Page 34 of Over the Moon (Rosewood River #3)

twenty-four

. . .

Eloise

“It’s not going to be that easy to pull off,” I said, as he reached for his water bottle.

“You worry too much, Weeze. We’ll be fine.”

We’ve had the conversation several times already. We were heading back to the city tomorrow, and everything was going to change.

He knew it.

I knew it.

But neither of us was ready for it.

“You will not be able to kiss me whenever you feel like it once we’re back there. You can’t just show up at my apartment because, for all you know, a reporter will catch you. We’re going to have to be very sly.”

His lips turned up in the corners, this lazy, sexy smile that made my stomach dip every time.

“I’m a professional athlete. I know how to stay in control of my emotions.”

I barked out a laugh.

“So you think you’re always in control because you’re a professional athlete?”

“Correct. I have to be. It comes with the territory.” He smirked after he guzzled some water.

“I don’t think anyone is always in control.”

“We can agree to disagree on this one. I can handle it. The question is, can you?” he asked.

“Well, I’m clearly nervous about it, which is why I’m talking it through. But I guess I am not always in control.” I arched a brow.

“Follow my lead. We’ve got this.” He reached up and wrapped one hand around the pull-up bar, all cocky and sure of himself.

“All right. Let’s test your theory, Hotshot.” I moved closer, licking my lips slowly. “Put your other hand on that bar, and don’t let go.”

“Not a problem.” He raised the other hand, gripping the bar with ease.

I ran my finger down his bare chest before stopping at the waistband of his shorts. He sucked in a breath as I moved my way around him, my finger tracing a line to his back and up to his shoulders.

“It must be so nice to always be in control,” I said, pushing up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

He chuckled, but the sound was slightly more strained than normal, so I knew I was getting to him. I came back around to his front side, tipping my head back and looking up at him.

“What are you up to, baby?” he asked, his voice gruff.

I dropped down on my knees, running my hands up his legs.

If you’d asked me three months ago if I’d ever have the confidence to do something like this with a man, I’d have laughed.

But I felt empowered and strong, knowing the way that I affected him.

This beautiful, sexy, incredible man.

“I think the question is, what are you up to , Clark?” I purred, as I tugged his shorts and briefs down in one swift move.

His dick sprang free, ready for a good time, as always.

His hand came down and stroked my head.

I snapped my eyes up to him. “Hands on the bar, Chadwick. You said you’re always in control, so we’re going to test that. You don’t get to touch me. I do all the touching.”

He sucked in a breath and nodded before wrapping his hand back around the bar. “Yes, ma’am.”

My fingers gripped his thick erection and stroked a few times as his legs flexed in response, and his breathing picked up.

“It’s all about control, right?” I said, my voice breathy as my tongue circled the tip of his dick, and he hissed out a breath. “Don’t let go of that bar, baby.”

My lips covered him, and I leaned down, going as far as I could without gagging.

“Fuck, Eloise,” he groaned.

“Oh, you like this?” I asked, tipping my head back and smiling up at him. His tongue slid along his bottom lip, and he nodded.

I gripped the bottom of his thick cock and stroked a few times as my mouth covered him once again, slowly at first. When he started panting and bucking into my mouth, I moved faster.

Over and over.

My hand was wrapped around his muscled thigh, and I could feel him flexing in response as I took him deeper.

Taunting and teasing.

Bringing him right to the edge before pulling back.

“Fuck. I’m close, baby,” His hand came over my head as a warning that he was about to lose control. I pushed it away and stayed right there.

He pumped into me once more.

Twice.

A guttural sound escaped his lips as warm liquid filled my mouth, and I swallowed it down as he continued riding out every last bit of pleasure.

I loved making him feel good, just the way he always knew how to make me feel good.

And then I looked up at him and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Can I let go now?” he asked, a sated look in his eyes as he watched me.

I nodded, and he reached down and pulled up his briefs and shorts. Before I could process what he was doing, he reached beneath my arms and pulled me up so my legs wrapped around his waist, and he hugged me close.

“I guess I’m not in control when it comes to you,” he whispered against my ear, and I smiled.

“That’s okay. Neither am I.”

And that was the truth.

“This is much easier than I expected,” I said to Ellie as I jotted down the baking instructions in my notebook.

“Yeah, I’ve made it so many times I could do it in my sleep now,” she chuckled. “And I love that you write it down in a notebook because I have all my recipes written on notecards, as well.”

I filled her in on how it was something that I started doing with my mom before she passed away. Ellie listened intently, and instead of doing what most people did, which was to say how sorry they were and how awful that must have been, she did the opposite.

“Okay, the lasagna is in the oven, so let’s refill our sun tea, and I’ve got some delicious cookies for us. Why don’t we sit at the table and chat? I want to know everything about your beautiful mama.”

I slipped into the corner banquette with a bunch of pretty throw pillows and reached for the glass of tea after she refilled it.

“Thank you so much,” I said, just as she set down a plate of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. “Ahhh… these are my favorite.”

“I remembered you said that the first time you came to Sunday dinner, and I put it in the vault.” She tapped the side of her temple. “It was all in hopes that one day I’d get you all to myself for a chat.”

My chest squeezed at her words.

Ellie Chadwick was the kind of mom people dreamed about. She was funny and sweet, she could cook and bake, her home looked like something out of a magazine, and she took no shit from her kids.

“That was really sweet of you. Thank you so much. You’ve made me want to learn how to cook,” I chuckled. “I literally know how to make grilled cheese sandwiches and spaghetti.”

“Well, I learned how to cook as an adult. I didn’t know how to do most of this stuff in my twenties.” She reached for a cookie, and I did the same. “So tell me about your mom.”

“Well, she was brilliant. She was a professor of literature, and she loved to write, as well. She and my father met in college. He was a hockey player back then, and she was an English literature major. She’s the reason I love to read, because she had a huge collection of books, and of course, I devoured everything from the romance genre,” I chuckled.

“I’m a big reader, too. We’ll have to swap recommendations,” she said, and I felt my cheeks heat because I doubted Ellie read the steamy books I loved.

She must have noticed my discomfort because her lips turned up in the corners.

“You don’t need to worry about anything being too steamy for me. I read it all,” she said with a chuckle. “So, you’re mama loved to read and to write. Tell me more about her.”

We spent the next hour talking about some of my favorite memories with my mother. The Sunday walks we’d always take and our summer camping trips that I still remembered so vividly. I told her about the last few months with her, how brutal it was, and how I was with her when she passed.

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight.

“I know how hard that must have been to have to watch her suffer. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. It’s just something that you have to deal with the best you can.

It can get better at times, and then a memory can slap you right in the face. ”

I pulled back and swiped at the single tear streaming down my face. “You sound like you know a thing or two about grief.”

She nodded. “My sister had a complicated delivery with her first child, and she died shortly after she gave birth. She and I were more than sisters; we were best friends. We talked every day, multiple times, most days.” She shook her head, her eyes glossy as she spoke of her sister.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry, Ellie,” I said with disbelief. “And was her baby okay?”

A wide grin spread across her face. “Yes. You know him well.”

I searched her gaze with confusion.

“Bridger is my sister’s baby boy. Her name was Bridget, and her husband named him Bridger to honor her.” She let out a long sigh.

“I had no idea,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s not really talked about. I mean, we adopted him when I was pregnant with Rafe.

His father just couldn’t keep it together, and he really spiraled after Bridget’s passing.

We tried to support him the best we could.

He and Bridger never went back to their home after they left the hospital, and they came to live with Keaton and me.

But unfortunately, Bridger’s father got caught up in drugs and alcohol and did not want to be saved.

He asked us to adopt their son, which we did happily.

Bridger already felt like ours in many ways, just as my kids would have felt to Bridget. ”

“What happened to his biological father?” I asked. “Did he ever come out of it?”

“I wish I could say there was a happy ending to his story, but there isn’t. The grief just took him down, and he abused his body terribly. His liver failed, and his body shut down, but he just kept drinking. He passed when Bridger was in middle school.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. Did Bridger know him?”