Chapter 26 #2
Here I can tell the truth. “No fucking idea. I think he wants to be as destructive as possible.”
Miles sits in silence, his eyes on the country lane in front of us. “I found out that groom is working the summer season in Aspen. I’ve decided I’m going over there.”
“To do what?”
He shrugs. “Not sure yet. At the very least, get some intel I can use against Torres. I bought a new pony last week after I discovered it was one he had an eye on. Best-case scenario, I ruin his career like he almost ruined mine. I’m not stopping until he’s barred from the circuit and resorts to teaching American rich kids with daddy issues how to ride a horse. ”
The venom in Miles’s voice grates on me exactly how nails on a chalkboard would. I don’t blame him one bit, either. In fact, I’ll join his thirst for blood. But I have a lot to do before I get to that point on my list of shit I have to deal with.
Pulling through the Foxleigh gates, I spot Miles’s red Ferrari in his usual space and stop next to it.
“Thanks, Hen.” He moves to slam the door, then opens it again. “I forgot to ask, have you heard from Sienna yet?”
I shake my head.
One fucking problem at a time.
Iget through the rest of my day thinking about nothing except seeing Story.
I don’t hear from Sienna, and I don’t see Clementine beyond a rushed passing of each other when I get home from collecting Max. It only confirms she’s definitely avoiding me.
I take my time reading Max his bedtime stories, and I follow with a long shower. The clock strikes ten o’clock, and the house is quiet when I walk down the main stairs and leave without telling a single soul I’m going out. Except Birgitta, in case Max wakes.
It takes seven minutes to arrive at Bluebell and another thirty seconds to walk up the path. My dick throbs with every step.
And then Story opens the door wearing absolutely nothing.
My heart stalls. My jeans become painfully tight. Without giving her the chance to say a word before my mouth is on hers, I kick the door shut behind me and scoop her into my arms.
Her nails scrape through my hair, legs locking around my hips as I pin her against the wall. Her groan tumbles down my throat, chased by the words, “fuck, yes.”
Once more I’m wondering what happened to the girl I used to run through the fields and roll down the hill with. But then I remember I’ve spent the day fantasizing about her riding my cock.
My palms grip her ass as I press into her, fingers digging into her soft flesh.
She’s pinned by my body, but I’m crushed by hers. The heat of her bare skin seeps through my shirt, while her tongue greedily pushes past my lips. Carnal, indelicate. The chemistry between us the other night was incredible – but this is another level.
It’s incendiary.
We kiss like we’re the last people on earth after a lifetime of wandering alone.
Story’s bare pussy spreads against the crotch of my jeans. The denim offering the friction she needs, writhing against my dick. The sensation wreaks havoc on my ability to think, because all I want to do is lose myself in her.
Her thighs squeeze my hips. My cock throbs.
This is going to be over far too quickly.
Wrapping my palm around the delicate column of her throat, fingers cupping her jaw, I have to prize her away from my mouth.
Air passes staccato through her puffy, swollen lips.
Chest heaving. Her cheeks have that rosy glow travelling down to her chest, her pupils blown so wide that I can barely see any of the pale brown I love so much.
She’s so close I’d only have to rock my hips once against her clit. But I have other plans.
“You’re not coming like this again, Stor.” I growl and drop to my knees.
Arousal drips down her thighs, a silvery patch glowing like moonlight and lighting my way.
Glancing up I’m treated to the sight of her watching me, breasts cupped and squeezed together, as she pinches her tight nipples. I’ve never wanted to fuck someone more.
Spreading her with my thumbs, I take a moment to revel in her soaked pussy then get to work. Slow. Firm. Deep.
She tastes like soap, she smells like heat and all I hear are the muffled “yeah. . . right there” and “just like that” of encouragement, one hand thrown over her face, the other digging into my shoulder.
When my tongue pulls firm and flat along her slit, flicking her clit, my name falls off her lips as though it’s been dragged from the depths of her soul.
Like she owns it.
Like I’m hers.
I eat her like my last meal. Lips suction on her clit, and she grinds against me, breathlessly begging me not to stop.
When she finally gives in, Story’s knees buckle and I grip her trembling thighs as tightly as her fists clutch my hair, until she slumps against the wall on a massive, shuddering orgasm. “Hen, fuck, yes . . . HEN!”
Her pussy clamps hard on my tongue, and I keep going determined to draw out every drop of pleasure. Lap after lap, until her palms are pushing against my forehead and she’s gasping for breath.
“Oh . . . no more . . . I can’t . . . take it . . .”
I stand, pressing my lips to her, and scoop her limp body up. My cock twitches at the moan she lets out, tasting herself on my tongue.
“Oh, yes you can. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”
I don’t point out I will never be done with her.