Page 225 of Boy of Ruin
And when he’s promising to be just mine?
I want to ride him right here, but I dig my nails into the tops of my hands, still wound around his neck, and wait.
“But I’ll never speak to her again.”
I open my mouth to tell him that’s okay, but he kisses me then, his mouth open on mine, his tongue flicking along the seam of my lips.
I part for him and he groans in my mouth as I squeeze him tighter, drawing myself closer.
He pulls back and I’m panting when he does, a wicked little smirk pulling at his own lips.
“I don’t care if you were going to say it’s fine. It isn’t fine. I already told her,” he says quietly, and I arch a brow, not knowing they spoke. “She wanted to see me in the hospital,” he admits quietly, holding my gaze, as if he wants me to know nothing happened. That it didn’t mean anything. “Mav wouldn’t let her.”
A small laugh escapes my mouth and I know it’s petty, but he’s my fucking husband. Not hers.
“I answered her call, though, told her our friendship had to end.”
My stomach twists into knots as I pull back to take him in better. “And?” I press, wanting to know.
He shrugs. “She started crying. I told her you were my wife, the mother of my child, and you, baby girl, come before anyone else in the fucking world.”
My breath catches, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. “Really?” I whisper.
He rolls his eyes like I’m crazy. “Obviously.” His smile widens. “And I bought you a stupid fucking car, by the way.”
My brows raise high on my head, and I sit up straighter, twisting and adjusting my stance so I’m straddling him, my knees on either side of his hips.
He laughs, his hands skimming up my arms as the blanket falls behind me. “Damn, if I had known that would get me laid like this—”
“Shut up,” I mumble, swatting at his chest, both hands against his bare skin. “You always get laid, baby.”
He bites his lip as he stares up at me. “True,” he concedes. “Because you’re fucking perfect.” He drops his hands to my ass, squeezing me.
“So, about this car…” I tilt my head, waiting.
He laughs again and the rough sound sends a chill down my spine. “It’s just like mine, but gray.” His head is tilted back, that vein in his neck looking extra kissable. Maybe…bitable? “But seriously, I don’t…” He swallows, glancing down between us, my thighs around him as his hands grip my ass. “I don’t want you going places that could get you hurt. And it has a tracking device, but so does mine.” He shrugs, looking back up at me. “It’s in an app on your phone, upstairs.”
I cup his face in my hands, leaning down close to him. I know I should argue with him. Maybe tell him he’s fucking extreme, but the fact is…it kind of makes me feel safe. Letting him take care of me. Track me. Protect me.
“I love you,” I tell him, my nose against his. “I love you so much, baby.”
He’s quiet a moment, staring up at me through the curtain of my hair. “I love you too, baby girl,” he finally says, and I can hear the emotion thick in his voice. “More than anything in this stupid world.”
She’s in my lap eating cereal, and Maverick has his arm slung around Ella across the table from us, his expression serious as he stares at me.
I smack the side of Sid’s hip, and she groans my name in annoyance, which just makes my dick hard.
I know she can feel it too, the way she sighs, like she’s exasperated, but I know she can’t get enough of me.
Two weeks since Maddox died, and I swear to God his fucking body rotting in the ground has made everyone happier. Lighter. Full of…something like goddamn joy.
If it weren’t for Mav sitting across from me like someone pissed in his fucking Corn Flakes—I don’t have those, Sid is eating something fruity because we both know it’s the superior cereal—I’d be having another great fucking day.
It’s been over two weeks since I last used, and I’m not even thinking about it anymore.
Not usually, anyway.
Sometimes, I catch sight of that scar on my wife’s growing belly, and I want to drag a blade around it, cut it the fuck out, bump a line while I do it.
