Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
But for now, Jude managed to focus on the positive. How proud he was, how talented Wolfe was. How everything would be okay, Wolfe would see. Being famous had upsides and…
Wolfe’s voice whispered so low only I could hear it. “Can we sleep at your place tonight?”
I whispered back, “’Course, baby. Whatever you want.”
He released a relieved breath, and then his expression turned curious. “Hey, how’d you get here so fast? There wasn’t another set of flights to Legacy that didn’t involve multiple layovers.”
I explained about flying to San Francisco first. About talking to Jude and Derek.
“Did you tell them about… everything that happened?”
I knew he meant Jake. “No. I figured that was your call.”
Wolfe nodded. “I’ll tell them, but not now. After everything settles down, we’ll talk.”
I made a sound of agreement. There would be a lot to talk about.
I needed to tell him about my conversation with Jake and the NDA, if he hadn’t already heard it from Clay. And about what I’d promised to do for Shay.
We also needed to discuss personal security, at least for the short term. And he needed to let me know how he envisioned his day-to-day life working if—no, when—he moved in with me.
“Thank you for always finding me.” Wolfe’s smile was evident in his voice.
I rubbed a hand up and down his back. “I’d prefer it if you’d stop running off.”
His laughter filled my lungs like clean mountain air. Like everything I’d ever needed.
“Give me a reason to stay, old man,” he teased softly.
I leaned in and kissed his jaw, his cheek, his forehead, and finally his deep-red lips. Then I reached for his hand and curled my index finger around the ring finger on his left hand, squeezing firmly enough for him to feel it.
“I will.”
EPILOGUE
WOLFE, OCTOBER
The tight heat of Trace’s ass around my cock felt new every fucking time I was lucky enough to experience it. Six months of plastering myself as close to Trace Bishop as possible. And everything still felt new.
“Oh god, Trace,” I croaked. “Not gonna last.”
I felt his huff of laughter in my dick. “You say that every time you fuck me.”
He was on his back on our sofa, knees up by his shoulders and face ruddy from the hour-long make-out session that preceded this. My cock pushed deeper inside him until my hips brushed his ass.
His eyes rolled back. “There. Fuck, baby. More.”
My brain immediately began running chromatic scales to keep from thinking about how good this felt. About the ridged muscles of his abs from his busy summer at SERA. The way his tan made his eyes even brighter. The cut quad muscles under my greedy fingers. The way he sounded like sex incarnate every time he murmured the word baby at me.
“Stop talking,” I squeaked.
The rumble of his laugh only made it worse. He was so fucking sexy. So fun and sweet. So goddamned loving.
His hands moved into my hair. “Look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, sweetheart.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, which only made him laugh some more.
“So fucking cute. Ah, fuck. Like that again, baby.”
“Not cute,” I gritted out, pulling back and slamming into him, making sure to peg just the right spot. His groan was my reward, long and guttural, drawn out in the stillness of the room.
I glanced around, still desperate for a distraction, and landed on one of the newest photos he’d hung on the wall. It was a shot of me performing with Lyra Vale at one of her concerts in LA. After apologizing to her for not giving her a heads-up on my big reveal, I’d agreed to do a set at one of her live shows. It was fun and exciting, but also nerve-racking and terrifying. It was enough for me to decide that big-stage performances weren’t for me.
There were also photos of Trace and me laughing over pizza and wine at Alex’s restaurant, the profiles of Rosie and Lennon visible next to us. Snapshots of Gabe and Hunter from Aunt Tilly’s bachelor party, where Trace and I had arrived embarrassingly late for… reasons. A collage of photos that included one of Dad and Papa when they borrowed the camper van, one of Rosie, Lennon, and me too tipsy from Slingshot Flames at Timber, and one of Trace holding my cousin Hazel’s baby as the Montana sunset threw its peachy warmth all over everyone’s faces. We’d had a summer full of nights like that.
But now that it was autumn, I looked forward to the winter season, when things would slow down a little, and the two of us could focus on time together, planning our new house that would be built on the parcel of Marian land that had been earmarked for me here in Legacy. I’d switched parcels with Rosie since hers was closer to SERA, and when the house was completed, Trace would be able to walk to work or ride his mountain bike.