Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Because of that, he knew better to fall fast for Stella. But, fuck him, if he wasn’t doing just that.
At the time, he’d gotten married young, but he wasn’t so young anymore. He hoped now that he’d lived a life full of experience, between the Marines and prison, he’d become a much better judge of character. That he could see through someone faster now than he could at eighteen, twenty or even twenty-five.
He only hoped he was right. Because he was not dealing with the shit he was forced to with his ex-wife again.
Never fucking again.
And this was why he was determined to claim Stella. To make sure she was his. Because like he told her, the fuck if he was going to share his woman. And he would not land behind bars again for one, either.
But, fuck him, he was building a new life, a better one, and he wanted someone besides his club brothers to share that with.
And for some reason, the minute he saw Stella, the very second he realized who she was, he knew it was her.
Maybe stupid, but definitely fucking true.
He could be making another big fucking mistake, but it didn’t feel like that in his gut.
But for now, he needed to get out of his head, concentrate on the woman beneath him and prove to them both that this was right.
Her nails were digging into his back as she clung tightly to him, her mouth near his ear, panting, moaning, whimpering as he drove into her over and over. That sound was better than any song that had hit number one on the charts.
Hearing his name on her lips as her hips rose to meet his, cemented everything he thought.
He dropped his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, flicking the tip with his tongue. Then he did the same with the other.
With his wandering thoughts now collected, he realized she needed to come again soon, or she wouldn’t get that chance until next time.
Next time.
And the next.
And the next.
He had come home to Manning Grove, but he had found home inside of her.
He had felt driven to come back to a place with bad memories. And maybe it was to right all the wrongs.
Including the one with her.
Chapter Eleven
Trip stared at the brown water stain above him. That stain meant there was a current leak in the roof, or one in the past that had been fixed. He hoped it was the latter. He really didn’t want to add a new fucking roof, or even a roof repair, to his already long list.
His chest tightened with the thought of one more thing he might have to come up with money for.
He wanted to keep Stella from drowning, but he might have to do some serious treading water himself to keep from all of it dragging him down, too.
In the end, whatever it was would get done. As soon as he could swing it.
Even though their skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and their breathing a bit ragged from the last orgasm he pulled from her, as well as his own, he was pissed at himself for not tucking a second wrap in his wallet. Because the fuck if he wasn’t staying the night this time.
He’d prefer they head back to the farm and sleep in his awesome bed, unlike her lumpy piece of shit, but he doubted Stella would go. Or she might agree to it and, once he was out of her apartment, slam the door behind him. He was not risking that. Not tonight.
But he also wanted to fuck her again. Maybe even twice more, but that wasn’t going to happen without a wrap.
He wanted to ask her if she had any, but he wasn’t sure how he’d react to the answer if she said yes. If she had some that could mean she had fucked someone since she came back to town, was fucking someone, or planned to fuck someone. Someone who was not him.
And that thought made his blood begin to rush again, almost as much as when he was fucking her. He knew his limits when it came to his temper and one hard limit was his woman fucking someone else. Or her even thinking about it.
So, until he convinced her to move in with him, he needed to tuck more than one wrap in his wallet or even his cut.
She rolled up and out of bed. Keeping her back to him, she snagged his T-shirt from the floor and tugged it over her head as she headed to the door near the kitchen, which he assumed was the bathroom. She disappeared inside and shut the door.
He scrambled to the edge of the bed and jerked her nightstand drawer open, quickly searching it for wraps. None. Not even one.