Everly
The problemwith deciding to chase your passion in unconventional ways isn’t that you have to work really hard, because that’s a given. It’s coming to understand that the hardest work you put in isn’t happening during working hours. Nope. It’s the late nights, early mornings, moments you can collect in between, and, of course, the personal life sacrifices. Specifically, not having much of one.
After I came home from college, I decided that I wasn’t just going to work for my dad’s company. Henry had already had a career and then was forced to make a change working for the family business. I came into it with eyes wide open and eager. I knew that if I was going to be here, in Strutt’s Peak, then I was going to be a force to be reckoned with at Riggs Outdoor. I wanted to be respected. To earn that respect, and a place at the table, it meant that I’d have to work in different aspects of the business to learn about the people and how it runs, from secretary, to sales, to operations.
Being a woman at a dominantly male-run business had, and still has, its hurdles. While I could outmaneuver most of these guys in all of the sports we supported, I had to make sure I was on an even playing field. That meant putting everyone in the colleague zone; no social relationships, or dating coworkers, which already ruled out half the town. I couldn’t be anything other than all-business if I was going to be in charge someday. That has always been my plan. Working for my father was never the goal; it was to work alongside him. If I was going to be here, then I was going to make a name for myself and not just be “Asher’s kid” or “The Riggs girl.”
I dug in and made those late nights and early mornings count professionally. It just never left space for much more, especially to bar hop or other things that led people to meet-cutes and long-term relationships. A small town meant you knew everyone, and anyone you didn’t was a tourist and only here for a fling. I crave connection. A sexy smile or well-intentioned drink, or even ill-intentioned, for that matter, wasn’t enough to just go home with a guy. That’s why flings or one-night stands just never seemed like the right thing for me.
Show me a single, successful woman who hasn’t thought at some point,“Did I just fall victim to the most patriarchal stereotype and force myself to choose work over love?”I never thought I’d find myself here. I had always made space for the idea that both could exist. Could a few nights with men like Jack really have an impact on my expectations?
I drop my head to my forearms draped over my drafting table. I’m overthinking again, and when I overthink, my creative muscle decides that atrophy is the way to go.Not helpful.
“What material could the new lounge pants work best in?” I ask myself out loud. Immediately, my mind thinks of lightweight sweatpants and then veers off to thinking about Jack’s perfectly biteable thighs and tight ass in his sweatpants after he came back from his run.
I feel indescribable energy from him. He’s arrogant, brimming with confidence that is borderline a turnoff.Borderline. He’s invaded my space, my thoughts. He’s everywhere and leaves me with mixed signals that have me a little whiplashed and a lot confused.
His stupid-handsome face is now a part of my universe for another few weeks, whether I like it or not. If I indulge in anything more than a professional relationship with him, it has messy disaster written all over it. And yet, I say all of this while also being completely aroused by his words, turned on by his voice, and fucking lit up like a damn tree just from remembering what his body looks like, fully clothed, mind you.
A part of me wishes Jack Deacon had some kind of gross flaw to offset the perfection. But even as I think it, I know it’s not true. He even smells incredible. Leather mixed with amber and cinnamon. And now I’m fantasizing about what he would taste like if I could lick my way down his abs, brush my lips across his hips. What’s left of my sanity trails down to those V-lines directing all traffic to what is likely a very satisfyingly sized cock. I laugh at myself. I’m hopeless and wickedly distracted.
I refocus my attention on the ridge. The sun is just setting behind the mountains and the sky is burning orange with a billowing purple haze. It's as if grape and orange soda just spilled across the clouds.
The entire pool house is darker now, just the lamp leaning over my drafting table keeping the space lit, andSkinby Rihanna streams on the speakers throughout the room. The ambiance and my swirling thoughts have me feeling far more turned on than I should be for a Saturday night all alone.
I can’t help but smile, thinking about the way Jack’s tongue peeked out and wet his bottom lip as he left the pool house earlier. Just that singular thought about his mouth is making me warmer. I can feel my face flush with heat and my body is suddenly very aware of what a Jack-featured fantasy can do.
Is he messy when he dives into a woman? Is it his tongue that does most of the exploring when he goes down on a girl, or does he taste, smell, nudge, suck, and lap at a woman's pussy?
My right hand trails across the V-necked collar of my white t-shirt, my fingers brushing against my skin, and I palm my breast. My nipples harden as I play and roll it between my fingers. I get lost, and before I even realize it, I’m breathing out a moan.
Rummaging through the side tables next to the bed, I finally find my pocket-sized vibrator. Still charged,phew. If anyone found it, they’d have to click the button to understand what it was. It looks like a rainbow rocket lollipop, a gift from my best friend on my last birthday. When I told G not to buy me anything, she put up a fight, so I told her just to get me something sweet. Chocolate or Twizzlers are gifts I’d always welcome. I never knew there were so many sweets-themed sex toys, lubricants, and spa essentials. Her bag of birthday goodies was massive, and the lollipop-shaped vibrator was by far the tamest thing there.
I quickly scan the door and windows that lead to the main house. No lights on, which means Jack and Law are still out. Who knows where Michael is, but he rarely makes an appearance out here. So, I turn up the music. I want to get lost in this feeling for a little while. I’ve earned it.