Page 88 of Where We Promise

Killian smirked at me. Wes looked like he was still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened in his house.

“Can you access her phone without her knowing? Text him a meeting place,” Silas asked, his hard stare almost pleading.

I nodded even as shame simmered in my core. “I don’t want Pen involved in any way.”

Wes finally glanced up. “Text back that she’ll meet him in Pyle at the diner off highway eighty.”

“She might hate me for this,” I muttered, glaring at the frozen ground. I hadn’t fully processed what would happen if she knew I’d lied to her, but I knew in my gut I had to do this. Not just for her, but for all of us. For the club, for Killian…for Connor.

Wes made a sound of agreement. “She might, but she also might understand what was at risk. She seems like the type of person who would do anything to protect the people she loves. I think she’ll understand.”

Yeah, she might…unless Luke was still one of those people.

TWENTY-EIGHT

PENELOPE

Jameson’s grip on my hips was ironclad.

We were standing in the shower, my arm up around his neck, holding him to me as he fucked me from behind. My left foot was lifted, set on the small corner slat where my shampoo sat twenty minutes earlier. Our slick bodies moved against each other, his hands cupped my breasts, and his lips were on my neck, still whispering filthy things while the hot water hit our backs.

This whole thing started when we arrived home from the dinner party, and Jamie kept touching my ass. I told him it was causing a mess between my legs. He had smirked and said, “let me clean that up for you.”

He’d had me on the counter, my back flat against the surface, half my hair falling over the sink as he tossed my legs over his shoulders and began licking me clean. Once I came, and he cleaned that too, he picked me up and set me in front of the shower.

“Now get in the shower, Mrs. King, and show me how you clean that perfect cunt.”

His mouth was going to be the death of me. I’d stripped, he watched, looking starved and then his mouth was on mine. We’d stumbled into the water, and our limbs were a chaotic mess of desperate touches and grasps as bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash fell to the floor. He’d pushed my back against the wall as he fucked me slowly, and then adjusted us, so I was on my knees. From there, we were lost to our lust, and with each touch, every thrust of his thick cock that slid inside me, I shut my eyes and tried to keep the glowing feeling close to my heart.

I believed that he wanted this, wanted me…and even my son, but I was still hesitant to completely accept it.

I was so ready for the other shoe to drop; it was creating a mess of emotions that were always waging war like a thousand tiny soldiers, throwing daggers and knives—pricking my heart and spearing my soul with longing and hope. So much hope that tears were starting to brim every time I even looked at Jamie. Tonight, at the dinner party, I glanced over at him and something primal had screamed in my head: Mine.

I wanted him to belong to me, and I wanted to be his.

So when he spoke to me with that heavy lust coating his voice, I wanted to wrap it around my lungs, breathe it in and then drown in it. I was completely in love with him, and my poor tortured heart was a wary thing, terrified of the damage he could do.

“You still hungry at all?” Jameson was still catching his breath from his orgasm. I had no idea how many we’d had in the shower. A small smile ghosted over my lips as I wrapped myself in a large, fluffy towel and watched him wrap its matching pair around his hips.

“No, just tired. I want to snuggle in bed and watch something.”

He gave me a warm smile and then turned to brush his teeth. I walked into the room and pulled on one of his shirts, then slid into bed.

Jamie flipped the switch to the bathroom, and then grabbed a pair of boxers.

The bed dipped when he sank into his side, but he hesitated on the edge instead of slipping under the covers with me.

“Wanted to ask you something.”

I had my cell in my hand, navigating around a post about postpartum dieting when my eyes flicked up.

“What’s up?”

He finally twisted, so he was facing me, his knee bent and his hand stretching out, so it covered my stomach. It was the first time he’d ever touched my stomach like that, and it had my heart dancing in my chest.

Warm fingers slid under my shirt and prodded around my belly button, gently pushing.

“Would you mind if I—” He faltered for a second, and to encourage him, I placed my hand over his. Those warm brown eyes landed on mine as he moved his hand lower. The baby kicked, and Jameson’s mouth dropped open while his hand flew off my stomach.

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