Page 11 of Roundabout

“My wife.”

“My husband.”

The eye contact, the terms of endearment neither of us have ever used for anyone else before, not even each other, the complete connectivity—it all stimulates me, overstimulates me really, in the best way possible, and my jaw drops in a scream from my orgasm unfurling inside me hard and fast. Coty’s hand shoots up to pull my head to his as he drinks the sound straight from my lips, my entire body convulsing from the intensity.

“I’m going,” he murmurs into my mouth a second before a hot surge erupts from his buried cock, coating my inner walls.

Coty reclines all the way, taking me with him. Slick and spent, I collapse on top of him, my ear to his rambunctious heart, right between his tattoos.

“Where’re you going?” I tease when my voice is back.

“To heaven.”

“Take me with you.”

Against my temple, he whispers, “You’re my heaven.”

Coty’s my home and I’m his heaven. Different terms for different people but they still mean the same thing. Like husband and wife.

Wife.

Of all the names I’ve been called, wife might be my favorite, only because Coty’s name will be in front of it.

Coty’s wife. I’ll finally be somebody’s—somebody that actually wants me.

CHAPTER 3

Coty

“Who’s that?” I ask, eyeing the high-school-age girl next to Hunter. Whoever she is, she’s very interested in whatever my nephew’s explaining to her as he bends down next to one of his prized goats.

Marc’s already staring at his boy from across the building, his arms crossed over his chest as he grunts one word: “Trouble.”

Good for him. It’s about time Hunter found himself some trouble. And a girlfriend truthfully. The only girl I’ve ever seen around him that was even close to his age is Rebel, but that was before puberty hit. They kind of avoid each other these days. That or Rebel’s just too damn busy to bother with him.

“How do you know she’s trouble?” Angela asks, her hackles rising rapidly in defense of a fellow female. She doesn’t have to know them to be offended on their behalf, just that there’s a patriarchy that needs taken down, and since she’s always prepped for battle, she’ll happily do it alone.

“I never said she was the trouble.” Marc shakes his head, leaving it at that.

Angela looks to me and I shrug. I don’t fucking know. All I do know is Hunter’s never taken a step out of line in his life and probably never will. He’s the kindest, gentlest person in the world.

We head back out into the fresh air, exchanging the smell of hay, fur, and shit for fried dough, warmed sugar, and burning rubber. Travelling carnivals. The Fall Fest isn’t just about animals, it also has a full farmer’s market for local vendors along with a massive carnival. As soon as the sun goes down, shit gets crazy with the younger crowd, so we usually leave before dinner even hits. Our kids enjoy some of the smaller rides and a few games, but they don’t need to be here when the teens start drinking, smoking, fighting…and who knows what else. Technically, I do know what else because I used to take part in all of it.

“Is Rebel coming later?” I ask Marc, hoping to God she’s not. Marc, Beck, and I would fucking maim a motherfucker. The girl’s only fourteen.

“She’s already here somewhere.”

“She is?” And she’s not with us? With the exception of the baby of the group—Angela—most of us are only in our early thirties. How the fuck are we too old and boring for Rebel already?

“She’ll make herself known,” is all he says on the matter because, as usual, Marc doesn’t expand any further than the basics, content to remain as enigmatic as ever.

The three of us meander around on the hunt for the rest of our crew until we find them already aboard the carousel, then we stand at the ride’s fence, watching their smiling faces. Jace waves at us every time he passes, Bentlee standing between his horse and Blaze’s with a hand on each kid. Terra and Harley are riding the horses behind them, with Paige between her twins. And…yup, Beck is pulling up the rear of the family, riding his very own horse.

Chuckling, I glance at Angela, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s facing the carousel but her eyes are glossed over, like she isn’t really seeing it. Almost like she’s lost in a daydream. She’s so pretty, not only today but every day. Under her baseball cap, her hair’s straight and shiny down her chest. It’s gotten darker lately, all that sun damage from working outdoors long gone now that she remains mostly indoors at both Pop The Hood locations. Whenever she’s off the clock, she still dresses just as sporty as she did when she was a teenager. Today she’s rocking moto-style leggings that disappear into a pair of all-black Adidas Superstars. She’s also wearing one of my hoodies. I’ve always loved her in my clothes. It satisfies some primal instinct in me to claim her publicly.

At the sound of Jace’s voice, Angela automatically lifts a hand, the sunlight hitting the new rock on her ring finger, making it shimmer. The image has my heart swelling against my ribs. Now there’s no mistaking who she belongs to. Angela is all mine…almost. This time next week she’ll finally be my wife.

My.