Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Fuck.
Trip just about lost it immediately every damn time. He struggled to hang on, to give her one more. If he could give her a dozen, he would. Unfortunately, he couldn’t because she drove him to the brink way too easily with the way she responded.
Fucking her certainly wasn’t an effort on his part.
Though, last night they had crashed as soon as they got to the house. Both of them just about unconscious when they hit the mattress.
He never fucking slept so well than being curled around her, holding her tight.
Holding on to what was his.
He grinned.
“Should I worry about why you’re grinning?”
“Nope. ‘Cause I’m about to make you come again.”
“Big words, little results.”
“Damn,” he whispered.
She grinned. “See? Now I’m grinning.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
She released a loud dramatic sigh. “Good.”
He chuckled, making her breath hitch with the way his body shook, causing his dick to vibrate inside her. “So fuckin’ hard for you, baby, you feel it?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“You make me that hard.”
“Less talk, more action.”
“Just like in the Marines.”
Her brow furrowed. “How much sex did you have while in the Marines?”
“I meant... Never mind. Jesus fuck, woman.”
“Jesus isn’t fucking me, Trip, you are. So, let’s go.”
“Christ,” he muttered.
“Kiss me, fuck me and make me come,” she demanded.
That he could do. And that’s what he did.
Twice.
The whisper of the bedroom door opening had Stella opening her eyes and rolling over to see Trip walking in wearing nothing but a worn pair of jeans.
Just the way she liked him.
He was carrying a huge tray with what looked like two plates of food and two steaming mugs of what she hoped was coffee.
As he got closer to the bed, she smelled it.
Bacon and coffee.
Best morning ever.
He slid the tray onto the antique nightstand and then dropped his jeans to the floor.
Yep. Best morning ever.
At least in the last year.
There had been plenty of early mornings when Kade had snuck into bed with her and cuddled. She’d smell his hair and stroke his back until he’d fallen back asleep clinging to her.
She missed that.
She missed him.
Her heart had been ripped out that day.
Trip was trying his best to shove it back into that empty cavity. Great sex and breakfast in bed was a good start. Him throwing her a life preserver ring to keep her from going under the surface and never coming back up also helped.
She sat up against the headboard as he slid in beside her, then carefully placed the heavily burdened tray between them.
“You’re trying to make me fat,” she said. Her plate was piled with three pancakes smothered in maple syrup and two thick pats of butter. There had to be a half dozen strips of bacon on the side. And her coffee was just the color she liked it.
Damn.
He snagged a slice of bacon off his own plate and crunched on it.
“I could’ve come down to the kitchen.”
“Yep.” Just “yep.”
“Are you trying to seduce me, Trip Davis?”
He lifted his mug, blowing the steam off the surface. “It workin’?” He took a long sip before putting it back down.
Yes. “Maybe.”
“Remember what I said about liars?”
She shoved a large piece of syrup-soaked pancake into her mouth and only shrugged.
“You drip syrup on your tits, and we might not make it through breakfast.”
She shrugged again. “Okay.”
He chuckled and she smiled around a bite of bacon.
Once his chuckle died, his face got serious. “Need to explain some shit. Been meanin’ to, but other shit keeps happenin’.”
“Shit happens,” she agreed, because that was only too true.
“But I need to get it out. You haven’t asked but you need to know.”
“About the charges you caught.”
“Yeah.”
She looked at her plate and then at Trip, who was shoving a pancake-packed fork into his mouth. “Is it going to ruin my breakfast?”
“Maybe,” he said as he chewed.
“Maybe I should eat more bacon first.” She lifted a crispy piece and studied it. “This come from the Amish?”
“Yeah.”
“The syrup?”
“Yep.”
“Are you going to be buying from them on the regular?”
“Plan on it. For us and for the barn.”
Us.
“Maybe even some stuff for Crazy Pete’s.”
That drew her attention away from the “us” part. “Like what?”
“Thinking about getting a kitchen installed. Serving bar food. Potato skins, wings, whatever. Something other than pretzels, chips and those shitty orange balls. It’ll help draw in more people.”
“We don’t have the money to install a kitchen or hire cooks.”
“We will. Gotta start slow, refurb the bar, get a team working it. Run specials. Run pool and dart leagues, like I told you. A regular night of fuckin’ Karaoke,” he winced, “even if it’s goddamn country music. Whatever does it.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
“Yep.”
“They’re good ideas, though.”
He smiled as he shoved more bacon into his mouth. “Yep.”
“Again, it all takes marketing and money.”
“We’ll get it done. That bar and The Grove Inn’s gonna be a good source of income. Just gotta get it workin’ for us.”