14. War
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
war
Trail Creek, New Mexico
March
Tuesday rushes forward to hug me and then Laramie. I offer my hand to Bond, keeping my eyes on my sister and the woman I’m falling for. It’s no surprise to find the Davis sisters and their respective not-boyfriends here alongside Tuesday and Bond. The Davises are a close-knit group.
As much as I appreciate them being here, I’m also itching to get Laramie into my bed to spend hours learning everything she likes. It’s not that I haven’t made the most of our time together, but the days ahead are a gift I have to take advantage of.
What happens when it’s time for her to go to Pueblo? Maybe I’ll go with her. If she wants me to… Shit, maybe I should have thought beyond this week.
Laramie hugs me from behind. “Hey, you okay?”
I squeeze her forearms. “Yeah, just thinking.”
“That’s dangerous,” Tuesday says, a smile on her lips. It falters when she meets my gaze, but she fixes it back in place and I’m reminded of the Tuesday from before. The one who lived under a microscope and wore that fake, placating smile more days than I can count.
“I don’t want to add to whatever’s got you so deep in thought, but this came for you while you were in Lubbock.” Bond holds out a small box. I recognize the pricy wrapping paper and my father’s wax emblem sealing it shut.
Tuesday eyes the box like it might be a bomb. “It showed up at the Davis Designs office yesterday afternoon. The note said your name. Nothing else.”
Swallowing, I push down the uncertainty of what comes after Laramie’s next rodeo. Stuff it deeper, alongside the worry that niggles in my gut about the box. Lock it all in an iron cage with the fear of starting life over in my thirties.
I blink and shake my head, lighter with those concerns trapped for now. I lean down and flutter my lips across Laramie’s; then I turn to my friends and sister. “Thanks for coming out to meet us. Everyone, this is Laramie. Laramie, this is everyone.”
Like the ball-busting angel she is, Laramie says, “I’m sure War meant to give me your names, but after the long drive, he knows I’m exhausted. He raved about The Bee and The Bean. Any chance I could see you guys there tomorrow and properly introduce myself? You know, not dressed in road clothes.” She gestures to her yoga pants and a threadbare t-shirt that says I raise plants, animals, and eyebrows in 4H.
“Of course! We’ll meet you there at eight for breakfast. Does that work?” Tuesday asks.
Laramie nods and hugs my sister, whispering something in her ear that has Tuesday smiling. Those two are going to be double trouble for sure. Add Charli and Clairy into the mix, and they’ll be town-wide menaces .
I wait on the porch, talking with Bond a few minutes more after opening the front door and encouraging Laramie to poke around inside. I figure it’s payback for snooping through her toy drawer.
“So that box…” Bond says.
“Yeah. It’s from our dad.”
“Figured. Tuesday’s been glaring at it ever since it showed up.” My future brother-in-law pats me on the shoulder. “I don’t know everything that went down while you guys were growing up. Tuesday’s told me bits and pieces, and I’ve seen how far you two’ve come in the last three months. I still don’t know what caused you to step up in December, but men like Warren Phillips don’t take an L lightly.”
“Oh, that I know,” I say with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter what’s in there. It could be the keys to Phillips Construction, and I still wouldn’t have anything to say to him.”
“Just be sure, man. Tuesday wants you here. Or at least somewhere you can be happy.” He cants his head toward my living room, where Laramie bounces on each couch cushion.
My hand comes up to the back of my head. “She’s a nomad. A rolling stone. Chasing her fortune on the back of a horse at forty miles an hour.”
“But does she make you happy?”
I don’t need to think. “Yeah. She’s amazing, and I’d tether myself to her forever, but…” I sigh. “I don’t want to drag her down.”
Bond swings an arm around my shoulder. “Then you find a way to run alongside her.”
Once Bond and Tuesday leave, I shut the door and drop onto the couch next to Laramie. She climbs into my lap, burying her nose in the hollow of my throat.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks, her words muffled.
“Not tonight, but soon.” My head drops, resting against the couch. “Right now, I want to shower with you to get the road off us; then, I want to take you to bed.”
“Hmm, luckily for you, that’s exactly what I want, too.”
Laramie climbs out of my lap and saunters off like she owns the place. I sit slack-jawed, watching her navigate my rental like she’s been here for months, not twenty minutes.
Over her shoulder, she calls, “I took your permission to explore and ran with it.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
A minute later, I hear the rush of water and her voice. “Are you joining me or not, Pretty Boy?”
My cock twitches, and I beeline to the beautiful woman waiting for me. She’s already under the steady stream, her hands running up and down her body. As if she can feel the weight of my gaze, she cranes her head and winks before bending—giving me a perfect peak at her pink pussy—and snagging my body wash. When she straightens and turns, my eyes latch onto the drops that land on her chest .
Never looking away, she brushes one soapy hand over her skin, her fingers tracing circles along the sides of her body. Her fingers drop lower, leaving a haphazard trail of my scent across her stomach and hips.
“It’s getting awful lonely in here.”
I shed my clothes and slip into the warm water behind her. Fuck. There’s nothing like the feeling of Laramie’s wet, supple body against mine. My hands roam her curves, feather-light touches across her hips, her shoulders, down the length of her arms. She melts into me and moans.
“That noise is nothing but trouble, just like you.” I suck on her earlobe and buck my hips.
Laramie reaches between us and glides her hand up and down my cock. Her firm grip pulls a hiss from between my clenched teeth as I fight not to fuck her fist.
“Let me take care of you first, sweetheart.”
She pouts but drops her hand. I step back and pick up my shampoo, then take a beat to drink her in. Her long lashes are damp from the mist of the shower, and her hair curls around her face. She’s a goddess.
Her eyes slip closed as I work my fingers through her hair, and she makes another of those delicious noises. I want to cover her mouth with mine and sip those moans like a fine wine.
I tip her head back and rinse the suds from her hair. She’s bathed in my scent, and I want nothing more than to add my cum to the mix. Marking her inside and out.
Laramie turns the full power of her attention on me. “Now, let me take care of you .”
She kisses a trail along my chest while her soapy hands massage my back, glutes, and thighs, summoning a series of shivers that wrack my body.
A groan rips from my throat when she sinks to her knees on the tile before me. Laramie toys with me, kissing my inner thighs, grazing her teeth along the sensitive skin. The more she teases me, the more I jerk and moan. She takes me into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside of my shaft, pressing against the sensitive vein that runs the length of it.
“Shit.” One of my hands drops to her head, petting the wet strands in a mix of needing to touch her and needing to see her.
As if the extra weight of my hand urges her on, she takes me to the back of her throat and swallows around me. What are words? Mine have all fled, and only inarticulate noises remain.
Her whimpers vibrate around me, harmonizing with mine, and together we write a wordless symphony.
My body is no longer mine to control; it’s beholden to her. When she digs her fingers into my ass, urging me deeper, I have to comply. Hips thrusting, cock aching, I’m desperate for the heat of her mouth.
But this isn’t how I want to come, and certainly not before my girl. With a pained moan, I pull back, slipping free from Laramie’s mouth. There’s a thin string of spit still tethering my cock to her lips, and it takes all my willpower to keep from sinking deep into her throat and feeding her my cum.
“Bed.” It’s a grunt and all I can manage. Luckily, Laramie doesn’t need more.
We’re a flurry of teeth, lips, and hands as we bump our way from the shower to my bedroom. There’s no drying off, no stopping for towels, only hunger.
The only thing stopping me from sinking into her as soon as her back hits my mattress is that I don’t have a condom. “Shit.” I rise, stretching for my nightstand, but a small hand on my bicep stops me.
“I told you. Next time, I wanted you with nothing in between us. I had a full STI panel run as part of my workup after you and I slept together in December. It came back negative.” She chews on her plump bottom lip. “There hasn’t been anyone since, and I have an implant.”
“You’re going to make me lose it, saying shit like that.” I run my nose down the column of her throat and nip at the sensitive juncture where her neck meets her shoulder. Murmuring into her skin, I say, “I’ve never gone without a condom and last tested in November as part of my regular physical. I haven’t been with anyone since you either.”
The admission that neither of us found comfort from another partner during our time apart acts like a trigger, and our mouths crash together. It’s bruising, biting, rough, and raw. It’s clashing teeth, sharp nips, and soothing kisses.
I break away, ready to lick my way down her body, when Laramie uses the considerable strength in her thighs to roll us, and much like our first night together, I find myself beneath her.
“If you wanted to be on top, sweetheart, you could have asked.”
“Not asking tonight, War. It’s my turn, and I need you to be a very good boy for me.” She licks her lips and smiles. “Is my throne ready?”
My eyebrows draw together. Her throne? It hits me as she begins a slow shift from my hips to my lower stomach and then higher. Her throne.
I pat my lips. “Hell yes. Get that pretty pussy up here and drown me in your honey.”
Kneeling above me, Laramie straddles my face, leaving me with a wide-open view of all her glory. Every bit of her, from her neatly trimmed patch of dark curls, to her clit peeking out from between her pink pussy lips, all the way to both her holes.
Heat radiates from her core, and I dive in, proffering myself to the magnificent creature above me. Laramie needs no guidance or encouragement as she fucks herself against my mouth and uses my nose to tease her clit.
My tongue delves into her pussy, fucking in and out of her before I suck one of her lips between mine. I savor the taste of her, that uniquely Laramie flavor.
She moans and circles her hips as she rides my face, praise raining down on me along with her desire. “You’re doing so good. Making such a mess of me.”
She’s right. It’s sloppy and wet and perfect.
“God, War, I’m going to come. I’m so close. Be good for me and make me come with your tongue.”
Her appreciation nurtures some of the broken parts of me—the parts I lock away to avoid. It smooths out some of the rough edges so those jagged bits are no longer stabbing me from the inside.
“Yes!” Laramie cries out as she loses herself in the throes of her climax. With one last whimper, she crumples onto the bed next to me, her chest rising and falling as she pants.
I can’t resist turning my face to the toned thigh next to my head and running my lips along her skin. “Feel good, sweetheart?”
She doesn’t answer, just sits up with a lascivious grin. I blink and Laramie is astride me like I’m her personal pony. Holding the base of my cock, she takes my entire length in one downward thrust.
We let out matching groans as I fill her to the brim. Being bare inside her is like nothing I can describe. It’s silk and heat and pressure, and I never want to leave.
Despite the fast start, Laramie sets a slow, sensual pace. Her hips circle and rock, and she guides my hands to her tits. I lose myself in her. The heat of her pussy, the clench of her muscles around my cock, the weight of her palm-sized breasts, and the pebbled tips of her nipples.
She picks up the tempo, riding me harder, faster. “Come for me, War. Fill my pussy up. I want to feel you. Hot and thick inside me.”
The dirty words spur me onward, the two of us sprinting toward our ends. Her face twists into a mask of ecstasy, and her inner muscles clamp around me. Despite wishing I could make this last longer, the tight flutters of her walls drag me over the edge, and I spend myself inside her.
I pull her to me and kiss all over her face, peppering her chin, lips, cheeks, and forehead. Our hearts thunder in concert, matching beat for beat. She smells like sex and my body wash. It feeds a possessive need I didn’t know I had. She’s mine. In this moment—and if I have my way, forever—she’s mine.
The past four days have been the best of my life. Each morning, I wake up with Laramie in my arms, her soft body pressed against mine. She’s charmed everyone she’s met, even Saul. Living here permanently isn’t in the cards for her—or me, to be honest. She’s got too much invested in her barrel racing career and her dad’s horse breeding business. Still, it’s nice to know we’d always be welcome.
Today, I’m up before the sun, thanks to a brain that won’t stop spinning. Tomorrow, she leaves for Pueblo, the next stop on the circuit, and I don’t know where that leaves us. I haven’t worked up the nerve to invite myself along, and Laramie hasn’t offered.
There’s no indication she’s scared or rethinking us, but part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s not about her leaving me back in Dallas; it’s about her not giving up her dreams and me not knowing what mine are—outside of her.
I was serious when I told Bond I don’t want to drag her down. I did it to Tuesday for almost thirty-four years. She shines now. Free and happy. Her new light comes from being out from under my parents’ thumbs, sure, but I can’t help but think it also comes from being away from me.
Next to me, Laramie snuggles closer. She’s been the big spoon all night, one arm thrown around my waist, the other tucked under her cheek. In charge, even in her sleep.
Careful not to wake her, I slip out from her hold and stifle a laugh when she frowns and tugs a pillow into her clutches. I rummage through my dresser and slip into a pair of sweats before padding down the hall and into the living room.
The box Tuesday and Bond brought with them the night we arrived in town sits on the bar that separates this room from the kitchen. I grab it, tossing it from hand to hand, debating whether to open it now, later, or bury it in the backyard. Sighing, I wander back to the couch and drop onto the springy cushions. Treating the box like a basketball, I shoot it up and catch it until it’s snatched out of the air.
“I’ve given you four days of wait time, Pretty Boy. You ready to talk about this?” At my nod, she plops down next to me. “It’s from your dad?” Again, I nod. Laramie shakes the box, holding it to her ear as if that will release all its secrets. “I’m not trying to overstep, but if you want to open it, I’ll hold your hand.”
Pulling her closer, I kiss her hair and tangle my fingers with hers. Laramie’s hands are rough, working hands. Hands that have grown up holding reins and pulling her back up when she falls. That she’s here now, offering those hands to me… God, I’m gone for this woman.
Laramie looks at me, waiting for my confirmation. When I sharply jerk my head up and down, she pulls on the expensive ribbon and pops the folded seams. “I made the first tear. Your turn.”
Somehow, it’s less daunting, seeing the ribbon—that probably took my mother hours of her life to decide on—crumpled on the floor and the heavy-weight paper torn. I hook a finger into the rip and pull. As the rest of the wrapping falls away, I’m left with a velvet box.
I know what this is.
I snap open the lid, and there lies my watch. The one I left on a table with my dad in a dive bar in Lubbock. There’s a small folded card below the timepiece.
Warren -
Consider this my final offer: You will return to Dallas and Phillips Construction as a one-third owner. Out of my generosity, I will restore your sister to a silent one-third owner, though she will remain in New Mexico except for pre-agreed-upon company and family events. Neither of you deserves this, but I am offering it despite your repeated disappointments.
If I do not receive a response from you and Tuesday by the end of the month, I will take your silence as agreement to fully disinherit you both. At that point, there will be no further communication between us. You will cease to exist in this family.
Think long and hard about the consequences of your actions. How much your mother and I have done for you both. I have been more than patient. Your selfish and childish behavior has embarrassed this family and tarnished its name. It is time for you to grow up and take responsibility. Prove to me you are capable of salvaging what respect remains.
- Warren Phillips Sr.
My temper flares, and I crush the note and drop the box holding the watch to the ground. Everything around me fades as I stomp on the timepiece over and over. Five times. Ten times. So many times, I lose count.
“War.” The sound of my name is a pebble in the ocean.
Every hurt. Every slight. Every time I changed myself to be what he expected. Every dream I let go to please him. I smash it all.
There’s movement near me, a faint blur in my peripheral, but I am too lost in my rage to pay it mind. I don’t feel the glass shattering and splintering beneath my bare foot. Or the red gold frame warping and denting. I don’t even notice the traces of blood on the floor. It’s not until Laramie shoves me to the couch and barks out a command that I’m jolted back to reality .
“War! Stop it! You’re hurting yourself.”
She’s on her knees before me, this time for a totally different reason, her lips pressed into a firm line. There’s a washcloth in her hand, and she narrows a harrowing glare my way. “Give me your feet.”
“No, you don’t need to?—”
“Now.” The fierceness in that single word stops me from any future protests.
Laramie cradles my foot like I’m a delicate bird and dabs at the cuts before pulling out a first aid kit and a slim pair of tweezers. She stops working long enough to hand me my phone. “Call your sister.”
I take my phone, walk on shredded feet to the kitchen, and pour myself a generous shot of bourbon. Downing it, then another, I hobble back to the couch and collapse next to Laramie, my head buried in my hands.
What the actual fuck? Anger and disgust roil in my gut. Whatever small sliver of a ledge I stood on when considering going back to Dallas is demolished. Blown apart by two dollars’ worth of linen and ink.
Ten minutes later, Tuesday and Bond crash through my front door. The mess I made—at least the physical one—is gone. Swept away with warm water and a broom. If only I could say the same about the emotional destruction left in its wake.