“Hey.” Tanner lifts my chin. “I didn’t give you this to make you sad. I’m just reminding you of the contract we made.” There’s the smirk. “So let’s go house shopping.”
His laugh is infectious, the excitement he has for doing this with me makes my heart beat wildly, but I’m dizzy with how this conversation has gone.
“You’re a crazy asshole and we’re going to have a conversation about you not forging my signature again, but thank you. It’s actually kinda nice to have the decision taken away, makes me feel less guilty about giving up my parents’ house.” Something I’m going to need to talk to them about at some point. “However, as wonderful as house shopping is, it feels like a Band-Aid.”
“No, baby, it’s just the beginning.”
“Call me baby again and I’ll go on a cock-strike for a week.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“Baby, you could no more have a cock-strike than I could have a pussy-strike. You’re too needy to make me wait for a week. I give you twenty-four hours, tops.”
My nipples and my pulsing clit agree with him.
Asshole.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tanner
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said it would be on the outskirts.” She’s being a brat again. I’m debating whether to fuck her attitude out on the side of the road or give her some privacy and pound her pussy in the cab of my truck. Either one works for me.
“When do I kid?” Checking the rearview before I veer off to the side, I stop the truck in front of a dilapidated structure that lived in its prime about fifty years ago. Today, it’s nothing more than parts for a junkyard sitting a little more than fifty feet from the “Blue Hills Grove is sad to see you go” sign that’s been defaced more times than I count.
When I look at it, though, I see a goldmine.
“Um, we are not living in that…whateverthatis.” Where is the trust?
“The house is for later. Come on.” Jumping out of the truck, I make my way to her side. In movies, the men always open the doors for their women, so I figured I’d give Berkleigh some gentlemanly behavior.
Turns out, she can open her own damn door. I smirk because fuck yeah, she can.
We’re not most people and we don’t need to follow the rules of society. In fact, fuck society. We’re writing our own rules.
Top of the list…fuck at every opportunity. On that front, we’ve been model citizens.
In the last two months since we righted a wrong, we’ve been looking for the perfect home and I’ve been hunting down the owners of the garage—slash—gas station that used to be a welcomed sight back in the seventies. It’s easier to find sex traffickers than garage shop owners, it seems.
But I’m nothing if not persistent.
“I wonder what happened to Old Man Bryer?” Berkleigh’s question is more aimed at herself than at me but I answer anyway.
“He died.” Snatching her hand because I need to be touching her in some way at all times, I pull her behind me so we’re standing in front of said old man’s gas station.
“I knowthat!” It occurs to me that eight hours without my dick buried deep in her cunt is about as long as she can go before she gets grumpy. Fungry…hungry for fucking.
“Then why did you ask?” I’m frowning because this is killing my surprise and the speech I prepared for her.
“I meant his sons. They never came back and this place has become the eye sore of the town, that’s all.” Life would be so much easier if people just said the things they meant, but here we are.
“His oldest, Kenneth, died in Afghanistan about thirteen years ago. Old Man Bryer was never the same after that.” I didn’t know Kenny well, but I remember the devastation in town when the news broke out. It was less than a week before I shipped out to boot camp.
“Oh yeah, I remember that. My mom used to sing in the choir with his wife…what was her name?” Again, she’s not asking me, but of course, I’ll tell her.
“Marianne. She moved shortly after his death and remarried about four years ago. They live upstate.” Berkleigh turns her entire body to face me, and when I look down at her, I’m met with two slits of blue eyes ready to disintegrate me.
“Tanner Black, what are you up to? There’s no way you just casually know all this information.” We’re going to have to work on our communication skills. At the very least, on the delivery.
“Why do you assume I’m up to something?” When she punches her fists to her hips, I know she means business.
