Just a Fling by Charity Ferrell

Author:Charity Ferrell [Ferrell, Charity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Charity Ferrell

Twenty-Four

Hudson

I haven’t had much time to spend with Stella today.

It fucking sucks.

I went from dreading the days with her to looking forward to them.

Now that I’ve had a taste of her, I can’t get enough. If I woke up every morning with the taste of her on my tongue, I’d be one happy motherfucker.

We slept in our own beds last night. I could see she wanted me to stay on her face, but I’m not ready for that yet. I can’t scare her off. When she asked to join her in the shower this morning, there was no saying no.

Her schedule has been jam-packed, and people have been in and out of the house all day. She made conference calls with her agent, and her stylist came over with a shit ton of clothing. My free time has been spent hanging out in my room and searching for new job prospects.

My father took over my grandfather’s business after he passed and wants me to work for him. I grew up in the repair shop that specializes in engines and large farming equipment that’s been in my family for over sixty-years. Like he did, our dad is expecting Dallas or me to take over when he retires.

That’d been my plan after promising Cameron I wouldn’t deploy again. I’ve worked on equipment ten times my size since I was fifteen, and I’d enjoy it. First, I have to get my shit together. My dad made it clear he wasn’t handing the company over to anyone not settled.

Growing up, we were given a checklist in life. Find a wife, have children, and work hard until retirement. Live life to the fullest. Be happy. My mom would say this every night before bed without fail. Having fun is cool but only after our responsibilities are met.

My phone beeps at the same time I shut my laptop after sending my final email.

Stella: I’m having a pizza delivered in 5 minutes. Will you answer the door and bring it up to me in the gym?

Me: Only if you share.

Stella: Duh.

My stomach growls at the thought of pizza. The majority of Stella’s food is health-nut bullshit. Gluten-free this. No high-fructose syrup that. I’ve forgotten what real sugar tastes like.

When the alert someone is approaching the gate goes off, I glance to the video screen in the corner of my bedroom. I buzz the delivery guy through, and the delicious scent of greasy cheese hits me when I open the door. My stomach growls when I tip him, and I grab plates and drinks from the kitchen before going upstairs.

“Pizza delivery,” I call out, walking into the gym.

Stella smiles and hops off the treadmill without bothering to turn it off. I size her up as she struts toward me wearing a sports bra and workout pants. Her hair is in a loose ponytail and sweat is trickling down her chest and between her breasts. I lick my lips, craving her more than the pizza.

“Finally,” she moans. “I’m starving.”

Her moan matches the one she makes when we’re having sex.

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