Our movements petered out, and with my help, she eased herself off me and flopped onto the blanket.
For the longest time, we lay side by side in a sweaty mess, looking up at the tree canopy.
After a while, she sighed and turned to face me. “I didn’t know how much I needed that. I feel, I don’t know, lighter, freer, I guess.” She placed a hand over my still thundering heart and stroked her fingers over my nipples and chest.
“You and me both,” I replied, placing my hand on top of hers.
She laid her head on my bicep and played with the hair running from my belly button down to my cock.
“Do you think I’d make it as a bronc rider?”
“With the way you rode me just now, girl, you’d give every cowboy on the circuit a run for their money.”
Chapter Five
Montana
Having sex, sex and more sex, was how we spent the next two days. Tricia canceled her visit, saying she couldn’t bear to leave her grandbaby. I missed her, but I was also relieved she’d decided not to come home.
When Dylan wasn’t working with the new horse, we were between the sheets blowing each other’s minds.
His imagination was a creative one. He’d shown off his rope skills by tying me up a few times.
I’d happily stay in our cocoon forever, but I had to be realistic; our time together was running out. That was something I didn’t want to think about too much.
Everything with him was better, funnier, more exciting. Being with him made me feel like a better version of myself, a stronger, more confident version.
Ever since I’d accepted the challenge to spend less time on my phone and online—I’d extended it past the three days with no coaxing from Dylan—I found that not obsessing about what people were and weren’t saying about me was liberating.
The angel and devil were still doing their daily battle, but the angel was winning, and the devil was now shrinking and sulking.
Yesterday, when I’d stopped by my cabin to grab clean clothes, I’d also grabbed my guitar and sheet music.
The notes and lyrics twisting around my brain insisted I write. The butterflies in my belly and the voice in my head wouldn’t leave me alone until I got something down on paper.
I sat in a rocking chair on the porch in front of the main house strumming nothing in particular, waiting for the tune to make its way out of my body. Writing a new song was sometimes like an exorcism but without spinning heads and projectile vomiting.
Dylan’s truck pulled up the gravel road, and my heart soared. The butterflies in my belly headed down south until they tickled my clit.
He jumped out of his truck, a wide smiled lighting up his face when he saw me. I poured him a glass of lemonade and bounced down the steps to meet him.
“I could get used to this,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek before accepting the drink. He took a sip and smacked his lips. “A girl who can make lemonade and give blowjobs as good as you is a keeper.”
“Be still my beating heart.” I went back to the rocking chair, picked up my guitar, and strummed a few notes.
“Will you sing for me?” he asked.
“I’m rusty,” I lied. Singing for only him would be more terrifying than getting up on stage in front of thousands of people. “My voice hasn’t been used in a while.”
“What’s that you’re playing?”
“Just something I’ve been working on.”
“Let me hear it.”
“I don’t like anyone hearing my songs until I know they’re ready.”
“Tell me what it’s about.”
I smiled. “Waterfall kisses, long summer nights, and a cowboy who knows me better than I know myself.”
A blush formed on his cheeks and the emotion on his face and in his eyes left a lump in my throat. “A song about us.”
“More like a song about you,” I admitted. “How I feel when I’m around you. How you make me feel like I’m not the Antichrist.”
He took a long step toward me and got down on his knees, placing his hands on my thighs. “You’re an angel. A beautiful, complicated, stubborn as an old mule angel.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the compliment.”
“I had a thought today.”
“One whole thought? Are you feeling okay?”
“Come into town tonight. Let me take you to dinner.”
I looked at him like he was a few pickles short of a barrel. “I can’t. That’s too public. The paparazzi—”
“Nothing happened when we went to the clinic. Nothing will happen tonight. Do you trust me?”
“You know I do. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”
“The whole time you’ve been here, you’ve left once. It’s time you took a step into the real world again. You want to sing again, don’t you?”
I chewed on my inner cheek. “I don’t know that I do.”
“Bull crap.” He sighed in exasperation and stood. “You wouldn’t be sitting here strumming your guitar and writing songs about me if you didn’t.”
“None of my clothes fit.” Panic clawed at my chest. I would use every excuse I could not to go anywhere that involved seeing people, being around people, or talking to people. “My hair’s dryer than a bale of hay. My roots need done. I look a hot mess.”
“Stop making dumb excuses.” The green in his hazel eyes flashed. “I’m not a man who wants much or who asks for much, but I’m asking if you’ll go on a date with me. Usually, I like to buy a girl dinner before I fuck her.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like other girls. I don’t need fancy restaurants or romantic gestures to sleep with you.
