Page 111 of What About Us
Fisting a chunk of my hair in his hand, he angles my head up so he can look into my eyes. “No more dates, baby,” he rasps, while I ride him. “You hear me? This body, this pussy, these tits…” His eyes roam over my chest. “While you’re married to me—while you’remy wife—they’remine.Ok?”
A sharp pang hits my chest, and I suck in a ragged breath. The feeling of him moving inside me while calling me his wife, the sound of his words almost a desperate plea, have my throat closing with emotion. All I can do is stare into his eyes and nod.
“Good. Now, work those hips. I want you leaking my cum for hours, but I need you to come for me again first. Can you do that? Can you give me one more?” His voice is strained while he fucks me. “Squeeze my cock, Finnley. Come for me again.Fuck.”
That last word, gritted out and coupled with my name, sends both of us flying over the edge. There’s nothing and no one but us, and it feels like there never will be. I will never have this with anyone else. I’ll never want anyone but him ever again.
I slump forward against his chest, forehead on his shoulder. He rests his head back against the headboard, breathing hard. His cock twitches inside me, still spilling.
“You alive, pretty girl?” he whispers after a minute or two.
My body shakes with quiet laughter and raw emotion. “Barely,” I manage to say.
He chuckles. “Me too.”
We’re chest to chest, me still slumped against him and him still inside me. It feels too perfect, too right, to move.
We stay that way for a few more minutes, listening to each other breathe. Finally, he delivers a light smack to my ass, and I sit up, meeting his eyes. His drop to my chest.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” he says reverently, running his thumb over one of my nipples.
I can’t look in his eyes because it makes me feel too much. “You, too,” I whisper, watching his hand trail over my skin.
And when he tips my chin up with a finger to capture my lips in the sweetest, most soul-shattering kiss, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m in love with my best friend.
Chapter 40
Finnley
“There she is,” Wrenleysays when I step out onto the porch of Timber Haven. She’s standing next to Hank’s truck, her arm around the waist of the tall redhead next to her. Two young boys with the same bright, auburn hair run around them. They dart behind the truck, giggling and chasing each other.
“Well, you’re even more gorgeous in person,” Ginger says when I descend the steps. With a glance at Wren, she says, “Good hell, she’s an itty-bitty thing, too. She makes us look like lumberjacks,” she adds, before wrapping me in a tight hug.
I squeeze her back with a laugh and Wren smacks her.
“You’re both gorgeous, so shut up,” I say. When she releases me, I move to hug Wren as well. Ginger is a couple of inches taller than Wren—I’d guess pretty close to six feet—and they both had to bend down to hug me.
Whereas Wren is blond, tan, and lean, even with her pregnant belly, Ginger is all soft curves, pale, freckled skin, and red hair. Her blue eyes are so bright, they’re almost translucent. Her smile is wide, and there’s a tiny dimple cleft in her chin. While Wren’s eyes are a soft, chocolate brown,next to both her and Ginger, my dark hair and deep brown eyes feel like a striking contrast.
“Tate, Jordan!” Ginger calls. “Come say hi to Finnley.”
The shorter of the two brothers comes running immediately, stopping in front of me. His head goes back to look at me. The taller one is a bit reluctant when he steps up next to his brother, and he doesn’t meet my gaze.
The first boy holds out his hand and grins up at me. I take his hand in mine, and he gives it a short shake. “I’m Jordan. You’re really pretty,” he says.
“Thank you, Jordan. It’s nice to finally meet you,” I say and then glance at his brother. “And you must be Tate?”
His gaze flicks to mine and he nods before he drops his eyes to the ground again.
I look at Ginger when she says, “Say hello, Tate.”
He rolls his eyes at his mom and quietly says, “Hi.” I’m not sure if he’s shy or if it’s something else, but his eyes almost hold a sadness to them when he looks at me.
Skye opens the screen behind us, and I turn in her direction. “There’s fresh lemonade and chocolate chip cookies inside if the boys would like some?” she asks with a smile.
Jordan’s enthusiastic, “Yes!” is dampened a bit by Tate’s mumble of, “I hate lemonade.” The scowl on his face would almost be comical if the look of apology on Ginger’s didn’t make me pause.
“I like milk with my chocolate chip cookies,” I say. “Maybe you’d like that, instead?”
