Page 100 of Open Secrets
I make a face, scrunching my nose. “Mhm. I’ll be sure to remember that little pearl of wisdom when Taylor starts dating.”
His mouth curls into a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you kidding me? With her attitude?”
My hand smacks his chest before he can finish, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
He clutches the spot dramatically, fake wince and all. “Ow. Kidding! I’m kidding. Anyone would be lucky just to have her look at them.”
“I know you’re joking, but it’s going to happen, Lyle. They’re all going to grow up, and date, and leave, and…” My throat catches before I can stop it. “Sometimes it feels like I blinked and went from holding babies on my hip to worrying about whether Remi knows how to treat a girl right.”
Lyle’s smile softens, the tease fading from his eyes. He covers my hand with his own, steady and warm. “That’s the point, isn’t it? We raise them so they know how. And when they mess up, we’ll be right there to straighten them out.”
I bite my lip, pressing against his side. “Yeah. I just don’t want to lose them.”
“You won’t,” he says firmly, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Even when they’re taller than me, even when they’re out of the house, they’ll still be ours. Always.”
He falls back onto the pillow, taking me with him, and I settle against his chest, rubbing lazy circles on his warm skin. The steady rise and fall of his breathing grounds me in a way nothing else does.
“You know,” I murmur, “now that the kids are getting older… maybe we could finally get that dog they’ve been begging for.”
Lyle huffs a laugh, his chest rumbling beneath my ear. “A dog? Maria, we can barely keep this house from looking like a war zone as it is.”
I tilt my head to look at him, arching a brow. “You trained soldiers. I think you can handle a Labrador.”
He chuckles, shaking his head like he’s picturing himself standing at parade rest with a leash in his hand. “Let’s find a house first. Somewhere with a yard big enough for all four kids and whatever beast you bring home.”
I sigh dramatically, though the smile slips out anyway. "Maybe I'll just have to convince you otherwise."
He puts a hand under my chin, tilting my face toward his. "You're very persistent, you know that?"
I smile, feeling that familiar warmth spread through me. "Only when I want something," I whisper before leaning up to kiss him.
He pulls back just enough to murmur against my lips, "I thought you were tired."
"Who said that?" I run my fingers along his jawline. "I never said that."
He smiles, his eyes darkening as he kisses me harder, one hand sliding up my back and into my hair.
I shimmy out of my shorts beneath his shirt before swinging my legs over and straddling his lap, my thighs bracketing his hips.
His hands find my waist, thumbs brushing the skin where his shirt has ridden up. "What happened to sleep?" he asks, voice husky.
"Overrated," I breathe, rolling my hips against him. "We can sleep when we're dead."
Lyle laughs, the sound vibrating through me as he sits up, his arms wrapping around me as he captures my mouth with his. The kiss is sweet and slow.
I move my hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, feeling the heat build between us as his hardness presses against me through the thin fabric of his pyjama pants. His hands slide up my thighs, fingers digging into my skin just enough to make me gasp.
I lift my hips, allowing him to push his pyjama pants down while I tug my panties aside. The anticipation makes me tremble as he positions himself. When I sink down onto him, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. My body welcomes him, adjusts to him.
The fullness is exquisite.
His fingers dig into my hips as I begin to move. Slow at first, savouring each sensation. His breath hitches when I roll my hips just so. I know his body as well as my own—know exactly what makes his eyes flutter closed, what makes his muscles tense beneath me.
I press my forehead against his, our breath mingling in the narrow space between us. He slides his hands under the shirt I'm wearing—palms hot against my skin as they trace up my sides, over my ribs, until his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts.
The rhythm between us builds naturally, our bodies finding that perfect synchronicity we've perfected over years together. I grip his shoulders for leverage, nails digging into fabric as the pressure builds inside me. His hands move everywhere—my breasts, my back, my thighs—sending electric jolts throughevery nerve ending. My nipples harden beneath his palm as he kneads my breast, his touch alternating between gentle and demanding.
I lose myself in the rhythm of our bodies moving together. The world narrows to just us—the slick heat where we're joined, the catch in his breath when I clench around him, the mounting pressure building low in my belly. He grasps my hips, guiding me as I ride him with increasing urgency.
