Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4) by Sarah Brooks (reading rainbow books .txt) 📗

I could pay for my brother’s fees with only a few nights of work...

Tiffany grinned and nodded. “My clients are very selective. And I only hire the most desirable men.” She ran her fingers up my arm. “And Robbie, my Darling, you are very, very desirable.”

She started kissing my jaw again, her tongue running over my skin. “I don’t know if I can have sex with strangers,” I breathed as she straddled me again, her pussy pressing against my cock.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m a stranger and you fucked me so, so well.” She leaned down and kissed my chest. “You’re a natural. And you can make a lot of money for your family.”

She was incredibly persuasive. Between her words and the way she was moving her body against mine, I couldn’t come up with a decent argument against her suggestion. I was young and out of my depth. But I liked sex and I wanted to take care of my mom and brother. They depended on me. One day I was going to be a successful lawyer. I would fight the good fight.

But for now, I could do this and enjoy the hell out of it.

I lifted Tiffany and settled her back down on my aching cock and we moaned in unison as I filled her. “As long as it always feels like this, I’m in,” I pledged as I started screwing the woman I barely knew.

“You’re going to make us a lot of money, Robbie. You’ll be a god and women will worship you,” she promised as I let her convince me all night long.

Chapter One

Skylar

Present Day

I stretched my arms over my head and rotated my head, trying to relieve the kink in my neck. I needed to get a new desk chair but finances were tight at the moment, so I was having to make do with the incredibly uncomfortable chair that came with my kitchen table.

At least the view out my window was nice.

I gazed through the open sash, breathing in the crisp autumn air. The leaves had started to change and I watched them drift lazily from their branches. I wasn’t the kind of person to wax poetic about fall foliage, but I could appreciate the blissful quiet of my home, nestled on the outskirts of Southport, Pennsylvania. It was tucked into a valley between two hills and surrounded by nothing but fields and forests.

It was a far cry from my cramped one-bedroom apartment I had shared with my ex, Mac ‘the ass’ Stevens, in Philadelphia.

My computer dinged with an incoming message. I tore my eyes from the sun and flowers and all that hunky-dory shit and opened it. It was an email from my latest client asking a few questions about the timeline I sent to him for the work I was contracted. The guy was a nitpicker, which I wouldn’t have the patience for in the long run. I was upfront about costs and time estimates, so there wasn’t much this guy could argue about—but clearly, he wanted to.

He’d learn quickly how far that got him.

Taking the jump to work for myself as a freelance graphic designer had been full of hiccups, but it was liberating. I had spent more than enough time making other people money, toeing someone else’s line. When I thought of the woman I was for those few years after college, I wanted to scream. Somehow I had turned into the type of person I had always loathed—oblivious and spineless.

My ex-fiancé had a large hand in molding that temporary Skylar Murphy into someone who had allowed herself to be made a fool of. I still couldn’t believe how long it took me to realize he had squandered away most of our nest egg on watching underage girls take their clothes off on the internet. He hadn’t even tried to hide his duplicity, I simply hadn’t been looking. Because at some point I had become the sort of woman who willfully took whatever bullshit she was spoon-fed.

I hated that Skylar and was happy to kick her butt into the sun.

So I came back to my hometown—the one place I had sworn to stay far away from. Mostly because it was my only option. I didn’t have much money. I had been laid off from my job. My heart had been battered and bruised beyond all recognition. Moving in with my emotionally stunted parents had seemed the lesser of all kinds of evils.

I really should have been questioning my decision-making abilities.

Eventually, I waded through all the shit and ended up here—in my little slice of heaven—or something close to it. The house had been a fixer-upper, which was real estate speak for an absolute money pit. But I hadn’t cared. I took one look at the hand-crafted spindles on the wooden staircase and the gigantic backyard, and I threw my money at it. Well, I made an offer, and since I was the only one interested in a dilapidated property ten miles from town, mine was also the only offer. I got the place dirt cheap, which was good because most of what little savings I had left went into making it livable.

I was lucky that one of my best friends also happened to be a stellar handyman. Kyle Webber—aka, Web— and I had been friends since he moved to Southport in middle school. He had his own landscaping business and knew his way around a hammer. I was no slouch either when it came to project initiative, but YouTube only got you so far when it came to home DIY. Together we sanded and sealed the hardwood floors and built a pretty new deck off the back of the house. I painted the living room and kitchen all by myself though, and it turned out pretty great if you ask me. I had help installing the new kitchen appliances, but that is another story…

“Oof, what