Honor Bound by Joey Hill (good novels to read in english TXT) 📗

“I like that. Do it again,” she said, her nails digging into the sheets.

“Which one? Pull your hair or shove my cock deep inside you?”

“Both.”

Now it was his turn to groan, his cock demanding he roar to the finish line.

Not yet. Not nearly yet. Not when Ella’s sweet ass bounced against him. He smoothed his free hand over her ass, keeping the other tight in her hair, and tugged while he thrust. She cried out and her pussy tightened around him.

“Clay, I’m going to come.”

That was exactly what he needed to hear. He increased the pace, pumping hard and fast inside her, feeling her walls close in around him. His balls slapped her pussy with every thrust, sweat pouring off him as he powered to climax. And when she let go, when she cried out with her orgasm, he let go, too, his orgasm ripping through him like a free fall off a high cliff, taking everything he had and exploding outward, inside her, until he had nothing left, until he was shaking. He dropped on top of Ella’s back, then rolled over on his side, taking her with him.

They breathed together for a while, rapid and spent at first; then both slowed to a regular rhythm. Ella put her hands over his and was doodling designs or something. He didn’t know—didn’t care. He just liked the feel of her touching him.

“I hope this boat has a shower,” she finally said. “I’m all sweaty.”

“Me, too. You make me work for it.”

She giggled, then pulled away and sat up, flipping her hair out of her face. “Yeah, well, gotta get our workout in some way. We don’t want to head back to work with potbellies, do we?”

She sauntered toward the bathroom. He admired her walk, waited a few minutes until he heard the shower running, then got up to join her, realizing how damned content he was with how things were going.

That content feeling surprised the hell out of him. He’d expected to like the sex. But he hadn’t expected to love spending every moment with Ella. Then again, he didn’t know why he was surprised. They spent a lot of time together on jobsites. Their companies often worked side by side on projects, so they invariably worked in tandem. There had always been camaraderie between them.

This, though—this was more than a camaraderie. It was a connection. And Clay felt it growing deeper.

He didn’t do deep. He didn’t do connections. And he’d promised Ella no strings.

So why in hell did he of all people suddenly feel as if he was tied to Ella? And why did he of all people think that wasn’t such a bad thing?

Seven

“Grip it harder, Ella. That’s it, babe. Oh, yeah. Just a little bit longer and you’ll be there.”

Ella braced her feet on the edge of the boat’s stern and yanked hard, the muscles of her arms straining each time she pulled back to reel in the fish. It wasn’t a marlin—the crew said it was a mahi mahi—but it would be her first big fish and she’d been excited as hell about this expedition. They’d set out before dawn this morning and had traveled to the deep part of the ocean where the best fish could be found.

Clay had caught a big one a few hours ago—a nice-sized blue marlin. Ella had been so excited watching him fight for that baby she knew she had to experience it herself. The pure power, the exhilaration of human against powerful fish—it was primal and fierce watching the two of them battle it out. And when he’d won and reeled it in, she’d seen the gleam in his eye, the pride . . . Oh, yeah, she wanted a taste of that, too.

She hadn’t minded at all the hours of sitting there trolling along slow and easy with their lines in the water. It had given her time to sit and talk with Clay.

This was their last day in Hawaii, their last day together as lovers before reality—real life—set in again.

“Okay, looks like he’s going to play dead in the water for a while.”

She looked to Clay. “What?”

“Your fish is resting. Go ahead and relax the tension in your arms. But don’t let go of the rod just yet. He may decide to take off.”

“Okay.”

“So I just sit here. And do what exactly?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a good time to paint your toenails. Just chill. He’ll come around in a few minutes.”

She laughed. Talking with Clay was so easy, so natural. Not at all like talking to a stranger. They’d had conversations about work, about projects coming up and ones they were finishing. Though she hadn’t broached anything personal with him. And maybe she should. After all, other than work stuff, she really didn’t know all that much about his personal life.

“You’ve owned Mansfield Builders as long as I’ve been in the business,” she started.

He tore his gaze away from the trolling lines and onto her. “Yeah?”

“Is that all you’ve ever done?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. I started out in construction as a punk when I was eighteen.

My dad worked construction, said it was an honest living. It just seemed natural to do what he did. As soon as I got out of high school, I wanted to get down and dirty alongside him.”

“He died young, though?”

“Yeah. When I was twenty-one.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Clay shrugged. “He’d been in the business a long time. Never wanted to move up the ranks or become a foreman. Never saw himself on the business side of things. Just liked the physical aspect of the job. It was hard on him.”

“How old was he when he died?”

“Fifty-four.”

“That’s really young. What about your mom?”

“She died when I was sixteen. Cancer.”

How had she not known these things? Because she’d been so wrapped up in her own life, and then her own grief, that she’d never bothered to find out—that was why. What kind of friend was she? “I’m