Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

“I might be able to accept those.”

“Good to know.”

We smile at each other, and then I pull her in for another kiss.

And if it was up to me, I’d never stop.

Murphy goes back to my cabin with me, where we strip each other of our clothes and fall into bed.

I kiss her for what feels like hours before finally trailing my way down her body, branding her with my lips in as many places as possible.

She watches me with wide eyes and open mouth as I pulse my tongue against her clit. Her hands grip the pillow behind her, soft whimpers falling from her mouth.

Only after I have her right on the crest of orgasm do I kiss my way back up her body and slip inside, groaning at how tight and wet she is.

“I love you,” she whispers, her eyes piercing mine as she clamps down and then flies over the edge.

I moan, tumbling over as well, my forehead pressed to hers, my eyes never looking away.

They really do mean it when they say there’s a difference between fucking and making love.

Before Murphy, I wouldn’t have known.

I wouldn’t have been able to explain how something that might look the same on the outside feels so different on the inside.

But now that I have her, I don’t ever want to go back.

I don’t ever want to be reminded of when sex was something other than the intimacy we just shared in this bed.

Because making love to Murphy might just be the most incredible, beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.

And now that I know it exists, I don’t want to settle for anything less.

Chapter Twenty-One

MURPHY

When I get a text from Memphis in the morning letting me know we need to talk before the Sunday lunch service begins, it drags me out of my love-induced sex haze and the cocoon that Wes’s bed provides.

“I have to go talk to Memphis,” I grumble, snuggling deeper into the crook of his arm and pressing my naked body flush against his.

“When? I’ll go with you.”

I look up into his eyes and shake my head. “I appreciate it, but this is a conversation between me and my brother. And even though it’s about you, it’s also not about you at all.”

Wes looks confused, so I give him a quick rundown of what’s going on with the vineyard without getting too into the nitty-gritty.

“Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing a hand over the stubble along his jaw. “I could feel that something was up, but I figured it wasn’t my place to ask. God, no pressure or anything.”

I giggle and snuggle closer, lifting my face so I can press my lips to his. When I pull back, the concern that had crossed his face has eased.

“It’s not your job to fix what’s going on, Wes,” I tell him. “And Memphis knows that. It’s why he’s scrambling to do anything and everything he can to salvage things before my dad throws in the towel.”

He nods but doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Look at it this way,” I continue. “You are a tool he’s using to build something that might save the vineyard. But there are many tools he can use, and plenty of other possibilities for things he can build.”

Wes grins. “Should I be concerned that you’re calling me a tool?”