Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4)(49)

“I want to f*ck you with my tongue,” he rasped, slipping his tongue into my opening.

My eyes closed and head fell back against the bed. He devoured me, sucking on my clit as I rode his face, fast and hard. Coming apart yet again in a matter of seconds.

He gripped me firmer. His fingers dug into my hipbones as he thrust his tongue in and out of me. Eating all the wetness that he evoked from me, like I was his favorite f*cking meal.

My body fell forward as if hanging off from cliff and I panted out, “Austin!”

I peered around my bedroom, shaken and confused when I should be anything but.

Alone.

“What the f*ck?” I breathed out, waking up from yet another damn sex dream with the man I’d only met once.

My panties were soaked and my skin hot and tingling all over. My * still throbbed, mimicking the beating of my heart. I shook off the sentiment, pulling off the wrestled sheets that I was still grasping onto, throwing them to the side.

I took a deep breath, roughly yanking my hair away from my sweaty face.

“This can’t be normal,” I said to myself as I crawled to the end of bed, desperately needing to get up and go take a long, cold shower.

It had been nine months since I left Miami, and I still couldn’t forget about Austin. His intense blue eyes were etched in my mind.

Why couldn't I stop thinking about him?

It was like he had this hold on me. I didn't understand.

I had met him one time.

One. Fucking. Time.

It didn’t make any sense.

I stepped out of the shower and changed into a tank top and some cotton shorts. Brushing my hair and teeth while I looked into the mirror.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked my reflection before spitting toothpaste into the sink.

I opened the bathroom door and made my way out into the kitchen to grab something to eat. I loved my apartment; it was my favorite place to be. It had an open floor plan, the rooms transitioning smoothly but still connecting. My stackable washer and dryer were tucked in a closet near the kitchen, keeping my laundry hidden. My windows were floor to ceiling, letting in natural light, warming up the sharp lines.

“Are you ready for your trip?” Uncle Alejandro asked.

I gasped, my hand immediately going over my heart.

“Oh my God! You scared the shit out of me! Again! Can’t you knock? For once, f*cking knock on the door like a normal person.”

He sipped his coffee, sitting at my dining table.

“I refuse to knock in an apartment that I own.”

“No shit,” I murmured, walking into my kitchen to serve myself some much-needed coffee.

“I see it’s your bitch-causing time.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I asked you a question. I don’t like waiting for an answer.”

“Mmm hmm,” I said, sitting at the island, flipping through the latest issue of Cosmopolitan.

“You don’t look ready.”

“I have a few weeks,” I said, peering away from the magazine looking into his eyes before he ordered me to.

“I give you a gift and this is the thanks I get. I’m handing you a big responsibility, peladita—”

“I’m not a little girl,” I gritted out.

He grinned, folding his arms over his chest. “Then stop acting like one. You have been handed everything on a silver-f*cking platter and you still act like a bitch. Throwing fits and demanding respect. You dropped out of high school and you still get to live a life of privilege.” He gestured all around him. “How many other eighteen-year-olds can say that?"

"I'm not like most eighteen-year-olds, Uncle," I countered.

"I take care of you. I always have, Briggs. Since the day I picked you up from the hospital in Washington. If it wasn’t for me you’d have grown up in foster care. Where do you think that would have led you, eh? Dime?” he asked, “Tell me.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Let me remind you. En caso de que,” he said, “Just in case.” He stood, rounding the corner to stand in front of me.

“You wouldn’t have this million-dollar apartment, the name-brand closet, the fancy restaurants, the endless traveling around the world. How about the black credit card in your wallet? You know who pays for all that, Briggs? I do.”

I wanted to tell him that none of that mattered to me. That I never wore half the shit in the closet. That it was there because he said I needed to wear it to the upscale parties and the fancy restaurants. Everything he does for me…

Was really for him.

But I didn’t bat an eye. He was right about one thing. I embraced it or I had nothing.

This life was all I had.

It was all I ever had.

I smiled, big and wide. “I’m f*cking thrilled. I can’t wait. Thank you again, Uncle, for everything," I said in a sarcastic tone.

“Better. Next time wipe off the shit-eating grin off your face.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“Why don’t you go deface your body some more? Or is there no part left on your skin to ruin?”

He hated my tattoos. Every last one of them. Especially the first one I got done on my back. To say he was livid would have been an understatement. He never asked about the meaning behind it but then again, he didn’t have to.