Grabbing her hands, I lift them from my knees and wrap them along with my arms around her core. I squeeze her tight, and she’s only able to move a little bit, but she lets out a heady moan, her head falling back to rest on my shoulder as she rotates her hips. “Grayson, this feels … this is so…” she trails off, and I bite down on the space where her neck and shoulder meet.
“Good girl,” I tell her, nipping and licking her skin as she rolls her hips. “That’s mygood fucking girl. This iswhat you came for, isn’t it? You came here, not wearing any panties, hoping I’d fuck you raw.”
Her eyes are closed, but her flushed cheeks rise as she smiles, giving me her answer. I bury my face into her damp, messy hair, inhaling deep and finding she smells like my shampoo. I can imagine her in my shower, lazily soaping her body, her hands roaming all my favorite places. Maybe she touched herself, maybe she started to, and then realized she wanted to find me instead.
Either way, I’m one lucky son of a bitch right now.
“You think you have me fooled. You’re an angel,myangel, all sweet and kind, born to heal, but underneath those wings is my dirty girl, begging for my cock.”
“Yes,” she moans, and I release my hold just a little, just enough so I can reach for her clit.
The second I pinch it, she gasps, and her legs give way, but I urge her to keep going. With firm pressure, I circle her clit, matching my thrusts with hers. “Then take it, baby. Ride my cock the way you want to,use me, let me be the one lucky enough to feel this tight little cunt grip me when you come.”
“Grayson,” she breathes out, a hand coming to cover mine that’s still rubbing her clit. She presses down on mine, and I move faster. “Oh my gosh, don’t stop, I’m gonna, I’m gonna—” The last few wordsdie out with a scream, and I don’t stop moving my hand as I pump my hips. She squeezes me, and it feels even better than I could have ever imagined.
With my cock still inside of her, I rise, leaning her over so her chest rests on the steering wheel. She hasn’t even settled from her second orgasm when I start to thrust—fast, rough thrusts that jolt her entire body. I don’t stop fucking her until she screams, until her hands reach out for anything, something to hold onto, and I feel her coming on my cock again.
That orgasm is all it takes to have me grunting, and my own loud release echoes over the quiet night air as I spill myself in her.
Her body relaxes, becoming languid and pliable, and I pull her back into my arms as I fall into the seat. I hold her, cradle her, brush my lips over the crown of her head, murmuring soft praises against her hair. I’m breathless, panting, ready to throw the tractor in drive and take her home when she turns to me.
She tilts her head back, letting me soak in the shadows of her face under the glow of the July moon. She rests a palm against my cheek, and I lean in, watching her eyes dart back and forth across my face. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and I let her kiss me, but when she pulls back, I have to ask.
“Thank you for what, sweetheart? As much as it turns me on, you don’t have to thank me for orgasms.”
She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, playfully rolling her eyes at me. When she turns back, her expression is a little more serious. “Thank you for seeing me, all of me, and not wanting to change it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Grayson
My hand curls around the worn brass handle of The Tipsy Tractor, and I tug it open. The bright afternoon is left behind as soon as I step into the bar, and my eyes take a moment to adjust to the change in lighting. An old country hit hums out of the old jukebox, the gentle twang drifting throughout the room.
It’s only four in the afternoon, but some of the regulars have already found their seats at the bar, nursing their pints of beer as they wait for the kitchen to whip up their dinner. Most of them turn at the sound of the door opening, and they nod politely when they see it's me. Others offer a wave. I recognize just about everyone, except for a man seated at the very end of the bar who definitely isn’t from Copper Ridge.
Everything about him screams city, from his tailored suit and polished shoes, to the brass cuff links that reflectthe neon “it’s 5 o’clock somewhere” beer sign from behind the bar.
There’s an empty seat next to him, as if all the locals want to stay away from the out-of-towner for fear he might rub off on them.
With Harper’s wallet clutched under my arm, I slide into that open spot and my shoulder accidentally brushes his. “Sorry about that,” I mumble, trying to move to the side to offer more space, but finding I don’t have much.
The double doors to the kitchen burst open, and the sounds of dishes clinking together and the hum of the automatic dishwasher break up the beat of the low country music.
Harper has a plate held in each hand and is balancing a third on her inner arm. Her hair is twisted back into two braids, the spiky ends now a neon green. She blows out a bubble with her gum, popping it loudly, and then smiling at me when she passes. She moves down to the end of the bar, placing burgers in front of each of the three guys who nod appreciatively. She pulls a bottle of ketchup from her apron, and then reaches for an empty glass, twisting around to refill his beer.
“Whatcha doing here, Gray? I thought you’d be on your way to the city by now.”
I pull her wallet from underneath my arm and hold it in the air. She squints to see what I’m holding, and then she chuckles, cracking a wide smile as her head tilts back. “I’ve been looking for that thing for three days! Where did you find it?”
“Harper,” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “You need to keep your wallet on you at all times. Have you been driving around town without your license?”
She tops off the beer, spinning again to set it in front of her patrons. She looks at their plates, their glasses, and takes a quick glance at everyone's faces to make sure they’re all set before she makes her way down to my end of the bar. When she reaches me, she taps a finger in front of the city guy to my right, snagging his attention from his phone. “You good?” Harper asks, and his nearly blushing smile lingers on her a little more than I’d like. A little more than is appropriate for someone who looks to be older than me.
They share some silent conversation, something else that doesn’t sit right with me. Harper must see the look on my face because her attention turns back to me, and she lets me see one of her best eye rolls.
She reaches her hand out to snag her wallet from my hand, cocking a brow as she does. “Thank you for finding this. And yes, to answer your question, I’m very awareyou’re supposed to drive with your driver’s license on you, and that I shouldn’t keep my social security card in my wallet, and everything else that Dad constantly nags me about.” She turns away from me to toss her wallet on the back side of the bar. It bounces once, landing alongside her tip jar. “I knew it was somewhere sort of safe, I just couldn’t remember where I left it.”
I cross my arms over my chest, exhaling roughly at my little sister. She gets so upset when we nag her about responsibility. When we remind her of basic safety measures and try to encourage her. She’s independent, no one can deny that, but she’s flighty, and until she shows that she’s making changes, I know my parents won’t let up on her.
