Page 124 of The Obvious Check

Before he can take another step, I'm reaching for him, pulling him down because I need his hands on me more than I need my next breath. He moves without hesitation and settles beside me on the bed. Without words, I take the condom from his fingers and roll it down his length with deliberate slowness. He takes a sharp breath and his muscles bunch beneath my touch, and I enjoy it too much, knowing I can unravel him this way.

Once he's sheathed, he crawls over me, crashing his mouth against mine. The kiss is warm, demanding, and absolutely devastating. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wants it, and I dig my nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

When his body is settled between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock nudges at my entrance, and I'm already trembling.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice is strained, like holding back is killing him.

I arch my hips, pressing against his tip. “I've never wanted anything more in my entire life.”

He kisses me one last time, soft and reverent, before he pushes inside in one brutal, perfect stroke that splits me open and puts me back together all at once. I cry out against his mouth, my nails raking down his back as I arch beneath him, my body stretching to accommodate every magnificent inch of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, the word vibrating against my lips. “I can officially die a happy man.”

He pulls back, then drives in again. Harder this time. The bed rocks beneath us, and all the oxygen leaves my lungs in a rush. He's not gentle or careful, and I love it because this—this claiming—is what I've been craving.

Every thrust is a brand. Every grip of my hips, every scrape of his teeth against my jaw, all of it screams the same message:Mine. Mine. Mine.

My legs lock around his waist, refusing to let him go, and my body clenches around him greedily. I'm on fire, desperate, completely undone.

“Please don't stop,” I gasp against his throat.

His hand slides between our sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding my clit, and he plays with me relentlessly.

The climax hits like lightning. Fast, merciless, and earth-shattering. I cry out his name as I come apart around him, my back bowing off the mattress.

“That's it, baby,” he grits out, his voice wrecked. “That feels so fucking good.”

His rhythm falters, and with a broken groan, he follows me over the edge, burying himself deep as he comes.

Then he collapses against me, our bodies slick and tangled, our hearts beating in perfect sync. His lips drop to the curve of my neck as the weight of him presses me into the mattress.

Safe.

That’s how I feel about the man who is willing to give up everything for me.

Minutes pass in blissful silence before he shifts just enough to look down at me, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face. His eyes are soft now, unguarded in a way that makes my chest tight.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words falling from his lips like a confession. “So damn much it scares me.”

My throat constricts as I slide my fingers into his hair, marveling at how this beautiful, broken man became my everything. “I love you too, Cade. More than you'll ever know.”

Chapter 29

When I wake the next morning, I feel absolutely wrecked. Not just in the delicious, thighs-still-aching, thoroughly ruined kind of way. The kind that settles in your chest and stays there because as incredible as last night was, the only reason we ended up in bed, naked, tangled, and promising forever, is because Luke backed us into a corner.

I want to pretend it doesn’t bother me, that we love each other regardless, but it gnaws at me, quiet and constant, like a splinter I can’t dig out.

I didn’t want to drag him into this mess. I tried to keep him out and carry it on my own, but Cade didn’t just step into the fire, he charged into it, almost offended he wasn’t there all along.

The bed is cold and empty now. Where’s Cade and how long has he been awake? Pushing the sheets aside, I pull myself out of bed, ignoring the constant ache of my heavy limbs as I swipe one of his shirts from the dresser and put it on.

“Cade?” I call as I step out of the room, fully expecting to see him hanging out in the living room, but to my surprise, he’s not here.

Stanley pads over, his tail swishing as he leans against my leg, nuzzling into it. Crouching down, I run my fingers through his thick fur, and whisper, “Morning, bud. Did Cade take you out already?”

He doesn’t answer, but a flicker of color on the kitchen counter catches my eye, and I drift toward it, not thinking much until I see what it is.

Sticky notes.

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