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His hands move over my body, under my dress, between my legs, stroking, spreading me, and I moan, bracing my hands on his chest, bowing forward. Shivers skitter over my skin.
“Yes,” I breathe when he pulls my panties aside and pushes a finger inside me, slowly fucking me with it. Heat is gathering in my belly. “Please. Want you.”
“Fuck, Tay…” He strokes me, and his hard-on pushes against my backside. Groaning, I sit back, and yank the covers away. “Oh shit…”
His finger slips out, and he half-sits up, pushing my dress up, as I guide him inside me, his gaze riveted between my legs. He pushes into me, so thick and hard, and I grab for his hands, to steady myself as I sink down, taking him in.
“Yeah.” His head falls back, tendons standing out in his neck. “Like that.”
It’s a familiar dance by now, our bodies moving together, in synch, straining for release, as we try to be quiet, not to wake up the kids. His hand sneaks under my dress, finds my breast and toys with my hard nipple through the fabric of my bra.
My mouth falls open on a long moan as a strike of pleasure goes through me, my core clenching hard. His hips snap up, and I grind myself on him, the pressure building crazy fast, his cock stroking me deep inside.
I choke on a cry as I come, the pleasure clawing its way through my body, sharp and exquisite, taking my breath away.
Before I can get my lungs to work again, he flips me over and thrusts deep into me, lifting my legs around his waist. “So hot,” he whispers. “Every day with you is better, Tay. Every day I want you more. Do you know what this means?”
“No,” I whimper, impossibly full and hovering on the edge of another release. This angle of his cock, the pressure right there… it’s pushing me to the edge fast.
“It means,” he thrusts again, deeper, harder, “that I’m yours, for all time.”
And his words, those words, have me shaking and clawing at him, coming apart underneath him. He grunts and stiffens, too, his hot cum filling me, and rocks into me a few more times, drawing out the pleasure.
Still gasping for breath, I loop my arms around his neck and pull him down to me. “Good,” I whisper and kiss him, because I don’t have words that can express how I feel.
Not today, not ever.
As he rolls to my side and hauls me into his arms, I’m at peace. I’ve tried my best to save Ross and Evan, to help Melissa and Mary, and I’m tired, and sad, and happy, and so grateful Matt loves me and won’t let go.
Chapter Nineteen
Matt
When I drive to Mancave the next morning, to talk to Kaden and get back to work, it is with a feeling of contentment I haven’t felt in a long while. A sense of relief, of pieces falling into place and forming a picture I can make sense of.
A picture I can work with, a picture of my life with Octavia, my kids, my mom, my brother, full of fucking sunshine.
I’m practically whistling as I park my truck and hop out, taking a moment to look at our shop. Hansen Brothers, it says in big black letters on the sign on top.
That’s us. We made it. We went through some hard times, but we’re here, with our families. Happy. It has to count for something, right? Has to mean something.
That we’ll stick together, no matter what, and make it through.
I head toward the shop, passing by two cars with their engines exposed, and spot Kaden from afar. He’s talking on the phone, a hand shoved through his hair that glints like silver in the morning light.
Heh. I’m the black sheep in a family of blonds. Kaden, Gigi, Merc… even Ross with his black soul is blond as a cherub.
“Hey.” I lift my hand in greeting, not to walk in on him from behind and give him a heart attack, and he turns around, a smile lighting up his face.
“Matt. Gimme a minute and I’m done here.”
“Take your time.”
I walk into our office and move the mouse to wake up the computer. I check our schedule, see what cars are assigned to me, and then get up and go look for my toolkit and heavy-duty gloves. Spotting the first car that needs my aid, an old Chevy, I hum, and find myself smiling.
It feels good to be back, doing my job, fiddling with engines and machines. It relaxes me, always has, since I was a kid and learned at my dad’s side how to fix cars.
Dad. I don’t think of him as often as I should, probably. Haven’t even visited his grave, not yet. At first I wasn’t in a good place, didn’t know what I’d say or do when I saw his tombstone.
