Page 125 of Wild Eyes
I jerk myself faster—my eyes on her photos, her voice in my ears—over and over again to her sexy sounds. Moaning my name. Breathing. Cursing.
It’s fucking hot. With her, everything is like that.
“West. I’m gonna come.”
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
My dick swells. I don’t let up. Twisting. Rubbing. Imagining it’s her hot mouth. Her tight pussy. She cries out my name and I follow suit as I lean back and blow on my stomach. Each shot of cum surging in time with her moans. “Skylar, fuck. Fuuuck.”
When I finally catch my breath, I take a Kleenex from the box on my desk and wipe myself up before flopping back in the chair.
“I should have bought a phone with video calling, so I could watch. I knew that was going to piss me off.”
I laugh and run a hand through my hair, still gathering myself after that experience with her. “It’s okay. I’ll show you up close tomorrow.”
We end the night talking in bed until we both fall asleep. And when I wake up in the morning and reach for her, she isn’t there. But my screen shows the call is still active four hours later.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SKYLAR
NOT-SO-BREAKING NEWS: I miss you.
I can barely sit stillon the ride back to Rose Hill. I woke up earlier than expected this morning, considering I stayed up late into the night talking to West on the phone. I’m fairly certain I fell asleep that way.
Waking up with my phone in my bed rather than him was enough to spur me into action. My bags were already packed, so I tried my hand at getting an earlier flight. And it worked.
Now I’m just enduring the three-hour drive back to Rose Hill. Which feels like its own special brand of torture. I want to snap my fingers and be in his arms.
The trip back to Los Angeles hadn’t been as bad as I expected. I managed to keep my cool while being interviewed. Talking about a song or an album that I actually feel passionate about had words rolling off my tongue.
Nothing I said was a lie, nothing I did was for show. There’s something freeing about loving your work so much that you don’t give a flying fuck if anyone else does. And that’s this album—Photosynthesis. And from the moment I heard the playback—just me and Ford Grant Senior on his acoustic guitar—I knew I loved it enough that no one could pop my bubble.
I wouldn’t let them. Even my dad milling around walking on egg shells bothered me less than I thought it would. Knowing he couldn’t touch this project gave me peace. He wasn’t worth the fight, and so I chose to ignore him.
I felt secure in myself for the first time. Because, for once in my life, I knew where I belonged—what I was going home to.
And West was man enough to let me go do what I needed to do. He didn’t cling to me or make me feel guilty for leaving. He didn’t gaslight me or make it about him. And after a lifetime spent around self-centered men who treat me like I can’t do anything myself, there’s a comfort in knowing West believes in me so thoroughly that he doesn’t try to overstep.
There’s a man who will do everything for you.
And then there’s a man who is secure enough to realize there are things you need to do for yourself—who steps back and revels in watching you soar.
That’s the man who’s your biggest fan.
That’s West.
My throat aches as we turn down the backroad that brings me closer to him. “That sign, right there.” I point to the Sparkly Turquoise Unicorn Ranch sign that still dangles from the official one and smile with watery eyes. It’s more sun-bleached than it used to be.
It’s more perfect than ever.
When the tires hit the gravel driveway, I sigh and melt back into the town car’s leather seat.
Home.
Sure, I stayed at a house I own in Los Angeles, but this? This is home.
The sun hangs low in the sky, and I can feel that nip in the air as we barrel toward fall. Some leaves here in the valley already look suspiciously yellow. I close my eyes and let myself imagine this place in the winter. Bluebird skies. Pine-covered mountains turned to snow-covered mountains. Skating on the lake. Tobogganing with Emmy and Ollie. Hot chocolate. Morning snuggles.
