Chapter 21
After she had finished her classes, Holly scooped up her books and made her way out the door. Her heels click-clacked on the ground as she walked down the pathway to the parking lot and, with every step, all she could think about was putting her feet in a nice ice bath and letting the soreness pour out of her muscles.
Luckily, she didn’t have to stand in her shoes much longer. She recognized Jacob’s beat-up pickup truck immediately and walked as quickly as her heels would allow towards it. Jacob got out before she could get too far and opened up the passenger-side door for her (a gentleman—she would have to get used to that). “Thank you,” she said and plopped ungracefully into her seat.
“Of course,” he said and got into the driver’s seat. There, he leaned over and closed his mouth over hers. If it was meant to be a simple greeting kiss, his intentions seemed to shift as soon as his lips touched hers, and he lingered there, tasting her.
Holly finally pulled back with a chuckle. “Did you miss me?”
“You’ve got no idea.” His lips found their way down the side of her neck. She felt crazy, far too old and responsible to be necking in his truck like teenagers within full sight of the faculty and students. Yet, with a single touch of his lips, Holly felt her pussy bud between her legs, petals swelling with blood, aching to be parted by his enormous cock right now, right here, in the back of his truck—
Holly laughed breathily and squeezed her legs tighter, knowing he could smell her lust, knowing it would make him all the more ravenous. Then she felt his teeth brush against her throat—a sharp reminder of the Beast that lay dwelling inside her husband—and the spike of fear brought her back to reality. “Jacob,” she whispered, “not here…”
“Of course.” Jacob peeled back, took her hand, and pressed a small kiss to the back of it. The lust-haze in his eyes made her throb. “How was your day?”
“Exhausting.” The English teacher was normally better at using her words, but right now, language seemed to fail her.
“Y’ready to go home then?”
She nodded, vehemently. More than ready. Ready for him to close the door to their house behind them and pin her up against the wall.
“Alright.” Jacob pushed the truck into gear, and then added, “I’ve just gotta make one pit stop, if you ain’t too tired.”
Pit stop? Her throat went dry; she wanted him too badly for a pit stop. And he knew that, didn’t he? Was that a hint of a smug grin on his lips? She regained her composure and smiled. “I’m not too tired. Take all the time you need.” You’re a grown woman, she chastised herself. Control.
“Shouldn’t take long,” he said and then the truck squealed and rumbled down the road.
Chapter 22
The pit stop turned out to involve taking a trip to the market to pick up firewood for a bonfire. By time they got to the ranch, Brent had already set up the fire pit. The sun set in crimson and pale yellow streaks across the sky and, one by one, the Westmore clan filtered outside and found their way around the fire. They cooked skewers of chicken and hot dogs and Mama Mae joined with pasta salad and a green bean casserole.
The flames burned with a roar and Holly leaned back against Jacob’s strong chest, stomach full, admiring the inky outline of the mountains in the distance. They popped open beers for the adults and a bag of marshmallows for the kids, Tanner and Trish. Holly partook in the marshmallow festivities and, when one of the gooey marshmallows lit on fire, Trish screeched.
“Alright, last one,” Cassidy told the kids.
The kids whined and turned to Holly. “Don’t look at me.” She laughed. “What mama says goes.”
Brent got up and patted Jacob’s shoulder. “Y’got a second to talk, boss?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jacob said. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of Holly’s neck before unraveling from her body. “This will only take a minute,” he said.
“Okay,” Holly said, trying not to feel like luggage tossed to the side before take-off. But then Jacob cupped her cheek and gave her a small, lingering kiss and she felt a swoon coming on.
“Be good.” He winked and then stepped away from the fire, going to the porch to talk with Brent in private.
Holly settled back in. Cassidy’s husband—the strong, silent type—started shepherding the kids away and then turned to Holly. “We’re going to call it a night.”
A tall, lanky woman stepped around the fire, clearing the empty beers, and said, “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Westmore?”
Mrs. Westmore. Sounded like royalty. “I’m okay, thanks,” Holly said with a smile.