Page 92 of Filthy Savage

I’m grateful it’s the one I drove into Boston yesterday.

“Your hair is like a teddy bear.” She giggles.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I wink, and she tries to copy me, her high-pitched laugh making me smile.

Glancing over at my pissed-off future wife, I realize I now have a family I didn’t know I needed, one already made for me. I’ll do everything to protect them. She may not want this—not yet—but I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.

I hand Fia to Amara while I hook the car seat into the back. “Okay, let’s get you inside.”

Fia’s arms reach for me, and I can tell how uncomfortable that makes my little rabbit. That’s alright. Eventually she’ll realize I’m not the enemy.

I place Fia in the car seat and buckle her in.

Amara hands her a sippy cup. “Be a good girl, okay?” She kisses her on the forehead.

“I’m always a good girl, Mama.”

“Yes, you are.” She sighs, looking up at me.

“Get in,” I tell her, tucking her hand in mine before I bring it to my lips.

She fidgets, darting her eyes to the ground as she whisper-shouts, “This isn’t right. You can’t just force someone to marry you!”

“I just did.” My smirk has her irises burning with a death threat. “I’m protecting you. Don’t ever forget that.”

“You’re really trying to protect yourself,” she snickers.

“Well…” My mouth curls. “I never said I wasn’t getting anything out of it.”

And what I mean by that is you.

“What about my car and my things?” She huffs, her body deflating.

“I’ll have everything you and Fia need brought to our home tomorrow.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

With anger lining her features, she climbs into the passenger side while I get in and start the car. She refuses to pay me any mind while we head toward the highway, staring out the window instead.

My hand clasps her knee, and that finally gets her attention.

“What am I going to tell my friends? They’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

“Do they know about me?”

“Yeah. But still. They know I met you that one time and?—”

“Haven’t been able to forget me? I know.” I grin. “Me too.”

My fingers inch higher, working up her inner thigh while she squirms uncomfortably.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” she gasps.

“No?” I trace a single finger over her pussy through her pants. “It’s a damn shame you’re not wearing a skirt.”

“Why’s that?” Every syllable grows croakier.

“Because I enjoy touching you.” Pushing her thighs open while trying to concentrate on the road, I press two fingers over her clit, slowly massaging her there.

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