19. Reese

I have got a giant, beautiful god in my bed.

Strong arms wrap around my waist, making my pudge look dainty and womanly. The morning sunlight is filtering over his forearms, casting veins in sharp contrast, painting his fine hairs gold. His skin is dark from long summer days working in the sun.

His palm curls around my hip, warm and callused. I can feel his broad chest rising and falling against the curve of my back and his morning wood is prodding my thighs.

He called me a kitty cat the night before, well my pussy is purring at this intrusion. This is how I want to wake up every morning. Sexy, warm man beast curving protectively around me, dick asking for more.

It’s not hard to picture tomorrow the same way. And the tomorrow after that. Morning after morning, like paper dolls, I can see them spanning ahead. We’d stay in Silver Bend.

Fix up his grandparents' house or build a new one just the way we want it. We’d have a few kids. Three, to average the number of siblings we each grew up with.

He’d farm and work remotely, just like he does now. I’d work at the bank and… never use the master’s degree I worked so hard to earn.

I’d stunt my potential to prop his up. The kids, our extended family, they’d all take priority. I know they would, and I’d be what? A husk. An asterisk to everyone else’s story.

Shit.

I’m doing it again.

We’re not even together, and I’m already willing to mold myself around him.

I’m so frustrated with myself. My body wants to stay here, curled up next to his lovely warmth, but my brain knows better.

It’s telling me to run from the beautiful whirlpool before I get sucked in. Easing out from under his arms, I pause, looking back at him.

He rolls over onto his side, pulling the sheet with him so that it barely covers the x-rated parts.

I know he doesn’t have time to work out, but his body is still ridged with the muscles you earn from hard work alone. Shaking my head, I turn away before I’m tempted to leap back into bed with him.

Pulling on a PJ set, the one with the yellow happy face smiles and buttons down the middle, I move to the kitchen and start some coffee.

By the time the pot is brewed, I already know what I need to do. I have the words rehearsed, but when Skyler shuffles into the kitchen, I’m temporarily at a loss for words. His jeans hang low on his hips with no sign of his boxers.

Which leads me to believe he is probably going commando, which gets me thinking about how nice his cock feels in my hand. And thrusting between my legs. I clear my throat, tearing my gaze up to his face.

His eyes are slightly puffy from sleep, which is stupidly adorable, and his hair is mussed in a way that makes me really, really want to run my hands through it.

“Coffee?”

I blurt, looking for an excuse to turn around.

“Yes, please.”

He slides onto a stool and leans on his elbows. A grin tugs at his features.

“What are you smiling about?”

I set a mug of coffee in front of him.

“Just remembering how big of a potty mouth you have.”

My cheeks heat and I smile despite myself. “You were the one doing the dirty talking.”

He chuckles, tipping his head like he can’t argue with that. “I mean the cursing. The worst word I’ve ever heard out of your mouth is fudge.”

“Oh. Well, there’s the filtered version that usually comes out and then there’s the inner monologue. It’s like a grizzled pirate in here.”

I tap my head. “I grew up around you boys, after all.”

“So, you’re saying it’s our fault?”

“I’m saying that was your contribution.”

I lean on my elbows, an entire kitchen island keeping us safely separated. “About last night.”

“Uh-oh.”

He tilts his head. “She’s going into serious mode again.”

“Yes I am and you’re going to sit there and listen like a good boy.”

He sits upright, folding his hands in front of him. “How’s this?”

“Sufficient.”

My gaze flicks down over his bare chest and I wrench it back up again. “Thanks for staying over, that was… fun.”

His brow furrows. “Fun?”

“Yeah, fun.”

I wave my hand breezily before meeting his gaze. “Thanks for being cool about that whole… freak out.”

His expression softens. “Of course.”

“I don’t want that to happen in front of the next guy.”

He’s frowning again. “The next guy shouldn’t care. I didn’t.”

This is where I would usually let the men in my life act like my gurus. They’re older than me. My brother. His friends. My dad. I’ve always deferred to their experience.

But last time I checked, none of these assholes have experienced being female.