Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
He swallows his bite of pot roast. “You invest in the right spots, just like I plant the corn every year. Some seasons are good, some are rough, but you don’t go digging up your investments the moment things start going south. You give it time, ride out the bad stretches. It’s all about knowing when to hold and when to shift.”
He’s not wrong. “True,” I say, “but there’s more volatility in the market than farming, isn’t there?”
Steve shrugs. “Volatility’s part of it, sure, but it’s predictable if you’re paying attention. Just like reading the weather. You don’t panic at the first sign of a storm, but you also don’t ignore the signs. Most folks pull out of the market too early, same way they might overreact to a dry spell on the farm. It’s about patience and knowing when to adjust.”
“So you’ve been investing?”
Steve grins. “Yeah, been picking my spots for years. Bought some tech stocks when people were calling it a fad. Sat through the rough patches, didn’t blink. Knew they’d bounce back.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “I have a company that’s devoted only to stock investments, and that’s how we look at it. It’s a long-term thing. Diversity is key, but so is patience. You’ve got to let your investments grow, give them time, and resist the urge to jump ship when things get rocky. It’s about finding balance—staying flexible enough to adapt but grounded enough to trust the process.”
Steve nods. “That’s exactly right. It’s the same principle with farming. You have to be patient. You don’t see results overnight, but if you’ve diversified and taken care of things properly, you can handle the rough patches. It’s not about reacting to every downturn. It’s about trusting the process and knowing when to adjust. Long-term thinking always wins out.”
Steve’s a smart man, which isn’t surprising, of course. Skye is extremely intelligent. Good genes.
When all the plates are empty, Skye stands to clear the table. Her mom stops her. “Sit down, Skye. I’ll take care of this.”
“That’s okay, Mom. I’m happy to help.”
She’s no doubt happy to get out of the dining for room a few minutes. Steve’s and my conversation has turned to stock options. Skye has never indicated any interest in such things.
I’m impressed with Steve’s knowledge. He’s done well over the years, choosing stocks to invest in and making a modest profit.
A few moments later, Skye and Maggie return with a pie.
“I hope you have room for dessert, Braden,” Maggie says as she hands me a giant slice of pie topped with a large dollop of whipped cream.
“I always have room for dessert, Maggie.”
Though I’m addressing her mom, my gaze locks with Skye’s.
Dessert, indeed.
Many times, Skye and I have indulged in dessert. I know what I’d like to be tasting for dessert. Just her presence has me hyperaware, my groin reacting.
I blink, tearing my eyes away, and focus back on Maggie.
“Mom’s elderberry pie,” Skye says. “My favorite.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had elderberry pie before,” I say, “though my mother made gooseberry pie once. I remember thinking it was kind of sour.”
Maggie smiles. “Now that takes me back. I haven’t had gooseberry pie in years.”
“What’s a gooseberry?” Skye asks.
“It’s a green berry,” her mom says.
“Green? A berry?”
“Yeah. You can still find them in stores with the canned fruit sometimes, but I haven’t seen a fresh gooseberry since I was your age, Skye.” She turns to me. “Elderberries are tart as well, but don’t you worry. I use a fair amount of sugar in this pie, plus the whipped cream will add sweetness as well.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious. Something doesn’t have to be sweet for me to like it.” I smile.
Does Skye recognize my double entendre?
She’s anything but sweet most of the time, and I wouldn’t have her any other way. I quickly maneuver my gaze to Skye, though.
I take a bite of the pie, chew, and swallow, never taking my eyes off her. “Delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Her mother grins.
It is delicious. The flavor is tart and earthy, almost like a cross between blueberries and blackberries, and Maggie’s crust is flaky and buttery.
But I wasn’t talking about the pie.
I’m thinking of Skye’s lips touching mine. The sweet taste of her tongue entwining with mine. The tangy flavor of her pussy.
Fuck.
I’m hard.
Hard and horny as I sit at a dinner table with Skye’s mother and father. Not a good look.
I need to get out of here. How can I learn about Skye—or myself—when all my body does is respond to her? All my brain does is picture her bound and defenseless? At my mercy?
She finishes her pie and helps Maggie clear the table. And all I can think about is getting her back to my hotel room and fucking the hell out of her.
Chapter Eleven
When Skye returns to the dining room, Steve and I are walking out.