His throat works then he settles his forehead against mine. “You’re the one I want too.”
It feels like a vow.
And maybe it is.
We haven’t exchanged I love you’s—not if you don’t count him saying it as he drifted off to sleep.
Which I don’t because…well, because I’d prefer him to be conscious when I give over my heart. But those words he just gave to the baby—hearing what he thinks of me, listening to him realize his past really doesn’t make him the person he is today, watching him grow and change?—
It’s amazing.
Perfect.
And it’s enough for me right now.
So, I kiss him, tease him about his love of those damned oatmeal raisin cookies, and then I kiss him again, but this time I pair it with lingering touches and my hands sliding down his stomach, with my fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking until my name tumbles off his lips. Then I’m pushing him to his back so I can crawl on top and take him inside.
“You feel so good,” I moan softly as I rock on him, slow and steady, drawing us slowly up the rise.
It’s leisurely.
It’s lovemaking at its purest.
And when I clench around him, my orgasm dragging him over the precipice alongside me, I know it’s forever too.
Not even because of the orgasm or his strong arms around me, his hold so gentle it brings tears to my eyes.
But because the moment my stomach growls and I happen to mention that a milkshake and fries sound good, he’s out of bed and pulling on his pants, stepping into his shoes.
And twenty minutes later, he’s back with a Neapolitan shake.
With extra crispy fries even though I only mentioned my preference for them once offhandedly.
Then as I eat and drink, he tells me about Smitty’s antics in the back seat of Sawyer’s van, and he shows me the listing for the house he and the guys say he should buy if his parents ever show up again?—
“Though, thanks to Smitty, I highly doubt they’ll bother coming back up.”
He tells me how Aiden and Gray joined them for beers.
Then food so they could have more beers.
He just…talks to me, shares with me, opens up to me, trusts me.
And that, perhaps, means most of all.
Forty-Two
Leo
I come in through the door, bag of extra crispy fries and Neapolitan milkshake in hand, and still, my heart pounding out of my chest.
For no other reason than Harper is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, a laundry basket in front of her and smiling up at me.
It’s nothing.
Normal.
And it’s mine.
