Page 29

I roll.

I close my eyes and enjoy every moment of the delicious ride.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

HOUND

Leaning forward, I press my forehead against hers. My back is tingling, my balls are drawn up, and I’m emptying inside her sweet body. And I don’t give a fuck, because I’m home. I’m exactly where I’ve always belonged—deep inside her sweet body.

I haven’t asked if she’s on birth control, and honest to fuck, I don’t think I care. If she got pregnant today, we’d tackle that, and I would do so happily, because she’s mine. Meant to be mine, and against all goddamn odds, she made her way back to me.

“Brock,” she exhales, her fingers tightening around the back of my neck.

I feel her cunt squeeze me, pulsing around my cock, trying to keep me buried deep inside her. I would happily oblige for the rest of my fucking life if I could. I would stay right here because this is what feels right.

Leaning forward, I touch my mouth to hers as I close my eyes, inhaling through my nose, taking in her scent and allowing it to consume me. I’m going to have to take her home soon, but right now, it’s the last thing I want to do.

Lifting my head slightly, I shift back so I can look into her eyes. Staying buried inside her, I feel her pussy clench around my length.

I wish I could stay here for a fucking eternity.

I would if I could.

But we have a daughter to take care of. Plus, I’m sure that Keely’s parents would really hate me if I kept her as a sex slave. I’m certain they’d lose their shit because I would if someone tried that with Thea. In fact, I instantly decide that she will never date—ever.

“I should take you home,” I murmur against her lips.

“I’m not ready,” she breathes.

I chuckle, mainly because I’m not ready either, but the longer we stay here like this, the higher the chance of us getting caught. And while I don’t give a shit if someone sees us, I have a feeling Keely would.

Taking half a step backward, I groan as I slip from inside her body. The warm place I am more convinced than ever is my true home. Reaching for my jeans, I tug them up my hips, buckle and zip them, lamenting that I have to put them back on.

After I’m dressed again, I shift closer to her, lift my hand, cup her cheek, and stare into her light-brown eyes. They fucking own me. They have little gold flakes in them, and I swear to fuck they can see straight into my goddamn soul.

Leaning forward, I touch my mouth to hers. I need to kiss her. I close my eyes and inhale her scent again before I force myself to straighten and then clear my throat.

“I know we need to go home. I have to get up early for work.”

“Work?” I ask as she slips down from my bike.

I watch unabashedly as she tugs her own jeans up her sexy-as-fuck legs, not ashamed at all to be checking out my woman. And she is that—mine. She’s fucking mine. I don’t think I’ve ever been proud to be with someone. Not that I’ve ever been ashamed or anything, but I’ve never been proud to be with someone, not that I’ve actually been in a relationship before. I am with her. I’m fucking proud to have her be my woman.

I feel honored that she’s willing to be with someone like me, that she would want to be at my side. I want to tell everyone in the whole fucking world that she’s mine. Shout it from the goddamn rooftops, and not just that she’s mine, but she had my baby, too.

She’s the whole fucking package.

“I work at my friend’s bakery and café. You met her, Clare.”

I remember a dark-haired angry woman at the pool. I assume that’s who we’re discussing. I’m not sure how I should feel about her working at a coffee place with that little pissed-off chick, not that it should matter. I know it shouldn’t, but I don’t like her there.

“I thought you were a masseuse?” I ask.

She dips her chin. “I can’t do that here without some extra hours and applying for my licensing, all of which costs money.”

“So you’re working at the bakery, coffee shop, whatever place to save money for your classes and licensing,” I murmur, repeating her words.