“Don’t gloat, you prick. Tell me what I should do. Harper thinks I’m this good guy, and there is the competition, and my reputation …” It overwhelms me.
Will frowns. “Loving this girl means you’re going to have to forget about what other people think. Because when you’re in love, you’d rather make that person happy over anything you’d want yourself. As for the competition … I think you have to tell her and take that risk man. Better than her finding out from someone else. I told my girl when it came down to it … not that I had the reputation that you did before we started dating.”
“Thanks for that, man.” I scowl at him.
I digest Will’s words. Putting her before me, before anyone else. That was what love was? No wonder I’d never fallen in love with a woman, I had no idea what that felt like to receive from a person of the female gender. As for the competition, I just didn’t know. It was a huge risk, both telling her and not telling her. It has been gnawing at me ever since I sat in that church, two pews away from her under the eye of God.
“For what it’s worth … I knew you had it in you.” Will gives me a solemn nod. “And Harper, she seems like a good girl. Just don’t screw this up, bro. I think she’s going to be the one to tame you after all.”
Screw it up. That was exactly what I was trying not to do.
* * *
That night, I once again find myself on the Posy property. But this time, I’m not skulking around the woods.
I brought some flowers, and a box of cookies from the cafe in town, and while Harper’s mom had been smitten, her grandmother had scowled at me. At least she still let me sit at the dinner table.
I’d been a good boy throughout the meal, saying please and thank you, not cursing, had been extremely involved in conversation. It was safe to say that I was on my way to charming all three of the Posy women, Blanche had even smiled at me over the apple cobbler we’d eaten for dessert.
We talked about Harper’s childhood obsession with Nancy Drew and the Boxcar children, her love of stray cats, and the right way to eat ice cream. I told them about accidentally ruining my dad’s pair of army boots when he’d been home on leave when I was ten after I’d walked in newly-poured cement, and they’d laughed their heads off.
After, as the two older women shooed us out of the kitchen so they could clean up, Harper asked if I wanted to go for a walk as the sun set.
I hold her hand, loving the warmth of it. Will’s words echoed in my head … you know you’re in love when you’d rather make that person happy than yourself.
“Were you just trying to get me out here to take advantage of me? Or because you knew I was shaking and terrified of your grandmother?” I squeeze her hand as we walk together.
“A little bit of both,” she admits, laughing.
I’m gazing at the side of her baby blues, when I veer us right, out over the acres and acres of property.
“I thought you might want a tour of your land. You know, by the man, the myth and the legend himself.” I point to myself.
“You know, it’s a shame you’re not more secure with yourself. And this is my family’s land, if you forgot.” Harper’s sarcasm bleeds into her smirk.
“Yeah, but I’ve lived here longer, snuck onto it a number of times.”
“I oughta tell my grandma that, she’ll cook you like a pig with an apple in your mouth.” Harper chuckles.
“I’d rather have something else in my mouth.” I turn toward her, a funny but creepy smile on my face.
“You look like a gross hornball.” Harper giggles.
“That’s because I am.” I tickle her; our path has taken us to one of the fields probably a mile out from the house.
There is nothing around but us, the setting sun, and the grass. The Texas air hums around us as the temperature starts to drop. She turns into my arms and my fingers skate on her ribs slow, turning into more of a caress than a tickle.
Slowly, I lower us into the grass, the blades of it tickling my skin and poking through the material of my sweatshirt. Harper is beneath me, her long blond hair splayed over the earth. I look down on her as glints of sunlight fall over her high cheekbones, and kiss them, first the right side and then the left.
Her hands wrap around my neck in a sigh, tying at the back, making her a part of me. “Cain …”
That sweet voice in my ear, raspy and needy. I press myself, through my jeans, against her center and feel her squirm. I want to be inside of her so bad, I can feel the poison of my release backing up in my veins. But it’s out of my hands; I won’t push her to that step until she explicitly asks for it.
My hands fumble for the hem of her sweater, and I am surprised to see them shaking. I kiss her, as much to taste her as it is to get out of my own head, and then continue the search for skin with my hands.
Up, up, up they go, my fingers skimming under her shirt over her belly button. They smooth over the flat plane of her stomach and caress her ribs, and then I push the cups of her bra out of the way so that I can circle one perfect nipple.
“I want to see you,” I breathe against her lips.
Harper sits up on her elbows and slips the sweater over her head, never losing eye contact with me. Then, she pushes me off of her, settling finally so that we’re lying side by side. Her bra is a peach color, so delicate against her skin. My hands go to both exquisitely rounded peaks, rolling her nipples between my thumb and forefingers.
She cries out and arches into me, her hands landing on the zipper of my jeans. I freeze, knowing we haven’t come this far yet. Knowing she has never come this far.
“You don’t have to,” I choke. Because I so want her to.
“What if I want to?” Harper smiles, but the confident look she’s trying to portray is given away by the nervous glaze in her baby blues.
Her hands shake even more than mine had as she unbuckles my pants and pulls the zipper down. To distract her a little, I imitate her motions on her pants, drawing them down around her hips. My hand dives into her underwear, and bypasses her clit as I plunge one long finger inside of her.
“Oh gosh …” she breathes, her own fingers teetering on the waistband of my boxers.
I finger her, pressing on the spot inside of her until she releases those breathy little moans, while her hand ventures into my underwear and down. I cant my hips, I can’t help it, trying to guide her toward my aching shaft.
After what feels like a lifetime of Harper exploring the skin south of my waist, her small hand wraps around my cock, the little pressure she’s applying feeling like goddamn water in the middle of the desert.
“Shit …” I hiss out as Harper pulls up, an experimental tug.
“Is this … okay?” The unsureness vibrates in her throat.
“If you stop, I’ll die.” I smile tightly at her, trying to coax her to keep going.
We’re pleasuring each other in tandem, my finger sinking into her as she holds tight to my cock, stroking me up and down. Each time her thumb hits the blunt head of me, I suck in a breath, sparks of electricity shooting down my spine and directly into my balls.
Harper is whimpering now, and I don’t know if she realizes she’s doing it. We’re making out, our kisses sloppy and heated, as our hands bring the other to the edge.
“Cain … Oh my … Cain, I think …” Her breaths are labored and her hips are grinding down so hard on my hand that I almost can’t keep it steady inside of her.
I press that spot again, rubbing her clit with the heel of my palm. This makes her gasp, and I repeat the motion, which only makes her start stroking me faster. At the base of my spine, I can feel my climax start. Gripping my balls, shooting from my head to my toes, leaving tingles in its wake.
My hand moves against Harper one more time, and a louder moan than I’ve ever heard her make comes careening from her throat. At the same time, her whole fist shoots up, brushing the sensitive underside of my dick and causing a chain reaction inside me. I suck in a breath as I feel the come explode fro
m my tip, coating her hand. I look into her eyes as the ecstasy washes over my flesh, and see that the same bliss is stealing over her features.
In this moment, I know that I love her. And I have to bite down on my tongue to keep those words from slipping out of my mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Harper
It had only happened last night, and yet, my mind, body and heart still burn with my first orgasm.
Now I understand. I get it, comprehend why lusting after another’s body had started wars and committed men and women alike to insanity.
Lying on the couch, watching a Friends rerun, my hand glides across my stomach and moves lower, to the path Cain had blazed less than twenty-four hours ago in the fields. I can still feel the imprint of his fingers there, the way they scorched me. And on my fingers … I can still feel him. The soft steel, the warmth of his flesh in my palm, the way I made him growl and convulse under my touch.
I’d felt powerful. I’d felt like I could bring Cain to his knees. It had been such an ego-boost, even if I had had to wipe my hand off in the grass. That part was a little embarrassing for me, but Cain had not seemed to mind. He’d kissed me with the intensity of a thousand suns afterward, and I’d been reassured that for my first time giving a hand job, I’d done a pretty good job.
Third base. I’d gotten to third base with a boy. And one that I really, really like. One that I may even be in love with. But far be it from me to ever say those words out loud.
Yes, it is true that Cain and I are dating. But telling someone that they were the only guy you’d ever felt your heart thump double-time over was a different beast all in itself. And he’s Cain Kent, for God’s sakes. Sometimes, I still wonder what he sees in me.
The front door to Grandma’s ranch opens just as Mom comes skipping into the open concept front hallway slash living room to greet the people walking through it.
“Michael, so glad you guys could come for dinner.” She kisses her boyfriend on the cheek and he smiles at her.
What the hell? Who was “you guys”?
I got my answer as soon as I round the corner, to see my mom’s boyfriend of a month and his daughter, the queen bee and my worst nightmare, standing in the tiny foyer.
“Mom, what are they doing here?” I jump up in surprise, trying to secretly check my teeth and smell my armpits.
Thank God I have jeans and a semi-nice shirt on, still in them from school, because it would have been totally uncool to have greeted Annabelle Mills in my Justin Bieber T-shirt I’d gotten in fourth grade.
“Don’t worry, I was brought here against my will,” Annabelle practically snarled at me.
Mom and Michael have been hot and heavy for a month now. And I do mean that because the first time I met him, I’d caught them in his car making out with the windows fogged. Besides that awkward encounter, though, I like him. He is a nice guy, has a good job, treats my mother like a princess, and seems to be a good dad. Even though his child is the spawn of Satan. But he couldn’t help that, I reasoned.
“I invited them for dinner.” My mother smiles at me, but her eyes hold that look that told me I better be nice or she’d beat me with a spoon, Grandma-style, later.
Biting my own tongue, so that I couldn’t protest, I simply follow as she takes everyone to the kitchen. I should have been suspicious when I’d smelled the scent of meatloaf wafting through the house; It was Mom’s best recipe and I should have guessed that she was making it for company.
But how I was going to make it through a dinner with Annabelle is beyond me. I don’t even have Grandma here as a buffer because tonight is her weekly bridge game.
Annabelle has mostly left me alone since I had become Cain’s girlfriend, but I still saw her snickering to her posse and pointing at me in the cafeteria. I knew she didn’t like me, and now that my mother was about to try to bond with her, I knew she’d like me even less.
“Harper, fill the water glasses, please,” Mom instructs me.
I help her set the table as she lays the food out, while Michael and Annabelle sit there.
“I wish you’d let me help, sweetie.” Michael kisses her arm as she sets a bowl of corn down.
“Nonsense! I’m cooking for you, you’re my guest. Enjoy it.” She winks at him.
I want to vomit.
“You’re such a good server, Harper. Is that training from a waitress job?” Annabelle sneers, and I know her compliment is supposed to be backhanded.
Mom didn’t pick up on this. “Oh no, Harper works at a bait and tackle shop. She did when we lived in Florida, too. How about you, Annabelle? Do you have a job, honey?”
My mom is trying to get to know the daughter of her boyfriend. What I should have mentioned is that this girl’s bite is worse than her bark. And her bark is damn mean.
“Oh, I don’t work. I’m way too busy with cheer.” She smiles, talking to my Mom like she’s a five-year-old who just wouldn’t understand.
“Yeah, but that’ll be ending soon. I think it’s about time you worked, made some money instead of spending mine,” Michael ribs her.
Annabelle shoots a death glare my way as if I am the one responsible for her having to get a job.
Once we all sit down and started eating, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife.
“How was your week at school, honey?” Michael asks Mom.
She smiles, cutting into her meatloaf and swiping it in ketchup. “Oh, it was good. My class is great this year, the kids are just so much more attentive than my old school, which is nice. We had a little history lesson about Native American life in America to prepare for Thanksgiving.”
I smile at my mom. She is so good at what she does, the perfect teacher to mold young minds. And I was happy that her students here were better than the ones in our old hometown.
I speak up, choosing to make the best out of this, even if I can feel Annabelle’s scowl on me the entire time. “Every year, Mom and I churn a small pot of butter, just like the settlers used to do. It takes so long, but it really is amazing how delicious the real thing is.”
This was one of my favorite traditions, one started from my history buff mother.
Michael chuckles. “That sounds like a real arm workout, but I’d sure love to try that. I remember growing up, my dad would bring us to this tiny farm stand off the interstate that made their own cheese from start to finish. God, I dream about that cheese sometimes still.”
“I spend Thanksgiving with my mother,” Annabelle speaks up, directing that little tidbit at my own mom.
But, ever the optimist, my mother smiles at her. “That’s lovely. Do y’all have any traditions you like?”
Annabelle frowns, annoyed that she hasn’t upset her. “We don’t really.”
Mom hasn’t really told me a lot about Michael’s divorce or his ex-wife, but I have a feeling that Annabelle lives full time with him for a reason.
“Well, maybe if you wanted to do something around the holiday with us, we could make a new tradition.” Mom smiles, and Michael clasps her hand from across the small kitchen table.
“Yeah, not likely,” Annabelle says under her breath with the intention for all of us to hear it.
“That’s enough,” Michael says sharply. “We are together now, and I know you might want to act like a brat about it, but we’re going to be spending a lot of time with Clara and Harper. So get used to it. I’m not saying we have to be a family, but we need to be nice to each other. To get along.”
I would not want to disappoint this man, that’s for sure. He’s not scary, but he is a genuine, honest person, and I have a feeling that letting him down makes you feel like crap.
“Yes, Daddy.” Annabelle hangs her head, and I think that I see real remorse in her eyes.
The rest of our dinner goes along somewhat peacefully, and I hope, for my mother’s sake, that Annabelle’s attitude toward me changes. We don’t have to even be friends, but a détente would be nice.
Chapter Twenty-Six
<
br /> Harper
Cain has ignored me all day. Stalking away from me before the bell for homeroom, after not even meeting me at my locker.
Was this it? Had he broken up with me? Not that we’d even had the boyfriend-girlfriend talk … but we’d been making out and going to parties together and holding hands after school and that was more than I’d done with any other boy in my life. He’d even called me his girl.
My chest had hung heavy with emotion all day. The sense of dread, the feeling of not knowing, the curse of impending heartbreak. I knew he would do this to me, and I’d been stupid enough to be swept away in the golden boy pursing me.
I was an idiot. And now, on top of being an idiot, I was going to cry over a guy who could care less than to even have a conversation ending things.
Cain is in the parking lot at the end of the day as I walk by, plugging my headphones into my ears and getting ready for a litany of sad country breakup songs.
“Looking sexy.” He winks at me as I pass, that long, muscled frame leaning against the hood of his Jeep.
I should roll my eyes. I should keep walking. I should ignore the nagging embarrassment in my chest, that this guy can just so easily discard me. My mouth should stay shut.
But I just can’t help it. Cain Kent is a womanizer, and he needs to be taught a lesson.
I round on him. “You know what? You’re a scared, sorry excuse of a man. Because you’re not even man enough to tell me we’re done. Who does that? You’re not so above everyone in this town that you can just treat the rest of us like dirt under your shoes. Or excuse me, football cleats, because Lord knows that if you wear those around these parts, you consider yourself a god.”
My face is heated and I’m panting by the time I finish my short diatribe, and I want to peel the navy blue cardigan I wore today off my shoulders. It’s sticking to me, suffocating me.
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