Page 87 of The Scars I Bare
She loves me.
I couldn’t say it enough times.
Dear God, she loved me.
Our mouths met in a frenzy. She moaned, deep and loud, under the starry sky. There were so many things I wanted to do to her, so many places I wanted to explore.
But, right now, I wanted to be inside her.
So goddamn bad.
She must have felt the same raging need because her moan turned to a whimper as she moved against me, almost panicked with desperation.
With my hand on her hip, I briefly lifted her as I thrust up, never breaking eye contact as our bodies became one.
And our souls entwined.
Her arms wrapped around my neck as I let out a staggering breath, the rightness of this moment hitting me like a freight train.
“So fucking good, Cora,” I mumbled, curling my hand under her ass for leverage. “You feel so damn good.”
Every thrust felt like magic. Every moan and cry of passion from her lips? Poetry. Making love to her under the warm Texas night sky was what dreams were made of.
“I love you, Cora,” I vowed, her arms tight around my neck as she rode my body hard and fast.
“I love you, Dean,” she said, breathless in my ear as I rotated her hips against mine, pulling every ounce of pleasure I could.
Her sexy little body gripped mine like a vise.
Like we had been made for each other.
I could feel her growing close as she began to move, hot and quick, making my balls tighten and my cock weep. She cried out my name to the heavens, water splashing around us in a thunderous wave.
“Dean!” she screamed, her orgasm taking over as her head fell back and she let go.
“Fuck!” I cursed, coming hard and long inside her.
I never wanted to leave.
I’d found my home.
Right here, in the middle of nowhere, under the moonlit sky, I’d found what I’d been searching for.
A purpose.
A family.
A future.
And I was never letting go.
Although Cora had assured me we’d done a good job of sneaking back into the house the night before, I couldn’t help but notice the sideways glances her father kept giving me at breakfast or the way her mother seemed to blush every time I walked by.
“It’s your imagination,” Cora said as we lounged on a blanket at The Hole, watching Lizzie splash around with her pappy.
“Is it? Because your mom hasn’t been able to look at me without giggling or turning bright red, and believe me, I know what the Carpenter blush looks like.”
She laughed, playfully hitting me on the arm. “Okay, so maybe my mom asked me if I had any laundry to wash this morning, and when I said no, she might have gotten the clue that we didn’t exactly take bathing suits here last night.”
