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“Yes!” she cried, flinging her legs around his hips.
Phoebe had never had sex like it before. They fucked each other hard and wild, flipping over, twisting, slamming, grunting. They pulled hair, bit skin. She strafed her nails down his back; he pinched her nipple so hard she arched into a bow. Almost too much, but not too much. Exactly what she wanted. This was a trust fall, and he caught her every time.
“Oh, oh, I’m close!” she finally gasped as her belly flooded with fire and her legs began to quiver.
“Me too, me too,” he panted. “Come with me, baby, come with me.”
He slammed into her as hard as ever, and he pinched her clit at the same time. Then he slammed again and pulled. She was wet, and his fingers slipped off, but it was that, the feeling of slipping through his clenched fingers, that set every cell in her body on fire at once.
Duncan roared directly into her ear as he came, too.
“Holy shit,” he gasped a few minutes later as he pulled out and flopped to his back beside her. They were both sweaty, and the linens were a damp snarl around them. “Holy fucking shit!”
All Phoebe could do was chuckle. She felt languid and sated, and so completely relaxed she might have been a couple inches taller.
“I’d like you to move in,” she said when her breath had settled enough for speech. “I want my home to be yours.” The thought had occurred to her before, but now it felt right to say it aloud. And she was not remotely worried about his answer—whichever it was, she knew everything would be okay.
“Yeah,” was his answer. “I’d like that, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Duncan’s mother unlocked the padlock, and Duncan pushed the door to the storage locker up.
“Jesus,” he muttered when he saw the contents of the locker.
His parents had three storage lockers that he knew of, at three different self-storage places. All three had excess junk from the house, but in the other two lockers, the house junk was just camouflage for the kind of shit they wouldn’t want LEO types finding. Guns and ammunition and safes packed solid with cash, for instance.
This locker, the size of a two-car garage, was the only one that held only house junk. It was the only locker Duncan hadn’t seen inside in, like, years. It was crammed with furniture, old rugs, half-closed cardboard boxes, and probably a hundred big plastic tubs.
Mom laughed. “Yeah, I know. Every time we buy something new, I can’t help but hold onto the old stuff. Maybe I’m just a hoarder, but I thought it would all be useful. I figured with three kids, we’d need to help you all get your first place furnished. But Kelsey mostly bought her own stuff for her apartment before she moved in with Dex, and you’re moving straight from home to Phoebe’s place, and I’m starting to think Hannah is going to be with us forever. We’ve got about three houses’ worth of shit nobody wants.”
Duncan had found a narrow pathway through the chaos and begun to push his way in. He clocked the slightly rusted red fender of his old pedal fire truck, from when he was about three, and grinned. “Wow, this is like a tour through my whole life.”
Mom had followed him in. “I think that’s why it’s so hard for me to let anything go. Everything’s a memory. See that rocking chair on top of the old chest freezer? I rocked you and Hannah to sleep every night in that.
“Not Kelsey?” Duncan asked, picking an old Bop-It game out of a cardboard box full of well-used toys. He ‘pulled it,’ but nothing happened. Of course the batteries were dead.
