“It isn’t as if I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she continues and shrugs. “I had lessons for…” She pauses and counts on her fingers…”Six years, I think. From the time I was six until I was twelve.”
“Shut the fuck up, Georgiana,” I tell her, getting my full asshole on. “You never fucking told me you rode.”
“You never asked.” She squirms against me. “Can we finish?”
“No. We’re done for the day.”
I ignore her crestfallen look. She doesn’t understand what having her around for the past week has done for me. I don’t want to think about the end of our time together. We’ve been lost in each other, and the little world we’re creating.
I need my ass examined.
On the heels of that kill buzz, I glance at her and shake my head. Maybe, I shouldn’t have interfered in her life and tried to give her normalcy.
She’s Georgie, and I’ve never met a more abnormal girl.
Her arms slide around my neck and she tugs me down to kiss her. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
Her sweetness gets me every time. After nodding in acknowledgment, I allow her to remount Tima.
Together, we return to the stables and tend to the horses before stabling them. The moment we’re done, Georgie lures me into an empty stall, filled with nothing but hay, and allows me to enjoy her body, as much as I enjoy her company.
Chapter Twenty Four
Sloane
The days blend together in a fast moving carousel of sweetness, eroticism, and understanding. We genuinely enjoy each other’s company. I discover a lot about her ability to carry a tune—none—and her love of music. She’s a visual person. If I tell her to do something, she may or may not understand. If I show her, she gets it immediately.
It’s something I intend to mention to Helen when I return Georgie to Houston, although I do my best not to think about that day. If truth be told, I also hate to think about discussing Georgie’s learning style, too. It makes me feel like a fucking creep, which is why I breathe a sigh of relief when I look at the calendar and realize there’s seven days before Georgie’s 17th birthday. Still, not 18, but a fucking lot better than 16.
These thoughts prevent me from sleeping, despite it being just after one. I’ve had a long day of fucking Georgie, refining the lead groove of a new song I’ve written, and locking myself in my office to conference with Jaeger, Kiln, and Dad about reservations and venues for the UK. They’re jerking off, because I have new material, and are pushing for the band to get back in the studio. Everything’s going to happen overseas, which means I’ll be gone for months. Georgie will be back in Houston, since Helen has declined my latest request to send her back to Ocean Springs when I leave.
I insist this is a good thing.
By the time I return, Georgie will either be eighteen, or be quite close to it. This separation will be good for us. It’ll allow me to get my head on straight where she’s concerned, and allow her to get a diploma at least.
Time apart will tell both of us if what we share now is just two people who met at vulnerable times in their lives. I’ll know if Georgie can stay drug free, with or without me.
I’ll stay faithful to her. Why fuck over her when I love…no, I don’t love her. I’m not allowed to fall in love with her for another fifty-three weeks.
Sex is bad enough, but love?
No.
Well, whatever the fuck my reasons are, I refuse to destroy her trust in me, and fuck any other women.
Somehow, she’ll have to understand that rumors will be rampant. Groupies. Meaningless sex. Random hookups with models, actresses, dancers, porn stars, and singers.
Fuck, thinking of it fucks with me, and I know I’m not going to touch any of these women with Georgie in my life.
She stirs next to me. I glance at the clock. 1:10.
Now is as good a time as any to discuss my thoughts with her, so…
“Sloane,” she grumbles, her eyes popping open, her hair rumpled.
Once she focuses completely, she smiles at me. I wrap her in my arms. She squirms against me, then licks my nipple.
A shudder reverberates through me, but I don’t deny her, rolling onto her instead, and parting her thighs.
The moment I slide into her hot pussy, we groan together.
“I was having a dream that we were making love,” she tells me, lifting her hips and grinding against me.
I brace myself above her and allow her to move beneath me, as if she’s topping from the bottom. We both know better. She’s in control only because I allow it.
Her nails dig into my shoulders and her tongue slides over my chest. Seizing her wrists gently, in consideration of the jagged, red slashes, I imprison her hands over her head and surge into her. One of my hands grips her waist while I thrust into her.
She tugs her arms, wanting them free. Knowing she’s close, I release her. She threads her fingers through my hair, her mouth meeting mine.