Page 54 of Own the Eights
He pressed up onto an elbow. “That was…”
Amazing. Mind-blowing. The best sex of her life. They’d totally be initiated into the Orgasm Hall of Fame. If that were a thing.
“Yeah, it was…,” she answered, not sure why she couldn’t say the words when their phones chimed.
He held her gaze with a torn look in his eyes. Did whatever they were doing feel like more to him? And holy crap, was it more to her? She couldn’t go there.
“We should look,” she said, trying to sound all business, which wasn’t all that easy with his hard length buried deep inside her.
He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “We should.”
The phones pinged again, and he drew his fingertips down her jawline. Tender and so sweet, she wanted to surrender to his touch and close her eyes and forget anything besides the two of them existed. But she couldn’t, and it wasn’t her literary trifecta holding her back. This was something else. A needling in the back of her mind.
She schooled her features. “I don’t bench press two-hundred-fifty-pound men for breakfast, so if we’re going to get up and check what’s on the CityBeat page, you’ve got to be the one who gets the ball rolling.”
“You’re right,” he answered with a slight shake of his head.
He came to his knees. “I’m going to take care of this,” he said and gestured to the condom.
She nodded then rolled over and grabbed her phone and gasped. “Jordan!”
“What?” he asked, finishing with the condom then pulling up his shorts.
“You! You’re blowing up on CityBeat!”
He’d crushed it. The internet couldn’t get enough of this gentle giant bottle-feeding baby goat after baby goat.
“How about you? What’s your score?” he asked.
She scrolled to her blog. Her numbers had gone up, but not like his. “Not too bad for me,” she lied.
He grinned down at her. “See, we’ve got this. Now stay put. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Back to the car to get an umbrella.”
She frowned. “Why?”
He gave her the sweetest boyish grin. “It’s still raining, and I don’t want you to get wet.”
She reached for her bra, suddenly feeling quite naked. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
She nodded, wishing the thread of disappointment running through her chest would disappear. “Okay, that will give me time to get dressed.”
Jordan took off for the car when her phone pinged again. But it wasn’t a CityBeat alert. She sucked in a shaky breath, then opened her email to find a past due notification.
“Shit,” she whispered, staring at the dollar signs dotting the screen.
In a daze, she set her phone on the blanket and pulled on her clothes.
Jordan entered the barn, still sporting that wide grin. And why shouldn’t he be smiling? He’d overcome his crippling goat phobia, got laid, and now had a bazillion more likes.
He glanced from her to the umbrella. “Would you like to grab some dinner on the way home?”
If she were a good eights girl, she’d say yes. In the course of the last couple of hours, this man had shown her his sensitive side, aka his goat phobia, rocked her world with not one but two orgasms, and ran out in the rain to get an umbrella for her. Everything screamed he was an eight, at least, for this afternoon. But her mind wasn’t on the number eight. It was on all the numbers strung together, telling her how much she owed her creditors.
