“No more running,” Weston murmured against my hair, his good arm tightening around me. “I meant what I said. I’m not strong enough to let you go again.”
I arched an accusing brow. “Excuse me, sir, but I wouldn’t have run eight years ago if you hadn’t–”
He moved back enough to lift his hand and press it over my mouth. “I know. I fucked up. I won’t ever make that mistake again.”
I grinned wickedly. “I don’t know... We used to have some pretty hot makeup sessions.”
His lips twitched. “How about I keep my fuck ups to a minimum?”
“That sounds like a deal,” I whispered against his heated skin. “Because I don’t think I could survive losing you again.”
Chapter Ten
Bash
I pressedmy forehead against Hattie’s, and for the first time in eight fucking years, I felt complete. Whole. Like the missing piece of my soul had finally clicked back into place and I could breathe again.
“So...” Hattie’s voice was soft, breathy. “You joined the club.”
I chuckled. “Still got my dick inside you, honey,” I flexed my hips to prove it. “That’s what’s really on your mind right now?”
She rocked her hips, but I didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks. “Yeah. It sorta is.”
Smoothing her hair away from her face, I told her the truth, “I joined about six months after you left. I was a mess.”
She opened her mouth—probably to agree— but I cut her off. “It was of my own making, I know. But without you here, I felt like I didn’t have a purpose anymore. I needed direction.”
The truth was, I had been fucking drowning without her. Drinking too much, fighting anyone who looked at me sideways, generally being a miserable bastard.
Pistol Pete had finally grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and told me I could either get my shit together or he was going to kick my ass.
“Wes—” Hattie started only to be cut off by a chime coming from her pants on the floor.
“Crap,” She grimaced, looking apologetic. “I, uh... I kinda have to get that,” she said, biting her lip. “My team in Nashville is supposed to reach out to me about a photoshoot in LA.”
Sighing, I pulled out of her slowly, my eyes drawn to the sight of my cum leaking from between her thighs.
Fuck.
Without thinking, I used my fingers to push it back inside her.
She gasped, her back arching off the workbench as her oversensitive body responded to my touch. “Weston!”
Smirking, I bent down and grabbed her leather pants from where they’d landed on the floor. “How the hell did you get your phone in the pocket of these things?” I asked, examining the material. “They looked like they were painted on you.”
She snickered, that musical laugh that I’d missed so goddamn much. “With a lot of finesse.”
I watched her work the phone out of the tiny pocket, admiring the way her boobs giggled as she did. Everything about this woman was perfection; from her just-fucked hair, to her bright blue eyes, to the way she fit against me like she was made just for me.
Then I watched as she unlocked the screen and her face went pale.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, instantly on alert.
She shook her head, her jaw clenching. “I wish this asshole would leave me the hell alone.”
My brows snapped together. “Same shit from earlier?”
She blew out a breath and turned the phone so I could see the screen.
