A Weston Wedding. Gray Gardner
right into me with his aquamarine eyes.
"Don't ever make the mistake of thinking I care about anything more than I care about you," he growled, so close that his warm breath made my skin prickle. His face pleaded with me to understand, to know what I'd put him through when he'd run out of the back door to find a fire spreading and no sign of me.
"I won't ever do anything that stupid again. I promise." I nodded, breathing heavily as his leg pushed up between mine. My voice was weak, either from guilt or lust, I couldn't tell at the moment since my stomach was knotted and my eyes were focused only on his. Would he keep scolding me, or would he satiate our needs?
He stood and unbuckled his belt, eyes on me. He toed off his boots, tugging off his jeans, underwear, and socks next. My mouth watered when he finally stood tanned, hard, and naked in front of me. He gently pulled off what remained of my pajamas and tossed them aside.
His hands were everywhere. I was soaking from the feel of his fingers, the promise of his cock, and the anticipation of an orgasm neither of us would soon forget. He pressed his mouth to mine with a growl, a sure indication that he was about to enter me. He continued to tease me, though—hot lips around my nipple, a finger circling my clitoris endlessly.
I responded by taking his large erection in my hand and slowly stroking from root to tip, loving the hitch in his breath as he closed his eyes, mouth open. He ran a hand down my back, over the curve of my backside, and stopped there as he smiled. He liked to admire his handiwork. It was a turn on for him which turned me on, an endless sex cycle that I loved.
He flipped me back onto our bed and crawled over me, lust and need in his eyes as I'm sure were evident in mine, too. The feel of my warmed ass on the cool comforter and the feel of his hard body pressing between my legs was just delicious.
Nuclear holocaust couldn't have stopped this sex train.
His mother, however, most certainly could.
Chapter 3
Richard Drake Hamilton, IV
I stared at the saddle leather luggage tags as I stood by the kitchen door, waiting for Dusty to pick me up and take me to the helipad. It had been a week. One whole long, agonizingly silent week without one word from my little blonde angel.
She was mad at me. Obviously. Evidently, taking control and spanking her for bad behavior had not been the appropriate way to handle things. And that was just fine because I was ready to go to her and fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness. Yep. I knew how West felt now and why he went to such great lengths for Blake.
Love. And I had it bad. And the object of my affection wouldn't even answer a damned text. I loathed texting, but I did it for her because she was so busy all of the time that it was the best way to get into contact with her.
When are you coming to the ranch?
How long can you stay?
What are you wearing?
Chandler? Baby, please?
We needed to amend a few aspects of our relationship. Again, obviously. I needed to be a better listener, a better boyfriend—a better man. And I could do that for her. There were a few elements that only she could control, though. Come-to-Jesus moments, as she would call them.
Spanking. I knew she liked it because it made her wet and hot and she had the most amazing orgasms afterwards. But we were always playing around. Being punished, evidently, made her mind go somewhere that I wasn't invited. And I was all packed and ready to go to her place to find out how to repair the fragility of our association and revise every ineffectual facet down to the letter.
I'm a business man. I know numbers, contracts, and breaches thereof. I could certainly agree to any terms she offered, as long as it kept her in my arms. Forever.
"Heavens, the way you're standing and brooding, I thought you were your father for a moment."
I wheeled around at the sound of that even, educated voice so quickly that I practically fell over all of my bags stacked at the door.
"Mom?" I choked, watching as she stood in the doorway, hands folded in front of her as I always remembered. When did she get there? What was she doing?
"I hope this isn't a bad surprise," she smoothly said, giving me a worried smile.
She was my mother. What else could I do? I moved toward her and stood in front of her, over her, really, and everything came back even though we hadn't seen each other for five years. Her perfume. Allure. Her dark brown hair, now slightly grayed. Her brown eyes, watery.
She leaned forward and hugged me. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and closed my eyes. She hadn't been back to the ranch since West and I got into a fight with her sleazy boyfriend and kicked him out. She'd been hurt by it, but so had we. And when the company went public, she hadn't even called.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, clearing my throat, and holding her shoulders.
She wiped a tear and looked nervously around.
"I just flew in. Rowdy dropped me off from the landing strip. I, well, was hoping to help out. With the wedding, I mean. Weston's wedding."
"Uh," I stuttered, knowing West was even more upset with her than I had ever been. "Y-yeah, sure. You should go and talk to him." I looked back behind her towards the front of the house. "Is, uh, I mean, Gibb isn't here, is he?"
"Oh, no," she replied, looking down as she toyed with the large diamond my father had given her for their twenty-fifth anniversary. Her hands looked so worn to me. "We…I left him after, well, he wasn't a good man, as I'm sure you already know. I kicked him out of my beach house and have been building up the charter business on my own."
Right. Gibb had convinced her to spend every dime on some boat touring business in Florida and then had tried to scam her out of the operation. She was smart, though, I'd give her that. And a hard worker.
"Sounds good," I smiled, relieved. "You're too good for him. And most men."
"Thank you, sweetheart." She smiled genuinely, touching my cheek. Then she looked at the back stairs. "Should…should I go and speak with Weston? Is he in his room?"
"Um," I began, having heard the beginning of Blake's last night of her week long punishment that I pretended to know nothing about. "Yes, but—"
"His fiancée is with him?" She grinned, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," I sighed, relieved that I didn't have to explain anything about my brother's exploits. For most of my life, those roles had always been reversed. West had always played around a little bit, but I was the one who was deplorable when it came to women. Until my little blonde angel came into my life, that is.
She nodded and looked over at my bags. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Just for a night," I nodded, knowing that I'd packed way too much. But who really knew how long it would take me to win her back? Or even find her apartment in Jackson Hole? She'd never invited me there.
"I'll see you when you get back." She winked, heading up the stairs.
I turned and looked through the window in the door, checking my watch. Then I heard something tumbling down the stairway. Blake popped out into the kitchen in West's white undershirt, her hair a mess and cheeks pink. When she spotted me, she pressed her lips together and smacked my arm.
"Thanks for the heads up, asshole!"
"Sorry." I grinned, knowing that my mom had most definitely walked in on something unfortunate. She rubbed her ass absently and tried to brush her hair back. It looked to me more like my mom had walked in on the make-up sex after the hard spanking I knew Blake had gotten. I knew she'd deserved it, too. West had been out of his mind when he'd found the shed on fire. I would have been, too, had it been Chandler.
Love was a complicated emotion.
"Where