Chapter 12
Val
He isn’t a kid. Or a teen.
It’s getting harder and harder not to see him for what he is.
A damn fine as shit man with a broad chest, a deep voice, and fucking abs to die for.
My self imposed celibacy is starting to feel like a burden, but there’s no way I want a relationship. I’ve learned the hard way that putting my trust in anyone is the path to heartache.
Shit, it’s been six years since that Halloween from hell. When Chris let his hidden monster out.
Not that I didn’t have a clue. He left enough bruises on me during our brief marriage, I should have known he had a darker side that he barely held back.
Yet he turned on not only his best friend, but mine too.
Sawyer doesn’t seem like that. If anything, the complete opposite.
Except I’m a dozen years older than him and he’s Scotty’s best friend.
But damn, those veiny arms of his can wrap me anytime.
I avoid him the rest of his shift because I must be freaking ovulating to be having these kinds of thoughts about Sawyer.
After the lights go out in the bar and I head upstairs to my apartment over my office, I can’t stop thinking about him.
The way his wet shirt clung to the lines of his muscles, the hollow of his belly button.
And the way that the dark trail of fun was highlighted just above the buckle of his jeans.
Fuck.
Maybe a shot of tequila will make the memory go away?
No? How about two?
By four, heat is racing through my body remembering him climbing the ladder. The flash of skin when he raised his arms.
His noticeable bulge when he hurried down.
I’ve watched his big hands when he kneads the dough. They splay out almost from one edge to the other in a slow, methodical rhythm that makes it roll out smooth and firm.
What could he do with those fingers if I asked him to?
All I want to do is tell him to get on his knees and climb on his face.
Then make him show me what he’s hiding.
Slinging my nightstand drawer open, I stare at my collection of toys and tap my lips.
Which one is closest in size to him?
Is this wrong to think of him this way? It’s not like he’ll ever know.
The purple one. Long and thin with a defined ridge. As an added bonus, it has five different vibration settings.
My panties slip easily to the floor before I slide under the cool sheets.
Flipping between the speeds, it reaches a high pitched buzz when I switch to the highest level.
I let the weight of it sit on the tip of my pelvis before arching it down to touch my sensitive clit.
Would he be slow or fast? Maybe tease me with the tip and then sink in.
I could bite his pouty lower lip and tell him to go hard.
Fuck me like a wild young stallion.
The tingle works through me with every push.
He’ll have fire in his deep blue eyes when I make him get me off over and over until I finally let him come all over me.
Images of him kneeling above me, losing control, pushes me over the edge.
Panting, I drape my elbow over my eyes until I catch my breath enough to turn off the vibrator.
This is so damn messed up. But I also haven’t been this horny in…years?
Seeing him, so sweet and naive, it makes something in me want to see how far I can push him. I mean, would it be so horrible to have a fling? It’s not like I can expect him to want to make pizzas forever.
He’ll get bored eventually, especially since he’s set to inherit the biggest ranch in this half of Montana. Once the single girls his own age figure out just how adorable he is, he’ll be able to hook up with any of them.
Maybe I should do them a favor and teach him a few tricks? Like how to use his tongue, where to touch a woman to bring her the most pleasure, and how to hold off from losing his load too quickly.
I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend, Scott would have told me I’m sure.
Oh God, he’s probably a virgin.
The thought of watching him twitch while I stroke him before anyone else sends heat into my belly.
Skipping directly to five, the buzzing sound fills the room again.
I can train him, then let him go.
His future wife will thank me.