She fractured in a guttural scream, her sex contracting and releasing hard and fast, then slow and deep. Then the mellow waves of post orgasm liquefied her muscles into a useless unmoving mass.
“Dessert, ten out of ten,” Santiago said, kissing her inner thigh.
She was too filled with satisfaction to respond. She didn’t need to.
His knees pressed against her ass, the bulbous head of his dick pausing just beyond her breach.
“You’re not going to fuck me into staying, Santiago Stillwater,” she declared.
He entered her torturously slow.
“I believe I can fuck you into just about anything I want. Now, let me hear you sing my name, little wren.”
She screamed it, begged, scratched, bit, pleaded. Nothing stopped him from having everything he wanted. And as she lost consciousness this time, she couldn’t remember why she needed to go back to California in the first place.
“Listen,” Lauren said as she pressed dangly silver earrings into her ear. “I’m trying to practice forgiveness?—”
“Fuck that,” Santiago growled, frustrated as she left his bedroom.
He followed her, stomping down the stairs.
“They need to askyoufor forgiveness just like Ma Mable did. You don’t just go giving your forgiveness away; who says they even deserve that shit.”
It had been two weeks since they were both shot. She was still healing. She didn’t need to be making plans to go?—
Enough.
He scooped her up from behind, carried her outside, and planted her in his rocking chair.
He sat on the porch between her legs and rested his arms over her thighs. She plucked him on the back of the head then gathered his hair and rested the mass over his right shoulder.
Her lips pressed against the left side of his neck and his aggravation ebbed.
“It’s only been two weeks since you were shot, Wren. Things are moving fast here, and what did we agree to?”
She rested her head on his shoulder and spoke into his neck. “That we would both slow down. And I have, Santi.”
“Because you were fucking shot. Now that you’re healing, you’re already talking about having more meetings for businessbuilding. You’ve been on the phone nearly five hours a day reaching out to contacts about investing.”
“You werealsoshot and are healing, yet I heard you on the phone talking to Roan about finding Bailey Joe’s phone in Sam Ferriday’s safe. Also heard you talking to Doc Cleveland about the mysterious jars found under Mrs. Willoby’s bed and in her yard. There were more calls. Do you want me to go on?” He grunted, and she chuckled. “I’ve been on the phone literally no more than two hours a day. For a woman used to working ten plus hours a day, it’s a vast improvement.”
She kissed his temple and he remained silent.
Ma Mable already told him how much Lauren worked back in California.
“In a month,” he capitulated. “Andwewill be going, not you by yourself. We’ll do everything we need to do to get your life there wrapped up in two weeks. Maybe see a few sites, then return home.”
“I know you’re not telling me how to live my life.”
“The fuck I ain’t. I am absolutely telling you.”
He stopped speaking because his volume grew louder with each successive word.
“Calm down League. What happened to the grim stoic man I met at that accident site?”
“You happened,” he groused, and she laughed.
The pleasure he experienced from the sound...if she wasn’t careful, they wouldn’t make it to California for another two months.
