“Goddamn, this view.” His voice is strained, and it comes in between his breathy pants.
“It’s stunning,” I agree, moving slowly over him as I coax my pussy not to give out on me just yet. She can have a break when Weston Grady isn’t beneath me. Until then…
Voice tight, Weston says, “You ever get tired of running, Amelia, Smoky Heights is here.I’mhere.”
Before I can complain about that feeling like more than we agreed to, he gives me even more. A thumb, or the tip of one, in my back entrance. I gasp, jumping at the intrusion, and lean further forward, which presses my clit into his balls with every move.
And that’s how we both come, who knows how long later. Eyes on the horizon, the faint sounds of nature welcoming a fresh start with a new day, a new dawn, as the gray skies turn to orange, yellow, and eventually blue, Weston invading all my senses, the only thing I can feel, all around me as I take in the sights and sounds. The experience of this time with him, fromthe rays of sunlight, to the chirping of the birds, and the spring air caressing my bare chest. It’s allhim.
It feels like my first real sunrise after a years-long darkness, a nearly eternal period of night in my life.
Neither of us goes to sleep, we don’t want tonight to end.
He keeps his promise. And he doesn’t stop at eight. In fact, we get through half the strip he brought. I’m going to need an IV drip, an elephant’s dose of ibuprofen, and an ice pack on my seat when I hit the road, but it’ll be worth it.
Though it’s a lot more than the orgasms this man gives me that are going to be hard to drive away from. It’s all of him, the way he shares himself so freely with me that makes me want to stay.
Maybe it’s just the optimist in me, but from this vantage point, Smoky Heights looks like it has an awfully temptingly bright future.
And when I finally, finally watch him drive away beneath the glaring sun in the late morning, taillights on his pickup glowing white and red against the horizon, I don’t like the way the thought of never seeing him again feels one bit.
FIFTEEN
WESTON
The low din of chatter, beer bottles clinking several lanes away, along with the racket of bowling balls rolling and crashing against pins, sending them clattering to the maple and pine floors of the lanes, it makes for a good cover for conversation with my brother. Nosy ears won’t pick much up in this place. And make no mistake, residents of Smoky Heights can benosy.
In fact, with the sounds of the records playing from the DJ booth in the corner—currently Lynyrd Skynyrd—the noise level at Pins + Needles actually makes it so we don’t even have to talk if we don’t want to.
I know that’s Wyatt’s preferred mode.
Me? I’ve got a few things to say after a certain short, pierced little goddess inspired me last night. Just gotta figure out how to get the words out.
I didn’t have it in me to watch Amelia drive away one more time, so I left her to get some rest before she hit the road and I went back to my rental place sometime late this morning. Thank God I was able to fall asleep after I got there. Lord knows I used up enough energy last night, I wouldn’t have any left for this talk tonight if I hadn’t slept the damn day away.
Beer for breakfast might not be the way of the champions, but it’s not such a far stretch for some of the locals around here, and tonight, I’m one of them.
“Bottoms up,” I tell my brother, clinking my brown bottle of brew against his.
Now that my nights are free again, no more engine rebuilds taking up my spare time, I’ve got time for things like brotherly bonding.
Apparently, that’s high on his list, because here we are on my first free evening.
My guess is it’s high onRory’slist and he doesn’t want to be on her shit list.
Either way, this is our Saturday night now.
Probably better we have a little brotherly bondingbeforewe schedule any family game nights with our mom and stepdad. It might break her heart to watch us go at it the way we normally do, given two minutes in the same room. But we’ve made progress this past month, and tonight might help too.
With a tight mouth Wyatt tips his bottle to his lips and I follow suit.
The alcohol gives me something else in my stomach to focus on, rather than the knot of the knowledge Amelia’s probably long gone by now. The unexpected tug of emotion in my gut at missing her, instead of the usual itch to move on by now. I need a distraction from the unfamiliar sensation. It’ll probably just take another few hours, maybe a night, to disappear and the same old itch to return.
Though, now that I think about it, I haven’t exactly noticed feeling the itch in recent weeks. I was so caught up in wanting her, rather than the instant gratification I’m used to, maybe it’ll take a second for the usual boredom to return.
Or maybe I just don’t want to think about how she might never be out of my system and I’ll be stuck with the need for more of her forever.
We’re four frames in on this brotherly game of bowling, and so far haven’t discussed anything other than the spare I got in the second, or the strike he got in the third. Wyatt’s lips tilted up in a very uncharacteristic smile when he saw the X flash on the screen above, and, shit, I guess he likes bowling more than I realized.
