Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
3
LANE
It’s been too fucking long since I’ve set my eyes on Birdie, and even though I’m fifteen feet away from her, all I can see is her.
Her pretty hazel eyes.
Her long brown hair.
Her soft, pillowy lips.
And her curves. Damn, she’s only gotten curvier.
“Lane.” Her voice is low and raspy. I bet she has no idea what it does to me when she says my name.
“Birdie,” I reply as I step inside, holding the wood screen door behind me so it doesn’t slam on my booted heels. I’d have thought she’d start walking toward me, but it seems that’s not the case. She isn’t meeting me halfway, not even when I’ve almost reached her. Birdie is rooted in place, back to the window, the setting sun glowing around her body. What I’m shocked to see the most is what she’s wearing. A threadbare shirt, one of the many she swiped from me. This one is white, a horse on its hind legs, a man with a lasso, and our town name with the rodeo emblazoned beneath.
“It’s your birthday. You should be with your family.”
“No, here with you is where I should be. Word on the street is you’re back for good. That true?” Birdie nods, her teeth pressing into her plush bottom lip, and damn if I can hold back. If anyone is going to bite her lips, it’s going to be me. I take another step closer, hands cupping her cheeks, and when she doesn’t pull away, I know I’ve got her right where I want her.
“Yeah, I’m home. For good.” My head dips, my lips capture hers, and while my hands are holding her where I want her, Birdie’s move to my chest, not pushing me away but pulling me closer. Her small fingers dig into my shirt and muscles, making my body want a fuck of a lot more. For right now, I’m going to settle on her lips. When she lets out that little purr in the back of her throat, I’m going for more.
Birdie may be older. May have been gone a long-ass time, but a lot remains the same. She tastes sweet, like berries, but with a hint of darkness. I pull her lower lip into my mouth, sucking on it as she moves her hands lower in a kneading movement. I’m not even sure she knows the noises she makes when I’m around, usually when we’re kissing or she’s asleep, like a kitten with their pawing behavior when they’re nice and relaxed. Birdie gives me the sign she wants more. That purr I was after comes, allowing me to slide my tongue inside her mouth. And I take more while she gives it to me so freely. Her tongue chases mine while my hand that’s holding her cheek slides to the back of her head and her long, dark hair tangles with my fingers.
“Lane,” she breathes when I pull back for a moment, wanting to see the desire written all over her face. Damn, she’s perfect—eyes hooded with lust, cheeks flush—and this time, when I seal my mouth to hers, I don’t hold back. Years of pent-up frustration, with myself, with Birdie, with the whole fucking situation. I tried to come off like shit would be okay, but deep down, I was a damn miserable fool. While I continue our kiss, my hand is itching to see what she has beneath her shirt. The last time we were together, I’d get out of bed before her, do the morning chores, come back, make a cup of coffee, and sit on the back porch looking over the endless beauty of the family ranch. Birdie would meander her way out, a cup of coffee in hand, one of my shirts on her body, and stand next to me. The minute she’d finally wake out of her sleeplike stupor, she’d give me her lips. I’d slide my hand up the back of her leg and feel nothing but smooth, bare skin.
“Lane, please, more.” I pull back, my hand meeting the cheek of her ass and holding it there even though the tips of my fingers are begging to dip closer, ready to feel her wet center.
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yes, God, yes.” She takes a slow and steady breath, her watchful eyes on me as I drop to my knees. My hands glide to the outside of her thighs. The only thing she’s wearing is her shirt. It does nothing in the way of hindering my breathing in her scent. Christ, I’ve missed everything about Birdie, especially this.
“Going to make this last, Birdie. I hope you’re prepared to hold on and enjoy the ride,” I mutter, my head dipping beneath her oversized shirt, not bothering to pull the fabric up. I’ve got one task, and that’s reminding her what it means to be mine.