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So I guess I’d better stop thinking and start unpacking.
I wander over and open the first box I come to, smiling when I glance down at the books inside. I’m a huge fan of romance novels. They’re escapist nonsense, I know, but they’re also my only source of knowledge or information when it comes to affairs of the heart. I think that’s why I have such a wide variety, from historical regency romances, to raunchy erotica… and everything in between. After all, I need as much background as I can get.
Delving into the box, I pull out a few books, placing them on the top shelf, before grabbing the next one, and letting out a sigh. This is a particularly well-thumbed novel, called Rake’s Ranch. I bought it years ago, and it was my first glimpse of what goes on behind closed doors. Until then, I’d read sweet, clean romances, mostly historical ones, featuring tales of earls and lords, and the women they’d wooed. I’d enjoyed the back and forth, the thrill of the chase, and the inevitable happily ever after. Rake’s Ranch seemed like it might be more of the same, but in a modern, cowboy setting, which I thought would make a change. The cover features a muscular man, wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a cowboy hat. His face is barely visible, other than a stubbled jaw. His name is Rake – hence the title – and he’s everything I could ever want in a man. That’s probably why I bought the book without reading the reviews… or the warning that it contains sexually explicit language. I just knew I liked the look of that man, but little did I know what I was letting myself in for.
I flip through the book, which seems to fall open at a page just over halfway through, and I feel my skin tingle as I read…
‘Just looking at him makes my pussy wet, and I stare into those scorching eyes, hoping he’ll understand I want more than a shoulder to cry on. Life might let me down, but I know he won’t.
He growls, closing the gap between us, his lips crushed to mine, his hands everywhere. Within seconds, I feel him raise my skirt, his fingers delving inside my panties.
“You’re soaking,” he says, rubbing my clit as he leans back, his eyes searching mine, and then he pushes me back against the wall, holding me there with his body. “You want this?” he says, flexing his hips so I can feel his arousal, long and hard, pressing against me.
“Yes.”
“There’s no turning back, babe.”
“I know. I don’t want to.”
He kisses me harder than ever…’
Man… it’s getting hot in here, and my body’s almost quivering with need. I’ve wandered to the side of the room while reading and I lean against the wall now, closing my eyes, picturing the scene as that gorgeous cowboy devours me…
“Oh, yes…” I lower my zipper and delve inside, surprised by how wet I am. It’s just like in the story, my juices soaking through my underwear, my pussy slick with need. I drop the book, and circle my finger over my swollen clit, my imagination going into overdrive. I want to feel his fingers… his tongue… and his enormous cock, just like in the pages of that novel, and I let myself picture the scene, drawing it in my mind. I’m enjoying every second, but I want more, and there’s always been only one way for me to do that. I reach up with my other hand and tweak my hardened nipple through my blouse. Instantly, I feel a tingle deep inside me, and I rub my clit a little harder, my body climbing to the precipice… and then tumbling straight back down again.
“Damn…” I pull my hand from my jeans, unable to hide my disappointment. It’s always like this, and I don’t know why I’m surprised. I don’t know why I let myself have such high expectations, either. So what if the female characters in books see fireworks and stars before their eyes every time they come? So what if they can climax at the drop of a hat? That’s fiction, not reality. And I wish I could remember that, so I could save myself from this crushing sense of dejection every time I don’t quite seem to ‘get there’.
I am getting there, in my own way. Even if my legs never go weak, and I’m only ever slightly breathless, this is me. It’s who I am.
I’m a real person, with real hang-ups. Not a heroine in a romance novel fantasy.
I zip up my jeans, then bend and grab the book, wandering back to the couch and returning it to the box. Sure, I could put it on the shelf. I could even continue unpacking. But I feel like taking a walk first.
I need to clear my head, come back and get an early night. Then I can start this again tomorrow, after work.
Tomorrow.
Work.
The thought of it fills me with fear… again.
All those young faces staring up at me, expecting I’ll know what to say and what to do… when really I don’t have a clue.
It’s terrifying.
I grab my keys from the breakfast bar and, checking I’ve got my phone, I head out the front door. I need to escape, and at least out here, I can pretend I’m confident and assured, not someone who’s seriously thinking about running home to her mom.
Chapter Two
Tanner
“What did you put in our sandwiches, Dad?”
“Ham and cheese, just like you said.” Nash looks up at me and nods his blond head, then bolts out of the kitchen. “Where are you going?” I call after him, grabbing some apples from the bowl on the countertop.
“I just wanna check something.”
I smile, shaking my head. What he means is, he wants to take a last look at his bedroom. We spent most of yesterday putting in his new furniture, and although he’ll be back again next weekend, he’s excited about it. We may have had an extra day together, because school doesn’t start until tomorrow, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want to go back to his mom’s just yet… although that’s not optional.
