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“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” Any other time, I’d laugh at myself for talking to this woman like a horse. But in this moment, my skin hums with tension and my muscles coil as though ready to spring into action.
“Weston Belmont. Rose Hill’s very own Super-Crocodile-Dundee-Man at your service,” I reply with a dramatic salute.
I have a thing for hands. I won’t even deny it.
Me too, skylar, me too
Weston Belmont saved me from a grizzly bear. Saved me from myself, really. From my own naiveté. A smarter girl would be captivated by his bravery, or his deep voice, or his quippy one-liners. Not me. I’m following him down a backcountry road in the middle of the Canadian wilderness, daydreaming about his big fucking hands. I make a mental note to follow up with my therapist about this too. I have to be diagnosable. It has to be a coping mechanism of some sort. Do daddy issues give you a hand kink?
It’s funny how I can be surrounded by so many people who profess to love me and still feel so utterly alone.
He introduced himself. Truth be told, I’m floored.
In fact, the entire thing ended in laughter as West carried me out into the yard and acted as though he’d just rescued me from a burning building. He’ll never know, but in that moment, he healed me. Just a little bit.
My brain is a horny little slut today, and she wonders what it would feel like to have those lips on my body.
“You done gawking? Or should I flex while I wait for you to pull that phone out and take my number?”
“What’s the most interesting thing about me?” I whisper, feeling the pads of his fingers firm against my jawbones as I speak. He smirks, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “The way you lick your lips when you stare at my thighs.” I huff out a laugh. “You look like you should carry a Chihuahua in your purse, but instead you have a bird that swears like a sailor.” Cherry. That makes me smile. Then, I watch his expression turn more thoughtful as he quietly adds, “And the way you inspired a little boy who never talks to anyone to introduce himself to you. That’s something special.”
“No, fancy face. Those”—he points at my face, finger flicking from side to side—“are wild eyes. The eyes of a woman who just chose fight over flight. Don’t smother that. Keep ‘em and you’ll come out on top. Trust me.”
“Well, I’ve been here to see you try to pet a bear. I’ve seen you with a bruised face. I’ve seen you get anxious. And Skylar? I like all those versions of you. You have me. You’ll always be relevant to me.”
Skylarki places her palms against my chest and gives me an uninspired shove.
Who the f is skylarki?
“Then this fucking breather is over. You can go ahead and breathe through your nose because this mouth will be busy.” She flushes, teeth pressing down on her lip. “That’s not really what I meant by a breather.” “Breathing is overrated. I’d rather be drowning in you.”
I’m so happy for my girl that I could burst.
Suddenly, I feel a little uncertain about what I should do next. Throwing myself at his feet and sucking his dick seems a little extreme, considering the driver is probably about to bring my bags into the house.
