Page 157 of When It's Us
We stand there like that for a while—me in his arms, the sun dipping low, the boys still shouting across the field. I lean back into Hutch and close my eyes for a beat, letting the weight of the moment settle.
“You get some good ones of the sunset?” he murmurs against my hair.
I smile. “More like a bunch of the boys being feral in the wild, but yeah.”
His chuckle rumbles through me. “They’re good boys.”
“Yeah, they are,” I say.
He squeezes me lightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my neck. “They’ve got a good mama.”
I turn my head and let him capture my lips, the kiss sweet and full of longing.
Hutch groans, and I feel him hardening against my lower back. “When’s bedtime?”
I chuckle against his lips. “They’re gonna need baths,” I say, already imagining the muddy chaos headed our way.
“I’ll hose ‘em off.”
“’Kay.” I sigh contentedly, looking back out at our boys.
Hutch’s lips find the crook of my neck again and I lean into him.
“I love you.”
“I know,” he replies, soft and steady, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I love you too, California.”
Hutch
Epilogue
I’vejustcrackedabeer after wrestling the reclaimed copper farmhouse sink Gingerhadto have—complete with a pot filler and some fancy as fuck spray nozzle—into place for the last two hours. I lean back against the counter and tip back the frosty bottle, cold fizz coating my throat when she walks in like she owns the place.
Hell, she does. She fucking ownsme.
She’s wearing nothing but one of my thick pullover hoodies that hits her mid-thigh and fuzzy socks. I wonder what pair of lace panties she’s got on underneath and imagine taking them off with my teeth.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” I murmur, dragging my gaze up her long legs.
She stops, tilting her head. “Just thinking.”
I smirk, my dick perking up at the sight of all that beautiful peachy pink skin on display. “Sounds ominous.”
Her eyes flick up, light and teasing as she steps further into the kitchen, hips swaying enough to make my grip tighten around the cold, glass bottle. I’ll never get enough of this woman.
Her eyes fall on the sink behind me, and they light up again. “It looks so good. Does it work yet?”
“’Course it does.”
“One step closer to finished,” she says, leaning against the kitchen table Mom and Pop gave me from storage.
It’s old as fuck, the edges marred with dents from chairs hastily pushed in, a round mark where the finish came clean off when Nat set a hot pan on there when she was sixteen. We’d had it forever, back before we were a family of however many we are now.
Her voice is teasing and sultry. “It’s lucky you’re so good with your hands.”
The smirk she’s giving me lights me the fuck up. Always has.
I set my bottle down and cross the distance, caging her in against the table, one arm on each side of her grippable hips. She tips her head back to look at me, putting those perfect pink lips and caramel freckles close to my face.
