Page 83 of Broken Halo

I moan into my pillow, doing everything I can to muffle the orgasm Trig is wringing out of me so I don’t wake Griffin. I have no idea what time it is but waking a baby before the sun rises goes against every parenting law, says every mom who’s ever dealt with an overly-tired child.

“Love you like this, angel.” His words settle into my body as he lifts my hips and sinks into me from behind. There’s no rip of a condom and I feel him, skin-to-skin, stretching and filling me just like he has my heart lately—so full. It’s thoughtless and stupid and if anyone has learned this lesson the hard way, it’s us, but I can’t seem to bring myself to complain the few times he’s pushed the boundaries. This time his voice is gruff and practically desperate—a sensation I can relate to since I’m totally down with his ho-hum, easy-going, willy-nilly approach to birth control just so I can have him like this, with nothing between us. “Just need to feel you. I’ll pull out and then put you in the shower.”

“Yes,” I agree and show him how much by raising my ass for more. I want every inch, eager for his touch in any way I can get it.

I still haven’t admitted my love for him aloud and he hasn’t either, not officially, and I’m not sure why. I think I’m trying to allow my head to catch up with my heart after so much has happened between us, even if it wasn’t our fault in the beginning. When we spend our free time together, we’re with Griffin. We’re a different us than we used to be and there’s some unspoken agreement that we need time despite needing this.

The craving.

The lust.

The obsession.

Because that’s what it is. When I’m not with him, I yearn for him. And when I’m with him, I can’t get enough. Whether it’s learning his mind all over again, watching him bond with my son, or when we’re like this, completely and totally lost in each other, so deep that I already know if it were taken away from me again, I wouldn’t survive.

He’s up on his knees now, his fingers digging into the skin at my hips, pulling me to meet his every thrust, taking me hard. It’s Trig’s perfect way of fucking me rough enough to make me want more, taking me to that brink on the edge of pain and pleasure that I can’t get enough of.

I reach up and press on the headboard for leverage, feeling my head go fuzzy again, begging, “Don’t stop.”

His groan vibrates through me and I wouldn’t be surprised if I have bruises from his grip on my skin. I squeeze my eyes and let go, my second and stronger orgasm taking over. From my far-away place in ecstasy, I hear Trig mutter a string of curse words.

I almost cry out in protest when he pulls out but I can’t move because he holds me tight, his cock resting in the crack of my ass when he groans, coming all over my lower back.

He bends at the waist, coming down on me, covering me with his large frame. My guess, this is closer than we’ve ever been to that cliff but I’m too tired and relaxed right now to care.

He presses his cock into the top of my ass and kisses the side of my head. “What do you have going today?”

I sigh because I couldn’t move if I wanted to. “I’m meeting with my graphic designer who’s also building my website. I need to get up and get going and be at my house before my sitter gets there.”

Trig exhales and I feel it everywhere. Like he’s about to protest or argue but instead, he runs a possessive hand down my side. “It’s six-thirty. You have time for a shower?”

I smile into my pillow and crane my neck around to catch his eyes. “You defiled me again. I have no choice—I need a shower.”

His blue eyes warm. “If that’s the case, I’m going to make it my mission to defile you daily.”

“And let my massive box of condoms go to waste?”

He brushes the side of my breast with his fingertips. “I hate condoms.”

“I can tell.”

A frown mars his brow. “You’re not happy?”

“About you playing Russian roulette, sperm-style, with your finger on the trigger? I do know how you got your nickname, remember?”

“My uncle gave me that nickname when I was eight. I hardly got it because of my sperm, baby.”

I smile. “You’re squishing me. Let me roll over.”

He gives me a fraction more of his weight. “No. You’ve got my sperm all over you. You’re a mess, then we’ll have to clean the sheets and I hate fucking around with a fitted sheet.”

“So you’d rather fuck around with me?” I quip.

My comment might’ve been offhand but the mirth disappears from his rugged features. “Every day, angel. I want to fuck around with you every single day for the rest of my life.”

My goofy grin shrinks into a content smile because this is what we’ve been doing. This comfortable thing—the getting to know you when we already know all there is to know. And what I’ve learned only makes him better. I knew he was smart and he’s used that brain to become an intelligent and skilled attorney. That he has zero experience with babies, but with Griffin, he’s natural and at ease, getting to know him in his own way and not apologizing for feeding him french fries or, like last night, Ranch flavored Doritos because in Trig’s words, the boy cannot live on broccoli and vanilla wafers alone.

So that’s why I hate myself for not telling him I love him. When I was seventeen, I knew I could love him after he kissed me the first time. It was cemented into my heart three weeks later when we snuck off in the middle of the night to do nothing but look at the stars as he told me he hadn’t left Texas yet because his mom needed him and he was afraid to leave her with his asshole of a dad. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he stared off into the dark, new-moon sky and described the horrors of how he grew up. When he looked back to me, he admitted he’d never told anyone those real-life nightmares and he was sorry he laid them on my soul.

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