Page 23 of The Long Haul

Don’t get me wrong, his mouth is still involved.

Carson whispers of his love for me against the skin of my neck, my throat, and then I lose track of it as it closes around my nipple.

Scratch that. I know exactly where he’s at and I want him to stay there.

Then I realize, as he moves lower, he’s a very smart man and I should let him do him.

More accurately, do me.

And oh man, what he proceeds to do to me has me losing my mind. His tongue joins the party, stroking inside and feasting on the passion he’s drawing from me. With an orgasm looming, and Carson knowing it, he doubles his efforts to send me over the edge and I barely shove a pillow over my face before a scream is torn out of me.

“That’s one,” he mutters. “Give me another.” I’m in such a daze from the depth of my climax it takes me a minute to realize what he said.

“I can’t.”

“Challenge accepted.” In what feels like seconds later, he wins. Well, we both do, as I come shouting his name. Carson yanking the pillow off me and covering my mouth with his. Lifting up, Carson stares at me as I feel his hand brushing my stomach, his palm gripping his cock as he presses it against my entrance. Eyes locked on each other, he pushes inside, the stretching of my walls to accommodate his size, his intrusion, an ache that has me smiling. “You’re mine, Angel.”

I want to say he’s mine, too, but I lose the ability to talk when he shoves forward, completely uniting our bodies. What I can do is hold on tight, pray he forgives me when I tell him the truth, and love him enough for a lifetime in this moment in case he doesn’t.

**Carson**

Later that morning…

I don’t want to get out of bed, my angel is in it after all, but I have to. She needs food to replace the calories we burned, and I want to make her breakfast.

If I hurry, I can probably beat mom to the preparations, allowing me the chance to provide for Aubrey myself.

Extricating my limbs from hers is a process I both hate and enjoy. The former as I don’t want to leave her, the latter as the covers are slipping, revealing the little love bites I left all over her. I know for a fact I have corresponding marks on me.

She’d warned me that for every one I gave her, she’d return the favor.

Needless to say, it was fun as hell to be the giver and the taker.

Grabbing the first shirt I see that doesn’t smell like it should’ve been washed – a week ago – I make a mental note to do laundry asap and put it on. Next is a pair of sweats I fully intend to take off again after my angel has eaten. Then I’ll have my breakfast, if you get what I’m implying.

In the kitchen, I gather the ingredients for my specialty, cinnamon French toast, and get started. The cast iron skillet is warming on the stove as I mix the batter and get ready to dip the initial piece in…when the phone rings.

I haven’t lived here, on paper, since I was eighteen, but my parents have made sure I know that this is always my home.

Putting the burner on low, I reach for the landline, yes, they still have one, but Mom beats me to it. “Hello,” she answers with a smile on her face. She drilled into all of us that it can be heard on the other end. “This is Diana Jenkins.”

Curious now, as I know those close to my parents use their cells to get a hold of them, I turn the gas off. Something tells me this is important.

“Mom?” I ask when she gets this weird expression. She lifts a finger, not the middle one, geez, indicating to give her a minute. I do, listening to her side and wondering what the hell the caller is saying that has her acting like this.

“Thank you for letting us know, Mrs. Firestone.” As in the head of the HHP organization that matched Aubrey with my parents? “Well then,” Mom mutters after hanging up.

“What’s going on?”

“That was about Aubrey.”

“Why?” I inquire defensively.

“They apologized for her not coming and informed me she was arrested for driving while intoxicated.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Mom repeats what she said, and I’m thinking it’s for her benefit as well as mine. “She’s upstairs in bed.” Mom, bless her, doesn’t bat an eyelash at that, though she does seem happy we’ve made it official.

“I can explain,” Aubrey says from behind us.

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