I nod.
But I’m not. Not really.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I came here towork. To earn enough stability that I could bring my boy here. I came to prove that I could build a life, finally, honestly, without handouts and definitely without any mistakes.
And what have I done?
I’ve slipped easily into a situation with a man older than me, a man who should be the only sort of family I have. He’s my stepbrother, and he’s crawling into bed behind me, sliding his arm around my waist, pressing his chest to my back, and burying his face into the curve of my neck like we’re a married couple, accustomed to this closeness.
And he sleeps.
Just like that. A switch flicked off. Totally relaxed about what we’ve done.
But I don’t.
My brain won’t quiet.
I’ve never slept with a man before. Never known what it’s like to rest in a man’s arms, safe in his bed, cradled tight against his hard body.
Nothing in my life haseverbeen this easy.
Not Caleb’s birth. Not the years before. Not the part-time jobs or the arguments with my mom or the aching loneliness of raising a baby on instinct alone.
Anddefinitelynot Caleb’s father.
He’s a cowboy, too. Broad-shouldered with a slow smile and easy charm. I met him at a county fair when I was barely old enough to know better, and he bought me soda and spun me around the dance floor until I was dizzy with it. Then he bent me over the hood of his truck, filled me up, and vanished. He must have sensed my innocence, felt my desperation for affection and love,dicknotisedme into a huge lapse of judgment. Looking back, I’m ashamed of how pathetic I must have been to him and how easily he manipulated me to get his dick wet.
I should’ve learned my lesson.
But it seems I’m as stupid now as I was at nineteen. As easily dazzled. As easily undone.
The only difference?
I have an IUD now. No more babies. No moresurprises.
Still, what is this? A passing infatuation? Akink? A lonely man looking for simple comfort? Or something worse. Something that feelsrealand won’t be in the long run?
Because if my boy’s father taught me anything, it’s that cowboys like Wade tire. They move on. And women like me? We’re the mess they leave behind. Regret is a bitter pill I don’t want to taste again.
Wade stirs behind me, his breath shifting rhythm, his hand flexing on my hip.
Then his mouth, slow and warm, presses against my shoulder and down my spine to the curve of my ass.
He pulls the blanket away, and his hands part my thighs without a word.
“Wade—” I whisper, but any objection dies in mythroat.
His tongue is already there, stroking through my folds with the same rhythm he used on my breasts earlier, teasing and worshipful, savoring my taste.
I clutch the sheets, breath hitching. My legs fall open, wider. I can’t help it. Ineedit. Feeling sexy and wanted is a drug I’m already addicted to.
His mouth laps, sucks and tugs just right until I’m moaning again, soft and desperate andfrightenedby how fast I fall.
I come with his tongue inside me, body arching, my cry half-buried in the pillow. I’m soaked.Shaking. Wrecked.
But he keeps going.
His mouth moves higher and finds my breast again. My nipple is already leaking, alreadyaching, and he latches on like it’s his goddamn right.
