Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“Are you sure?” Lane slides his hands up farther, cupping my ass, squeezing me while bringing me closer.
“Yep, already talked to her about it earlier this morning when I stopped by. It just so happened the phone had already started ringing and she was ready to turn the ringer off and pull her hair out. You’d be doing her a favor.” My hands slide to his arms, feeling his muscles tighten as they continue their path until my wrists are on each of his shoulders, and my fingers are playing with his hair at the nape of his neck.
“Alright, I’ll need the password, and I’ll take a look and jot down notes. When you get back, we can ride over to the main house so I can chat with her.” I can see the crinkle in his eyes. Lane is going to tell me no, and I’m going to hold my own. “Lane, you can’t hold me captive. One phone call to your mom, and she’ll come over and pick me up herself,” I add for good measure.
My foot is ready to tap in annoyance, and then it all goes to shit when he says, “It’s not that I’m locking you away in my house and throwing away the key. I only need a few days, just the two of us. My family is going to converge on you and take all your attention. Sharing isn’t caring when it comes to you, Birdie.” Well, I guess when Lane puts it that way, it’s really sweet.
“Alright, I can see your side, but tomorrow evening? You still haven’t celebrated your birthday with your family, and I feel awful about that.”
“Maybe. Mom put food in the fridge. We’ll have that tonight. See how you’re feeling tomorrow and go from there. Think you can sit on my lap?”
“Yeah.” My voice changes tones, going from a don’t back down stance to I’d get on my knees right now if you’d allow me. Instead, I use Lane. One knee goes to the outer edge of his hip, and he helps me until I’m sitting in his lap.
“Fuck, Birdie, the next time I have you like this, we won’t have a stitch of clothing on, and you’re going to ride my cock.” My center clenches, my eyes go hazy, and I’m lost in what I knew could very well happen right now if only Lane would allow it.
“Please.” I slide closer until my pussy is on top of his hard, thick cock.
“Soon,” Lane groans before his mouth meets mine and he shuts up any other pleas I could possibly bring up.
10
LANE
“Birdie, I’m home!” I walk through the door hours later. A door that is unlocked. I’ll have to change that. I close and lock the front door for the evening. The last thing I need is one of my brothers showing up unannounced, barging through the door, and seeing Birdie naked.
“In the bedroom!” she calls back. I take my boots off at the door, not wanting to track dirt through the house. Birdie would take it upon herself to sweep, vacuum, and mop, and that ain’t gonna happen anytime soon.
Today, when I left, I knew she’d be doing some work. What I didn’t expect was her to unpack everything already. I’m not going to complain unless she wore herself out. It’s nice to see our stuff mixed in together. There still isn’t much on the walls, but there are frames placed here and there.
One of the pictures is from years ago. She’s on the tailgate of my truck, arms wrapped around my neck, legs surrounding my hips. I’m leaning back into her. One of those moments, she came over with lunch. Mom was around and snapped the picture of the two of us smiling at the camera. I never did get a copy. Glad Birdie did. And with the way it’s framed, I’m thinking it's been like that all along.
My walk shows me she’s added a few other things, like a couple of vases, one on the coffee table, another on the counter, and I know exactly where the flowers came from. My woman is a lot like her momma. The Robertson women love the vibrant colors of Ellie’s fields, and it shows in both of our houses.
“Whatcha doin’, Birdie?” I ask as I walk down the small hallway. I’d honestly expected her to be at the kitchen table or in the living room, still working the day away. Truthfully, I’m glad she’s not. I’d much prefer her in bed, resting. I know the probability of that happening wasn’t likely.
“Just got out of the shower. Now I’m looking for something to wear.” The breath leaves me. She’s standing in the closet, wearing nothing but a towel. Birdie’s hair is down. Wet. And there are still a few droplets of water sliding down her chest when she turns to look at me.