Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(35)
Author: K.A. Tucker

I lift her body and spin around to lie back and enjoy the view of a naked Reese riding me.

Fantastic. This has earned you a whole extra thirty f**king seconds, maximum, dumbass.

When I watch those natural teardrop-shaped br**sts bounce like only real ones can and her fingers weave through mine, resting against her thighs, I cut that down to an extra ten seconds, maximum.

And when her first cries sound out not long after, I know I won’t even make it that long.

Chapter 25

REESE

I’m cradled in a set of powerful arms before I’m even conscious. It takes a few blinks and missed heartbeats to focus in on the gorgeous face and the smile staring down at me.

“Time to get up.”

“Who let you in here?” I croak, feeling my scowl form, the fact that I’m completely naked and he’s fully dressed not lost on me.

“This is my room, remember?” He sets me back down on me feet. “Come on. It’s almost eleven. ”

“Sure, okay.” I crawl back into bed and pull the covers up over my body. They disappear just as fast. “Pervert,” I mutter.

“We’ve got to hit the road.”

“I think it’s better for all parties involved if you give me another hour,” I mutter, rolling onto my stomach. This could very well be his way of getting me out of his bed. Right now, I don’t care. We didn’t fall asleep until well after five this morning.

There’s a long pause.

“Stop staring at my ass,” I mumble into the pillow.

I feel strong, hot hands run up the backs of my legs. “I can’t help it.”

“I thought you were in a rush.”

“I only need five minutes.”

“Don’t I know it.” I smile, earning a stinging slap across my left ass cheek.

“Are you complaining? Because you sure weren’t complaining last night. Not the first or the second . . .” Ben tempers his weight as he lies down on top of me, his mouth against my ear, “. . . or the third or the—”

I turn my head to steal his words with a hard, quick, close-mouthed kiss. Then I roll back and face the other way to hide my wide grin. The one that would tell him how much I’m not complaining about last night.

Last night was . . . unforgettable.

“Well, I could use those five minutes now for something more enjoyable, like brushing my teeth,” I lie as his hand slides between my legs and into me.

“Huh, well then what’s this?”

I reach around to smack him haphazardly. “You’re such a romantic.”

“Don’t even pretend romance is your thing,” he shoots back. His weight disappears suddenly. When I dare glance over my shoulder, his shirt is already off and he’s working on his jeans. With the speed of a well-practiced expert, he has a condom on and is back on top of me again in seconds, his arousal pressing up against my thigh as a hand slides under my stomach to force me onto my knees. I don’t know that Ben has a favorite position yet but he certainly struggles to last long with this one, I learned last night.

“What are we doing?” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I just . . . I figured that after he got what he wanted last night, he’d already be losing interest.

A big, confident smile splashes across his face. “What does it feel like we’re doing?” I can’t tell if he knows what I truly meant and is just avoiding the question. But then he stalls to lay a kiss on my shoulder blade. “I’m heading up to the grove today. The tangerines are a couple of weeks early and Mama’s got a bunch of orders to fill. Do you want to come? I’m staying overnight.”

The grove? A blip of excitement jumps in me. I’ve caught myself thinking about Wilma and that house often these last few weeks—while staring out at the busy Miami streets, or sitting in Jack’s modern but plain suburban home—wondering, hoping to visit again.

Now I have the chance and it’s because Ben has invited me.

Two elements that I find equally thrilling.

“I’ll let you drive the tractor,” he offers in a taunting voice, as if he’s trying to entice a child with a candy bar.

I don’t answer with words; I simply peek over my shoulder at him, letting him see my genuine smile.

It earns one in return—a soft, boyish one as he looks me over. “But first . . .”

“Sorry we’re late, Mama.” I watch as Ben scoops his mother up and whips her around before laying a kiss on her cheek, just like he did the last time. I’ll admit . . . it makes my heart swell. “Reese takes forever to make herself pretty.”

Jackass. “Clearly,” I mutter dryly as Ben occupies himself with an excited Quincy. He gave me all of ten minutes at home to shower, change, and pack some things for an overnight stay, paranoid that Jack would show up to find him in the driveway. He wouldn’t even come in the house. The official story is that I’m staying at Lina and Nicki’s this weekend. We’ve already texted them and Mason to line it up. None of them are answering their phones, but I’m assuming it’s thanks to a nasty hangover and Mason playing nursemaid to Lina.

“And here I thought you looked this beautiful just rolling out of bed,” Wilma says, walking over to wrap her arms around me in a warm hug. “Should I smack him or will you?”

“Oh, I’ll make him pay for that,” I promise, feeling all kinds of weirdness and warmth with her gesture. Is this what a normal mom is like? Or did Ben just hit the jackpot? “He’s quite a character, isn’t he?” I muse.

Wilma’s face beams with pride. “He certainly is.” There’s a long pause and I have the distinct feeling that she’s dying to begin asking intrusive questions about my relationship with her son. But she doesn’t. Instead she reaches up to touch the underside of my hair. “I love this color. It suits you.”

I smile, thinking how different Annabelle’s response would be to that.

“Thank you so much for giving up your weekend to help out. The orders are pouring in and I don’t have the seasonal staff starting for another two weeks.”

“Are you kidding?” I let my senses take in everything around me—the peaceful silence, the house that may be in need of repair but is still stunning, the giant oaks that give the property such a haunting, romantic feel—and I exhale blissfully. “I’m just happy to be back so soon.” There’s really only one thing that isn’t entirely charming about the Bernard Morris Grove, but it’s well hidden in the barn, probably sucking back a bottle of whiskey.

“You coming?” Ben hollers, climbing onto the old tractor and sliding on the cowboy hat that was hanging off the back of the seat, a sight that leads to something stirring in my lower belly. I don’t have a thing for cowboys. All the ones I’ve ever met leave much to be desired.

Until now.

“I thought you said I could drive?”

“I lie to get pretty girls to do things. Haven’t you figured that out yet? You can sit on the wagon or up here.” He pats the piece of metal beside his seat, covering the giant tire.

I climb up and hop onto his lap instead. “Fine. We can both drive.”

“This probably isn’t a—” he begins to say but I crank the engine and the rumble of the tractor kills his words. “Okay, you asked for it!” he yells, throwing it into gear, and with one arm wrapped snugly around my waist, he sends the tractor lurching forward down the path.

He takes the same path that he did a few weeks ago in the dune buggy, only at a much slower rate and not quite as far. “I’ve never been on a tractor before!” I yell back as he turns down a narrower path and cuts the engine. Taking in the orange globes contrasting against the rich green leaves, I ask, “Are these tangerines?”

A hand pushes my hair out of the way and then Ben’s mouth grazes over my neck, the heat sending tingles down to my fingertips. “Some sort of citrus, anyway.”

I reach back and swipe his cowboy hat off his head. “Is that the technical term?”

He answers me by reaching down and unfastening my jeans.

My eyes widen as I glance around to make sure we’re completely alone. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Solving the problem you just created by bouncing on my lap for the last ten minutes.”

“So?” I hear him say, my head resting on his broad chest. “You want to quit your day job and be an orange farmer, don’t you.”

I smile, stretching my legs out around a crate by my feet. There are fifteen of them taking up space on the wagon we pulled out here behind the tractor, which we’re now lying on. “Depends. Is the tractor ride a daily perk?” As sore as I am from last night and this morning, the second Ben had my pants off, I couldn’t climb onto his lap fast enough. Anyone who might be hiding out here just got one hell of show.

He chuckles but doesn’t answer.

“Do you?” I finally ask.

“Sometimes. It’s relaxing out here. I have so many great memories, with my brothers and sister. But . . .” His voice fades. I lift my head to catch that far-off look in his eyes, Ben losing himself in a thought. “I didn’t work my ass off through law school for nothing. And then I’d be dealing with that mess,” he says, throwing a lazy hand toward the house. “It would cost a fortune to renovate that place, and what the hell am I going to do with it?”

“Is it just because of that?” Something tells me it has more to do with the mess in the barn.

He opens one eye and peers down at me. “What? You think just because I let you pick my oranges, you get to ask all kinds of personal questions now?”

I’m not sure if he’s bothered by my question but, judging by the proud grin on his face, I’m pretty sure his “pick my oranges” reference has nothing to do with fruit. I reach up to flick his ear. “I thought they were tangerines.”

“Ow!” he whines, but it’s followed up by a smile as he grabs my hand and pulls it down to rest beneath his on his chest. I wait quietly, staring at him until he finally speaks. “I remember noticing the whiskey on my dad’s breath when I was around ten. Mama says he wasn’t always this bad. Apparently he barely drank when they got married. He was a different man back then, she says. Maybe that’s true. All I know is it kept getting worse, until I was embarrassed when anyone came over.”

I feel for him. At least Annabelle could usually hold her liquor well. But on those nights when she didn’t, I went to Lina’s house instead of having her come over. Lina’s parents don’t even touch alcohol.

“He liked to go out on Friday nights. When I was about sixteen, he started going out and not coming home until the next morning. He never said where he was, and when I asked him, he’d just tell me to mind my own damn business. It drove me nuts, because I knew what it was doing to Mama. She’d come down from her room, her eyes all puffy and with dark circles from lack of sleep. Sometimes I’d walk past her door and hear her crying.

“Turns out Mama knew where he was, what he was doing—or who he was doing—all along.”

“So your dad had an affair?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it an affair. More like he’d get drunk and f**k anyone who gave him an opening. Pretty much anything he could pick up at the bar. He’d been doing it for years. He was a good-looking man. He got a lot of attention.”

Poor Wilma. “Does he still do it?”

Ben snorts. “Doubt the guy can even get it up anymore. He’s got more whiskey than blood running through his veins nowadays. But he went into a deep depression after the accident and hasn’t had much interest in . . . anything, really. I don’t know that he’s even left the property in the last few years. He can’t drive himself anywhere with only the one arm. Orders his booze by the case, delivered right to the barn.”

“Wow.” I turn my head to rest against Ben’s chest once again, listening to his heart hammer against its confines. “I can’t believe she stayed with him.”

“Yeah, well, marriage makes people do stupid things, I guess.” There’s a pause. “Like wasting time on guys who cheat and then marry their mistresses.”

I roll my eyes. I knew that was coming. “Well, have no fear. I don’t think I’ll be hearing from him again, thanks to you.” Ben handed me my phone back this morning and there was no follow-up text.

I never responded to Jared, either. I don’t know what to say, and I’m taking my new lawyer’s advice and not putting anything incriminating in writing.

“I hope not.” Suddenly my body is turning and I find myself on my back with Ben’s face hovering above me and his big arms on either side of my head. Clear blue skies stretch out beyond.

This. Right here. Right now. I think I could be an orange farmer if it meant relaxed days, peace and quiet, Ben.