Page 65 of Brim Over Boot
I didn’t even touch my dick.
I ease the carrot free and drop it on my sheets, not caring that I’ll have to wash away the saddle butter in the morning. My hand shakes as I wipe away the lingering oil, my phone waiting like a bomb I don’t want to trigger.
Could I just…hang up? Just hang up and pretend like this never happened?
The seconds tick by painfully. Finally, I ease the device around, praying the call is disconnected. It’s not.
I bring the phone to my ear, listening.
“Was it good?” Noah asks.
I curse internally, trying to quiet my breaths. “Fuck off.”
“Oh, I did. Quite nicely, in fact. Sounds like you did, too. A thank-you would be nice, little Colt.”
My teeth grind together, my instinct to tell him where to shove it getting tamped down by the fact that there was only one of us who had something shoved up his ass just now. And it wasn’t him.
Noah lets out a sigh. “Fine. Sleep well.”
“Noah,” I say before he can hang up. “I really didn’t mean to call.”
The second I say the words, guilt and regret trickle in. What the fuck? It’s true, and it’s not like I care about his feelings. It’s not like he even wanted me to call in the first place. But still…
Fuck.
I open my mouth to—I don’t know—apologize, maybe? But Noah’s voice is back in my ear before I can.
“Got it,” he says briskly. And then he hangs up.
I let my phone fall to the bed and groan. There’s cum on my shirt and a condom-covered carrot lying near my leg. But all I can think about is Noah fucking King and the hurt I think I heard in those two words.
Fucking hell. What is wrong with me?
Chapter 20
Noah
“Allright?”myuncleasks.
Realizing I’d been stuck in my head, I nod and turn off the burner. The eggs are done. I plate up my own breakfast, as well as my uncle’s, and take a seat.
“What’s this?” he says, holding up a strip of bacon.
“What’s it look like?”
“I dunno. That’s why I’m asking.”
I huff. “It’s turkey bacon.”
My uncle frowns in a way that manages to convey his deep disappointment. “Now why would you go and buy fake bacon when the real thing exists?”
“Walt,” I say, unable to hide my chuckle. “Don’t start. It’s better for you.”
He looks at me over the lens of his glasses. “And who said I need better? I’ve been doing perfectly fine.”
Oh, your doctors, maybe?I keep the thought to myself. It’s not a battle worth waging.
“Just eat your bacon. I’ll get the real stuff next time,” I tell him, knowing balance is better than attempting a complete overhaul of his system. The man is too stubborn for that.
