Page 79 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
My breath catches.
“Shouldn’t we move inside the trailer?” I ask, already breathless even though he hasn’t touched me yet—not really.
But then he’s there, so close, his nose brushing over the mark he left on my neck weeks ago, that sacred bond that tethers us together through magic, trust, and an obscene amount of orgasms.
He kisses the spot reverently, his voice rough velvet against my skin.
“Can’t wait that long. Need you now.”
And that’s it. That’s all the warning I get before he’s yanking my pants down and hoisting me up like I weigh nothing.
We tumble together, landing on the soft blankets with me on top of him, his body already hard and ready beneath me.
Somehow—because he’s magic like that—he ends up on the bottom, his back cradled by the earth and his hands absolutely everywhere, pushing aside fabric, baring skin, lining us up with single-minded focus like his body knows mine better than I do.
“I was, Baby. I was born to love you,” he groans, one hand bracing at my hip, the other cupping the back of my neck as he draws me down into a kiss that sets fire to the inside of my lungs.
“Now let me in.”
And I do.
I open for him—physically, emotionally, utterly—because I am his, and he’s mine, and nothing has ever felt more right.
His thick, engorged cock pushes into me, slow and deep, stretching me until every nerve in my body sings.
The fullness is overwhelming in the best possible way—delicious pressure and burning sweetness that makes my toes curl.
My head falls back with a gasp.
“Dane,” I moan, riding the edge of madness as my body takes him, accepts him, welcomes him.
He groans, fingers tightening, holding me steady as he drives up into me with a thrust that hits just right.
Like his body was made for mine.
Like maybe we were carved from the same soul.
The air is warm with magic and firelight. And I don’t care if the whole damn Pride hears me screaming his name tonight.
Because this?
This is what fated love feels like.
And I am so here for it.
Epilogue 1: Dane
Eight Months Later
The moment I hear that first cry, something inside me shatters and rebuilds in the same heartbeat.
I didn’t think I could love anything more than I love Tamare and Alex.
But as I stand here in the hospital room, frozen like a damn statue, watching my wife cradle our newborn daughter to her chest, I know I was wrong.
There’s more. So much more.
Love isn’t a finite thing—it’s infinite.
