Wet: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 1)

by Ashley Bostock

  “I will do that. But Miranda, I have a question and it’s okay if you tell me no. But remember how Ryan told you my article was about people getting into accidents and whether or not they were wearing their seat belts?”

  “Well, yes of course I do. I think that’s a great idea.”

  “Well, I have another idea. I don’t know if this will work, but…”

  She proceeds to spin her idea. Brianna’s level of maturity impresses me and I am amazed at her thoughtfulness. Alex didn’t seem like he cared about anything other than football. I am honest with her telling her I wasn’t sure if this new idea of hers would work, but I promise her I will do my best to make it happen. I liked this idea and it is right on point with my relationship with Ryan. It was on point with Ryan himself. The fact that a thirteen year-old almost fourteen-year-old, as she kindly pointed out to me, had enough foresight to understand or care, shocked the hell out of me.

  Where the hell was Ryan? I’d been dying to ask Brianna but hadn’t wanted to sound like a needy girlfriend so I’d kept my mouth shut. I can’t believe he was gone. That he left me without even saying goodbye or sorry. Hell, I would even take the “sorry it’s not you it’s me” speech at this point, anything that would show me he was thinking about me or that he cared and hadn’t wanted to simply leave me hanging. As it was now, my heart hurt. He was gone. Where did he go? When was he coming back? Most importantly, why did he leave?

  I borrowed a large map of Gibson County from my office. There were a few more maps I thought might be useful – one that detailed the river going through Lone Star and the surrounding towns as well as a map of the entire boundaries of Lone Star itself.

  Once home, I don’t bother trying to call Ryan, although that is exactly what I want to do. If I call every hour, surely I could catch him the minute he walked through the door, right? I feared he was ditching me. Proving to me what I’d been afraid of all along. That I was no good for him. His life and the kids were better-suited without me and my wild past in their lives. How could something so good, that felt so right though, be wrong? I know Ryan felt it, too. Every time we were together, the way he touched me, brushed his fingers through my hair, along my lower lip. The way his eyes smiled at me and how he’d blush when I told him how sexy I thought he was – how sexy we were making love together. We were a firestorm in bed.

  He felt it too. I could only hope he felt it and wanted it enough. Enough to be with me and forego the reputation he’d built in Lone Star, in order to be with me. Hoping he believed I was good enough. Good enough for him.

  Opening the map and laying it on my coffee table, I get out my notebook and trusty glitter pens and washable markers. I was going to get busy. Whether or not Ryan and my relationship would work, I promised him I would see this through and he’d already held up his end of the bargain. I had to finish mine.

  I start with Richard Stevens and the many properties he’d purchased in Lone Star. I decide to color code the five remaining people, using my markers to circle their properties on the map. That way, when I was finished I could look at the map as a whole and compare and contrast all of the owners with all of their properties. I went through my list finding the address on the papers I’d printed of Rich’s and circled them with red. It was a tedious process with all of the papers I’d had printed out early on.

  I spent most of my evening going through the papers and making my circles on the map. I knew it wasn’t the case, but it looked as if the majority of town was owned by these five people! I’d had a purple heart circled around Ryan John’s place, sort of like X marks the spot and once I was finished, I found that the mayor and the Yates brothers owned a few properties near Ryan. I wasn’t sure if this was a coincidence or not.

  Rich and his wife owned a variety of properties spread throughout Lone Star as well as the few parcels near Ryan’s house. Jean Yates, who every time I thought of his dirty hands pulling at my skirt, I wanted to gag and take a shower, owned a few; not as many as Rich around Lone Star. There were a couple he’d bought with his brother and some he’d purchased alone. I circled all of the Yates properties with the same colored marker.

  Finally finished with my artwork, I’d circled all of the names I’d kept track of. I found it interesting that the Yates brothers and the mayor were the only two who seemed to own land near Ryan. Melvin owned one parcel near him as well, but it wasn’t near as close to him as the other two. Something else that was questionable to me was Ryan’s water shares. I pulled out the one map I had of the river and used a black marker to follow the river from Lone Star, out of town and all the way up to Pepper Ridge to the Ackelson Thorn river.

  Then I sat back and compared the two maps. I sat and sat. Wracking my brain trying to come up with scenarios, guessing the coincidence of the three men owning land near Ryan. And Pepper Ridge. Not Jean and Arthur. But the mayor and his wife. Adrenaline courses through me, could this finally be what I am after? A sign? Were either of these men involved with High Plains? Were they High Plains? Was I jumping to conclusions only because both parties had bought real estate near Ryan and near the source of his water shares?

  Pacing now, I created what-if scenarios in my mind, wishing, not for the first time that evening that Ryan was with me to toss ideas back and forth. I become angry, resentful that he’d walked away from me without saying goodbye. I am angry because I was dumb enough to sit here and do his work and maybe I was on to something, maybe I wasn’t, and he couldn’t even be bothered! I’m angry because I wanted him to want me with the fierceness that I wanted him. I wanted him to want me enough. His leaving town proved that he didn’t. Especially since he couldn’t be bothered to tell me. The sad part was if he walked through my door this second, I’d instantly be his naughty girl and let him spread my legs wide open, stroke my wet pussy with the smooth head of his cock and let him fuck me until I milked him into oblivion.

  That’s how horny I was. And hopelessly in love with him.

  Aside from that, because those thoughts were just turning me on, I wanted him here so we could go about figuring out if Rich or the Yates brothers knew anything about what could possibly be happening with the Ackelson Thorn river. High Plains sure did. And whoever it was behind High Plains, was doing what they could in order to get their hands on some A&T shares.

  The ringing of my phone startled me out of my reverie. Was he back? I couldn’t make it to the phone fast enough, stumbling over my rug just in time to reach the phone by the fourth ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Miranda.”

  That low, husky voice, like it was in no hurry. It went straight to my heart every fucking time. Even when I am upset with him. I swallow the dryness in my throat.

  “Ryan?”

  “How are you?”

  His voice is quiet. Conveying in his silence that he understands his wrong doing and this is his way of seeking forgiveness.

  “I’m okay,” I say. I want to make him hurt the way I’d been hurting since I’d left his bedroom. The heartbreak, the loneliness I felt…still feel, I want him to feel it too. I want him to understand.

  “You sure? You sound far from okay.”

  “What do you expect, Ryan? We have off-the-charts sex and then, poof! It’s as of you disappear into thin air.”

  “I had some business I had to take care of first. Before I could come back to you.”

  My heart skips. Before he could come back to me? What does he mean by that? Back to our relationship? Is that what he wants?

  “Miranda, Miranda. You haven’t given up on me already have you? I bet your tight little cunt is ready for me.”

  I blush at his words. Because no one has ever used that word with me and because he says it in such a loving way, an all-knowing way that I can’t even deny it because it’s true. I am ready for him.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he asks.

  “No. I just…”

  “You just what? No one’s ever talked dirty to you Miranda?”

  “No.”
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  “Not on the phone or not ever?”

  “Not ever,” I whisper because my throat is dry, closing in on me as I wait for his next words. As I try to remember I’m angry with him. Why I’m angry.

  “Touch yourself, Miranda. For me. Tell me what I’ve been missing. How wet and tight your pussy is, how it throbs for me. Torture me.”

  He has me at his mercy and he knows it. Although, maybe I have him at my mercy too. My legs clench together, wanting to deny this but my heart cannot. Before I know it, my hand is traveling down between my legs as I sit on my kitchen chair.

  “Tell me, Miranda. Are you touching yourself? Are you touching those wet pussy lips that I’d like to sink my teeth into?”

  “Yes,” I say. Because I am. My fingers are inside my panties and I am feeling exactly what he likes to touch with his tongue.

  “Would you like it if I stroked my cock?”

  My pussy clenches together because hell yeah, I’d like him to stroke himself.

  I mumble something incoherent as I begin the familiar dance of bringing myself to orgasm. While I can barely speak, his southern drawl continues to tease me over the phone.

  “It's out, Baby. It's smooth and hard, just the way you like it. Are your fingers inside your wet little pussy, Miranda? Are you grinding that clit? Getting ready to come?”

  All of his questions, dirty and primal as they are, bring release upon me faster than ever before. My movements become jerked, wild and frantic as I bring my self to come, my moans echoing over the phone.

  “That's right. I bet you’re so fucking wet for me now. Tell me. Tell me how wet you are.”

  “So wet,” my voice is shaky.

  “Do you know how many times I've stroked myself thinking of you? Thinking of that perfect mouth, those grabby hands of yours and how I wanted them all over my dick. How badly I’ve wanted to feel your juices all over me. My mouth, my fingers as I brought you to orgasm?”

  I’ve crested another peak with my finger action and just as Ryan lets go, I let go too. How can I be angry when he makes me feel this way? Not just physically. He reaches inside my soul, my deepest, darkest self that I've managed to hide from everyone. But not him. He knows and he wants me anyway. He cracks me open. Baring my soul.

  “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

  “Almost,” I whisper.

  “I'm coming over, Miranda. This isn't enough. I have to have you. Right now.”

  He doesn't even say goodbye. I stare at the phone, unsure of how serious he actually is. I look down at my hand still tucked into my shorts and consider changing. But I know it won't matter to him if I'm wearing my royal blue dress that he expertly finger-fucked me in or these crummy gym shorts. Ryan will take me no matter what.

  He is at my door, not long after and my heart is thumping. I'm trying to remember all of the things I want to say, to push his buttons, to make him angry like I am…or was. It’s a mixture of anger and desire.

  Seeing his broad shoulders fill the doorway, underneath my porch light and the way the dull light emphasizes his hair and that grin. That sweet, brings-me-to-my-knees-grin that he owns, has me jumping into his arms. When his arms nestle me into the warmth of his body, I feel at home. Like he’s my home, all hot and manly and mine. My place of solace.

  “You’re so beautiful. I couldn't wait to come back. But it had to be right first. I couldn't come back until I figured everything out.”

  He leans against the door jamb as he says this, as his eyes take me in. His gaze moves across my mouth, my chest where I'm barely contained in my little tank top, my hips and finally to the vee of my thighs. His long look caresses me in the same way as the gentle breeze does from the open door. My nipples harden at his lingering gaze. I clench my insides together in memory. I know what's to come.

  He pulls me into his arms and of course, I go. His mouth is on me, kissing me, nibbling me and when I open my mouth, his tongue is inside me. His broad chest presses into me, pushing me into my living room. The screen door slamming makes me jump and he takes that moment to lift me up into his arms so my legs are around his waist.

  His erection presses into me and I forget everything between us. The water shares. Pepper Ridge. Yates and the mayor. His sister’s article. His denial about being stuck on the farm. My anger. Granted, my anger dissipated when he talked dirty to me over the phone. But some of it still lingered. In this moment, it was just us. He and I together inside my home. Doing things to me that proved he cared about me, cherished me and maybe loved me.

  Before I know it, his thick cock is inside me. Pushing into me with a ferocity only he and I can create. He’s liquid gas and I'm his match. He’s got me backed up against the wall and his mouth is all over my neck, his tongue leaving heat marks along my collarbone. He finally makes it to the mounds of my breasts where his tongue finds my hard nipples though the thin fabric, biting, flicking, asking for their surrender.

  I manage to pull my top down past my tits because I’m dying, I need to feel the wetness from his mouth on me as he pounds into me. Neither of us speak and it makes the moment so much more intimate. He knows me now. Knows what my body aches for. His fingers find my clit and he thumbs it, up and down, around, and his touch is so gentle, so light I wonder if it will make me come.

  But then he pulls out of me, allowing me to slide down the wall and out of his grasp.

  “Turn around.”

  All I can do is turn around. My voice has long left my body; I can't formulate any words. He bends me over the back of my couch. My chest flat against it, my ass and legs parted to his liking. The head of his erection, wet along my slit, presses into me from behind and oh my gosh. I can't breathe, I can't move. I fear if I move one inch, I will come because it feels so damn good and I'm not ready to come. I want to enjoy this moment, prolong it.

  He pumps into me, slow at first, surely. And the more I moan, the more I wriggle my hips, I find the harder he pumps. So that's what I do. I push back, wriggle and Ryan goes harder and harder. His hands are gripping my hips so hard I know they’ll leave a mark, but I simply don't care. I want him. All of him. And I'm giving all of me in return.

  His fingers finally, finally, press into my clit and I come undone. He does this to me, over and over. Exhausting my mind, my body, pushing me over the edge. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s made me orgasm into his fingers. When it feels as though my legs are ready to give out, he pumps into me, his come filling me to the hilt and I swear, I’ve never felt anything better.

  Minutes later, once we’ve regrouped enough to speak, do I finally work up enough pain to ask him about us, about where he’s been and if he is brave enough to venture out into the world with me by his side. Otherwise I suppose that was a nice last moment between us. I repeat this because he has a way of seeing into me and breaking down my defenses.

  “Where did you go?”

  “Fishing.”

  “Fishing?”

  “Yeah. I love fishing. I haven't fished for, oh, I don't know, six years.”

  “Did you catch anything?” Figure out your life?

  “I did. I caught enough for dinner.”

  I laugh. Something in me doesn't want to ruin this moment. He looks like a boy, happy, boastful. As if he found the secret to life and it's taking everything not to spill his guts.

  “What kind of fish is it?”

  “Trout.”

  “Trout,” I repeat, the word foreign on my lips.

  “Have you ever had trout, Miranda?”

  “No. No one’s ever caught trout for me.” He looks bashful. I swear his cheeks tint with pink.

  “Will you come to my place tomorrow for dinner with me and the kids?”

  My heart skips because I think this is his way of telling me that he wants me by his side, but I can't be too sure.

  “What happened to you when you went fishing? Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “You know I've never taken Alex or Bri to fish? In all this time.
I never made the time for it. Never considered that they might like it.”

  “Why don't you now?”

  “I'm going to. This weekend. I’ve already made plans.”

  My heart did inexplicable somersaults. While I thought it was great that he was gaining a little piece of himself back, selfishly I wanted it to be about me, too. I wanted him to include me, to want to include me. Instead of mentioning this, I sit quietly giving him his moment.

  “I think Brianna is more excited than Alex. Although, I did say it was okay if he brought along his football.”

  “Good. I’m happy you’re getting back into something you love.”

  “Know what else?” he asks. We are on the couch with my head in his lap as he absentmindedly strokes my hair.

  “What else?”

  “We want you to come with us.”

  I sit up so I can look into his eyes. He looks so young. Wild. Carefree. “You do?”

  “Please?”

  “What does this mean for us? Are you-” I stop. I didn't want to jump to any conclusions.

  “It means I owe you an apology for treating you the way I have.”

  “You don't.”

  He pulls on a lock of my hair, “Oh, but I do Miss Phillips. Are you willing to give me a chance at redemption?”

  “Redemption for what?”

  “For not believing in you, in us, enough to listen to my own advice. The advice I happily dish out to my brother and sister about being themselves, doing what they want to do. For not having enough guts to do it myself.”

  “Fishing must be therapeutic,” I tease, even though my heart is melting.

  “Haven't you fished before?”

  “Never. I never had anyone to take me and I sure would never go alone.”

  “Come with us? Forgive me? Let me love you the way you deserve?”

  This was all too good to be true. My breath catches. His shirt is off and plenty of muscles define his arms, his chest, his stomach. A working man's body. A body I’ve come to love.

  “You would really throw your reputation away for me? What about all the people who love you and want you to be with a better girl?”