Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
“Cute, Dove, but I’m asking you.” He takes his white Stetson off, runs his fingers through his dark brown hair that’s shaved on the sides with more length on the top, giving it a wavy type of texture. Trace’s blue eyes gleam with mischief, and he gives me a smile that makes me want to sink so deep inside him.
“Well, I guess if you really want to go on a date, we can?” I’m not exactly sure what Trace is up to, but if he wants to do something together, I’d be stupid to say no.
“Good, it’s settled. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven. That give you enough time to close up and get ready?” I watch as he places his hat back on his head, that movement being entirely too sexy for such a menial task.
“It shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t live too far away, and it won’t take me that long to get ready. Thirty minutes tops.” I grab a piece of paper, write out my name, number, and address, then hand it to him. I probably should have suggested meeting Trace, but seeing as how my family is, they’ll know who to find if I don’t make it back home.
“See you tonight, Dove.” His fingers graze my own, lingering there when he takes the piece of paper from me, and the shiver that takes over my body shocks me more than I thought it would. It also tells me this ride with Trace McCray just might be a wild one.
Three
Trace
“Jesus, Dove,” I groan out loud. I’m back home after finishing up my work for the day, checking on the foundation that was poured, and then coming back to what I now refer to as my temporary home. The hot water is beating down on my back, one hand holding my body up while my other is fisting my cock. The image I have pulled up is one that I’ve used every single time I see Dove—on her knees, hair wet, water pouring down her fine-as-fuck body, her mouth on my length, sucking the life out of me, as I’m watching the way her tits shake, her fingers teasing her slick cunt, the other at the base of my big cock. It’s like she’s here with me now. My eyes close, head tilted down, the spray of water only heightening my sensations. I work myself faster and harder, desperately needing to come, wanting it to be Dove’s mouth. That’s when I lose it. My cum jets out of my body, painting the goddamn shower tile instead of the inside of what I’m sure is her sweet-as-fuck mouth, or her tits.
I rinse off, cursing my cock because it refuses to go down. If anything, it’s only gotten worse the more I think about it. I’m like a bull in a china shop as I slam out of the shower, grab my nicest pair of jeans, sliding them on, fucking hating any type of underwear on or surrounding my dick. I round it out with a nice button-down shirt, socks, and a better pair of boots, not forgetting my hat that I placed on the dresser. Every cowboy worth their salt knows you never place your cowboy hat on your bed, or you’re asking for nothing but bad luck.
I’m making my way out of the house when I’m stopped in my tracks. “Where’s the fire?” Mom asks. The good thing about being a guy is you can work until the last minute and only need twenty minutes to shower, jack off, then get dressed.
“Oh no, I’m not telling you. If I do, the whole town will know and you’ll be planning a wedding before I’m ready,” I tease her, though it’s not much of a joke. She really will have the ceremony and reception booked in two days flat.
“Hmpf, that’s not very nice. What if I was just wanting to spend time with my youngest baby boy?” I see the coyness written all over her face.
“I’d have to take a rain check. I’ve got a date.” Her eyes perk up at that. I bend down, kiss her cheek, and continue my walk towards my truck.
“That’s all you’re giving me? How am I supposed to sit on my hands and not make all the calls if I don’t know who she is at least?” I already know what she’s doing, and as much as I’d love to joke around and prolong the inevitable to get a rise out of her, I have places to be.
“I’ll tell you more tomorrow morning over breakfast. Love you, Momma.” She walks to me with emotions playing all over her face—shock, joy, annoyance, and then finally, acceptance.
“Love you too. Don’t keep me waiting all morning tomorrow. I’ll get on my own horse, ride out to your property, wooden spoon in hand,” she teases, though I’m not sure on the spoon. If Knox or I were acting up, she’d go into the kitchen, grab the easiest thing she could get her hands on, and threaten to beat us if we didn’t straighten up. Mom never did beat us, but the promise of our tails getting torn up always seemed to straighten us out.