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Her warm breath washes over me, and I can’t complain. I want her here. Sure, she isn’t backing down, not until I answer her, but she only wants to help, even if she doesn’t fully understand what I’m up against.
“I could try to buy her out, but her parents helped me get the Nest off the ground. They gave money.”
“Okay. Can you get a loan to give them back what you owe?”
“I’ve already paid them back.”
“Then what’s the problem?” There’s a slight tone of irritation in her voice, and I wonder if she’s disappointed in me that I’m not the man she thought I was.
“Dot isn’t the way she is just because. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Mr. Malone’s a hard-ass, and when he finds out I’ve broken his baby girl’s heart,”—even I almost bristle at my sarcastic tone—“he’s gonna make me pay. There’s no way he’s going to let me take the Nest even if I buy out Dot fair and square.”
I haven’t told Eddie, the only family I have left, but he’s also why I’m leaving town. He’s got a thriving garage business, but it wouldn’t take much for Mr. Malone to shut him down.
My hands frame her face, and I press my mouth to hers in the most tender of kisses. “I appreciate you wanting to talk this through with me, to find a solution.”
I kiss her again. “If I’m being honest with myself, Wren, I’m exhausted. The past several years with Dot haven’t been fun, and stupidly, I stuck around, not because I wanted to work things out with her, but because I didn’t know what to do. Our lives are so entangled. I’ve been stuck for far too long, and the path forward looks brightest if I leave Winslow Grove.”
A sharp twinge of regret or anger stabs at my chest every time I think about leaving.
“You already know this and the decision is yours, but I say you stay and fight. Without you,”—she presses a finger into my chest—“Winslow, the creator and artist, there’s no Winslow Nest. And I promise to be right by your side.”
A rush of arousal races through me at how vehemently she has my back.
“We’re done talking.” I kiss her, wandering from her mouth to leave a trail of hot kisses along her jaw, behind her ear, and down her neck.
Her fingers dive into my hair, kneading and scraping my scalp, as she presses her damp panties against my hard length.
I bend my head and suck her nipple through her dress, gently biting down on the hard tip poking through the material. She tugs at my shirt, urging me to take it off, as her legs tighten around my waist and she rocks into me.
“Holy hell, Oliver. God, you feel amazing.”
“You’re the one who’s amazing.” I brush hair off her cheek, and the heat of her makes me wish we had electricity.
I want to see just how far down her rosy glow, the one I’m sure colors her cheeks right now, travels when she’s aroused. Her hands grasp my head and she kisses me. It’s the purest, most blistering kiss. The kind that burrows deep into your soul and makes you feel irrationally and irrevocably adored.
She breaks the kiss but only long enough to say, “Oliver, I want you to fuck me.”
Mouth back on mine, she eats at my lips as if starving and I’m the only one, the only taste, to ever satisfy her.
Her words slice through me, circling my mind but not quite sitting right. I’ve dreamed she’d utter that very sentiment—“fuck me”—too many times to count, yet there’s also something flawed and mistaken about it. What I want to do to her is more than fuck.
Her mouth pulls away from mine again. “Oliver, don’t you want to?” Unease dwells in her voice.
My silent ponderings—I took too long to respond—causes her to doubt this. Doubt us.
“God, no, I want to. More than anything.” My kiss is passionate and frenetic. “But are you sure?”
“Yes.” Her teeth bite at my bottom lip.
I chuckle, trying hard to focus and not get carried away. “Uh, I don’t have a condom. Didn’t think I’d need it to visit with Coach.”
She lets out a breathy laugh but abruptly cuts her amusement short. “I’ve got the patch, and I haven’t been with anyone since...” She pauses, clearly not wanting to say her ex’s name, and I’m grateful for that. “Well, you know who, and I’ve been tested recently. I’m all good.”
“Same here. I haven’t been with anyone in two and a half years.”
“What? Not even—” She stops herself.
Neither of us wants to think of our exes or anyone but each other.
