Page 52 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)
Wesley
“ B lake?” I call out. She doesn’t answer, but the doors propped open, so I assume it's safe to let myself in. But a man’s voice I don’t recognize stops me dead.
“You like having your mouth fucked, baby? Is this making you wet?”
The man’s voice filters out from her speaker that I spot sitting on the kitchen island.
Erotic and filthy words continue to spew from the speaker, and soon another voice, a woman’s voice, joins the audio.
My eyes bounce to where Blake stands slack-jawed, having dropped the small bag she was carrying.
She screeches, “Oh god!” and runs toward the speaker.
“Please, please cover your ears.” Embarrassment coats her tone.
The pink flush all over her cheeks and chest makes me want to put her on her knees and reenact the whole scene just to keep it there.
She manages to turn it off after a second and whirls around to look at me.
“That never happened.” She huffs and points a finger at me, brushing a piece of hair back that fell onto her face.
Once my shock has washed away, all I can focus on is the matching tiny little top and grey shorts that she’s wearing. They do nothing to cover her ass or her perfect tits that are on full display. “I have a feeling you won’t want me to forget that, sweetheart.” I say as I let my eyes devour her.
She drops her finger. “I hate you.” She mutters. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
“I texted you.”
“I didn’t see it, then.” She slaps her hand against her head, and the slight jump it creates causes her tits to bounce. Once she catches my gaze on them and realizes what she’s wearing, she crosses her arms. “You could have knocked!”
“Door was open.” I chirp back.
She squints her eyes at me, a little less embarrassed and more of a challenge swimming in those brown pools. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.” She bends down to pick up the bag she dropped.
I smirk. "Sure you don’t want to wrap up your book? I don’t mind waiting for you to finish.”
She then hurls the bag at my head, and my laughter follows her into the bathroom. Such a violent little thing.
“Where are we going?” Blake hollers from the small room after a few minutes. I walk around her living room, looking at some of the pictures sitting on her fireplace mantel.
“Just wear something comfy.” I call back.
“That’s helpful.” I can hear her roll her eyes from here. I pick up a picture of her and her friend, Vivienne. How happy and content they look holding up their diplomas together brings a smile to my face. Vivienne really does look a hell of a lot like Whitney.
“Goin’ through my stuff, Conway?” I turn at Blake’s entrance and whistle.
She’s wearing light-wash jeans with little rips in the knees, white sneakers, and a pink top.
Her hair is thrown up in a half-up, half-down look.
She looks gorgeous. She always does. I take her hand, pulling her to the doorway and out to the truck.
Her hands are so soft and small in my rough ones.
Her manicured nails make me wonder how the color would look wrapped around my cock.
I push the thought down, but it lingers – just like she always has.
“Can I drive?” Blake quips from my side, stealing me away from the lude thoughts.
“No.”
“What?" She gapes. “Why?”
“Because your driving scares me.” She looks offended as I rip open her door and help her hop in.
It's true, though. When we were younger she used to take corners like we were in a damn action movie.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't pray a little every time she got behind the wheel.
Warm vanilla and something lavender fill my nostrils as I reach over to buckle her in.
“Plus, you just look too damn good in my passenger seat.” I wink before slamming the door shut, savoring the pink flush that creeps up her pretty neck.