 by Tory Baker.jpg)
Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
When I first laid eyes on her, she was a tempting, wet dream that just appeared in my home.
That sounds perfect, but she was there as my son’s girlfriend. It also made her completely off limits.
It still didn’t stop me from tasting her.
One touch, one taste wrapped up in a stolen moment that never should have happened marked me for life.
She’s my guilty secret that I’ve privately been obsessed with. I mean hell, it’s been years and I still think about her.
Now, she’s back.
She’s single, but not for long.
This time there’s nothing to keep me from claiming her, forever.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER
Trace
“Dad, we’re here!” Wes yells as he walks through the front door nineteen damn years old and still hollering as he makes his way inside. It’s been the two of us since he was discharged from the hospital. Sure, I had help from my parents—we even lived with them until Wes was around five or six years old, but then it was time for me to get my shit together. I needed to work less than sixty hours a week, while allowing daycare and my mom to do the bulk of raising Wes. I found a rental near town, in a good school district, and we started our life without being under my parents’ roof. There was a shit ton of oh, fucks along the way—burnt dinner, Wes staying up too late because I was working late yet wanted to spend time with him, laundry piling up, and all the other stuff that comes with being a single father. A learning curve to say the least, but we managed it after quite a few trials and errors. Half the time, I felt like I was failing him, then my dad would reel my ass in, lay it all out and tell me to quit feeling sorry for myself. If I were failing, I would have given Wes up for adoption when Misty willingly walked out of his life. I didn’t blame her. How could I? She was only a year older than me, a one-night stand in another town, when a broken condom caused her to find me six weeks later on a jobsite to give me the news. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind when she presented me her options—adoption or abortion. I quickly told her I’d cover her medical bills, make sure she had a place to live while pregnant, and I’d take our child once he or she was born. So, at the age of nineteen, newly graduated from high school, I worked like a dog to give her the life she deserved while growing Wes inside her belly. The minute he was born, she signed over her parental rights, asking me to take him away, and then left the hospital against medical advice. No one ever saw her again. Sucks that she willingly missed out on all the good that could have been part of her life.
“In the kitchen, bud,” I reply, a beer in my hand I raise the bottle to my mouth and take a long-as-fuck pull, downing half the bottle’s contents. I’m feeling every bit of my thirty-eight years old after work today. The hours are long, and the sun is hot as fuck. Especially when your job involves framing houses on the side. Plus, I dabble in my own version of working with my hands, building kitchen cabinets. I look around at our home, a small three-bedroom, one-bathroom house, built in the 1940s. We moved in here once Wes hit his teenage years, and I’ve been working on it ever since. I finish the rest of my beer when my son and his girlfriend round the corner. A damn good thing, too. I’m unprepared for the girl he’s brought home.
“Hey, Dad. Josie, this is my dad, Trace. Dad, this is my girlfriend, Josie.” I lower my bottle of beer as my boy hits me with a hug and pull him in with one arm, eyes locking with his girl’s vivid blue, like the water in a pool. She’s got blonde hair and full lips.
“Nice to meet you, Josie.” Wes and I pull back from our hug, and I place the bottle of beer on the new countertops that were just installed this past week. Unlike me, Wes went to college a few hours south. During his first year, he’s only come home for the holidays, and now he’s bringing home his girlfriend for spring break.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Gaines.” She uses my last name as our hands meet in a handshake. Fuck me. Goddamn it, this is not what I want. The dumb flesh between my thighs attempts to make its presence known. This is not the time nor the place for a hard-on, especially for the beauty in front of me. She’s young, too young, half my age, and my son’s girlfriend. Tell that to my cock, which is currently twitching in my jeans. Her eyes lingering on my body doesn’t fucking help. She’s forbidden fruit, and damn if I don’t want a taste.
“Please call me Trace. Mr. Gaines is my father.” The dryness in my throat from thoughts of Josie makes me realize I need another drink. Shit, my father is a fuck of a lot older than I am, another difference between my parents and me. Where I’m blissfully unwedded, they were married, went and explored the world for five or so years before having me. Then settled down in our small town here in Tennessee, planting roots and never moving out of my childhood home until Wes and I got our own place. Later they built a home, one that isn’t as big, more manageable, allowing them to come and go as they please between their jaunts to hit the next casino.