Page 89 of Surrender

“Fuck, Whitney. Come on my cock, pretty girl.”

My throat feels raw once the noise stops. Moisture drips from my eyes, and my shoulders heave where they’re held tight against Jack’s sweaty chest. His hand falls away, slinking over my chin to cup my jaw, and his fingers soothingly stroke my throat.

I sag against him, and we collapse against the cushions.

“I think I’ve died.”

His hand presses over the left side of my chest, where my very alive heart pounds against my ribs. “I think it’s still beating.”

“Thank god for that.” I gulp in a lungful of air. “Ugh, I don’t want to move.”

“So don’t.” Jack drags a blanket from the arm of the couch and tosses it over our naked bodies. He settles onto his back and turns me over so that my cheek presses against his chest.

“What about the kids?” I yawn. Lucy has a bad habit of sneaking her way out of the bedroom in the morning when Jack gets up.

“I’ll wake you with plenty of time to get dressed.”

Between the warmth of the fire and Jack’s body, my eyelids flicker heavily. I’m comfortable, so I nestle deeper into his side.

And as I drift off to sleep, I wonder if this could be the last time.

22

Jack

On Christmas Eve, I find myself at the Sanctuary with Lee, Jude, and Corjan, bathing a new intake of puppies that managed to roll around in their own mess before we could get them out of their travel crate. It doesn’t necessarily take four men to clean up seven puppies, but I needed the excuse to get out of the house.

I thought I could give Whitney a week to bring up the pregnancy test, but five days in and I’m ready to crack. I’ve thought about asking her nearly a dozen times, but I can’t come up with a sentence that doesn’t make me sound like a total ass.

The tires on my SUV crunch along the snowy driveway up to the Sanctuary. Jude’s Samoyed, Ashe, dances around the front gate, howling in excitement. The other dogs, those brave enough to step outside, watch from the cleared steps next to the house.

I punch in the code and creep forward. The big ball of white fluff greets me as soon as I step out of the car.

“How come you haven’t been adopted yet?” I stroke her head. My cold fingers warm where they press against her thick coat. “We need to find you a home.”

She woofs in agreement.

I enter the intake building to find my brothers waiting, gathered in a small circle probably gossiping like a bunch of old women.

“Took you long enough,” Jude grumbles.

“As if you have anything to get back to.” I slap him on the shoulder, gripping a second longer than necessary in our version of a hug. We save the real affection for saying goodbye.

“He might not, but I do,” Lee adds, pushing away from the desk he’s leaning against. “Juniper’s cooking tonight. Her version of a Christmas dinner since we’ll be at Mom’s tomorrow.”

“Can’t fucking wait for tomorrow.” Corjan shuffles a packet of papers on his desk. “I told Bree she’s not cooking this year. She’s tired enough as a new mom. That woman needs to learn how to take a break.”

He and Lee both work here at the sanctuary during the week, handling paperwork and other day-to-day things. Jude is the main caretaker for the dogs, and Aiden and I help out with random tasks like intakes and tracking down reports of strays. Cortney offers her vet services, and I run a special promotion on rooms at the motel if a partner or potential adopter comes from out of town to visit our facility.

“Maybe stop talking and start on these puppies so you can all get out of my house,” Jude grouses.

“We aren’t even in your house,” I toss back on my way to the intake room. The minute I step over the threshold, I gag. “These babies stink.”

“The guy said his heat went out on the truck about two hours away. He could have stopped to get it fixed, delaying him until after the holiday, or keep going. He decided to power through but left them in their mess. He was worried they’d freeze if he got them wet and left them without heat for too long,” Jude says.

I’m not the only one shaking my head at the story. I peer into the crate. Seven pairs of eyes glow back at me. “What are they?”

“Some sort of Beagle mixes,” Lee answers.

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