Page 95 of The Last Love Story
“I…” But the words don’t come out, so I dive forward and kiss him again, showing him the words I can’t say, how much I care for him, and how grateful I am for him.
How much I love him.
“You’re mine, darlin’. Mine.”
Then he’s buried deep inside me, my pussy swelling around his cock as we give in to the depth of emotions overtaking us.
My fragile, romantic heart beats steadily with the words I can’t stop thinking.
I hope this lasts forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
JADE
Lazy Saturday morningsare my favorite thing.
We get up late and have bagels and coffee in bed while we get work done.
I’m almost finished with book nine. This is the fastest I’ve written a book in years, but it helps that I had the entire thing plotted in my head and extensive voice notes to help me remember exactly what I wanted to say in some climactic moments.
It’s crazy that it’s been two months since Justin and I met in person and my entire life changed, but I’m happier now than I knew I could be.
Mostly. We’re still dancing around theL-word, but I need to just woman up and say it. I don’t know if I’m afraid to break our bubble or if I’m that desperate to hear him say it first, but not communicating never got anyone anywhere.
Does that magically make me good at it? Nope.
Both our phones go off a couple of times, and I glance over at mine, not wanting to answer and interrupt my flow, but it’s been driving me nuts all morning. They’ve been going off here and there. It’s probably the group chat since no one has called, but I’ll get sucked into a conversation if I answer that.
Justin sighs and closes his laptop, then leans over to kiss me.
“I’m going to take a shower. Consider this your twenty-minute warning, because I’m taking you out for brunch when I’m done.”
I smile at him. “Okay, hubby.”
He makes a whiny noise and kisses my neck.
“Don’t do that.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry. I forgot how much you like it when I call you that.”
“Mhm. Somehow, I doubt that.”
He climbs off the bed and grabs his phone, mumbling something to himself about seeing what all the hubbub is.
He makes some kind of strangled noise, and I look up, brow furrowing. He’s standing by the bed, staring at his phone, reading rapidly.
“What the fuck?” he mutters.
“What is it?”
His gaze snaps to me, and he sits back down.
“This fucking guy…”
I shut my laptop and set it aside. “What? What is it?”
“Darren Corval.”
