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I smiled, but felt a thrill of pleasure at his words. That he would do something like that, even joking, made me feel good. “He’s just itching for me to get to pre-season training. Winter’s coming and he wants me ready for the first competition.”
“You don’t want to go?”
I gave a slight shrug, looked down at his shirt, the way it was closed by only a single button. I circled my finger over the dark hair on his chest that peeked out. “I’m happy here. Not thinking about it.”
I glanced up at Cy, who was watching me closely. Everything I said was true. This ranch was an escape. I didn’t have to make decisions, just fuck.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You want to hide out here?”
I smiled then. “Like you?”
Lucas laughed. “She’s got you all figured out, you fucker.”
Cy grinned, but cupped my ass and gave it a little squeeze, reminding me of how he’d spanked me earlier for my sass. “You have no work, no responsibilities right now?”
I shook my head, bit my lip. I should be training hard. Running, lifting weights to get in tip-top shape for the upcoming season. But I didn’t want to and ignoring Mark was proof of that. I did have to go to PT. I wouldn’t skip on that, on making a full recovery just to avoid getting back to work. It was October. I had time. Or that was what I told myself.
“Just to keep two men sexually satisfied,” I replied.
His dick swelled as it pressed against my hip.
“I like the sound of that.”
Lucas sighed. “We have to get going. I’m helping my parents empty Erin’s house. Hailey said she’d come.”
“Besides being your sex slave, Hailey’s your buffer with your folks?” Cy asked.
Lucas looked to me, met my gaze. “Damn straight. She’s rich and famous. They love her.”
I was both, earning enough prize and sponsorship money to live comfortably. Lavishly, if I wanted. And I was famous, at least in Cutthroat Mountain circles, and that included Mr. and Mrs. Mills. I’d met them a few times over the past few weeks and they’d gushed all over me like crazy fans. I wasn’t sure if they liked me because I was famous or because a famous person was with their son. Either way, I didn’t care. After what Lucas told me about them, I didn’t feel the need to make them happy.
Cy stood, scooping me up and holding me to his chest as he did so. I gasped and clung to his neck. “Cy!”
“Your parents are cockblockers. She’s here to fuck, so we’re going to fuck. Lucas, you can have her. Later. I’ll bring Hailey to Erin’s house, and we can both help with the moving.” He started walking to his room. “First though, I want another sample of her honey pot. You’ll let my big cock in you, won’t you, sweetheart? Or do you want a spanking first?”
6
LUCAS
When my mother had called to ask for my help in packing up Erin’s things since they were selling her house, I’d stupidly thought they’d actually need it. I’d said yes because of Erin, because I didn’t think it would be easy to go through her things.
But when I pulled up to Erin’s house, there was a huge moving truck in the driveway. Two men were carrying a leather couch up the metal ramp and into the back. Another came out the front door with a large box.
I said hello, but stayed out of their way, heading inside to find my parents. They were in the kitchen, high ball glasses in hand. I could tell by the type of glass that my mother was drinking alcohol, her travel liquor case open on the granite counter by the fridge indication she’d made herself her usual Manhattan. My father had whiskey, neat. It was only three o’clock, but to them it was always five o’clock somewhere.
“Darling,” Mother crooned, coming over to set her hand on my chest and buss my cheek. I looked over her shoulder at my dad, who nodded his hello. He’d never been affectionate.
She stepped back and took a sip of her drink. Yup, the lovey-dovey mother moment was over.
I turned, looked out into the great room where the movers were rolling up the carpet. The carpet on which Erin had been murdered. I assumed it had been professionally cleaned after the crime scene team had finished.
“I thought you needed my help,” I said.
/> This was a waste of time. Why I ever imagined my mom in jeans and an old t-shirt packing a box all weepy-eyed over sentimental things was beyond me. Keith and Ellen Mills didn’t get their hands dirty. Not when someone else could do it for them.
“Oh, we do,” she added. “We need you to drive Erin’s car to the guest house. We’ll let anyone visiting use it.”
I looked down at the wood floor, set my hands on my hips. They didn’t give a shit about Erin’s car. The expensive SUV was irrelevant to them, that if they donated it to charity they could help people. Hell, I could use it for mine, shuttling vets to and from the airport. But the idea never occurred to them.
