Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(61)

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s sleep.” My body hums. I may have lent her a hand, but all I’ve done is work myself up all over again in the process.

Her gaze searches my face for a few moments. A frustrated laugh bursts from her lips, her head shaking on the pillow as she reaches down to pull the sheet over her body. “Well, at least you’re consistent with being terrible at talking about your feelings.” She turns over in a huff, muttering, “Boys are so fucking dumb. Thanks for the orgasm.”

“It was a good one, wasn’t it?” She doesn’t need to confirm it. I know it was. I felt it too.

I’m met with a few seconds of silence and then a frustrated, “Ugh,” before she hunkers down and gives me the silent treatment.

I smile. At least she’s beside me. Pissed off and on a child-sized mattress over the top of the perfectly spacious king is better than across the room and uncomfortable.

I lie here thinking about how this entire night is quintessentially us. Highs and lows, pleasure and pain, happiness and sadness. Secrets and truths.

With Sloane the rest of the shit in the world doesn’t matter because when I’m beside her, it always feels right. It soothes me. She soothes me. She always has.

She’s that person for me.

I’m out of my depth with her but this is Sloane. My Sloane. No matter what, we’re there for each other.

My Sloane.

I think it again and god it feels good.





I wake up with Sloane’s body draped over mine. Her junky little mattress hangs off the edge of the bed because she clearly pushed it away in the middle of the night.

Last time I woke up like this with her, I snuck out with my tail between my legs. No such inclination hits me today though.

Instead, I lie here and bask in the warm press of her body, her soft breasts pushed up against my chest, and her fingers splayed out over the tattoo I had done to remind me of her.

It’s my favorite tattoo.

For my favorite person.

I can still feel the way her body clenched around my fingers last night. The way she got wetter when I made her admit she thought about me while she was with someone else.

There’s definitely a part of me that got off on that too. Watching her come apart with his ring on her finger was satisfying.

Fucked-up.

And satisfying.

A quiet chuckle rumbles in my chest, and Sloane stirs. I swear I watch awareness overtake her, every limb coming back to life, her hand jerking out from under my shirt.

“Ugh,” is the first thing she says as she pulls away from me.

I can’t help but laugh. “Nice to see you too, Sunny.”

“You and your multiple personalities are already giving me a headache, Gervais.” She shoots me a look that might make some men wither, but I just . . . I don’t think there’s anything she could do that would scare me off.

“I hear orgasms can help with those,” I volley back, refusing to be discouraged by her mood.

She scoffs. Or maybe it’s a laugh. I’m not sure because she’s already getting up and walking away to the bathroom. My eyes trail over her tight torso and the black cotton shorts that were so easily pulled to the side last night.

My cock thickens as I watch her round ass walk away.

This morning I’m feeling every year of our pent-up frustration and wondering why I bother resisting when everything about us feels so damn inevitable.





23

Jasper


Jasper: Any news?

Harvey: Still nothing.




She doesn’t talk to me as we pack our things. She doesn’t talk to me in the car. She doesn’t talk to me the entire way out of the mountains to Violet’s farm in Ruby Creek.

Sloane turns the radio up and stares out the window. Right now I can see her doing the same thing in her head she always says she can see me doing. She’s freaking out and I can’t blame her. I laid a lot on her.

Her dad being a piece of shit.

Me hiding my feelings for her.

Then I made her come on my fingers while having her admit she thought about me while she fucked her fiancé.

I might have gone too far with that part, but I’m irrationally pleased about it.

My jealous side came out to play, and I didn’t hold him back at all. I let him dig his claws in, and now I’m worried I might have embarrassed her in the process.

She told me so much, and I gave her so little in return.

Like I always do.

When we turn onto the road that leads to Gold Rush Ranch, I catch her checking her phone since neither of us had reception coming down the connector.

I want to peek over and see who’s texting her. Woodcock hasn’t stopped and her dad hasn’t either. But she’s playing mad at me right now, so I don’t ask.

As we pull up to the sprawling, fancy racehorse training facility, I chance another look at her. All the blood has drained from her face, and her eyes are stuck to the screen, finger suspended above it, shaking.

I glance back at the perfectly paved circular driveway, careful to turn wide enough that I don’t catch a corner with the trailer. This place looks expensive to fix.

Where Wishing Well Ranch is all wood posts, dirt roads, and rustic finishings, this place is glass, white vinyl fence posts, modern touches all over the place.