Songs for Cricket by Laine, E. (best books to read in your 20s TXT) 📗

something more romantic like make love. But, my brain was operating on limited resources. I was surprised I had a coherent thought.

Her legs parted like petals on a flower, and my brain short-circuited. I drove inside her like a man possessed. When she gasped in a lung full of air, I had the presence of mind to stop and let her body grow used to me filling her.

Then she moved. I couldn’t tell if she was urging me on, but that little bit of friction sent me way over the edge. On autopilot, I began slow, taking her mouth and filling it like my dick did her tight sheath.

Every stroke was like nirvana. Every whimper like a fist pump to my ego. She clamped her legs around my waist, but I had to spread her wider to go deeper. I hit a spot and her back levitated off the ground like a rocket ship on lift off. She cried out, and anyone in earshot had to know what we were up to.

“Quiet, Cricket.”

Last thing we needed was for someone to call the cops. And I hadn’t forgotten Cooper and August’s rooms were located at the backside of the house.

I lost all reason when her inner walls clamped down on me. I came hard, thrusting like there was a race to win as her inner walls milked me for every drop.

“Shit,” I said, rolling over, discreetly removing the condom. I reached for a discarded napkin and folded it inside, tossing it in a corner for cleanup later. Then, I brought her over to curl at my side.

I covered part of my face with an arm over my head.

“I didn’t exactly plan for the night to go like that,” I said.

“Yeah, what did you plan for me?”

I thought about my guitar in the corner of the tent. “I thought dessert and maybe play a song I wrote for you.”

She lifted up on her arm to stare at me. “The fire song?”

“Not that one, but I could. Though I think I need maybe a minute or an hour before I can move.”

Her laugh was infectious, and I chuckled myself.

When we quieted the true night songs began. “Do you hear that?” I asked.

The crickets were belting out the tunes.

She smiled and lay back on my chest. “I do. I’m pretty sure that’s a mating song, and we got caught up in it.”

“I’m sure I got caught up in you.”

I rolled her completely on top of me, so I could thoroughly kiss her mouth and free my hands to roam.

31

finley

“Magic hands,” I murmured as Shepard showed me all the reasons why sex was so damn enjoyable. Admittedly, I might have entertained the idea sooner if I’d known it’d be like this.

“Magic body,” he said before making me come again.

The night didn’t end after that. He fed me cake and ate some himself, but after he accidently spilled ganache on my breast and in between my legs. I would never think of cake the same way again.

As we lay again intertwined together, I asked him about my song.

“I didn’t often hear you play back home. You’d go off in the woods. Why?”

The night he said he came up with the Cricket song, I’d been in a deck chair listening to faint music coming from the creek.

“Your father wasn’t exactly a fan. I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

My father had casually told Shepard when he first moved in that music was a fruitless pursuit.

“You weren’t bothering me. I used to secretly listen to you play.”

“You did?”

The surprise on his face was so damn cute, I kissed him.

“Yes. You’re amazing. Your voice—”

He rolled me on my back and silenced any more talking. I was sure I’d be sore the next day. As I drifted off, his fingers combed through my hair, and he hummed words from a song I’d never heard before.

My phone jerked me awake Wednesday morning. Outside filtered light now lit the tent.

“Crap,” I muttered, realizing we’d slept there all night.

His blues flashed open with confusion for a second before he shot up nearly hitting his head on the hanging lantern.

“Go ahead. I’ll take care of this,” he said as I scurried around to get dressed for practice.

I masked my sadness that he couldn’t go because his name still hadn’t been cleared. Our lips collided in a rush before I left him in the tent.

Again, August didn’t ride with Cooper and me that morning. He also hadn’t responded to any of my texts.

“He’s sulking,” Cooper had said.

I’d caught sight of August at the morning meeting, but he’d avoided me as I headed to weight training.

Lifting weights with a bunch of muscle heads turned out to be what the doctor ordered. Their jabs at each other made morning workout funny, which was what I needed before my third day of classes.

Though I’d scoured open classes to replace Professor Wright’s class, so far I had no luck in finding any available that fit my schedule. I walked in sure I was on time until I heard my name.

“Miss Farrow, I’m surprised to see you.”

I angled my phone screen to check the time, and it was at the hour. I wasn’t late.

“I thought maybe you might have been smart and taken the hint to withdraw like several other students.”

I quickly glanced about and saw there were a few open seats compared to last class.

“Maybe I should remind everyone that if you’re looking for an easy A, you won’t find one in my class. Your grade will be solely based on a semester long project. You fail the project, you fail the class. Unlike some professors, I believe that real world application is appropriate for a second-year class. This gives you time to change your major if you’re not cut out to be an architect.”

I moved to take a seat, and he stopped me.

“Before you get comfortable, Ms. Farrow, you need to hear what that project is so you can make a decision now and not waste any