Page 4 of Endlessly Yours
I had been drunk and had slept with someone who wasn’t my wife. It didn’t matter that Amara had been gone.
I’d broken something inside, broken everything.
And I still wouldn’t keep my promise.
CHAPTER ONE
BROOKS
The thing about living alone for so long was that you sometimes got tired of waking up with a hard dick and having nothing else to do with it other than introduce it to your opposite palm for the morning so you didn’t get bored with the other. With a sigh, I leaned against the shower wall, hot water spilling down my back, as I wrapped my left hand around the base of my cock and tugged. I licked my lips, imagining a faceless woman on her knees, her lips wrapped around the tip of my dick, careful of the piercings, with her tongue sliding in the slit at the tip.
I grunted, running my hand up and down my length, imagining the woman doing the same thing with her smaller hands. She would bob her head, her tongue flattening as she would let me slide down that pretty little throat. I’d pump in and out of those plump lips, loving the way that one hand would be squeezing the base of my cock, the other holding my thigh. Her nails would dig in, just at the point where pleasure turned to pain, and I would wrap her hair around my fist and slide deeper down her throat. Then I’d hold her still, eyes wide as I fucked her face, her hand moving down between her legs so she could get herself off, loving the way that she would take my cock.
Now my hand moved faster, imagining the way that my hips would move, and she would rock her body along with me. Only in my head, the hair around my fist turned blonde, and familiar gray eyes stared up at me. I cursed, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I squeezed even harder, imagining the way that she would lap up every drop of me. I couldn’t help but think about the way that her cunt would squeeze my dick once I slid into her from behind. She’d arch her back for me, and I would lick up every single tattoo that I knew dotted her spine. Then I’d bite down over the rose on her shoulder, and slam home, filling her with my cum, as she clamped down around my cock, coming right along with me.
I opened my eyes, sighing at myself as I moved the head of the shower to wash my cum off the shower wall.
“You’re a sick, sick man, Brooks.”
I knew I needed to stop having dreams about Rory. She wasn’t mine. I knew that. She knew that. And we’d made our deals. Only I could practically smell her soft vanilla scent in my fucking bathroom. It had to be her lotion or something. I didn’t want to think about it because I wasn’t going to touch Rory in any way possible. I regretted every single moment we’d shared that night, and I wasn’t about to lean into that desire or attraction once again.
I was Pavlov’s dog, and she was the bell of my memories. Because as soon as she came around, my dick went to attention, and it took all within me not to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with it.
As it was, Rory was spending way too many hours on the property. And I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
I didn’t want her. I wasn’t sure I even liked her. And I didn’t know her.
But my dick didn’t answer to me. Nor did it ever listen to me. I did what it wanted. I quickly finished showering, paying extra attention to the Jacob’s ladder piercing I had on my dick. It had hurt like hell when I had first gotten it, but that had been years ago, and it had healed up nicely. All I had to do was make sure when I got myself off, I didn’t twist in a certain way. The women that I had been with since that fateful night in an airport bar where I’d had too much to drink, and too much grief to realize what a mistake I was making, had liked the piercing. Yes, they were a little afraid of it at first, especially if they wanted to wrap their mouth around it, but they got used to it. And with the condoms, the specialty condoms that I used, they could still feel it when it hit that spot, and in the end, they begged for more.
But I never gave it to them.
I had always been a one-woman man. From high school on, I had loved one woman.
And Amara was gone. My wife, my soulmate, was dead.
And now I never stayed with the same woman for more than a night. Was that breaking the promise that I hadn’t truly made to her? I didn’t think so. I was already going to hell for multiple reasons. By desecrating her memory by sleeping with a stranger that turned out not to be so unknown to me on the first anniversary of losing Amara, I’d taken the first of many steps in that direction.
What kind of hypocrite did that make me? What kind of hellscape did I deserve? Now, I slept with women that I met in bars, ones that I knew wanted nothing but a single night of pleasure, and we’d walk away without exchanging anything but a name.
And a few orgasms.
And yet with all those women over the years, it was Rory who continued to fill my daydreams when I needed to get off.
Rory—my brother’s wife’s best friend.
Of all the people in all of the world, it had to be her.
Honestly, the statistics didn’t make any sense. I had met Rory miles away from here. Hell, I hadn’t even lived outside of San Antonio at the time. My brothers and I had only moved here a couple of years ago when we had joined our cousins on this Wilder Retreat and Winery adventure.
I was a contractor and used my hands to build things for a living. So when my cousins had needed help in restructuring and adding on, I jumped at the chance to use my company for that. Because I was tired of sitting in a home that I used to share with my wife and pretending that I wasn’t dead inside.
There had been too many dark nights where I had wanted to follow her, and that told me I needed to get a grip.
Amara would never forgive me for so many things but leaning into one thought that had been one dark thought too far, would have broken her.
So I’d moved outside San Antonio to the Wilder Retreat and Winery, along with my brothers.
Now we were one big happy family, the ten of us.
