Page 70 of Shockproof

Her excitement causes her to bounce enthusiastically in my lap, stirring my cock in a way that I can actually do something about. “I can’t believe we’re actually picking out a tree together this year!”

“Baby, we pick out trees together every year. It’s one of our traditions.”

“Yeah, except this year, we’re picking outjust one.Oneforourplace versus each of our separate homes.” Arley’s grin grows bashful. “Er…our place for now anyways.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Confusion furrows her brow. “Are you saying I can go back to my townhome?”

“I’m sayin’ I want you to makethisyour permanent home.” The declaration rolls off my tongue so naturally I almost don’t even realize I’ve done it. “I wantthisto beour home.” Tightening my hold is attached to a loving smile. “I wanna use that money T owes us to hire a movin’ company and get all your shit from your townhouse, here, and really move you in instead of jus’ wingin’ it like we have been.”

“You want us to really live together?”

“We already really live together. I jus’ want us to make it all…a little more…official.”

“First a pre-engagement bracelet and now this?” she teases, lips lowering to feather mine. “We’re moving sooooo fast.” Her lighthearted laugh heats my mouth prior to her asking, “What on Green Day’s earth am I gonna do with you, Cowboy?”

Wolfish chortles crawl out of me as my hands creep underneath the edge of her sleep shorts. “I know what I’m about to do you, Angel Cake…”

Fuck her until she’s fast, fast asleep.

Afterall, we’ve both missed that combination.

That connection.

And truthfully?

I know we both need it.

Chapter 11

Arley

Socks are for feet, not mouths.

Albeit it’s acleansock, but still.

It belongs on his foot, not jammed between my teeth to keep my screams suppressed so that no one in the other room knows what we’re doing in here.

Except they do know.

Even if they wish they didn’t.

Because there’s only one logical explanation for two people to disappear this long into a closed room.

And that’s exactly what we’re up to.

Slater’s large palm presses my bent leg harder against the edge of the folding counter in our laundry room at the time he growls against my ear, “Tis the season for givin’, Angel Cake.”

Moaning can’t exactly be helped.

Not when his cock is carving away like my g-spot is on his naughty list and checking it twice wasn’t enough.

“Give me one more,” Slater begs, balls slamming against my pussy, bathing in the stifling hot stickiness dripping free over and over and over again. “Give me jus’ one more, baby.”

My entire frame incessantly shakes in submission while I watch through hooded eyes as his thick, midnight blue lettering cascades its way down my exposed tits.

“Give me one more to think about while I’m waitin’ to come home.” His smooth-edged words reach the tip of his middle finger, joining it in the ceaseless circling of my clit. “Give me one more to fuckin’ dream about ‘til I can be right,” a much sharper pound is delivered in tandem with a harder rub, “back,” another follows suit causing my slick muscles to constrict to the point of no return, “here.”

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