Stanford absolutely does remember. He probably obsesses, and that’s why he’s so hard on her. He detests the hold she has on him, and that’s why he plays her.
So what if he suspects she is also getting satisfied? What if he goes out of his mind, wondering if the pretty blush staining her cheeks is from an orgasm? At the very least, a climax will decrease some of her tension.
“Then make it fair,” I say, my voice gruff. Am I actually going to suggest this?
“How? I’m not interested in stealing him back.”
I should shut my damn mouth, but my logic got scrambled as soon as she entered this room. I’ve been burned by these people, but she’s been scorched. “Be satisfied. Just like them.”
She laughs, and her minty breath wafts across my chin. “You’re kid—” Her breath hitches. “You’re not serious?” she whispers.
More serious than those fucking science jokes. “Why not? A little—or big—Obefore you have to deal with them? Takes the pressure off. Makes tonight a fuckton better.”
Only her breaths are audible in the room. “Now?”
“Would you rather go out there and face that crowd like this?”
Her gaze strays to the door. I wish the light was on only so I could watch the sexy flush creep up her neck. “How? It’s not like I can just grab the nearest guy.”
The nearest guy to her very much wants to be grabbed, but I can’t comprehend those complications. “You’re an independent woman. Do it yourself.”
She doesn’t laugh off my suggestion. Instead, she worries her lower lip between her teeth. “I could use a drink.”
I stifle a groan. If she’s going to do it, I could use a big fucking drink too. I’m already strung tighter than a newly repaired fence, my erection ready to form when I even think of her.
But I need to have a clear head if we’re going to get away with this.
I grab the bottle I drank from earlier and lift it to her lips.
“Swirl, sniff, and sip?” she asks, her voice huskier than normal.
“Just drink.” I tip the bottle, and she sucks some liquid into her mouth.
I shouldn’t touch her. I shouldn’t be doing any of this, but I grasp her wrist. My fingertips on her warm skin scatters any remaining logic. I bring her hand to her mouth.
