How soft she’d feel. How wide I’d stretch her. How perfectly I’d shape her. How deep I’d fill her up.
I jerk faster, then slower for a moment to let tension build before I speed up again, thoughts of Nikki’s full tits bouncing as she rides my cock filling my brain. The way she’d bounce. The way her long hair would hang down and thread over her shoulders. The way I’d make her look me in the eye.
Fuck.
A moment later, ribbons of hot come spill onto my hand, and the guilt sinks in.
I’m a pathetic fuck.
The exact type of asshole she should stay away from.
A forty-five-year-old man lusting after a twenty-two-year-old woman.
I’m disgusting.
I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I try to scrub the thoughts from my head, but it’s pointless. This is who I am now. An asshole who can’t stop thinking about the one woman on Earth he shouldn’t be thinking about. An asshole who reallyshould get up and find something better to do with his time than lament on a relationship he can’t have, on a body he can’t touch.
Maybe I will go to those games tonight. There will be so much shit going on that there won’t be room to think about Nikki. I’ll be so pissed about the parking, and the people, and the fucking noise, that my kitten will be the furthest thing from my mind.
Chapter Nine
Nikki
Lights are strung between pine trees like fallen stars at the festival ground entrance near the base of Mount Quill. One day, long ago, someone named all the mountains up here. I’ve made an effort to memorize them, but Mount Quill is the only one I ever remember. Mostly because its base is the closest to town and Rugged Mountain holds most of its events here.
Troy and I step through the wooden archway at the entrance toward the booths that line both sides of the path. So far, he’s not so bad. We had some small talk in the truck on our way over, and he looks exactly like his photos. Plus, he hasn’t tried anything weird, which is always a positive.
“You warm enough?” Troy brushes his elbow against my arm as he strips his flannel off, his large, inked arms on display as he wraps the fabric around my shoulders. It’s not a cold night, but given the extreme heat we’ve been having lately, the dip down into the seventies feels frigid, and I’m thankful for a bit of warmth.
“Thanks,” I manage, trying not to think about how Reed usually wraps me up. He has this thing he does where he tugs his shirt around my shoulders, buttons the first button, kisses my head, and calls me a princess.
I realize that by not thinking about it, I’ve thought about it, but from now on, I’m done with that. I’m here with Troy, andTroy is nice. Nice and professional, and not at all pushy. We also have zero baggage, and dating him wouldn’t cause much of a ripple effect in my life. In fact, I bet we’d get along really nicely if I gave it a chance.
Flannel wrapped around my shoulders, I refocus on the line of vendor booths. Each one is built with mismatched planks and hand-painted signs. Lanterns blow in the breeze, guiding the way toward smoked sausage, maple candy, and funnel cake. Everyone is smiling and happy, kids darting through the crowd, their hands filled with bags of kettle corn and cotton candy.
A few rides from a traveling carnival sit on the opposite side of the field with a merry-go-round, one of those scrambling things, and a bobsled. There are a handful of games over there too, including the one with the fishbowls and the golden rings where Reed’s won a goldfish for me every year for as long as I can remember, though none of them have made it to see the following year.
There I go again, thinking about Reed when I should be focusing on my client.
“So, what do you want to check out first?” I say, mouth watering at the scent of fried sugar everywhere. “The log spinning doesn’t start for another hour.”
“I’m starving,” Troy says, brushing his hand back through his graying hair. “What do you reckon we try?”
“What did you have with your dad when you came out here as a kid? We should do the full nostalgia loop.”
He nods slowly and crosses his arms over his wide chest as a group of teens rush by with funnel cake. “There was this place that did these big stack burgers with skillet potatoes on the side. I doubt they still have a spot here. That was twenty years ago at this point.”
“Actually,” I say, nodding toward the end of the row, “if you’re talking about Roy’s Timber Grill, it’s right there.”
“Oh shit!” Troy grins and grabs my hand in his, dragging me toward the burger booth with the excitement of a child who’s found his favorite toy. I get the feeling, because after this, I’ll be dragging him to the funnel cake stand. Josie makes a killer, sky-high apple-pie funnel cake, and it’s all I’ve been thinking about since I abandoned my cupcakes earlier.
It’s late in the evening, but that doesn’t stop the mountain folk around here from grabbing their favorite foods, and every booth has at least three groups waiting to be served.
Troy and I get in line at Roy’s Timber Grill behind a couple who are far too in love for their own good. They’re wrapped around each other like caramel on an apple, and they’ve kissed at least four times since we got in line three seconds ago.
I glance up at Troy with a sarcastic, judgy sort of grin that he returns in playful jest, and the knot I’ve been carrying in my stomach since I left Reed’s side finally loosens. Troy and I have a similar sense of humor that’s continued in person. If I were looking for someone to date, that would be a good thing.
The line moves up a step, and fireworks crack behind us, turning everyone’s heads back toward the flashing red light in the sky.
