Now, it’smyturn to have heat-flushed cheeks. And a heat-flushed dick. God, that sounds painful. I mean, I have to mentally will myself not to instantly get hard. I feel like a creep. Maybe she thinks I’m a basket-case – I did adult-nap her after all. But no, something about her smirk, and the wicked gleam in her eyes, tells me she has me right where she wants me. Hanging off every word, and one smart-ass remark away from being wrapped around her fucking finger.Damn.
Her eyes remain locked on mine, neither of us dare speak another word. We’re frozen in this moment together. As if nothing else around us exists.
“I should get you back to town,” I tell her, my heart racing.
She nods slowly, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she stares at me through her thick, black lashes. “Maybe you should,” she offers, though the way she says it makes me think she wants nothing less.
Several moments pass before I muster up the courage to clear my throat and say, “To the chariot, milady.” Annabeth stifles a giggle, playfully turning on her heels and making her way back to my car. As I trail along behind her, I know that I’m never going to get enough of this mysterious, bubblegum pixie. Or her lips.
Eight
Annabeth
Ella stumbles into my room, drink already in hand, waving a gigantic, monster-looking dildo in my face. I take a moment to let my eyes linger on her, soaking in the gaudy, yet oddly sexy pink attire she’s wrapped in.
Her trademark blonde hair falls in messy curls and cascades down her back. She’s curvy, curvier than me anyway, and her breasts rival that of Pamela freakin’ Anderson’s, only those bad boys areallhers. The pink halter top that’s painted to her body only accentuates the girls, much like the ripped jeans that are tucked into her boots, showing off every curve of her ass.God, I wish I had more ass.She may not know a donkey from a draught horse, but she surelooksthe part. She looks like a bloody cowgirl barbie.
“Oh. My. God. Can you fuck off?” I squeal, batting the appendage away from me.
Her delighted giggles ring through my room in return, her brows creasing. “Oh. My. God. Can you like… get laid?” she questions, mimicking my tone.
“Is that all you ever think about, Ell?”
“Nope, but it’s somethingyoushould think about more often.” Her eyes darken and a wicked grin creeps across her plumped-up lips.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Ella, seriously,no.”
“I’m sooo gonna be your wingman tonight!”
“Don’t you mean wingwoman?You look hot, by the way.”
“Semantics,” she tuts as she flits out of my room leaving a trail of glitter and perfume behind her.
I allow myself a few, quiet moments to prepare for whatever tonight will bring. I just know it’s going to be a chaotic event; her parties always are. In fact, I don’t think I can recall a single night out with Ella that didn’t result in us making our way home, boots in hand, and passing out on the couch together in a drunken heap.
The perfume I have chosen for this evening is a particular favourite, a delicious blend of coconut, pistachio, and salted caramel. A shudder courses through me as the cool ball of my perfume roller traces the length of my neck. The scent intoxicates me, soaking into the delicate skin beneath my ear.
A strange sensation washes over me, and I find myself wondering if Dallas would like my perfume. I picture him trailing kisses across my shoulders as he rolls the metal ball across me, inhaling the sweet flavours as he extends the kisses down my body, until he reaches my... My cheeks flush, embarrassment and arousal taking control, and I gulp my feelings down to the disapproval of my now pulsing pussy.
Dammit, Annabeth. You cannot be thinking these thoughts. I refuse to allow myself to get blindsided by a hot cowboy who’s not only my students father, but twice my age. This is going to be torture, because like it or not, I am absolutely fucking into this man.
I rummage through my wardrobe, going through about fifteenoutfits before I’m satisfied. I feel cute, comfy, and ready to let my hair down, which is ironic because it’s styled in a half-up messy bun. Turning on my heels, I head for the kitchen, unsure what tonight will bring. I grab a shot glass from the cupboard, filling it to the brim with pink, glittery vodka and down it in one swift gulp. Ella cheers from behind me, grabbing her own glass before pouring two more shots. Down the hatch they go, and before I know it, I’m making the familiar walk to the bar arm-in-arm with my best friend.
Nine
Dallas
Billie’s been gone two days and I’m already lost. I hate it when she’s right. She’s eight years old, when did she get so… wise? Her mother would be proud of her. I know I am –weare. Billie’s a force to be reckoned with, her fiery spirit and huge heart always guiding her through her decisions. Colt and I try to let her figure shit out on her own, only intervening when absolutely necessary, or if she asks us to. I may not know what I’m doing right or wrong as a parent, but I’ll be damned if I raise a young woman who is afraid to say what she wants and not go for it.
My daughter will never take shit from anyone, and I will make damn sure of that. She’ll fix her own car, hang her own pictures, pay her own bills. My daughter will move mountains in ways I can’t even imagine, because she deserves to be a name people remember.
Colt barges through the bathroom door, interrupting my thoughts. His fly is undone, jeans hanging loosely off his hips as he flashes me a wicked smile. He’s got that look in his eyes, the same one Dad had when he’d tell Mum he was going to take us fishing, but really, we’d end up at the rodeo watching him ride. Colt looks more like Dad every day.
“Put on a clean shirt, we’re going out.”
