Page 25 of Loaded Laces

And…I have a man to get home to.

I’m thinkingof all the things I want to tell West the entire drive to Quinn’s sleepover.

How I’m finally understanding, finally accepting, finally open to more from my future. How I want him to know thatIwant to know what a good relationship can be like, to know how it feels to not have to struggle and do it all alone.

And that’s thanks to him.

So, I spend the drive back to the house pondering and planning and rehearsing my speech, wanting West to know exactly how much all of this has meant to me.

But then I walk into the kitchen.

And I smell what he’s cooking.

And that plan slips right out of my head.

Because tonight he’s cookingmyfavorite meal.

And he’s turning and smiling at me, putting the spoon he’s using to stir the potato and leek soup down onto a folded paper towel then moving across the room. “Hey, Bella bee,” he murmurs, reaching for me, brushing his lips over my forehead before slipping his fingers beneath the strap of my purse and tugging it down my arm.

Or part of the way, anyway.

Because it’s barely reached my elbow when all the love in my belly explodes outward—not in words, but in action.

I launch myself into his arms, lift my mouth to his…

And kiss him with everything I’m feeling so brightly in my heart.

Eleven

West

I only geta glimpse of her face—and the flash of the heat and need and affection in her eyes has every cell in my body freezing.

But thenherbody is colliding with mine and I’m not seeing, not thinking, not trying to discern what all of that emotion means.

I’mfeeling.

Her lush tits against my chest.

Her arms wrapping around me.

Her hands sliding up my back, diving into my hair.

Her lips hitting mine.

I groan, slip my arm around her waist and haul her against me, deepening the kiss—this first kiss she’s initiated since she’s been back in my life. Soft lips and lush tits. A moan vibrating along my tongue. Hips undulating against mine.

I kiss her with all the need that’s built up over the last decade, all the lonely nights, the empty beds, the missed moments, thestruggle, and—no surprise—it quickly gets out of hand.

“Bedroom,” she rasps, tearing her lips from mine, her chest heaving.

Swollen lips. Pink cheeks. Needy eyes.

Yeah, definitely time for the bedroom.

I don’t delay, just bend slightly and scoop her up, cradling her against my chest as I hit the hall, climb the stairs, and move into my bedroom.

Settling her onto my mattress is a fucking dream, a fucking fantasy.

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