Page 128 of Tangled Kisses
“You feel that? How tight you are? You’re built for my cock, sweetheart. Nobody’s ever filled you like this. Nobody ever fucking will.”
Her eyes flutter in the mirror, her cries spiraling into desperate gasps, and I bend lower, chest to her back, lips to her ear.
“Mine,” I growl, grinding deeper, stealing every sound she makes. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she sobs, shattering around me, body clenching tight as her release rips through her.
And that’s it—I break. One brutal thrust, then another, and I’m spilling hard, burning her name into my soul as I come undone inside her, lost in the feel of her clutching me, destroying me, owning me.
We’re a tangle of sheets,cartons, and chopsticks, cross-legged on the bed with lo mein between us and beers sweatingon the nightstand. Neither of us wanted to move farther than the door, so delivery won.
Reese is trying, and failing, to wrangle a noodle, chasing it around her carton until it slaps against her chin. She groans, laughing. “God, I’m a mess. You’d think at my age I’d know how to handle lo mein by now.”
I just stare at her, chest tight, heart stupidly full.
She catches me watching and arches a brow. “What? Do I have soy sauce on my mouth or something?”
I shake my head slowly, swallowing hard. Nothing about her could ever be messy to me.
“No, seriously.” She sets her carton aside, wiping at her lips with the back of her hand. “Something is on your mind. I see it on your face. Tell me.”
My throat works, the words ripping their way out before I can stop them. “For the last month, I’ve been terrified someone would scoop you up, and I’d spend the rest of my life watching my wife live my life with somebody else.”
Her hand freezes midair, eyes locking on mine. “Your wife, huh?”
“Yeah.” Maybe I said too much, but I don’t care. “What do you think about that?”
She leans over, her kiss soft and sure. “I like the sound of it.”
And as I kiss her back, all I can think is—I do too.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Griffin
The coffeehouse is small, the kind of place with scuffed floors and chalkboard menus, but Reese looks right at home with her hands wrapped around a mug, her cheeks pink from the morning chill.
I can’t stop touching her. My knee brushes hers under the table, my thumb stroking the back of her hand where it rests on my thigh. My palm drifts higher, tracing the curve of her waist like I need the reminder she’s really here. She never once pulls away.
“I need to talk to you about something,” she says, and my stomach drops.
For a second, I’m sure it’s about him.
Vander.
I saw his name flash across her phone last night, another call she ignored. I almost asked, but the way she looked at me—soft, wrecked, completely mine—I couldn’t ruin that moment.
I let it go then. Now I’m not sure I can.
Forcing a smile, I shift in my seat. “This sounds serious.”
“It’s not bad.” She hesitates, eyes on the swirl of steam rising from her cup. “It’s just that I haven’t felt this settled in forever. Ican finally breathe. And it made me think about you. What you want.”
My chest loosens. Not Vander. Us.
“What do you mean?”
She lifts her gaze, steady and searching. “Your landscape architecture business. Is that something you’re excited about… or are you just trying it on to see if it fits?”
