Page 98 of Impending Consent

“Now I get to fuck you.”

She didn’t even get a second to recover before I grabbed her hips and lined myself up, rubbing the thick head of my dick through her folds, just enough to tease her before I slammed into her without warning. She moaned her approval but jerked her head over my shoulder and glared at me right before she rocked back, meeting my next thrust.

After multiple orgasms we were tangled together in my small ass bed with her head on my chest and my arms wrapped securely around her. I felt a peace I had been chasing for years.

"We were dangerously close to breaking this bed," she mumbled sleepily.

"If we didn’t after the way I was just in that pussy, then I think we’re good, but if it happens, it will damn sure be worth it." I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Your mother is going to know exactly what we've been doing."

"She's a grown woman who raised a son. I think she'll be fine."

Sailor laughed and edged closer. "I’m not going to be able to look at her tomorrow. We had very loud sex in the room across from hers."

"This will be a very interesting anniversary story to tell years from now."

"Our kids will be horrified." She yawned, then froze when she realized what she said. "I mean…"

"Our kids. That’s not a bad thing."

She relaxed. "Maybe someday."

"We've got time."

Sail was out a few minutes later and I stayed awake, stuck in my thoughts but feeling at ease with all the shit that had happened recently. I had no regrets, and even if Sail did, she was working her way through them because she wanted this too and that was enough for me to work with.

Chapter 23

Sailor

The Oakland trip had changed everything. Coming back to Atlanta felt different. Rival and I spent Monday unpacking and settling back into our routines. When he kissed me goodbye this morning before we each headed to work, it felt more significant, like the beginning of this being a true marriage.

I had been floating through the morning at the office, distracted by memories of California. Even TJ had commented on my unusually good mood when we crossed paths in the breakroom.

I just smiled, unwilling to share the depth of what had shifted between Rival and me. It felt too new to be exposed to scrutiny.

That high lasted until just past two o'clock, when my office door opened without a knock and my father walked in, shifting the peace I had been experiencing all day.

"Daddy." I straightened in my chair and tried to hide my surprise. "I didn't know you were coming by today."

He looked composed as always, in a custom suit that probably cost more than some people's monthly rent. His expression was stoic as he approached my desk without a greeting.

"How was your trip?"

"Good," I replied cautiously. "Rival's mother was great."

"I'm sure she was." He placed a manila folder on my desk with his fingers resting on it for a minute before he stepped back.

"What's this?" I asked, eyeing the folder.

"Take a look."

Something in his voice set off warning bells, but I reached for the folder anyway and flipped it open. My father watched with an intensity that made me uneasy.

The first document was a marriage license. For a moment, my brain couldn't process what I was seeing. The paper was filled out but lacked the state seal. Then I saw the names: Rival Hassan and Armesa Taylor.

Dated two years ago.

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