Broken Hero

I think of the heavy, silver-plated letters hanging by the gates to the Ranch. Morris. Selling it would have broken his heart.

“It’s a success now.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I’d call it that just yet.”

I smile. “It’s fully booked all of July. It’s given the town jobs and tourism. You’ve given me a job. All of that has to be worth something?”

Oliver’s eyes soften. “It is,” he says. “What did you do in Dallas?”

“I worked at a massage clinic and spa. One of the largest in the city, actually.” And one of the shittiest. I pour myself a glass of ice tea and try to sort through the jumble of memories and emotions. I want to learn more about him, but I’d rather skip talking about myself.This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

He waits for me to find my words.

“It didn’t end well,” I say finally. “My employment.”

There’s no judgment in his silence. “It didn’t?”

“No. And at the same time as that happened, my ex turned out to be a creep and my best friend a liar. I stayed in Dallas for a while after that, but the city quickly lost its charm.”

“And then you came here.”

“Yes, then I came here,” I repeat. “And I’m so happy I did.”

He’s easy to talk to, every part of him radiating safety and comfort. I don’t want to go anywhere else. We sit in comfortable silence as the sun begins its slow descent across the horizon. No words are needed, not for that beauty. Oliver runs a hand through his hair and motions to me.

“Come here.”I sit down next to him on the porch swing. A strong arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me close.

“Look at that,” he murmurs.

The sunset is a blaze of glory, orange and pinks and purples, all across the field. It’s summer, it’s warm, and I’ve never been more content.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

He traces a rough finger down my shoulder. “Are you cold?”

“No.” I put a hand on his chest. I know what it looks like, the tan skin and the taut muscles. Oliver’s arm tightens, as if he can sense my mood.

“You drive me mad, Luce.”

“I do?” I slide my hand down the hard planes of his stomach.

Oliver’s groan is barely audible. “Yes. You have since the first time I met you.”

“That long?”

“You’ve been driving me insane since the first time you biked up here in those tiny shorts, your hair undone…”

I reach up and kiss his neck. “It’s the same for me,” I tell him. “I see you stride across the ranch and I think I might die from wanting you.”

He catches my hand as it traces his belt buckle, and when he speaks, his voice is tight. “Don’t. I can’t stop thinking about the night we spent at yours.”

“It haunts me, too. I wake up wanting you, and I go to bed longing,” I say. “It’s been too long.”

His voice is rough. “Not for a lack of wanting.”

I’m not sure who moves first, because when we collide, it overwhelms me completely. I’m tugged forward and atop him, straddled across his hard belt buckle. His hands are bruising in their intensity. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants to pull me closer or push me away, to surrender or to keep fighting.

I plunge my hands into his thick hair. Surrender, I think. I want him to be as lost to this as I am. With a groan, he stands, my legs wrapped around his waist. I’m vaguely aware of being airborne. The screen door closes behind us with a soft click, but I don’t stop kissing him. I couldn’t even if I tried.

His lips taste of sweet ice tea and barbecue sauce and intensity. They’re firm and demanding on mine. The touch sends heat through my limbs, twined around him, and warmth pools in my stomach. Yes, I think. Yes, yes, yes.

Oliver stops at the bottom of a staircase. I slide down his body slowly, his hands wrapped tightly around my waist. His blue eyes are dark with desire.

“You’re sleeping here tonight.”

“Mmm,” I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him again.

The heat between us burns hotter than it did last week. His hands are everywhere; they’re fire on my skin as he tears at the buttons of my shirt. When he tugs down my shorts and runs reverent hands over my thighs, my eyes roll back a bit. It’s too much to be wanted by this man. I can’t bear it.

Oliver goes down on me again, hands holding my legs apart, and I have to grip his sheets to keep from straining away from that mouth. He knows me too well, and still… I never want him to stop. I break apart under his hands and tongue.

I touch him the same way. Sprawled atop him on his massive bed, he’s a golden mess of man and I want him everywhere. I trace the groove of his collarbone and the scarred skin of his shoulder.

These are things I’ll remember forever-the growling sound he makes when I stroke him, hard and throbbing in my hand. A sweaty forehead against my shoulder, hair tickling my skin. When he murmurs my name, a prayer and a plea in one. He tastes salty and slick, and I look up at him as I do my best to make him burn like I am.

Because I’m on fire. The world could be ending outside of this bed-it might as well not exist at all. Nothing matters but him and this, the clawing, burning need inside of me to make us one.

I notice things I didn’t, that first, delirious time in my studio apartment. The way his chest hair feels against my breasts when he fills me. How he will time the deep thrust of his hips with slow kisses. How the hair at the nape of his neck curls, just slightly, with the humidity and heat rising between us.

Oliver brings me over the edge twice before he finds his own release. So caught in my own desire last time, I nearly missed it. I make sure I don’t this time.

I wrap my legs around his waist and run my hands along the powerful muscles of his back. His gaze, heady with need and lust, meets mine and I refuse to look away. I want to see it. I want to see him like this, lost in me, just as I’m lost in him.

Oliver shudders as he comes, his eyes shuttering for a few moments. I hold him close and feel the aftershocks as my body squeezes around him.

He collapses on top of me, still buried inside, his breath heavy against my temple. I never want to move from this spot, enveloped in his warmth. I want to know all of him.

“You’re never getting rid of me now,” I say.

I feel the faint exhale of his laugh. “That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

I sleep better than I have in years.

Her warmth against me and the soft tickle of her hair against my chest is the last thing I remember before I drift off into blissful, dreamless sleep. It isn’t until the early morning hours that I feel her stir in my arms.

I’m awake in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She yawns, pulling back her hair. “I have to head back to the bakery.”