Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Good answer, son. That’s pretty much what I’ve been doing my whole life, with Lorie and then with the kids,” Jim shares as he claps me on the back.
It takes my breath away, not because he put any power behind the slap, but because I’m struck with a loss I never even realized I experienced. It was always me and Mom, and I never gave my absentee father a second thought. Why would I when he didn’t give me one? But right here, in front of the sheriff’s department where Jim Barlowe went to bat for me, a virtual stranger, because his daughter feels some type of way about me, I figure out what a father is supposed to be.
Maybe what a man is supposed to be.
I don’t know if Hope realizes just how lucky she is, but I do. And I’ll not only protect her, I’ll protect the Barlowes . . . even if it’s from me.
Chapter 21
HOPE
“They’re almost here,” I tell Joy and Mom.
Shepherd’s been texting me updates as though they’re busting Ben out Prison Break–style. His latest text said Package secured. I said package. Get it? On our way.
I can’t wait any longer and run out front so I can see them coming sooner. I squint, staring down the road, and then I see a teeny-tiny dot that’s a slightly darker gray, so is possibly—hopefully—Dad’s truck. “There they are!” I shout.
You’d think Ben’s been locked away for years, not hours, but it feels like it’s been entirely too long. Especially with everything that’s happened since they took him away from me.
Sitting here twiddling my thumbs with Joy and Mom has given me time to think and process—about Roy, about me, and about Ben. About the future.
Mostly I’ve decided that I don’t want to waste a single second. I’ve wasted too many already, and they’re a precious commodity I should fill to the brim with all the things I’ve been thinking about.
So when the truck stops and Ben gets out, I follow my instincts and run full speed ahead at him, flinging myself into his arms. He catches me easily, his hands cupping my ass right there in front of my mom and dad, God, and everyone as I wrap myself around him like a bear hugging a tree to slam my lips to his.
“Y’okay?” I mumble into the kiss. “Miss’du.”
I feel his lips widen into a smile. “Mm-hmm, ahm fine,” he mumbles back, neither of us willing to stop kissing the other.
I tilt my head the other way, wanting to make sure I spread the greeting to every corner of his mouth, and somebody clears their throat.
“Guess we’ll be going, then,” Dad says, and I lift one hand to wave, still kissing Ben.
“I’m sure you two have lots to talk about,” Mom adds.
Joy and Shep giggle. “Yeah, ‘talk’ . . . that’s what the kids are calling it these days,” Joy jokes.
Shep laughs. “Really? I usually call it fucking like rabbits.”
“I’m sure they’ll be using their mouths a lot.” Joy makes the suggestion sound even filthier than it obviously is.
“Nice,” Shep retorts.
I hear a smack and assume it’s Mom backhanding his bicep. But I don’t care. My brother and sister can tease me all they want. I’m singularly focused on one thing right now: Ben.
He carries me inside the cottage, kicking the door closed behind us, and straight down the hall to throw me on the bed. I scramble to pull my T-shirt over my head, and Ben’s eyes go dark, his gaze heated when he sees my lacy white bra.
“We should talk,” he tells me, sounding like he doesn’t want to talk any more than I do.
“Later,” I reply. “I want what you promised me this morning. You inside me. Please, Ben.”
Was that only this morning? How can that be? I’ve lived a lifetime, ridden a dozen roller coasters, and figured out so much since then.
Something in what I say breaks every last restraint he’s desperately holding on to, because he curses and rips his own shirt over his head. He falls over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress and his hand going to my breast. His thumb teases over my nipple through the lace, and I arch into his touch, letting my fingers dance over the strong muscles of his back.
He leaves my mouth, showering kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, to my sternum, and then he shoves the cup of my bra out of his way to suck my nipple into his mouth.
I’m on fire. My legs squirm as I look for relief from the emptiness I feel at my core. I need his thickness to fill me, give me something to clench, something to relieve this ache.
Frantically, I reach between us, trying to undo his jeans. Those damn jeans he always wears. I never hated button-flies more than I do right now, and later I’m going to look up who invented them and send a strongly worded I hate you letter for keeping me from Ben for one second longer than necessary. Thankfully, he helps me undo them.