Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Not anymore. This man who holds me to him, laughing, asking me if he can take me to bed, is like a different person. He’s shed a concrete overcoat, and now he’s flying free.
But why? Is it something I’ve done?
I want to believe it is. The boots were the first sign that he felt a connection to me. No man buys someone expensive boots for nothing. But he’s remained reserved until today.
Maybe it’s because his brothers and cousins have been making their own connections with me, and he doesn’t want to get left behind. Maybe all he needed was their reassurance.
I don’t know. But whatever it is, I’m happy for him.
This feels like a vacation for me. A time and opportunity to step out of my life and make different choices.
They’re not that different, my mind whispers. Falling into bed with men who say nice things is my MO. Regretting it in the morning is the way things go. Except with these cowboys, I haven’t felt an ounce of regret. Even with Levi, I was so stunned with orgasming that all I could feel was gratitude.
But they want so much more than I can give in the long term. I feel it in their touch, in their lingering looks and sweet words. They’re trying to seduce slowly me as a group, and it’s working. I glance over at the men following me and Dylan. McCartney’s dreamy eyes and loose, wet hair curling around his shoulders make him look so young. Lennon’s sharp cheekbones and neat dark blond hair give him an air of focus. Harrison’s observant gray eyes watch me closely from behind his black-rimmed glasses, and all I can think is yes, yes, yes. I’m so damned lucky and happy in a way I don’t ever remember being.
I thought this was a crazy, stupid proposition, and now, all I can see are the benefits. Yes, this home is busy beyond belief. Yes, they’re carrying a burden of responsibility so far outside of my experience that it’s hard to fathom. Yes, there are personalities galore. But it all works. It’s like a well-oiled machine. There are no bad apples here. Nobody’s thinking only about themselves. This is a place of harmony, of consideration, of kindness, and even though I have to, I don’t want to think about leaving.
I expect Dylan to lead us into the house, but he changes his mind, diverting to the barn instead. I shouldn’t find the prospect of getting down in the hay so arousing, but nothing about this place or these men is what I expected, and Levi proved to me how good a roll in the hay can be.
Inside, Harrison finds a couple of old plaid blankets, which he lays over the hay.
Dylan lowers me, and then his hand closes around mine, callused and warm. He brings it up slowly, pressing it against his chest like he wants me to feel what’s happening underneath his skin. His heart is racing. I thought I’d be the nervous one, but he is, too. This steady, hard-edged cowboy is as wrecked by this as I am.
“You sure?” he asks, voice low, roughened with restraint.
I nod again, but it’s not enough. I need him to know.
“I’ve been sure,” I whisper. “I didn’t know you were.”
That does something to him, changing his expression as quickly as a rope snapping taut. His lips are on mine before I can say anything else. He tastes like mint and heat and all the words he hasn’t said, all the nights he’s probably laid awake thinking about what the future could hold. Maybe even thinking about me. His hands settle at my waist, dragging me in like I’m something he needs to hold on to or fall apart without.
Behind us, the space dims as someone closes the barn door, and the others move quietly without words. McCartney sinks onto a stool in the corner, knees spread, watching with his hand cupping his dick. Lennon leans back against the wall, arms crossed, his expression serious and hungry all at once. Harrison stays nearest the door, his presence steady and analytical.
But all I feel is Dylan.
He lifts the hem of my wet top slowly, knuckles grazing skin. My arms go up automatically, and then I’m almost bare from the waist up, laying in front of four cowboys like I’m in some dream I never let myself have. Dylan’s breath hitches. His knuckles graze my skin gently.
“Christ,” he murmurs, like he’s praying. “You’re... damn, Grace.”
His mouth lowers again, this time to the curve of my shoulder, down to the hollow above my heart. Every press of his lips is deliberate, and when he wraps his arms around my thighs and lifts me like I weigh nothing, I gasp.
The blanket is rough against my back, but my skin is burning. He kneels over me, still wearing his wet jeans. His eyes flick to mine as he slides a hand up the inside of my thigh, spreading heat in his wake.