Page 115 of Wild Eyes
Watching Skylar Stone come is my undoing.
My fingers form a fist in her hair, and I pull out. “Mouth open,” I bite out harshly before fisting my cock with the opposite hand.
I jerk once before blowing on her face. Shot after shot. Her waiting tongue. Her cherry lips. Her cheeks.
I paint her—mark her.
And I feel no remorse, especially not when her tongue darts out for a taste.
“Fucking hot, Sky,” I breathe, stroking her hair. I can’t tear my gaze from the captivating woman on her knees. Her smirk. Her little humming noise as she tastes me.
She nods, teeth pressing into her bottom lip. “So hot. I’m going to be coming down to the arena a lot more often.”
“So I can make a mess of your fancy face?”
She wipes her finger over her cheek and sticks it in her mouth before proclaiming, “Definitely.”
I shake my head. “Filthy mind to match your filthy mouth,” I mutter as I reach back to tug my shirt off.
“You love it,” she quips.
I don’t laugh at the joke. Instead, I drop to my knees and come face-to-face with her. “I do.”
Our gazes clash. Unspoken truths linger in the air between us, but neither of us says a thing. We remain silent as I use the shirt to carefully wipe up the mess I made before tossing her over my shoulder and carrying her back to the house to make another.
I may not have her forever, but I’m going to enjoy the hell out of of her while I do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
WEST
The changeswith Skylar start slowly.
She hums as she tosses a flake of hay into a stall. She doesn’t even look horrified by the dust on her shirt.
“What are you humming?”
Skylar stops, confusion touching her features. “Was I?”
“Yeah. Didn’t recognize it.” The beat alone felt different from anything I’ve ever heard her perform.
Her head tilts. “Huh, I’m not sure.”
We smile at each other and go back to doing night check in a companionable silence. Soon, she begins to hum the same tune. I don’t ask about it this time, but after a couple minutes, she turns to me. “Can I borrow your phone?”
Brow furrowed, I pull it out of my back pocket and hand it to her without question.
“What’s the password?”
With a sheepish look, I confess, “It’s 1-2-3-4. I should change it since Emmy has it figured out now, but I just haven’t gotten around to it.”
All I get back is a wide grin and a quiet, “Thanks.” Then I watch her hold the phone to her mouth as she walks the alleywayback and forth. Humming the same tune that she has been with a little added flourish. When she finishes, she peeks up at me, “Mind if I send this to Ford?”
I’m speechless for a moment. I feel like I’m here, watching her come back to life.
“Of course not.”
“I can’t believe you like red grapes better than green grapes.” We hop into my truck after leaving the grocery store, and Skylar is shaking her head over my grape preference.
