There’s panic in her eyes. It fades as I pull her lips to mine and kiss her deeply.
Meghan giggles into my mouth when she grinds my lap again and I grip her hip with one hand to hold her still. Then, against my lips, she asks, “What are you doing?”
“Making this last.” Sliding my hand from her nape, around her shoulders, and down her chest between her tits and over her soft tummy, my thumb finally finds its home on her clit. “Don’t. Move,” I command, looking her in the eye.
She gasps as I circle my thumb over her clit.
Her pussy clenches around my shaft. Her hips tense, trying not to move.
My skin stings where her nails dig in, gripping the meat of my shoulders at the base of my neck. She’s careful not to get too close to my injury.
“Oh, fuck.” Meghan pants as her pussy flutters. She’s so close. “I can feel every fucking inch of you. Oh, my God.” Her eyes widen, her breath hitches, and her body jerks, trying so hard not to move while her cunt chokes the life out of my cock.
I lose my resolve.
With one hand, I grip her hip and move her up and down my length. The waves of her orgasm are more than enough to milk my cock dry in seconds.
Both of us spent, Meghan falls forward, settling her head on my chest.
Buried inside of her, even as my cock softens, I pet her hair out of her face and place a long, thoughtful kiss on her forehead. “All this time, my goal was to make you mine. But you are queen. I will forever be your loyal subject. For you to call on whenever you need me. I’m yours, Meghan Hill.”
Meghan smiles up at me. The glow on her cheeks is as bright as the moon. “And I’m yours, Trent Brewer.”
Chapter thirteen
Three Years Later
Trent’sbeenontheroad for weeks. I always miss him but even more now because it’s my birthday and his damn flight was delayed. He’s going to miss it.
It’s weird how I was able to spend so many birthdays without a boyfriend and get by just fine. Now, it breaks my heart to sit in our dining room alone with a cup of coffee as the sun comes up on a day that used to be like any other.
I blame Trent for my change of heart on birthdays. He’s so damn good at them.
Swirling the last sip of coffee, I wonder what he had planned for this year.
Even without the delayed flight, he wouldn’t have had much time to execute anything too elaborate.
As I set my empty mug on the table, my phone dings with an incoming text.
My heart skips as I pick it up. Then sinks a little when I see it’s not from Trent.
Roberta: Happy birthday!
Me: Thanks <3
I’m only half invested in the following conversation with my old college roommate and best friend. Love her to pieces but she’s not who I wish I was talking to right now.
Roberta: Make sure to keep an eye on your porch today. Sent a little something your way ;)
Me: Thanks! But you didn’t have to do that.
The little dots are still marching in her reply when the doorbell rings.
“Seriously?” I mumble as I make my way to the door thinking it can’t be the delivery guy already. Our deliveries are always in the afternoon.
When I open the door, my knees buckle as I gasp, finding Trent on one knee and holding up a vanilla cupcake.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
