Page 45 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

He chuckles, a deep, raspy sound that travels through me, and for a moment, it’s as if his laughter is brushing against my clit, sending shivers straight to my aching core.

“I forget that you didn’t know me before all this—the politics, New York, the persona.

I wasn’t always this guy. My siblings can attest to that.

Yeah, I’ve had to step up. My parents were just teenagers, fresh out of high school when they had me.

That’s why they waited nearly a decade before getting pregnant again.

But who do you think helped with the farm back then?

I can get messy, Georgia. I might try to avoid it, not with this reputation and the public image I’ve got to maintain, but for you?

I want to get messy. I want to dive into the messy parts of your life, your mind and your body.

I want to fuck you every day out of the month, even when you’re on your period.

Until your blood drips with my semen out of you, mixing us together in ways that makes us inseparable.

But beyond sexual, I want all of you. Do you understand that yet? ”

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Unless… you don’t want that tonight. And if so, that’s okay. If you’re not feeling up for it. I’ll settle for just holding you and talking to you, baby. But after the day I’ve had, all I want is to be with you.”

I stand, reach for him and tear away the last bit of clothing from his body until he’s naked.

“Let’s go to the shower.”

He smiles, eyes dark with passion as I take his hand and lead him into the bathroom off the master bedroom. The soft patter of water fills the space as he turns on the shower, the warmth already fogging up the mirror. I slip out of my clothes easily, and he follows, his gaze never leaving mine.

It’s day one of my cycle, the flow light but still present.

It doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. If anything, the heat in his eyes only intensifies when he sees my naked skin.

His fingers slide over my wet body, teasing, tracing, dipping inside me with an unhurried confidence.

He stretches me slowly, adding a third finger, preparing me for what’s to come.

The touch of him soothes the last traces of cramps, melting any tension I didn’t even realize I was holding. I relax into him, pressing my back against his chest, letting the steady stream of water wash away any lingering self-consciousness.

With deliberate care, he lathers my body with soap, taking his time, his hands reverent as they glide over my breasts, between my thighs, worshiping every inch of me. When I’m thoroughly cleaned, he reaches up, detaches the shower head from its holder, and brings it down between my legs.

Warm water pulses against my clit—a firm, rhythmic current that has me gasping as my body arches into him, utterly at his mercy.

“Have you ever masturbated with a shower head before?” he asks.

“No.”

He switches the setting on the handle so that it’s pulsing now, then lowers the wand until the twelve rubbered tips are pressed directly against my clit, providing a stream of warm water. He holds it there gently, rubbing back and forth, massaging across my overly sensitive body.

“Oh... wow...”

“You like that baby?” he asks.

I nod eagerly as he continues to rub the rounded head over me and up to my chest. My clit pulses, sending tingles down through my thighs and into my toes as he massages me. I relax against his chest, enjoying the way he cares for my body as he slips a finger into my opening, easing in and out.

We stand like that for a few minutes, him, warming me up to the feeling of being touched, ensuring that I’m relaxed and ready until he bends me over gently, his cock nudging at my entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, dragging the bare tip of himself across my soaked pussy.

I nod. “Yes.”

Then in one swift movement, he’s pushing inside, shower head still pressed into my clit on the front.

The feeling of being so full, especially when I’m this sensitive from my cycle, is overwhelming.

Emotions rush through me. Feelings for Troy that I’ve been trying to deny.

Feelings that I know I’ll have to face if he leaves me behind.

I’ll be crushed if he wins the race and leaves and despite my original plans to keep things professional, I know what I’m feeling is so much more.

I’m thankful for the water that hides the tears I can’t stop. I shift my face forward so the stream rinses them away before Troy notices.

“I watched your press conference today,” I murmur, my voice trembling as he pulls his hips back and then slides back inside of me easily.

I’ve never had sex while on my period before.

Everything is extra sensitive and lubricated.

His strong hands grip my hips, holding me steady as he thrusts into me again.

“Hm? What did you think?”

“You were amazing. So confident, commanding of everyone’s attention. I don’t know who’s running against you, but there’s no contest. You’ll win.”

His hands slip around to my front, two fingers spreading my pussy wider to take him deeper while his other continues to rub me with the shower head.

“I’ll win because I’m confident and my message resonates with the people in this state, but also because I have people in my life who are supporting me. I couldn’t do this without my team.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the breath from my lungs.

“Oh…”I whisper, barely audible over the steady stream of water cascading around us. The teasing circles on my clit grow harder, rougher as he scrapes the plastic bits against me.

But Troy doesn’t need to hear me to know. His body tells me everything. He picks up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more deliberate. His grip tightens on my hips, guiding me as he bends me forward even more, giving him deeper access.

I glance down, the sight between us making heat coil low in my belly. Water, our mixed arousal, and the faint tinge of blood drip between us, mingling as if our bodies are writing their own story. I’ve never been self-conscious about my period—it’s natural, part of being a woman. But right now?

Right now, it makes me feel powerful. In control. Sexy.

“ I can’t get enough of you.”His voice is a low growl, thick with need.“Being inside you… it’s a distraction.”

A distraction he doesn’t seem to want to escape.

His thrusts grow faster, deeper, each one pushing me closer to the edge. The sound of our slick bodies fills the space, echoing off the tile like applause—like he’s winning some invisible race and I’m right there with him, urging him on.

I match his rhythm, pushing back to meet every thrust. My body tightens around him, the pressure building until it’s unbearable.

The coil snaps, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave, dragging me under.

I cry out his name, my legs trembling as he holds me steady, his own release following close behind.

“Fuck…”He groans, his body shuddering as he spills into me, his grip anchoring me as if he’s afraid to let go.

For a moment, we stay like that, bodies connected, breathing hard, the water washing away the evidence of what just happened down the drain.

When I finally stand again, a little unsteady on my feet, Troy doesn’t hesitate.

He turns me gently, his touch softer now, more reverent.

Without a word, he lathers shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp with strong, sure fingers.

His hands move down my body, tender and thorough, washing away the heat of our passion and being sure I’m clean.

By the time he wraps us both in towels, I’m boneless, my body and heart softened in a way I wasn’t prepared for. But it’s what he does next that steals the air from my lungs.

He kneels, his expression unreadable as he presses a kiss just above my warm navel. Then, with quiet focus, he places a fresh pad in my underwear. The action is so effortless, so natural, that I don’t know whether to cry or kiss him senseless all over again.

“Come on, baby.”His voice is rough as he stands, guiding me toward the bed.

We climb in together, his body warm and solid as he pulls me close. No words are needed. His arms wrap around me tightly.

“Sleep,”he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple. “I’ve got you.”

“You’re the exception, Troy...” I murmur as he strokes my damp hair.

He chuckles. “I don’t think so. Most men feel the same way that I do. It’s just the immature ones who are loud and vocal.”

“Your siblings were lucky to have you growing up.”

He’s silent for a beat. “I enjoy taking care of my family.”

“You’ve done a lot of kid-raising…” My voice trails off. I want to ask the question, but I’m nervous. “Do you think you’d ever want more kids?”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “I love kids. Loved every moment of being a dad and a papa. With you, Georgia, the right woman, I’d love to have more kids.”

I sigh softly, realizing how perfect he is, and drift off into peaceful sleep.