Page 77 of Nine Month Contract
“I fucking hate birds, Trista.” He groans and turns away, pacing in the alleyway of the barn as he aggressively runs his hand over his hair. “They have beady eyes and eat weird things, and they’re just…”
“They’re not birds, they’re chickens,” I correct with enthusiasm. “And they’re making eggs. I can make you breakfast for a change!”
I smile broadly, and he stops pacing, only to hit me with a flat, unimpressed look. This is our first real fight since our sexuationship started two weeks ago, and I was beginning to think we both had personality transplants. Apparently, mind-blowing, regular sex is a real mood booster, but I guess it can’t last forever.
But he’s right. He told me no chickens, and I explicitly broke that rule. Maybe if he knew they were going to be butchered becausesomeone had them in their backyard and it was against their neighborhood HOA and a little girl who lived at the house had already named them, and while I love me some fried chicken, I don’t love to eat it when it’s named Heather…and Mallory…and Sasha…and…I forget the rest.
“Sooo,” I coo, stepping closer and sliding my hands up his chest. “I could tell you the whole sob story about a six-year-old girl naming all the chickens and crying to me at the shelter about it…or you could let me make it up to you in other ways.”
I comb my fingers through his hair, and he trembles slightly, his eyes fluttering closed briefly before he glances out the barn windows. “It’s not sundown yet.”
I smile. He’s been very good about adhering to our sex schedule. Last week, he gave me a look in the barn one morning before we left for work that I know meant he wanted to break our rules…but he didn’t make a move. I’ve been wondering who was going to cave first. Guess it will be me.
For the chickens.
“I must pay for my crime.” I stand on my tiptoes and lightly press my lips to his.
A low growl vibrates in his chest at our contact, and without hesitation, he bends over and wraps his arms around me, capturing my mouth more fully as he thrusts his tongue deep into my mouth.
I’ve learned in the past two weeks that Wyatt isn’t a light kisser. He doesn’t do anything lightly. He gives it one hundred and ten percent…barn make-out session included, and I dare say I’m into it. I can’t say any men in my bullpen have ever made me feel sowanted. It’s going to be a tough feeling to let go of when this all ends.
His erection presses into my belly as he marches me backward and pushes me up against Reginald’s pen. I let out a little moan when he reaches down and grabs my thigh, opening my legs so he can press himself against my center.
“Take me here, Wyatt,” I beg, my hormones raging as lust ratchets through me. There’s no way I’ll be able to make it up the stairs to my bed right now anyway. I’ve been thinking about him all day.
And I must admit…there is something wildly magical about having sex in this barn. This place has been my sanctuary since the day I moved in, and it’s only intensified since I got pregnant. Call it hormones or call it nature…I almost prefer it down here over my big fluffy bed upstairs.
He rips his lips away from mine as he struggles with the buckles on my overalls. They’re tricky little bastards, so I attempt to help him. My breasts are finally free from their prison, and Wyatt’s hands cup them greedily over my T-shirt, causing me to moan when I hear a voice call out, “Wyatt, you in there?”
We shoot apart from each other just as his brother Calder walks through the barn door. My nipples feel like they will break through my shirt as I watch Wyatt conceal his lower half behind the fence near Handsome’s stall. I turn and shakily attempt to rebuckle my straps, and Reginald makes a noise as I stare down into his pen.
Don’t judge me, Reg. You eat your own shit sometimes.
“Hey there, Momma Bear,” Calder drawls cheerily. “How are you this fine Saturday evening?”
I swallow my sex fog down and turn to face him, my hands nervously going into my hair, wondering if it’s a mess from Wyatt’s fingers. “I’m good, Calder. Nice to see you again.”
“You too.” His eyes slide over to Wyatt, who’s hunching over with his arms propped on the fence, but from my angle, the boner that Wyatt is sporting is still plain as day. “What are you doing, Papa Bear?”
“Chores, what do you think?” Wyatt growls, the veins in his neck looking angry. “What do you want?”
“Um…your help, obviously.” Calder hooks his thumb to the door. “Max is on his way up the mountain, and the others are going to be here any minute, and I still can’t find the cards or poker chips in your house.”
Wyatt waves him off. “I’ll be in in a minute.”
I tilt my head curiously at that. Wyatt Fletcher is a twenty-minute man on his worst day. Forty-five is his average. It’s not uncommon for him to put in a good hour. He side-eyes me knowingly.
Calder directs his attention back to me and waggles his brows suggestively. “You play poker, Momma Bear?”
I roll my eyes at that nickname that unfortunately seems to be sticking. “I’ve played before, yes.”
“You should join us!” he says cheerily.
“It’s usually just guys,” Wyatt argues, looking irritated by his brother. He shakes his head and wrinkles his nose at me like I should definitely say no to poker night.
“Not tonight,” Calder corrects. “Evie girl is coming. Probably our last poker night with her before she flies off to Ireland. Come on, join us. It’ll be fun.” Calder motions for me to follow him inside.
“She can’t,” Wyatt blurts out, looking completely awkward all hunched and red-faced and glued to the fence.
