Page 80 of Something Like Sunflowers

He smirks knowingly, a cocky-ass grin that seems to sweep over his face like a sexy leather coat, before he shoves his thumb in my mouth, surprising me with how willingly my body responds to his commands without my brain needing to be involved in the slightest.

“Suck,” he says. It’s not a request.

So, I obey, running my tongue along the length of his thumb like it’s a cock I can’t get enough of. Sucking, swirling, tasting it and wishing like hell it was the real thing all over again.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, tilting my head to the side, inspecting my jaw line as his lips curve up dangerously. “Since you don’t like my messes between your legs, I’ll put them right here sometimes. But only when you’re a good girl, Devy.”

I gasp, his eyes shining with promise when he pulls his thumb free and wipes the wetness across my bottom lip, dragging its plumpness to the side before it pops back into place.

“I’ll get you a towel, princess.”

He winks, heading toward the bedroom door, swinging his hips and giving me a private, X-rated show of his Internet famous swag.

But then he pauses, arching his brows and whipping his head around.

“Do you hear running water?”

Chapter 31

Devyn

The chickens too?” Ellie whines, throwing her bucket to the ground and stomping toward the coop. “I already cleared out the sheep and horse stalls.”

“Well, remember how much shit you got yourself into next time you try to flood a guest room,” Hunter shouts as she storms off, her strawberry hair whipping angrily in the wind.

“I can’t believe she flooded your room.” He whips off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair, like he does when he’s stressed out.

“Cut her a little bit of slack. She’s only nine, after all.”

“Almost ten. She knew better.” He shoves his hat back on his head and looks like he might storm off just like she did, but I take his hand and he sighs, releasing more than stress into the air. More than flooding. And even though I wish he’d let me all the way in, to whatever else is plaguing him, I know what it’s like to live with scars.

I won’t press him. Instead, I rise to the tips of my boots and kiss his forehead. He releases a deep breath and curls his arms around me, resting his chin on my head, and I can only hope he’ll open up to me all the way when he’s ready.

“I don’t know what got into her. She keeps insisting she was only helping me.” He scrunches his brow. “It doesn’t make any sense. She likes you. Like, really likes you. She all but gave me the go-ahead the night of the Halloween tree.”

“The Halloween tree?” I peel away and meet his eyes, my heart swelling with happiness. He’s been falling for just as long as I have.

Now it’s my turn to cast him a cocky smirk.

“Why, Mr. Isaac,” I tease in an over-the-top southern drawl, “that was nearly three weeks ago, was it not?”

Hunter Isaac, the bad boy next door, blushes, and I absolutely love it.

“I’ve never not been sweet on you, Ponygirl.”

I bite my bottom lip to keep the pair from pressing against his and forgetting what it is we’re doing out here in the first place.

“Do you suppose I could talk to her? Woman to woman?”

“She’s only nine.”

“Almost ten,” I say with a pointed finger to his nose. He scrunches it at me. “I hate to break it to you, Hunter, but that is not a little child.” I point to the coop a few yards ahead of us where a tall, gangly ‘tween sticks out of the wood, her brightly beaded anklet decorating a stray, barefoot limb of painted toes.

“That is a little lady right there. You better face the facts before they face you. She’s smarter than you’re giving her credit for.”

His face scrunches up, like he’s appalled at the thought. Of her growing up, most likely. Most parents make that face when you say, ‘Oh, wow, she’s gotten so big,’ or similar customary phrases. Sadly, I can’t say I get it.

I don’t understand what it’s like to see your baby grow up in front of you like he does.

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