Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
But when he comes, his howls go quiet, and I feel his whole body rock back against me like he’s falling apart.
Bearing the weight of him against me, still fucking him with all my strength, I suddenly can’t hold it back another second. I let go inside of him. All of me. Every bit I’ve got.
Then the world slowly comes back.
And Wyatt. “Diego,” he breathes as he recovers. We’re still on our knees on the bed, him in front of me, me inside him, his head lolled back on my shoulder. “I want … I want to … to …”
“What?”
He sighs happily, shakes his head, and says, “Thank you.”
I wonder what he’s thanking me for. Then I let out this funny sort of breath, maybe it’s a chuckle, and lean my cheek against the side of his head, his moan still in my ears, the feel of his lips under my fingers, and the look in his eye when he said: I’m unbreakable.
—19—
Wyatt
I think it’s Monday morning when I head over to Diego’s door, calmly knock, he answers, and I scrunch my face up and ask, “Did I leave one of my socks here?”
Diego shrugs. “Wanna check?”
“Thanks.” I head inside. And I check.
And an hour later, we’re naked on his bed again, his hand held tightly over my mouth as I moan against his fingers while he fucks me halfway to insanity.
Then we drop onto the bed, sweaty messes, both of us, and I spot my sock on the floor. Oh, there it is.
It’s Tuesday after work that I’m in my kitchen waiting on the microwave to ding with my ramen when someone’s at the door. I answer. Diego in a sexy, grease-stained t-shirt and his work pants, face half-scowling. “Is it bad if an orchid leaf turns yellowish?”
“Let me see,” I tell him, ditching my ramen, then follow him over to his house.
And into his bedroom.
And out of his clothes.
And mine.
Then his back slamming against a dresser and sending a lamp tumbling to the floor that neither of us notice as we grapple with each other’s bodies, lips locked, hands everywhere.
And an hour later, finishing on the floor, out of breath, staring up where I spot a tiny crack near the ceiling fan.
The orchid’s fine, by the way.
Wednesday morning, Diego arrives at my doorstep, insisting he needs to check that my “wonky shelf” in my greenhouse is still level to protect Rapunzel from letting down all her hair. Shelf is fine, it turns out, same as it was before.
So I ask him if he’d like to stay for a bite before work.
He stays for so much more.
I’m nearly an hour and a half late to the flower shop, where I find Cash leaning against the door with a frown. “What happened? Did one of your plants grow hands and pin you down to the bed to sleep in so late?”
I wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead and smile. “More or less.” Then I let us in, Cash giving me a funny look.
I close the shop at lunchtime and run to the Strong ranch to have my gardening consultation with Mayor Nadine. It looks very different when there’s not a big event or party being hosted here; no explosions of lights and over-the-top decorations, nearly calm, peaceful, a total countryside utopia complete with a long fence-lined pathway leading to a pond around which Billy and Tanner’s little house is situated. For over an hour and a half (longer than Nadine insisted our meeting would take) we sit at a table by one of her back windows overlooking the garden, and I enjoy a glass of the best damned sweet tea I’ve ever tasted, while she forgets what she called me over for, rambling about everything that’s bugging her, from her husband’s birthday tomorrow to her mother-in-law flying in and wanting to stay for three weeks instead of three days. “It’s not that I don’t love the woman for bringin’ the man of my dreams into existence,” she says flatly, “but every time she stays here, I swear I lose half my hair tryin’ to keep her entertained. I’m best as a short-term hostess. Party. Event. In and out. How do you keep a smile on your face that long before it just falls right off?”
I suddenly think of Diego’s remark about my plastic smiles in our thunderstorm room. “Showing others your kindness isn’t the worst thing,” I murmur half to myself.
She pauses between sips of tea. “I suppose not.” She smirks. “Assumin’ others deserve a lick of it,” she adds, then goes for a sip.
My eyes drop to my own glass.
“Goodness, listen to me goin’ on and on. How’ve you been? I don’t know the last time you and I have had an actual chat since your parents went on their road trip—Is that what we’re callin’ it? A road trip? Never mind. You’ve been carryin’ the burden all by yourself of that little shop, haven’t you? Runnin’ a business ain’t easy. I already lost one. Cold Spoon, remember that? No, I do not blame sweet Billy or his lovely T&S’s, everyone always asks, nope, not even a little. Runnin’ my Nadine’s out in Fairview ain’t a walk in the—Goodness, I’m talkin’ about myself again after just askin’ how you are! Tell me. I’ll shut up. Promise.” She sets down her tea and leans forward. “How’re you copin’ with the Valdezes leavin’?”