Page 70 of Where the Blacktop Ends

“Mm, I’d like that,” she hums, her hands pumping faster, her lips pulling me even deeper until I can’t hold back. My hands tangle in her hair as I lift my hips, fucking her face deeper and then I release. My cock kicks against her velvet tongue, filling her mouth with warm, streams of my cum as her throat bobs to swallow it all. She doesn’t let a single drop escape, just keeps sucking me until I’m softer.

She pulls off my tip, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, her lips glistening, her eyes locked on mine. Wide. Innocent. Like she didn’t just blow my fucking mind.

My pulse pounds in my ears, my chest heaving as I look down at her—kneeling there, naked and perfect, her lips swollen and glistening with me. Her hair falls in damp waves over her shoulder, her wide eyes searching mine. And fuck… she’s so damn beautiful. Too beautiful for a man like me.

I should pull away. I should let this be enough. But even now, with her on her knees, wrecked and glowing in the aftermath, I know it’ll never be enough. And fuck… she looks sopretty. So goddamn pretty it makes my chest ache.

My suit is crumpled in a pile in the corner—jacket, tie, pressed shirt, slacks—neatly discarded alongside her T-shirt and thatred sports bra I’ve been dying to peel off her since the second I saw her in it. Our clothes, tangled together like the messy, complicated knot we’re becoming. Silk and cotton. Power and simplicity. Different worlds… but somehow, impossibly, they fit.

A perfect fucking metaphor for us.

On paper? We don’t make sense. Her world is red dirt roads, fresh-baked pies, and porch swings on hot summer nights. Nannying for children and non-existent schedules.

Mine is polished floors, tailored suits, and power plays in boardrooms where one wrong move can ruin your life. But none of that matters when she’s looking at me like this. Because beneath all the surface differences—the silk and denim, the high-rises and open fields—it’s our roots that tie us together. The values we share. The unwavering loyalty. The fierce protectiveness for the people we love. And maybe… just maybe… that’s enough to hold us when everything else tries to pull us apart. But it’s not just the past that’s pulling us toward each other.

It’sthis.

What we’re doing right now—giving in to the pull that’s been there since day one. The foundation’s already laid, and what we’re building on top of it? That’s what’s going to keep us together. And I wantallof her. I want to hold her in her bed, wrap her up in my arms, and listen to every story she’s too scared to tell anyone else. I want to know what makes her laugh, what keeps her up at night. I want to know what’s brought her tome—and what’s going to keep her here.

I can tell myself this is a mistake. That this can’t go any further. I can pretend that this is just me blowing off steam after a day that left me furious and aching for control. But it’s a goddamn lie.

Because this isn’t just about claiming her body.

It’s about claiming her heart.

And I’m already too far gone to stop now. This won’t be the last time I touch her pussy. Not by a fucking long shot. Because once you’ve had somethingthatgood? You don’t let it go. And I won’t fuck her tonight. Not yet. But when I do? It won’t just be a fuck. It’ll be a promise.

Because there’s no way in hell that I’m letting Georgia stay behind when I win governor and move to North Carolina.

She’s coming with me.

Even if I have to fight like hell to make her see that she belongs by my side.

“Come on,” I say softly, helping her to stand. “Let me bandage those cuts on your knees and then get you to bed. It’s been a long day.” I help her stand, my hands steady even though my insides are anything but. “Let me take care of you, baby.” Because that’s what this is.

Not just fucking. Not just claiming her body. Taking care of her. Protecting her. Giving her the safety and love she’s never had before. And if she’ll let me…

I’ll spend the rest of my life doing exactly that.

Chapter 27 – Georgia

“He’s certainly more interesting than I thought,” I say, handing James a glass of whiskey from Troy’s stash ofWhitewood Creek’s Finestas I take a seat next to him on the couch with my wine.

James raises a brow. “You two banging?”

“No!” I blurt out a little too quickly, making his eyebrows shoot even higher. “No,” I repeat, this time with more control. “And stop asking questions like that. I’m not going to give you details about my sex life, even if we were.”

He smirks and takes a slow slip of his whiskey, smacking his lips. “This is good. Is this Troy’s family’s brand?”

I nod. “Yep. His brother’s formulated it.”

“Well, you’ve never been private about your conquests in the past but I’m happy for you and I won’t pry for any more details if you don’t’ want to share. This nanny gig seems to be working out, and Liam’s a cool kid. I’m sorry about what happened onFriday, though. I’m still mad at myself for not walking you two home after lunch.”

I shrug. “You couldn’t have known the paparazzi were tailing us.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

I sink deeper into the couch, the cool fabric brushing against my bare legs, but it does nothing to soothe the restless buzz under my skin. My mind won’t shut up—spinning in endless circles, replaying the last few days on an unforgiving loop.

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