Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
I think of muscle-corded legs, his solid chest. I try to conjure memories of his arm over my back…my finger trailing over his thigh.
Just one night, I tell myself. I’m twenty-nine-years-old, and I—
I clamp my molars on my cheek and press down hard enough to sting.
It.
Will.
Just.
Be.
One.
Night.
Headlights hit my windshield. An unknown car flies by, and darkness pools around me. Everything is tinged gray by the moon glowing behind the clouds.
He calls as I see the lake—a massive sheet of ink.
“Hello?”
He’s silent for a beat. Then, quietly, “Hey.”
I try to speak, but I can’t seem to find my voice.
“You’re close,” he offers.
I nod, turning the wheel with the road.
“That’s good.” His voice is husky. “You’re gonna turn right up there, and just keep coming down.” I do as he says, and there’s silence. The new road is thinner, with cracked asphalt and a cow-pen fence running along each side. “You’re seeing light poles and some power lines and not much else?”
“Just trees.”
“That’s good. You’re almost here. You’ll see a taller fence on your right, then a dirt spot on the roadside. Keep on coming. In about five hundred yards, you’ll see a mailbox that’s sort of leaning just a little bit. Turn onto the dirt road right after that. You’ll pass a small pond, and then the house.”
He stays on the line as I spot the mailbox and hang a right. My tires bounce over leaves and limbs and underbrush. Moonlight streams in through the forest canopy, still thick as summer gives way to fall. It flashes off the little pond that’s over on my right, casting the woods in a soft glow.
My foot rests heavy on the pedal. The road curves slightly right.
“There you are.” I hear the smile in his voice. Then the line goes dead.
Four
Vance
He parks his car—a sleek, dark thing—under the tree where an old tire swing used to hang. For the longest second, I’m rooted to the wood-plank porch. Then I’m moving down the stairs. I’m watching for his door to open. Then it does.
He steps out—a tall, wide shadow framed by woods that have gone quiet around us. I move toward him. He strides toward me. Leaves crunch under our shoes until we’re face to face beside the car’s bumper.
I get a glimpse of solemn eyes and parted lips. Then he’s close enough so I can get an arm around his shoulders.
“Hey, man.” I pull him in close. Fuck, he feels good. I hug tighter, and I feel his ribcage expand. Another quick breath, and his head tucks down beside mine.
“Hey…” I squeeze his back as my heart pounds—like I’ve never touched another a person. Dammit, but he smells amazing.
He draws back first. I look him up and down, grinning as I rub my hard-on. “Luke Mc-fucking-Dowell.”
His lips twitch, and he steps so that we’re chest to chest. He bows his head and rubs his stubble-covered jaw over my forehead. “Mr. Rayne.” With his cheek pressed against my hair, his arm rests on my upper back. His mouth brushes my temple. “Nice to see you.” Fuck me, but his voice is rough and low.
I don’t know who grabs whose hand. We stride toward the house with our hands clasped, though. His is warm and tight around mine. As we move up the stairs together, time seems to lurch forward. The night spins around me, and I feel like I’m in a fever dream.
I push open the front door…stand there in the doorway.
“My grandparents used to live here,” I say, not quite meeting his eyes. “There’s a neighbor over that way,” I nod to the right, “but I don’t think she has a TV.”
Our eyes catch, and his mouth curves.
Fuck me, but my stomach bottoms out as we move inside.
He looks the place over—the brown shag carpet in the family room, the burnt-orange cabinets in the small, adjoining kitchen—before his gaze settles on me. He smirks, brows drawn in question. “Is that you?”
I follow his gaze to the wall of school portraits tacked over the lumpy couch on the far wall. The largest shows me in sixth grade, sporting a buzz cut and braces.
“Fuck off, McDowell.”
His brows arch, and he turns fully to me. His lips are parted slightly, his eyes lit up. “What did you say?”
I laugh, loud and low. Motherfucker grabs me by the collar. “What a dirty mouth you have, Rayne. I think it needs a…better influence.” He licks the corner of my mouth, then kisses me so soft and full, my body does this bucking thing—sort of a shudder.
His soft kisses quickly grow hard. I open for his tongue, and his hand wraps around my nape, holding me to him. We kiss till we can’t breathe and have to wrench our mouths apart, and I’m so hard I’m aching. Then I’m rubbing my cock against his.