His lips pull up into a sexy smirk as he recalls exactly what I’m remembering. He then takes hold of my ass with both hands and lifts me up onto the counter. It’s the only spare spot in the entire kitchen.
Resting his hands on my thighs, he leans in and brushes his lips over mine. He does this slowly, and without kissing me deeply. It’s like he’s teasing me. “I remember every fucking day I wrote on that wall.”
I loop my hands around his neck and my legs around his. “Do you?”
“Yeah, baby, how could I forget any of them when I had you and our kids right by my side?”
I cock my head. “Are you being sappy, Colton Creed? We’re by your side every day. There’s no way you can remember every minute you have us there.”
“I love it when my wife challenges me,” he says drily. Then, sliding his hands up my thighs and around to take hold of my ass, he clarifies, “What I should have said is that I can’t forget the moments when we stood there and recorded the kids’ heights because making those kids with you, and raising them with you, and loving them with you, is the best part of my life. So, marking those milestones rates high on my memory list.”
“I’m just going to repeat myself; I love you.”
He gives me his lips again before saying, “I love you too.”
Squeezing my legs around his tighter, I slide myself to the edge of the counter so my body is pressed hard to his. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“I already answered it.”
He’s right; he did. So, I reword my question. “Do you remember how you fucked me that night?”
He dips his face, kissing his way down to my throat while lifting my shirt. Once he’s got it off me, he trails kisses down to my breast. “I do,” he says with that deep, sexy tone of his that’s been all mine for eight years. “I remember”—he pulls one of my bra cups to the side to give him access to my breast—“putting Knox to bed and coming back down here to find you covered in flour.” He sucks my nipple into his mouth, treating me to his tongue for a few moments. “The air con was broken. You were hot and cranky. And fucking demanding.” He grins. It’s the sexiest kind of grin. The kind that does good things to every cell in my body. “You made me bend you over the kitchen table and fuck you like a savage.”
I grab his face with both hands and drag his mouth back to mine, kissing him deeply and roughly before practically begging, “You need to do it again.” And he needs to do it right now because all I can think about is how hard he fucked me that time. And how much I want that again.
“Fuck,” he growls, allowing me to direct us to the dining table. “What about the shower?” Colt knows I prefer he showers as soon as he gets home from a run. Especially if he wants to fuck me.
I madly shake my head. “No. I don’t care how dirty you are. Just fuck me.”
That’s all he needs to hear. A moment later, he’s got his hands to my shorts, my panties, my bra while I strip his clothesfrom him. Then he’s got me on the table, his hands to my breasts, his mouth too, and I feel everything he’s doing deep in my core.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he rasps.
I move my hands to his shoulders and then his back. Colt is a powerhouse of muscle and I struggle to keep my hands off him at the best of times. When he’s naked with his hands and mouth on me, I have trouble deciding where to put my hands. I want them everywhere. At once. Just like I want Colt everywhere at once.
“I’ve missed you too. And you can never go away again,” I say as my hands continue trying to touch all of him at the same time. I’m feeling all kinds of desperate for him. I never tell him he can’t go away, and I don’t really mean it now, but if I could lock him up and keep him here, I think I would after this trip. I’ve missed him on a whole new level this time.
He lifts his head and meets my gaze, slowing us down. Curving his hand around my neck, he says, “You’re really feeling this move hard, aren’t you?”
And just like that, with just one question, I’m crying.
Ugly crying.
Tears stream down my face while my thoughts crash together.
I cling to Colt like he’s my shelter from all these emotions. “I didn’t realise I was until now.”
His eyes search mine, full of love. “We’re going to make a fuckload of new memories in our new place. And the ones we’ve made in this place are locked up tight in here,” he says, putting his finger to my chest. To my heart.
I nod, my cheeks still a puddle of tears. “I know. I’m excited for our new home. I just think the whole process of packing, of going through all our stuff at once, and deciding to get rid of some of it, has stirred up all these feelings.”
“What kind of feelings?”
I smile through my tears. “Feelings over us and what we’ve built, and what we’ll continue building in the future. I’m feeling grateful to have met you, and to have you as a husband and the father of my children. There’s not a man alive who would be a better father to my children.” I glance at the wall near the pantry where Colt’s etched our history into the paint. My tears fall harder as I run my gaze over the numbers. “This house is like a history record of us, of the kids, of what we’ve built, and while I want to move, I hate leaving our history behind.”
“We’re taking our history with us, sweetheart. Wherever you go, I go, and so does everything we’ve ever made together. And we’ve got a fuckton of photo albums with all our memories in them. We’re never forgetting a thing.”
His mention of our albums makes me both laugh and cry some more. Colt likes to joke about the extra room he’s going to have to build one day to house all my albums. I’m a memory keeper. I like to take photos of everything our family does. He’s just lucky I don’t want to put every photo I take in an album. He’d have to build extra houses, not just an extra room if I did.
