Page 90 of Oathbreaker

My fingers flex against her flesh in an involuntary movement.

If she wanted to leave again, I would let her.

But maybe I can give her good enough reasons to stay.

The skin beneath my palm seems to warm as if it were a manifestation of my thoughts.

This one is yours.

My fingers move against her, starting their descent lower, and the movement wakes her.

“H,” she says with a sleepy yawn.

“Good morning, baby,” I say into her neck. She stretches slightly, her ass pressing against my erection. My hand skates further down.

“Nuh-uh, H. I’m a messy mess right now. I need a shower, and my girl needs a break.” She scoots away from me. I grab her hip, pulling her back.

“I like you being a messy mess. It’s my mess down there,” I say, leaning over her and sucking the skin of her neck.

She moans, and I can tell by the hitch in her breathing that she’s turned on despite her protests.

“You are depraved, Mr.Brigham,” she says with no heat in her voice.

“How many kids do you want, Winter?” She goes rigid in my arms.

“Ex-squeeze me?” She looks at me, her eyes clashing with mine. I chuckle.

“Babies. They’re often a result when people do what we’ve been doing.” The color drains from her face.

“I’m aware,” she says. Her voice is even weaker, but the arousal in her gaze has evaporated. In its place is trepidation.

“I want three more,” I say. “I think August would love being a big brother.” August likes being around his peer group, but I get a feeling that he would love a sibling. He has so much love in his heart behind all the hurt he’s experienced.

The hurt I’ve caused.

The long-uttered word echo through my mind: atonement.

I’m in the process. August and I are moving forward, growing closer.

A few days ago, August and I explored the grounds a little bit, and I took him to the shooting range to teach him how to handle a weapon without being completely assaulted by his sensory system.

We’re at the point now that he can fire a gun with noise-canceling headphones and hit the target.

It’s good enough. And when I told August I was proud of him, he smiled in a way I’ve never seen him do.

So, yeah. Progress.

I look at the woman who made that happen and am filled with gratitude. I wouldn’t have been able to connect with my son without her.

“Wooooahkay,” she says, all grace absent as she climbs out of the bed and heads to the bathroom. She enters the water closet, closing the door with a quiet click. I count to five before following her.

I open the door while she’s midstream peeing. “H! Have you heard of privacy? What if I were taking a dump? The romance would die.”

I lean against the doorjamb. “Do you need to take a shit?” I raise an eyebrow.

Her cheeks flush. “No,” she grumbles out.

“Well, what’s the problem?”

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