Rising, he retrieves a condom from his pocket, clearly prepared to cum inside me this time. He must have purchased them while we were in town today. Sheathing his girth, he presses his thick head against my entrance before sliding his length inside.
Exhaling, I fall forward, my cheek pressed against the smooth table and my body limp as he takes me from behind.
My body is made for his pleasure, willingly, happily.
Gathering my hair in his hand, he pulls me against him, his hips pistoning his cock in and out of me at warp speed. The slap of skin on skin, the scent of sex in the air, his palm covering my neck and his breath in my ear … it’s all I can do not to cum all over his cock this very instant.
“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, his words hot against my neck.
“Don’t stop …” I buck my hips against his, meeting his rhythm thrust for thrust.
He releases my hair, sliding his hands down my sides and controlling my hips, thrusting harder and deeper, faster and more animalistic than ever before.
Friction builds on friction until I can no longer hold back, my pussy clenching his cock as his fingers dig into my flesh. The steady build turns into sweet release, and when he’s finished, he pulls my breathless body against his.
“Good God, woman,” he says, exhaling as he lingers inside of me. “I already want you again.”
My lips curl at the sides. “Ready when you are.”
He pulls out of me, strutting to the nearby bathroom to clean up, and I begin gathering my clothes from various places … the back of the chair … hanging off the sink … the floor in the entryway. When the last article is crammed into my arms, my phone rings from my purse. Fishing it out from the bottom, I answer my sister’s call.
“Hey, Aubs,” I say, trying my best to sound like someone who wasn’t recently ridden hard and put away wet.
“I’m so glad you answered.” The desperation in Aubrey’s voice sends a sick swirl to my stomach. “Leighton, it’s Grandma.”
My grip loosens on my phone.
“She’s really sick,” she says. “She’s in the hospital and the doctors don’t know how much time she has. I’m getting on the next flight to Kansas City. We leave in three hours. If you want to say goodbye while you still can, I suggest you do the same.”
I steady myself against a wallpapered wall, my heart sinking slowly, painfully.
“She was healthy,” I say. “What happened?”
“Pneumonia, I think?” Aubrey says, her voice breaking. “She’s not breathing on her own, that’s what Mom says. And this is the fourth time she’s had pneumonia this year.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, making a promise I’m determined to keep. “I have no idea how I’ll get there, but I will.”
Ending the call, I turn to see River standing in the middle of the room, shirtless and fastening his belt buckle.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“My grandma is sick,” I say, my voice—and my heart—deflated. “They don’t know how much time she has.”
“Where is she?”
“Kansas City. I’m going to look for a flight.” I’m going to have to get one of those airline credit cards with the absurd interest rates. I officially have no choice.
“It’ll be faster if we drive,” he says, grabbing his shirt off the floor and tugging it over his head.
“What?”
“I’m going to drive you.” He checks his pockets for his keys and phone. “By the time you book a flight, drive to Pierre, and spend all that time in airports … it’ll just be quicker if we go by car. It’s a seven-hour drive. We could be there by tonight.”
“River, are you sure?”
His offer is exceedingly generous, but I’m not exactly in a position to turn it down.
“Pack a bag and meet me at the truck in an hour. I’m going to call Guy and see if he can watch the farm for a couple of days.”
“Thank you.” Rushing to him, I cup his handsome face in my hands and kiss him hard. “Thank you. So. Much.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
River
I keep to the back of the hospital room, trying not to intrude on this private family moment. I offered to stay in the waiting room, but Leighton wanted me here, with her.
Her mom, Renee, is seated next to her grandmother, who drifts in and out of sedation but isn’t capable of saying much thanks to her oxygen mask.
Renee looks up at me after a while, her dark eyes squinting as she tucks her gray-brown hair behind one ear. The whites of her eyes are tinged yellow and the tip of her nose is cherry red. She’s been crying and drinking, I presume.
“Leighton, you going to introduce us to your new boyfriend?” Renee does very little to mask the snide flavor of her tone.
“Mom, she already did,” Aubrey says, chin tucked and voice low. “His name is River, remember?”
Renee’s eyes scan the length of me. “That’s right. What kind of name is River, anyway?”
“A family name, ma’am.” I give a polite nod, opting not to elaborate. I don’t need to get into specifics about how my biological mother named me after her father, who was a Baptist preacher and one-eighth Sioux, in an attempt to try and reconnect, only he disowned her for becoming an unwed mother, and I spent the rest of my childhood being bounced from foster family to foster family, all the while getting shit for having a name that was different from everybody else’s.
Had my existence not been so shielded in secrecy, maybe I’d have wound up on a reservation somewhere with distant family. And maybe my life would’ve turned out a whole lot different.
But then I never would’ve married Allison.
I never would’ve had Emma or the promise of Cannon.
And I never would’ve met Leighton.
“Mom,” Leighton shoots her mother a look. “Let’s focus on Grandma.”
Her brother, Jackson, hasn’t said two words since he arrived with a bouquet of flowers. I don’t suppose it’s tradition to give a dying woman a bouquet of lilies, but I suppose the poor man didn’t want to show up empty handed.
He’s tall and strapping, with a body built for farming but used for line-backing. Leighton says he plays football at Notre Dame on a full scholarship, but other than that she isn’t sure what he’s up to these days. She said they don’t keep in touch like they used to.
He brought a girl with him, a skinny cheerleader type with fake breasts and bleach-blonde hair. Renee seems to like her. In fact, Renee is friendlier to Jackson’s girlfriend than her own daughters combined.
Leighton is hunched forward, her hand enveloping her grandmother’s, stroking her veiny, paper-thin skin.
“I’m going to grab a coffee,” I say. “I think that drive’s starting to get to me. Anyone else need anything?”
“I’ll come with you.” Renee rises, tugging on her Notre Dame sweatshirt. Her eyes focus on me. “I could use a walk.”
Within seconds, we’re strolling down the hall toward the vending machines. Renee moves slowly, like a woman feigning sobriety, but every so often she steadies herself on the handrail attached to the hospital walls.
“How long have you known my daughter?” she asks, peering up with a cocked eyebrow. The scent of stale beer on her breath is undeniable.
“Not long,” I say. “Couple weeks, maybe a little longer.”
“Did she leave Grant for you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“It just seems odd that she had this good thing going for her and she gave it all up for—no offense—a small-town cowboy.”
My lips flatten and I exhale through my nose. I refuse to let this drunk woman get under my skin, and truth be told, I’ve been called a hell of a lot worse than a small-town cowboy in my day.
“With all due respect, I would hardly call Grant ‘a good thing.’” I say, fishing change from my pocket. The coffee vending machine is generic, but it’s all they have. I deposit seventy-five cents and make my selection.
&
nbsp; Renee’s face scrunches. “Grant would’ve given my daughter a very comfortable life. She wouldn’t have had to want for anything. The entire world would’ve been at her fingertips. Now you tell me that’s not a good thing.”
“He didn’t love her,” I say. “He was sleeping with other women.”
It’s not my place to tell her, but I refuse to allow this woman to deify that asshat.
Renee scoffs. “He would never.”
“Leighton didn’t tell you?”
“My daughter doesn’t tell me anything.” She squints at the machine, struggling to read the options and trying her hardest to focus. “She doesn’t need me anymore. She stopped needing me a long time ago.”
“You so sure about that?”
Renee ignores me, clearly choosing to live in denial, as she presses the button for a medium roast coffee, but nothing happens. She presses harder, then harder still.
“Piece of shit,” she mumbles.
Without saying a word, I pull three more quarters from my pocket and place them in the machine.
“Oh.” She presses the button again, not the least bit embarrassed or thankful, and we wait as her drink is dispensed. Making our way back to the room, Renee says nothing, nursing her coffee and staring blankly ahead. But the second we reach the door, she stops me with her hand on my arm. “My daughter deserves better than you.”
I know.
Chapter Forty
Leighton
The takeout pizza on my paper plate has hardened and my appetite has been non-existent since I got the call this morning from Aubrey.
“You need to eat something,” my sister says, perched on the edge of her hotel bed beside her husband.
“Not hungry.” I pick at a piece of greasy pepperoni. The thought of eating it makes me nauseous.
“The doctor seemed to be hopeful,” Adam says, ever the optimist. It’s easy to be optimistic when you’re bilking a seven-figure salary from one of the hottest up-and-coming Silicon Valley start-ups to hit the scene in years.
Aubrey married well. Mom is proud.
That’s all she ever wanted for us … to marry “up.” She was convinced if we married well, we could insulate ourselves from tragedy and hardship. She loved my father, but she felt wholeheartedly that had he took the job working for her father at his Kansas City Chevy dealership, he never would’ve taken over his father’s farm and never would’ve died so young.
Grief makes your logic a little fuzzy sometimes.
So does alcohol.
“You want this?” I slide my plate toward River, who shakes his head.
“You should try to eat. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” he answers gently.
“Glad you’re keeping track.” I lift my slice a couple of inches, but I’m unable to bring it any closer.
“The doctor gave her a fifty-fifty chance,” Adam says, popping the cap off a bottle of local craft beer. “Don’t lose hope.”
“I’m allowed to be realistic,” Aubrey says. “I mean, we knew this day would come eventually. She’s almost ninety years old, I get that. But she was our grandmother. She took us in and gave us a place to stay, a chance at a normal life. She sewed our Halloween costumes when Mom couldn’t. She taught Leighton how to cook so she could feed us on the days my grandmother wasn’t feeling up to it. She cheered us on from the sidelines at all of our games when Mom was too drunk to remember to show up. After we lost everything, she was all we really had.”
Aubrey wipes away a tear before sliding off the bed and shuffling to the bathroom. She’s always hated to cry in front of other people. It makes her feel weak and powerless.
Checking my watch, I realize it’s almost eleven o’clock, so I tap River on the arm. “We should get back to our room.”
He nods, and I toss out my untouched dinner.
“Tell Aubs I’m down the hall if she needs me,” I tell Adam. “We’re in 307.”
I climb under the crisp hotel covers after washing up for bed. River’s body is warm, and I slink up to him, melding my body against his and slipping my arm over his side.
Pure, unadulterated comfort.
He rolls to his side, facing me.
“I thought you were asleep,” I say.
“I’m too tired to fall asleep.”
“Me too.” I kiss his mouth before burying my nose into his neck. The faint scent of aftershave fills my lungs. “Thank you for everything.”
I run my fingertips along his smooth chest before pressing my cheek against it, finding solace in the steady beat of River’s heart.
Chapter Forty-One
River
Leighton’s perched on the edge of the bed the next morning, cradling the hotel phone on her shoulder when I step out of the shower. She turns to face me, her free hand resting on her chest.
“That’s great news,” she says, exhaling. “Thank God.”
Our eyes lock and she smiles.
“Yes, we’ll stop by and visit this morning.” Leighton turns away. “Love you too.” She hangs up, twisting toward me. “That was my sister. My grandma apparently made some improvements overnight. The doctors say she’s going to be fine—for now. They’re looking into sending her home in the next day or two. She’s off supplemental oxygen and her stats are near-perfect.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Leighton rises, nuzzling into my arms and pulling in a lungful of steamy, soapy air. “Let’s go visit her this morning. I want to spend some quality time with her before we go back.”
“Of course.”
“River, can you come in here?” Leighton steps out of her grandmother’s room to where I’m lingering in the hall. I wanted to give them some time alone, before Renee, Aubrey, and Jackson showed up. “She’d like to meet you.”
Heading in, I stand at the foot of the woman’s bed, watching as a slow smile curls across her wizened face.
“Alone, please, Leighton,” she says, reaching a shaking hand in my direction. “I wanted to speak to him alone.”
“Oh.” Leighton’s eyes widen. “Right. Sure. River, this is my grandma, Joyce. I don’t think I’ve properly introduced you yet.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say as she studies me.
Leighton sneaks out, turning to give me a reassuring wink before she vanishes around the corner.
“Have a seat, sweetheart.” She points a crooked finger toward an empty chair, and I oblige. “I wanted to have a minute with the man who put the twinkle back in my granddaughter’s eyes.”
Releasing a partial chuckle, I smirk. “I don’t know about that.”
“I never liked that Grant fellow,” she says, her scarce eyebrows meeting in the middle. “Leighton’s face never lit up around him. That’s how I knew she deserved better. Sure, he put on a good show, but that’s what men like that do. Never trust the charmers, that’s what I told my kids. That’s how Renee picked Leighton’s father. He was kind and genuine, with a good heart.”
For a woman who was nearly on her deathbed twenty-four hours ago, I sure can’t tell.
Joyce coughs, and I hand her a Styrofoam cup of ice water from a tray beside her bed.
“Thank you, dear,” she says, sipping. “As I was saying … I don’t know you … not yet … but any man who drops everything to take a woman to see her sick grandmother is a keeper in my book.”
“I was just doing the right thing, ma’am.”
She points, her lips pulling wide and eyes lighting. “But you did the right thing because you care about her. You put her needs before yours.” Her head tilts. “You like her, don’t you?”
I nod.
I more than like her, but I’ll keep that to myself until the time is right.
“She likes you. I see it written all over that pretty face of hers,” Joyce says. “Now, I know we’re not supposed to have favorites … but Leighton’s always been mine.”
“Understandable.”
“I’m an old woman,” she continues. “I don’t have all the tim
e in the world left on this earth, but if God could grant me one dying wish, I’d wish for my granddaughter’s happiness. Someone to love and someone to love her back. And none of this sports-car-driving-big-diamond-giving-slick-suited-artificial kind of love either. She needs the real deal.” Joyce puts an IV’d hand over her heart. “Like what I had with my sweet John. Now that was love.”
She glances up toward the ceiling, stuck in a memory for a moment.
“Promise me something, River,” she says, reaching for my hand. I place mine in hers. “If you ever decide you love my Leighton, love her with everything you have, even when it seems impossible. Can you promise me that?”
“I promise.”
“Good morning.” A woman with long blonde hair in a white lab coat enters. “I’m Doctor Gannon, filling in for Doctor Peja. How are you feeling this morning, Joyce?”
I excuse myself, stepping out to the hall and heading to the waiting room where Leighton is flipping through an issue of Better Homes and Gardens magazine that has clearly seen better days.
“That was quick.” She peers up, folding the magazine and placing it on the table next to her. “What’d she want?”
“I think she wanted to get a few things off her chest.” I reach for her hand, pulling her to a standing position. “The doctor’s in there now if you want to head back and talk to her?”
“You’re not going to tell me what she said?” Leighton nudges me.
“It’s probably nothing that you don’t already know.” I kiss her forehead. “She just wants you to be happy.”
“She didn’t threaten to chop your balls off?”
I almost choke on my spit. Joyce is a sassy old woman, but I can’t imagine those kinds of words coming out of her mouth.
“She threatened to chop Grant’s balls off once,” Leighton says. “And I fully believe that if she could right now, she’d totally do it.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Leighton
Country Nights Page 16