Page 39 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

My hand tightens around the doorframe as I listen for the sound of James’s footsteps fading away. When I finally hear the front door close behind him, it feels like I can breathe again.

Finally.

At least he had the decency to make sure Georgia was comfortable—tucked under a blanket, her body curled up like she belonged there—before heading out. He didn’t overstay his welcome or crash here for the night, which Iappreciate, but he still stayed too damn long for my comfort.

Too close.

Too familiar.

And the way they sat huddled together?

My hands fist at my side in frustration. Yeah. That didn’t look like just friends .

I try to tell myself I’m overreacting, that I’m just projecting my own shit onto them.

Maybe I’m reading into things. But it doesn’t matter how much I try to talk myself out of it—there’s this gnawing thing in my gut.

And the longer I stand here, the harder it is to push back the jealousy that’s clawing at me.

Because the truth is?

I hate that anyone else gets to be this close to her.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly, trying to shake it off, but it doesn’t work.

Not when she’s right there—soft and warm and feeling a lot like mine.

Slipping my hands beneath her, I lift her easily, her body melts into me like she belongs in my arms. And God, she does.

Her scent hits me—wildflowers and red wine—soft, sweet, and completely intoxicating.

It wraps around me, seeping into my skin, making it impossible to think straight.

Her strawberry-blonde hair is a mess, curls sticking to her neck and face from deep sleep, but even like this—disheveled and completely unaware—she’sbreathtaking. Too damn beautiful for her own good.

My thumb grazes her cheek, brushing a stray curl away as I hold her close.

Her breath is warm against my neck, her body pliant and trusting, and for a moment, I let myselffeelit.

The weight of her. The way she fits so perfectly against me.

Like she’s always meant to be here. But the ache that settles in my chest is a reminder—thisisn’t forever unless I can convince her to be mine.

And if I don’t get my shit together soon, I might lose her before she ever is.

Her lips part in a soft sigh as she nestles in closer to me, her fingers instinctively wrapping around my back to hold on. My heart freezes for a moment, and I quicken my pace up the stairs and into her room, carefully nudging the door open with my foot.

I resist the urge to lay her down and stay—wrap myself around her, breathe her in all night, and lose myself in the quiet comfort of having her this close.

God, I want to.

But I can’t.

Not because I don’t want to hold her—I do . Hell, I’m aching for it. But there’s a knot in my chest, a flicker of doubt gnawing at the edges of my control.

What if she thinks it’s James?

The thought punches through me like a fist to the gut. The way she’s clinging to me now, soft and trusting, her fingers curling into my shirt like she’sholding on—I need to believe it’s because sheknowsit’s me.

But that little voice in the back of my mind won’t shut up. The one that tells me I wasn’t good enough to get Max’s mom to stay. That I wasn’t enough and wouldn’t be enough for Georgia either.

I’ve missed her.

Missed her so damn much.

And all weekend, I’ve been coming undone, consumed by the rage boiling just beneath the surface. Furious at the paparazzi for ambushing her and Liam. For putting them both in danger.

So, when I woke up Saturday morning, I didn’t think. I just acted .

I drove straight into the city and met with my lawyer—the best in Manhattan—ready to burn the whole damn place down.

I wanted blood. Those photographers, the driver of that black SUV, all of them .

What they did wasn’t just an invasion of privacy.

It was a threat. And I wasn’t about to let them get away with it.

Even now, as I gently lower her onto the bed, my mind is still tangled in lawsuits and security measures, trying to figure out how to protect her from a world that doesn’t give a damn about the damage it leaves behind.

But then—

She shifts.

Her body molds into the sheets, her face turning into my touch as I brush her hair behind her ear.

And just like that—Everything else fades.

Her lip’s part on a sleepy sigh, and then she murmurs, soft and barely audible—

“Stay, Troy. Please.”

My heart stops.

She knows it’s me.

That one whispered word— my name —shatters every insecurity, every doubt, dissolving the ache in my chest like smoke.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her eyes flutter open, those dark lashes framing innocent, way too trusting eyes. “Why not?”

“Because if I stay, I’m going to want to be inside of you,” I admit, my voice rough, the words raw.

I’ve resisted for so long, I’m not sure I can hold out any longer.

Two tastes of her haven’t been enough and I’ve been rock solid since I got home, resisting taking a hand to myself to get some relief while she was downstairs in my home with another guy.

She lets out a soft, breathy sigh that sends a jolt straight through me unshackling the last of my restraint. “Why don’t you want to have sex with me?” she whispers.

I swallow hard, staring down at her. She’s laying there, looking like a damn angel, and as much as I know it’s selfish, I know I’m going to give into her pleas.

There’s a lot at stake—Liam, Max, my family in North Carolina.

Everyone is counting on me. The campaign for governor, the brewery, the hatchery, my dad’s legacy.

And Georgia. She deserves more than what I can give her right now—more love, more attention, more safety, more than the chaos that’s surrounding my life.

But even knowing that, I still want her.

I still need her. I’ve been holding back because I know that once I have her, that’ll be it for me and I’m not sure if she’s ready for that level of commitment.

I’m an experienced man, not one who plays games and my surety for Georgia, might scare her away.

“Because if I fuck you, I won’t ever want to let you go,” I say, my voice rough with restraint.

Her breath hitches as she stares up at me and then I lean down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, meaning to leave before things go further, but she doesn’t let me.

Her hands lock around my neck, legs wrap around my hips, pulling me closer.

She arches into me, rocking her pelvis against my hard length, until there’s not a single damn inch of space left between us.

And I can’t fucking fight it anymore.

My mouth covers hers, and I breathe her in, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip before dipping inside. My hands move to the hem of her long t-shirt, pulling it up and over her head, revealing bare skin underneath.

No bra.

A low growl escapes me.

“Spent all night with James like this?” I mutter, cupping one of her full breasts, too big for my hands to get around and the perfect weight. I squeeze them and then pinch her nipple firmly in punishment, driving both of us mad.

She squirms beneath my touch. “He’s just my friend, Troy. I’ve known him forever. I told you that.”

“The way he looks at you isn’t friendly.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she whispers.

“I understand enough of what goes through a man’s mind when they look at you. You’re breathtaking.”

I break our kiss, pulling back to look at her. Topless, hair all mussed across her pillow in a wild mane of strawberry blonde fire, my punishing kisses lingering on her swollen red lips, the same color I bet her pussy will get when my cock finally pushes inside of her.

“Georgia, there’s no man on this earth who can handle being just friends with you and not want a taste of the honey between your legs. I know because I’ve had it. And you can’t tell me otherwise.”

I yank back the covers, revealing her shorts covered bottom before gripping her thighs and spreading them so wide she’s in a split.

My fingers trail between the soft flesh of her thighs until they reach the junction where her pussy rests.

I brush over her folds, dip underneath the fabric gently, reveling in the slickness that lingers there.

“Look at you, messing your shorts up, coating my fingers.”

She shivers and sits up in the bed to watch my teasing. I rub my fingers on either side of her clit, bringing the blood to the apex and edging her. My hands trail lower, rubbing across her pussy on either side of her opening.

“Please, touch me, Troy,” she moans.

“Could you tell that I was jealous?” I ask, watching her closely.

She shakes her head, her voice soft. “I didn’t know. He’s just a friend.”

“I believe you that he’s just a friend,” I say, voice low as my hands drift upward to her hips, “but I’m still going to be jealous of everyone.

Every friend, every person you talk to, everyone you touch.

Hell, I’m jealous of these damn shorts.” In one swift move, I yank them down, sliding them off her legs with her underwear and tossing them aside.

“Pinch your clit,” I command.

Her fingers move down between her legs, and just as she pinches, I dive in, my tongue flattens as I lick a slow, sloppy line from her ass to her fingers that are teasing her clit, ending with a gentle nip.

She gasps, her back arching off the bed. “Troy!”

“Has anyone else touched this pussy since me?” My voice is dark, demanding.

Her head nods frantically. “No one.”

“Good,” I growl, satisfaction humming through me as I plunge my tongue deep inside her, tasting the slick heat that’s spilling out. “So sweet. You taste like red wine and sex.”

She moans and flops back onto the bed, her breasts heaving. “How do you just… say stuff like that? You go from being all business to a fucking sex god.”

I chuckle against her pussy, grinding my nose into her, coating her all over me so that I never lose the taste of her again. “Rub your clit for me. I want to see what you like.”

Her fingers move down, finding her clit where she rubs small circles on it. “Why won’t you fuck me, Troy?”

“Because I meant what I said,” I rasp, plunging two fingers inside her, twisting and hooking as I feel her wetness slide down my wrist. “I won’t let you go, Georgia. You need to understand that.”

If the paparazzi find out about her, they’ll be relentless.

It’s always worse for the person in a relationship with someone who is in politics but more than that, I need her to be ready for me.

To be sure she’s aware of what she’s signing up for becoming mine.

I’m forty-two years old. I’ve dated, hell, I’ve lived with a woman before and raised a child to adulthood.

I knew the next time I found a woman to date, it would be for life.

I’m not sure if she’s ready for marriage and commitment like I am just yet.

She lets out a desperate grunt as I push her hand away and seal my mouth over her clit, flicking it with my tongue.

“Where’s your vibrator?” I ask.

Her breath catches. “H-How do you know I have one of those?”

I chuckle, nipping at her clit and earning a squeal. “Where is it, Georgia?”

She fumbles in the dark, opening her bedside drawer and handing it over to me.

It’s big, thick, and faux veined—obviously designed for more than just teasing but still not as large as me.

I turn it on, dragging it slowly across her entrance and up to her clit, letting it pulse against her there for a few beats.

“Oh, fuck...” she groans, her voice breaking.

“I’m not giving you my cock—yet—but I still want you coming. Only when it’s with me. You don’t use this thing without me from now on. Because this,” I tap the vibrator against her clit for extra emphasis, “isn’t nearly as big or good as me.”

She nods, eyes fluttering shut as I push the vibrator inside her opening with a satisfying squish. I pull it out, watching as it comes back into view, dripping with her and fuck , I’m jealous of this shit.

“I know,” she sighs, body trembling under my touch. I move my hand downward, pressing down my sweatpants until my cock is in my hand, stroking it while I stoke her with the toy.

Her eyes open, catching a glimpse of what’s near her thigh as she moans.

I pump myself harder, my balls tighten until I’m solid and then I press my tongue back to her clit, moving in time with the vibrator inside of her as I twist, focusing the pulsing right at the spot where she’s most sensitive.

I can feel her legs start to shake and that familiar tingling in my sack that indicates I’m going to come soon too.

There’s something about Georgia that drags the old me to the surface—the raw, unpolished farm boy I thought I’d left behind in North Carolina.

The one I buried beneath expensive suits, slick hair, and a life full of glamour in New York.

But with her, it’s all genuine. No pretenses, no polished exterior.

I want to take her, possess her, cover her in my scent until she smells like nothing but me.

She brings out the part of me that craves something real, something primal.

I’m starting to think both parts of me can exist when I’m with Georgia. And that doesn’t scare me. Because I’m not a boy, I’m a man. And I fucking love that she makes me feel that way even more.

“Come for me, Georgia. And when you do, I want you to scream my name because I’m going to paint your mouth with my seed.”

“Troy!” she screams, her body shaking as I suck harder, shoving the vibrator as deep inside of her as it can reach then moving my body upward until I’m jerking all over her bare chest and face, painting her with my come.

The sound of my name on her lips might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard and the view of her covered in my orgasm only enhances it.

I’m still on my knees, hovering over her face, attempting to catch my breath and staring down at the masterpiece I’ve painted on her when her eyes open again, one finger trailing downward to dip into the come, then drag it up to her lips before sucking inside her pretty mouth.

“Fuck,” I’m panting, dick softening in my hand, feeling the most alive I’ve felt in years. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

Her soft pink tongue darts out, licking the mess off her face as I pause, watching.

“Fuck... I’ve made a mess of you.”

But she doesn’t seem to care. I return from the bathroom with a warm cloth and carefully wipe down her body, spending extra time on her tits and between her legs, cleaning up the last of me until I’m satisfied.

Her fingers curl around my biceps, pulling me closer until she’s cocooned to my chest. I listen as her breathing changes, drifting off into a deep sleep while I lay awake, staring at the ceiling as I whisper to her a promise.

“I’m a man, Georgia, and when a man realizes what they want - what they need - they go after it whole heartedly. I know you don’t understand this, but I need you and I don’t intend on letting you go...”