Lord Have Mercy (The Southern Gentleman #2)(61)

“You tell me, baby,” I promised him.

“You may think that I tell you, but I probably don’t,” he rumbled. “What woman would go and get a second job at a gym that she doesn’t even get paid for? What woman would help a man take a bath because that man couldn’t do it all by himself? What woman would stay when there were only good reasons to go?”

I swallowed hard, and through a lump in my throat I said, “A woman that loves her man.”

He let out a long breath. “I’ll talk to Carmichael and I’ll get someone to take over the morning shift for you. You’ve done enough…way more than you ever wanted to.” He paused. “I’ll also be taking over more shifts. Now that I can technically walk, I should be able to make my way inside a gym and sit on one of the rolling chairs from my office. I can even teach classes.”

I agreed with him.

I blew out a relieved breath, then stretched up so that I could reach his mouth with my lips.

“I love you, Flintstone.”

His hand fell to my ass, and he squeezed it lightly as he said, “You better.”

When our mouths met, I meant it to only be a peck on the lips.

What it ended up being was a heated kiss that rocked me to my core.

Granted, I hadn’t had sex with the man in well over eight weeks.

Broken ribs weren’t conducive with sex.

But now those ribs were fairly healed, and his hand was roaming around to the crack of my ass, and I started to feel a flame being fanned to life deep inside of me.

He wasn’t even touching me inappropriately, and my mind was going crazy.

I dropped down a little more solidly on top of him and straddled his thigh as I deepened the kiss.

It went from ‘this is really nice’ to ‘this is getting out of control’ in about two seconds flat.

“If you’re going to stop this,” he growled against my lips, pulling away only slightly. “Then you better do it now, because if I get to the point where I stick my dick inside of you, you’re not getting away until I finish.”

I giggled.

“I’m not that mean, Flint,” I told him, sitting up and straddling his hard thigh.

Seconds later my shirt was gone, and my breasts fell free of their confines.

His hands went to my sides and traveled up my chest and stopped just underneath the heaving swells.

“I want to fuck your tits,” he said gruffly. “I want to fuck everything.”

I shivered at his words.

“Let’s just focus on my pussy for today, shall we?” I said softly. “Because I’m honestly just as deprived as you are, and I’m needy.”

He growled something low in his throat.

“I can do needy,” he teased.





Chapter 22


Twinkle Twinkly little bitch, mind your own business you nosey snitch.

-Coffee Cup

Flint

As I stepped out onto the front porch and looked at my truck, I felt a freedom that I hadn’t felt in quite a long time.

The chair that had been a constant pain in my backside—literally and figuratively—was now gone. Kind of.

Actually, the damn thing was sitting in the back of my truck, Camryn having put it there last night just in case I needed it.

The van that I’d rolled up to the school in was now gone also, and I had my truck back. Freedom.

Not that I didn’t love having Camryn there every time I wanted to go somewhere, always there to lend a hand or just listen to me bitch. But it was seriously nice to have the freedom to get up and leave if I wanted to.

Even if when I walked, it felt like I was doing so on baby deer legs.

I was going to work. I was going to do what I wanted.

I was free.

Smiling a little, I made my way down the porch steps, my cup of to-go coffee Camryn made me in one hand, and my uniform in the other.

I wobbled slightly on the last step, cursing when a splash of coffee hit the skin of my hand.

Dooley was at my side, looking back at me in concern.

Then, just as suddenly, he wasn’t.

He went from being docile and happy from having been fed a piece of buttered toast by Camryn on the way out the door, to snapping and snarling at something next to my truck.

A high-pitched man’s scream followed moments later, and I hurried as fast as my legs would take me to the side of the truck.

“Stop!” a wailing man’s voice screeched. “Stop!”

A metal bar hit the ground, and vaguely I heard the front door being yanked open.

I knew that Camryn was at the door watching, worried and concerned that I was taking too many steps too soon.

But now she had reason for concern.

Now there was a man beside my truck with my K-9 pinning him to the freezing concrete, and a metal bar that was now next to my feet that I could only assume was meant for me.

“Camryn, call 9-1-1!” I shouted.

I heard her running footsteps, but not the closing of the door, causing me to curse and move until my body was situated between the open door and the man.

The man who was still on the ground with Dooley growling on top of him.

I growled low in my throat as I thought about my morning being fucked up—again.

Luckily, this time it wasn’t going to end up with me spending months in the hospital and recuperating.