Page 107 of Broken Trails
“I’ll come with you.”
My thighs tense up as my hand works faster. “Michael—”
The phone suddenly vibrates, cutting off my words. He’sFaceTimingme. Shit.
“Answer it,” he says. “I want to see that beautiful face when you come on your fingers.”
I do, and his stupidly handsome face fills my screen for half a second before he flips the camera. His big, veiny hand is wrapped around his cock, and yet his size still makes it look almost small.
“Look at me, Freckles, and say my name when you come,” he grits out through shaky breaths. “I’m close. You’ve got me so fucking close, Freckles.”
I don’t know if it’s the command or the thought of him coming at the same time, but the orgasm rips through me fast. Myback arches, and his name tumbles from my lips on a breathy moan. His groan crashes over mine a second later, and for a few seconds, the only sound is our breathing.
“That,” he says finally, “is the best goodnight call I’ve ever had.”
I’m still holding the phone, feeling wrecked in the best possible way, when his face fills the screen. His expression is lazy but intent, eyes dragging over me. “Have I ever told you you’re fucking beautiful?”
I huff a breath. “You’re only saying that because you’re all blissed out and smug right now.”
“No. I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”
My lips curl upwards. “Goodnight, Michael.”
“A good night indeed,” he murmurs, and I hang up with my heart pounding and my body still humming.
32
Whiskey Glasses - Morgan Wallen
“Alright, someone needs to cut Harrison off before he orders another round of Jägerbombs and starts quotingFast & Furious.”
Bradley doesn’t even look up. He’s too busy stirring his gin and tonic, shaking his head with a smile.
“He already did,” Xavier mutters. “We’re officially in the Dom Toretto era of the night.”
Across the booth, Harrison slams his empty glass down with dramatic flair. “You don’t understand, mate. It’s not just about cars. It’s aboutfamily.”
Sebastian Daniels snorts beside me. “God help us all.”
He’s one of Bradley’s workmates, an officer from Wattle Creek Police Station. We’ve met a few times over the years. He’s a decent guy. Smart mouth. He’s the kind of bloke who notices everything but doesn’t bother saying half of it unless it’s funny. He reminds me a lot of my brother. There are a few other uniforms here, too. I gotta admit, being surrounded by fifty thousand cops? Yeah, I feel real safe.
I’m joking. There are only four of them. But still.
Sebastian takes a sip of his beer, shaking his head. “I swear, if I don’t find a better babysitter—or hell, a live-in nanny—I’m screwed. Between shifts and overtime, I’m one bad week away from screwing up this whole single dad thing.”
My brother suggestion comes instantly. “You should ask Olivia. Isn’t she in and out of jobs? Might be good for her.”
Bradley straightens, flicking a glare towards Harrison. “Find someone else.”
Sebastian blinks. “So, is that a no?”
“Absolutely,” Bradley mutters, turning back to his drink.
I smirk at their exchange. This was supposed to be Bradley’s bucks night. Except it’s not. The wedding’s still months away, but Harrison said we “needed a reason” to get out. Apparently, this was it. Some weird, pre-bucks trial run.
Not that there are many options in Wattle Creek to begin with.
We started at The Loose Lasso, which, in true small-town fashion, is equal parts pub and retirement club. After Harrison got into a debate about pool rules with some sixty-year-old named Mick, we stumbled down to The Rusty Pint, the only other bar in town, if you could even call it that.
