Page 28 of Coming Home Country
If we didn’t win with this passage, I was scared to find out what could potentially beat it.
“I turned my head to the side, locking eyes with Dylan, spread naked in the armchair across the room, stroking his cock slowly, ever the patient one. A sexy smile tugged up the corner of his lips. ‘Take your time. I’m enjoying the show just fine.’ I wanted to beg him to fuck my mouth, to be filled by three of them at once, but my capacity for thought flew right out the window when the head of Carson’s dick pressed against my asshole. He was too big; there was no way he was going to fit, and I tensed immediately. Carter’s hands found my nipples, plucking the stiff peaks, offering a welcome distraction. Even still, I couldn’t stop the whimper that flew past my lips when Carson inched his way inside, the stretch burning. ‘Breathe, Abby,’ Dylan coached from his seat. ‘You’re almost there.’ My lungs filled with air, but my head swam as the pain morphed into pleasure when Carson gave the first tentative roll of his hips. The fullness commanded all my focus, and I couldn’t stop the deep, throaty groans that were ripped from my chest as the two of them worked in tandem to bring me closer to climax. I could feel it building, stronger than anything I’d ever experienced. Carter grunted beneath me as Carson panted behind me. I was bracketed between their hot, hard bodies, and nothing had ever felt so right. The pressure coiled so tight that I stopped breathing when it finallyburst, shooting sparks outward from my core, lighting me up from the inside out. My pussy clamped down on Carter, sending him over the edge. He came on a curse, holding my hips down so he could fill me with every last drop of his cum while Carson kept pumping into my ass.”
What did it say about me that I was hard right now? I mean, this was practically porn but you had to picture it yourself.
I reached down with my free hand to readjust myself in my jeans, my eyes locked on Bex through my phone screen. She was flushed, those final words having come out breathy. It was exactly how she looked when we used to fool around in the back of my truck, what seemed like a million years ago now.
Clearing my throat wasn’t enough to keep my voice from sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. “Is that it?”
“Oh!” Bex startled, almost like she’d forgotten I was there. Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of scarlet, and she shook her head. “There’s a few more pages. Carter pulls out, and Carson flips her over, so she’s lying on his chest so Dylan can fuck her from the front.”
I swallowed, not sure I’d survive hearing that described in vivid detail. “I think we’ve got enough.”
She let the book fall closed. “You’re probably right.” Returning it to its place on the shelf, Bex nodded. “Okay, so the church to get the records next?”
Probably going to burst into flames the minute we walk in after reading that, but sure.
Nodding, I extended an arm, motioning for her to lead the way. “We can drive over. Should be quicker.”
We were both in a slight daze walking back to my truck, but when we hopped inside, Bex mused, “Wonder if anyone will figure out the wine bottle task.”
A thought struck, and without realizing it, I pulled onto Main Street, headed in the opposite direction of the church.
Spinning around in her seat, Bex watched town fade away behind us. “Where are you going?”
“I have an idea.”
Chapter 7
Bex
“Whosehouseisthis?”I stared through the windshield at the ranch-style home Tucker had pulled up to outside of town, situated on quite a bit of land.
I might’ve blocked out a lot of memories about this place in self-preservation, but I knew there hadn’t been a house out here when I left. Which made me all the more curious because new builds weren’t common in Rust Canyon.
Tucker pushed open his door. “It’s mine.”
My jaw dropped. He’d brought me to his house?
Why would he think that was a good idea? Especially when we were in the middle of a scavenger hunt?
The truck door slamming shut jarred me back to reality, and I jumped down from the passenger side.
“What are we doing here, Tuck?” I asked as he stepped onto the front porch.
He paused, turning to face me. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work, but I remembered something from a science course about how heat increasesthe pressure inside closed containers. Figured it was worth a shot to see if we could use a blow torch to pop the cork on a wine bottle.”
My eyes bulged. “A blow torch? Are you crazy?”
“Maybe.” One of his shoulders lifted. “But if it works, I’ll look like a genius.” He opened the front door. “Just gotta grab a bottle of wine from the kitchen. You can come in if you want, or you can wait for me over by the detached garage. My workbench is inside, and we’ll conduct our little ‘experiment’ there.”
I hesitated. Did I want to go inside his private space? Would doing so cut into the old wounds, making them bleed again at seeing what could have been if things had been different?
It was a terrible idea, but my feet moved automatically, climbing the porch steps.
Tucker slipped inside, allowing me to follow him. He hung a right into the kitchen, and I stopped short, a gasp catching in my throat.
The wooden cabinets featured glass doors painted a light cornflower blue. The backsplash was glossy white, with the tiles laid in a chevron pattern above the marbled countertops. It matched the farmhouse sink, set before a window, perfectly. An island sat in the center of the space, large enough for only two stools.
