Page 78 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

The government will have to deport me if they want me out because this… This is absolute fucking bliss.

The fields are covered in a golden glow, wildflowers sway in the early breeze, and the cattle are nothing more than lazy silhouettes in the distance. Everything is still. Quiet.

Except for me.

Not caring about getting a splinter, I grip the wooden railing tight as Wade drives himself in me over and over again. His hand is tangled in my hair, holding my head up, forcing me to take in the view as I moan for him so loud that I am surprised the whole state of Texas hasn’t woken up.

For the past month, we’ve had to steal secret moments wherever we could. Meaning our morning routine has basically evolved into a sex fest.

Not that I’m complaining. Every morning, I am left with what Iris called the “post-orgasm glow” when I caught her up on the latest updates in The Cowboy Chronicles. She said I just needed to find someone who could match my energy. Well,consider that box ticked. I’ve learnt more about my kinks in these past few weeks than in the entirety of my adult life.

Turns out what I like in books translates pretty well to real life. Mostly. Some things can stay between me and the pages.

Wade's grip tightens in my hair, his other hand finding my hip, fingers pressing into my skin hard enough to leave a mark. His breathing shifts—quicker, uneven—and I know exactly what that means. And before I can do anything to help him over the edge, he comes undone in me.

He pulls out without hesitation, turning me to face him. His cum drips down my leg as I look up at the handsome cowboy that, without any warning or permission, has become the best part of my days here.

Wade leans down, kissing me with an urgency that makes me feel irresistible to him. His fingers glide up my inner thigh, coating them in his own release before he pumps in back into me. I gasp, not expecting more from him.

“Angel, this morning you are going to be both the first and last to come,” he growls against my throat.

And he is true to his word.

I dash back inside, taking five minutes to make myself look less like a woman who just got thoroughly fucked, and when I step back out onto the porch, I notice Wade has apparently been busy. There’s a cup of coffee steaming on the small side table, an oversized gift bag sitting on the floor, and he is sitting on the swing like an invitation I can’t decline.

Collecting my coffee along the way, I plod over to him, tucking myself into the space beside him. His frame is warm, broad, and unfairly solid, and I hate how easily I fit in it.

My eyes drift to the bag. “What's that?”

Before I can get a closer look, Wade cups my chin, his hand covering most of the lower half of my face, guiding me to look at him instead.

Wade holds my gaze, the way he has been doing lately, brushing his thumb along my jaw while giving me one of those soft smiles I’d never though him capable of when I first arrived.

The way we just stare at each other, me leaning into his touch like it’s the most natural thing to do, feels like more than just messing around. It feels intimate.

His smile slowly turns into a teasing grin. “Did I just fuck the brains out of you, or do you genuinely not know what a gift looks like?”

Before I can fire back, the coffee in my hands is replaced by the bag. It’s tall and brown, blue tissue paper spilling out of the top.

I turn it slightly and catch the stamp pressed into the top left corner—Buck's Boots.

This man and his fixation with my footwear. I swear.

Meeting his gaze, again. “Wade. I already bought boots.”

“Just open it, angel.” He commands, and I obey instantly like the weak woman I am.

Making short work of the tissue paper, I let it fall onto the wooden patio before lifting out the box beneath. It’s the same brown colour as the bag, only with a large stamp slapped on the middle of the lid.

Wade’s watching me, hand rubbing the back of his neck. The way he does when he is unsure of something or stressed. Whatever this is, it matters to him.

The silence between us adds to its intensity as I get my fingers under the lid and lift it. And in that moment, my ability to breathe becomes non-existent.

My hands fly to my mouth before I can stop them. My eyes sting from how hard I am trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Wade, no—”

I reach in and pull them out.