The smell of her perfume permeates through and sends a new ripple of desire through me. Her scent is like a calling card to me. Whatever pheromones she’s got coursing through her were made for me. Everything about her was made for me. She fits too damn good in my hands for there to be any other explanation.
My hands move from her ass to her tits, which are perfectly bouncing in my face. I grip them hard enough that she moans; the sound is fucking music to my ears. I bring my mouth down to one nipple and suck. Her pussy clenches around me at the sensation.
Her pussy inches over my cock, taking in the head.
My eyes fly open. I blink slowly, coming out of the lust-filled haze I’m in. You have got to be fucking kidding me. It was a damn dream. Not the first I’ve had, but disappointing nonetheless. Willow’s here, but she’s sound asleep in my arms. She snores lightly. It’s so fucking cute. I forgot how much I missed the sound. I will my arousal out ofmy body trying to enjoy the moment that we have. I may want her in my bed, but I want her in my life permanently so much more. So, I can be a man and shove this desire down.
This woman is mine; she’s been mine for as long as we’ve known each other. After this, there will be no going back.
Chapter 24
Willow
The old farm truck rattles down the road. This thing has to be getting close to its deathbed with the way it clinks. As I pull into the front drive of Weston’s house, my jaw hits the floor. I finish parking, turn the truck off, and hop out, my body moving on its own accord.
The sight before me could have been conjured during a wet dream, because Weston is in a skin-tight white T-shirt, sweaty, and sporting a backward ballcap. It’s like the universe wants me to be miserable.
As I step closer, I see what he’s doing. The air whooshes out of my lungs and I stand frozen. A mere nineteen hours ago, I had brought up to Weston that the front of his house would look better with some color, and here he is, in ninety-degree heat, planting flowers when he could be out working on the ranch.
My steps slowly drag forward as I continue to stare. “Weston,” I say to gain his attention. “What are you doing?”
If I thought I felt breathless before, it’s nothing in comparison to how I feel when he looks at me, the sun beating perfectly on his face. He’s so damn beautiful it hurts. My heart aches with the need to be closer to him, not just physically, but it feels like my heart is tethered to his.
His smile annihilates me in the best way possible. “Hey, Sunshine, planting some flowers. Are tulips still your favorite?” He looks down to his spread, rubbing his dirty hands against his wranglers.
The fact that this man still remembers my favorite flowers all these years later is almost as special as him planting them in front of his home for me. Tears threaten to fall, but will them away as quickly as they came. “Yes, they are so beautiful,” I say, glancing around at all the shades he selected from orange to pink, red, and yellow. “I can’t believe you’re planting flowers.”“Well, I think it’s the least I could do to make you feel more at home here. If there’s any other flowers you want, I can run back to town. I think the Potted Leaf is still open.” He goes to stand, and I walk over to him.
Laying my hand on his shoulder, I give it a squeeze. “No, this, this is more than enough. Thank you, West. This is…” words fail me, because this little act is everything. All of his little acts, knitted together, are starting to feel like a tidal wave, coming to wash away the wrongs of our past.
“Really, it’s nothing. Hey, are you busy tonight?” His eyes squint, trying to hide the sun from them. The urge to turn his hat around is strong, but he looks too damn good with a backward cap on.
“No, I'll just be here.”
He smiles. “Good, I’m making us dinner. I thought it would be nice if we sat down, enjoyed a home-cooked meal together, and talked.”
“We talk and eat together every day.” Almost always about work, though.
“Yeah, I’m thinking maybe tonight we talk about everything but work.”Normally, I would fight him for the sake of protecting myself, but I’m starting to question what I’m even protecting myself from. Someone who hears me and fixes the issue immediately, no matter howtrivial. Stands up for me when I’m being disrespected? The more I think about it, the easier my answer comes.
“Yeah, that sounds nice. Six?”
“Six.” He nods. His smile is so broad that the warmth from it sinks into me like a caress.
Six rolls around, and I stare at myself in the mirror, probably a little more done up than necessary, but this dinner feels different. I look down at my ring. I've been wearing it to keep him away, but it’s starting to feel all wrong. I’ve skipped wearing it here and there because it’s serving a purpose I no longer want. The longer I stare at it, the more it feels like a chain, and I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to keep my heart in a protected box, because that isn’t living.
My hands shake ever so slightly, but I slide the ring off, and I know in my heart it will be for the last time. It may change nothing for Weston, but it’s the first step for me in trying to be brave again.
When I make my way downstairs, I see the usually bare kitchen table draped in a cloth with a candle burning in the center of it. The smell drifting from the kitchen is heavenly, and I'm suddenly grateful that he inherited Mabel’s ability to cook.
Weston turns on from the stove, dressed up pretty dang nice for a dinner at home. His baby-blue shirt has a fancy pearly snap button and is tucked into starched wranglers. His hair is freshly cut.
My smile stretches wide; this feels almost like a date.
When his eyes meet mine, he smiles broadly. “Hey, Sunshine, dinner is about ready.” He walks over to the table and pulls out my chair, gesturing for me to take a seat. “Wine okay? And before you ask, yes, it’s the sweet stuff.”
I dip my head to hide my elation. “Yes, that’s great.”
He runs around, filling our plates and cups before finally making it back to the table and ready to dive in.
