Page 111 of Catching Feeling

He never would’ve asked me to go with him because he wouldn’t want me to feel like I was dropping my life in order to support his, but I didn’t want to be without him. Reese is my home. Wherever he goes, so do I.

On our way home, we make a quick stop at the grocery store and grab things for dinner, including a bouquet of purple flowers because Reese is the most thoughtful man to ever exist.

I think about that a lot. How if there was ever a perfect definition of a man, he would be it.

“Smells almost as delicious as you,” Reese mumbles as he walks up behind me at the stove, burying his face in my neck and inhaling. Of course, his first home game in a week means cooking his favorite… my dad’s etouffee.

My head lolls when he drags his tongue along my skin, gently nibbling a path up to my ear. I can’t help my eyes fluttering shut when I feel him rock his hips forward and press his cock against my ass.

“God, I missed you so much,” I mutter, already breathless.

“What part? My mouth?”

I nod, abandoning the spatula on the counter as I flip around to face him. “Mhmm. And…” I slide my hand under his shirt to sweep my fingers along his sculpted abs and down the trail of hair leading into the waistband of his shorts before closing my palm around his hardening cock. His breath hitches as I fist him, dragging my thumb along his slit, gathering the precum on the pad.

Holding his gaze, I whisper, “This.” I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him softly, tenderly sweeping my tongue along the seam of his mouth and slipping it inside to tangle with his.

“And your talented tongue,” I pant against his lips as I pull back slightly.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“Ditto.”

I’m two seconds away from dropping to my knees on the kitchen floor so I can properly welcome him home when the fire alarm goes off. Only then do we both realize that there’s smoke filling the air, and the pan on the stove is sizzling.

We both spring into action as I pull what’s left of the burnt roux off the stove and run to the sink, turning the cold water on. Steam billows from the pan at the temperature change.

I can’t help but giggle that I literally burnt our dinner because I got distracted by his wicked tongue and almost gave him a blowjob in the middle of the kitchen.

Reese’s leaning against the counter, a small grin on his lips while he shakes his head.

“Sorry I ruined dinner.” I rake my teeth over my lips, scrunching my nose.

He stalks toward me, sweeping me off my feet and hauling me over his shoulder as he carries me to our bedroom. There’s a hard swat at my ass that leaves it stinging deliciously and my clit throbbing for more.

“I want you to ruin dinner for me every fucking day for the rest of my life, Sweet Tart.”

And then he tosses me on the bed and shows me exactly what I’ve been missing with his tongue, fingers, and cock until I’m a sated mess, draped over him like a blanket of bones.

“I love you,” he says sleepily, pressing his lips to the top of my head as his fingers ghost along my spine.

“I love you more,” I whisper, my eyes dropping shut as I savor the sound of his strong, steady heart beating beneath my ear.

And god, do I love Reese Landry.

I love him so much sometimes that it feels like my heart could actually burst.

I love him irrevocably to the depths of my soul. And I know I always will.

“GOD, this is so sooooo exciting, Viv. I can’t believe we’re at your freaking book tour!” Hallie says excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You’re literally a New York Times best-selling author.”

I can’t actually believe it either. Even standing here in a room full of people, preparing to give my first ever panel.

I knew that so many manuscripts never even make it to an editor’s inbox, that it takes some authors years to get their work published. At times, it seemed and felt impossible. It took months of querying for me to even find an agent… and an embarrassing amount of tears and moments of wanting to quit.

But I finally did, and it’s almost like the universe knew to save the best for last.

Anna is a literal angel, and I truly think that if it wasn’t for her unwavering support and for believing in me the way that she does, I would’ve never found a publisher for Haunted Homicide.

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