Once I sense she’s replete, I slowly pull back, pressing a final kiss to her soaked center. Quickly, I stand, cupping one cheek.
“No more fighting those pregnancy hormones. Whatever this is, just let it be,” I plea. My thumb lowers, brushing over her lips, expecting her to argue my suggestion.
“Every night on that damn couch, it’s been so difficult . . .” Her voice drifts as her mouth opens and sucks at my thumb.
“Me, too, darlin’. Every night I just want to wrap around you and drag you under me or pull you over me.”
“Bull.” Her eyes widen as her mouth pops open. Her back is still against the tree. Her underwear still near her ankle, but her hands come to my belt.
“Sweetheart?”
“Today was incredible, and I just want to thank you. I owe you—”
“I don’t want you to feel you owe me anything,” I state, gripping her wrist to stop her frantic movement. Pulling back from her, I discover her small hands have a firm hold on the waist of my jeans. “I never want you to feel beholden to me.”
“Wrong choice of words,” she corrects, lowering her eyes to where her fingers take my zipper and tug down the metal closure. “Not beholden. Not obligated. Just—” She stops herself short as she begins pushing down the sides of my jeans and lowers her body between me and the tree. “Just hungry for you.”
Her hand is wrapped around me before I blink, and the sharp tug she gives my heavy dick has me losing all thought. With my hands falling forward to the tree trunk to balance myself over her, she’s eye level with a precious part of me, licking her lips like she’s ready to suck me dry.
“Sweetheart,” I hiss as her thumb coasts around the crown and then through the slit, dripping with eagerness. Her mouth opens, and she latches onto me with the force of one desperate to milk me of all my worth. Her tongue swirls and her cheeks hollow, causing a suction like nothing I’ve ever felt before. She pulls back, but I chase her retreat, wanting to keep the heat of her mouth wrapped around me. Her hands come to my hips, holding me still, allowing herself to bob forward and draw me deep. My knees nearly buckle, and I reach down with shaky fingers, stroking through her hair as she takes me to the hilt, sucking me until I almost see stars in broad daylight.
“I want to finish inside you, darlin’.” I groan, wanting to be buried somewhere else in her, feel her surrounding me with the heat of her sweetness. She shakes her head, smiling around my stiff dick before returning to her mission. Within seconds, I’m warning her. It’s been weeks of celibacy and sweet torture, knowing she’s only a cushion away on the couch or down the hall from my bedroom. I have so much built-up tension it could be embarrassing, but as I break free of the dam, Scarlett digs her fingernails into my hips and tugs me forward, forcing every drop down her throat.
“Sweet Jesus,” I hiss as I tip my chin and close my eyes. Quickly, I reopen them to watch her lips around me as I pulse, spilling into her mouth. When it’s more than I can take, I pull back, breathing heavily as not an ounce is left. Scarlett swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, and I lower to cup under her armpit, tugging her upward. “You little minx.”
She smiles sweetly, biting her lower lip. While she’s pleased with herself, she still holds a hunger in her eyes.
“You want more, don’t you, sweetheart?”
She chews harder at her lip, fighting back the confession.
“You give me the truck ride back to the house, and I’ll be ready again.” I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’ll fill you in more ways than one.”
Her mouth reaches for mine, and I taste my saltiness on her tongue. We kiss for only a minute before I’m pulling back, lowering to restore her underwear, righting my pants, and ready to get her out from under this tree. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I need a few minutes to recuperate, but with all the pent-up frustration of holding out, it’s not going to take much. I’m already eager for what we’ll do next.
11
Not Another Day
Scarlett
My heart races with anticipation of what Bull and I will do once we get to the house. He’s holding my hand as he drives, sucking at my fingers like a damn candy treat, and it has my insides already swirling. He’s so good with his tongue it’s a crime, and it’s been weeks since we’ve been together. Images of him over me while slipping into my depths have me on the edge of losing it right here next to him.
We’re approaching Bull’s home from a different angle of the property. The Engagement Tree. His explanation of the tree’s history almost gave me a heart attack, especially when he said he had something to tell me. But just as quickly, my heart felt an unfamiliar fissure as he said he wasn’t asking me to marry him. It shouldn’t have mattered. The truth is, I’m still married. I shouldn’t want to marry again anyway.
Partners.
What Shelton did to me still stings, but with Bull asking to be Sprout’s daddy, Shelton’s betrayal hardly hurts. It seems silly to me. Shouldn’t I be bruised for longer? Shouldn’t I mourn and wail and rally against him? Instead, I feel nothing for a man I was married to for fourteen years.
My pinky has more feeling for the man sucking on it than the entirety of my body has for my soon-to-be ex-husband.
I glance down at the bracelet now dangling from my wrist. Bull truly is a sweet man, showering me with gifts and giving me all the sentimental reasoning behind it. Even though he wasn’t proposing to me underneath that beautiful tree, his words about life and heart meant everything to me. I’m riding a high I never could have imagined.
However, as we near Bull’s house, something inside me shifts when I see a car I’m all too familiar with parked in Bull’s driveway. Bull must sense it as well because he lowers my hand, curling his fingers around mine as he places my hand on his upper thigh.
“Who the hell is that?” His voice grumbles.
“That’s Dr. Shelton Blake, my husband.” My voice drops as I name the man stepping out of his BMW convertible. He’s wearing his standard tie and rolled-sleeve dress shirt, looking every bit the male model he could be. If only his insides matched the outer shell of him. Bull slowly pulls his truck to a halt next to the man leaning casually against his sporty car. For some reason, I can’t seem to take my eyes off Shelton while I feel Bull’s sight pressing into the back of my head.
“Scarlett,” he whispers beside me, still holding my hand, which feels like it’s going numb from the pressure and tension suddenly vibrating off Bull.
“Let me deal with him,” I say, twisting my neck to give Bull a momentary glance and a weak smile. Everything in me wants to tug Bull’s hand up to my lips and kiss his knuckles to assure him this is nothing, Shelton is nothing, but something stops me.
Did I conjure up Shelton? Did my thoughts of him minutes after the pleasure with Bull bring Shelton to this doorstep? Of course, that’s ridiculous. It’s more than two hours from here to Boston. It’s also a Tuesday afternoon, and I don’t understand what Shelton is doing here. Slowly, I pull my hand from Bull’s and slide across the bench seat to exit the passenger door. With a quick glance back at Bull, I slip out the door. As soon as I’m standing on two feet, facing my soon-to-be ex-husband, I hear the heavy slam of the driver’s door.