Nobody saw that. Nobody knows. But I’m still blushing when I step out of the shower, my mind running over what just happened.
I just made myself come thinking about Clay…
The man I need to date me for the day.
I haven’t even asked him yet, and things are already getting complicated.
6
CLAY
It’sa chilly Saturday morning on Cherry Mountain, and I stoke the fire in my living room, prodding the logs with a poker. When the flames are roaring, I slump back on the couch with a grunt, staring broodingly up at the ceiling.
My brother came over a few minutes ago. Brewer and I usually hang out on Saturdays, chopping wood together, then shooting the shit over a tumbler of whiskey…but today, I can’t bring myself to do anything. Told him I have a headache, and he didn’t insist. Brewer seems to have his own shit going on right now, anyway. He’s been acting weird, spending a lot of time at Bernie’s Diner in town and shrugging me off when I ask about it. I’m guessing he’s down bad for someone who works there—quietly losing his mind. I can sympathize.
God help us both.
I run a hand over my beard, sighing irritably as I look down at the fireplace. I should do something productive, make breakfast, but my appetite is as non-existent as my ability to sleep.
It’s all Savannah’s fault.
That pretty little angel is the only thing on my mind. I’ve been jerking off like a horny teenager since I came homelast night, trying to ease some of the tension inside me. But it hasn’t worked. My cock is sore and swollen, all my blood rushing downward every time I picture Savannah’s thick curves, her sweet face. It’s fucking unbearable—an insatiable need that won’t go away.
I wish she was here.
I can just picture her sitting in my cabin right now, all softness and light. I’d take real good care of her: make her breakfast, then worship her perfect body with my hands, my tongue, my cock…
Fuck.
I’d hoped yesterday was just a fluke and that I’d feel saner after putting some distance between me and Savannah. Instead, I want her more than ever. Even as logic screams that this girl is a stranger—that losing my mind over her makes no damn sense—no amount of rationality can fight the animal need inside me. Hell, ignoring it only pulls me deeper into my obsession, like a riptide dragging me under.
Knock, knock.
A fist taps on my front door, wrenching me from my thoughts, and I drag myself reluctantly off the couch. It could be Brewer again, or maybe Thorne. My cabin is pretty remote, nestled in the thick forest that spans Cherry Mountain, and they’re the only two people who ever come knocking.
I open the door. My gaze drops a foot lower than expected, and my fingers tighten around the door handle, the air escaping from my lungs like I’ve been hit by a car all over again.
Savannah is standing on the porch.
I stare, my mind reeling as I take her in. She’s wearing a knitted cream dress that reaches her knees, hugging every perfect inch of her body. My gaze roams the generous swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach.
So fucking beautiful.
Her cherry-red lips are shiny with balm, chocolate-brown hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looks so damn sweet. So innocent. She has no idea I’ve been losing my mind over her since yesterday, hearing her voice in my dreams, picturing her curves while I stroke my cock.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Hi,” she says softly, holding something out for me. I was too busy staring at her to notice it before, but she’s carrying a pie box with Buttercup Bakery stamped on the top.
“I said I owed you a cherry pie,” Savannah continues with a nervous smile.
I clear my throat, forcing my tongue to work. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” There’s a pause as we look at each other. “I’m sorry to show up uninvited like this.”
I still can’t believe she’s here. Part of me is convinced I’m asleep right now.
“How’d you find me?” I ask hoarsely.
