Page 90 of Finding Our Reality

Lulu mimics Laura. “Why am I special?”

“Because you call Uncle Ry ‘Ry’. He told me that the only people who are allowed to call him‘Ry’are the girls he loves. He said that was me and someone else. He never told me who, but now I know. It’s you. He loves you.”

I can’t breathe. I turn away, hiding my emotion from the two girls on the bed. Raking my hand across my face, I take a second to compose myself before turning back. “Time for bed. Goodnight.”

Laura flops backward, hugging Felicia Stinkbottoms to her side. I wait for Lulu to leave the room, before I turn out the light.

“Night-night, Uncle Ry. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Pulling her door closed, I watch as Lulu silently walks down the hallway and turns into my bedroom. I follow behind her like a dog on a leash. I shut the door and stare at her.

She’s so damn beautiful.

Her face is free of makeup, innocent and fresh. Her breasts tug against the fabric of my T-shirt. Her fingers twist the hem in worried thought.

“When did you start doing that with her? Asking her that question?”

“The first time she stayed the night here at the house. It was so big compared to her apartment. She kept hearing noises and couldn’t go to sleep.”

She nods, not saying anything.

The anticipation is killing me.

“Are you angry with me?”

She snorts. “Isn’t part of me always angry with you?”

Good point. “Let me rephrase, are you angry with me for sharing that game with Laura?”

Her hand circles around her neck. “Of course not. I think Carrie would be happy to see someone carrying on the tradition.”

I take a step in her direction. And then another. And then another. My growl is harsher than I intend for it to be, but I can’t help it. I’m on edge. “Tell me something. Something no one else knows.”

Her chest swells, her nipples immediately bud, and she discreetly rubs her thighs together. Because she’s My Lulu, she tilts her chin in the air, staring straight at me. “I’ve been fighting my feelings, pushing you away. Letting my anger control me. For twelve long years, I’ve been drowning in my silent rage. I can’t keep doing it. I wanna let go. I want happiness. I want your mouth on mine. Now.”

Sweeter words have never been spoken.

I cross the distance between us and take her in my arms. I don’t even give her the chance to moan before my tongue slides into her hot mouth.

Holy. Shit.

My memories of her don’t do her justice. Kissing her is the pinnacle of erotic desire. She gives it back, she takes it from me, she makes me into her own. Our tongues tangle. Tasting, remembering.

She’s making a new heart in the dead hollow of my chest.

Just like the very first time I kissed her, life as I know it ceases to exist.

My right hand tangles in her soft, honey-colored waves, and my left hand traces the beads of her spine, running lower and lower until I find that sweet curve where her back meets her ass. Pulling her against me, my body seeks the smallest friction against my throbbing cock. Nothing has ever felt so good—or so painful—in my entire thirty-three years.

Her fingers tug at my T-shirt, eagerly searching for my skin. She quickly finds what she’s looking for. Her fingertips slide across the lines of my stomach, tenderly tracing the outline of my ribs. Her touch is feather-light, until I deepen our kiss, forcing the breath from her body. Her grip tightens, digging into the muscles of my hips.

Ready for more, she pushes the fabric up my torso. She whispers against my lips. “Take it off.”

Yanking the T-shirt over my head, my dick throbs when I see her eagerly devouring my body with her eyes.

That look alone is more fulfilling than ninety percent of the sexual encounters I’ve had in the past decade.

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