Page 199 of American Hellhound
Everything was…fine. It shouldn’t have been, but it somehow was.
Roman was gone.
Maggie went to school (so did Aidan).
The construction company broke ground on the garage project. He was going to call it Dartmoor, he decided, thinking fondly of campfire tales of the original Lean Dog, the terrorizing hellhound of the English moors.
Ghost made drops, and watched his business go up.
Pages flew off the calendar.
And everything was fine…
Until it wasn’t.
~*~
There was frost on the windows, but it was warm here, in bed, with Ghost above her. It had started innocently enough, waking to a kiss against the back of her neck, his low, sleepy rumble of “good morning” pressed to her skin. She was the one who’d rolled over, smoothed her hand up his arm, but he’d taken over from there, kissing her without regard for their morning breath, easing her onto her back. He’d pushed her t-shirt up to her shoulders, cold air chasing across her naked skin, and he’d touched her everywhere, until she shifted restlessly, begging.
She clung to him now, fingertips digging into his shoulders, hips lifting to meet each thrust. She liked when he teased and played with her, drawing the pleasure out for long minutes, turning it into a game. But there was something necessary about moments like these, stripped down and basic. The sheen of sweat on his skin, the slide of their bodies together. The way she felt connected to him, his breath hot and rough against her mouth, his shoulders bunching beneath her hands, her nails digging in like claws.
“Almost,” she whispered, tightening her legs around his waist. “Almost –oh– there –God.”
“There you go,” he growled against her throat. “Good girl.”
The sharp crest came, and then the honey-sweet, champagne-fizz spill of pleasure through her blood. She loved feeling him above her, strong, and hot, and savage, sweetly restrained as he filled her. She loved that perfect moment of blissful clarity, when everything in the world ceased to exist except Ghost, the way he made her feel like the most powerful, important thing in the universe.
He leaned down and kissed her. “Damn, baby.”
“I know.” Her voice sounded dreamy and faraway.
Ghost settled down beside her, arm flung across her waist though they were both sweaty; their skin stuck in an unpleasant way, but neither made a move to shift apart.
Body thrumming with pleasure, she closed her eyes and pretended they could stay like this all day. No school, no club, no mundane household chores. No worry.
The worry was the worst part.
Maggie rolled her head on the pillow, gaze searching for his through the gloom. “What are you doing today?”
He looked halfway back to sleep, eyes shut, expression serene. “Gotta go check on the shop. It’ll be ready to open in another week.”
“A week?” It didn’t seem possible. She forgot sometimes how much time had passed.
“They’re putting in the floor in the office today,” he confirmed. “I just gotta get a sign made.”
“Wow.”
He cracked one eye, smiling. “I know.”
It was not a lavish life they led together, and so the smallest of things brought joy. The garage almost finished. Aidan’s good report card. The pizza place throwing in free garlic knots because they took longer than fifteen minutes to deliver. Their quiet Christmas of coffee and cinnamon toast, Aidan tearing into a modest pile of toys on the living room floor, the two of them looking on giftless, because it was more important for the kid to have a presents than it was to spend anything on themselves.
Ghost had pulled her aside late that afternoon, after Aidan had passed out amid his Transformers and Hot Wheels. “You’re still a kid too,” he said, almost bashful, color on his high cheekbones. The amethyst ring had been his mother’s. It was just a little too big, and Maggie wore it on her middle finger…of her right hand. He hadn’t proposed, and she hadn’t asked him to. She was content, and he was still scared of being left; she could read it in the almost desperate way he looked at her sometimes, like she was already out the door.
“We should get up,” Maggie said with a sigh, but made no move to do so.
“Yeah.”
“Five more minutes.”
