Page 58 of Splintered Security
“Water’s fine.”
She cracks the eggs in the pan and grabs two glasses from the cabinet, loading them up and setting them on the bar.
When the enchiladas are ready, she plates them with the salad before sliding a perfectly fried, but still runny, egg on top of the meal.
“Bon appetit.” She takes a stool with a plate identical to mine.
“In less than a week, I have a wife, barefoot and in the kitchen, making me food.” I drop my voice. “Caveman happy.”
Her responding laugh echoes through the kitchen and into the recesses of my soul.
The meal is good. Anni in my house is better than good. Leaning over, I take her lips in a quick, open-mouthed kiss. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She holds my eyes. “Me, too, Ren. Me too.”
I manage to get a new screen put on my wife’s old phone in the afternoon. I also manage not to come unglued at the messages that have racked up since the night I smashed it on the tile floor.
I’m only patient because I need the evidence. I need thereminder. And I need the bait. I flip it onto airplane mode and set it in my desk drawer when I get home.
I didn’t need more motivation to eliminate Giltenhouse. Anni’s stories were enough. August was more than enough. But Heath’s own messages are pure kindling. They stoke the flickers of malice that spark in me. I itch for Sunday morning to come and come quickly. I cannot wait to let this rage blaze into an inferno that consumes the Lost Mountain Rebels.
Just a few more days.
25
sex and coffee
Anni
Our week passes so quickly, I’m surprised when I wake up and it’s Saturday morning. I shouldn’t be. Except for last Sunday, I’ve woken each morning just like this, curled into Ren’s body, enveloped in his arms. Warmth and protection surround me.
I kiss his chest, right above his heart, just like every morning.
And like every morning since he made me his, he rolls me to my back and slides into me with a gravelly, “Morning, Wife.”
Some mornings it’s quick. Sometimes fast and rough. Rarely is it a slow build. But apparently Ren’s mood this morning is unhurried. He’s deep and it’s rough, but each stroke is measured and deliberate.
He hikes my knees under his elbows, changing the angle, but never losing my gaze. It’s as if he wishes his eyes could brand me like his cock is doing.
“Ren.” I arch my neck. “Oh God, Ren. I’m going to come.”
“Wait for me, Annika. Wait for me.”
His thrusts are dragging across my most sensitive places, and I screw my eyes closed trying to fend off the impending waves of orgasm.
“Look at me.” It’s the desperation in his voice that makes me snap my eyes back to him.
“I… Hurry, Ren.”
A small smirk plays on his lips. “No. Just wait.” His words come between the strokes that set my insides to a spin cycle of pleasure. “I don’t want to rush this morning.”
I hold his gaze. “You keep hitting that spot and neither of us will be able to stop what’s coming.”
His eyes dance. “Challenge accepted.” He thrusts deeper, harder. His cock caresses that spot inside me that heightens every sense—a feeling I never experienced until him—and it thrums with my impending orgasm.
I focus all my energy on the feeling at my core and the gorgeous man looming over me. Not to mention, the heat he’s building and the fact that I’m without a doubt falling in love with him.
It’s not the sex, though it’s the best I’ve ever had. The fierceness, the protectiveness, the kindness. It’s his anger at where I’ve been mistreated. It’s his cooking, his laughter, and his lovemaking. It’s buying rings and wearing his own.
