Page 65 of Wasted On You

“Why don’t you head out and start the barn chores while I deal with this, then I’ll join you.”

“Okay.” Jacob shuffled a bit, shoulders hunched forward, hands stuffed into his jean pockets. “You’re going to see Dad after we’re done?”

“I am.” Mike Paul took a beat. “We’ll get this figured out, kid. Try not to worry.”

“Your dad seems nice.”

“He’s a good guy.”

“I think I should come with you.”

Mike Paul didn’t think it was such a good idea. At least until he saw the lay of the land himself, but he wasn’t the boy’s father. Or guardian, for that matter. “Why don’t you think about it, and we’ll figure it out when we’re done.”

He watched Jacob head to the mudroom for barn clothes, and then Mike Paul got busy. He had a million things on his to-do list.

And not one included Ivy Wilkens.

It was killing him, but he would wait for her to come to him.

Chapter18

The dream snuckin like all the others. It teased relentlessly until her body was on fire. Limbs heavy, breasts aching, and a steady throb that was both exquisite and painful, Ivy moaned softly and flipped onto her back. She opened her legs for him.

Mike Paul was there, a devilish grin on his face as his hands moved over her body. Caressing her breasts. Playing with her nipples until they were rock hard. His hands moved lower, skimming her abdomen. Then, her waist. Then settled rightthere, where she needed him to be.

“You like that?” he whispered wickedly.

“Don’t stop.”

He kissed her. A long, lazy kiss that had her senses exploding while his deft fingers made quick work, his touch sending electric shocks rifling over her skin that penetrated deeper, pulling on that place inside her where pleasure lived.

“I love you, Wilkens,” he whispered hoarsely before he kissed her again. Before he teased her into a frenzy. “Say it back.” He was poised above her, that beautiful face of his so intense his eyes blazed.

“I…” She tried to swallow. Tried to speak.

“Say it.” This time, his voice was rough.

“I…” She tried again, but her tongue was so thick she couldn’t form any words.

“I need to hear it.” Mike Paul was relentless with his hands and his fingers and, God, that tongue. “Say it, Ivy.”

Why couldn’t she speak?

I love you.

Why couldn’t she get the words out?

“You’re killing me, Wilkens.”

She heard a knocking sound, one that got louder as the moments ticked by, and frowned. What was it? Where and why was it happening? Eventually the fog lifted, and Mike Paul slipped away, leaving her empty and mad and horny and?—

“Will you stop with the knocking already?” She tossed a pillow at her bedroom door and sat up, pushing hair from her face so she could see. The clock on the bedside table told her it was nearly ten a.m. With a groan, she rolled off the bed and pushed open her bedroom door.

Kip stood in the hallway, a grin on his face. “Some interesting sounds were coming from in there. Wasn’t sure if you were alone or not.”

“Coffee,” she mumbled and pushed past him. He followed a few paces behind and grabbed a stool at the island while she poured herself a cup. One taste made her nearly gag. “My God, that’s terrible.”

“I made it two hours ago.”

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