Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Zara cares, that’s who, and each time I walk by the deck where she’s pretending to read a book, I make sure to run my hand over my stomach or flex so she can get an eye full. Guaranteed I’m hotter than any guy she’s reading about in that book of hers.
Last night was a game changer for us. After the debacle at Buck’s, she opened up when I thought for sure she was going to shut right down and tell me that we’re moving too fast. That would’ve been the conventional thing to do. Put on the brakes, lock feelings down, and go our separate ways. But Zara is anything but conventional and shocked me by telling me she was falling in love. And boy do I want her to fall.
I told her I’d catch her, and I meant it. If she wants to jump with two feet, I’ll be right there to hold her hand and take the leap with her. I’m there, and my love for her is growing exponentially every single day.
Every. Single. Day.
I don’t care how long it’s been, even though I know we haven’t reached a month yet, I feel like I’ve known her for years, that we’ve been traversing our lives together for eons. Not hours and days. Ridiculous numbers that people think have to be met can’t measure what we have. We’re falling in love with each other, and it’s the best damn feeling in the world.
I disappear into the barn to muck stalls. It’s not fun, but it keeps my mind focused. Right now, I’d rather have Zara spread out on my bed and writhing beneath me. Last night, after the club, I thought about taking her to a hotel but felt that I’d be cheapening what we are building. Instead, we went home and acted like parents who had to tuck their children in. After my mama left, Zara and I met in my bedroom where I helped her out of her dress and heels before I carried her into my shower and made love to her.
Now with Willow being at my mother’s and Stormy training, I’m asking myself why the hell I am doing chores when my house is empty, and my gorgeous girlfriend has been eye-fucking me for the past hour or so.
Just as I decide to give up and go inside to find her, she comes trotting into the barn as if she owns the place. She’s wearing a cowgirl hat, probably one of Stormy’s or Willows, with her hair plaited, along with cut-off shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination to go with a plaid shirt that is tied in a knot, showing just enough skin to make my mouth water.
“Howdy,” she says, coming to stand in front of me with her hands on her hips.
I do everything I can to contain my laughter, but none of it works. “You’re really fuckin' cute,” I tell her as I pull her closer to me.
“And you’re sweaty,” she says as her hands rest on my chest.
“I think you need to be as well.” I pick her up, making sure my fingers are nestled into the opening seam of her shorts, finding out immediately that she’s gone without any underwear. “Jesus, Zara, you’re killing me here,” I say, only for her to place open-mouth kisses along my neck until she reaches my ear.
She tugs gently and whispers. “Yeah?” she asks.
“Ye-yeah,” I grunt, pushing my fingers into her core. She bites down on my ear and starts moving up and down slowly as I fumble our way to the back of the barn where the stairs will lead up to the hayloft.
Each step is more agonizing than the previous. The rough exterior of my jeans is rubbing against my hardened shaft creating the friction I need right now. The caveman in me is tempted to toss her over my shoulders and run fireman style up the stairs.
As soon as I step on the platform, I pull my hand out gently and set her down, only for her to go right for my jeans, working the buckle open and then the button and zipper. Zara pushes my jeans open and grips my dick, pumping me softly. My eyes are rolling back in my head, throwing me a bit off balance. I wobble, only to right myself by grabbing ahold of the overhead beam.
“Have you ever fucked up here?” she asks, bringing out a side of her that she saves for the bedroom. Zara is the most prim and proper woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing until the proverbial door is closed, then all bets are off with what may come out of her mouth.
“No, but I’m about to.” Reluctantly, I step out of her grip and stagger over to a few bales of hay and rearrange them for what I think will be comfortable for Zara.