Chapter 30
THIRTY | TARYN
“Oooh, what’s this one?” Elena points at the Pinterest pin I pulled up on the desktop computer in the office downstairs. “That looks fun!”
I tilt my head and grin, analyzing the craft photo. “You think so?”
Her palms clap together in enthusiastic interest. “Yeah.”
I drag the bar down, scrolling through more pictures. Brightly painted rocks flash across the screen, their smooth surfaces decorated with patterns, others with complex images and inspirational sayings.
Finding an entertaining activity to amuse the kids today was a top priority since it’s the second day Jessica is gone, and Bren and Cam still haven’t returned from Seattle. Luckily, they should be back tomorrow.
I’m looking forward to it.
Their presence may settle the tension between my ribs.
This silent game transpiring between Colten and me is already making me go haywire.
Well, I guess I can’t judge our interactions as silent, considering I’ve only seen him once since last night. He darted into the kitchen to grab some mail off the counter and bolted straight out back to work before I even blinked.
After getting more…accustomed to each other in more ways than one last night, he cleaned me up in the kitchen and encouraged me to drink a bunch of water.
He gulped down several glasses before we returned to his room to collect our clothes.
Honestly, I think it was a nervous quirk to keep his brain from detonating.
I gathered that much from how one hand was grasped on the counter, the other was clutching the water glass, and his daunting stare was trained on the apple marked by my teeth.
Only a few words emerged from his mouth here and there, asking if I was all right and if he hurt me. For a guy who craves control, he gets awfully quiet and sensitive afterward.
The silence stretched between us, and after a few minutes, I took it as my cue to leave. He didn’t have to say anything for me to know that he was uncomfortable with me staying—his tense shoulders and rigid posture were loud enough. He was a gentleman, though, and escorted me back to the house.
Or maybe he didn’t trust me to not bolt after what transpired between us.
Frustratingly, it was probably both.
As he walked me up the yard and to the back door, I couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted it.
The last thing he said to me was good night, and then he pressed his lips to my forehead before I walked in and left him amongst the darkness.
I returned to my room and collapsed on my bed, utterly exhausted from the way he commanded my body, stirring reactions I’ll never comprehend.
But this morning, I woke up with my lips stretched, jaw sore, and pussy aching from his ruthlessness—spurring the visions of him last night, which have been playing on a repetitive loop in my head.
His hands. His smooth voice. The way he delivered my orgasm with that damn apple shoved in my mouth like I was a pig on a silver platter ready to be consumed.
When I got up to use the bathroom, I found the bright pink pair of underwear I had stormed over with and a black strappy thong on my nightstand. On top was another note:
Bought these for you.
Only for you.
- C
I shift in the office chair, the wings of butterflies vehemently scraping against my stomach lining at the simple thought of him sneaking into my room sometime in the middle of the night and delivering the note.
Unless he came early this morning before he went to work?
He sometimes gets up to go to work at five a.m., but I was out cold. The floorboards groaning and squeaking stairs couldn’t even wake me from my satiated slumber.
If I’ve learned to sleep through the voices of crows perched on the gutter outside my window in the early morning hours, I can sleep through anything.
My right eye twitches.
Hmm.
I wonder if he watched me sleep.
He practically dislocated my jaw last night with his fruit gag, so I’m sure my mouth was slack while I slept. My room may be in the attic, but at least it’s newly renovated, so I don’t have to worry about inhaling moths and insect carcass spores.
I would happily let him shove another apple in my mouth. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experien—
“Why would we paint rocks? That seems kind of boring.” Thankfully, Tristan distracts me before the spark awakening on my skin can turn into a raging wildfire.
“That’s what you said about my Scooby-Doo game, and you haven’t been able to put it down,” I smile playfully.
He lifts a finger to his lips, tapping it against his mouth in thought. “You’re right. What will we do with them, though?”
I pull up another picture. This one is an image of a rock sitting on a park bench with a painting of the earth that says, Hug your mother.
My lips lift. Clever.
“Well, little man, we would paint the rocks and leave them for people to find. It’s kind of like a fun game that makes them happy when they see it.”
“That’s kind of cool, I guess.” He shrugs.
“We can paint anything?” Elena drawls.
I nod. “Anything you want,” I agree.
“Can we leave them around for our brothers to find?” Tristan asks with curiosity painting his features now. He leans over the arm of my chair to scan the image again.
“Can we take some to The Honey Hut?” Elena jumps.
I smile. “I think that’s a great idea.”
With her fist pumping in the air, Elena exclaims, “It’s like an Easter egg hunt, but with rocks!”
I drum my fingers against the desk. We need paint and flat rocks.
Which means we need to go into town, and I need access to a vehicle.
My eyes bounce between the two of them. “How good are your begging skills?”
Elena’s hand is clutching mine tightly as we stroll down the dirt road.
She tugs a little harder, and I nearly trip over my feet.
It’s more like she’s dragging me. When she gets excited about something, it goes straight to her feet.
Or her mouth, because she won’t stop rambling about painting ideas for her rocks.
Tristan, Elena, and I round a corner in the dirt road, a massive shop coming into view at the dead end.
Rossco darts ahead of us toward Colten’s black Ford in the parking lot as if he can sense his proximity.
I swear my dog is more attached to him, and it shouldn’t piss me off as much as it does.
He lowers his nose to the ground, sniffing around his tires until he gets to the driver’s side door.
The sight of his truck spurs the vision of him eating me out in the passenger seat.
The image of him unhinged. His words. His rough, calloused hands.
I release a breath, and with it, the memory, willing myself back to the present.
The building is striking against the dark greens of the trees.
It’s the essence of a shop blended with the structure of a barn.
The metal exterior is a pale green with giant wood sliding doors and rectangular windows with amber wood framing.
It’s tucked in the orchard next to a grass field, a ten-minute walk from the house.
It’s beautiful.
“This is where his office is?” I ask.
Letting go of my hand, Elena runs toward the giant open barn doors. Rossco becomes disinterested in the truck, finding more amusement in the little girl running toward the building. A whirring sound of some kind of machinery emanates from the inside as they scamper toward it.
Tristan nods, pointing to a large set of windows on what I assume is the second floor. “Colten’s office is up there. I like helping him fix things in the shop when he lets me.”
“This place looks way too nice to be a shop,” I mumble under my breath.
“Cam and Bren said there used to be a party here. There were lots of people and rides, caramel apples, and even a costume contest.”
My eyes scan the building as Elena darts between the doors. “Elena, be careful,” I yell. I direct my attention back to Tristan as we near the doors. “Like a harvest party?”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad used to have one every year.” His mouth pulls downward, the frown making me want to reach for him. “Colten didn’t want to do them anymore.”
“Well, that’s a bummer. It sounds like a blast.”
He shrugs. With eyes cast downward, he nudges a rock with the toe of his boot, kicking it into the shop. “He doesn’t like us talking about it. But I wish we still had them.”
I place my palm on his head, ruffling his hair. “Maybe someday, buddy.”
Walking through the doors, my eyes wander the shop. High beams and facades traverse the ceiling. The main lights across the beams are on instead of the two rustic black chandlers hanging over the floor. A staircase leads to a second-floor balcony with three doors.
There’s machinery everywhere—tractors, four-wheelers, a side-by-side, and…
“Oh my God, my truck,” I squeal.
My feet hastily carry me to the middle of the shop, where my truck is behind a tractor or vehicle of some sort with funky metal arms and a conveyor belt with bins. Tristan follows behind me. I plant my hands on the hood, my heart rapidly beating at the feel of the worn paint beneath my palms.
I was wondering what they were going to do with this. I figured it would get towed or something sitting on Main Street for so long, but it’s here.
“This is your car?” Tristan wrinkles his nose. “Why is it here?”
“Because your brothers…” I think over my words carefully, “are storing it for me since I don’t need it right now.” I peer around, my chest tightening. “Where did Elena go?”
“Up to see, Colten,” a deep voice startles me.
Judging by his tattoos and graying beard, a man in his mid-to-late fifties steps out from behind the odd piece of machinery blocking my truck inside the shop. He has a brewery T-shirt on, and his beer belly is stretching the material.
“Oh, um…thanks.” I eye him apprehensively.
I had no idea he was there. About gave me a damn heart attack.
“Hi, Johnny,” Tristan greets flatly with a single wave. “I’m going to go find Colten.”
No. No, please don’t leave me.