My cock twitched slightly. “Yeah. We did.”
My head flashed with an image of her tits. They were fucking incredible. I used to suck and bite them until she screamed my name in the back of my truck and my ears echoed with her voice.
That was when we had to sneak around. Sex in my truck. Sex behind a hidden sand dune. Sex on the boat if we could get out for the day.
But never this. Never in a house when we were the only two home. It was what I’d always wanted—to fuck her epically. To take her on her knees. To fuck her every which way I had invented and some I hadn’t yet. Alone, where she could suck my cock all night and I could bury myself inside her over and over again until the sun rose over the water. I’d had it so bad for this girl.
Her eyes lifted to mine. “Have you thought about what it would be like now?”
I knelt next to her, close enough my lips almost touched her ear. I brushed her silky hair to the side.
“It would be so fucking epic you’d never want another man inside you.”
She whimpered.
I stood, her eyes following me.
“Good night, Sierra.”
I walked out, letting the screen door creak behind me. I tried to rub the throbbing ache out of my cock as I strolled to the truck. I was so fucking hard I didn’t know how I managed to put one foot in front of the other. That girl was killing me.
11
Sierra
The next morning, I brushed my teeth with a tightly wrapped towel around my body. The hot shower hadn’t exactly washed away the humiliation or the hangover. I was pretty sure I had thrown myself at Blake last night.
I spit into the sink and rested the toothbrush in the holder. What in the hell was I thinking? I was mortified. And part of me was still turned on. Did he want me? Was it possible that he still wanted me after all this time?
His words still buzzed in my ear.
I retrieved a pair of tweezers from my cosmetic bag and critically studied my brow line. I had let my time in Aunt Lindy’s house get to me. When was the last time I had a facial or a wax?
I exhaled into the mirror as I wiped on a second layer of mascara.
Had he taken any of it seriously? I doubted it. Women were always throwing themselves at him. I saw it after every game. He had websites dedicated to him, created by a hot female fan base. There was a reason he was one of the AFA’s most notorious bachelors—he refused to get serious with any one person, and was known for sleeping around.
He wasn’t the sweet guy I had once known. I had to remember that.
But, I had seen a glimmer of the man I’d once known last night while we’d been dancing. His fingers had wound through my hair. He smelled like the old Blake I’d known—like a mix of juniper and mint. I’d always thought he smelled that way because of working with the wood from the boats, but now I knew it was him. That heavenly mixture that made me lose all logic and rational thought. As my cheek pressed to his T-shirt it had all come rushing back—the way we used to be.
He’d held me close, as if he cared. As if the past eight years weren’t a huge wedge between us. As if somewhere under his tough exterior he was still the first guy I’d ever loved. The one I’d given myself to.
He had to be in there somewhere.
I turned off the light and walked downstairs to make a pot of coffee. The house was a complete disaster. The beach charity foundation was supposed to be here before lunch to take the furniture in the front room. Aunt Lindy had one of those ridiculous church organs that weighed a thousand pounds. I had to get it out of here.
There were a dozen other pieces I was going to send with them too. I started tagging the furniture that was mismatched. Some I didn’t recognize. She had added many things to the house over the years.
It wasn’t as if there was a handbook to guide me through this process. I was overwhelmed with the house. My aunt had been a packrat. Only, I never realized it until I started opening cabinets and drawers. She had hidden her secret for years. I was only now realizing what a serious problem it was.
But she wasn’t here to lecture. She wasn’t here to tell me what was valuable and what wasn’t. I couldn’t ask her what I should keep. And maybe if I had been a better niece I would have known all these things.
I would have known her wishes. I would know what to do with her rhinestone jewelry and the enormous collection of silk scarves that filled a trunk in the attic.
Instead, I was the girl who had let Roger Wyatt scare me off this island. I had let that man keep me away. The fear he’d planted in my soul had separated me from the only woman who had cared enough to take me in and raise me.
And he’d kept me from the only person I’d ever truly loved.