"Mhmm," he groans as something else occurs to him. "We can even use the pump when we're having sex and change the settings so it'd be like someone sucking both nipples when I'm inside you. But that's as close as we're ever going to get to having anyone else in our bed."
He doesn't have to take that warning tone with me because one man—thisman—is enough. More than. But I'm not focusing so much on that part.
He wants to milk me.
Milkme. Heat courses through me at the imagery that evokes. "Can I think about it?"
A calculated look twists his features.Uh-oh. This means some serious Shay compromise is about to hit the table. "Tellyou what. You sit on my face and let me tell that pretty pussy happy birthday with my tongue, and I'll let you think about it while you're up there. Fair enough?"
I know a lost cause when I see one. "Fair enough."
"Fantastic." His huge hand gives me a smack on the ass as he slides down. "Now sit, woman."
I should have known better, though, because as soon as his mouth makes contact, all thoughts divert to the magic he's creating between my legs.
Dang it.
"Can'tstoplookingatit, can you?" One hand on the wheel, Amos gives me a crooked glance.
He's right. We tried the rings on in the store just to make sure they'd been sized correctly and now neither of us wants to take them off. "They just feel so right."
"Are you sure you want just a plain band? Money's no object and it's not too late for you to change your mind. We can delay the ceremony if need be."
"I'm a simple person, Amos. I'd be happy with no ring at all." I twist my hand this way and that, admiring its minimalistic beauty.
"Hell, no," he growls, snatching my hand and tapping the ring. "You must be out of yourever-lovingmind if you think either of us is walking around without one."
"We've been doing it until now," I wryly point out. "And I think your hand on my butt is a bit more noticeable than a band."
"Oh, it is. But what about for me? I think you'd like looking at me and seeing I'm wearing something that marks me as yours and only yours. What if some woman slides her eyes up and down all this godlike masculinity—"
"I'd claw them out," I blurt, unable to contain the very real jealousy that small imagining conjured up.
"You vicious little devil, you."
"You sound almost proud."
A chuckle leaves him. "Hell, yeah. Ikindalike the thought of you protecting what's yours. Not that you'd ever need to," he adds on.
Happiness compels me to lift his hand to my mouth for a kiss. "I love your hands. So strong and big."
"These old things?" he scoffs. "They're beat up and rough."
"They're perfectbecauseof the roughness. It turns me on knowing what these hands are capable of."
That gets his attention. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. And when I look out the window to see you shirtless, sweat glistening in the sunlight, and watch you cut and hammer all that wood for the deck, it makes me want to drag you inside and suck you off."
The truck swerves. "Damn, woman. I'll get sweaty for you any—wait a minute! I'm not the only one taking off his shirt. You get worked up seeing my brother's chest?"
"No!" I rush to soothe him. Well, maybe a little, but Connor doesn't hold a candle to his older brother. Not to me, at least. "I'm saying you building things with your own two hands gets me worked up."
He settles back down, eyes narrowed. "I'll build any damn thing you want. Love to build. When I was a kid, Mom and I would make the coolest houses with blocks."
"From what I saw at their house, you probably could have been a halfway decent artist if construction didn't work out," I tease, smirking when his ears turn a little red.
"Yeah, she loves those drawings."
